It was still awash, but we could not wait.

We dragged the boat up onto the shingle just showing at the head of the chasm, then wading out up to our shoulders to the leaning slab, we pulled down the rock screen and crawled into the tunnel.
The wounded man lay just as we had left him, breathing slowly and regularly, but showing no other sign of life.

We dropped a little cognac into him, and took him by the shoulders and feet and carried him into the tunnel.

How we got him through I cannot tell--inch by inch, shoving and hauling, till the sweat poured down us in that narrow place.
But we got him to the opening at last, and hauled the boat down and hoisted him in, soaked to the skin each one of us.

Uncle George carefully closed his door, and we pulled out to Krok, waiting in the lugger.
"Mon Dieu! I have had enough of him," said Uncle George, worn out, I suppose, with all the night's doings.