The End of the Tunnel

by Paul Capon

  Tom and Ruth had hardly unpacked the ground cloths when the twins arrived in high spirits.

  “Tell you something,” shouted Boyd as he parked his bicycle. “We have a thermos of hot soup. The cook made it for us. When we told her we wanted to get up early, she insisted on getting up too, so we’ve already had one breakfast!”

  “And she gave us a whole package of candles,” said Jane. “A dozen, and she didn’t even ask why we wanted them.”

  “Oh, good,” said Ruth. “We managed to get only two, and we had to keep them hidden.”

  Breakfast, eaten while they sat on the ground cloths using the flat rock for a table, was a boisterous meal, and at one point Boyd brought a protesting squeal from Ruth because he picked up a pebble and was about to toss it into the well.

  “Don’t!” she yelled. “That’s about the unluckiest thing you can do, throwing stones into the Devil’s Well.”

  Tom laughed. “You must excuse my sister,” he said loftily. “We all have our weaknesses, and hers is superstition.”

  “No, seriously, Boyd,” implored Ruth, her eyes on the pebble which he still held. “It’s terribly unlucky.”

  “Why?” Boyd questioned.

  “Because of the Thirsty Traveler. Hasn’t anyone told you the legend?”

  “The Thirsty Traveler? Who’s he?”

  “It all happened hundreds of years ago when there were hardly any villages or houses hereabout, and when these four roads were just cart tracks. It was at the end of a terribly hot summer, and there hadn’t been any rain for months. All the ponds, wells and rivers had dried up, the horses and cattle were dying of thirst, and the people were too exhausted to do anything except lie in the shade all day long.”

  “What did they drink?” asked Boyd.

  “Oh, I suppose they had a few tubs of stagnant water,” said Ruth, improvising wildly. “Anyway, along came the Traveler, crawling as slowly as a snail because he was footsore and dying of thirst. He hadn’t had a drink of anything for three days, and his lips and tongue were black and swollen, and it was as much as he could do to move at all. Then he came to the crossroads and saw the well. It was full to the brim with clear, sparkling water, and he stumbled forward and threw himself down on this very rock to drink. Then, what do you think?”

  “Go on,” said Jane.

  “Just as he was about to drink, the water sank away with a gurgle, and at the same moment he heard a mocking laugh behind him! He looked around, and there, sitting on the grass, was the Devil.”

  “It happened right here, Ruthie?” asked Jane, wide-eyed with interest.

  “Yes, certainly.”

  “Don’t you believe it, Jane,” said Tom. “It’s just a lot of superstitious nonsense.”

  “It isn’t!” cried Ruth hotly. “Because the next thing that happened was that the Devil, still laughing, asked the Traveler why he should expect to drink without making payment. The Traveler told the Devil that he hadn’t any money, and the Devil said he wasn’t interested in money. He said, ‘I’ll let you drink all you want, and fill up your goatskin bottle too, if in payment you promise me your soul for all eternity.’

  “The Traveler said, ‘Rather than let you have my soul for all eternity, I shall die here on this rock where I lie.’ So he closed his eyes and made ready to die.

  “The Devil began to worry. He knew that the Traveler was dying, and that he had been a good man all of his life. Unless the Devil hurried up and bargained for the Traveler’s soul, he would lose it. So he said, ‘Listen. Lease your soul to me for nine thousand, nine hundred, ninety-nine years and a day.’ The Traveler shook his head and said he still would rather die where he was. The Devil could see that there wasn’t much time left, and that he would have to work fast to gain the Traveler’s soul. ‘Lease me your soul for only nine hundred, ninety-nine years and a day, and you shall drink all you want and fill your goatskin bottle too.’ This time the Traveler nodded his head and whispered, ‘Aye.’ As soon as the word was spoken the well filled, and he was allowed to drink all he wanted.”

  “Aye, and fill up his goatskin bottle too,” put in Tom teasingly.

  “Yes,” agreed Ruth seriously. “The Traveler went on, and lived for another forty years. When he died, there was the Devil sitting on his bedpost, waiting to claim his soul. Now, when anyone drops a stone down the well, the Devil adds a year and a day to the Traveler’s torment, but if a copper coin is dropped, he takes a year and a day off. And if it is a silver coin, he takes nine years and a day off. A gold coin takes off ninety-nine years and a day, and means the best luck of all.”

