Chapter Twenty Two.
Two Boys in a Hobble.
Five men, headed by the heavy fellow who spoke in broken English, passed silently before the boys through the soft sand, their figures looking black against the beautiful light which seemed to play on the ceiling of the place. Then the leader stopped, and he gazed sharply round for a few minutes, his eyes seeming to rest for some time upon the sand which the boys had strewed over themselves and burrowed into as far as they could get.
Vince shivered a little, for he felt that it was all over and that they must be seen; but just as he had come to the conclusion that the best thing he could do would be for them to jump up and throw themselves upon the man’s mercy, the great broad-shouldered fellow spoke.
“Dere sall not be any mans here. Let us go up and see vat they do—how they get on.”
Apparently quite at home in the place, he walked to the foot of the slope, and for the first time saw the rope, and was told that it was not theirs.
“Aha!” he cried, “it vas time to come here and look. En avant!”
He seized the rope, and in spite of his size and weight he went up skilfully enough, the others following as actively as the boys would have mounted; and while Vince and Mike lay perspiring beneath the sand, they heard the next order come from the opening on high.
“Light ze lanthorn,” said the Frenchman sharply; and, trembling now lest the light should betray their hiding-place, the boys lay and listened to the nicking of the flint and steel, heard the blowing on the tinder, saw the faint blue gleam of the match, and then the gradually increasing light, as the wood ignited and the candle began to burn; but throwing the rays through into the cavern, they passed over the corner where the boys lay, making it intensely dark by contrast, and they breathed more freely as the dull sound of the closing lanthorn was heard and the Frenchman growled out—
“Vite! vite! I have to lose no time.”
People seemed to be doing something more, far in the passage, which evoked the sharply spoken words of their leader; but what it was the boys could not make out, though they heard a strange clinking, as of pieces of iron being struck together, and then there was a loud clang, as if a crowbar or marlinspike had fallen upon the stony floor.
“Ah, bête with the head of an Anglais cochon—pig! You always have ze finger butter. Now, en avant, go on—dépêchez, make haste.”
There was the sound of footsteps, the shuffling over stones, as if the men were not accustomed to the way; and then the light rapidly grew more feeble, and finally died out.
“Phew!” sighed Vince, expiring loudly and blowing away the sand which had trickled about his lips, but not without first more firmly closing his eyes.
“Hist!” whispered Mike; and then he sputtered a little and whispered the one word “Sand.”
There was no need to say more; the one word expressed his position, and Vince knew all he suffered, for the sand was trickling inside his jersey round the neck, and if he had not raised his head a little it would have been in his eyes, of which he naturally had a horror.
The two boys lay perfectly still in their corner, listening with every sense upon the strain; and for some little time the movements of the men could be heard very plainly, every step, every stone that was dislodged sending its echo whispering along the narrow passage as a voice runs through a speaking tube.
At last all seemed so still that they took heart to whisper to each other.
“What shall we do, Cinder?” said Mike.
“I don’t know, unless we go through into the other cave.”
“What’s the good of that?—they’ll come back soon and find us.”
“Unless we can hide somewhere among the bales, or right up in the back, where it’s dark.”
“That might do,” said Mike. “But, I say, what have they gone after?”
“To try and find us.”
“But they don’t know us.”
“Well, the people who are using this cave, and they must know of the way up to the top. Ah! that’s it.”
“Yes; what?” cried Mike excitedly.
“Hist! don’t speak so loudly. They’ve gone up there to loosen some of the stones and block the way, so as to put an end to any one coming down; or else to lay wait and trap us.”
Mike drew a long, deep breath; and it sounded like a groan.
“Oh dear!” he said; “whatever shall we do? Perhaps we had better get through into the other cavern. They’ll search this thoroughly, perhaps, when they come back; but they mayn’t search that.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Vince. “Yes, it’s the only thing for us to do, unless we go into the seals’ cave and try and hide there.”
“Ugh!” said Mike, with a shudder. “Why, it may be horribly deep, and we should have to swim in ever so far in the darkness before we touched bottom; and who knows what a seal would do if it was driven to bay?”
“Better have to fight seals than be caught by these men, Ladle,” said Vince. “But we ought to have something to fight the seals with. There’s the big stick in the other cavern, and your knife.”
“And yours.”
“Yes; there’s mine,” said Vince thoughtfully. “Ah! of course there’s the conger club with the gaff hook at the end.”
“To be sure. But, oh no, we couldn’t do that. It would be horrible to wade or swim into that hole without a light.”
“We’d take a light,” said Vince.
“Yes, but we’d better try the other cave,” said Mike hurriedly. “I feel sure we could hide in the upper part. Draw a sail over us, perhaps: they’d never think we should hide in an open place like that, where they landed.”
“Very well, then: come on. Here’s the lanthorn and the tinder-box.”
Vince secured these from where they lay half buried in the sand; and then, rising quickly out of their irritating beds, and scattering the loose fine dry grit back, they hurried into the outer cave, seized the rope and grapnel, and Mike was swinging it to throw up into the opening, when his arm dropped to his side, and he stood as if paralysed, looking wildly at his companion.
For that had occurred upon which they had not for a moment counted. They had seen the party of men pass them, and it never struck either that this was not all, till they stood beneath the opening in the act of throwing the grapnel. Then, plainly heard, came a boisterous laugh, followed by the murmur of voices.
They looked at each other aghast, as they saw that their escape in that direction was cut off. There was no seeking refuge among the bales, and in despair the grapnel was thrown down in its place; while, in full expectation of seeing more of the smuggler crew come through the fissure, they were hurrying back to the inner cave, when Vince turned and caught up the conger club and the heavy oaken cudgel, holding both out to Mike to take one, and the latter seized the club.
