“Och, it’s kilt I am entirely!” exclaimed Paddy Desmond, who was the first to find his voice. “Where are we after going to? Is the say below us, does any one know?”
“Can’t some of you fellows ahead stop yourselves?” sung out Higson, who came thundering along with his big bundles about his neck; but the ground had just been cleared, not a root or branch offered a holdfast, and his weight giving a fresh impetus to the rest away they all went again over another terrace wall, shrieks and shouts and groans proceeding from those whose throats were not too tightly pressed by the cords to allow them utterance. Their cries quickly brought their friend to their assistance, when a level spot having fortunately been reached, with his aid, after some hauling and twisting, they were at length got on their legs, and their bundles and bags being replaced on their shoulders they proceeded in the same order as before. One or two groaned, occasionally, from the weight of their burdens or from the pain of their bruises, but most of the party trudged on, laughing heartily at their adventure.
“Hillo, why the gate is locked—never knew that before!” they heard their guide exclaim. “Never mind, we can easily climb it.” Saying this he threw his bags over, and climbing to the top safely dropped down on the other side. The rest of the party, with one exception, followed his example. When Higson came to the gate it looked so contemptibly easy that he determined to climb it with his bundles on his back. Telling Tom, who was next him, to go on, he mounted to the top, when just as he had got over his foot slipped, and down he came, having his body on the outer side and his huge bundles still on the inner, his neck being held fast by the cord which fastened them together. A deep groan escaped him. It might have been the last he would ever have uttered, but fortunately Tom heard it, and turning back discovered what had happened.
“Help! help!” he shouted; “here’s old Higson hanging himself.”
His shout brought the rest to the rescue, accompanied by Dick Needham, who had come up from the boat to see after them. While a couple of the oldsters climbed to the top of the gate Dick raised the old mate with his shoulders, and after much pulling and hauling his neck was cleared from the noose, when he would have fallen to the ground had not Dick caught him.
“I’m much afeered Mr Higson’s gone,” exclaimed Dick, as he placed his burden gently down.
“Dead! why he was kicking tremendously just now,” cried Tom, much concerned, for he had a real regard for his messmate.
“I’m afeered so,” repeated Dick, with a sigh.
“Let me see,” said McTavish, the assistant-surgeon, and stooping down he undid Higson’s handkerchief and rubbed away at his throat, feeling carefully round it. “Neck not dislocated, as I feared; he’s all right, and will come round presently,” he said, the announcement giving infinite relief to those who stood around.
As McTavish had predicted, Higson soon recovered; and as Dick was there to carry his bundles the adventurers were once more en route to the boat. All hands were warm in their expressions of thanks to their hospitable entertainer.