“By Jingo, here’s a breeze!” exclaimed Martin, as, after about five minutes, a cold cutting wind whistled through the passage, nearly extinguishing the torch.
“Yes; and now, I believe, the cave cannot be far away. If, however, we do not soon fall in with it, I shall return, and that’s a fact.”
“Agreed,” answered my brother. “But go on, we must find this cave before the light burns too low; for my torch is shorter than yours, and will scarcely serve to light us back.”
Again we advanced, but now we had to make way against a strong head-wind. Then, instead of having to walk upon guano, as in all the other passages, there was beneath us the rock alone, all slimy and slippery. Moreover, water kept continually dripping from above, by which we guessed we were beneath the porous bed of a hill-stream. But now I have not related the greatest difficulties of that passage. Not level, like the other channels in the rock, it was a rather steep ascent—not so steep as that which we had climbed, but more slippery, in consequence of the ever-dripping water, and that, too, from a height of at least fifty feet. Still keeping onwards, and upwards, holding my torch so that it threw a light some yard or two ahead, I suddenly stopped. There was a chasm before us, the darkness of which was impenetrable.
“I wonder how deep it is,” said Martin, throwing a large stone into it. But, judging of the great depth by the lapse of time before we could hear the splashing of the stone in some water at the bottom, I began to tremble.
“I sha’n’t go any further,” said I.
“Never say die, old fellow; that hole may be very deep, but then we have to jump across—not down; so here goes.” And before I could stay him, he stood upon the other side. True, it was not three feet wide, but, then, I feared, as in fact it proved, that it was but an indication of others to come. Nevertheless, as my brother had crossed, I followed; and again, because of being torch-bearer, taking the lead, went forward. But now we seemed to have reached the apex of this emboweled hole, for our pathway was downwards, and the water from above more copious, coming down, in fact, like small rain.
“Stop, Claud,” cried my brother, suddenly. “I think I can hear the rustling of wings, as if of frightened birds.”
Listening for a few seconds, I said, “I think so too, Martin; then we can’t be far from the cave. Come along.” But scarcely had I spoken the words when there came a sudden roar,—a gush of wind,—and we were in total darkness. Moreover, by some mishap, the torch itself slipped from my hand into a pool of water.
“Wait, Claud—don’t move; I will light my torch,” said Martin.