Fred was right; the two elders did soon make it up, and the political
ebullition seemed to be forgotten. The boys were soon together again,
enjoying their simple country ways as of yore, while the clouds
gathering around only looked golden in their sunshiny life.
The search for the outlet to the secret passage was renewed without
success, and then given up for a time. There was so much to see and do
that glorious autumn time when the apples were ripening fast, and
hanging in great ropes from the heavily laden trees, beneath whose
tangled boughs all was grey and green leaves and gloom, every orchard
being an improvised wilderness, which was allowed to bear or be barren
according to its will.
There was always so much to do. Trout to hunt up the little moorland
streams; loaches to impale among the stones of the swift torrents; rides
over the long undulating stretches of the moor, from far inland to where
it ended abruptly in steep cliffs by the sea.
And so life glided on at Manor and Hall. The king and country were not
mentioned; Colonel and Mistress Forrester supped at the Hall, and little
Lil listened to the sweet old-fashioned ballads the visitor sang. Then
the Scarletts spent pleasant evenings at the Manor, and the two fathers
discussed the future of their sons, while Dame Markham and Mistress
Forrester seemed to be like sisters.
But all the while the storm-clouds were gathering, and a distant
muttering of thunder told that the tempest threatened to break over the
pleasant west-country land.
"There's going to be a big change o' some kind, Master Scarlett," said
Nat, the gardener; "and if there is, it won't be any too soon, for it
will put my brother Samson in his proper place, and keep him there."
"Yes, Master Fred, I went and had a mug o' cider down in the village
last night, poor winegar wee sort o' stuff--three apples to a bucket o'
water--such as my brother Nat makes up at the Hall; and there they all
were talking about it. People all taking sides all over England.
Some's Cavaliers and some's Roundheads, so they say, and one party's for
the king, and the other isn't. Precious awful, aren't it?"
"Perhaps it's only talk, Samson?"
"No, Master Fred, sir, I don't think it's all talk; but there is a deal
o' talk."
"Ah, well, it's nothing to do with us, Samson. Let them quarrel. We're
too busy out here to bother about their quarrels."
"Well, I dunno, sir. I'm not a quarrelsome chap, but I heard things as
my brother Nat has said quite bad enough to make me want to go again
him, for we two never did agree; and when it comes to your own brother
telling downright out-and-out lies about the Manor vegetables and fruit,
I think it's time to speak, don't you?"
"Oh, I wish you and Nat would meet some day, and shake hands, or else
fight it out and have done with it; brothers oughtn't to quarrel."
"I dunno, Master Fred, I dunno."
"Ah, well, I think all quarrels are a bother, whether they're big ones
or whether they're little ones. They say the king and Parliament have
fallen out; well, if I had my way, I'd make the king and Parliament
shake hands, just as Scar Markham and I will make you and Nat shake
yours."
"Nay, Master Fred, never!"
"I'm going to meet him this afternoon, and we'll talk it over."
Samson shook his head.
Home studies were over for the day, and by a natural attraction, Fred
started by a short cut to the high point of the moor, just at the same
time as Scar Markham left the Hall for the same spot.
"He'll be in some mischief or another before he gets back," said Samson
Dee, as he ceased digging, and rested one foot upon the top of his
spade, watching his young master contemplatively as he went along the
road for a short distance before leaping up the bank, and beginning to
tramp among heath, brake, and furze, over the springy turf.
Samson shook his head sadly, and sighed as he watched Fred's progress,
the figure growing smaller and smaller, sometimes disappearing
altogether in a hollow, and then bounding into sight again like one of
the moorland sheep.
"Yes; some mischief!" sighed Samson again, and he watched the lad with
the sorrowful expression on the increase, till the object of his
consideration was out of sight, when he once more sighed, and
recommenced digging. "You don't catch me, though, making it up."
Oddly enough--perhaps it would be more correct to say naturally enough--
Nat Dee ceased digging up in the Hall garden to watch Scarlett Markham,
who, after sending his sister Lil back into the house in tears, because
he refused to take her with him, started off at a rapid pace.
"Wonder what mischief he's going to be at," said Nat, half aloud; and
he, too, rested a foot on the top of his spade, and contemplated the
retiring form.
Perhaps, after all, digging is exceedingly hard work, and a break is
very welcome; but whether it be so or no, the fact is always evident
that a gardener is ready to cease lifting the fat mellow earth of a
garden, and stand and think upon the slightest excuse.
Nat Dee waited till Scar had disappeared, and then he slowly and
sorrowfully resumed his task, and sighed with a feeling of regret for
the time when he too was a boy, and indulged in unlimited idleness and
endless quarrels with his brother Samson.
Fred Forrester whistled as he slowly climbed the hill, which was shaped
like a level surfaced mound, and stood right up above the ordinary
undulations of the moor, and Scarlett Markham whistled as he slowly
climbed the other side, while high overhead, to turn the duet into a
trio, there was another whistler in the shape of a speckled lark,
soaring round and round as if he were describing the figure of a
gigantic corkscrew, whose point was intended to pierce the clouds.
