CHAPTER XI.—INTO THE HEART OF THE HILL.
There was no denying the truth of the captain's disconcerting announcement. So far as concerned the ancient flight of steps, egress from the underground chamber was wholly cut off. In the space of a single moment their refuge had become a prison. For, to begin with, the stones which blocked the entrance were glowing hot; while, to end with, these were of such a size, and so tightly wedged between the walls of the narrow opening, as to render any attempt at removing them, in the absence of suitable implements, utterly futile. If ever there existed a dilemma worthy the consumption of the captain's tobacco, here was one. The huge meerschaum was lighted forthwith.
And never, perhaps, in all its long and varied history, did the pipe perform its task of “'ilin' up” the old sailors “runnin' gear” so promptly and satisfactorily as now. For scarcely had he taken half-a-dozen “w'hiffs o' the fragrant,” when, “Blow me, lad!” he exclaimed, triumphantly following with the stem of the pipe the course of a blue spiral which had just left his lips, “d'ye see that, now? No sooner I lets it out than away it scuds!”
Under other circumstances this observation would have sounded commonplace; here it was significant. The fragrant spiral, after wavering an instant as if uncertain what course to take, broke and floated slowly towards the wall of débris which blocked the entrance.
“Wery good!” resumed the captain, when this became apparent; “an' what o' that? you naterally axes. Why, do ye mind me, lad, when smoke sheers off to lee'ard in that 'ere fashion, it sinnifies a drorin'; and a drorin', dye see, sinnifies a current o' atmospheric air; and—as the maintop-gallan's'l says when it sights the squall—-blow me! if a current o' atmospheric air don't sinnify as this 'ere subterraneous ramification's got a venthole in it somewheres, d'ye see!”
“Why, as for that,” said Don, “I noticed a draught drawing up the steps, as soon as I set foot on them. The entrance seemed to act like a sort of flue; and, come to think of it, it couldn't do that, in spite of the heated air above, unless there was an inlet somewhere below, could it?”
“Ay, inlet's the wery nautical tarm I was a-tryin' to overhaul, lad,” replied the captain complacently. “An'—shiver my binnacle!—for that inlet we runs. Legs we has, light we has!—so why not? I axes.”
“More grope than run, I fancy,” said Don, peering into the darkness of the tunnel. “But there's no help for it, I suppose; though Heaven only knows where or what it may lead to! The stores, of course, remain here for the present; they're safe enough, at any rate.”
Seizing the lantern, he led off without further parley. Spottie—haunted in the dark by an ever-pursuing fear of spooks—made a close second; while the old sailor brought up the rear with Bosin on his shoulder. Here and there a lizard, alarmed by the hollow echo of their footsteps, or by the glare of the passing light, scurried across their path.
For a considerable distance the passage continued on the level, then dipped suddenly in a steep flight of steps. After this came other level bits, succeeded by other descents, the number of steps in each successive flight—or, rather, fall—increasing as they proceeded.
“Looks as if we were bound for the foot of the hill,” remarked Don, pausing to allow the captain to overtake him.
“An' well I knows it, lad!” replied that worthy, as he accomplished the descent of that particular flight of steps with a sigh of relief like the blowing of a small whale. “Sleepin' in the open an' that, d'ye see, 's made my jints a bit stiff like—'specially the wooden one! Howsomedever, let's get on again—as the seaman says when the lubberly donkey rose by the starn an' hove him by the board.”
On they accordingly went, and down, the level intervals growing less and less frequent, the seemingly interminable tiers of steps more precipitous. Even the captain, level-headed old sailor though he was, detected himself in the act of clutching at the wall, so suggestive of utter bottomlessness was the black chasm yawning ever at their feet. The very echoes hurried back to them as if fearful of venturing the abysmal depths. What it would have been to have penetrated the tunnel without a lantern Don dared not think.
And now the roof and walls contracted until they seemed to press with an insupportable weight upon their shoulders. The steps, too, at first equal in height and even of surface, became irregular and slippery. Ooze of a vivid prismatic green glistened on either hand; water gathered in pellucid, elongated drops overhead, shivered for an instant as if startled by the unwonted light, then glinted noiselessly down upon the dank, mould-carpeted steps, which no human foot apparently had pressed for ages. Suppose their advance, when they got a little lower, should be cut off by the water, as retreat was already cut off by the fallen wall!
A level footing at last! Twenty yards on through the darkness, and no steps. Had these come to an end? It almost seemed so.
Suddenly the captain stopped. On the rock floor a tiny pool shimmered like crystal in the lantern-light. He scooped up a little of the water in his broad palm and tasted it, “Stave my water-butt, lad!” cried he, smacking his lips with immense gusto. “This 'ere aqueous fluid what's a-washin' round in the scuppers ain't no bilge-water, d'ye mind me! Reg'lar genewine old briny's what it is, an' well I knows the taste on it! We're under the crik—blow me if we bain't!”
“Shouldn't wonder,” said Don, consulting his watch. “It's now three o'clock; we've been on the grope just three-quarters of an hour. A jolly nice fix we'll be in if we reach daylight on the far side of the creek—with no means of crossing it, I mean. But wherever this mole-hole leads to, let's get to the end of it.”
More steps, but this time ascending. The walls, too, became perceptibly drier, the narrow limits and musty air of the vaulted way less oppressive. With elastic steps and light hearts they pressed forward, assured that release was now close at hand.
It came sooner than they anticipated, for presently the tunnel veered sharply to the left, and as Don rounded the angle of wall a low, musical lapping of waves fell on his ears.
The captain was right in his conjecture; the passage had conducted them directly under the creek, and it was on that side of the ravine immediately adjacent to the Elephant Rock that they now emerged into the fresh night air.
Here the tunnel terminated in a platform of rock, escarped from the solid cliff, and draped by a curtain of vines similar to, though somewhat thinner than, that which concealed the hiding-place of the Jolly Tar. The platform itself lay wrapped in deepest shade, but through the interstices of the natural curtain overhanging it they could see the moonlight shimmering on the surface of the creek.
“Blow me, lad!” cried the captain, after peering about him for some seconds: “this 'ere cove as we're hove-to in orter lay purty nigh abreast o' the Jolly Tar, says you. Belay that, ye lubber!” making a dive after the monkey, who, with a shrill cry, had swung down from his shoulder and scuttled to the edge of the platform.
Don gripped the old sailor by the arm and forcibly held him back. “Hist!” he cried in suppressed, excited tones. “Did you hear that?”
A moment of strained silence; then, from the direction of the creek came a faint plashing sound, such as might have been produced by the regular dip of paddles. Releasing his hold on the captain's arm, Don crossed the rocky floor on tiptoe, parted the trailing vines with cautious hand, and took a rapid survey of the moonlit creek. Then he hastily seized the monkey and darted back to the captains side.
“Canoes!” he whispered. “Two of them, packed with natives, and heading straight for us. Back into the passage! And, Spottie! douse that light.”