"Ydoll! Ydoll! Look! look!" cried Joe, suddenly. "Here, Grip! Grip!
Quick!"
But Gwyn had seen and caught at the dog's collar as soon as Joe had
shouted to him; and as rapidly as his trembling fingers would allow, he
untied the string which bound a white packet to the ring in the dog's
collar.
It was a note written in pencil, the words large, and easy to see; but
they seemed to sail round before the lad's eyes, and minutes had elapsed
before he could read in his father's bold hand:--
"Try and keep a good heart. Grip has shown us the way, and, please
God, we'll reach you before many hours have passed. Tie a
handkerchief to the dog's collar if you get this, and are all well.
Send him back at once.
"Arthur Pendarve."
A strange sobbing sound escaped from Gwyn's lips as with trembling hands
he tied his pocket-handkerchief tightly to the dog's collar.
"Now, Grip!" he cried in a husky voice which did not sound like his own;
and the dog, who was standing panting, with his tongue out and curled up
at the tip, uttered an eager bark. "Home! home!" cried Gwyn; and the
dog made for the hole, dashed in, and disappeared, while his master
crept away into the darkness of the lowest part of the long, sloping
grotto-like place, and half-an-hour must have passed before he joined
the others and lay down close to the hole where Grip had disappeared.
They had no idea of how the time passed, and they could not speak, for
their hearts were too full. Words did not come till they heard a fresh
barking, and the dog came scuffling out of the opening into the light,
this time with the Colonel's flask tied to his collar, and stood panting
while it was untied.
It was one of the large flat leather-covered bottles with a silver screw
top and silver cup, which slipped on the bottom; and now, for the first
time awaking to the fact that he was in a fainting condition, Gwyn
slipped off the cup, unscrewed the top, and poured out some of the
contents of the bottle, handing the vessel to Hardock, who shook his
head.
"Nay, sir," he said, "I'll wait till we get out; I'm a tot'ler."
Gwyn handed the silver cup to Joe, who tasted it.
"Eggs and milk," he cried, and drank the contents with avidity before
returning the cup.
"Now, Sam," said Gwyn, refilling it.
"Ay, I don't mind that, sir," said Hardock; "and I was thinking I was a
bit too particklar when it was sent to save our lives. Hah! That's
good," he added, as he drained the last drop. "Sorry I can't wash it
out for you, sir. Shall I go down to the water?"
"No, no, I don't mind drinking after you," said Gwyn, as he tremblingly
poured out his portion, which was less than the others had taken; and
he, too, drank the most grateful draught he had ever had, while the dog,
who had couched, placed his head on the lad's knee and looked up at him
with all a dog's reverence and affection for his master.
But there was no note this time.
The flask was re-fastened to the dog's collar, and he was sent back; and
then the prisoners lay listening to the rushing and gurgling of the air
and water, wondering how long it would take to reach them, for Hardock
had been down to find that it had ascended the cavity for some distance;
but he expressed his belief that it would be hours before it would hurt
them, and the consequence was that, heartened by the prospect of escape,
utterly exhausted mentally and bodily as they were, Nature came to their
aid, and they all dropped off into a deep sleep.
Gwyn was the first to awaken many hours later, to find all in darkness,
and fight alone through the strange feeling of confusion in which he
was. But once more Grip came to his help; for no sooner had his master
begun to move than he burst out barking loudly.
This woke the others, equally confused and startled at being in the
darkness, while the noise of the wind roaring through the cavity sounded
appalling.
Gwyn's first effort to light a match was a failure, but the second,
within the shelter of a lanthorn, succeeded, and a fresh candle was
finally lit.
By this they found that Grip was the bearer of another note, and in
addition a packet, which upon being opened was found to contain a card
and a pencil.
The note was very brief, stating tersely that efforts were being made to
enlarge the way through which the dog had come up, and asking for
information regarding their state.
