At first the gorge was so narrow that they had to walk in single file.
It was really nothing but a cleft in the solid rock, running in a northerly direction between two vertical walls which rose to a height of eight or nine hundred feet.
After a hundred yards or so in a straight line, the ground began to slope upwards rather steeply. The way must be a long one, for if it did debouch upon the plateau it would have had to make up the five hundred feet or so from the level of the beach to the upper part of the cliff. Moreover, the journey was soon lengthened by the twists and turns of the path. It was like the abrupt and capricious twisting of a labyrinth inside the mass of rock. But judging from the light that spread from above, Harry Gould believed that the general direction of the gorge was from south to north. The lateral walls gradually drew further apart, rendering the march much easier.
About ten o’clock they were obliged to call a halt to allow everyone to recover breath. They stopped in a sort of semi-circular cavity, above which a much larger slice of the sky was visible.
Captain Gould estimated that this spot was about two hundred feet above the level of the sea.
“At this rate,” he remarked, “it will take us five or six hours to reach the top.”
“Well,” Fritz replied, “it will still be broad daylight when we get there, and if need be we shall have time to get down again before night.”
“Quite true, Fritz,” the captain replied, “but how can we be sure that the gorge is not lengthened by an even greater number of turnings?”
“Or that it does not come out upon the cliff?” Frank added.
“Whether it’s at the top or the side of the cliff, let us take things as they come,” the boatswain put in. “Above, if it is above, below, if it is below! After all, this don’t matter much!”