Chapter Twenty Eight.
The next morning, as it seemed from the beautiful limpid appearance of dawn that rose from the surface of the waters, to become diffused in the soft gloom overhead, the lads lit a candle and set off manfully to try as to the possibility of making their way out through the zigzag passage, Aleck trying first and dragging and pushing at the stones which blocked his way, till, utterly exhausted and dripping with perspiration, he made way for his comrade to have a try.
The latter toiled hard in turn, and did not desist till he found that his fingers were bleeding and growing painful.
“It’s of no good,” he said, gloomily; “that scoundrel has done his work too well. Let’s get down to where we can breathe. I say, though,” he added, cheerily, “I’ve learned one thing.”
“What?” asked Aleck.
“That I was never cut out for a chimney-sweep. This is bad enough; I don’t know what it would be if there was the soot.”
They slid down, and as soon as they were back in the comparatively cheerful cavern, where they could breathe freely, Aleck proposed that they should look out amongst the sails and ships’ stores for a suitable rope for their purpose.
There was coil upon coil of rope, but for the most part they were too thick, and it seemed as if they would be reduced to venturing upon their dive untrammelled, when, raising the lanthorn for another glance round, Aleck caught sight of the very piece he required, hanging from a wooden peg driven in between two blocks of stone.
“Looks old and worn,” said the middy, passing the frayed line through his fingers. “Let’s try it.”