Enemies behind them and enemies in front, they felt almost paralysed by their despair and dread, half expecting to find the party that had ascended already back. But on reaching the dark cave all was perfectly still for a few moments, during which they stood listening.
“Think we could find a better place to hide in here?” said Mike, in a husky whisper.
“No; they had that lanthorn with them.”
“But if we shuffle down in the sand again?”
“It’s of no use to try it,” said Vince sharply. “Once was enough. We must try the seal cave.”
“Then why did you come in here?” whispered Mike petulantly.
“Because you were afraid to go into that black hole in the dark.”
“And so were you,” said Mike angrily.
“That’s right, Ladle—so I am,” whispered Vince coolly; “and that’s why I came in here for the moment, to think whether we could possibly hide.”
“Hist! I can hear them coming.”
Vince stood listening to the murmur of voices coming out of the opening above them.
“Ever so far back yet,” he whispered; and he dropped upon his knees and opened the tinder-box and the lanthorn, which he had placed before him on the sand.
“No, no; don’t do that,” protested Mike, who was half wild with alarm.
“Can’t help it: we must have a light,” said Vince; and the cavern began to echo strangely with the nicking of the flint and steel.
“Then come in the other cavern,” said Mike, as he stood holding the club and cudgel.
“Don’t bother me. Other fellows would hear me there, and the wind blows in.”
And all the time he was nicking away, and in his hurry failing to get a spark to drop in the tinder.
“Oh! it’s all over,” said Mike. “They’re close here.”
“No, they’re not. Ah! that’s it at last.”
For a spark had settled on the charred linen, and was soon blown into a glow which ignited the brimstone match; but, quick as Vince was in getting it to burn and light the candle, it seemed to both an interminable length of time before he could close the door of the lanthorn and shut the half-burned match in the tinder-box.
This last he was about to hide in a hole he began to scratch in the sand; but on second thoughts he thrust the flat box, with its rattling contents, under his jersey, and caught up the lanthorn, which now feebly lit the cavern.
“Yes,” said Vince; “they’re pretty close now, for the voices sound very distinct. Come on.”
He turned into the narrow passage to enter the outer cave, and they stopped short in horror as they stood in the full light there, for a loud chirruping whistle came suddenly from the fissure before them and up to the left; and it had hardly ceased echoing when it was answered from the inner cave behind them, and was followed by a shout, which sounded as if the men were sliding down the rope and close at hand.
“Not much time to spare,” said Vince, in a hurried whisper. “Come on, Ladle.” And, lanthorn in hand, the light invisible as he hurried to the mouth of the cave, he stepped into the water, and, wading to the low arch on their right, stooped low and went in, closely followed by Mike; and, as they passed on, with the lanthorn light showing them the dripping walls and root of the place, covered with strange-looking zoophytes, there was a loud flopping, rushing, and splashing, which sent a wave above their knees, and made Mike stop short and seize his companion.
“Only a seal. Come on,” said Vince; and he pressed forward, with the water getting deeper instead of more shallow, and a doubt rising in his mind as to whether they would be able to get in far enough to be safe.
“Hist! Quiet!” he whispered, for the sound of voices came to where they stood, and Vince felt that if sound was conveyed in one direction it certainly would be in the other.
“Mustn’t say a word, or they’ll hear us and be in and fetch us out in no time. Come on, or they’ll see the reflection of the light.”
“Can’t,” whispered back Mike faintly. “I’ve got my boot down a crack, wedged in.”
Vince seized him sharply by the shoulder, and Mike nearly fell back into the water; but this acted like a lever, and the boot was wrenched free, just as another whistle was heard and its answer, both sounding strangely near.
Quite certain that if they did not get in farther the reflection from the lanthorn must be seen, Vince waded on, with the water rising from his knees to his thighs, and then, feeling terribly cold, nearly to his waist.
“We mustn’t go any farther,” said Mike in an excited whisper, “or we shall have to swim.”
“Very well, then, we must swim,” said Vince, holding the light well up above the water, and looking anxiously along the dark channel ahead, the roof not being two feet above their caps.
Deeper still—the water above their waists—but the cavern went nearly straight on, and Vince was about to open the door and blow out the light, when Mike caught his arm.
“Don’t do that,” he whispered: “it would be horrible here, with those beasts about. There, you can hear one swimming, and we don’t know what else there may be.”
“But they’ll see the light.”
“Well, let them,” said Mike desperately. “I’d rather wade out.”
“I’ll risk it, then,” said Vince; and then he drew a breath of relief, for at the end of a couple of yards the depression along which they had passed was changing to a gradual rise of the cavern floor, and the water fell lower and lower, till it was considerably below their waists, and soon after shallow in the extreme.
They went on with mingled feelings, satisfied that they were getting where they would not be discovered, and also into shallow water, that promised soon to rise to dry land; but, on the other hand, they kept having hints that they were driving back living creatures, which made known their presence by wallowing splashes, that echoed strangely along the roof, and made the boys grasp club and cudgel with desperate energy.
To their great joy, now, on looking back they found that they could not see the daylight shining in from the mouth upon the water, and as, in consequence, any one gazing into the cave was not likely to see the dim rays of their lanthorn, the boys paused knee-deep, glad to find that they need go no farther along the narrow channel—one formed, no doubt, by the gradual washing away of some vein of soft felspar or steatite.
“Pretty safe now,” whispered Vince.
Plash!
“Ugh!” ejaculated Mike. “What’s that?”
“Seal or some big fish,” said Vince: “something we’ve driven in before us.”
“I don’t want to be a coward, Cinder,” whispered Mike; “but if it’s a great conger, I don’t know what I should do.”
“Hit at it,” replied Vince. “I should, even if I felt in a regular squirm. But we needn’t mind. The things we’ve driven up before us are sure to be in a horrible flurry, and all they’ll think about will be of trying to get away.”
