Part 17 (1/2)
”Were 'ave you bin?” growled c.o.ke. ”We've lost a good ten minnits.
You ought to 'ave known, Hozier, that it's darkest just after sunset.”
”We could not have started sooner, sir.”
”W'y not? We were kep' waitin' up there, searchin' for you.”
”That was our best slice of luck to-day. Had any of you appeared on the ledge you would have been seen from the launch.”
”Wot launch?”
”The launch that visited us this morning. Ten minutes ago she was standing by at the foot of the rock.”
Philip spoke slowly and clearly. He meant his news to strike home. As he antic.i.p.ated, De Sylva broke in.
”You _saw_ it?” he asked, and his deep voice vibrated with dismay.
”Yes. I even made out, by actions rather than words, that the darkness alone prevented the soldiers from coming here to-night. The skipper would not risk it.”
De Sylva said something under his breath. He spoke rapidly to San Benavides, and the latter seemed to be cowed, for his reply was brief.
Then the ex-President reverted to English.
”I have decided to send Marcel and Domingo ash.o.r.e first,” he said.
”They will select the safest place for a landing. Marcel will bring back the catamaran, and take off Mr. Hozier and the young lady.
Captain c.o.ke and I will follow, and the others in such order as Senhor Benavides thinks fit. The catamaran will only hold three with safety, but Marcel believes he can find another for Domingo. Remember, all of you, silence is essential. If there is an accident, some of us may be called on to drown without a cry. We must be ready to do it for the sake of those who are left. Are we all agreed?”
A hum of voices answered him. De Sylva was, at least, a born leader.
CHAPTER VIII
THE RIGOR OF THE GAME
In obedience to their leader's order, Marcel, the taciturn, and Domingo, from whose lips the Britons had scarce heard a syllable, squatted on the catamaran. Marcel wielded a short paddle, and an almost imperceptible dip of its broad blade sent the strangely-built craft across the pool. Once in the shadow, it disappeared completely.
There was no visible outlet. The rocks thrust their stark ridge against the sky in a seemingly impa.s.sable barrier. Some of the men stared at the jagged crests as though they half expected to see the Brazilians making a portage, just as travelers in the Canadian northwest haul canoes up a river obstructed by rapids.
”Well, that gives me the go-by,” growled c.o.ke, whose alert ear caught no sound save the rippling of the water. ”I say, mister, 'ow is it done?” he went on.
”It is a simple thing when you know the secret,” said De Sylva. ”Have you pa.s.sed Fernando Noronha before, Captain?”
”Many a time.”
”Have you seen the curious natural ca.n.a.l which you sailors call the Hole in the Wall?”
”Yes, it's near the s'uth'ard end.”
”Well, the sea has worn away a layer of soft rock that existed there.
In the course of centuries a channel has been cut right across the two hundred yards of land. Owing to the same cause the summer rains have excavated a ravine through the crater up above, and a similar pa.s.sage exists here, only it happens to run parallel to the line of the cliff.