“Thought I was going to die caught fast in there,” he said, with a sob, “Oh, Ydoll, it was horrible. You can’t think how bad.”
“Lie down for a bit and rest,” said Gwyn, gently, for the poor fellow was quite hysterical from what he had gone through; and without a word he obeyed, lying perfectly still save when a shudder shook him from head to foot, and he clung fast to Gwyn’s hand.
“Do you think you could do any good by trying?” said Gwyn at last.
“Me, sir?” said Sam. “No; I’m too big. I should get stuck fast.”
“No, there’s room enough. He got himself fixed by wedging his arm in beyond the stone.”
“Yes, that was it,” sighed Joe; and, to the surprise of both, Hardock picked up his lanthorn, crawled to the hole, thrust it in and followed, while the two lads lay listening to the rustling sounds he made, half drowned by the shrieking and whistling of the wind.
In about a quarter-of-an-hour he backed out, drawing his light after him.
“It’s of no use, my lads,” he said; “we may shake hands now, for we’ve done all that we can do. I’ve been trying hard at that stone, but it’s wedged in fast. A shot o’ powder might drive it out, but our hands aren’t powder nor dinnymite neither, and we may give it up.”
No one spoke, and they lay there utterly exhausted in mind and body, hour after hour, while their clothes began slowly to dry upon their bodies. The rush of wind and the gurgle of water went on as if it were boiling violently; and something like sleep overtook them, for they did not move.
But from time to time Gwyn bent over one or the other of the lanthorns to see to the candles, his one great dread being now lest they should sink into a deep stupor, and come to, finding that they were in the dark.