“Think so?”
“Why, of course. You don’t suppose there are any of the things that old Joe talked about, do you?”
“No, of course that’s nonsense; but the congers may be very big and fierce, and isn’t this the sort of place they would run up?”
“I dunno. S’pose so,” said Vince. “They get in holes of the rocks, of course; but I don’t know whether they’d get up such a big, long cave as this. Wonder how far it goes in? Pst!”
Vince grasped his companion’s arm tightly, for they were having a proof of the wonderful way in which sound was carried along the surface of the water, especially in a narrow passage such as that in which they had taken refuge.
For all at once the murmur of voices sounded as if it were approaching them, and their hearts seemed to stand still, as they believed that they were being pursued.
But the next minute they knew that the speakers were only standing at the mouth of the cave and looking in, one of the men apparently whispering close to them, and with perfect distinctness:—
“Seals,” he said. “I came and listened last time I was here, and you could hear ’em splashing and walloping about in the water. Like to go on in?”
“No,” said another voice. “Get ’em up in a corner and they’ll show fight as savage as can be; and they can bite too.”
“Good polt on the head with a club settles them, though, soon enough.”
“Ay, but who’s to get to hit at ’em, shut up in a hole where you haven’t room to swing your arm? ’sides, they’re as quick as lightning, and they’ll come right at you.”
“What, attack?”
“Nay, I don’t say that: p’r’aps it’s on’y trying to get away; but if one of they slippery things comes between your legs down you must go.”
“Think there’s any in now?”
“Bound to say there are. They comes and goes, though. Listen: p’r’aps you’ll hear one.”
As it happened, just then there was a peculiar splashing and wallowing sound from some distance farther in, and it ended with an echoing report, as if one of the animals had given the surface of the water a heavy blow with its tail.
“No mistake—eh?” said one of the voices.
“Let’s get the lanthorn and go in,” said one eagerly.
“Nay, you stop wheer you are. Old Jarks is wild enough as it is about some one being here. If he finds any of us larking about, he’ll get hitting out or shootin’, p’r’aps.”
“I say,” said another voice—all sounding curiously near, and as if whispering for the two fugitives to hear—“think anybody’s been splitting about the place?”
“I d’know. Mebbe. Wonder it arn’t been found out before. My hye! I never did see old Jarks in such a wax before. Makes him sputter finely what he does blaze up. I don’t b’lieve as he knows then whether he’s speaking French or English.”
“Well, don’t seem as if we’re going to ketch whoever it is.”
“What! Don’t you be in a hurry about that. If old Jarks makes up his mind to do a thing, he’ll do it.”
“Think he’ll stop?”
“Stop? Ay, for a month, but what he’ll ketch whoever it is. Bound to say they’ve been walking off with the silk and lace at a pretty tidy rate.”
“They’ll be too artful to come again, p’r’aps.”
“Ah! that’s what some one said about the mice, but they walked into the trap at last.”
“What’ll he do if he does ketch ’em?”
“Well, there, you know what old Jarks is. He never do stand any nonsense. I should say he’d have a haxiden’ with ’em, same as he did with that French douane chap. Pistol might go off, or he might take ’em aboard and drop ’em—”
Murmur, murmur, murmur—and then silence.
The speakers had evidently turned away from the mouth of the seal hole, and the boys did not hear the end of the sentence.
“Oh!” groaned Mike faintly.
“I say, Ladle, if you make a noise like that they’ll hear you, and come and fetch us out.”
“I couldn’t help it. How horrid it sounds!”
“Yes,” said Vince very softly, “but he has got to catch us yet. Who’s old Jarks? Here, I know: they mean the Frenchman: Jacks—Jacques, don’t you see?”
“Yes, I see,” said Mike dismally.
“He’s the skipper, of course. French skipper with an English crew. They must be a nice set. I say, do you feel cold?”
“Cold? I don’t feel as if I had any feet at all.”
“We must have some exercise,” said Vince grimly; and he uttered a faint chuckling sound. “I say, though, Mike don’t be down about it. He’s only a Frenchman, and we’re English. We’re not going to let him catch us, are we?”
“It’s horrible,” said Mike. “Why, he’ll kill us!”
“He hasn’t caught us yet, I tell you, lad. Look here: we know everything about the caves now, and we can go anywhere in the dark, can’t we?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Mike dismally.
“Very well, then; we must wait till it’s dark, and then creep out and make for the way out.”
“Is no way out now: it’s either stopped up or watched.”
“Well, then, we’ll get out by the mouth of the smugglers’ cave, and creep up on to the cliffs somewhere.”
“Current would wash us away; and if we could get to the cliffs you know we shouldn’t be able to climb up. We’re not flies.”
“Who said we were? Well, you are a cheerful sort of fellow to be with!”
“I don’t want to be miserable, Cinder, old chap, but it does seem as if we’re in a hole now.”
“Seem? Why we are in a hole, and a good long one too,” said Vince, laughing softly.
“Ah, I can’t see anything to joke about. It’s awful—awful! Cinder, we shall never see home again.”
“Bah! A deal you know about it, Ladle. That French chap daren’t shoot us or drown us. He knows he’d be hung if he did.”
“And what good would it do us after he had killed us, if he was hung? I shouldn’t mind.”
“Well, you are a cheerful old Ladle!” said Vince. “Why don’t you cheer up and make it pleasanter for me?”
“Pleasanter?” said Mike. “Oh!”
“Be quiet, and don’t be stupid,” said Vince. “Look here: don’t forget all you’ve read about chaps playing the hero when they are in great difficulties.”
“Who’s going to play the hero when he’s up to his knees in cold water?” cried Mike bitterly.
