I had come provided this time with a longer rod, and, taking it in my trembling hands, I stood for a few moments upon the sand, anxious, but dreading to force it down lest it should be to prove that I had been deceived by my over-sanguine nature.
Then, rousing myself, I thrust the rod down, when, at the depth of four feet, it came in contact with some obstacle.
Drawing it up I tried again and again, Tom eagerly watching the while, as I proved to a certainty that there was something buried in the sand, extending over a space of about three feet by two, while elsewhere I could force the rod down to the depth of over five feet without let or hindrance.
“Try yourself, Tom,” I said hoarsely, as I passed to him the rod, which he seized eagerly, and thrust down; while trembling with excitement I cautiously climbed the barrier, beneath which lay the hole, and peered over the rocks into the valley.
Not a leaf moving—all hot and still in the morning sun; and I returned to Tom.
“Well?” I said eagerly.
“Well,” echoed Tom; “I should think it is well! There is something buried here, Mas’r Harry, and it ain’t rocks, nor stones, nor wood. I fancy it’s a lead coffin, for it feels like it with the point of the rod.”
“Nonsense!” I said impatiently. “There would be no lead coffins here, Tom.”
“We’ll see, anyhow, Mas’r Harry,” he exclaimed. And seizing a spade he began to hurl the sand out furiously. “There’s a something down here, that’s certain,” he panted out between the spadefuls, “but what it is goodness knows. All I can say is that it’s a something.”
“Let me come too, Tom,” I cried excitedly.