All this information I cried to Mansel and Hanbury, and both were greatly delighted at the fine condition of the well; but, as I hung there, seemingly so far beneath them, the magnitude of our task appalled me, and I felt that the silent guardian of the leather bags was to prove a more formidable enemy than Ellis himself.
Then they pulled me up, and the atmosphere seemed sultry after the chill of the well.
Then we went back to the stables, where was some sawn wood, and before it was time for breakfast we had fixed a beam upon the free pillars immediately under the dome, and had lashed a pulley into place upon either side. Whilst we were doing this, Carson and Bell were bringing up planks, of which we had found quite a store, for with these we meant to make a gutter, in the shape of an endless trough, to conduct the water away. By the time we had settled upon the line this should take, it was seven o’clock, so we left the business there and returned to the house.
At breakfast we came to a decision of some importance. This was, plainly, that we should not attempt to conceal our endeavours to empty the well. It was, therefore, arranged that Mansel should drive to Lerai, as soon as he had bathed, and acquaint the landlord of the inn with our intention. He proposed to display great annoyance at being saddled at the outset with such a labour, and, on being asked the reason for our resolve, to say that last night we had drawn up the remains of a baby, which meant, of course, that the whole of the water was foul. He would then procure ropes and buckets and other implements, and even give out that, if after one or two days we needed assistance, he should desire the landlord to find us some men.
So he and Carson left at half past eight, taking the Rolls, whilst Hanbury and I returned at once to the meadow to set to work upon the troughs. With nails and hammer these were easy to make, and, as soon as Bell appeared, we gave him a pick and shovel, and set him to cutting the groove in which our gutter should lie.
Within the hour the bell by the well told us of Mansel’s return, and five minutes later we saw him appear in the meadow and come towards us.
“Did that bell ring?” he said shortly.
“Yes,” said Hanbury.
“Then, if you please,” said Mansel, “never disregard it again.”
And there he left it, for, as I have said, he was a man of few words: but there was that in his voice which there was no mistaking, and Hanbury and I felt as guilty and ashamed as though by some folly we had ruined our enterprise.
Then he told us that his tale had been well received, and that the landlord seemed genuinely distressed at our predicament, “for such,” said Mansel, “he plainly regards it: and when I said that we must empty the well, he threw up his hands. However, when I said that, unless the well could be cleaned, I should give up the place, he sent for buckets and ropes, and promised to come up this evening to see what help he could give. I then sent a wire to Maple’s, telling them not to dispatch my furniture: I fear it may puzzle them, but it supported my case and cleared the air.”
Here Carson appeared with a bucket as big as a bath: indeed, two men could not have carried it full, but it was made, I imagine, to receive refuse or to hold a store of water upon which a cook could draw. And I must frankly confess that it did my heart good to see it, for I felt that, if we had a giant’s task before us, it was something, at any rate, to have a giant’s tools to use.
By the time we had finished the gutter, which led down out of the meadow into a kind of combe, it was nearly eleven o’clock, and we sat down and drank some beer which Carson had brought.
Then Bell was sent to the kitchen, and Rowley came up in his stead; Mansel went up to the point in the farther wood, from which, as I have said, a man could observe some of the neighbouring ground; and Carson and Rowley took one rope, and Hanbury and I the other.
The work was hard to the point of severity, but the sight of so much water coming up out of the well was fuel to our endeavours, and we worked for twenty minutes without a break. Long before this Mansel had come to our assistance, for to land the buckets, when full, needed another man, and, lame as he was, he performed this awkward task as he did most things, that is to say, as though he had practised it all his life.
When we stopped for luncheon, we had taken eight feet of water out of the well.
When luncheon was over, we sat on the terrace for a little, under the shade of the limes.
Hanbury was asleep, Mansel was reading Lockhart’s Life of Scott—without which work, he said, he
