“Got the crowbar?” cried Lennox eagerly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then bring it here. Thrust it in under the stone at this natural crevice.”
“Why?” said Captain Roby sharply.—“Here, sergeant, try higher up.”
But before the words were fully uttered the sergeant had driven the chisel-edge of the iron bar into the horizontal crevice about on a level with his knees, with the result that the men cheered so loudly that they drowned the angry curse which escaped the Boer’s lips. For, to the surprise of all, no sooner had the sergeant pressed down the wedged-in bar than it acted as a lever would, lifting one corner of the stone so that it slipped away, the great block turning easily upon a central pivot, and leaving an opening some four feet high and just wide enough for a man to pass through.
“The light, sergeant.—Bayonets, my lads!” shouted Lennox, springing forward; but his cry was mingled with one from the prisoner, who yelled out:
“Fire, Dirck; fire! Never mind yourself; blow them all into the air.”
It was an order which was full of suggestion, coming as it did so soon after the cowardly attempt to kill the colonel and his chief officers; but not a man shrank from the task before him, nor hesitated to take the risk, whatever it might be. Lennox was in first, closely followed by the sergeant, lantern in his left hand, iron bar in his right, ready to strike down the first man who resisted, while the light was directed here and there in eager search for bag or barrel that might contain the elements of destruction.
The lantern lit up one of the typical caverns of the country, so many of which have been utilised for strongholds by the Matabele, Mashona, and other chiefs, and Lennox found himself in a rift of the stone which ran right up overhead, a vast crack which the light of the lantern was too feeble to pierce, while away to the right ran a low-roofed passage, striking off almost at right angles, but only to zigzag farther on and die away in the darkness.
“Bayonets, lads!” cried Lennox again; “the other man must be down here.”