“Well, yes, sir, I s’pose we’ve lost that there; but it don’t much matter—do it?”
“Matter!—of course!” cried Mark angrily; and, as if born by nature to lead, he at once took the command and gave his orders. “Now, you climb to the top of that rock and see if you can make out the course we ought to take; and I’ll climb that one yonder.”
“All right, Mr Mark, sir!” cried the little sailor, starting off.
“And mind, we come back to this spot directly.”
“Right, sir! we will.”
“Then, off!”
Mark slowly and painfully scaled the side of a steep sloped ravine, and when he reached the top, with the perspiration running down his cheeks, he looked round, to see trees, rocks, and the beautiful cone of the volcano.
That was something; and he reasoned that if he turned his back to the mountain and walked straight down and onward, though he would not be able to join his party he would reach the shore.
But no sooner had he arrived at this comforting assurance that he would have nothing to fear from starvation than all his hopes were dashed to the ground, as he realised the fact that, as soon as he descended from the giddy height at which he stood, he would lose sight of the mountain and have no guide; while to go straight on among the mighty moss-covered rocks, which were pitched helter-skelter all over the place, was as impossible as to go through the jungle without a gang of men with bill-hooks to hack a way among the dense undergrowth.
Right, left, and before him he could see nothing that would suggest his having passed along there; and with his heart sinking he slowly climbed down part of the way, then reached a mossy stone which gave way beneath his feet and fell, while he followed, slipping down twenty feet, rolling another twenty; dropping sometimes into a thorny tangle of brambles, and dragging himself out, tattered, bleeding, and terribly out of temper, to walk slowly back to the spot from whence he and Billy Widgeon had started.