CHAPTER FIVE.
A NIGHT OF ANXIETY.
I looked in the direction from which the sounds came, but there wasnothing visible, save the thick white fog, and in my excitement andhorror, thinking I was looking in the wrong direction, I turned sharplyround.
White fog.
I looked in another direction.
White fog.
Then I seemed to lose my head altogether, and hurried here and therewith my hands extended, completely astray.
It only took moments, swift moments, for all this to take place, andthen I heard voices that I knew, but sounding muffled and as if a longway off.
"Cob! Where are you, Cob?"
"Here," I shouted. "I'll try and come."
"No, no!"--it was Uncle Jack who spoke--"don't stir for your life."
"But," I shouted, with my voice sounding as if I was covered with ablanket, "I want to come to you."
"Stop where you are," he cried. "I command you."
I stayed where I was, and the next moment a fresh voice cried to me, asif pitying my condition:
"Cob, lad."
"Yes," I cried.
"There is a horrible precipice. Don't stir."
It was Uncle Bob who said this to comfort me, and make me safe fromrunning risks, but he made me turn all of a cold perspiration, and Istood there shivering, listening to the murmur of voices that came to mein a stifled way.
At last I could bear it no longer. It seemed so strange. Only a minuteor two ago we were all together on the top of a great hill admiring theprospect. Now we were separated. Then all seemed open and clear, andwe were looking away for miles: now I seemed shut-in by this pale whitegloom that stopped my sight, and almost my hearing, while it numbed andconfused my faculties in a way that I could not have felt possible.
"Uncle Jack!" I cried, as a sudden recollection came back of a cry Ihad heard.
"He is not here," cried Uncle Bob. "He is trying to find a way down."
"Where is Uncle Dick?"
"Hush, boy! Don't ask."
"But, uncle, I may come to you, may I not?" I cried, trembling with thedread of what had happened, for in spite of my confused state I realisednow that Uncle Dick must have fallen.
"My boy," he shouted back, "I daren't say yes. The place ends here in aterrible way. We two nearly went over, and I dare not stir, for Icannot see a yard from my feet. I am on a very steep slope too."
"But where has Uncle Jack gone then?"
"Ahoy!" came from somewhere behind me, and apparently below.
"Ahoy! Uncle Jack," I yelled.
"Ahoy, boy! I want to come to you. Keep shouting_here_--_here_--_here_."
I did as he bade me, and he kept answering me, and for a minute or twohe seemed to be coming nearer. Then his voice sounded more distant, andmore distant still; then ceased.
"Cob, I can't hear him," came from near me out of the dense gloom. "Canyou?"
"No!" I said with a shiver.
"Ahoy, Jack!" roared Uncle Bob.
"Ahoy-oy!" came from a distance in a curiously stifled way.
"Give it up till the fog clears off. Stand still."
There was no reply, and once more the terrible silence seemed to clinground me. The gloom increased, and I sank on my knees, not daring tostand now, but listening, if I may say so, with all my might.
What had happened? What was going to happen? Were we to stay there allnight in the darkness, shivering with cold and damp? Only a littlewhile ago I had been tired and hot; now I did not feel the fatigue, butwas shivering with cold, and my hands and face were wet.
I wanted to call out to Uncle Bob again, but the sensation came overme--the strange, wild fancy that something had happened to him, and Idared not speak for fear of finding that it was true.
All at once as I knelt there, listening intently for the slightestsound, I fancied I heard some one breathing. Then the sound stopped.Then it came nearer, and the dense mist parted, and a figure was uponme, crawling close by me without seeing me; and crying "Uncle Bob!" Istarted forward and caught at him as I thought. My hands seized moistwool for a moment, and then it was jerked out of my hands, as, with afrightened _Baa_! Its wearer bounded away.
"What's that?" came from my left and below me, in the same oldsuffocated tone.
"A sheep," I cried, trembling with the start the creature had given me.
"Did you see which way it went?"
