We separated, and Bigley and I ran right round the steep wall, looking eagerly for a spot where foothold could be obtained, but it was generally overhanging, while elsewhere it rose up perfectly straight, so that a cat could not have run up it. Only in one place where there was a great crack did it seem possible to climb up any distance, and that crack seemed to afford the means of getting to a shelf of rock just beneath a tremendous overhanging mass, some fifty feet above where we stood.
This was very near the eastern arm of the little bay, where the tide was fretting and splashing and gurgling among the rocks, and threatening every minute to come right up amongst the stones that filled the foot of the crack.
“Let’s look more carefully as we go back,” said Bigley; and we did, but our only discovery was the entrance to another cave, which seemed to be quite a narrow doorway or slit behind some tall stones piled right above it, and shutting it from the sight of anyone walking by. In fact, we had missed it as we came.
“That might be a good place,” said Bigley; “but it wouldn’t be safe to try, for perhaps the sea fills it right up every tide.”
We went on back, looking eagerly upwards, and stumbling over the stones that strewed our path, till we met my father and Bob Chowne.
“Well,” said my father, in his short stern way, as if he were addressing his sailors on board ship. “Report!”
“No way up to the top, sir,” said Bigley.
“No, father, none,” I said.
“No way?” said my father, and he frowned severely; “and there is no way up whatever at our end. Boys, we shall have to venture out, and swim round the point.”
Bob Chowne shuddered, and I felt a curious sensation of dread creeping over me which I tried to shake off.