Chapter Four.
Cinder has Discovery on the Brain.
“What are you thinking about, Cinder?” said Mike one day, when they were out together, after a long, hard morning’s work up at the Ladelles, over algebra and Latin, with the tutor who was resident at the Mount, the Doctor sharing, however, in the cost. “You seem to have been so moony and stupid lately.”
“Have I?” said Vince starting.
“Yes, always going into brown studies. I know: you can’t recollect that problem in Euclid.”
“What, the forty-seventh? Why, that’s the one I recollect best. Guess!”
“What you were thinking about?”
Vince nodded.
“Give it up,” said Mike.
“The Scraw.”
“What about it? That it’s guarded by water goblins and sea serpents and things, as old Joe calls them?”
“No,” said Vince quietly: “I’ve been thinking about it ever since we were out with him that day in the boat.”
“Well, and what do you think?” said Mike, who while he talked was trying how far he could jerk the flat pieces of oyster-shell, of which there were plenty near, off the cliff; but with all his skill—and he could throw far—they seemed, in the immensity around, as if they dropped close to the cliff foot.
“I think, as I thought that day, that old Joe doesn’t want us to go there.”
Mike was about to throw another shell, but he faced round at this with his curiosity roused.
“Why?”
“Ah! that’s what I want to know; and I can’t think of any reason why he shouldn’t want us to go there. It seems so queer.”
“Yes, it does seem queer,” assented Mike.
“Of course the fishermen believe in all kinds of old women’s tales about ghosts and goblins, and ill-wishing and that sort of nonsense, just as the women do about old Mother Remming’s being a witch; but old Joe always seemed to me to be such a hard, solid old chap, who would laugh at a story about the fairies coming in the night and drying any one’s cow.”
“Well, I always thought something of that sort; but what he says must be right about the horrible currents among the rocks.”
“Yes; there are fierce currents, I suppose, at some times of the tide.”
“Well, that means it’s dangerous.”
“Of course it is, sometimes; but I’m not going to believe all he said.”
“Nobody’s ever been there.”
“Indeed!”
“Oh yes, that’s right,” said Mike. “I’ve often heard the men talk about what an awful place it was, and say they wouldn’t go on any account.”
“And did that scare you?”
“Well, I don’t think it did, because I always felt afterwards that I should like to climb somewhere along there till I could look over down to the sea. But of course you couldn’t do it.”
“I don’t know,” said Vince; “I should like to try.”
“But after what old Joe Daygo said, you couldn’t go there in a boat.”
“Couldn’t you?”
“No.”
“Then how is it that old Joe himself can go?”
Mike dropped down on the cliff turf beside his companion and stared at him. “He never did go!”
“Yes, he did, for I was up on the Gull Cliff one day watching the birds, and I saw Joe go creeping round underneath in the boat, and sail across the bay, and then about the great point right in towards the Scraw.”
“You mean it, Cinder?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t fancy?”
“No; I’m sure.”
“Then there is some reason why he doesn’t want us there. I say!”
“Well?”
“Let’s go and see.”
“You’d be afraid.”
“No; I wouldn’t if you wouldn’t.”
“I’ll go if you will.”
“Then we will. But how? Boat?”
“No; I say let’s have a rope and try if we can’t climb round by the cliff. It will be a jolly good adventure, and I keep feeling more and more as if I wanted to know what it all means.”
“Then we will, and I’m ready to begin whenever you are. Why, we may find a valley of gold.”
“Or get a bad tumble.”
“We’ll risk that.”
“Then let’s set to and make our plans.”
The boys ceased speaking, and became very thoughtful; and, as if to sharpen their ideas, each took out his knife—a long-hafted jack knife such as a sailor uses, fastened by a lanyard to his waist. There was rather a rivalry between them as to which had the biggest, longest-bladed and sharpest knife—a point that was never decided; and the blades had rather a hard time of it, for they were constantly being opened and whetted so as to maintain a razor edge.
But, probably from not being expert, these razor-like edges were not maintained, and this was partly due to the selection of the sharpener upon which they were whetted. The sole of a boot is no doubt suitable, but not when it contains nails, which was the case with those worn by the lads. The rail of a gate is harmless, while a smooth piece of slate makes a moderately good enough soft hone. But when it comes to rubbing a blade upon a piece of gneiss, quartz crystal, or granite, the result is most unsatisfactory, the edge of the knife being prone to look like a very bad imitation of a miniature saw.
From force of habit each lad on opening his knife looked round for something upon which to give his knife a whet; but up there on the soft turf of a cliff slope whetstones were scarce. Down below on the wave-washed strand boulders and pebbles were plentiful enough, and in addition there was the rock; but from where they were it was a good quarter of a mile to the nearest place where a descent could be safely made. But the next moment Mike found an oyster-shell, upon which he began diligently to rub his blade; while, failing this, Vince pulled his foot across his knee, vigorously stropped his knife on the sole of his boot, and gave a finishing touch to the edge by passing it to and fro upon the palm of his hand.
This done, each looked out for something to cut, where there was for some distance round nothing but grass. This Vince began to shave off gently, with Mike watching him for a few moments; but the pursuit seemed to him too trivial, and, after wrinkling up his forehead for a few moments as if perplexed, an idea struck him, and he began to score the soft turf in regular lines, as if it were a loin of pork, but with this difference, that when he had made about a dozen strokes he commenced cutting between the marks, and sloping his blade so that he carved out the turf, leaving a series of ridges and furrows as he went on.
This was on his part an ingenious enough way of using the blade, out on an island cliff on a glorious sunny day; but at the end of a minute it became as monotonous as it was purposeless, and Vince shut his knife with a snap, after carefully wiping the blade; while Mike, who had been blunting the point of his by bringing it in contact with the granite, which, where they were, only lay three or four inches beneath the velvet turf, followed suit, after seeing that his knife point would need a good grinding before he could consider it to be in a satisfactory state.
“Well,” said Mike, after they had looked at each other for a few moments, “how are we going to make our plans?”