“Well, he has a better chance than if he was up to his neck; same as that fellow would have a better chance than one who was out of his depth.”
“I say,” cried Mike excitedly, “does the tide run up here and fill the cave?”
“No. It was high water when we came in, wasn’t it? We never saw it more than half-way up the arch. Now look here, Ladle: we’re in a mess.”
“As if I didn’t know!”
“And we’ve got to get ourselves out of it, because nobody knows anything about this place or our having come here. Think Lobster will say he has seen us come this way once? He’s sure to hear we’re missing and that they’re looking for us.”
“I don’t suppose he will,” said Mike dismally. “If they came this way they wouldn’t find the hole. They’ll think we’ve gone off the cliff and been drowned. What will they say! what will they say!”
These words touched Vince home, and for a few minutes a peculiar feeling overcame him; but the boy had too much good British stuff in him to give way to despair, and he turned angrily upon his companion:
“Look here, Ladle,” he said: “if you go on like this I’ll punch your head. No nonsense—I will. I don’t believe that French skipper dare hurt us, but we won’t give him the chance to. We can’t see a way out of the hobble yet, but that’s nothing. It’s a problem, as Mr Deane would say, and we’ve got to solve it.”
“Who can solve problems standing in cold water? My legs are swelling already, same as Jemmy Carnach’s did when he was swept out in his boat and nearly swamped, and didn’t get back for three days.”
“You’re right,” said Vince. “I can’t think with my feet so cold. Let’s get into a dry place.”
“What, go out?”
“No,” said Vince; “we’ll go in.”
Chapter Twenty Three.
A Strange Night’s Lodging.
Mike shrank from attempting to penetrate farther into the narrow hole; but Vince’s determination was contagious, and, in obedience to a jog of the elbow, he followed his companion, as, with the lanthorn held high enough for him to look under, the cudgel in his right-hand, he began to wade on, finding that the passage twisted about a little, very much as the tunnel formed by the stream did—of course following the vein of mineral which had once existed, and had gradually decayed away.
To their great delight, the water, at the end of fifty yards or so, was decidedly shallower; the walls, which had been almost covered with sea anemones, dotted like lumps of reddish green and drab jelly, only showed here, in company with live shells, a few inches above the water, which now, as they waded on, kept for a little distance of the same depth, and then suddenly widened out.
Vince stopped there, and held up the lanthorn, to see the darkness spread all around and the light gleaming from the water, which had spread into a good-sized pool.
“Mind!” cried Mike excitedly: “there’s something coming.”
He turned to hurry back, but Vince stood firm, with his cudgel raised; and the force of example acted upon Mike, who turned towards him, grasping the conger bat firmly, as the light showed some large creature swimming, attracted by the light.
But the boys did not read it in that way. Their interpretation was that the creature was coming to attack them; and, waiting till it was within reach, Vince suddenly leaned forward and struck at it with all his might.
The blow only fell upon the water, making a sharp splash; for the lad’s movement threw the lanthorn forward, and the sudden dart towards the animal of a glaring object was enough. The creature made the water surge and eddy as it struck it with its powerful tail, and went off with a tremendous rush, raising a wave as it went, and sending a great ring around to the sides of the expanded cavern, the noise of the water lapping against the walls being plainly heard.
This incident startled, but at the same time encouraged the lads, for it gave them a feeling of confidence in their own power; but as soon as they recommenced their advance, there was another shock,—something struck against Vince’s leg, and in spite of his effort at self-command he uttered a cry.
There was no real cause for alarm, though; and they grasped the fact that the blow was struck by one of a shoal of large fish, or congers, making a rush to escape the enemies who had invaded their solitude, and in the flurry one of them had struck against the first object in its way. “I’m sure they were congers,” whispered Mike. “I felt one of them seem to twist round me.”
“Never mind: they’re gone,” replied Vince. “Come on. I fancy there must be a rocky shore farther on, as it’s so shallow here, and it’s all sand under foot.”
“Not all: I’ve put my feet on rock several times,” whispered Mike.
“Well, that doesn’t matter. There’s plenty of sand. Look out!”
There was a tremendous splashing in front, and the water came surging by them, while they noticed now that the sides of the place were once more closing in as they advanced.
“Shall we go back?” said Vince; for the sudden disturbance in front, evidently the action of large animals, or fish, had acted as a check to him as well as his companion.
Mike was silent for a few moments. Then he said hoarsely: “I’ll stick to you, Cinder, and do what you do.”
“Then come on,” said the boy, who felt a little ashamed of his feeling of dread.
“Can’t be sharks, can it?” whispered Mike, as, in addition to the lapping and sucking noises made by the water, there was a peculiar rustling and panting.
“Sharks, in a cave like this? No. They’re seals, I’m sure, four or five of them, and they’ve backed away from us till they’ve got to the end. Hark! Don’t you hear? There is a sort of shore there, and they are crawling about.”
He waded forward two or three steps, holding up the light as high as he could; but the feeble rays, half quenched by the thin, dull horn, did not penetrate the gloom, and at last, as the strange noises went on, the boy lowered the lanthorn, opened the door, and turned the light in the direction just before them.
They saw something then, for pairs of eyes gleamed at them out of the darkness, seen vividly for a moment or two, and disappearing, to gleam again, like fiery spots, somewhere else.
Mike wanted to ask if they really were seals; but in spite of a brave effort to be firm, his voice failed him, the surroundings were so strange, and, standing there in the water, he felt so helpless. Every word about the horrors of the Black Scraw told to them by old Daygo came to him with vivid force, and his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and there was a sensation as of something moving the roots of his hair.
Then he started, for Vince closed the lanthorn with a snap and said hoarsely:—
“Hit hard, Mike. They must go or we must, and I’m growing desperate.”
