“Well,” said the lieutenant, in a satisfied tone, as they climbed down into the chasm, and gazed from the bottom out at either end toward the sea, in the one case to see the Sirius lying with her masts describing arcs on the blue sky; in the other case the white houses and port of Saint Jacques. “Well, Belton, if I had been set to work to design a rock upon which to plant a fort, I could never have schemed so good a one as this.”
“Why?” said Syd, in his outspoken way. “It’s very awkward to get up unless you make some stairs.”
“The more awkward the worse for an enemy. But can’t you see, my lad, we can mount our guns on platforms at either end of this tiny valley; and stow our men, stores, and ammunition there in the bottom of the rift. Nothing can reach them from outside. Gibraltar’s nothing to it.”
“Isn’t it?” said Syd, who felt that he ought to say something.
“No, my boy, nothing. There’s one thing though—I don’t see water.”
“Water?” said Syd, laughing, as he looked round at the sea.
“Drinking water, sir. An enemy would have very little difficulty in taking a fort where the defenders have no water. Must make a cistern and store some up. Come along.”
He led the way, and they descended without much difficulty to a spot from whence it seemed possible to mount the other mass of rock, up which they toiled with more difficulty, for in some places it nearly approached the perpendicular. Had it not been for a series of rough cracks or splits in the side, some of which seemed to descend to vast depths, but whose edges gave good foothold, the ascent would have been impossible.
They reached the top, through a little mutual help, signalled again, and after gazing down into the chasm, which the lieutenant looked upon as a splendid find, they slowly went down to the little natural pier, the boat was carefully backed in, the sailor leaped lightly from the wet rock on to the gunwale, and then stepped into his place.
“Now you, Mr Belton,” said the lieutenant; “and don’t get wet this time.”