“I don’t want to rob you of your chance,” said Roby.—“Here, Mr Dickenson, what two men went back to fetch those lights?”
“Corporal May and Channings tried to feel their way, sir, but they found the job hopeless.”
“But I gave orders.”
“Yes, sir,” said Dickenson; “but they could not find their way.”
“I’ll speak about this later on,” said Roby. “Now then, Mr Lennox, are you ready?”
“Yes, sir,” was the reply as the young officer stood waiting for Sergeant James, who had slipped off his scarf, passed it through the handle of the lantern, and was securing it to his waist.
“Then forward!” cried Roby.
“Better let me lead, sir, on account of the light,” half-whispered the sergeant; “then you can be ready to give point at any one who comes at me.”
“No,” said Lennox firmly; “I must lead. Leave your rifle, and follow me, bayonet in hand.”
He stepped to the mouth of the pit, tried the ladder-like contrivance, found it fairly firm, and began to descend as fast as he could; while, risking the strength of the wood, the sergeant stepped on as soon as there was room and followed, shedding the dancing light’s rays on the weird-looking walls of the place.