This was furnished as well as the circumstances would allow, Joe holding
the light, while, after placing the card on the smoothest place he could
find, Gwyn wrote the answer--the principal point he emphasised being
that they were safe so far; but the water was rising, and they had
nearly come to the end of their candles.
But even as he wrote there was a cheering sound heard through the
whistling of the wind--a sharp, clear clink as of hammer and chisel upon
stone.
"Hark! do you hear?" cried Joe, wildly; "they are coming down to us. Oh
work, work hard, before the water rises."
He shouted this in a wildly frantic way, and then watched eagerly while
Gwyn tied the card in a handkerchief and secured it to the dog's collar,
Grip going off directly, as if he quite understood the business now.
This done, Joe and Hardock lay down close to the orifice and listened to
the clinking of the hammers, trying the while to imagine what kind of
passage existed beyond the wedge-like block of stone, and calculating
how long it would be before they were rescued. But that was all
imagination, too, for there was nothing to base their calculations upon.
Meanwhile Gwyn was more matter-of-fact; for he took the lanthorn and
descended to where the water had risen, and there, clinging with one
hand, he held the light down, to gaze with a feeling of awe at the
bubbling surface, which was in a violent state of agitation, looking as
if it were boiling. Every now and then it was heaved up and then fell
back with a splash.
Gwyn's object in descending the sharp slope had been to make a mark upon
the rock with his knife just at the level of the water, and then try and
scratch other marks at about a foot apart, so as to descend again and
see how much higher the water had risen.
But this seemed to be impossible, for the level was always changing, the
water running up several feet at times and then descending, playing up
and down evidently as the pressure of the confined air increased or
sank.
Still he made some marks, and then returned to the others to join them
in listening.
But this proved weary work, for it was only now and then that they could
hear the sound of the hammer, for the current of air seemed to bear it
away; while, when by chance the sounds did reach their ears they were
most tantalising, at one time seeming very near, and at others so faint
that they felt that the work going on must be very distant.
The dog came back with food and lights and stayed with them, now
trotting to the opening to bark at the sounds; and at times standing at
the edge of the lower cavity to bark fiercely at those from below, his
ears and the thick wolf frill about his neck being blown about by the
fierce current of air.
And so the time went on, first one and then the other descending to find
that the water was steadily rising, and after each examination there was
a thrill of dread as the looker-on asked himself, Would they win the
race?
How long was it? Was it night, now, or day?
Questions, these, which they could not answer, and at last, with their
miserable state of despondency increasing, they lay half-stupefied,
listening for the help which, as the hours wore slowly by, seemed as if
it would never come.
The end was unexpected when it did arrive, after what, in its long-drawn
agony, seemed like a week. Gwyn had sent a message by the dog imploring
for news, for he said the water was very close to them now, as it was
lapping the top of the cavity, and every now and then brimming over and
slowly filling the bottom of the sloping cavern.
All at once, heard plainly above the rush of the air and apparently
close at hand, there was the loud striking of hammers upon stone.
Gwyn thrust his head into the opening at once, and shouted, his heart
bounding as a hollow-sounding cheer came back from just the other side
of the wedge.
"Who is it?" cried Gwyn, with the despondency which had chilled him
taking flight.
"Vores," came back. Then--"Look here, sir! I can't break through this
stone. I've no room to move and strike a blow. How far can you get
away from it?"
"About sixty feet," said Gwyn, after a few moments' thought.
"Any place where you can shelter from flying stones?"
"Oh, yes, several."
"Then I'm going back for a cartridge, and I shall put it under the
stone, light a slow fuse and get away. It must be blasted."
"But you'll blow the roof down and stop the way."
"No fear of that, sir. If I do, it will only be in pieces that we can
get rid of this end, you that. It must be done, there's no other
chance."
"Is there plenty of room out your way?"
"Sometimes. Here and there it's a close fit to get through. I've been
nearly fast more than once. Now, then, I'm going."
"Must you go?" said Gwyn, mournfully.
"Yes, but I'll soon be back. Keep a good heart, and we'll have you out
now."
"Is my father there?"
