“Well, undress,” said Dickenson banteringly. “It means a swim. Don’t spoil your neat uniform.”
“Will you go?” asked Lennox sharply.
“Oh yes, I’ll go,” said Dickenson.
“Thank you,” replied Lennox through his set teeth.—“Here, sergeant, give me the lantern.”
Catching it from the man, he planted his foot upon the first branch stump a foot below the edge of the yawning hole; but the moment he touched it a violent jerk was given to the tree-trunk, just as if it had been seized by some one below and wrenched round.
Lennox’s position was so insecure, with one hand holding the lantern, that he was thrown off his balance, and he would have fallen headlong down but for the snatch he made at the sergeant, who also caught at him, slipped, and the two were nearly precipitated down the horrible place at the bottom of which the water was rushing with a hollow, echoing, whispering sound.
The tree saved them, the sergeant getting a firm hold; but between them the light of the lantern was shut off, hidden between the two men for the moment, and an attempt was made by Dickenson to reach and drag it up.
“I’ve got it,” he cried. “Let it come. No, I haven’t; mind.”
For it had slipped through his fingers, and it went clattering down the rough, well-like place, striking against one of the projecting stumps of the tree-trunk, which turned it right over and threw it with an echoing crash against the wall, lit it up for a moment, and then the flame within was extinguished.
“Yah!” roared Captain Roby as the place was plunged into absolute darkness. “Here, bring up the other lantern.”