The men said something to Hardock, but their words were almost inaudible in the rattle and clank of the great pump, and the wash and rush of the water as it was drawn into a huge trough, and rushed from it into the adit.
Hardock gave them a nod in reply, and then signed to the boys as he swung his lanthorn.
“Come and look here,” he shouted; and, with their bare feet slipping on the wet planks that were just loosely laid across the beams fitted into the old holes, cut no one knew when, in the sides of the shaft, they went down to where Hardock dropped on his knees and held the lanthorn through an opening, so that the light was reflected from the water, whose level was about a foot below where they now stood.
“See that?” he shouted, so as to make his voice heard.
“What, the water?” cried Gwyn. “Yes.”
“No, no; my mark that I made in the wall with a pick?”
“Oh, yes; the granite looks quite white,” said Gwyn, as he looked at the roughly-cut notch some six inches long.
“How far is the water below it?” cried Hardock.
“About seven inches, eh, Joe?”
“Nearly eight.”