The ruined wall which overtopped their place of refuge had fallen, completely blocking the exit with huge stones, still glowing hot from the action of the fire.
“Batten—my—hatches, lad!” ejaculated the old sailor, as the full significance of the catastrophe flashed upon him. “We're prisoners, says you!”
CHAPTER XI.—INTO THE HEART OF THE HILL.
There was no denying the truth of the captain's disconcerting announcement. So far as concerned the ancient flight of steps, egress from the underground chamber was wholly cut off. In the space of a single moment their refuge had become a prison. For, to begin with, the stones which blocked the entrance were glowing hot; while, to end with, these were of such a size, and so tightly wedged between the walls of the narrow opening, as to render any attempt at removing them, in the absence of suitable implements, utterly futile. If ever there existed a dilemma worthy the consumption of the captain's tobacco, here was one. The huge meerschaum was lighted forthwith.
And never, perhaps, in all its long and varied history, did the pipe perform its task of “'ilin' up” the old sailors “runnin' gear” so promptly and satisfactorily as now. For scarcely had he taken half-a-dozen “w'hiffs o' the fragrant,” when, “Blow me, lad!” he exclaimed, triumphantly following with the stem of the pipe the course of a blue spiral which had just left his lips, “d'ye see that, now? No sooner I lets it out than away it scuds!”
Under other circumstances this observation would have sounded commonplace; here it was significant. The fragrant spiral, after wavering an instant as if uncertain what course to take, broke and floated slowly towards the wall of débris which blocked the entrance.
“Wery good!” resumed the captain, when this became apparent; “an' what o' that? you naterally axes. Why, do ye mind me, lad, when smoke sheers off to lee'ard in that 'ere fashion, it sinnifies a drorin'; and a drorin', dye see, sinnifies a current o' atmospheric air; and—as the maintop-gallan's'l says when it sights the squall—-blow me! if a current o' atmospheric air don't sinnify as this 'ere subterraneous ramification's got a venthole in it somewheres, d'ye see!”
“Why, as for that,” said Don, “I noticed a draught drawing up the steps, as soon as I set foot on them. The entrance seemed to act like a sort of flue; and, come to think of it, it couldn't do that, in spite of the heated air above, unless there was an inlet somewhere below, could it?”