At length they crossed the broad avenue that led from the Eurychorus to Melita, and struck into the road that skirted the mountain; and where a thicket of trees flung bold branches across the way, three figures rose from the ground before them, and Akko stepped forward and saluted, his white teeth gleaming.  Immediately Jarvo led the way through a strip of underbrush at the base of the mountain, and they emerged in a glade where the light hardly penetrated.

Here were distinguishable the palanquins in which the ascent was to be made.  These were like long baskets, upborne by a pole of great flexibility broadening to a wider support beneath the body of the basket and provided with rubber straps through which the arms were passed.  When St. George and Amory were seated, Jarvo spoke hesitatingly: 

“We must bandage your eyes, adon,” he said.

“Oh really, really,” protested St. George, “we don’t understand half we do see.  Do let us see what we can.”

“You must be blindfolded, adon,” repeated Jarvo firmly.

Amory, passing his arms reflectively through the rubber straps which Akko held for him, spoke cheerfully: 

“I’ll go up blindfold,” he submitted, “if I can smoke.”

“Neither of us will,” said St. George with determination.  “See here, Jarvo, we are both level-headed.  We pledge you our word of honour, in addition, not to dive overboard.  Now—­lead on.”

“It has never been done,” said the little brown man with obstinacy, “you will lose your reason, adon.”

“Ah well now, if we do,” said St. George, “pitch us over and leave us.  Besides, I think we have.  Lead on, please.”

Against the will of the others, he prevailed.  The light oil-skins were placed in the baskets, each of which was shouldered by two men, Jarvo bearing the foremost pole of St. George’s palanquin.  All the carriers had drawn on long, soft shoes which, perhaps from some preparation in which they had been dipped, glowed with light, illuminating the ground for a little distance at every step.

“Are you ready, adon?” asked Jarvo and Akko at the same moment.

“Ready!” cried St. George impatiently.

“Ready,” said Amory languidly, and added one thought more:  “I hope for Chillingworth’s sake,” he said, “that Frothingham is a notary public.  We’ll have to have somebody’s seal at the bottom of all this copy.”

The baskets were lightly lifted.  Jarvo gave a sharp command, and all four of the men broke into a rhythmic chant.  Jarvo, leading the way, sprang immediately upon the first foothold, where none seemed to be, and without pause to the next.  So perfectly were the men trained that it was as if but one set of muscles were inspiring the movements made to the beat of that monotonous measure.  In their strong hands the flexible pole seemed to give as their bodies gave, and so lightly did they leap upward that the jar of their alighting was hardly perceptible, as if, as had occurred to St. George as they ascended the lip of the island, gravity were here another matter.  So, without pause, save in the rhythm of that strange march music, the remarkable progress was begun.