“Ay, inlet's the wery nautical tarm I was a-tryin' to overhaul, lad,” replied the captain complacently. “An'—shiver my binnacle!—for that inlet we runs. Legs we has, light we has!—so why not? I axes.”
“More grope than run, I fancy,” said Don, peering into the darkness of the tunnel. “But there's no help for it, I suppose; though Heaven only knows where or what it may lead to! The stores, of course, remain here for the present; they're safe enough, at any rate.”
Seizing the lantern, he led off without further parley. Spottie—haunted in the dark by an ever-pursuing fear of spooks—made a close second; while the old sailor brought up the rear with Bosin on his shoulder. Here and there a lizard, alarmed by the hollow echo of their footsteps, or by the glare of the passing light, scurried across their path.
For a considerable distance the passage continued on the level, then dipped suddenly in a steep flight of steps. After this came other level bits, succeeded by other descents, the number of steps in each successive flight—or, rather, fall—increasing as they proceeded.
“Looks as if we were bound for the foot of the hill,” remarked Don, pausing to allow the captain to overtake him.
“An' well I knows it, lad!” replied that worthy, as he accomplished the descent of that particular flight of steps with a sigh of relief like the blowing of a small whale. “Sleepin' in the open an' that, d'ye see, 's made my jints a bit stiff like—'specially the wooden one! Howsomedever, let's get on again—as the seaman says when the lubberly donkey rose by the starn an' hove him by the board.”
On they accordingly went, and down, the level intervals growing less and less frequent, the seemingly interminable tiers of steps more precipitous. Even the captain, level-headed old sailor though he was, detected himself in the act of clutching at the wall, so suggestive of utter bottomlessness was the black chasm yawning ever at their feet. The very echoes hurried back to them as if fearful of venturing the abysmal depths. What it would have been to have penetrated the tunnel without a lantern Don dared not think.
And now the roof and walls contracted until they seemed to press with an insupportable weight upon their shoulders. The steps, too, at first equal in height and even of surface, became irregular and slippery. Ooze of a vivid prismatic green glistened on either hand; water gathered in pellucid, elongated drops overhead, shivered for an instant as if startled by the unwonted light, then glinted noiselessly down upon the dank, mould-carpeted steps, which no human foot apparently had pressed for ages. Suppose their advance, when they got a little lower, should be cut off by the water, as retreat was already cut off by the fallen wall!
A level footing at last! Twenty yards on through the darkness, and no steps. Had these come to an end? It almost seemed so.
Suddenly the captain stopped. On the rock floor a tiny pool shimmered like crystal in the lantern-light. He scooped up a little of the water in his broad palm and tasted it, “Stave my water-butt, lad!” cried he, smacking his lips with immense gusto. “This 'ere aqueous fluid what's a-washin' round in the scuppers ain't no bilge-water, d'ye mind me! Reg'lar genewine old briny's what it is, an' well I knows the taste on it! We're under the crik—blow me if we bain't!”