“What’s that?” cried my uncle, who had caught part of what was said, and he was told the rest.
“Let’s have a look, Nat,” he said, and slipping off our boots and stockings we waded on over the soft sand to where the water came rushing out through the arch, stooping down and peering in as we listened to the gurgling and whispering of the water.
“Shall we have the lanthorn, and I’ll stoop down and see if the roof gets higher farther in?” I said.
“Would you mind doing it?” said my uncle.
“I don’t think I should like it much,” I said; “but I’ll try.”
“Let me go, Master Nat, sir,” said Pete eagerly; “I won’t mind.”
“Sounds as if there’s plenty of room inside, sir,” said Cross, who had followed our example and waded in.
“Let’s see,” said my uncle, stooping down, after cocking his gun. Then holding it as if it were a pistol, he reached in as far as he could and fired both barrels.
The reports sounded dull and smothered, and as we listened my uncle said:
“It is only a narrow passage, I think.”