“I dunno,” replied Vince. “Yes, I do. You can’t make plans here. Let’s go and see what the place is like.”
“No; that’s wrong,” said Mike, wrinkling his forehead again. “A general always makes his plans of how he’ll attack a country before he starts, and takes what is necessary with him.”
“Yes, but then he has maps of the country, and knows what he will want. We have no maps; but we’ve got the country, so I say let’s go and see first—reconnoitre.”
“Very well,” said Mike, rising slowly.
“Don’t seem very ready,” said Vince. “Not scared about it, are you?”
“No, I don’t think so,” replied Mike thoughtfully; “only doesn’t it seem rather—rather queer to go to a place that is strange, and where you don’t know what there may be?”
“Of course it does,” said Vince frankly; “and I am just a little like that. I suppose it’s what the men here all feel, and it keeps them away.”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Mike eagerly.
“But then, you know, they believe lots of things that we laugh at. There isn’t a man or boy here in Crag would go and sit in the churchyard on a dark night.”
“Well, you wouldn’t either,” said Mike.
“No, I suppose not,” said Vince thoughtfully. “I don’t think I believe in ghosts—I’m sure I don’t; and I know that if I saw anything I should feel it was some one trying to frighten us. But I shouldn’t like to go and sit in a churchyard in the dark, because—because—”
“You’d be afraid,” said Mike, with a laugh.
“Yes, I should be afraid, but not as you mean,” said the lad. “I should feel that it was doing a mocking, boasting sort of thing toward the dead people who were all lying asleep there.”
“Dead,” interposed Mike.
“No: father says asleep—quietly asleep, after being in pain and sickness, or being tired out from growing very old.”
Mike looked at him curiously, and they were both silent for a few moments, till Mike said quickly:—
“I say, though, don’t it seem queer to you that we’ve been here all our lives, and grown as old as we are, without ever going to the top of the cliff here and looking down into the Scraw?”
“Yes, that’s just what I’ve been thinking ever since old Joe talked to us as he did. But I don’t know that it is queer.”
“Well, I do,” said Mike: “it’s very queer.”
“No, it isn’t. Ever since we can remember everybody has said that you can’t get there, because nobody could climb up; and then while we were little we always heard people talk almost in a whisper about it, as if it were something that oughtn’t to be named; and so of course we didn’t think for ourselves, and took all they said as being right. But you know there may be whirlpools and holes and black caverns and sharp rocks, and I dare say there are regular monsters of congers down in the deep places that have never been disturbed.”
“And sharks.”
“No, I don’t think there would be sharks. They live out in the open sea more, where it’s not so rough.”
“I say, how big have we ever seen a conger?”
“Why, that one Carnach brought in and said he’d had a terrible fight with: don’t you remember?”
“Yes, I remember; he caught it on a dark thunderstormy day, and said when he hooked it first, baiting with a pilchard, it came so easy that he thought it was a little one, and swam up every time he slackened his line till he got it close to the top. But when he went to hook it in with his gaff he fell back over the thwart, because as soon as it saw him it opened its mouth and came over the gunwale with a rush, and hunted him round the boat till he hit it over the head with his little axe.”
“Yes, I remember,” said Vince, taking up the narrative; “and then he said they had a terrible fight, for it twisted its tail round his leg and struck at him, getting hold of his tarpaulin coat with its teeth and holding on till he got the blade of the axe into the cut he had made and sawed away till he got through the backbone. Oh yes, we heard him tell the story lots of times about how strong it was, and how it bruised his leg where it hit him with its tail, and how he was beginning to feel that, in spite of its head being nearly off, it seemed as if it would finish him, when all at once it dropped down in the bottom of the boat and only just heaved about. I used to believe it all, but he always puts more and more to it whenever he tells the tale. I don’t believe it now.”
“But it was a monster.”
“Yes: two inches short of seven feet long, and as big round as a cod-fish; and I don’t see why there mayn’t be some twice as big in the Scraw. But I’m not going to believe in there being anything else, Mike; and we’re going to see.”
“Nothing horrid living in the caves?”
“Bogies and mermen and Goblin Jacks? No: stuff!”
“But up the cliff: you don’t think there’s anything there that makes it so that you can’t go? I mean—”
“Dragons like father has in that old Latin book about Switzerland?”
“Yes; you’ve got pictures of them,—horrid things with wings, that lived in the mountains and passes.”
“All gammon!” cried Vince. “People used to believe in all kinds of nonsense—magicians, and fiery serpents and dragons, and things that we laugh about now. There, one can’t help feeling a bit shrinky, after all we’ve heard and been frightened with by people ever since we were little bits of chaps; but I mean to go. There’s nothing worse about the Scraw than there is about other dangerous places.”
“Ah! you say so now because it’s broad daylight and the sun shines, but you’d talk differently if it was dark as pitch.”
“Shouldn’t go if it was dark as pitch, because we shouldn’t know where we were going. I say, you’re not going to turn tail?”
“No,” said Mike, “I’ll go with you; but one can’t help feeling a bit shrinky. I’m ready: come on.”
“Let’s seem as if we were not going, then,” said Vince.
“We shan’t see anybody if we go round by the Dolmen,” said Mike. “There isn’t a cottage after you pass the one on the Crusy common.”
“And nobody lives in that now.”
“Why?” said Mike quickly. “Think they saw anything? It’s nearest to the Scraw Cliff.”
“See anything? No. But they used to feel—the wind. Why, it’s the highest part of Crag Island! Come along.”
“One minute,” said Mike. “You said you thought old Joe didn’t want us to go there.”
“Yes,” said Vince.
“Well, wasn’t it because in his rough, surly way he likes us, and didn’t want us to get hurt?”
“Perhaps!” said Vince laconically.
“Well, there couldn’t be any other reason.”
“Yes, there could. It might be a splendid place for fishing, and for ormers and queens and oysters, and he don’t want any one else to find it out.”
“Yes, it might be that,” said Mike; and he set his teeth and looked as if he were going upon some desperate venture from which he might never return alive.
