There was a stack of hurdles a few yards down
stream, laid aside after sheep-washing; and there were stepping-stones in
the brook. Hinchcliffe rearranged these last to make some sort of
causeway; I brought up the hurdles; and when Pyecroft and his subaltern
had dropped a dozen hop-poles across the stream, laid them down over all.
"Talk o' the Agricultur'l Hall!" he said, mopping his brow--"'tisn't in it
with us. The approach to the bridge must now be paved with hurdles, owin'
to the squashy nature o' the country. Yes, an' we'd better have one or two
on the far side to lead her on to _terror fermior_. Now, Hinch! Give her
full steam and 'op along. If she slips off, we're done. Shall I take the
wheel?"
"No. This is my job," said the first-class engine-room artificer. "Get
over the far side, and be ready to catch her if she jibs on the uphill."
We crossed that elastic structure and stood ready amid the bracken.
Hinchcliffe gave her a full steam and she came like a destroyer on her
trial. There was a crack, a flicker of white water, and she was in our
arms fifty yards up the slope; or rather, we were behind her, pushing her
madly towards a patch of raw gravel whereon her wheels could bite. Of the
bridge remained only a few wildly vibrating hop-poles, and those hurdles
which had been sunk in the mud of the approaches.
"She--she kicked out all the loose ones behind her as she finished with
'em," Hinchcliffe panted.
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