'Anything you order, sir.'
'We 'll save him if we can,' said Trentham. 'We 've hard work in front of us, but with care and good fortune--by the way, Hoole, can you find your way back in the dark?'
'The moon 's up, my son. She 's riding low, but she 'll last long enough for this stunt, I reckon.'
'Good! Now, Grinson, cut a stout pole from a tree--as strong as you can find, three to four feet long.'
'Ay, ay, sir!' responded the boatswain, whipping out his knife.
While he was gone about his task, Trentham explained to Lafoa, the interpreter, that the position of the prisoners had been roughly located, and asked him to inform the rest of the party. They would have to march to the cliff in the waning moonlight, keeping absolute silence, and be ready to do instantly and exactly what they were ordered. The safety of their chief Flanso and his fellow prisoners would depend on their prompt obedience.
On Grinson's return, Trentham ordered one of the men to unwind the rope from his body, and the boatswain to fasten one end of it to the pole. He then slung the pole over a thick branch of a tree, and bade half the party of natives hang on to it, while Grinson and the other half held the loose end of the rope. The test being satisfactory, and the rope having been wound over the pole, they formed up in single file, and, Hoole leading, set out over their former tracks for the cliff. Not a word was spoken. The bare feet of the natives made no sound; the footsteps of the white men could scarcely have been heard if any watchers had been lurking in the bush. The rays of the moon, near its setting, gave Hoole light enough to distinguish the blazed trees, and they marched rapidly. Presently the prevailing stillness was invaded by the soft rustle of the surf, and they caught sight of the glistening path of the moonlight stretching far across the sea. Slackening his pace a little, so as to reduce the slight sounds made by the white men's boots, Hoole led the party unerringly to the crest of the boulder-strewn slope. There they halted.
There were whispered explanations and instructions. Grinson, in spite of his anxiety for Meek, was a little daunted by the difficulties of the plan unfolded to him. The exact position of the prisoners on the ledge was unknown. A sentry would certainly be on guard. An incautious movement, the accidental disturbance of a stone, a misjudgment of distance in the dark, might involve not only the failure of the scheme, but death to its authors. Trentham did not minimise the dangers; they had all been canvassed by Hoole and himself; indeed, he was prepared to find that some factor which he had been unable to take into account would render his plan unworkable.
'But we are not going to attempt the impossible, Grinson,' he said. 'We shall first discover what 's possible, and then--well, you 're not the man to jib at a risk.'
'True, sir, and Ephraim is worth it. I 'll say no more.'