  Boyd laughed and threw away his pebble. “I’m fresh out of gold coins,” he said, fumbling in the pocket of his jeans, “but how about an American penny? Would that be any good?”

  Ruth examined the coin and decided it would be acceptable, whereupon Jane also produced one, and Ruth found a halfpenny to contribute.

  “What about you, Tom?” she asked.

  “Oh, no!” he said, jumping up. “We’ve already wasted a lot of time, and I don’t intend to waste money, too.” He folded the ground cloths while the others knelt on the rock and gazed down the well. Jane dropped her coin first. It tinkled briefly against the side, then they heard no more. Boyd’s penny made even less noise, and, when they felt sure it had reached the bottom, Ruth dropped her halfpenny. Seconds passed without a sound, then, when they had almost given up, a faint clink came to their ears. They looked at one another in wonderment.

  “Wow, that’s a deep hole!” exclaimed Boyd. “Must run halfway to Australia.”

  Tom was wheeling his bicycle out to the road. “Come on,” he shouted. “Are we going to explore the cave or aren’t we?”

  The sun was shining through the haze when the foursome arrived at Orleigh. The tide was low, and the river was no more than a broad stream winding its way through an expanse of sandy flatlands. Low, grass-topped cliffs followed the course of the river, and at the foot of the cliffs was a narrow path along which the explorers rode in single file.

  Presently they rounded a bluff, and, when the clump of bushes at the mouth of the cave came into sight, they gave a ragged cheer and increased their speed until the bicycles were bumping and rattling over the rough trail.

  Tom was the first to skirt the bushes. He didn’t dismount, but rode straight into the cave until he was brought to a standstill by his rear wheel spinning in the sand on the cave’s floor.

  The others followed him, laughing and shouting. The noise they made was doubled and redoubled by the echoing walls until it sounded as if there were forty in the cave instead of four.

  Boyd shone his flashlight into the darkness. They could see the wall of rock at the end of the cave, and they became silent as their thoughts turned to the cave’s secret and the coming adventure. A little awed, they advanced into the shadows, wheeling their bicycles and sometimes lifting them over boulders and broken rock. High above hung clusters of bats, and once they disturbed a water rat and sent him scurrying off toward daylight and the river.

  At the end of the cave it was almost pitch-dark, and Boyd held his flashlight while the others parked the bicycles. Tom helped Ruth take off her rucksack, and from it dragged the knotted rope and the grappling iron. Boyd flashed his light over the wall of rock until, nearly thirty feet up, he could see a recess so hidden by a rock shelf that the light hardly penetrated to it.

  “The hole’s still there. Look, you can just make it out,” he said.

  “Did you expect it to disappear?” Tom laughed. As he coiled the knotted rope, he said, “Now, girls, stand back. I don’t suppose I’ll get the iron to grab on the first try.”

  No one except the explorers knew about the hole. It was their secret, and everyone else thought the cave was simply what it seemed: a bare tunnel running a few dozen yards into the cliff. Boyd had discovered the hole the summer before when he had thrown a stone up to the roof to produce an echo — and the stone had not come down again. After that the four of them had reall
y gone to work, and, before the summer was over, they had managed to climb up to the hole and squeeze through it.

  “All set?” asked Tom, swinging the grappling iron. “Hold the light steady, Boyd.”

  “Ready when you are.”

  “One . . . two . . . THREE,” chanted Tom, and on “three” he let go of the grappling iron. It went rocketing up, uncoiling the rope behind it. The two boys watched it anxiously, ready to jump away if it fell back. But Tom’s aim was good. The iron hit the rock with a faint clang and caught, the rope dangling to the cave’s floor.

  “On the first shot!” exclaimed Boyd. “Tom, you’re a genius.”

  “Let’s test it to be sure,” said Tom. “Stay where you are, girls.”

  He pulled gently on the rope. It held, and he put more and more weight on it until at last he took his feet off the ground and swung. Boyd joined him, and the rope held their combined weight.

  “So far, so good,” said Tom, feeling pleased with himself. “Girls, will you bring the rucksacks over with you?”

