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 shaft, then I hoped we could stay where we were until help came. But if the tide turned, so-to-speak, and the flow diminished, we should be faced with the choice of hanging on for dear life, or being reduced to floundering around once more in the black lake below. And I was filled with the awful fear that the waters would recede with such force, that we should be caught in the resulting vortex and sucked down some dark corridor, never to see the light of day again. Holding grimly on to the ledge with one hand and ever more tightly on to Hermione with the other, I tried to banish these gloomy notions from my mind.
“Are you all right?” It was her voice, straining, breathless in my ear. Her voice, faint and filled with apprehension. Still, it was her voice, expressing concern for me, rather than for her own condition. She was smiling a forlorn, reflective smile; her eyes glistening and moistened from within. I pressed my lips to her brow and to her eyes in turn.
“And what about you? You, O dearest one! Try to hold on. I won’t let you go.”
The smile had reached her eyes. She placed her lips on mine momently.
“Mind your heads!” The caution came bellowing down the well. Hector let fall the coil of rope. We ducked. I seized the cord which had the insubstantial feel of a cow tether, and tying it under Hermione’s arms, prayed that it would do the trick.
“Haul away!” I shouted; and the next instant, she was whirling furiously up the shaft and into the light.
Then came my turn. Spinning up, and over the lip, and back to the land of the living. What blessed relief!
We lay in the long grass, gazing heavenwards, careless of the cutting blades, numb to all discomfort. I was keenly conscious of the song of birds, chirr of cricket, and cicada’s drone: the crescendo came from all around, where none had been before, and smote my ears so long accustomed to the vaulted noiselessness below. Had it always been so, obliterated by absorption or the inner thrum? No. Fair Nature’s mood had revived, shedding all suspicion and every care. The sky was clear once more. The storm had passed; might not have been, were it not for the constant rush of aggravated flow.
Hermione lay beside me. I brushed her lips with mine; no crushing clasp, our slightest contact let the current flow. I smelt her sweetness and I felt the pressure of her smile.
“Now now you two!” Who else but Hector? He was grinning like a Cheshire-cat. “It must be time for tea.” And although I am not inclined to take tea in the tropics, it seemed to me, a very sound idea.
“Tea for three: just follow me.” I drawled. “Would you like it at the ‘Bush’ or the ‘Shampoo’?” ‘Shampoo’ was the waggish invention of Hector, who always referred to the gracious Hotel Tjampuhan by that name.
We decided on the ‘Shampoo’. Hermione, who seemed to have made a most miraculous recovery, wondered whether we should be feasting on soap-suds and pomade, or some other creamy substance. The derivation explained, it was pointed out that cream, as in clotted, was rather hard to come by: at least we should be glad to settle for a pot of Java tea and sticky cakes.
“But how did you manage to find the rope so quickly?” Though each second in that catacomb had been an eternity, yet our ordeal awaiting Hector’s return could not have endured beyond five minutes.
“Simple as pie!” he replied. “You see those cows peering at us somewhat anxiously through the hedge over there?” I turned in the direction his finger was pointing. Sure enough, there were two cows and a calf. “Well, I relieved them of their halters and tether-ropes, having asked their permission of course; tied a couple of knots, and—presto! one splendid sheet capable of hoisting a cow—two cows in fact.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Hermione, with enormous emphasis on ‘beg’. And it was the first time she had laughed and shown her perfect teeth that day.
He also had a way with animals. In my experience, Bali cows tended to be coy and difficult to coax. But these beasts stayed where they were and stood placidly as Hector slipped the halters over their horns, then tied the tethers to tussocks of tall grass. I doubted whether their owner could have performed