“Then here goes.”
Through the dim light the boy now saw his companion’s face for a few moments, and then the smuggler turned round, took another step, spread out his arms to grasp the rocky sides, and the next minute there was a low rustling sound and a puff of wind struck the lad in the face, followed by silence.
“Are you there, Eben?” said Aleck, softly.
“Right, my lad. Now, then, you don’t want no more teaching. Do as I did, and come down.”
“How far is it?” said Aleck, hesitating.
“Eight or nine fathom, my lad. Never measured it. Ready?”
“Yes,” said the lad, and setting his teeth hard he pressed his hands against the wall on either side, felt about with one foot, drew the other up to it, and then let go and began to slide down a steep slope, the passage taking away his breath, so that he was panting hard when his heels met with a sudden check and the smuggler’s voice, sounding like a hollow whisper, said:
“Bottom o’ this bit.”
“What, is there any more?” faltered Aleck.
“Lots,” said the man, laughing. “It’s only a great ziggery-zag crack running right through the rock from top to bottom. There’s nothing to mind, as you’d see if we’d got the lanthorn. They were so close after me that I hadn’t time to get the one I left up yonder in the cliffs. Now, then, I’m going down again. It’s quite dry, and worn smooth with all sorts of things coming up and folk like us going down. Just the same as before, my lad. I calls it Jacob’s Ladder. Natur’ made a good deal on it, and my grandfathers, fathers, and us lot finished it a bit at a time and made it what it is.”