Through Forest and Stream Part 17

"There are no snakes here," I said angrily.

"It's all very well for you to say so, Master Nat," he replied; "but you just listen. There! Hear that?"

"Yes, the splash against the side of the wave we make in wading."

Pete was about to say something more, but just then my uncle turned his head.

"Use your bamboo well, Nat," he said, "in case of there being any cracks; but the bottom seems very level, and the depth keeps about the same. Nice and cool here. Keep close up. What's that, Cross?"

"Only a stone standing right up, sir; water washes round it. It's best to keep right in the middle, I think."

"You must judge about that," said my uncle. "Go on."

"How far do you think we've come, sir, now?"

"About a quarter of a mile, I should say."

"That's what I thought, sir," said the carpenter, and he waded steadily on, with us following.

After a time it grew very monotonous, but we persevered, finding the underground river sometimes a little deeper, then shallower, so that the water rippled just above our ankles, while we knew at times that the cavern was wide and high, at others that it closed in on either side, and twice over the roof was so close that I could touch it with my stick.

The times when it opened out were plain enough, for our splas.h.i.+ngs or voices echoed and went whispering far away. But otherwise the journey was very tame, and as the feeling of awe died away, the journey seemed uncommonly free from danger, for I felt it was absurd to imagine the waters to be peopled with strange creatures.

We had been wading on for quite a couple of hours, when the water began to grow more sluggish, and to flow very quietly, rising, too, higher and higher, till it was above our waists, and the light reflected from the surface showed that it was very smooth.

"Keep on, sir?" said Cross.

"Yes," said my uncle. "Keep on till it nearly touches your chin. Then we'll turn back."

Pete uttered a low groan, but followed in a despairing way, while we went on for another quarter of an hour, with the water deeper and deeper, and at last, to our great delight, my uncle said:

"There, the water is rippling up in my beard, so it is time to go back."

"Hah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Pete, and then he groaned, for Cross said:

"Not so deep now as it was ten minutes ago, sir."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir. I know by my stick. I keep my hand so that it touches the water, and I've had to move it twice in the last five minutes. It's not so deep now by three inches."

"Go on, then," said my uncle, and we followed, to find the water getting shallower rapidly now. Ten minutes later it was below my waist, and in another ten minutes not above mid-thigh; but it had evidently widened out, for our voices seemed to go off far away into the distance, and my uncle suddenly said:

"Why, Nat, the river must have widened out into a regular lake. How shall we find the place where it narrows again?"

"Foller that there sound, sir, I think," said Cross.

"What sound?" I said.

"That, sir; listen. I can hear where it seems to be rus.h.i.+ng in ever so far away."

"Yes, I can hear it now," I said.

"Forward, then," said my uncle, and with the water once more but little above our knees we waded steadily on after the light which Cross bore breast-high.

"Cheer up, Pete," I said; "we must be getting on now. Why, if it came to the worst we could turn back."

"Never find the way, sir," he said bitterly, and then he uttered a yell, closely following upon a sharp e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n from the carpenter, who suddenly placed his foot in some cavity of the smooth floor, fell forward with an echoing splash, and the next moment the lanthorn disappeared beneath the gleaming surface, leaving us in utter darkness.

_Wash, wash, ripple, ripple_ went the water, and the cries whispered away as fading echoes, and then Pete's voice rose in a piteous wail.

"I knowed it, I knowed it," he said. "We shall never see the light again. Oh, help, Master Nat, help! Here's one of them water-conders got me by the leg to pull me down."

A cry that went to my heart and sent a shudder through every nerve, for the darkness seemed so thick that it might be felt.

CHAPTER TEN.

INTO THE SUNLIGHT AGAIN.

There was a loud splas.h.i.+ng noise, another cry, and the gurgling made by someone being dragged under water; and then, just as I felt that the horror was greater than I could bear, the carpenter cried:

"What's the matter with you? Don't make a row like that."

"I--I felt something ketch hold of me and pulling me down."

"Something! Do you call me something?" growled the carpenter. "Of course I catched hold of you. You'd catch hold if you tumbled as I did.

Bad job about the light, master."

"Yes, a very bad job," said my uncle's voice out of the darkness. "How was it?"

"Stepped down into some hole, sir. Felt myself going right into a crack-like sort o' place."

"All stand still, then," cried my uncle, "while I strike a match.

Where's the lanthorn?"

"Oh, I've got that fast, sir; but you won't get the wick to light, I'm afraid, now."

"Here, stop!" I cried, as a sudden feeling of delight shot through me.

"I can see daylight yonder."

"Bravo! Well done, Nat!" cried my uncle. "It's a long way off, but there's a faint gleam yonder in the direction from which that sound of falling water comes. Let me lead now, Cross. I think I can manage without a light."

"Better feel about well, sir, with your stick," said the carpenter.

"That hole I trod in was rather awkward."

"I'll mind," said my uncle; "follow me close," and he began to wade in the direction of the faint gleam of light.