The End of the Tunnel

by Paul Capon

  He dumped his bundle on the ledge, then climbed out and set the candle high in a little niche in the rock. Ruth was having difficulty in getting onto the ledge, and helping her, Tom was shocked by how cold her hands were.

  “Get your towel and dry yourself,” he told her. “And put your T-shirt on. I’m going to.”

  “I think there’s a little soup left,” said Boyd, who had already untied his bundle and was getting his rucksack out.

  “Good idea,” said Ruth. “In fact, it must be about time for our ‘elevenses,’ isn’t it

  “Hardly,” said Tom “I don’t have my watch on, but I’d say we’ve another hour to go.”

  “Well, let’s have ‘tenses’ then. I’m hungry.”

  “All right. Why don’t you and Jane get some food out while Boyd and I take a look at the next bit of tunnel?” Tom suggested.

  “O.K.”

  Boyd and Tom put on their shirts and, carrying flashlights, moved along the ledge as far as they could go. A few feet below and a little ahead, the tunnel closed in again, and what they saw was not encouraging. The stream practically filled the tunnel. There was hardly three inches between the roof and the water, and they judged the tunnel to be about twenty yards long.

  “It looks pretty hopeless,” said Tom. “Even last year it was tough going, and then we could wade part of the way.

  Now, we’d be under water from end to end of the tunnel, and there’s twice as much current. We couldn’t hope to do it without an aqualung, could we?”

  “I guess not. Why, we’d be crazy to try,” Boyd replied. He took another look at the mouth of the siphon, then shook his head gloomily. “Well, Tom, I guess this is the end of our little adventure.”

  There was nothing to do except break the news to the girls. It was disappointing to think that they were not so successful as they had been the year before.

  CHAPTER 3

  The girls refused to give up hope. Ruth, munching a chicken sandwich, accused her brother of being overcautious. “And you, too, Boyd,” she said. “I’ll bet Jane and I could get through.”

  “Think so?” asked Tom, smiling. “Well, I can promise you one thing: you’re not going to try.”

  “Jane,” Ruth remarked, “they’re afraid we’d show them up.”

  “I guess they are at that,” said Jane. “But, kidding aside, there must be some way. Tom, can’t you think of something?”

  “Yes, Tom,” said Ruth. “You’re the brains, so, come on, let’s hear from you.”

  “All I can think of is an aqualung,” said Tom, “and they’re expensive.”

  So far Boyd had taken no part in the discussion, but now he looked up as if he had thought of something.

  “Got an idea,” he said, swallowing a last bite of banana.

  “The rubber dinghy — ”

  The girls interrupted with hoots of derision.

  “Say, that’s a terrific idea, Boyd!” said Jane sarcastically. “Only how are we going to get the dinghy through when there isn’t room to float a matchbox?”

  Ruth considered this very funny, and Boyd, grinning and unruffled, waited for her giggles to die down before he went on.

  Then he said, “If you would listen more and talk less, it could be that you’d learn something. I was simply going to suggest that we could employ the principle of the diving bell — ”

  This was the cue for another squall of laughter from the girls, and Ruth nearly choked on her sandwich.

  “The principle of the diving bell!” Jane was laughing so hard, she gasped when she talked. “Oh, Boyd, how pompous can you get?”

  “No, wait a minute,” said Tom, waving for silence. “I think I see what Boyd is getting at. You mean we could turn the dinghy upside down and crawl through under it.”

  “That’s the idea, Tom. It wouldn’t be easy, but it might work.”

  Now everyone became serious, and Ruth dragged the folded dinghy from Tom’s rucksack.

  “There wouldn’t be room for all of us,” Jane said.

  “I guess not,” agreed Boyd. “We’d have to go two at a time, and tie the clothesline to the dinghy so the second pair could pull it back. It would come back easily enough, because it would be moving with the current.”

  “But wouldn’t all the air be used up before we got to the other end?” asked Ruth.