"Yes--beyond me."
"Then it must be safe your way, Cob. I'll try and crawl to you, lad,but I'm so unnerved I can hardly make up my mind to stir."
"Let me come to you," I cried.
"No, no! I'll try and get to you. Where are you?"
"Here," I cried.
"All right!" came back in answer; but matters did not seem all right,for Uncle Bob's voice suddenly seemed to grow more distant, and when Ishouted to him my cry came back as if I had put my face against a walland spoken within an inch or two thereof.
"I think we'd better give it up, Cob," he shouted now from somewherequite different. "It is not safe to stir."
I did not think so, and determined to make an attempt to get to him.
For, now that I had grown a little used to the fog, it did not seem soappalling, though it had grown thicker and darker till I seemed quiteshut-in.
"I'll stop where I am, Cob," came now as if from above me; "and Idaresay in a short time the wind will rise."
I answered, but I felt as if I could not keep still. I had been scaredby the sudden separation from my companions, but the startled feelinghaving passed away I did not realise the extent of our danger. In factit seemed absurd for three strong men and a lad like me to be upset inthis way by a mist.
Uncle Dick had had a fall, but I would not believe it had been serious.Perhaps he had only slipped down some long slope.
I crouched there in the darkness, straining my eyes to try and piercethe mist, and at last, unable to restrain my impatience, I began tocrawl slowly on hands and knees in the direction whence my uncle's voiceseemed to come.
I crept a yard at a time very carefully, feeling round with my handsbefore I ventured to move, and satisfying myself that the ground wassolid all around.
It seemed so easy, and it was so impossible that I could come to anyharm this way, that I grew more confident, and passing my hand over therough shale chips that were spread around amongst the short grass, Ibegan to wonder how my uncles could have been so timid, and not havemade a brave effort to escape from our difficulty.
I kept on, growing more and more confident each moment in spite of thethick darkness that surrounded me, for it seemed so much easier thancrouching there doing nothing for myself. But I went very cautiously,for I found I was on a steep slope, and that very little would have beenrequired to send me sliding down.
Creep, creep, creep, a yard in two or three minutes, but still I wasprogressing somewhere, and even at this rate I thought that I could joineither of my companions when I chose.
I had made up my mind to go a few yards further and then speak, feelingsure that I should be close to Uncle Bob, and that then we could go ontogether and find Uncle Jack.
I had just come to this conclusion, and was thrusting out my right handagain, when, as I tried to set it down, there was nothing there.
I drew it in sharply and set it down close to the other as I knelt, andthen passed it slowly from me over the loose scraps of slaty stone tofind it touch the edge of a bank that seemed to have been cut offperpendicularly, and on passing my hand over, it touched first soft turfand earth and then scrappy loose fragments of shale.
This did not startle me, for it appeared to be only a little depressionin the ground, but thrusting out one foot I found that go over too, sothat I knew I must be parallel with the edge of the trench or crack inthe earth.
I picked up a piece of shale and threw it from me, listening for itsfall, but no sound came, so I sat down with one leg over the depressionand kicked with my heel to loosen a bit of the soil.
I was a couple of feet back, and as I kicked I felt the ground I satupon quiver; then there was a loud rushing sound, and I threw myselfdown clinging with my hands, for a great piece of the edge right up towhere I sat had given way and gone down, leaving me with my legs hangingover the edge, and but for my sudden effort I should have fallen.
"What was that?" cried a voice some distance above me.
"It is I, Uncle Bob," I panted. "Come and help me."
I heard a fierce drawing in of the breath, and then a low crawlingsound, and little bits of stone seemed to be moved close by me.
"Where are you, boy?" came again.
"Here."
"Can you crawl to me? I'm close by your head."
"No," I gasped. "If I move I'm afraid I shall fall."
There was the same fierce drawing in of the breath, the crawling soundagain, and a hand touched my face, passed round it, and took a tighthold of my collar.
