OPEN SESAME.
I had a vision sometimes of our tight little island lying on the sea
like a round of bread and butter on a plate, and the Angel of the
Storm amusing himself by biting patterns out of its edges. The coast
in our part of the world was particularly inviting to him, because, I
suppose, it was crumb, and not rocky with crust like other parts.
Anyhow he never flew near without setting his teeth in it somewhere,
and on this occasion to such gluttonous effect that he must have blown
himself out before he had fairly settled down to his meal. His attack
was as short as it was violent. For miles north and south the cliffs
had been torn and gulped--only the birds, mapping them from above,
could have said into what new fantastic outline. Landmarks were gone,
and little bays formed where had been promontories. Here and there a
fisherman’s boat had been licked out of its winter perch, that that
same angel might play bounce-ball with it on the cliffs until it was
broken to bits. The wreck and flotsam on the shore were indescribable;
and sad and ugly was the sight of more than one drowned mariner
entangled in them. I turn my memory gladly from such retrospects, to
concentrate it upon those features of the havoc which most concern
this history.
Waterside folk are a strangely incurious and fatalistic race. Once
having satisfied themselves after a storm that their craft, disposed
here and there in winter quarters, are untouched, the changes wrought
on their sea-front interest them only in so far and so long as those
changes mean profitable wreckage. When that is all gathered, they
withdraw again to their winter burrows and winter occupations, and
leave the foreshore to its natural desolation.
At least, that is what Dunberry did after the gale and within a couple
of days following it, than which no longer was needed, it appeared, to
secure any salvage worth the landing. For there is this characteristic
of great tempests, that from their destructive rage they yield a
poorer harvest of “whole grain,” so to speak, than do moderate ones.
The latter, maybe, deposit some literal pickings in the shape of
crates, barrels, seamen’s chests, etc., yet compact; the former for
the most part mere _disjecta membra_. It followed, therefore, that
when Harry and I next visited the beach--which, as it happened, he
having been away, and I confined to the house with a beastly cold, we
did not do until the afternoon of the third day succeeding that night
of uproar--we found we had the whole place virtually to ourselves.
Uncle Jenico, who, from his anxious concern for me, had also kept at
home during the interval, came with us, full of suppressed eagerness
to glean the torn fields of shingle for relics. I think I only
realized the self-restraint which his affection must have imposed upon
him in those two days, when I saw the almost childish joy with which
he greeted the sight of the weedy litter strewn, as far as the eye
could reach, along the shore.
“Why, Richard!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands, while his spectacles
seemed to twinkle again, “here’s a chance indeed! It’s an ill wind
that blows nobody---- Poor souls, poor souls! I feel like robbing the
grave to take such advantage of their misery.”
His countenance fell a moment; but his mood was not proof against the
stupendous prospect.
“The sea’s a pretty big grave, sir,” said Harry. “You might as well
have scruples about digging gold out of the earth, seeing we’re all
buried there.”
“That’s true,” said Uncle Jenico, with serious delight. “That’s quite
true, my boy. I only hope I’ve not left it to too late.”
This gave me a little qualm.
“Shall I come with you, uncle?” I said.
“No, Dicky,” he answered; “no, no, no. You and Harry amuse yourselves
as you will. I wouldn’t deny myself for anything the gratification of
the treat I’m going to bring you by-and-by. It’s selfish, no doubt;
but--but I’d rather be alone.”
And he hobbled away, calling out to us not to let our expectations run
_too_ high, or he might be defrauded of his opportunity to surprise
us.
“He’s a real trump,” said Harry. “I hope you think so, Dick.”
“Of course I do,” I answered, rather testily, and began to whistle.
“That’s all right, then,” said he. “And now let’s explore.”
It was a fine, still afternoon, with the tide at quiet ebb, and a
touch of frost in the air. The sun, low down, burned like a winter
fire, and gleamed with a light of sadness on the ribs of the gaunt
wreck lying far away on the Weary Sands. She was visible only at low
water; at high being completely submerged. No one, so far as I knew,
had yet had the curiosity or venturesomeness to row out and
investigate the poor castaway. It was just plain to see, by the aid of
glasses, that she had broken her back on the drift, and that only her
stern half remained, wedged into the sand. But what her name or
condition Dunberry had not had the energy to inquire.
