To be sure, skirting the end wall on the extreme left was a ledge along
which the agile monkey made his way to the opposite side of the pit
with little or no difficulty; but, as for following him, by that road at
least, why, the thing was an utter impossibility. The ledge was a mere
thread. Scarce a handbreadth of rock lay between the smooth-cut upper
wall and the perpendicular face of the pit.
“Blow me!” muttered Don, unconsciously echoing the phrase he had so
often heard on the captains lips, “if this ain't the purtiest go as ever
I see!” Which assertion was purely figurative; for as he was only too
well aware it was “no go” at all, so far as the pit was concerned.
Peering over the brink of the chasm he found it to be partially filled
with water, between which and the spot where he stood intervened perhaps
thirty feet of sheer wall. An uninviting pool it looked, lying as green
and putrescent within its sunken basin as if the bones of unnumbered
dead men were rotting in its depths. The very sunshine that fell in
great golden blotch upon its surface seemed to shrink from its foul
touch.
But what struck Don as the strangest feature of this noisome pool was
the constant agitation of its waters. To what was it due? What were
those black, glistening objects floating here and there upon its
surface? And those others, ranged along the half-submerged ledge on the
far side? A small fragment of stone chanced to lie near him. He picked
it up and aimed it at one of these curious objects. To his astonishment
the black mass slowly shifted its position and plunged with a wallowing
splash into the pool. Puggles, who had been looking on with mouth agape,
raised a shout.
“Him corkadile, sa'b! Me sometimes bery often seeing um in riber. Him
plenty appetite got!”
“Ugh, the monsters!” muttered his master, watching with a sort of
horrible fascination the movements of the hulking reptiles, which lifted
their ugly, square snouts towards him as if scenting prey. “Here's a
pretty kettle of fish! Crossing this hole is hound to be a tough job at
the best--but, as if that wasn't enough, these brutes must turn up and
add danger to difficulty. Plenty appetite? I should think so, indeed, in
such a hole as this! However, crocodile or no crocodile, it's got to be
crossed.”
Until now he had rather wondered, to tell the truth, why it was that
not a single native had crossed their path. He had expected to find the
passage guarded. The pit, not to say the crocodiles, shed a flood of
light--not very cheering light, he was forced to admit--upon this
point. No doubt the natives considered themselves in little danger from
intrusion, so long as they were guarded by a dozen feet of sheer pit,
with a dozen brace or so of healthy crocodiles at the bottom of it.
And probably they were right so far as concerned intruders of their own
colour and pluck; but Don was made of sturdier stuff than native clay.
Beyond the crocodile pit lay his chum, a prisoner. Cross it he must,
and would. Therefore, to borrow the expressive phrase of an American
humorist, he “rose to the emergency and caved the emergency's head in.”
Was the pit too wide to leap? Spanning it with his eye, he estimated its
width at a dozen feet; certainly not less. A tremendous leap that, and
fraught with fearful risk. And even should he be able to take it, what
of Spottie and Puggles? They would never dare face it. And what, too, of
the muskets and cutlasses?
Suddenly he descried, just where the continuation of the tunnel pierced
the wall on the far side of the pit, an object that inspired him with
fresh hope and determination. True, it was nothing more than a plank,
but once that plank was in his hands, he could, perhaps, bridge the pit.
A dozen feet at the very least! Could he clear it? To jump short of
the opposite ledge, to reach it, even, and then slip, meant certain and
horrible death at the jaws of the crocodiles. Should he venture? Jack
had ventured much for him. He slipped off his shoes--his stockinged feet
would afford a surer foothold--and quietly bade the blacks stand aside.
Sauntering carelessly into the tunnel--that by which they had approached
the pit--a distance of forty paces or so, he turned, drew a deep breath,
threw all his lithe strength into the short run, his whole soul into the
leap, and---- Would he clear it?
No--yes! A horrified shriek from the blacks, and he was over, the pit a
scant handbreadth behind him.
Dragging the plank from its place of partial concealment, he was
delighted to find a short piece of rope attached to it. Good; it would
facilitate the bridging of the chasm. Standing on the brink, he
coiled the rope--not without a misgiving that it was too short for his
purpose--and, calling to Spottie to catch the end, threw it out over the
pit sailor-fashion. It fell short.
“Stop!” cried he. “This will make it right;” and drawing the lascar's
cord from his pocket, he knotted it to the rope. This time Spottie
succeeded in grasping the end; and so, with the aid of the lascar's
cord, the plank was drawn across. Its length was such that it bridged
the pit from wall to wall, with a foot of spring-way to spare at either
end.
At the time Don thought nothing of this apparently trivial incident;
yet, had he but known it, with that cord he had laid a death-trap for
the-captain's murderer.