  Tom shook his head. “No, definitely not. This part of the tunnel always seemed long to us because of the siphon and because we had to hold our breath such a long time, but actually it’s quite short. Anyway, there’s no reason we shouldn’t carry out some tests.”

  All their excitement had returned, and in a few minutes they had inflated the dinghy and were testing it. They decided the plan would work, but felt it would be impossible to take the bundles with them.

  “We’ll have to drag them through last,” said Tom.

  “How can we do that?” asked Ruth.

  “Well, let’s say that you and I go through first, trailing the clothesline. As soon as we’re through, Boyd and Jane drag the dinghy back here, but before they set out, they tie the end of the line to the bundles. Then, when they get through, we drag the bundles through.”

  Ruth thought about this plan for a moment, then commented, “Sounds chancy to me.”

  “And to me,” Tom replied, “but can you think of something better?”

  Ruth couldn’t, so they went ahead with the preparations. Tom and Ruth were to go first, and Boyd had the idea of fixing one of the flashlights to the webbing inside the dinghy.

  “It may not help much on the way,” he said, “but it’ll be good to have some light at the other end.”

  They tied the clothesline to the dinghy’s stern and worked out a system of signals — three sharp tugs, a pause, three sharp tugs, another pause and three sharp tugs — to indicate it was time for the dinghy to be pulled back.

  “For goodness’ sake, don’t make a mistake,” said Tom. “We’d hate to have the dinghy dragged away from over us!”

  Tom and Ruth lifted the upside-down dinghy over their heads, then stepped into the stream. The water no longer seemed so cold, and Ruth was unable to suppress a giggle or two of excitement.

  “This is fun,” she said as they moved forward. “I feel like the hind legs of a pantomime horse!”

  “Get a really good grip on the webbing,” said Tom, “and keep the dinghy as level as possible when we get into the tunnel. Every time it tilts, we’ll lose some air.”

  The water got steadily deeper until it was around Tom’s chest and nearly up to Ruth’s neck.

  Boyd shouted to them to take it easy. “You’ve less than a couple of yards to go before you reach the tunnel,” he called.

  Tom lifted the dinghy to see exactly where they were; they were within four feet of the mouth of the tunnel.

  “O.K., Ruth,” he said, “lower the dinghy carefully until it’s floating. . . . Good. See if you can drag your end down into the water and move forward at the same time. Ready? Now!”

  Ruth was too light. When she tried to drag the dinghy down, her feet left the bottom of the stream. Tom could get his end down, but that simply meant that air lurched out of the dinghy in great bubbles.

  “It’s no good,” he said. “Let’s go back.”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Boyd as Tom and Ruth emerged from the dinghy.

  “Ruth’s not heavy enough to drag her end under the water,” Tom explained. “And I don’t think Jane will be, either.”

  “Well, we could help from outside,” said Boyd. “Once the dinghy’s completely in the tunnel, the roof will keep it in place.”

  “Yes, but who will help you when it’s your turn to try?”

  “That’s a point. Yet you and I were able to get it down when we tested. Say, how sure are you that all four of us couldn’t get through together?”

  “We could try it,” said Tom doubtfully.

  When they tested the plan, they found that it was more practical than it had seemed. They decided to brave the tu
nnel, but first they tied the four bundles securely to the free end of the clothesline and arranged them in a row on the ledge with the slack of the line coiled neatly so it would play out without knotting.

  “It’s like an Army exercise,” remarked Boyd as they waded into the stream and lined up in close formation with Tom in the lead, Ruth second in line, Jane third and Boyd at the rear.

  The boys lifted the dinghy from the ledge and hoisted it over their heads.

  “All set?” asked Tom.

  “Ready,” Boyd replied.

  “O.K. Start off on the left foot, and keep in step. One, two, three — left ... left . . . left . . .”

  Ruth started to giggle again and remarked that now she felt like part of a pantomime centipede.

  “Centipedes keep in step,” said Tom mildly. “You kicked my ankle then. Left . . . left . . . keep it steady. We’re almost to the tunnel. Halt!”

