“Nothing very alarming,” answered Dick promptly; “only some water has found its way into the lower part of the place; it will not reach your upper cells; probably some river has overflowed its boundaries.”
“The very river, perhaps,” suggested Hercules assuringly, “that is to carry us to the coast.”
Mrs. Weldon made no reply.
Cousin Benedict was still sleeping as soundly as if he were himself a white ant; the negroes were peering down onto the sheet of water which reflected back the rays of the lantern, ready to carry out any orders given by Dick, who was quietly gauging the inundation, and removing the provisions and firearms out of its reach.
“Did the water get in at the opening, Mr. Dick?” asked Tom.
“Yes, Tom, and consequently we are coming to the end of our stock of fresh air,” was Dick’s reply.
“But why should we not make another opening above the water level?” Tom inquired.
“A thing to be thought about,” said Dick; “but we have to remember that if we have five feet of water here inside, there is probably a depth of six or seven outside. In rising here the flood has compressed the air, and made it an obstacle to further progress, but if we allow the air to escape, we may perhaps only be letting the water rise too high for our safety. We are just as if we were in a diving-bell.”
“Then what is to be done?” asked the old negro.
“No doubt,” replied Dick, “we must proceed very cautiously. An inconsiderate step will jeopardize our lives.” Dick Sands was quite correct in comparing the cone to an immersed diving-bell. In that mechanical contrivance, however, the air can always be renewed by means of pumps, so that it can be occupied without inconvenience beyond what is entailed by a somewhat confined atmosphere; but here the interior space had already been reduced by a third part through the encroachment of the water, and there was no method of communicating with the outer air except by opening a new aperture, an operation in which there was manifest danger.
Dick did not entertain the slightest apprehension that the anthill would be carried away bodily by the inundation; he knew that it would adhere to its base as firmly as a beaver-hut; what he really dreaded was that the storm would last so long that the flood would rise high above the plain, perhaps submerging the anthill entirely, so that ultimately all air would be expelled by the persistent pressure.
The more he pondered the more he felt himself driven to the conviction that the inundation would be wide and deep. It could not be, he felt sure, entirely owing to the downpour from the clouds that the rapid flood was rising; there must have been the sudden overflowing of some stream to cause such a deluge over the low-lying plain. It could not be proved that the ant hill was not already under water, so that escape might be no longer possible, even from its highest point.
With all Dick’s courage, it was yet evident that he was very uneasy; he did not know what to do, and asked himself again and again whether patient waiting or decisive action would be his more prudent course.
It was now about three o’clock in the morning. All within the anthill were silent and motionless, listening to the incessant turmoil which told that the strife of the elements had not yet ceased.
Presently, old Tom pointed out that the height of the water was gradually increasing, but only by very slow ascent. Dick could only say that if the flood continued to rise, however slowly, it must inevitably drive out the air.
As if struck by a sudden thought, Bat called out—
“Let me try and get outside. Perhaps I might dive and get through the opening.”
“I think I had better make that experiment myself,” answered Dick.
“That you never shall,” interposed Tom peremptorily; “you must let Bat go. It may not be possible to get back, and your presence is indispensable here. Think, sir, think of Mrs. Weldon, and Master Jack,” he added in a lower tone.
“Well, well,” Dick assented, “if it must be so, Bat shall go.”
And turning to Bat, he continued—
“Do not try to come back again; we will try, if we can, to follow you the same way; but if the top of the cone is still above water, knock hard on it with your hatchet, and we shall take it as a signal that we may break our way out. Do you understand?”
“All right!” he said, “all right, sir.”
And after wringing his father’s hand, he drew a long breath, and plunged into the water that filled the lower section of the anthill.
It was an exploit that required considerable agility; the diver would have to find the orifice, make his way through it, and, without loss of a moment, let himself rise to the surface outside. Full half a minute elapsed, and Dick was making sure that the negro had been successful in his effort, when his black head emerged from the water. There was a general exclamation of surprise.
“It is blocked up,” gasped Bat, as soon as he had recovered breath enough to speak.
“Blocked up?” cried Tom.
“Yes,” Bat affirmed; “I have felt all round the wall very carefully with my hand, and I am sure there is no hole left; I suppose the water has dissolved the clay.”
“If you cannot find a hole,” exclaimed Hercules, “I can very soon make one;” and he was just about to plunge his hatchet into the side of the anthill, when Dick prevented him.
“Stop, stop! you must not be in such a hurry!”
He reflected for a few moments, and went on—
“We must be cautious; an impetuous step may be destruction; perhaps the water is over the top; if it is allowed to enter, then at once is an end of all.”
“But whatever we do,” urged Tom, “must be done at once; there is no time to lose.”
He was right;
