WHAT THE BLAST DISCOVERED
Grenville revived, with his characteristic pertinacity. An impulse to
save himself was still alive in his brain. Actuated by its survival,
he struggled galvanically to rise.
"Oh, please!" said a voice, that sounded remarkably familiar. "Please
try to keep quiet for a little!"
Yet he had to sit up, with one hand to support him, if nothing more.
He was still on the raft, and there was Elaine, on her knees, pulling
hard at his oars to drive the float ashore. She was dripping wet from
head to foot.
For a moment Grenville regarded her blankly, while the situation
cleared in his brain.
"What ho, skipper!" he said, a bit faintly. "You didn't swim out to
this contraption?"
"You are bleeding," she answered, tugging no less stoutly at the oars.
"I thought you might be dead. The tide was floating you away--and I
don't see why---- Won't you please sit still and behave?"
Grenville had felt of his head, then arisen to take the sweeps from her
hands, though the catamaran was about to ground on the beach.
"You did swim!" he said. "I should have warned you of the sh---- I'm
an idiot!--trying to blow my head off!" He knelt on the edge of the
platform and began to bathe his scalp.
"I hate that cave!" Elaine declared, with emphasis. "And I hate those
awful bombs! I sha'n't have any clothing left, if you go on killing
yourself like this every day!" She was tearing another bandage from
her petticoat and felt obliged to scold.
Grenville was not at all certain it would not be decidedly pleasant to
be wounded constantly. It was perilously joyous to be scolded and
bandaged by Elaine. He certainly submitted most meekly as she now tied
up his head. He was not deeply cut, and felt considerably aggrieved
that the blow had rendered him unconscious.
"You'll find the skull isn't dented," he observed, "unless it's from
the inside out."
"There's a great big swelling," said Elaine. "And suppose you had been
killed?"
Grenville made no immediate reply. He was gazing abstractedly out
across the water. His inner vision conjured up the picture of a brave,
unselfish little comrade, swimming fearlessly out to board a raft
whereon a helpless figure was lying--a pale-faced girl who would
doubtless have had no hesitation had she known of all the sharks in the
world. He could see her scramble on the float to ease him where he
lay. And then her hot tussle with the clumsy oars, as she knelt on the
wave-slopped platform, to urge it and him to the shore!
"I'm a thoughtless brute," he told her, finally. "But I felt the work
was important."
"It is important! I'm sure of that," she answered, at once all
contrition. "But perhaps next time--you might take me along---- If
anything should kill us both--why, that would be simple and easy."
He understood her thoroughly.
"Quite an idea," he answered, briefly. "I was sure you understood the
situation---- To-morrow I'll go and see what the blast accomplished.
I shall have no more explosions, however--so I may not need a chaperon."
She was slightly hurt. His offhand speeches were not always absolutely
welcome, despite her former attitude and declarations. After all, it
was God, she told herself, who had brought this partnership into being.
It was He who had cast her into exile with the bravest man she had ever
known.
"You mean," she said, "you do not want me along."
"It's the tide that's ungallant," he said. "It objects to anyone's
landing on the ledge."
"But you said I might be obliged to hide there later."
"I did, and till then--let's enjoy the sunshine--while it lasts."
Elaine said no more. The hint of inimical things to come sufficed once
more to carry her thoughts away from all personal emotions.
They returned in silence to the terrace, Grenville first having urged
his catamaran within the estuary, to secure it with the line. The
commonplace duties of their daily existence were promptly resumed, and
the cave as a topic was forgotten.
The following day, while he waited for the tide to rise to its highest
level, Grenville completed the labor at the furnace, where additional
vessels for water were being permitted to cool. The importance of
being enabled to store an unusual quantity of water, should the need
arise for such a storage, had early been presented to his mind. He was
therefore particularly gratified to find this present firing of jugs
considerably more successful than the first.
Elaine was engaged in weaving two nets, in which these clay vessels
could be carried. With a yoke for Grenville's shoulders, or even for
her own, a pair of the jugs could thus be fetched at once and the labor
thereby materially hastened, should a moment arrive in which such haste
would be wise.
It was ever disturbing to her mind to reflect on this possible need.
The thought was never wholly absent from her as she watched the
horizon, far and near, for the steamer that did not come. Not even in
her happiest moments--and many were happy, she confessed, despite all
the hardships of their daily life, as they two toiled together, an
exiled pair alone in this tropical garden--not even in these was that
sinister, underlying _motif_ too indistinct to be acknowledged. It
hung like a thing in vague suspense above their every occupation,
throughout the day and night.
A tremor more tangible played through her breast as Elaine watched
Grenville take a torch as before and depart for the third of his visits
to the cave.
Without consulting the lord and master of the island, she moved her
work from the shelter of her "house" to the cliff-edge, from which she
could watch him a time before he should come to the cavern itself and
so be lost to sight.
She was thus enabled, unobserved, to inspect him, to her heart's
content, as Grenville came rowing his raft along the tide, far down
below her rocky aerie.