“Go on?” faltered Mike.
“Yes, and hit at the first one you can reach. They’re lying about there, on the dry sand.”
His companion’s order nerved Mike once more; and, drawing a deep breath, he whispered “All right,” though he felt all wrong.
“Don’t swing the club, or you may hit me,” said Vince. “Strike down, and I’ll do the same. Now then, both together, and I’ll keep the lanthorn between us. Begin.”
They made a rush together through the water, which, after a few steps, grew rapidly shallow; and then they were out upon soft sand, striking at the dim-looking objects just revealed to them by the light; and twice over Vince felt that he had struck something soft, but whether it was seal or sand he could not tell. Violent strokes had resounded from the roof of the echoing cavern, as Mike exerted himself to the utmost, hitting about him wildly in despair, while every few moments there was a loud splashing. Then Mike fell violently forward on to his face, for one of the frightened creatures made a dash for the water. The panting, scuffling, splashing, and wallowing ceased, and Vince held up the light.
“Where are you?” he cried, forgetting the necessity for being silent.
“Here,” said Mike, rising into a sitting position on a little bank of coarse sand, which was composed entirely of broken shells.
“Hurt?”
“Yes;—no. I came down very heavily, though.”
“Fall over one of the seals?”
“No, it went between my legs, and I couldn’t save myself. Well, we’ve won, and I’m glad we know now they were only seals. It was very stupid, but I got fancying they were goodness knows what horrible creatures.”
“So did I,” said Vince, with a faint laugh. “Old Joe’s water bogies seemed to be all there, with fiery eyes, and I hit at them in a desperate way like. I say, you can’t help feeling frightened at a time like this, specially when one of them fastens on you like a dog.”
“What!”
“Yes,” said Vince quietly, and without a tinge of boasting in his utterances. “I was whacking about at random, when one came at me, and made a sort of snip-snap and got hold, and for a bit it wouldn’t leave go; but I whacked away at it as hard as I could, and then it fell gliding down my leg, and the next moment made another grab at me, but its head was too far forward, and it only knocked me sidewise. Such a bang on the thigh: I nearly went down.”
“But where are you bitten?” cried Mike excitedly.
“Here,” said Vince, laughing, and holding the lanthorn to his side. “Only my jacket, luckily. Look, it tore a piece right out. What strength they’ve got! I felt it worrying at it, wagging its head like a dog. I say, Mike!”
“Yes.”
“I was in a stew. I wasn’t sorry when the brute dropped down.”
“It’s horrible,” said Mike.
“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t feel a bit scared now. I tell you what, though: it has warmed me up. I’m not cold now. How are you?”
“Hot.”
“Then let’s have a look round.”
Raising the lanthorn, the two prisoners cautiously advanced for about twenty feet, and then were stopped by solid rock, forming a sharp angle, where the two walls of the cave met. Their way had been up a slope of deep, shelly sand, which crushed and crunched beneath their feet, these sinking deeply at every step. Then the light was held higher, with the door open; and by degrees they made out that the pool was about fifty or sixty feet broad, and touched the rock-walls everywhere but out by this triangular patch of sand, which was wet enough where the seals crawled out, the hollows here and there showing where one had lain; but up towards the angle it was quite dry, and the walls were perfectly free from zoophyte or weed—ample proof that the water never rose to where they stood.
“Well,” said Vince, setting down the lanthorn close to the wall, “we’ve won the day, the enemy is turned out of its castle, and the next thing, I say, is to get off our wet, cold things.”
“I can’t take matters so coolly as you do,” said Mike bitterly. “I was only thinking of getting away out of this awful place.”
“Oh, it isn’t so awful now you know the worst of it,” said Vince coolly, though a listener might have thought that there was a little peculiarity in his tone. “One couldn’t help fancying all sorts of horrors, but when you find there is nothing worse than seals—”
“And horrible congers: I felt them.”
“So did I,” said Vince; “but I’ve been thinking since. The congers wouldn’t live in a place where seals were. There’d be fights, and perhaps the seals would get the best of them.”
“But don’t I tell you I felt one swim up against me and lash its great body half round my leg?”
“I believe those were young seals, swimming for their lives to get out to sea. There, take off your wet things and wring them out. I’m going to fill my boots with fine sand. It’s not cold in here, and I dare say the things will dry a bit.”
“But suppose the seals come back.”
“They won’t come back while we’re here, Ladle—I know that. They’re full of curiosity, but as shy as can be. They can see in the dark, and—”
“Dark!” cried Mike.
“To be sure. We mustn’t go on burning that candle.”
“But—”
“Look here, old chap,” said Vince quietly: “there are only about two inches of it left. That wouldn’t last long, and I’m sure it’s better to put it out and save it for some particular occasion than to burn it now.”
“But there’s just enough to light us to the mouth of this terrible hole.”
“And give ourselves up to old Jarks, as that fellow called him, whose pistol might go off by accident, or who might take us on board his vessel and let us fall overboard.”
“That was only what the man said,” argued Mike petulantly. “If we go boldly up to this smuggler captain and tell him that we only found out the caves by accident, and that we haven’t touched any of the smuggled goods—”
“Pirates!”
“Smuggled.”
“You stuck out it was pirates.”
“But I didn’t believe it then. Well, if we go to him and say that we have always kept the place a secret, and that we’ll go on doing so, and swear to it if he likes, he will let us go.”
“Go out boldly to him, eh?” said Vince.
“Yes, of course.”
“Ah, well, I can’t. I don’t feel at all bold now. It all went out of me over the fight with the seals. That one which fastened on my jacket finished my courage.”
“Now you’re talking nonsense,” said Mike angrily.
