There was a murmur of horror and a burst of wailing, for now a number of women had joined the throng.
“Are you hurt?” I cried anxiously.
“Only a few cuts and bruises, Cob,” said Uncle Dick. “Now, my lads, quick. We must have them out.”
The men stopped short, and there was a low angry murmur like the muttering of a coming storm.
“Quick, my lads, quick!”
There was a hoarse cry for help from out of the ruins, and I knew it must be our poor smith.
“No, sir, stop,” cried the gentleman who had before spoken. “I’d dare anything, but we have sacrificed one life in trying to save others. I have just been round, and I say that at the least movement of the ruins the left wall must come down.”
There was a loud cry of assent to this, and amongst shouts and a confused murmur of voices there came out of the gloom that fearful cry again:
“Help!”
“The wall must fall, men,” cried Uncle Dick loudly. “I can’t stand and hear that cry and not go. Once more volunteers.”