He was now on the highest part of the ridge, which ran down from the centre rock to the end; and as he clambered along he gazed seaward in search of the frigate, but it seemed to be gone. The next moment, though, he caught sight of her top-gallant spars, and realised that she must be sailing right away.
The heat was tremendous as Syd struggled on, finding that he had selected a far worse piece of the rock than had fallen to his men, and that his task would prove hopeless without the whole party turned out to help.
All at once, after getting over a block of rugged limestone, which seemed full of coral, he found that he must let himself right down into a deep crack, or else clamber to right or left, where the difficulties were far greater, even if they were surmountable.
He paused for a few moments to wipe his streaming face, and looked up overhead longingly at where the wind was whistling among the blocks of stone, and then lowered himself carefully down some thirty feet, stood listening to a curious sound which came whispering up from where the chasm he was in contracted to a mere crack, and after coming to the conclusion that it must be caused by there being some communication with the sea, he crossed the crack, and began to climb up the other side, where before he was half-way up one of his two men appeared
peering over the edge, and looking down with a scared face.
“Oh, there you are, sir,” he cried; “we was getting frightened, and thought you’d tumbled.”
“No: give me your hand. Thank you. Phew! how hot it is down there!” cried Syd, as he climbed out and stood in the comparatively cool sea-breeze again. “But why did you hail me?”
“Don’t know, sir. There’s some’at wrong up yonder.”
“Something wrong? Not attacked, are they?”