“Very well, then, I’ll talk sense. If that captain was an Englishman perhaps we would do as you say; but as he’s a Frenchman of bad character, as he must be, I feel as if we can’t trust him. No, Ladle, old chap, I mean for us to escape, and the only thing we can do now is to wait till it’s dark and then try. We mustn’t run any risks of what Mr Jarks might do. Now then, you do as I’ve done before I put out the light.”
“You’re not going to put out the light.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I won’t have it. It shall burn as long as I like. Besides, you couldn’t light it again.”
“Oh yes, I could. I’ve got the tinder-box, and it has always been too high up to get wet.”
“I don’t care,” said Mike desperately; “it’s too horrible to be here in the dark.”
“Not half so horrible as to be in the dark not knowing that you could get a light if you wanted to. We could if I put it out. We couldn’t if it was all burned.”
“I don’t care, I say once more—I say it must not be put out.”
“And I say,” replied Vince, speaking quite good-humouredly, while his companion’s voice sounded husky, and as if he were in a rage—“and I say that if you make any more fuss about it I’ll put it out now.”
As Vince spoke he made a sudden movement, snatched the lanthorn from where it stood by the wall, and tore open the door.
“Now,” he cried, catching up a handful of sand, “you come a step nearer, and I’ll smother the light with this.”
Mike had made a dart to seize the lanthorn, but he paused now.
“You coward!” he cried.
“All right: so I am. I’ve been in a terrible stew to-day several times, but I’m not such a coward that I’m afraid to put out the light.”
Mike turned his back and began to imitate his companion in stripping off his wet lower garments, wringing them thoroughly, and spreading them on the dry sand, with which he, too, filled his saturated boots.
Meanwhile Vince was setting him another example—that of raking out a hole in the softest sand, snuggling down into it and drawing it over him all round till he was covered.
“Not half such nice sand as it is in our cave, Ladle,” he said.
There was no answer.
“I say, Ladle, don’t I look like a cock bird sitting on the nest while the hen goes out for a walk?”
Still there was no reply, and Mike finished his task with his wet garments.
“Sand’s best and softest up here,” said Vince, taking out the tinder-box from the breast of his jersey and placing it by the lanthorn.
Mike said nothing, but went to the spot Vince had pointed out, scraped himself a hollow, sat down in it quietly, and dragged the sand round.
“Feels drying, like a cool towel, doesn’t it?” said Vince, as if there had been no words between them.
“You can put out the light,” said Mike, for answer.
“Hah, yes,” replied Vince, taking the lanthorn; “seems a pity, too. But we shan’t hurt here. Old Jarks won’t think we’re in so snug a spot.”
Out went the light, Vince closed and fastened the door, and then, settling himself in his sandy nest, he said quietly,—
“Now we shall have to wait for hours before we can start. What shall we do—tell stories?”
Mike made no reply.
“Well, he needn’t be so jolly sulky,” thought Vince. “I’m sure it’s the best thing to do.—Yes, what’s that?”
It was a hand stretched out of the darkness, and feeling for his till it could close over it in a tight, firm grip.
“I’m so sorry, Cinder, old chap,” came in a low, husky voice. “All this has made me feel half mad.”
There was silence then for a few minutes, as the boys sat there in total darkness, hand clasped in hand. Then Vince spoke.
“I know,” he said, in a voice which Mike hardly recognised: “I’ve been feeling something like it, only I managed to stamp it down. But you cheer up, Ladle. You and I ought to be a match for one Frenchman. We’re not beaten. We must wait.”
“And starve,” said Mike bitterly.
“That we won’t. We’ll try to get right away, but if we can’t we must get something to eat and drink.”
“But how?”
“Find where those fellows keep theirs, and go after it when it’s dark. They won’t starve themselves, you may be sure.”
Mike tried to withdraw his hand, for fear that Vince should think he was afraid to be in the dark; but his companion’s grasp tightened upon it, and he said softly,—
“Don’t take your fist away, Ladle; it feels like company, and it’s almost as good as a light. I say, don’t go to sleep.”
“No.”
Mike meant to sit and watch and listen for the fancied splash that indicated the return of the seals. But he was tired by exertion and excitement, the cavern was warm and dry, the sand was become pleasantly soft, and all at once he was back in the great garden of the fine old manor-house amongst the flowers and fruit, unconscious of everything else till he suddenly opened his eyes to gaze wonderingly at the thick darkness which closed him in.
Vince had fared the same. Had any one told him that he could sleep under such circumstances, in the darkness of that water den, the dwelling-place of animals which had proved to him that they could upon occasion be desperate and fierce, he would have laughed in his face; but about the same time as his companion he had lurched over sidewise and fallen fast asleep.
Chapter Twenty Four.
Getting Deeper in the Hole.
For some moments Mike sat up, gazing straight before him, dazed, confused, not knowing where he was. Time, space, his life, all seemed to be gone; and all he could grasp was the fact that he was there.
At last, as his brain would not work to help him, he began to try with his ringers, feeling for the information he somehow seemed to crave.
He touched the sand, then a hand, and started from it in horror, for he could not understand why it was there.
By degrees the impression began to dawn upon him that he had been awakened by some noise, but by what sound he could not tell. He could only feel that it was a noise of which he ought to be afraid, till suddenly there was something or somebody splashing or wallowing in the water.
That was enough. The whole tide of thought rushed through him in an instant, and, snatching at the hand, he tugged at it and whispered excitedly,—
“Cinder—Vince!—wake up. They’ve come back.”
“Eh? What’s the matter? Come back? What, the smugglers? Don’t speak so loud.”
“No, no—the seals. Light the lanthorn. Where did you put the club and stick?”
“Stop a moment. What’s the matter with you? I’ve only just dropped asleep. Did you say the seals had come back?”
“Yes: there, don’t you hear them?”
