“Nothing but some poor tin,” was the reply. “But look there, my lad. The boat won’t go up that narrow bit, but that runs on at least a hundred fathom, for I’ve waded as far as that.”
“What, up that narrow hole?” said Geoffrey, as he peered along a place that looked a mere crack in the rock floored with water.
“Yes, up that narrow place. Now what do you say?”
“I don’t say any thing,” replied Geoffrey. “Why have we come here?”
“Bah! Take your compass, lad. Which way does that bit of a cut run?”
“Nor-east by east,” said Geoffrey, holding the compass flat.
“Well, suppose you drive right through that nat’ral adit, as you may call it, for thirty or forty, or p’r’aps fifty fathom, what would you hit?”
“I see your meaning now,” cried Geoffrey, excitedly. “Of course, yes, we must strike one of the galleries in Wheal Carnac which run under the promontory from the other side.”
“And if you do drive through, what then?” chuckled the old man.
“Why, you’ll have an adit that will clear the water off as fast as it comes in.”