Vince looked a little uneasy too, but there was determination plainly written on his countenance as the two lads, after a glance round to see if they were observed, made off together; over the stony cliff.
Chapter Five.
While the Raven croaked.
It was getting well on in the afternoon, but they had hours of daylight before them for their task. To reach the spot would have been a trifle if they had possessed the wings of the grey gull which floated softly overhead as if watching them. A few minutes would have sufficed; for, as the boys had often laughingly said when at home in the centre of the island, where Sir Francis Ladelle’s sheltered manor-house stood, near the Doctor’s long granite cottage among the scattered dwellings of the fisher-farmers of the place, they could not have walked two miles in any direction without tumbling into the sea. But to reach the mighty cliffs overhanging the Scraw was not an easy task.
The way they chose was along the eastern side of the island, close to the sea, where from north point to south point the place was inaccessible, there being only three places practicable for a landing, and these lying on the west and south. There the mighty storm-waves had battered the granite crags for centuries, undermining them in soft veins till huge masses had fallen again and again, making openings which had been enlarged till there was one long cove; the fissure where they had taken boat with old Daygo; and another spot farther to the south.
The lads had not gone far before they curved suddenly to their left, and struggled through one of the patches of woodland that beautified the island. This was of oak trees and ilex, dwarfed by their position, tortured into every form of gnarled elbow and crookedness by the sea wind, and seldom visited save by the boys, who knew it as a famous spot for rabbits.
It was hard work getting through this dwarf-oak scrub, but they struggled on, descending now into a steep ravine quite in the uninhabited part of the island, and feeling that they might talk and shout as they pleased—for they were not likely to be heard. But they were very quiet, and when hawk or magpie was started, or an old nest seen, they instinctively called each other’s attention to it in a whisper.
After a time they were clear of the sombre wood, and had to commence another fight in the hollow of the slope they had to climb, for here the brambles and furze grew in their greatest luxuriance, and had woven so sturdy a hedge that it was next to impossible to get through.
Perseverance, and a brave indifference to thorns, carried them along; and at the end of half an hour they were at the bottom of a gigantic precipice of tumbled-together masses of granite, suggesting that they were at the beginning of the huge promontory which jutted out into the sea, and round which Daygo had refused to take them; the beautiful little rounded bay which they had skirted being to their right; and forward toward the north, and lying away to their left, being the situation of the unknown region always spoken of with bated breath, and called The Scraw.
The lads stopped now, hot, panting and scratched, to stand gazing upward.
“Tired?” said Mike.
“Yes. No,” replied Vince. “Come on.”
But Mike did not move. He stood looking before him at the rugged masses of granite, grey with lichen and surrounded by brambles, reaching up and up like a gigantic sloping wall that had fallen in ruins.
Vince had begun to climb, and had mounted a few feet, but not hearing his companion following, he turned back to look.
“Why don’t you come on?” he cried.
“I was thinking that we can never get up there.”
“Not if you stand still at the bottom,” said Vince, laughing; and his cheery way acted upon Mike’s spirits directly, for he began to follow. It was strange, though, that the laugh which had raised the spirits of one depressed those of the other; for Vince felt as if it was wrong to laugh there in that wild solitude, and he started violently as something rushed from beneath his feet and bounded off to their right.
“Only a rabbit,” said Mike, recovering from his own start. “But I say, Cinder, I never thought that there could be such a wild place as this in the island. Oh! what’s that?”
They were climbing slowly towards a tall ragged pinnacle of granite, which rose up some ten or fifteen feet by itself, when all at once a great black bird hopped into sight, looking gigantic against the sky, gazed down in a one-sided way, and began to utter a series of hoarse croaks, which sounded like the barkings of a dog.
“Only a raven,” said Vince quickly. “Why, I say, Mike, this must be where that pair we have seen build every year! We must find the nest, and get a young one or two to bring up.”
“Doesn’t look as if he’d let us,” said Mike, peering round with his eyes for a stone that he could pick up and hurl at the bird. But, though stone was in plenty, it was in masses that might be calculated by hundredweights and tons.
They climbed on slowly, one helping the other over the hardest bits; the faults and rifts between the blocks of granite, which in places were as regular as if they had been built up, afforded them foothold; but their way took them to the left, by the raven, which gave another bark or two, hopped from the stony pinnacle upon which it had remained perched, spread its wings, and, after a few flaps to right and then to left, rose to the broken ridge above their heads, hovered for a moment, and then, half closing its wings, dived down out of sight.
“Pretty close to the top,” cried Vince breathlessly; and he paused to wipe his streaming face before making a fresh start, bearing more and more to the left, and finding how solitary a spot they had reached—one so wild that it seemed as if it had never been trodden by the foot of man.
They both paused again when not many feet from the summit of the slope, their climb having been made so much longer by its laborious nature; and as they stopped, the action of both was the same: they gazed about them nervously, startled by the utter loneliness and desolation of the spot, which might have been far away in some Eastern desert, instead of close to the cliffs and commons about which they had played for years.
Granite blocks and boulders everywhere, save that in places there was a patch of white heather, ling, or golden starry ragwort; and in spite of their determination the desire was strong upon them to turn and hurry back. But for either to have proposed this would have been equivalent to showing the white feather; and for fear that Vince should for a moment fancy that he was ready to shirk the task, Mike said roughly, “Come on,” and continued the climbing, reaching the top first, and stretching out his hand, which was grasped by Vince, who pulled himself up and sank down by his companion’s side to gaze in wonder from the rugged ridge they had won.
It was not like the edge of a cliff, but a thorough ridge, steep as the roof of an old-fashioned house, down to where, some fifty feet below them, the slope ended and the precipice began.
It was rugged enough, but as far as they could see to right or left there was no way out: they were hemmed in by huge weathered blocks of granite and the sea. There was the way back, of course; but the desire upon both now was to go forward, for the curiosity which had been growing fast ever since they started was now culminating, and they were eager to penetrate the mystery of the place.
