“Ha! I think I can do it now I’ve found room to kneel.”
“Bravo!” shouted Dickenson.
“Will you be silent, Mr Dickenson?” cried the captain.—“Now, Lennox, what are you doing?”
“Trying to get this knot undone, sir; it’s so tight.” At the end of a minute he cried, “I can’t move the knot. I’m going to pass it over my head, and then make a noose and slip it round the corporal.”
“Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir, I think so. Now slacken away all you can, but keep a tight hold in case I have to snatch at it again.”
“Oh yes, they’ll keep a tight hold.—Do you hear, Sergeant James?”
“Oh yes, sir, I hear,” growled the sergeant, whose face glistened with the perspiration that streamed down from the gathering-place—his brow.
“How are you getting on?” cried the captain.
“Don’t talk to me, please,” panted Lennox. “I’m doing my best.” There was a pause, and then, “I’ve got it off, and I’m going to pass it over his neck and shoulders now. It will compress his chest, but I can’t help it.”