There had been a shower earlier in the day, and the earth sent forth a
sweet fragrance, which mingled with the soft salt breeze, and sent a
thrill of pleasure through the frames of the two lads hastening to their
trysting-place. They did not know that their feet crushed the wild
thyme, or caused fresh odours to float upon the air, or whether the
breeze came from north, south, or west; all that they knew was that they
felt very happy, and that they were out on the moor, ready to enjoy
themselves by doing something, they knew not what. They did not even
know that they were each performing a part in a trio, the little lark
being so common an object as to be unnoticed, while the top of the hill
divided the two terrestrial whistlers from each other.
Fred was at the highest point first, and throwing himself down on the
turf, he lay watching the coming figure toiling up, while the
grasshoppers _chizzed_ and leaped from strand of grass to harebell, and
thence to heather, and even on to the figure lying there.
The view was grand. Away to right were the undulations of the moor; to
the left the high hills which seemed as if cut off short, and descended
almost perpendicularly to the sea, and in front of them the sea itself,
glistening in the sunshine beyond the cliff, which from the point where
Fred lay looked like a lion _couchant_, end on to him, and passing out
to sea. Here and there some boat's sail seemed like a speck upon the
sea, while going in different directions--seaward and toward Bristol
were a couple of what Fred mentally dubbed "king's ships." Away as far
as eye could reach to right and left lay the softly blue Welsh coast;
but Fred's attention was divided between the lion's head-like outline of
the Rill, and the slowly advancing figure of Scarlett Markham, who
finished his ascent by breaking into a trot, and zigzagging up the last
steep piece to throw himself down beside his friend.
They lay for some few minutes enjoying themselves, their ideas of
enjoyment consisting in lying face downward resting upon their crossed
arms, which formed a pillow for their chins, and kicking the turf with
their toes. Then, as if moved by the same spirit, they leaped to their
feet with all a boy's energy and vital force.
"Let's do something," exclaimed Scar. "Shall we go to the lake?"
"That's just what I was going to say," cried Fred; but they did not go
far in an aimless way--they began to descend the hill slowly at first,
then at a trot, then at headlong speed, till they stopped a part of the
way up the next slope, after crossing the bottom of the little coombe
between the hills.
This second hill looked wearisome after their rapid descent, so they
contented themselves with walking along its side parallel with the
bottom of the little valley, talking of indifferent matters till they
came upon a little flock of grey and white gulls feeding amongst the
short herbage, where the rain had brought out various soft-bodied
creatures good in a gull's eyes for food.
The beautiful white-breasted creatures rose on their long narrow wings,
and flapped and floated away.
From force of habit, Fred took up a stone and threw it after the birds,
not with any prospect of hitting them, for they were a couple of hundred
yards away.
"Wish I could fly like that," said Scarlett. "Look at them; they're
going right over the Rill Head."
The two boys stopped and watched until the birds glided out of sight,
beyond the lion-like headland, an object, however, which grew less
lion-like the nearer they drew.
"What would be the good?" replied Fred. "It would soon be very stupid
to go gliding here and there."
"But see how easy it would be to float like that."
"How do you know?" said practical Fred. "I dare say a bird's wings ache
sometimes as much as our legs do with running. I say, Scar."
"Yes."
"Let's go and have a look at the caves."
"What caves?"
"Down below the Rill. Now, only think of it; we were born here, and
never went and had a look at them. Samson says that one of them is
quite big and runs in ever so far, with a place like a chimney at one
end, so that you can get down from the land side."
"And Nat said one day that it was all nonsense; that they were just like
so many rabbit-holes--and that's what he thought they were."
"But our Samson said he had been in them; and if they were no bigger
than rabbit-holes, he couldn't have done that. Let's go and see."
"Bother! I had enough of poking about in that damp old passage, and all
for nothing. I thought we were going to find the way in there."
"Well, so we did."
"But I mean the other end."
"Bother, bother! what's the good!"
"How do I know? It's very curious. There's something seems to draw you
on when you are underground," said Scarlett, dreamily.
"Hark at the old worm! Why, Scar, I believe you'd like to live
underground."
Scarlett shook his head.
"I mean to find that way in to our place some day, whether you help me
or whether you do not. Never mind what your Samson said about the Rill
caves. He don't know. Let's go and see."
"What's the good?"
"I don't know that it will be any good, but let's see. There may be all
kinds of strange things in a cave. I've read about wonderful places
that went into the earth for a long way."
"Yes; but our Rill cave would not. My father told me one day about two
caves he went into in Derbyshire. One had a little river running out of
it, and he went in and walked by the side of the water for a long way
till he came to a black arch, and there the gentlemen who were with him
lit candles and they waded into the water and crept under the dark arch,
and then went on and on for a long way through cave after cave, all wet
and dripping from the top. Sometimes they were obliged to wade in the
stream, and sometimes they walked along the edge."
"And what did they find?"
"Mud," said Fred, laconically.
"Nothing else?"