“No,” said Vince, after a few moments’ pause, “I can’t hear anything. Can you?”
“I can’t now,” said Mike, in a hoarse whisper; “but they woke me by splashing, and then I roused you.”
“Been dreaming, perhaps,” said Vince. “I suppose we must have both dropped asleep for a few minutes. Never mind, we can keep awake better now, and— Hullo!”
“What is it?”
“Here: look out, Mike—look out!”
There was no time to look out, no means of doing so in the darkness, and after all no need. Vince had placed his hand upon something hairy and moist, and let it stay there, as he wondered what it was, till that which he had felt grasped the fact that the touch was an unaccustomed one, and a monstrous seal started up, threw out its head and began to shuffle rapidly away from where it had been asleep. The alarm was taken by half a dozen more, and by the time the two boys were afoot and had seized their weapons—splash, splash, splash!—the heavy creatures had plunged back into the pool from which they had crawled to sleep, and by the whispering and lapping of the water on the walled sides of the cave the boys knew that the curious beasts were swimming rapidly away towards the mouth.
“Nice damp sort of bedfellows,” said Vince, laughing merrily. “I say, Mike, I’m all right. I don’t know, though—I can’t feel my legs very well. Yes, they’re all right.”
“What do you mean?” said Mike. “I meant they haven’t eaten any part of you, have they?”
“Don’t talk stuff,” said Mike, rather pettishly. “How could we be so foolish as to go to sleep?”
“No foolishness about it,” said Vince quietly. “We were tired, and it was dark, and we dropped off. I say, I’m hungry. Think we’ve been to sleep long?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps. There’s only one way to find out: go to the mouth of the hole.”
“Yes—that’s the only way,” said Vince; “and now the use of the candle comes in. I don’t know, though: it seems a pity to light the last bit. Shall we go and see?”
Mike suppressed a shiver of dread, and said firmly,—“Yes.”
Another point arose, and that was as to whether they should put on their clothes again.
It seemed a pity to do so and again get them wet; but both felt repugnant to attempting to wade back without them, and they began to feel about, half in dread lest the seals which had visited them in the night should have chosen their clothes for a sleeping place.
They were, however, just as they had been left, and, to the astonishment of both, they were nearly dry.
“Why, Mike,” cried Vince, “we must have slept for hours and hours.”
“We can’t. The cave’s warm, I suppose, and that accounts for it. How are your trousers getting on?”
“Oh, right enough, only they’re very gritty. Glad to get into them, though.”
In a very short time they were dressed, and it being decided that they would not return here if it were possible to avoid it, the lanthorn and tinder-box were taken, and they made up their minds to make the venture of wading back in the dark.
Mike was rather disposed to fight against it, but he yielded to his companion’s reasoning when he pointed out that before long they would be able to see the light, and their lanthorn would be superfluous.
Vince rose, and starting with the cudgel outstretched before him, he stepped down into the water and began to wade.
His first shot for the opening in front proved a failure, for he touched the wall across the pool, but finding which way it trended he was not long in reaching the place where it gradually narrowed like a funnel—their voices helping, for as they spoke in whispers the echoes came back from closer and closer, the water deepened a little, and then Vince was able to extend the cudgel and touch the wall on either side.
Once only did he feel that they must have entered some side passage, and he stopped short with the old feeling of horror coming over him as the thought suggested the possibility of their wandering away utterly and hopelessly lost in some fearful labyrinth, where they would struggle vainly until they dropped down, worn out by their exertions, to perish in the water through which they waded.
“What’s the matter?” said Mike, in a quick, sharp whisper; and Vince remained silent, not daring to speak, for fear that his companion should detect his thoughts by the tremor he felt sure that there would be in his voice.
“Do you hear? Why don’t you speak?” said Mike. “Don’t play tricks here in the dark.”
“I’m not playing tricks,” replied Vince roughly, after making an effort to overcome his emotion. “I’m leading, and I must think. Are we going right?”
“You ought to know. I trusted to you,” said Mike anxiously, “and you wouldn’t light the candle.”
“Yes, it is all right,” said Vince; and, mastering the feeling of scare that had come over him, he passed his hand along the wall, feeling the slimy cold sea anemones and the peculiar clinging touch of their tentacles. Then he pressed steadily on, till all at once there was a faint dawning of light. They turned one of the bends, and the dawn, became bright rays, which rapidly increased as they softly waded along, being careful now to speak to each other in whispers, and to disturb the water as little as possible; till at last there in the front was the low arch of the cave, framing a patch of sunny rock dotted with grey gulls, and an exultant sensation filled Vince’s breast, making him ready to shout aloud.
The sensation of delight was checked by feeling Mike’s hand suddenly upon his shoulder tugging him back, and at the same moment he saw the reason. For there, in the opening, evidently standing up to his shoulders in water, was some one gazing straight into the narrow cavern, and Vince felt that they must have been heard and a sentry placed there to watch for their coming out.
“But it is impossible for him to see us,” thought Vince; and he stood there pondering on what it would be best to do, while a feeling of hope cheered him with the idea that perhaps after all they had not been heard, and that it was by mere accident that the man was gazing in.
The next moment he felt again ready to utter an exultant cry, for there was a sudden movement of the watching head, a dive down, and the water rose and fell, distinctly seen against the light.
“Bother those old seals!” he said: “they’re always doing something to scare us. I really thought it was a man.”
“Looked just like it,” said Mike, making a panting sound, as if he had been holding his breath till he had been nearly suffocated.
“That chap must have been able to see us though we are in the dark. What wonderful eyes they have!”
“Perhaps the light shines on us a little,” replied Mike.
“Very likely; but it’s curious what animals can do. I wonder at their coming and lying down so near us.”
