“But tell us—we thought you were drowned in that awful place.”
“Yes, it was bad,” said Melchior, quite calmly. “It is so swift and the water so full of air that you cannot swim, and one was turned about so and rolled over, but I held on to Gros here, and it did not take long before we were through.”
“But your breath? Did you keep on the surface?” said Dale.
“I don’t know, herr. It was all darkness and confusion; but we were rolled up against the rock sometimes, and I managed to get my breath. Then we were driven on and on very fast. You see the rock is worn so smooth, there is nothing against which you can catch. The stones swept down by the water have worn that all away, and one goes quite quick, holding one’s breath, till one is shot out as if from a gun, and the water gets smoother. Then we got our breath easily, and Gros here began to swim while I held on by his mane; but we had to go a long way down before there was a place for the mule to land.”
“But do you mean to tell me,” cried Dale, “that you both came through that horrible place and are none the worse for it?”
The guide smiled.
“Well, herr,” he said, “I am very wet, and there were moments when I thought I could not hold my breath any longer, but there are no bones broken and no cuts or grazes.”
“Then there is nothing else the matter with you?” cried Saxe.
“Well, yes, herr; I am very hungry.”
“Hungry!” cried Saxe excitedly. “Yes, of course: I’d forgotten; so am I. Here, Mr Dale, let you and me go and get the basket whilst he dries himself in the sun.”