The Adventures of Billy Topsail
Page 9
CHAPTER VI
_In Which Billy Topsail Loses His Nerve. Wherein, also, the Wings of Gulls Seem to Brush Past_
"WONDERFUL queer!" thought Billy Topsail. "Lost on a cliff! 'Tis thequeerest thing I ever knowed."
But that was Billy's case.
"I 'low," he concluded, at last, "that I'd better be goin' up insteado' down."
It did not appear that he would be unable to go down; the way up wasthe shorter way, that was all. Nevertheless, his feeling of securitywas pretty well shaken when he again began to climb. His grip wastighter, his shrinking from the depths stronger and more frequent; infact, he hugged the rock more than was good for him.
He knew the symptom for an alarming one--it turned him faint when firsthe recognized it--and he tried to fix his attention upon the effort toclimb higher. But now and again the fear of the space behind and belowwould creep in. Reason told him that the better part was to return;but he was in no condition to listen to reason. His whole desire--itwas fast becoming frantic--was to crawl over the brow of the cliff andbe safe.
But where was the brow of the cliff? It seemed to him that he hadclimbed a thousand feet.
A few minutes later he caught sight of a shrub; then he knew that hewas within a few feet of the end of the climb. The shrub--a stuntedspruce, which he had good reason to remember--was to his right, peepinground a projection of rock.
He was then on a ledge, with good foothold and good handhold; and a wayof return to the shore lay open to him. By craning his neck he made outthat if he could pass that projection he would reach shelving, brokenrock, and be safe. Then he studied the face of the rocks between--aspace of some six feet.
There was foothold there, midway, but he shrank from attempting toreach it. He had never thought in his life to try so perilous apassage. A survey of the course of a body falling from that point wasalmost more than he could support. Nevertheless, strange as it mayseem, the waving shrub tempted him to risk something more to end hissuspense. He summoned courage enough to stretch out his right foot andsearch with his right hand for a hold.
Unfortunately, he found both--a ledge for his foot and a crevice forhis fingers.
He drew himself over. It took courage and strength, for it was a longstretch. Had he been cramped for room, had he not been free to moveat the starting-point, he could not have managed it. But there hewas--both feet on a ledge as wide as his feet were long, both handswith a comfortable grip on solid rock. He shuffled along until he cameto the end of the ledge.
His last obstacle now lay before him. He must round the projectionwhich divided him from the broken, shelving rock beyond. Had heforeseen the slightest difficulty he would not have gone so far. So,with confidence, he sought a foothold for his right foot--a crevice forthe fingers of his right hand.
And he tried again, with confidence unshaken; again, with patience;again, with rising fear. There was no hold; the passage wasimpracticable. There was nothing for it but to return.
So he shuffled back to the other end of the ledge. Then, keenlyregretting the necessity of return, he sought a foothold for his leftfoot--a crevice for the fingers of his left hand. He tried again, insome wonder; again, with a rush of fear; again, in abject terror.
To his horror, he found that he could not return. From the narrow ledgeit was impossible to pass to the wider, although it had been possibleto pass from the wider to the narrow. For an instant he was on thepoint of toppling back; but he let his body fall forward against theface of the cliff, and there he rested, gripping the rock with bothhands until the faintness passed.
The situation was quite plain to him. He was standing on a ledge, aswide as his feet were long, some two or three hundred feet above thesea; his face was to the cliff, and he could neither sit down nor turnround. There he must stand until--who could tell? In what way couldrelief come to him? Who was to see? Who could hear his cries for help?No fishermen were on the grounds--no punts were out of the harbour; thesea was too high for that, as he had been told.
There was only one answer to his question. He must stand until--hefell.
"Yes," he was courageous enough to admit calmly, "I 'low I got t' go."
That once admitted, his terror of that space behind and below in somemeasure departed. The sun was still shining; the sky--as he knew, forhe could catch a glimpse of it on each side--was still blue. But soonhe began to think of the night; then his terror returned--not of thepresent moment, but of the hours of darkness approaching.
Could he endure until night? He thought not. His position was awkward.Surely his strength would wear out--his hands weaken, although thestrain upon them was slight; his legs give way.
Of course he followed the natural impulse to cling to his life as longas he could. Thus, while the afternoon dragged along and the duskapproached, he stood on the face of the cliff, waiting for the momentwhen his weakening strength would fail and he would fall to his death.
"In an hour," he thought; soon it was, "In half an hour."
Before that last half-hour had passed he felt something brush pasthis back. It frightened him. What was it? Again he felt it. Again itstartled and frightened him. Then he felt it no more for a time, and hewas glad of that. He was too dull, perhaps, to dwell upon the mysteryof that touch. It passed from his mind. Soon he felt it for the thirdtime. Was it a wing? He wondered, too, if he had not heard a voice; forit seemed to him that some one had hailed him.
When next he heard the sound, he knew that his name had been called.He looked up. A rope was hanging over the brow of the cliff, sweepingslowly towards him. He could see it, although the light was failing.When it came near he extended his right hand behind him and caught it,then gave it a tug, in signal to those above that the search was ended.Painfully, slowly, for his situation was none too secure, he encircledhis waist with that stout rope, lashed it fast, shouted, "Haul away!"and fainted.
* * * * *
When Billy Topsail came to his senses, it was to find himself lyingon the moss, with old Arch, the skipper, leaning over him, and half adozen fishermen gathered round.
"So you did get out to the salmon net?" he muttered.
"Aye," said Arch; "'twas I that seed you hangin' there. Sure, if Ihadn't had my net set off Shag Rock, and if I hadn't got through thetickle to see if 'twas all right, and if----"
Billy shuddered.