“What are we going to do next?” said Mike. “See if we can’t get down to the shore, of course;” and Vince seated himself between two rugged, tempest-worn points of rock, and had a long, searching look beyond the edge of the precipice below him.
First he swept the high barrier of detached rock which stretched before him two hundred yards or so distant, and apparently shutting in a nearly circular pool; for he and his companion were at the head of a deep indentation, the stern granite cliffs curving out to right and left, and seeming to touch the rocky barrier, which swarmed with birds on every shelf and ledge, large patches looking perfectly white.
“Seems like a lake,” said Mike suddenly, just as Vince was thinking the same thing.
“Yes, but it can’t be,” said Vince. “Look down there to the left, how the tide’s rushing in. Looks as if a boat couldn’t live in it a moment.”
“And if the tide rushes in boiling like that, there must be a way out. Think there’s a great hole right through under the island?”
“No; it looks deep and still there at the other end of the rocks, and—yes, you can see from here if you stand up. Why, Ladle, old chap, it is running.”
Vince had risen, taken hold of one of the jagged pieces of rock, stepped on to a point, and was gazing down to his left at the pent-in sea, which was rushing through a narrow opening between two towering rocks, foaming, boiling, and with the waves leaping over each other, as if forced out by some gigantic power, but evidently hidden from the side of the sea by the great barrier stretched before them.
“I can’t see anything,” said Mike.
“Climb up a bit. Here—up above me.”
Mike began to climb the rugged granite, and had just reached a position from whence he could stretch over and see the exit of the pent-in currents which glided round the little cove or bay, one strongly resembling the water-filled crater of some extinct volcano, when his left foot slipped from the little projection upon which he stood, and, in spite of the frantic snatch he made to save himself, he fell heavily upon Vince, driving him outward, while he himself dropped within the ridge, and for the moment it seemed as if Vince was to be sent rolling down the steep slope and over the edge of the precipice.
But the boy instinctively threw out his hands to clutch at anything to stop his downward progress, and his right came in contact with Mike’s leg, gripping the trouser desperately, and the next moment he was hanging at the full extent of his arm upon the slope, his back against the rock, staring outward over the barrier at the sea, while Mike was also on his back, but head downward, with his knees bent over the strait ridge upon which they had so lately been standing.
For quite a minute they lay motionless, too much unnerved by the shock to attempt to alter their positions; while Vince felt that if the cloth by which he held so desperately gave way, nothing could save him, and he must go down headlong to the unseen dangers below.
There was another danger, too, for which he waited with his heart beating painfully. At any moment he felt that he might drag his companion over to destruction, and the thought flashed through his brain, ought he to leave go?
This idea stirred him to action, and he made a vain effort to find rest for his heels; but they only glided over the rock, try how he would to find one of the little shelf-like openings formed between the blocks, which often lay like huge courses of quarried stone.
Then, as he hung there breathing heavily, he found his voice:
“Mike!” he shouted; and the answer came in a smothered tone from the other slope of the steep ridge.
“Hullo!”
“Can you help me?”
“No: can’t move; if I do you’ll pull me over.”
There was a terrible silence for what seemed to be minutes, but they were moments of the briefest, before Vince spoke again.
“Can you hold on?”
Silence, broken by a peculiar rustling, and then Mike said: “I think so. I’ve got my hand wedged in a crack; but I can’t hold on long with my head down like this. Look sharp! Climb up.”
“Look sharp—climb up!” muttered Vince, as, raising his left hand, which had been holding on to a projection in the rock at his side, he reached up, and, trying desperately, he managed to get hold of the doubled-over fold at the bottom of his companion’s trouser, cramping his fingers over it, and getting a second good hold.
It does not seem much to read, but it took a good deal of his force out of him, and he lay still, panting.
“Pray look sharp,” came from the other side.
“Yes. Hold on,” cried Vince, as a horrible sensation began creeping through him, which he felt was preparatory to losing his nerve and falling: “I’m going to turn over.”
“No, no—don’t,” came faintly. “I can’t hold on.”
“You must!” shouted Vince fiercely. “Now!”
Clutching desperately at the frail cloth, he gave himself a violent wrench and rolled himself right over upon his face, searching quickly with his toes for some support, and feeling them glide over the surface again and again, till a peculiar sensation of blindness began to attack him. Then a thrill of satisfaction ran through his nerves, for one boot toe glided into the fault between two blocks, and the tension upon his muscles was at once relieved.
“I can’t help it,” came faintly to his ears. “You’re dragging me over. Help! help!”
Croak! came in a hoarse, barking note, and the great raven floated across them not a dozen feet above their heads.
“All right!” cried Vince. “I can manage now.” And he felt about with his other foot, found a projection, and having now two resting-places for his feet, one higher than the other, he cautiously drew himself up, inch by inch, till his chin was level with his hands, when, taking a deep, long breath, he forced his toe well against the rock, trusting to a slight projection; and, calling to Mike to try and hold on, he made a quick snatch with one hand at the lad’s leg a foot higher, but failed to get a good grasp, his hand gliding down the leg, and Mike uttered a wild cry.
For a moment Vince felt that he must fall, but in his desperation his teeth closed on the cloth beneath him, checking his downward progress; and as his feet scraped over the rock in his efforts to find fresh hold, he found his cliff-climbing had borne its fruits by hardening the muscles of his arms. How he hardly knew, he managed to get hand over hand upon Mike’s leg, till he drew himself above the ridge, and in his last effort he fell over, dragging his companion with him, so that they rolled together down the inner slope twenty or thirty feet, till a block checked their progress.
Just then, as they lay scratched and panting, there was a darkening of the air, the soft whishing of wings, and the raven dropped on the big pinnacle close at hand, to utter its hoarse, barking croak as it gazed wickedly at them with first one and then the other eye.
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Mike, in a peculiarly hysterical tone; “wouldn’t you like it? But not this time, old fellow. Oh, don’t I wish I had a stone!”
