“Now, then, the next bit’s diff’rent,” said the smuggler. “You’ll sit down on your heels like to slide, but it arn’t steep, and every now and then you’ll have to give yerself a bit of a shove to help yer down to the next bit, and that’s worse still.”
“Worse?” said Aleck, trying to suppress a catching of the breath; but the smuggler detected it.
“Not what you think bad,” he said, with a hoarse chuckle, “but what we call bad. You have to walk all the way.”
“And there are no side places where you might slip into?”
“Not half o’ one, my lad. There was a nasty hole at the bottom of the next but one, that seemed to go right down to the end of the world. P’raps it did, but we brought up big bits o’ rock till some on ’em caught and got wedged into niches, and then we kept on till we filled it up level, and you wouldn’t know it’s there. Now, then, let’s get down.”
“Stop a moment,” said Aleck. “I don’t feel the wind coming and going now. Have we got below where it comes in?”
“Not us. The tide’s up above the mouth now, and there’ll be no wind to feel till next tide. Here’s off.”
The rustling began, and the two next portions of the strange zigzag series of cleft were passed down easily enough, while, as he descended a couple more, Aleck felt how smoothly floor and sides were worn and carved, and began to dwell upon the time that must have elapsed and the industry bestowed upon the curious passage by the smugglers, who had by virtue of their oaths and their interest in the place kept it a secret for generations.
“I wonder how many more there are,” Aleck was thinking as he glided down, when all at once Eben said, loudly:
“Bottom! Stand fast, my lad, while I get a light.”