But the boys had no eyes for anything that day but the wonders of their new discovery; and, quickly getting to work with the rope and grapnel, Mike threw it up.
“Got a bite!” he cried. “No: he’s off.”
For, after catching, the grapnel gave way again.
The second time he missed; but the third he got another hold, and told Vince to climb first.
This he did, and in a very few seconds he was two-thirds of the way up, when with a scrape the grapnel gave way, and Vince came down flat on his back in the sand, with the iron upon him.
“Hurt?” cried Mike.
“Not much,” said Vince, rubbing one leg, which the iron had struck. “Try again.”
Mike threw once more, got a hold, and, to prove it, began to climb, and reached the opening safely. Then the lanthorn was drawn up, Vince followed, and this time taking the rope with them, they went along through the peculiar zigzag free from doubts and dread of dangers unknown, so that they could think only of the various difficulties of the climb.
Upon nearing the open end of the fissure they kept back the lanthorn and advanced to peer down cautiously; but, save a few pigeons flying in and out, there was no sign of life. Everything was just as they had seen it before; the footprints all over the trampled sand, which had probably been made ages before, so they thought; the boat mast, sails, and ropes, were at the side, and in the shadowy upper part there were the stacks of bales and the carefully piled-up kegs.
“Well?” said Mike; “shall we go down?”