The same memory had come to both, as they lay breathless and exhausted, of seeing this bird or one of its relatives rise from below the cliff edge one day as they approached; and, looking down, they saw upon a ledge, where it had fallen, a dead lamb, upon which the great ill-omened bird had been making a meal.
“Hurt?” said Vince at last, as he sat up and examined his clothes for tears.
“Hurt! why, of course I am. I gave my head such a whack against one of the stones.—Are you?”
“No,” said Vince, making an effort to laugh at the danger from which he had escaped. “I say, though, your trousers are made of better cloth than mine.”
“Trousers!” said Mike sourly: “you’ve nearly torn the flesh off my bones. You did get hold of a bit of skin with your teeth, only I flinched and got it away. I say, though—”
“Well? What?” said Vince; for the other stopped. “That’s the way down to the Scraw; but you needn’t have been in such a hurry to go.”
Vince shuddered in spite of his self-control. “I wonder,” he said softly, “whether it’s deep water underneath or rocks?”
“I don’t know that it matters,” was the reply. “If it had been water you couldn’t have swum in such a whirlpool as it seems to be. So you might just as well have been killed on the rocks. But oh! I say Cinder, don’t talk about it.”
The boy’s face grew convulsed, and he looked so horrified that Vince cried eagerly—
“Here, I say, don’t take it like that. It was not so bad as we thought. It wouldn’t have happened if you’d held tight instead of blundering on to me.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” said Mike, trying to master his feelings.
“All right. About that cove. You see the water comes rushing in at one side and goes out at the other, and I daresay when the tide turns it goes the other way. I should like to get right down to it, so as to see the water close to.”
Mike shuddered. “You won’t try again, will you?” he said.
“Try again? Yes. Why not? Why, we might come a million times and never slip again.”
“Yes,” said Mike, but rather shrinkingly. “Shall we go back home now?”
“No; not till we’ve had another good look down at the place. Here—hi! you be off, or next time we come we’ll bring a gun.”
Croak! said the raven, and it took flight—not, however, at the words, but from the cap sent skimming up at it where it perched watching them.
“Come on,” cried Vince; and his companion sprang up as if ashamed of his weakness.
Then together they climbed back to the scene of their adventure, and had a good look down at the shut-in cove, calmly reconnoitring the danger through which one of them had passed; and, after gazing long at the entrance and place of exit of the tides, they climbed along the ridge for some distance to the right, and then back and away to the left, but they could see nothing more—nothing but the rock-bound bay shut-in from the sea, and whose shore, if there was any, remained hidden from their sight by the projecting edge of cliff at the bottom of the slope below them.
“There,” said Vince at last,—“I know how I feel.”
“So do I,” said Mike: “that we’ve had all our trouble for nothing.”
“No, I don’t; I feel as if I shan’t be satisfied till I’ve been right down there and seen what it’s like.”
“But we can’t get there. Nobody could go in a boat.”
“Perhaps not. We must climb down.”
Mike suppressed a shudder. “Can’t be done,” he said.
“How do we know till we’ve looked right down over the edge?”
“Must bring a rope, then?”
“Of course, and one hold it while the other creeps to the edge and looks over.”
Mike nodded, and they began to retrace their steps, talking thoughtfully as they went.
“Shall you say anything about our—accident?” asked Mike at last.
“No: only frighten my mother.”
“Nor yet about the Scraw, and what we’re going to try and do?”
“No: what’s the good? Let’s find what there is to see first. I say, Cinder, it will be as good as going to a foreign country seeking adventures. Who knows what we may find?”
“Raven’s nest, for one thing.”
“Yes, I expect that chap has got his wife and young ones somewhere about here. How about a rope? Have you got one at home?”
“Yes; but so have you.”
“I’m not very fond of ours,” said Vince thoughtfully. “It’s a long time since it was new, and we don’t want to have any accidents. You bring a coil of new rope from your boat-shed: we’ll take care of it. And, I tell you what, I’ll bring that little crowbar of ours next time, and a big hammer, so as to drive the bar into some crack. It will be better than holding the rope.”
The talk of their future plans lasted till it was nearly time to part, and they were just arranging for their hour of meeting on the next day when they came suddenly upon old Daygo, at the corner of the lane leading down to his comfortable cottage.
“Art’noon,” he said, with a nod, and fixing his eyes upon each of them searchingly. “Having a walk?”
“Yes,” said Vince carelessly. “When are you going to take us fishing again?”
“Oh! one o’ these fine days, my lads; but you’re getting to be quite men now, and must think more about your books. Been on the cliffs?”
“Yes,” said Vince. “Come on, Mike: it’s tea-time.”
The boys walked on in silence for some moments, and then Vince spoke.
“I say, Mike, do you think he’s watching us?”
“No,” said Mike shortly. “You fancy he is, because you’ve got some cock-and-bull notion that he don’t want us to go to the Scraw.”
“Perhaps so,” said Vince thoughtfully; “but I can’t help it. I do think so.”
“Well, suppose he does; he said what was right: it is a horribly dangerous place, and all the people keep away from it because they’ve got ideas like his.”
“Maybe,” said Vince, with his brow all in puckers. “But never mind; we’ll go and see.”
Chapter Six.
Haunted by the Scraw.
The weather interfered with the prosecution of the boys’ adventure for a week, and during that time, what with wind and rain, they had nothing to tempt them to the cliff but the sight of a large French three-masted lugger or chasse-marée, which was driven by the gale and currents dangerously near the Crag: so near, in fact, that old Daygo and nearly every fisherman in the place hung about the cliffs in full expectation of seeing the unfortunate vessel strike upon one or other of the rocks and go to pieces, when all on board must have inevitably been drowned, the height of the sea making it madness to attempt to launch a boat.
But, to the relief of all, the swift vessel was so cleverly managed that she finally crept through an extremely dangerous passage, and then, catching a cross current, was borne right out to where she could weather the northern point of the island, and disappeared into the haze.
“There, young gentlemen,” said old Daygo in a stentorian voice, “that’s seamanship! But she’d no business to come so near the Crag in weather like this. Wouldn’t ha’ like to be aboard o’ she just now, would you?”
