It was impossible not to smile at the boatswain’s little joke. In the course of their walk to the bastion, Captain Gould, Fritz, and James had seen again the impossibility of getting round it in any other way than by sea. Currents ran there, with tremendous force and in both directions. Even in calm weather the violent surf would have prevented any boat from getting close in, and the strongest swimmer might have been carried out to sea or dashed upon the rocks.
So the necessity of getting to the top of the cliff by some other means became more imperative than ever.
“How are we to do it?” said Fritz one day, gazing irritably at the inaccessible crest.
“You can’t get out of a prison when its walls are a thousand feet high,” was James’s answer.
“Unless you tunnel through them,” Fritz replied.
“Tunnel through that mass of granite—which is probably thicker than it is high?” said James.
“Anyhow, we can’t remain in this prison!” exclaimed Fritz, in a burst of impotent but uncontrollable anger.
“Be patient, and have confidence,” said Frank again.
“Patience I can have,” Fritz retorted, “but confidence—that is another thing.”
And indeed on what might confidence be placed? Rescue could only come from a ship passing beyond the bay. And if one came, would it see their signals, the lighting of a huge fire on the beach or on the end of the promontory?