Impatience burst out.

"Yell to him to hurry up! Why haven't they brought two men?"

"It's only one man," shouted the captain, "and he seems to be a cripple.
By Jiminy!--it is--yes!--it's Tom Sparrell!"

There was a dead silence. Then, I grieve to say, shame and its twin
brother rage took possession of their weak humanity. Oh, yes! It was all
of a piece! Why in the name of Folly hadn't he sent for an able-bodied
man. Were they to be drowned through his cranky obstinacy?

The blows still went on slowly. Presently, however, they seemed to
alternate with other blows--but alas! they were slower, and if possible
feebler!

"Have they got another cripple to work?" roared the Contingent in one
furious voice.

"No--it's a woman--a little one--yes! a girl. Hello! Why, sure as you
live, it's Delaware!"

A spontaneous cheer burst from the Contingent, partly as a rebuke to
Sparrell, I think, partly from some shame over their previous rage. He
could take it as he liked.

Still the blows went on distressingly slow. The girls were hoisted
on the men's shoulders; the men were half submerged. Then there was a
painful pause; then a crumbling crash. Another cheer went up from the
canyon.