Brinkley knew by the last phenomenon that the spray concealed the entrance of some large subterranean cavern. If any doubt had remained on his mind, it would have been dispelled by the appearance of a solitary pigeon, which leaving its companions, wavered lightly back, flew back through the spray with a rapid downward flight, and disappeared.
He was floating a little nearer, with an enjoyment deepened by the sense of danger, when a figure suddenly appeared on the rocks close by him, wildly waving its hands.
“Keep back! Keep back!” cried a voice.
He looked at the figure, and recognized William Jones. He answered him, but the sound of his voice was drowned by the roar from the rocks. Then William Jones shouted again more indistinctly, and repeated his excited gestures. It was clear that he was warning the swimmer against some hidden danger. Brinkley took the warning, and struck out from the shore, and then back to the place where he had left his clothes.
Watching his opportunity, he found a suitable spot and clambered in upon the rocks. He had just dried himself and thrown on some of his clothes, when he saw William Jones standing near and watching him.
“How are you?” asked the young man, with a nod. “Pray, what did you mean by going on in that absurd way just now?”
“What did I mean?” repeated William, with a little of his former excitement. “Look ye, now, I was waving you back from the Devil’s Cauldron. There’s many a man been drowned there, and been washed away Lord knows where. I’ve heerd tell,” he added solemnly, “they’re carried right down into the Devil’s own kitchen.”
“I’m much obliged to you, Mr. Jones, but I’m used to such places, and I think I know how to take care of myself.”
William Jones shook his head a little angrily.
“Don’t you come here no more, that’s all!” he said, and muttering ominously to himself, retired. But he only ascended the neighbouring crag, and squatting himself there like a bird of ill-omen, kept his eyes on the stranger.