In quick succession they passed three openings on the right hand. The hot wind blew more strongly; it was a moisture-laden breeze and Martin's clothes were damp. Suddenly the passage angled obliquely. A few steps more and Ichi stopped. Over his head Martin saw the yawning mouth of the windy cave.
It was a large opening, and the agitated air rushed out through it as though expelled by a giant fan. The air smelled and tasted evilly of gas and sulphur. The moaning came with the air; it seemed to come from below, from an immense distance.
The group clustered at the mouth of the cave, and the two lanterns, held high, beat back the gloom for a few yards. Ichi shouted orders to his men, and his words were hardly audible above the deep, rhythmic moan that rose steadily from somewhere beneath their feet. Martin peered into the cavern; it was huge, he knew, but he could not even guess its dimensions.
But it was not the length or breadth of the windy cave that fastened his regard. It was the depth. There, at his feet, plainly revealed by the lanterns' light, was the "deep place," the "bottomless hole." It was a crack in the floor, its width and length lost in the gloom. Its near edge was but a couple of feet inside the cavern entrance. It was from this half revealed gaping slit that the wind came rushing; it was from somewhere in that hole, down, down, an immeasurable distance, that the eerie wailing came.
The lanterns revealed white vapors swirling upward out of the hole. Everything was wet, water dripped from overhead, the black walls glistened with moisture, underfoot was wet and slippery as a waxed floor. Martin's clothes were wet through.
The four sailors huddled fearfully together, peering into the chasm. Ichi's orders finally aroused them to action. The man with the tackle slipped it from his shoulder, and, with the aid of another, overhauled it. Martin had supposed the tackle was to be used in recovering the treasure, but now he saw it was intended for another purpose. This was not Ichi's first visit to the cave of winds, and he came prepared.
The opening in which they stood was near the left hand wall of the windy cave. A ledge, no more than six feet wide at the widest, ran between the wall and the edge of the pit. It sloped towards the gaping hole, and it was wet and shining like the walls. Martin could see it must be a most treacherous footing, and he knew from the words of the code—"windy cave—2 port—aloft"—that they must travel that dangerous path.
It was here, on this ledge, that the blocks and tackle were to be used. The man who carried the second lantern, took the head block in his free hand, and stepped onto the ledge. He sidled along, hugging the wall, dragging the rope behind him.
A few feet inside he crept past the first opening in the wall. A score of feet beyond, man and lantern melted into the wall, and Martin knew the second opening was reached. In a moment, man and lantern reappeared, and the fellow sang out.
The sailor in the entrance, who held the foot block, fastened its hook in a little raised hump of rock; then, grasping the hauling line, pulled the tackle taut. The result was a serviceable lifeline, waist high, across the dangerous passage.