“No,” said Vince; “nor you neither?”
“Hey? Why, that’s just what I’ve been a-wishing these two hours past, my lad. I could ha’ took her out o’ danger long enough before; but them Frenchies don’t know our island like I do. Why, I feel sometimes as if I could smell where the rocks are, and I could steer a boat by touch, like, even if it was black as the inside of a tar-barrel in the middle of the night.”
It sounded like empty boasting, but the words were seriously received by the rough men around.
“Ay, ay,” said one fat, heavy-looking fellow; “Joe Daygo knows. I wouldn’t ha’ been aboard her fer no money.”
“Been thinking you’d eat no more byled lobster—eh, Jemmy Carnach?” said Daygo, with a hoarse laugh; and the man gave him a surly look and sauntered away.
“I say,” said Mike, as soon as the lads were alone; “old Joe is really a good sort of fellow after all. He seemed a deal more troubled about that French boat than any one else.”
“Yes; and I suppose he is a clever pilot, and knows all about the currents and the rocks; but I don’t quite understand about his being so well off.”
Mike began to whistle, and said nothing for a few moments.
“I don’t see why he shouldn’t be well off,” he said; “he’s getting old, and he’s very mean, and never spends money upon himself.”
Vince nodded, and remained silent.
Then came a lovely morning after the week’s bad weather, and Vincent was just starting for Sir Francis Ladelle’s rather unwillingly, to join Mike for the day’s studies, when there was a cheery whistle outside and his fellow-pupil appeared.
“I say!” he cried, “father said it was a shame for us to lose such a fine day, and he told Mr Deane to give us a holiday.”
“Eh? What’s that?” cried the Doctor. “Here, I’m off up to the house to put a stop to that. I’m not going to pay half that tutor’s expenses if this sort of idleness is to be encouraged.”
Mike looked aghast.
“It’s all right,” said Vince merrily; “father doesn’t mean it.”
“Oh, don’t I!” cried the Doctor, frowning.
“No: does he, mother?”
Mrs Burnet smiled and shook her head.
“Here, you boys, don’t get into any mischief.”
“No, father,” said Vince, and the next minute they were outside.
“Scraw?” said Vincent; and his companion nodded unwillingly, as the boy thought, but he changed his opinion the next moment.
“I’ve got the hammer and bar ready, and a small rope; but we must have yours.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, run back and get it, and meet me out by the Dolmen.”
“Brought it,” said Mike: “tucked it under a furze bush out on the common.”
Vince’s face lit up with eagerness, and the pair were about to start when they saw old Daygo in the distance, and they turned back, went into the house, and waited till he had gone by.
Giving the fisherman time to get well out of sight, they sallied forth, and went to where the coil of rope was hidden—a thin, strong line that would have borne a couple of men hanging on its end—and as soon as this was brought out, and a glance round taken to make sure they were not watched, Mike cried—
“But what about the hammer and bar?”
Vince opened his jersey to show the head of the hammer on one side, the crowbar on the other, snugly tucked in the waistband of his trousers.
“Well done! that’s capital!” cried Mike. And the two lads went off in the direction of the Scraw, but in a zigzag fashion, as if their intentions were entirely different; and this at Vince’s wish, for he had a strong impression that old Daygo was keeping an eye upon their movements, though Mike laughed at the idea.
“I don’t feel nervous about it now, do you?” said Vince, as soon as they were well under cover of the rugged ground.
“No; but I don’t like to think about that ugly slip you had,” said Mike thoughtfully.
“I didn’t have an ugly slip: you knocked me over.”
“Oh, well, I couldn’t help it, could I? and I did hold on till you got out of it.”
“Never mind that now,” said Vince; “let’s think about what we are going to do. There’ll be no danger so long as we are careful—and I mean to be, very, and so I tell you. Wonder whether we shall see our black friend? I say, didn’t it seem as if it was on the look-out for us to have a bad accident?”
“No: seemed as if it was on the look-out to keep us from finding its nest.”
They chatted away merrily enough till they had nearly reached the chaos of tumbled-together rocks, when, in spite of the bright sunshine and blue sky overhead, the wildness of the place once more impressed them unpleasantly, and, instead of the cheery conversation and banter in which they had indulged, they became quiet, only speaking at intervals, and then in quite a low tone.
The bottom of the steep, rough slope was reached, and they paused to consider their plans. They had come out some fifty yards from where they made their former ascent to the ridge, for it was marked by the jagged sugar-loaf upon which the raven had perched. But the sloping wall of granite where they were presented just about the same aspect as that portion where they had struggled up before, and there was no reason for making a détour over very difficult ground, cumbered with huge blocks that must have fallen from above, and tangled in the hollows between with brambles; so they determined to climb from where they stood, and began at once, each selecting his own route, with the understanding that a pyramidal block eighty or ninety feet above their heads should be the meeting-place.
“Come on, then,” cried Mike. “First up!”
“No, no,” said Vince. “This must be done steadily. We shall want to be cool and fresh for anything we may have to do. One of us is sure to be obliged to go down by the rope.”
“Very well,” said Mike; and they commenced the ascent, each feeling the wisdom of the plan adopted, the climb being difficult enough, though there was not the slightest danger.
They were glad enough to rest and wipe their brows as they stood by the rough block, and upon which they found they could easily climb; but there was nothing more to see than at their former visit, save that the rocks looked far more rough, both at the torrent-like entrance and the narrow opening on their right, while even from the height at which they stood it was plain to see that the circular cove was in a violent state of ebullition.
But here, close in, was the slope which ran down towards the sea—very similar in character to that by which they had ascended, only that it was, as it were, chopped off short. In fact, they seemed to be on the summit of a stony ridge of granite mountains, one side of which had been nearly all gnawed away by the sea.
“Don’t seem much choice of where to go down,” said Vince, after a long scrutiny to right and left. “Shall we try here?”