"No; only mud, sticky mud, no matter how far they went; and at last they
got tired of it, and turned back to find that the water had risen, and
was close up to the top of the arch under which they had crept, so that
they had to wait half a day before it went down."
"What made the water rise?" asked Scarlett; "the tide?"
"No; there were no tides there right in among the hills."
"Then how was it?"
"There had been a storm, and the water had run down and filled the
little river."
As they chatted, the lads walked steadily on, and began to ascend the
long, low eminence, which formed, as it were, the large body of the
couchant lion, but which from where they were, seemed like the most
ordinary of hills.
"There was another cave, too, that my father went into, but that was
very different. It was high up in among the hills, and you went down
quite a hole to get to it, and then it was just as if the inside of the
hill had come full of cracks and splits along which he kept climbing and
walking with the two sides just alike, just as if the stone had been
broken in two."
"Then this was stone, not mud," said Scarlett, who was deeply
interested.
"Yes, solid stone--rock; and every here and there you could see curious
shapes, just as if water had been running down, and it had all been
turned into stone."
"I should like to go and see a place like that," said Scarlett.
"Yes; I shouldn't mind seeing a cave like that. Father says it went in
for miles, and nobody had ever got to the end of it, for it branched off
into narrow slits, and sometimes you were walking on shelves, and you
could hold the candle over and look down horrible holes that were nobody
knows how deep, and there you could hear the water gurgling at the
bottom, and hissing and splashing, and--Oh!"
"Scar!" yelled Fred, making a dash at his companion just in time to
catch him by the arm as he suddenly dropped down through a narrow
opening in the midst of the short green turf over which they were
walking.
So narrow was the opening, and so nearly hidden by grass and heath, that
Scarlett had no difficulty in supporting himself by spreading out his
arms, as soon as he had recovered from the first startling effect of his
slip.
But he did not stop many minutes in this position. Fred hung on to his
arm. He threw himself sidewise, grasped tightly hold of a stout branch
of heath, and scrambled out.
"Who'd have thought of there being a hole like that?" said Scarlett, as
soon as he was safe. "But I don't suppose it's very deep, after all.
Got a stone?"
"No. Listen."
Fred had thrown himself upon his breast, and craned his neck over the
place, trying to peer down, but only into darkness, the hole evidently
not going down straight; it being, in fact, a narrow crack, such as he
had described in telling of the Derbyshire cavern.
Scarlett, who looked rather white from the shock he had received, joined
his companion, and bent down to listen.
"Hear that?" said Fred in a whisper.
"Yes; water."
"Water! Yes, of course; but listen again."
They kept silence, and there ascended from below, through the almost
hidden crevice, a low whisper of an echoing roar, which died away in a
peculiar hissing sound that was thrilling in its strange suggestiveness.
"There must be a waterfall somewhere below there," said Scarlett at
last.
"Why, don't you know what it is?"
"No."
"The sea. Didn't think it was the end of your passage, did you?"
"What there? Nonsense!"
"Yes, it's the cave; and the sea runs right up here."
"It couldn't; it's too far away."
"I don't care; that's the sea. Now listen again, how regularly it
comes. Every wave must be rushing in, and you can hear it go whishing
out."
Scarlett and his companion listened for a few minutes.
"Yes; it's the sea, sure enough," said Scarlett. "Why, Fred, I didn't
think we had such a place here."
"No," said Fred. "But, then, nobody ever comes up here. Why, it's
quite a discovery, Scar. Let's get down to the shore, and go in."
"Yes, I'm ready;" and together the two lads made their way to the edge
of the slaty cliffs, and then a long way by the edge, before they could
find a rift of a sufficient slope to warrant their attempting a descent.
Even this selected path looked far more easy than it proved; but by the
exercise of a little care they got about half-way down, and then
stopped; for it was plain enough to see, from the point of vantage they
had gained, that even if they climbed to the narrow line of black slaty
shingle between them and the perpendicular rock, they could not reach
the face of the Rill Head, which projected, promontory-like, into the
sea, and low down in which for certain the cave must be.
"What a bother!" exclaimed Fred. "I thought we were going to have a
fine bit of adventure, and discover seals, and lobsters, and crabs, and
all kinds of things. What shall we do?"
"Wait till low water."
"But it's nearly low water now. Can't you see?"
The marks of the last tide were plainly visible high up on the rugged
rock-face, the last tide having left every ledge covered with washed-up
fucus and bladder-wrack, speckled with white shells and sandy patches.
"Then it must always be deep in water?" said Scarlett.
"Well, I tell you what, then, let's borrow somebody's boat and try and
get right in that way."
"I don't know who somebody is," said Scarlett, drily; "and if I did, I
don't suppose he has got a boat."
"Don't talk like that," cried Fred. "I say, couldn't we get a boat?"
"There isn't one for miles. Old Porlett bought one--don't you
recollect?--and the sea knocked it all to pieces in the first storm."
"Yes, I recollect," said Fred, thoughtfully, "though it was twenty feet
up on a broad shelf of rock. Shall we swim to the cave?"