Jarvo gave a sharp command, and all four of the men broke into a rhythmic chant.

Jarvo, leading the way, sprang immediately upon the first foothold, where none seemed to be, and without pause to the next.

So perfectly were the men trained that it was as if but one set of muscles were inspiring the movements made to the beat of that monotonous measure.

In their strong hands the flexible pole seemed to give as their bodies gave, and so lightly did they leap upward that the jar of their alighting was hardly perceptible, as if, as had occurred to St.George as they ascended the lip of the island, gravity were here another matter.
So, without pause, save in the rhythm of that strange march music, the remarkable progress was begun.
St.George threw one swift glance upward and looked down, shudderingly.

Beetling above them in the great starlight hung the gigantic pile, wall upon wall of rock hewn with such secret foothold that it was a miracle how any living thing could catch and cling to its forbidding surface.