  They lowered the dinghy until it rested on the water, then dragged it down and moved forward slowly until they were well into the tunnel. In fact, that stage of the operation went so smoothly they lost hardly a cupful of air, and when they were beyond the entrance with the dinghy firmly held in place by the roof, they had about nine inches of breathing space. The flashlight tied to the webbing gave enough light for them to see one another, and Tom glanced back and grinned encouragingly.

  “Keep moving,” Tom told them. “Breathe as little as possible and don’t talk. Now — left . . . left . . . left . . .”

  He quickened the tempo until they were moving forward almost at a jog trot, and for the next two or three minutes everything went smoothly. Then the dinghy rammed into something, and a bucketful of air escaped with a sickening blur-rup. Ruth gave a little scream and clutched Tom’s waist.

  “Easy,” said Tom, spitting out a mouthful of water. “You’re all right. Keep calm. We’ve hit the drop in the roof that forms the siphon. I should have thought of it. Boyd, Jane, you all right?”

  “Swell,” said Boyd, “but what now?”

  “Drag the dinghy down farther and get underneath the low place, but take it steady — we mustn’t lose any more air.

  “O.K. Give us the word.”

  The current was stronger here, and Tom had to brace himself against it to keep the dinghy level. The breathing space was only about five inches, and the foursome were cheered by the knowledge that they hadn’t much farther to go once they passed the siphon.

  “Get ready,” Tom said. “One . . . two . . . three . . . DRAG.”

  Slowly the dinghy came down until the explorers were crouching as low as they could. They shuffled forward, and, when perhaps a minute had passed, Tom realized with a sensation of relief that they were past the overhang. They had lost some more air, however, and he could hardly get his mouth clear of the water to speak.

  Tom gasped as he said, “Straighten up a little. We’re nearly through. The last lap coming — let’s take it as fast as we can. Left . . . left . . . left . . .”

  They scrambled forward, the water lapping around their nostrils and filling their ears. They had to hold their breath for the last few yards, and then, just as Tom felt his lungs would burst, the dinghy wrenched itself out of his grasp and they were clear of the tunnel. Panting and gasping, in total darkness, he helped Ruth and Jane out of the stream and made sure that Boyd was all right. After a few minutes of panting and wheezing, they all regained their normal breathing.

  “Tom,” Boyd said, “that was some wading party! Do you know what happened to the dinghy?”

  “It just whipped away as soon as we came out into the air,” Tom replied.

  “Could it have gone back into the tunnel on the current?”

  “No. It would jam against the roof. I’m going to find it.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Tom followed Boyd back into the stream. They found the dinghy easily enough; it was where Tom thought it would be, bumping against the tunnel mouth, but the flashlight was waterlogged and refused to work.

  “Don’t say anything to the girls,” whispered Tom, “but unless we get those bundles through, we’re sunk for light, clothes, food and everything else.”

  “We sure are. I’ve got the line in my hand.”

  Ruth shouted, her voice coming to the boys through the darkness, “What’s happening, boys?”

  “We’re about to pull the bundles through,” Tom called to her. “You two had better try to get warm. Flail your arms and jump up and down.”

  “All right, but it’s not easy in the dark.”

  Carefully Tom and Boyd dragged the dinghy out of the water, and Boyd handed Tom the line.

  “It’s hardly a two-man job,” Boyd said. “I’d rather you’d do it.”

  “All right,” said Tom and pulled gently on the line. At first it came easily enough, and he guessed it was uncoiling itself on the distant ledge. Then he felt a resistance and knew the line had pulled taut against the weight of the first bundle. He exerted a little more force; the line bucked and jerked as the first bundle rolled into the water and was followed rapidly by the other three. It was almost like playing a fish, and Tom held his breath as foot by foot he hauled the line in.

  “How’s it going?” asked Boyd.

  “All right so far. I’m a bit worried about the siphon, though.”

  “I’ll stand by the tunnel mouth and grab the bundles as they come through.”

