“Only a stone standing right up, sir; water washes round it. It’s best to keep right in the middle, I think.”
“You must judge about that,” said my uncle. “Go on.”
“How far do you think we’ve come, sir, now?”
“About a quarter of a mile, I should say.”
“That’s what I thought, sir,” said the carpenter, and he waded steadily on, with us following.
After a time it grew very monotonous, but we persevered, finding the underground river sometimes a little deeper, then shallower, so that the water rippled just above our ankles, while we knew at times that the cavern was wide and high, at others that it closed in on either side, and twice over the roof was so close that I could touch it with my stick.
The times when it opened out were plain enough, for our splashings or voices echoed and went whispering far away. But otherwise the journey was very tame, and as the feeling of awe died away, the journey seemed uncommonly free from danger, for I felt it was absurd to imagine the waters to be peopled with strange creatures.
We had been wading on for quite a couple of hours, when the water began to grow more sluggish, and to flow very quietly, rising, too, higher and higher, till it was above our waists, and the light reflected from the surface showed that it was very smooth.
“Keep on, sir?” said Cross.
“Yes,” said my uncle. “Keep on till it nearly touches your chin. Then we’ll turn back.”