Читать книгу The Young Treasure Hunters - Alfred Judd - Страница 6

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IT occupied Tony Wickham and Morrice something less than fifteen minutes to get up to the Grange grounds and back, and when they regained the beach, Morrice was carrying a gardener’s pick and Tony a spade. It was hardly expected that both of these tools would be required, and indeed it was doubtful whether there would be room to wield them in the confined space of the cave, but they felt that they might as well be fully armed while they were about it.

Their first surprise was the great headway which the tide had made during the short period of their absence; already the foremost ripples were within a few feet of the mouth of Big Cave. Farther on, however, owing to the curving-in of the cliff, the breadth of shore not yet covered by the sea was much greater.

“We shall have to look alive,” said Morrice, as he blundered over the crags, “or the tide will ring us in. We mustn’t risk that.”

“No,” agreed Tony, “and from what I saw of the place, any attempt at digging in that hole is bound to be a stiffish job. We might just have one try now, and another shot to-morrow. Hallo—where are the others?”

Rounding a shoulder of rock, they had come within sight of where the lower cave was situated. But neither Jack nor Joyce was to be seen.

“They’ve gone inside, I expect,” replied Morrice, and nothing more was said until they were crouching by the opening. “Tally ho, you two!” shouted the elder brother. “Out you come!”

But, of course, there was no reply, and inspection proved that they were not there. Morrice did not search to the innermost limit of the cave, and, even if he had done so, it is hardly likely that he would have noticed the tiny side-cavity through which Jack and Joyce had crept.

“I can guess what has happened,” declared Morrice. “Jack, you know, didn’t agree about what we spotted being a properly cut cross, and I’ll bet those two have wandered farther along the shore to have a little hunt on their own!”

“But why should they?” asked Tony; “there aren’t any other caves, are there?”

“Not proper ones, but there are some deep crannies in the cliff about half a mile farther on, which are caves of a sort.”

Tony whistled. “If that’s so,” he declared, “they stand a strong chance of being cut off by the sea before getting back!”

“You’re right.” Morrice glanced about him in some alarm, a frown on his face. “They aren’t safe to be left alone,” he exclaimed, “and I ought to have thought of that. Tell you what—we’d better get back while it’s still passable and push out the boat. Then we can row steadily round and pick them off the ridges when we spot them coming back.”

“Good idea!” approved Tony, and the pair hurried at once to put the plan into action. The Hardings had a trim little sailing boat of their own, beached clear of the rocks beneath the sandhills. The younger couple, however, were not allowed to use it unless their father, the tutor, or Morrice was in command.

Having hidden their gardening implements among the rushes, our two young friends ran the boat out, but they had not nearly reckoned on the force of the incoming flood. For the first few moments they were helpless against it, though presently they learnt the trick of bearing up against the flow, and keeping their bow pointed away from the snags. Despite this, they made no progress, and at length, from sheer breathlessness, they were forced to give up—indeed, they were swung round and practically washed back to the shore.

While still in the thwarts, however, and before they had time for discussion, Tony lifted his head and cried out that a fishing-smack was bearing down on the tide.

Morrice gave a swift glance. “Old Ben Dobble!” he exclaimed; “that’s great, we’ll be able to ask his advice. And perhaps he’s come round from the village!”

Within a few minutes the solitary seaman in the other craft, having cast anchor, had sprung out, being greeted the moment he did so by Morrice, who was standing ankle-deep in the shallow water.

“Ben, ahoy!” was his shout, “have you come from the harbour?”

The old salt was about to lift out a round fish basket, but he set it back. “Cheer-ho, Mas’r Morrice!” he boomed, in response. “I didn’t know you was ’ome, sir!”

The old man waded up and gripped Morrice’s hand, jerking a genial nod at Tony. “No,” he answered, “I haven’t come straight from the harbour.”

Morrice rapidly described what had happened, and the smacksman shook his head. “I’ve ’ad a fair sight o’ the rocks from Bishop’s Point, and I’ve ’ad my eye on ’em, too. I’ve seen not a critter. But——” Ben tugged his beard. “Are you sure they ain’t in that cave, sir?” he questioned sharply.