  Tom hauled in several more feet of line, then without warning it snagged. He pulled as hard as he dared, but it would not budge, and he knew what had happened — one of the bundles had jammed against the sharp drop in the tunnel roof which formed the siphon. Keeping the line fairly taut, he waded downstream to Boyd.

  “One of the bundles has fouled in the siphon, Boyd,” he whispered. “I can’t shift it.”

  “What’ll we do now?”

  “Hold the line, and I’ll swim under water to the bundle and see if I can free it.”

  “For Pete’s sake, Tom,” Boyd said protestingly, “you’ll never make it.”

  “I did it several times last year.”

  “But not both ways! And not with current like this. Tom, don’t be crazy.”

  “Look, Boyd, this is serious. With those four bundles tangled up in the tunnel, we can’t get through it to go back. I’ve got to have a shot at clearing them.” The line in his hand suddenly gave a sharp jerk, and several feet of it ran out before he could check it. “Half a tick — the bundle has cleared itself! The current must have forced it away. Maybe we’ll manage after all.”

  He was startled to hear Ruth address him from a few feet away. “What are you doing, Tom?” she asked. “Jane and I are absolutely starving. Haven’t the bundles come through yet.”

  “We’re working on it,” Boyd told her. “I thought you two were supposed to be getting warm.”

  “We are warm, and now we’re hungry.”

  Tom was hauling in the line once more, but this time instead of working in feet he was working in inches. “I’ve got the first one past the siphon,” he murmured. “Boyd, I think we’re going to be lucky!”

  For the next few minutes neither of them spoke, then Boyd, watching the tunnel mouth, gave a yell of triumph. “Yippee! Bundle number one . . . and two . . . three . . . and here it comes . . . FOUR.”

  Tom joined him and took two of the bundles. They carried them upstream and lifted them from the water, then called the girls to come help them get the rucksacks out.

  The place they had now arrived at was known to them as the Great Cavern. That was the name they had given it the summer before, and it was the farthest point they had reached. It was about a hundred fifty feet long and fifty feet wide with the stream running through the center. At the far end the stream disappeared again into another tunnel which was narrow and sloping with jagged rocks thrusting up like shark’s teeth. It was by this tunnel that the explorers had been defeated the year before. Now it looked even more formidable, for the stream had become a torrent — the foursome could h
ear the water roaring along the tunnel like a miniature cataract.

  They did not let the possibility of a second failure to go beyond the Great Cavern depress them. So far they had triumphed, and their first thought was to get dressed and have lunch. A wild extravagance seized the girls, and they lighted all the candles. The boys remonstrated mildly but were overruled, and Ruth and Jane raced from rock to rock planting the candles — all fourteen of them — until they had scooped a circle of pale light from the surrounding darkness.

  “We want to see what the cavern really looks like,” explained Ruth. “We won’t let them burn long.”

  The boys laughed and went on unpacking the rucksacks. They had spread out one of the ground cloths, and on it they arranged the food and drinks. All four were flushed with victory, and they intended lunch to be a feast of celebration.

  From Ruth’s rucksack Tom took a brown paper bag and peered into it. “Hard-boiled eggs!” he exclaimed exultantly. “J.g.s.! I didn’t know you had packed any, Ruth.”

  “I didn’t,” said Ruth. “It must have been Mummy. I expect she put them in after we’d gone to bed. Mothers do that sort of thing. It’s known as doing good by stealth, and personally I’m all for — ”

  She was interrupted by a sudden cry from Jane, and they all turned in her direction. She was on the edge of the circle of light and was picking up something from the floor of the cavern.

  “Quick!” she shouted. “I think I’ve found a piece of prehistoric jewelry!”

  The others ran to her and gazed at the little scrap of metal that glittered dully in her hand. When Boyd shone the flashlight on it, they saw it was a brooch formed like a snake biting its own tail. It was about an inch and a half across and almost perfectly preserved.

  “Let Tom look at it,” said Ruth. “He’s a member of his school’s archaeological society.”