"Lie quite still, Cob," was whispered; "I'm going to draw you up. Now!"
I felt myself dragged up suddenly, and at the same moment the earth andstones upon which I had been lying dropped from under me with a loudhissing rushing sound, and then I was lying quite still, clinging toUncle Bob's hand, which was very wet and cold.
"How did you come there?" he said at length.
"Crawled there, trying to get to you," I said.
"And nearly went down that fearful precipice, you foolish fellow. Butthere: you are safe."
"I did not know it was so dangerous," I faltered.
"Dangerous!" he cried. "It is awful in this horrible darkness. Themountain seems to have been cut in half somewhere about here, and thisfog confuses so that it is impossible to stir. We must wait till itblows off I think we are safe now, but I dare not try to find a betterplace. Dare you?"
"Not after what I have just escaped from," I said dolefully.
"Are you cold?"
"Ye-es," I said with a shiver. "It is so damp."
"Creep close to me, then," he said. "We shall keep each other warm."
We sat like that for hours, and still the fog kept as dense as ever,only that overhead there was a faint light, which grew stronger and thendied out over and over again. The stillness was awful, but I had acompanion, and that made my position less painful. He would not talk,though as a rule he was very bright and chatty; now he would only say,"Wait and see;" and we waited.
The change came, after those long terrible hours of anxiety, like magic.One moment it was thick darkness; the next I felt, as it were, afeather brush across my cheek.
"Did you feel that?" I said quickly.
"Feel what, Cob?"
"Something breathing against us?"
"No--yes!" he cried joyfully. "It was the wind."
The same touch came again, but stronger. There was light above ourheads. I could dimly see my companion, and then a cloud that lookedwhite and strange in the moonlight was gliding slowly away from us overwhat seemed to be a vast black chasm whose edge was only a few yardsaway.
It was wonderful how quickly that mist departed and went skimming awayinto the distance, as if a great curtain were being drawn, leaving thesky sparkling with stars and the moon shining bright and clear.
"You see now the danger from which you escaped?" said Uncle Bob with ashudder.
"Yes," I said; "but did--do you think--"
He looked at me without answering, and just then there came from behindus a loud "Ahoy!"
"Ahoy!" shouted back Uncle Bob; and as we turned in the direction of thecry we could see Uncle Jack waving his white handkerchief to us, and wewere soon after by his side.
They gripped hands without a word as they met, and then after a shortsilence Uncle Jack said:
"We had better get on and descend on the other, side."
"But Uncle Dick!" I cried impetuously; "are you not going to search forUncle Dick?"
The brothers turned upon me quite fiercely, but neither of them spoke;and for the next hour we went stumbling on down the steep slope of thegreat hill, trying to keep to the sheep-tracks, which showed prettyplainly in the moonlight, but every now and then we went astray.
My uncles were wonderfully quiet, but they kept steadily on; and I didnot like to break their communings, and so trudged behind them, notingthat they kept as near as seemed practicable to the place where themountain ended in a precipice; and now after some walking I could lookback and see that the moon was shining full upon the face of the hill,which looked grey and as if one end had been dug right away.
On we went silently and with a settled determined aim, about which noone spoke, but perhaps thought all the more.
I know that I thought so much about the end of our quest that I keptshuddering as I trudged on, with sore feet, feeling that in a short timewe should be turning sharp round to our left so as to get to the foot ofthe great precipice, where the hill had been gnawed away by time, andwhere the loose earth still kept shivering down.
It was as I expected; we turned sharp off to the left and were soonwalking with our faces towards the grey-looking face, that at firstlooked high, but, as we went on, towered up more and more till theheight seemed terrific.
It was a weary heart-rending walk before we reached the hill-like slopewhere the loose shaley rock and earth was ever falling to add to the_debris_ up which we climbed.
"There's no telling exactly where he must have come over," said UncleJack, after we had searched about some time, expecting moment by momentto come upon the insensible form of our companion. "We must spread outmore."