“Just as well as anywhere else,” said Mike. “Only what is it we are going to do? If it means creeping down with a rope round one, and then going over the edge to play chicken at the end of a roasting-jack, I feel as if I’d rather not.”
“It means going carefully down to the edge and looking over first,” replied Vince. “It may only be a place where we can get down easily enough.”
“Or it may be a place where we can’t,” said Mike. “All right: I’ll go, if you like.”
“No: I’ll go first,” said Vince. And he drew out his hammer and crowbar; but a block of granite close by stood up so much like a thick, blunt post that there seemed to be no need for the crowbar to be driven in; so, making one end fast round the block with a well-tried mooring knot—one which old Daygo had taught them might be depended upon for securing a boat—they calculated how much rope would be necessary to well reach the bottom of the broken-off slope, and at the end of this the line was knotted round Vince’s chest and he prepared to descend.
“Ease it away gently, so that I’m not checked,” said the lad, as Mike took hold close to him and knelt down ready to pay the rope out and so as to be able to tighten his grasp at any moment if there was a slip.
“Right! I’ll mind; and you’ll be all right: you can’t fall.”
“I know,” was the reply; and trusting to his companion, while strengthened by the knowledge that at the very worst he must be brought up short by the granite block, Vince gave a sharp look downward, and, selecting a spot at the edge a little to his right for the point to make for, he turned his face to the slope and began to descend, carefully picking hand and foothold and helped by the steady strain upon the rope which was kept up by Mike, who watched every movement breathlessly, his eyes fixed upon his companion’s head, and ready to respond to every order which was uttered.
Vince went down as calmly and deliberately as if the level ground were just below him till he was about two-thirds of the way, when he could not help giving a start, for Mike suddenly exclaimed:
“Here’s that old raven coming!”
“Where?”
“Off to my right—in a hurry. You must be somewhere near the nest.”
Vince hesitated for a few moments, for the thought occurred to him that the bird might make a swoop at him, as he had read of eagles acting under similar circumstances; but the next moment he had thought of what power there would be in the blow of a fist striking a bird in full career, and knowing full well that it must be fatal to the raven, he continued to descend, with the bird flying by some fifty feet overhead and uttering its hoarse croak.
“Lower away a little more,” said Vince, as he drew nearer the edge of what might either be a precipice or an easy slope for aught he could tell.
“I’ll lower,” was the reply; “but I want to feel you well.”
“That’s right. I must have rope enough to move quite freely.”
“Yes, that’s all very well; but I don’t feel as if I could haul you up if you slipped over the edge.”
“Who’s going to ask you to?” said Vince. “I should try and climb, shouldn’t I? If you keep me tight like that I can’t get down.”
“Are you all right?” said Mike anxiously, for he was by far the more nervous of the two.
“Right?—yes; but I feel like a cow tethered to a picket, so that I can’t reach the bit of grass sward. Now then, lower away.”
Mike obeyed, with the palms of his hands growing very moist, as his companion drew closer to the brink.
“Lower away!” cried Vince.
“No: that’s close enough,” said Mike decidedly. “Look from where you are, and come back. Now then, what can you see?”
“A bit of moss and a patch of sea-pink just under my nose. Don’t be so stupid! How am I to look over the edge if you hold me tight up like this? Ah!”
“What is it?” cried Mike, holding on to the rope with all his might, and keeping it resting on the rock, over which it had slowly glided.
“Only a loose stone gave way under my feet, and went down.”
He remained silent, waiting to hear the fragment rebound and strike somewhere, but he listened in vain. The fall of the stone, however, had its effect, for a wild chorus of whistling and screaming arose, and an eddy of wings came up as a perfect cloud of white and grey birds rose into sight, and were spread to right and left.
“Hadn’t you better come back now?” said Mike anxiously.
“If I do it will be to make you come down instead. Why, you’re worse than I am, Mike! Now then, lower away! I only want about a fathom more, and then you may hold on tight.”
“Very well, then,” said the lad: “I’ll give you just six feet, and not a bit more. Then you shall come up.”
“Say seven,” cried Vince merrily.
“No: six. That’s what you said; so make much of it.”
“Lower away, then!” cried Vince; and he carefully descended, after a glance over his left shoulder, creeping cautiously down, and edging to his left till he was just over the block at the edge which he had marked out for his goal.
“That’s four feet, mind!” cried Mike: “only two more.”
“Good little boy!” said Vince merrily. “Four and two do make six. I’ll tell Mr Deane to-morrow. He was grumbling the other day about the muddle you made over your algebra.”
“You look after your climbing, and never mind my algebra,” said Mike huskily.
“Now, Mikey!” cried Vince; “hold on—tight as you can.”
“Yes. Don’t you want the other two feet?”
“Of course I do; but I’m going to turn over.”
“No, no, I say—don’t!” cried Mike. “Do think where you are! Have a good look, and then come up.”
“Here, I say, you’d better come down instead of me. I can’t see out of the back of my head if you can. Now, no nonsense. This is what I want to do: I’m going to turn over, with my back to the cliff, and then shuffle down that other two feet, with my legs on each side of that piece of stone.”
“But it’s at the very edge,” said Mike. “Good boy again! How well you can see, Ladle! It is just at the edge; and, once I’m there, I can see down either way.”
“But it isn’t safe, Cinder. I can’t help being anxious. Suppose the stone’s loose, and gives way?”
“Why, then it will fall down and frighten more birds. Now then, don’t fidget. If the stone goes, you’d still hold on by the rope, and I should be left sitting there all the same. I shouldn’t do it if I didn’t feel that I could. I’m not a bit nervous, so hold on.”
“Very well,” said Mike breathlessly: “I’ve got you.”
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
Vincent Burnet did not hesitate, but, with a quick movement, turned himself right over, dragging heavily upon the rope, though, and making his companion draw in his breath through his closed teeth with a hissing sound.
“There I am,” said Vince coolly. “I could slip down into the place if I liked, but I won’t try; so just ease the rope, inch by inch, as I shuffle myself lower. That’s the way. Easy as kiss my hand. A little more, and a little more, and there we are. Why, Mike, old chap, it’s just like sitting in a saddle—only it’s so hard.”