“That was because we lay so still, I suppose. But we oughtn’t to talk.”
“No; come along: but what are we going to do? We shan’t be able to stand in the water very long.”
They waded very slowly on, hardly disturbing the surface, and straining their ears to catch the slightest sound; but the faint roar of the currents playing among the rocks, and the screams and querulous cries of the sea-birds which flew to and fro across the mouth of the cavern were all they could hear.
They were pretty close to the entrance now, but they hesitated to go farther, and remained very silent and watchful, till a thought suddenly struck Vince, who placed his lips close to Mike’s ear.
“I say,” he said, “oughtn’t it to be this evening?”
“Of course.”
“Then it isn’t. It’s to-morrow morning.”
“Nonsense!”
“Well, I mean it’s morning, and we’ve slept all night.”
“Vince!”
“It is, lad. Look—the sun can’t have been up very long; and oh, Mike, what a state they must have been in at home about us!”
Mike uttered a faint groan.
“It’s horrid!” continued Vince passionately. “What shall we do?”
Mike was silent for a few minutes, and then said sadly,—“They won’t have slept all night.”
“No,” said Vince wildly; “and they’ve been wandering about the place with people searching for us. Mike, it’s of no use, we mustn’t try to hide any longer. That Jarks daren’t hurt us, and we had better go out boldly.”
“Think so?”
“Yes. You see, we can’t stay here standing in the water, and if we go back to the sand in there—”
Mike shuddered. “I can’t go back there,” he said.
“That’s just how I feel,” said Vince, speaking in a low, excited tone. “I didn’t say much, but I couldn’t help being horribly frightened.”
“It was enough to scare anybody there in the dark, not knowing what might happen to us next,” sighed Mike. “We can’t go back. If we do we should soon starve. Think we could go to the mouth here and wade out, and then swim to that opening we saw?”
“No,” said Vince decidedly, as he recalled the aspect of the turbulent cove from where he sat astride the stone; “no man could swim there, and I don’t believe that a small boat could live in those boiling waters.”
“Then we must go boldly out,” said Mike. “Who’s this fellow? He has no right to come here. Why, my father would punish him severely for daring to do it!”
“If he could catch him, Ladle, old fellow. But the man knows it, and that’s what frightens me—I mean, makes me fidgety about it. But we must go.”
“There is one chance, though,” said Mike eagerly: “he may have taken fright and gone with all his smuggled stuff.”
“Of course he may,” said Vince eagerly. “Why, here are we fidgeting ourselves about nothing. While we’ve been sleeping in this seal cavern, he has had his men working away to carry off all that stuff to his ship. Poor old Ladle! He won’t even get enough silk to make his mother a dress. Well, are you ready?” he continued, with forced gaiety. “I’m hungry and thirsty, and my poor feet feel like ice.”
Mike hesitated.
“We must go,” said Vince, changing his tone again. “Mike, old chap, it’s too horrid to think of them at home. Come on.”
Mike did not speak, but gave a sharp nod; and, summoning all their resolution, and trying hard to force themselves to believe that the smugglers had gone, they waded carefully on, now breathing more freely as they reached the mouth, with the bright light of morning shining full in to where they were, and sending a thrill of hope through every fibre and vein.
They paused, but only for a few minutes; and then, after a sign to Mike, Vince took another step or two, and leaned forward till he could peer round the side of the low arch and scan the interior of the outer cave.
Then, slowly drawing back, after a couple of minutes’ searching examination, he spoke to Mike in a whisper.
“There isn’t a sign of anybody,” he said; “and I can’t hear a sound. Come on, and let’s risk it.”
Their pulses beat high as, bracing themselves together, they stepped right from the low archway, moving very cautiously, so as to gaze out as far as they could command at the cove.
They fully expected to see some good-sized vessel lying there, or at least a large boat; but there were the sea-birds and the hurrying waters—nothing more. “They must have gone,” whispered Vince. “Unless they are where we can’t see—round by their cave.”
“I believe they’ve gone,” said Vince; and they stepped in on to the soft, loose sand, to find everything belonging to them untouched. Then, gaining confidence, Mike stepped boldly inward, right up to the right-hand corner beneath the fissure, and stood listening, but there was not a sound.
“Right,” he whispered, as he stepped back: “they have gone.”
But the boy’s heart beat faster as he led the way now to the entrance of the inner cave; for there was the possibility of the passage being blocked, and, another thing, it was early morning, and the smugglers might be sleeping still in the soft sand.
Vince whispered his fears, and then, going first, he passed into the narrow passage without a sound, and stole cautiously along it till he could crane his head round and look.
For some moments he could see nothing, but by degrees his eyes grew accustomed to the soft gloom, and the walls and roof and sandy floor gradually stood out before his eyes, and the next minute, to his great joy, he could see the rope running up into the dark archway and disappearing there.
Nothing more: no sound of heavy breathing but his own—no trace of danger whatever.
He drew back again and placed his lips to his companion’s ear.
“It’s all right,” he whispered; “they must have gone. Shall we step back and go to the far cave and see?”
“No,” said Mike decisively. “Home.”
“Yes: home!” said Vince. “Come on.”
Leading once more, he stepped into the cavern, whose interior now grew plainer and plainer to their accustomed eyes, and, crossing at once to the bottom of the slope, he seized the rope and gave it a sharp tug.
“Will you go first?” he whispered.
“I don’t mind,” replied Mike. “No,—you;” and Vince tightened the rope again, feeling that in a very short time they would be able to set the anxieties of all at rest.
“Father won’t be so angry when he knows,” thought the boy; and, hanging there to the rope, he was about half-way up when he let go and dropped to the sand, for a figure suddenly appeared in the dark opening over his head, and before he could recover from his astonishment a piercingly shrill whistle rang through the inner cave.