  “I guess we follow the same routine as last year,” said Boyd. “You first, then me, then the gear, then the girls. O.K.?”

  “O.K. by me,” Tom replied, grabbing the rope. He swarmed up it with the speed and agility of an old-time sailor, and then at the top came a tricky bit. Clinging to the rope, he had to squeeze past the jutting ledge of rock that screened the hole, and there was nothing much that could be used for a toe hold. Inch by inch he pulled himself up, then with a final heave he tipped forward and rolled onto the ledge.

  “Made it!” he yelled triumphantly.

  Boyd moved toward the rope and took hold of it. He was not so adept at climbing as Tom, but he managed all right. At the top Tom grabbed hold of his belt and hauled him onto the ledge.

  “Now, the gear,” Tom called to the girls.

  Ruth and Jane hooked the end of the rope through the straps of two of the rucksacks and tied it securely.

  “O.K., boys,” shouted Jane. “Haul away!”

  The boys pulled the rucksacks up to the ledge, then let the rope down. Once the other two rucksacks were up, it was the girls’ turn.

  “Jane first,” shouted Tom. “And, Ruth, be careful how you tie the rope. No granny-knots!”

  “Get you!” Ruth snorted. “Just because I tied a granny-knot last summer, you needn’t think — ”

  “Get on with it, Ruth, and don’t talk so much.”

  Ruth fastened the rope around Jane’s waist, saying as she worked, “Anyway, I’m a year older now.” She was determined to have the last word!

  Jane was quite a weight, and in hauling her up the boys took no chances. Boyd, with the rope hitched around him, stood well back and acted as anchor man, while in front of him Tom steadied the rope and directed operations. They worked to a “one, two, three, HEAVE” rhythm, and at each heave they raised Jane another two feet. Jane, gripping the rope for dear life, swung slowly around. Long before she reached the top she was dizzy and red in the face.

  When her hands were about a foot from the ledge, Tom said, gaspingly, “Hold tight! “ and Boyd, bracing himself, made ready to hold her entire weight.

  “Say when you’re all set,” muttered Tom.

  “All set, now.”

  “Right. I’m going to let go of the rope.”

  “O.K.”

  Cautiously Tom loosened his hold, and such were Boyd’s strength and steadiness that it slipped less than an inch. Tom crawled to the edge of the hole and leaned over.

  “Jane, don’t let go until I say so,” he said.

  “Don’t worry,” whispered Jane between clenched teeth. “I won’t!”

  He reached down, grasped her wrists firmly, and braced himself against her weight.

  “O.K. I’ve got you. Let go now. Ready, Boyd?”

  “Sure.”

  “Right. One, two, three, HEAVE.”

  It was easy. As Jane came up she rolled onto the ledge as smoothly as if she had been mountaineering all her life. Tom untied the rope and, coiling it, moved to the edge of the hole.

  “Stand back, Ruth. I’m going to throw the rope down. Your turn now.”

  Ruth was the lightweight of the foursome, and with three of them to haul on the rope it took no time to get her into the hole with them.

  “We’re a clever bunch,” said Boyd, grinning triumphantly in the half-light. “Before we press on, why don’t we all have some lemonade?”

  “Good idea,” said Ruth, rummaging in her rucksack. “Yes, I think we’ve made a jolly good start.”

  With the first difficult step of the exploration behind them, they were all cheerful. There had been occasions when it had taken them a whole morning to get themselves and their gear into the hole.

  They rested for a few minutes, drinking the lemonade and talking, then set out along the rough passage that led from the hole. Tom led the way. Both boys carried flashlights, but since Tom’s gave as much light as they needed, Boyd kept his ready for emergency use only.

  The first stage of their journey was easy. The passage sloped gently down, and almost everywhere the roof was high enough for them to walk upright. The sandstone walls were rough and the floor was strewn with small boulders, but there was enough pattern to indicate to Tom that it had been excavated by cave dwellers thousands of years before. To further bear out his theory, the previous summer Jane had found a flint that was almost certainly an arrowhead.

  The passage widened a little and turned a corner. Now the floor sloped down more sharply, and in a few places it was so steep that the explorers had to sit down and slide.

