“Want a screw-jack, sir,” said the carpenter.
“We must make screw-jacks of ourselves,” cried Uncle Richard. “You, David, take the axe and lop off a few of the branches that will be in our way; you, carpenter, saw off three or four of these roots as closely as you can; Tom, keep the hole open; Mr Maxted, keep the dog out of the way; I’ll make fast the ropes.”
Every one went to work at once as Uncle Richard fell back into his old way when he was a planter with a couple of hundred coolies under him, and acre after acre of primeval forest to clear before he could begin to cultivate the ground.
Then the dog barked furiously for a few moments, but at a word from Tom crouched panting with its tongue out and ears pricked, evidently satisfied with the efforts being made to release its master. The strokes of the axe fell thick and fast, the saw rasped through the wood, and dust and chips flew, while the forest echoed to the sounds of busy work.
Best part of an hour’s hard toil, and then one side of the tree was fairly clear; the ropes were tied to root and branch projecting at right angles, and the ends passed round tree-trunks.
“Now then!” said Uncle Richard. “Ready?”
“Hadn’t we better haul straight, sir?” cried the carpenter. “It’ll give us more power.”
“No,” said Uncle Richard; “the pulling will be harder, but we can hold inch by inch this way, and make fast the ropes when we have turned the trunk over.”
“Right, sir,” said the man.
Then the word was given, and after a glance to see that the burrow was still open, Tom seized the end of the rope, to add his bit of weight, wondering the while whether they would injure the poor fellow beneath, but pretty well satisfied that they were pulling right away.