Ramsden rose slowly, and staggered, but one of the men caught his arm.
“I—I think I can.”
“Well, we must get you down to the boat as soon as we can walk, if you are able. If you can’t, we must carry you.”
“But them chaps,” said one of the party, just as Don and Jem were beginning to breathe freely. “Think they’re in yonder, mate?”
“I—I think so,” said Ramsden faintly. “You had better search.”
“What! A place full of foul air?” said the boatswain, greatly to Don’s relief. “Absurd! If Ramsden could not live in there, how could the escaped men? Here, let’s get him down.”
“Ay, ay, sir. But I say, mate, where’s your fighting tools? What yer done with them?”
Don made an angry gesticulation, and turned to Jem, who had the pistols and cutlass in his hand and waistbelt, and felt as if he should like to hurl them away.
“He must have dropped them inside. Here, one of you come with me and get them.”
Don shrank back into the stony passage as a man volunteered, but the boatswain hesitated.