The man was absorbed in the task thus set to be accomplished. He did
not look up, as Elaine thought he might, as he skimmed along under the
wall.
When he came to the cave he was somewhat surprised at the wreckage his
blast had accomplished. Not only was the former ledge completely
shattered, but much had fallen below in the sea, while the wall to the
right, where the bomb had expended its energy, was agape with
new-formed fissures.
Chiefly concerned with the dam of rock, Grenville secured his raft with
boyish impatience and carried his torch ashore. A moment afterwards he
walked through the breach in the erstwhile solid ledge, and could
readily imagine the roar with which the water, formerly behind the
barrier, had tumbled torrentially into the swirling tide.
There was still a tiny trickle flowing down the channel made by the
bomb. The basin formed by the bottom of the cavern was still
exceedingly damp, and here and there it retained a shallow pool of
water too low for the gateway to drain. He walked about freely,
pausing here and there to hold his torch aloft and measure the cave's
dimensions by means of the light from both the open entrance and his
blazing, yellow flame.
He was struck, in gazing at the wall he had broken near the cavern's
mouth, with the size of one of the fissures there, where the blast had
wrought its havoc. So black and significant appeared this new-formed
aperture that, although a certain eagerness to proceed forthwith to the
treasure niche was upon him, he returned at once to investigate the
hole.
What he found upon his first superficial examination was merely a
crevice, half as wide as his body, where a plinth of rock had been
split from the mass and dropped towards the breach in the dam. Into
this crevice he thrust his torch, and was instantly interested to note
that its flame blew decidedly from him, in a draught of air that was
flowing unmistakably upward. Moreover, on lifting himself sufficiently
high to look about in the dimly lighted space, he became convinced that
either a second chamber or a passage like a hall existed just back of
the principal cavern, from which it was partitioned by the wall.
He planted his torch between some loosened fragments and shook at the
piece that blocked this auxiliary cave. He thought he could topple the
slab out forwards on the ledge. But, when he rocked it with his
customary vigor, it fell abruptly backwards and disappeared in the
gloom.
The hole he had thus created was quite large enough to admit him,
squeezing in sideways. He promptly entered with his torch, finding the
foothold rough and insecure. The chamber itself was small and low. He
could readily touch the ceiling.
Ahead it apparently ended in a wall, with a gaping crack. On moving
there, however, he found, to his surprise, an angular turn, still wide
enough to admit of easy passage. The way under foot was slightly
upward. It was pitted rock, but surprisingly free from broken
fragments.
Persuaded at once that no other man had ever discovered this
channel-like chamber in the tufa, and that therefore no treasure would
be found concealed in its depths, Grenville continued onward with
unabated interest, curious to see how far the passage might extend.
It narrowed again, and pierced decidedly upward through the bulk of the
huge rock mass. Obliged at last to stoop too low for comfort,
Grenville began to wonder if the thing would never end. It appeared to
be exceptionally straight for a natural tunnel in volcanic rock, but
Sidney began to realize its upward incline had rapidly increased.
When he presently found himself enabled to stand once more erect, he
paused to cast a light on the walls to confirm a new thought in his
mind. He had finally remembered a feature long before noted on top of
the terrace itself--the long straight crack through the massive tower
of tufa and the "slip" that had once formed a shelf.
Not without a certain sort of excited hope did he now discover
unmistakable signs that some convulsion of the island had at one time
actually parted the right-hand mass of rock from the larger portion on
the left and permitted the former to drop. If this channel could only
continue----
He went upward again, more swiftly, wondering thus belatedly how far he
might have come and regretting he had not thought to pace the distance.
Through a place ahead he was barely able to force his supple body.
Then came another passageway that was not only narrow but low.
Fragments of stone were likewise under foot, and the passage formed
another angle.
Beyond this turn he found himself confronted by more broken stone and a
difficult ascent. But, toiling up there eagerly, he presently raised
his eyes and beheld a bright white line, as narrow as a streak of
lightning.
It was simply a crack through a shattered bit of wall that closed up
the end of the passage. It was daylight--sky--that he saw thus
slenderly defined, and the man could have shouted in joy!
He could not, however, escape to the outside world when he presently
came to the wall. For all the fragments he loosened and threw back
behind him, he could not open the exit, or even determine where it was.
Only work outside could accomplish this end, and this he was wild to
begin.
About to turn back and hasten to the terrace, he realized instantly how
utterly impossible might be the task of finding the place from without.
But Elaine was doubtless on the terrace. If only his voice could be
carried to her ears, she could mark the spot at once.
But, although he called with all his lusty might, there was no response
from the camp where Elaine was doubtless working. His torch was
burning low, with the draught fanning constantly past him through the
channel. It occurred to his mind to go back to Elaine and instruct her
how she could assist him. He also thought to place his torch against
the crack and permit its smoke to filter through and perhaps thereby
blacken the fissure.
Until he felt he must save what remained, to illumine his way downward,
he burned the torch close to the rocks. And thus, when he came to the
larger cave again, he was once more obliged to depart with not even a
sight of the treasure.