“Dunno, sir.”
“Where’s your messmate?”
“Here he comes, sir,” said the man, waving his hand; and following their young leader, the two sailors made for the end of the great chasm where the guns were to be hoisted up, and Strake had been so busy with the tackle.
For some minutes, as they climbed over or round the obstacles, there was nothing to be seen; but after creeping round a bold corner of rock, Syd suddenly found himself looking down on the whole party from the ship gathered in a knot round what seemed from the rope and tackle to be one of the guns.
“Got it up, and it slipped and fell,” thought Syd, as he lowered himself down and made his way to Roylance, whom he touched on the back.
“What’s the mat—”
He did not finish, for as the midshipman turned Syd caught sight of the gun and ropes, with some handspikes which had evidently been used as levers.
All that was at a glance. Then he pushed his way forward to sink down on one knee beside the lieutenant, who was lying on his back, his face haggard and ghastly, his teeth set and his eyes closed, while the great drops of agony were gathering on his brow.
He saw no more, for a piece of sail was thrown over his legs.
“Mr Dallas,” he cried, “what is it? Are you ill?” A low murmur ran round the little group, and at that moment the boatswain appeared with a pannikin of water from one of the tubs.