“Are your legs right over the side?”
“Yes, and the wind’s blowing up the legs of my trousers like anything. Oh! you can’t think what a sharp draught there is.”
“Never mind the draught.”
“No use to,” said Vince.
“Oh, I say, do have a good look down, and then come up again. Now, then: does the cliff slope from where you are?”
“Yes, right down to the water.”
“Steeply?”
“Yes.”
“Could we climb down?”
“Yes, if we were flies: Mike, old chap, it’s just awful!”
“What!” cried Mike breathlessly.
“Yes: that’s it—awful,” said Vince quietly, as he rested his hands on the block he bestrode, and looked over to his left. “It slopes down; but the wrong way. It goes right in as far as I can see, and— Yes, it does just the same on the other side. If I were to go down now I should plump right into black water, that’s boiling up and racing along like it does where there’s a rocky bottom, I do wish you were here to see.”
“I don’t,” whispered Mike. “There—that’ll do,” he continued aloud. “Come up.”
“Wait a bit. I must see a little more, now I am here. I say, it’s awful!—it’s grand! The rocks, as far as I can see, are as smooth as can be, and all sorts of colours, just as if they were often breaking away. Some are dark and some are browny and lavender, and there’s one great patch, all glittering grey granite, looking as new as new.”
“Yes, it must be very beautiful; but come back.”
“Don’t you be in such a hurry,” said Vince. “You won’t catch me sitting here again. I’ll let you down if you like, but once is quite enough for me. I want to have a good look, though, so as to tell you all about it before I do come, for, on second thoughts, I shan’t lower you down here—it’s too horrid. I say: wherever I can see there are thousands of birds, but there are not many places where they can sit. I can see one raven, too—there are two of them sailing about just under me, with their backs shining in the sun. Oh, Mike: look at the cormorants! I never knew there were so many about the island. Big gulls, and puffins, and terns, and—I say, what a cloud of pigeons flying right out from under me: Why, there must be a cavern going right in. Hold tight! I want to lean out more to try and see.”
“No!” shrieked out Mike. “Don’t—don’t! It’s a hundred times worse kneeling here and seeing you than doing it oneself.”
“But I only want to see if there is a cave.”
“If the pigeons keep flying out there must be.”
“Well, there they go, and here are some more coming, and they’ve flown right in somewhere, so I suppose there is. Want to hear any more about the place?”
“No, no. Come up now.”
“All right, old chap; then I will, after one more look round and down below. The water is wild, though, and the rocks are grand; but old Joe is as right as can be: it’s a terrible place, and unless any one likes to hang at the end of a three-hundred-feet rope he cannot get to the bottom here nor anywhere else along this cliff. It’s just three parts of a round, and goes in all of a hollow below, where I am. There—that’s all; and now I’m coming up.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Mike, in a tone full of thankfulness; and as Vince shuffled himself a little way—not much, for there was not room—the rope tightened about his chest, giving him so strong a support that he leaned back, pressed his hands down on either side of him to steady himself, and drew up one leg till he could plant his heel on the stone where he had been seated. A steady draw up of the other leg, and it was beside its fellow; then, getting well hold of the nearest projections on either side, he shouted up to his companion to haul hard—shouted, though in the immensity of the place his words, like those which had preceded them, sounded weak and more like whispers.
“Right!” said Mike; and then he uttered a wild cry, for as Vince thrust with feet and hands together, straightening himself out, the rope tightened at the same moment, and then the lad hung motionless against the slope.
The rain and frost had been hard at work upon the edge of that precipice, as its sharply gnawed-off edge showed and the huge stone which the venturous lad had stridden was only waiting for the sharp thrust which it had received, for with a dull crack it was separated from the side, with an enormous mass beneath it, and went rushing down, leaving a jagged curve, as if the piece had been bitten out, just below the lad’s feet.
Vince did not stir even to feel for a place to plant his hands, but remained motionless for some moments. Then there was a dull splash echoed from the barrier rock which shut-in the cove, and the rushing sound of wings, as the startled birds rose in clouds from their resting-places all around.
At last the full sense of his perilous position came to the boy, and with it his coolness; and he grasped the rock as well as he could, and called up to his companion.
“Grip hard, Ladle!” he cried. “I’m going to try and turn face to you.”
There was no reply; but a thrill seemed to come down the fibres of the rope, and the strain upon the boy’s chest to increase.
It was no easy task, for it was hard to find a resting-place on either side of the gap for his feet; but, full of trust in Mike’s hold of the rope, and strengthened by the knowledge that it was secured to the granite block as well, Vince gave himself a quick writhe, and turned upon his face. Then, after a scrambling slip or two, his toes found a ledge, as his hands already had, and he climbed steadily up.
That task was not difficult, for the foothold was easy to select, the rope tightening still, and giving him steady help, while the distance, long as it had taken him to descend, was only short.
In another minute he was over the ridge, looking down on Mike, who, instead of hauling in the rope as he came up, had let himself glide down like a counterpoise, and as soon as he saw his companion in safety, he drew himself in a crouching position and stared up with his lips apart.
“It’s all right,” said Vince huskily. “Why, your face is white as white, and your hair’s all wet.”
“Yes,” gasped Mike hysterically, “and so’s yours. Oh, Cinder, old chap, I thought you had gone! Let’s get away from this horrid place. Old Joe’s right: there is something terrible about it after all.”
“Wait a bit,” said Vince, rather feebly, as he too crouched down upon a piece of rock. “I don’t feel as if I could move much for a bit. I am so stiff and weak, and this rope’s cut into my chest. Yes: old Joe’s right; there’s no getting down there. But it was awfully grand, Ladle, and I should have liked you to see it.”
“And do you want to lower me down?” said Mike fiercely.
“No!” cried Vince sharply. “I wouldn’t have you feel what I felt when that stone broke off and left me hanging there for all the riches in the world!”