  “Listen!” exclaimed Jane suddenly, and they all stopped.

  From below them they could hear a gentle gurgling and splashing. Ruth said, “It’s nothing, only the noise of the stream.”

  “Sure,” agreed Boyd. “But we didn’t hear it this far up before. There must be a lot more water in it now.”

  “I expect so,” said Tom. “Last summer was unusually dry, and we were here in September. Now it’s June, and we’ve had a wet spring.”

  “Do you think we’ll be able to get through?” asked Jane.

  “That,” said Tom, starting forward again, “remains to be seen.”

  He said no more, but he was worried. Soon they would have to negotiate the siphon — a name given by cave experts to a place where the water of an underground river touches the roof of the tunnel it flows through — and with the stream in flood he was not looking forward to it. It had been difficult before; if the level of the stream was up only six inches it would probably be impassable.

  The explorers took the last stretch almost at a run, and Tom soon saw that his worst fears were justified. The stream was at least twice as wide as before and was running swiftly enough to produce eddies and bubbles. Tom said nothing to the others, but in his heart he felt that the chances of their getting through the tunnel were nil. Boyd knelt on the ledge above the stream and put his hand in the water. “Wow!” he cried, jerking his hand out. “It’s like ice.”

  “Let’s see,” said Ruth, joining him. “Oh, it’s not so bad.”

  “Maybe not for you, but don’t forget I’m a thin-blooded Californian!”

  Jane also tested the water and decided it was warm. “Boyd, you’re crazy,” she said. “Why, on Catalina Island we’ve gone swimming in water twice as cold as this.”

  “Yeah?” replied Boyd with a laugh. “Come on, kids, let’s get moving.”

  For a little way they followed the stream along the bank, but the sides of the tunnel were getting closer together and the roof, lower. Presently, when the ledge narrowed to less than two feet, Tom stopped and slipped the straps of his rucksack from his arms.

  “Well, we’ve got to face it,” he said. “Do you remember the drill?”

  “Sure,” said Jane. “We peel to our bathing suits, pack our clothes in the rucksacks, then tie the ground cloths around the rucksacks.”

  “O K. Say when you’re ready for me to put out the flashlight.
”

  It took them only a few minutes to get ready, then each rucksack was placed in the middle of a ground cloth, and the cloth’s four corners drawn up and tied with twine as tightly as possible, forming a watertight bundle. They packed the flashlights, and now the only light they had was from a candle Tom held.

  Ruth was the first in the water. She was so startled by its iciness and its depth — it was nearly to her waist — that she gave a little squeal. “Tom, last year it came up only to my knees,” she said between chattering teeth. “Now, we’ll never get through.”

  Tom handed her her bundle and asked her to hold the candle while he stepped into the water. “We can try it,” he said.

  Back of them Boyd was inching into the stream. “We must be crazy!” he said, gasping. “And to think we could have stayed home and played tennis in the sunshine!”

  Jane, undismayed by the icy water, was already in. “Tennis? We’re explorers,” she said. “I’d rather be an explorer than a tennis player any day. I bet those men who went to the South Pole didn’t think about playing tennis.”

  “I bet they did!” said Boyd, the realist.

  Tom was in the water and had to make an effort to control his shivering. He lifted his bundle down from the ledge and took the candle from Ruth.

  “All set?” he asked.

  “O.K.”

  It was tiring to wade up the stream against the current, yet it was not so bad as Tom had expected. The water soon became bearable and the foursome became used to its coldness, and the waterproof bundles, with enough air in them to float, were easy to manage — they had only to be pushed along. The siphon was some way ahead yet, and there was a place to rest before they tackled it.

  The water deepened until it was halfway up Tom’s chest, but the roof came no lower than about three feet above their heads. A draft moving in the same direction as the current made the candle flame flicker wildly, but, by holding it in the lee of his bundle, Tom managed to keep it lighted.

  After a while the water became shallower. The stream widened, the current was no longer so strong, and Tom guessed that they were nearing the big bulge in the tunnel where there was a broad ledge of rock onto which they could climb. Tom’s bundle grated against the bottom, and he heaved it to his shoulder. “We’re coming to the bulge,” he shouted. “Let’s have a rest and get warm.”