I started. It was some time since I heard the Bo's'n speak of Cynthia in that way.
"No," said I, "I think not. Lacelle does."
"Could you leap it, sir?" asked the Bo's'n wistfully.
"I don't see how I could," said I. "It isn't even like jumping down across a place that is as wide as that. It is not like jumping downward at all. I hardly think I could do it then. It must be anywhere from eight to ten feet wide. And, as you see, it is a little above us. No, I certainly could not do it."
The Bo's'n stepped back and looked critically up over the roof of our shelter. It was growing light—the light of a dull early morning.
"I thought there might be some way of getting to them with the vines on the roof, but I see that it is straight up, up, up, sir. Looks like there was no stop to it."
"Even if we could get up there, what good would it do them?"
"Suppose we go out into the passage and look for help."
"Who would help us? We should perhaps fall into the hands of some of these roaming savages. They might treat us well, and they might not. That is not to be thought of. Suppose we met with some of those—Oh, I forgot you were not with us! Let us consult with the Smith."
The Smith had slept through the entire storm. I now awoke him and told him what had befallen us. He seemed much concerned, and said that it looked serious.