I seemed to feel brighter and more cheerful as we sat together soon
after, discussing whether we should light the candle again, and all at
once Shock exclaimed: "I say."
"What, Shock?"
"I won't shy nothing at you no more."
"It does not seem as if you will ever have the chance, Shock," I cried
dolefully.
"Oh, I don't know, mate," he said; and at that word "mate" I seemed to
feel a curious shrinking from him; but it passed off directly.
"Shall I light the candle?" he said after a pause.
"Yes, just for one look round," I said. "Perhaps we can find a way
out."
The candle was lit, and I started as I saw how much the sand had crept
in during the time that we had been asleep. It had regularly flowed in
like water, and as we held the candle down there was one place where it
trickled down a slope, just as you see it in an egg-boiler or an
old-fashioned hour-glass.
We looked all round; went to the spot where the hole ended in what was
quite hard sandy rock. Then we looked up at the top, where we could
dimly make out the crack or rift through which the smoke had gone, but
there was no daylight to be seen through it, though of course it
communicated with the outer air.
Then we had a look at the part where we had come in, but there the sand
was loose, and we had learned by bitter experience that to touch it was
only to bring down more.
"I say," said Shock, as we extinguished the scrap of candle left, part
of which had run down on Shock's hand; "we're shut up."
"Shut up!" I said indignantly; "have you just found that out?"
"Well, don't hit a fellow," he cried. "I say, have a bit?"
"Bit of what?" I cried, as I realised how hungry I had grown.
"Taller," he said. "Some on it run down. There ain't much; two or
three little nobbles. I'll give yer a fair whack."
"Why, you don't mean to eat that, you nasty fellow," I cried.
"Don't!" he said; "but I do. Here's your half. I've eat worse things
than that."
"Why, Shock," I cried, as a flash of hope ran through me, "I forgot."
"Forgot what?" he cried. "Way out?"
"No," I said gloomily; "but my sandwiches--bread and meat Mrs Solomon
cut for me."
"Bread and meat!" he shouted. "Where is it?"
"In my jacket. I hung it on a stone in the side somewhere here. Light
a match."
Crick--crick--crack went the match; then there was a flash, and the
sputtering bubbling blue flame of the sulphur, for matches were made
differently in those days, when paraffin had not been dreamed of for
soaking the wood.