“Of course we’re sure,” was the ready response. “We crept in to see. They certainly weren’t there.”

Ben laid a hand on Morrice’s shoulder. “Mark me, lad—as I believe I’ve told you afore—that part o’ the cliff is a regular rabbit-warren. There’s a proper network o’ tunnels there, as I know well. They’ve got blocked up now, and people don’t believe it nowadays; but I say that it is so. Now, Mas’r Jack is a hactive young blade, and where ’e goes Miss Joyce’ll follow. I wouldn’t say but what——”

“You mean,” exclaimed Morrice, “that they’ve somehow worked their way in? I don’t think that’s a bit likely,” he added, as the old fellow nodded assent, “but we ought to do something to make sure. Do you think, if we all tried together, that we could get the Merry Maid along near there?”

“We’ll ’ave a try, anyhow,” replied Dobble stoutly, “and we’ll try at once! Come along.”

Approaching high-water mark, the rush of the tide was now considerably lessened, and with Dobble at the stroke oar they made strong, steady progress. As they arrived opposite the Big Cave, about whose mouth the waves were dashing and breaking, old Ben seemed suddenly to prick up his ears.

“Did you ’ear anything, sir?” he questioned over his straining shoulder.

“No, what——?”

“Ease ’er round, sir—put ’er head to the flow. That’s it. Keep a steady pull on ’er or we’ll be a’top the snags. What’s that?”

The other pair could not be certain whether they had heard a cry or not; but at Ben’s suggestion they raised their voices together in a sturdy “Hallo!” A few minutes later there ceased to be any doubt; a thin call, as from the depths of the cave, had reached them above the rustle of the water.

It would be hard to describe the mixed sensations which Morrice and Tony underwent during the strain of the next five minutes. At the end of that period, however, a voice which was undoubtedly Jack’s rang out clearly from the gloom of that gaping, wave-worn arch which they were watching so intently but which they dared not approach. They answered the cries, and presently they caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure far back in the cavern. Jack, removing his boots and stockings, had waded as far into the encroaching water as he dared.

It was Ben Dobble’s lusty voice which now addressed him. “Are you both there, Mas’r Jack—both you and Miss Joyce?”

“Yes—both here!” came the response. “But we can’t possibly get out!”

“No, no; but you’m safe enough. The tide won’t reach the limit o’ that cave, not by five good yards. And the water’ll be dropping again now. Tell Miss Joyce that; tell ’er to keep ’er heart up!”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Jack assured them cheerfully; and certainly, after all that he had just been through, the youngster had full cause to be cheerful. “I say, Ben,” he added shrilly, “we’ve found them. The tunnels!”

Old Dobble, in his momentary excitement, almost forgot to ply his oar.

“There now—what did I say!” he boomed forth. “But it was risky,” he added more soberly, “most mortal risky. You might both hev been lost, an’ that’s the truth. Can you hear, sir; how far did you get?”

“Miles, I should say!” was the shouted reply. “Anyhow, we did lose ourselves! We entered by the small cave and we wandered about till at last we found ourselves in this one!”

Dobble actually ceased to pull. “Sakes!” he gasped, “an’ I would never quite believe it. Peter Cole, out on the light there, used to ’old that them two caves was jined up together, an’ I never would believe ’im! Well, this is something to be larned an’ no——”

Ceasing abruptly, he dug in his blade, for the boat was listing perilously towards the foam-spattered rocks.

Meanwhile, in the cave, young Jack had been recalled by a sharp outcry from Joyce. The latter, with her brother’s jacket for a cushion, had been left perched on the hindermost ledge of the cavern. Wading back now, however, the boy found her kneeling on the sandy floor, her eyes fixed on something she had noticed there.

“What is it?” demanded Jack; “what have you found?”

Joyce pointed down at the lump of rock before which she bent. “Look!” she cried; “don’t you see?”

For a moment, as a matter of fact, Jack could discern nothing. To aid his vision, therefore, he promptly struck a match, and instantly he saw what it was that had caused Joyce to exclaim. Her finger, indeed, was resting on a small cross, firmly carved into the hard stone!