“Fumbling for it now, sir. Doesn’t seem as if there are any more. Yes, here’s one little joker hiding in a corner. Got him!”
Scr-r-r-itch! went the little match, and flashed into a bright flame which formed an arch in the air and disappeared down the yawning pit.
“Why, you left go!” cried Captain Roby.
“No wonder if I did, after burning my fingers so,” grumbled Dickenson; “but I didn’t, for I’ve got the wax here. Top jumped off.”
Then there was a tinkling sound as he shook the little silver box he held.
“Hurrah!” he cried. “Here’s one more. Ready with that lantern, my lad?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take the lamp out and let me try if I can get the wick up with the pricker before I strike the match.”
The men’s breathing could be heard as they stood, with every nerve on the strain, listening to the scraping, scratching sound made in the excitement and dread caused by the horrible darkness; for there was not a man present, from officer to the youngest private, who had much faith that they would find the way back to the mouth of the cavern.
“For goodness’ sake mind you don’t drop the match, Mr Dickenson,” said the captain suddenly.