raging flood burst through with a fearful force, which swept over us, hurling us against the rear wall.
For a few terrifying moments I found myself trapped inside one of the sculpted cells, pinned between pillar and dais—time enough to ponder the riddle of the origin of such cavities. Seat of meditation, or of lying in state? Sequestered ascetic retreat, or mortuary? Or random expression of some giant’s whim?
The pressure eased, but I was drowning. I clawed my way out of the cove, only to find myself spinning out of control, propelled forward by the current, as a tea-leaf revolving in a cup being stirred. Finally I broke surface, gasping, and alternately bumping and scraping against the walls. And then I spied Hector, bobbing in the centre of the maelstrom, picked out indelibly by the natural spotlight’s glare. He saw me and waved.
“Come over here!” he yelled, “less motion in the middle.”
I was about to swim over, when I realized that only two heads were visible.
“For Christ’s sake! where’s Hermione?” I shouted; and without waiting for an answer, I sucked in an almighty breath and dived down, hoping to discover the cove where, like me, I felt certain she had been trapped. Thank God, it took but an instant to find her. She was wedged, as I had been, in one of the monumental hollows, and the impact must have knocked her senseless. I grabbed her legs and pulled for all I was worth, and she floated free, and we rose to the surface. But still she was limp and unconscious. And then the dread notion assailed me. What if she were no longer living?
Even as the fearful thought struck unbidden, it was denied. Her lashes fluttered, and then her eyes opened and seemed to register my presence, whilst the semblance of a smile played upon her parting lips. A violent spasm shook her, and choking and heaving, she began to rid herself of the unutterable flood. And as she restored herself, I continued to hold her with all my strength.
“Thank God!” I breathed, “you’re safe.” But no sooner had I given expression to my relief than it dawned on me that Hector was nowhere to be seen. I scanned the length and breadth of the pool, and each dark corner, and I drew a blank. Nothing! How could I conceivably duck again, without abandoning Hermione?
As I wrestled with this new dilemma, Hector’s head suddenly appeared an arm’s length away. His eyes rested on us for fully ten seconds, and although he uttered not a word, I could tell that he was being steadily redeemed from dismay and disbelief, until he was wholly reassured and himself again. I guessed what had happened: of course he too had plunged in unison with me, and joined the frantic search for his sister. It had been my unerring luck to discover her as speedily as I did, while he continued to hunt until the blood sang in his head. So were the three of us reunited; but without the ability to stand, and with the water still rising so that barely three feet remained between us and the roof, our prospects overall were appalling.
The water had to drain away eventually somewhere. We had seen other tunnels leading from the main passage, which could conceivably have once formed part of an irrigation system. But how long would it take for the level to subside, particularly through channels blocked by the wreckage and alluvium of flash flood? And still the water continued to rise.
I was rapidly nearing the end of my strength, endeavouring to keep myself as well as Hermione afloat. Thankfully she had now regained consciousness and was beginning to respond to the situation, and Hector relieved me of the task of supporting her. He was besides more powerfully built and a better swimmer than I. But strength and endurance notwithstanding, no hope on earth seemed to avail us or prevent our drowning like rats in an inundated sewer.
Yet there remained one possibility of escape; and it dawned on both Hector and me in the same instant that the one, and doubtless the only, practicable exit, given the absence of any prospect of immediate drainage, was provided by the central shaft which served both to ventilate and illuminate the underground chamber.
There was not a moment to lose. Our heads were bobbing but two feet below the ceiling. We paddled over to the dwindling patch of light, which represented our last flickering chance of staying alive.
Looking up the chimney to the pale sky above perceptibly raised our spirit. Should the level of the water continue to rise, there was space enough for the three of us to be borne aloft with it. I likened our circumstances to those of the explorers in the Jules Verne story, ‘Journey to the Centre of the Earth’, who are saved from the subterranean sea, by being propelled up the crater of an extinct volcano to the outer atmosphere. But our progress might not be so rapid, though the distance were much less. And what if the flood had now peaked? It might take forever and a day to recede, by which unconscionable time we should surely have ceased to tread water and perished.
Yet there was another solution. The latent thought, at once concealed and patent, struck like a lightning bolt. The chimney, while its sides appeared smooth and sheer so as to offer scant possibility of foot or hand-hold, had at least the advantage of being sufficiently narrow to contain and lend leverage to a substantial body attempting to ascend it.
I looked at Hector, whose contemplations had clearly reached a similar conclusion. “Well, what do you think? We could give it a try.” But then I realized with a sickening sense of despair that Hermione had not the strength, though she may not have lacked the resolve, to haul herself the whole length of that vertical cleft. Equally, it was painfully certain that neither I nor Hector, whether taking it in turn or heaving together, would be capable of pulling Hermione up the vent between us.
“I think,” said Hector, with that air of assurance that was his stock-in-trade no matter how dire the conditions affecting him, “it will be best if one of us can climb out of here and find a rope, and preferably someone else to give a hand, leaving the other to keep an eye on Hermione. Obviously there’s no way she can haul herself out in her present state.”
“I agree,” I said: “it seems to me that you’re probably better equipped than I to claw your way out of here. I’ll stay with Hermione. I reckon I can hold out for as long as it takes. But, for Christ’s sake, be quick!” Hector’s self-confidence had affected me, superficially at any rate. But I knew in my heart that I should be hard put to it to keep both myself and Hermione afloat for any appreciable length of time.
By now our free head-room had all but disappeared. Hector hoisted himself up into the well, wedging his body in the narrow space directly above us, feet and back braced against the walls. Then he began to ease himself upward with surprising agility and speed.
“Piece of cake!” he shouted down the shaft. “Be out of here in no time flat.” I watched his silhouette receding against the glare. What would happen if he slipped? Came crashing down on us? Knocked us all out? But he did not. Hector kept on going, and very soon had reached the top. I can still see his face peering over the edge and hear his parting shout.
“Just hang on, will you: be back in a tick!”
“Hurry! Be quick!” I gasped rather unnecessarily; and I doubt whether he heard me.
Hermione and I were on our own. In any other circumstances I would have welcomed such seclusion. But here we were, at the bottom of a dismal pit, exhausted and afraid, and fighting for our lives.
Hermione was no longer helpless. I noticed that she had transferred her weight away from me, and was able to support herself freely. But the effort was costing her dear. By reaching up, I found I could hold on to a slender ledge or groove let into the rock, forming a sort of cornice at the base of the well. Guiding her hand on to this slight projection gave us both added purchase, and served us well so long as the level of the water remained fairly constant. In fact there had been no noticeable variation in the latter since about the time that Hector hauled himself clear. If we were not to be buoyed gently up the
