They waited until the sinking moon gave just light enough to see the two rocks which Trentham and Hoole had marked on their previous visit; then they stole down the slope among the boulders. For greater security the white men had removed their boots. On reaching the furthermost of the boulders they halted again. Trentham placed the log of wood across the gap between the two rocks, and got Grinson to loop the loose end of the rope under his armpits. When the moon had wholly disappeared below the hills behind, and the face of the cliff was dark, he crawled inch by inch down the bare slope, and peeped cautiously over the edge.
The cove, the beach, the ledge--all were now within his range of vision. His eyes were first attracted by lights below. There was a glimmering lamp on the Raider's deck forward; the deck appeared to be unoccupied, and no lights shone from the portholes. All three sheds were illuminated, and from the murmur of voices Trentham guessed that the Germans were at their evening meal. No one was moving on the beach. Then he noticed a slight intermittent glow some distance away on his right; behind it a face was momentarily lit up. Without doubt it proceeded from the pipe of the sentry on the ledge. Trentham recalled the position as he had seen it from the other side of the cove when he made his first reconnaissance. The sentry was evidently posted at the inner end of the ledge, where one path led to the beach, another wound round the cliff. These were the only avenues of escape; the other end of the ledge was blocked. The fact that the sentry was smoking argued that discipline was less strict here than it would have been on board ship; probably vigilance also was less rigid. What had the Germans to fear from their cowed slaves, and the natives of the village they had terrorised?
Withdrawing his eyes from this extremity of the ledge, Trentham could just distinguish the outlines of baskets laid against the cliff wall. Then he started, and felt his pulses quicken. Surely that pallid object below him, a little to his left, was a man's face. He closed his eyes, and reopening them after a few moments found that he could see more clearly. Beyond doubt a white man was standing close against the wall. His attitude was peculiarly rigid. The explanation flashed upon Trentham; Meek was tied up.
Trentham looked up and down the ledge for the native prisoners. Black though they were, he expected to be able to discover them, even in the darkness, by some movement or sound. He was as much perplexed as surprised at discerning no sign of them. Where, then, were they kept?
Meek, however, was his first concern. How long had the seaman been tied up? Was he conscious, and able to assist in his release? It was impossible to tell. Wriggling along the edge of the slope until he was exactly over Meek's position, Trentham took a short peg from his pocket, drove it into the soil, and attached to it a thin line of fibre which he had brought with him. Then, holding the line, he crawled carefully up the slope, and rejoined his party.
In a few whispered words he related the extent of his discoveries.
'Better 'n we could expect, sir,' murmured Grinson, with a long breath of relief. 'If the look-out is smoking----'
'Yes,' interrupted Trentham, 'but we mustn't rely too much on that. He may be relieved at any minute; we can't tell. We must get to work while the men are still feeding. Ready, Hoole?'
'Sure!' was the reply.
Following the guiding line, of which Grinson now held the upper end, the two men crept down the slope. Grinson understood that the line would be used to signal how to deal with the thicker rope, which was coiled round the log laid across the two rocks. When they reached the edge, Trentham transferred the coil of rope from his own arms to those of Hoole, who was to descend first on to the ledge. They were both conscious that this was a critical moment. A fall of earth as the rope strained over the edge could hardly fail to arouse the sentry. A man issuing from one of the sheds might notice, even in the dark, the white clothes of the climber, stained though they were. The first misfortune might be avoided with care; the second was at the mercy of chance.