For we neither of us would own to the possibility of Uncle Dick beingkilled. For my part I imagined that he would have a broken leg,perhaps, or a sprained ankle. If he had fallen head-first he might haveput out his shoulder or broken his collar-bone. I would not imagineanything worse.
The moon was not so clear now, for fleecy clouds began to sail across itand made the search more difficult, as we clambered on over the shale,which in the steepest parts gave way under our feet. But I determinedlyclimbed on, sure that if I got very high up I should be able to lookdown and see where Uncle Dick was lying.
To this end I toiled higher and higher, till I could fairly considerthat I was touching the face of the mountain where the slope of _debris_began; and I now found that the precipice sloped too, being anything butperpendicular.
"Can you see him, Cob?" cried Uncle Jack from below.
"No," I said despondently.
"Stay where you are," he cried again, "quite still."
That was impossible, for where I stood the shale was so small and loosethat I was sliding down slowly; but I made very little noise, and justthen Uncle Jack uttered a tremendous--
"Dick, ahoy!"
There was a pause and he shouted again:
"Dick, ahoy!"
"Ahoy!" came back faintly from somewhere a long way off.
"There he is!" I cried.
"No--an echo," said Uncle Jack. "Ahoy!"
"Ahoy!" came back.
"There, you see--an echo."
"Ahoy!" came again.
"That's no echo," cried Uncle Bob joyfully. "Dick!"
He shouted as loudly as he could.
"Ahoy!"
"There! It was no echo. He's all right; and after falling down here hehas worked his way out and round the other side, where we went up first,while we came down the other way and missed him."
"Dick, ahoy!" he shouted again; "where away?"
"Ahoy!" came back, and we had to consult.
"If we go up one way to meet him he will come down the other," saidUncle Bob. "There's nothing for it but to wait till morning or divide,and one of us go up one side while the other two go up the other."
Uncle Jack snapped his watch-case down after examining the face by thepale light of the moon.
"Two o'clock," he said, throwing himself on the loose shale. "Tenminutes ago, when we were in doubt, I felt as if I could go on for hourswith the search. Now I know that poor old Dick i
s alive I can't walkanother yard."
I had slipped and scrambled down to him now, and Uncle Bob turned to me.
"How are you, Cob?" he said.
"The skin is off one of my heels, and I have a blister on my big toe."
"And I'm dead beat," said Uncle Bob, sinking down. "You're right, Jack,we must have a rest. Let's wait till it's light. It will be broad dayby four o'clock, and we can signal to him which way to come."
I nestled down close to him, relieved in mind and body, and I was justthinking that though scraps of slaty stone and brashy earth were notgood things for stuffing a feather-bed, they were, all the same, verycomfortable for a weary person to lie upon, when I felt a hand laid uponmy shoulder, and opening my eyes found the sun shining brightly andUncle Dick looking down in my face.
"Have I been asleep?" I said confusedly.
"Four hours, Cob," said Uncle Jack. "You lay down at two. It is nowsix."
"But I dreamed something about you, Uncle Dick," I said confusedly. "Ithought you were lost."
"Well, not exactly lost, Cob," he said; "but I slipped over thattremendous slope up yonder, and came down with a rush, stunning myselfand making a lot of bruises that are very sore. I must have come down aterrible distance, and I lay, I suppose, for a couple of hours before Icould get up and try to make my way back."
"But you are not--not broken," I cried, now thoroughly awake and holdinghis hand.
"No, Cob," he said smiling; "not broken, but starving and very faint."
A three miles' walk took us to where we obtained a very heartybreakfast, and here the farmer willingly drove us to the neareststation, from whence by a roundabout way we journeyed back toArrowfield, and found the landlady in conference with Mr Tomplin, whohad come to our place on receiving a message from Mrs Stephenson thatwe had gone down to the works and not returned, her impression beingthat the men had drowned us all in the dam.
Patience Wins: War in the Works Page 5