"Yes, sir, and the Major, and your mother, too."
Gwyn's emotion choked his utterance for a time. Then he spoke, but no
answer came, and the feeling of loneliness and despair that came over
him was horrible.
He backed out and repeated the conversation, Joe giving a faint cheer,
and Hardock shaking his head.
"He may bury us alive," he said, "but the smoke and damp can't hurt us,
for this wind will sweep it all out at once. How long will he be?"
It seemed quite an hour before Gwyn, who had crept right up the hole
till he could touch the stone, heard any sound, and then it came all at
once, when he was beginning to lose all hope again.
The sound was the tap of a hammer upon stone, so near that he felt the
jar.
"Mr Gwyn, sir," came from close by.
"Yes, here."
"I've got the cartridge, and I'm going to wedge it under the stone, but
it's going to be a hard job to light the match in this strong wind.
Now, you go back, and when you're all safe I'll do my work and get safe,
too, for it will be like a great cannon going off at both ends at once.
How long will it take you?"
"Two minutes," said Gwyn.
"I'll count two hundred, and then begin."
Gwyn shuffled back, gave his news, and the trio of prisoners crept
behind angles of the cavern, Gwyn taking the light; and then they waited
what seemed to be an hour, with the conclusion growing that Vores had
been unable to light the fuse, and had gone back.
"Sam!" shouted Gwyn at last.
"Ay, ay, sir."
"You both stay where you are; I'm going to crawl up to the mouth of the
hole, and speak to Vores."
"Nay, stay where you are," cried Hardock. "It may be an hour before the
charge is fired. We don't know what trouble he has to get it to--"
A deafening roar broke Hardock's speech in two; and to Gwyn it seemed as
if he had received a violent blow on both ears at once. Then in a dull,
distant way he heard pieces of stone rattling, and there was perfect
silence; the wind had ceased to roar and whistle, and Gwyn began to
struggle, for he felt as if a hand had suddenly clutched his throat, and
he knew he was suffocating.
The next moment there was a rush and roar again; the air that had been
compressed and driven back rebounded, as it were, rushing through the
open cavity, and Gwyn felt that he could breathe again.
"Where are you?" cried Hardock; and now Gwyn realised that the explosion
had put out the light.
"Here. Where's Joe Jollivet?"
"I'm here," panted the lad. "I couldn't breathe for a bit. Think the
block's blown away?"
"I'm going to feel," replied Gwyn. "Here!" he cried, excitedly, "the
floor's covered with pieces of broken stone; but I can't find my way.
Yes, all right; I can feel the way in."
"Mind you don't get wedged in with the bits, my lad," cried Hardock,
excitedly. "Here, let me go first."
"No," said Gwyn, "I--"
His next words were not heard, for his head and shoulders were in the
cavity and his voice was swept on before him ere he could say, as he
intended, "I shall soon be back."
But there was no risk of getting himself wedged, for the explosion had
swept everything before it; and he crept on and on, till his heart gave
a bound, for he realised that he must have passed the spot where the
stone had wedged up the orifice, and the way to life and light was open.
"Ahoy!" he shouted with all his might; and "Ahoy!" came from a distance,
for the wind, which was whistling by him, drove the answer back. But in
another minute, as he extended his hand to feel his way along, he
touched something warm in the darkness, and his hand was seized.
That warm grasp, which meant so much to the lad, acted upon him like the
discharging rod of the electrician upon a Leyden jar; in an instant his
energy seemed to have left him, and he lay prone in the narrow way, only
half-conscious of being very slowly dragged over rough stone for some
time before the dizzy, helpless sensation passed off, and he struggled
slightly.
"Let go!" he cried. "I must go back and tell them."
"No, my lad, I'll do that," said a familiar voice. "There's room to
pass here. Think you can go on crawling up now?"
"Yes--yes, I'm all right. Did I faint?"
"I suppose so, sir. Wait a moment." There was a moment's pause, and
then Gwyn heard the words bellowed out, "All clear! Got to them!
Coming now."