“Bah!” roared the Colonel at last; “that will do. I see you turned poltroon and shrank back, to leave them to go on by themselves. Man, man! if you hadn’t the honest British pluck in you to go, why didn’t you stay up?”
“’Cause he funked it at fust, sir,” said Vores; “but then, being second after Sam Hardock, we said it was his dooty, and made him go!”
“Bah! he is of no use now. Hah! You have candles ready, I see. How many will the skep take?”
“Six on us, sir,” said Vores.
“Follow me, then, some of you,” said the Colonel. “Hardock, you’re fagged out, and had better stay.”
“What! and leave them boys down there lost, sir?” cried Hardock, sharply. “Not me.”
“Then head a second party; I’ll go on with five.”
“Right you are, sir,” said Hardock. “Down with you, then; and we’ll soon be after you. Will someone give me a tin o’ water?”
Two men started up to supply his wants, as the Colonel and his party stepped into the skep to stand closely packed—too closely for Grip to find footing; and as the great bucket descended, the dog threw up his muzzle and uttered a dismal howl.
“Quickly as you can,” shouted the Colonel, as the skep went down; but the engineer shook his head.