We were standing at gaze at the foot of the Gap, and when Uncle Jenico
went north, we, in obedience to his wish to be left alone, turned our
faces down the coast. But we had not taken a score or so of steps when
we hooted out simultaneously over the sight that was suddenly revealed
to us. The storm had bolted a great hunk, good ten feet through at its
thickest, of the Mitre, obliterating the already half-effaced step-way
by which Rampick had been wont to ascend, and laying bare, high up in
the cliff, a mass of broken masonry. From the character of this last
it was evident at a glance what had happened. The seaward limit to the
crypts of the old abbey had been shorn through, and the extreme
vaulting of that ancient underworld exposed. Nor was this all. The
well, now thus further isolated from the hill which had once contained
it, was grown, from the washing away of the sand at its base, an
apparent five feet or so taller, and was leaning outwards at a
distinctly acuter and more ominous angle with the shore.
We stood excited a moment, then, without a word, raced to get a closer
view. The wrack and downfall, as we looked up at their traces, must
have been stupendous; yet so great had been the pulverising force of
the waves, the mighty silt from them, except for a few tumbled blocks
of stone, was all dispersed and distributed about the shore below, so
that a new cliff face, clear of ruin, went up in a pretty clean sweep
from beach to summit sixty feet above. From the lower curve of this,
where it ran out and down into the sand, the well projected, not ten
feet above us, like a little tower of Pisa; and yet thirty feet
higher, at a point in the hill face about on a level with the well
top, gaped the jagged ruin of masonry which the storm had laid bare.
“Dick!” whispered Harry--“Dick!” (He was gulping and gripping my arm
hard, as he stared up.) “Supposing we could climb to there and look
in!”
“Yes!” I choked back. I knew what was in his mind; and the thought
fascinated while it frightened me horribly.
“I’ve never seen a Dutchman,” he said. “Mrs. Puddephatt, she--it would
be fun to find out the truth. What are they like?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, shivering. “They wear lots of breeches, I
believe. But it’s no good. The place is all choked up. You can see for
yourself.”
There was no apparent entrance that way, indeed. The contour of the
vaulting was roughly discernible, it is true, but so stopped with mud
and _débris_ as to offer no visible passage.
“Besides,” I went on, swallowing fast and trying to escape from the
fluttering spell the mere suggestion had laid upon me,--“whether it
was an earthquake or gunpowder, it’s all the same. It must be just all
squash and ruin inside; and--and the things----” I stuck, feeling that
I dare not speculate further.
Harry released my arm, and for some time looked down, making
thoughtful patterns with his foot in the sand.
“Well, I don’t know,” he said, raising his face suddenly. “But I’d
mighty like to see.”
We were both rather silent for the rest of the afternoon; and, though
we neither of us alluded to the subject for a day or two afterwards,
it was evident it stood between us. We avoided the spot, too; until
one evening a long ramble brought us back by the shore past it. Then,
by a common impulse, we stopped, and stood gaping silent up once more.
The light from the sinking sun smote level upon the face of the cliff,
so that it stood out as bright as a grate back. Its surface, quite
dried from the tempest, reflected no glaze of water. The rivulets of
mud, which had flowed over and sealed the scar of ruin above, were
hardened like plaster, though shrinkage had opened black fissures in
them here and there.
Harry, softly whistling, left me suddenly, and, with his hands in his
pockets, toiled indifferently up the slope to the well foot. Here,
still whistling, he began kicking round the base; but in a moment
desisted and called to me. I went up, and he fell upon his knees, and
set to scraping with his fingers.
“See?” he said, stopping.
“No; what?” I answered.
“Why, look, you bat!” said he. “Nothing under; nothing deeper. Here’s
the last bottom course of the thing; the foundation stones, or I’m
a----”
He checked himself, grinning.
“I was going to say ‘Dutchman,’” said he; “and, for all we know, they
may be listening up there.”
“O, don’t be a beast!” I exclaimed, with a wriggle of discomfort.
He chuckled again.
“Well, anyhow,” he said, “here’s the old well just standing on its
end, like a drain-pipe with a tilt to it. If we brought spades and dug
away underneath on the outside, it would fall--and on the top of us,
too; but that’s a detail. Wonder the storm didn’t finish it, don’t
you? Must have come pretty near to.”
As he spoke, staring up at me, he suddenly uttered a soft exclamation,
and scrambling to his feet, pulled at my arm.
“Look there!” he whispered. “Don’t move!”
I followed the direction of his hand, which was pointing to the scar
in the cliff-face above. I could see nothing.
“Hush, you old fool!” he said impatiently. “Keep quiet!”
I did not stir; till, at the end of a long interval, something made me
start involuntarily. It was a wink--a flutter--a motion of some sort,
I knew not what, on the hill front.
“Did you see?” whispered Harry.
“Yes,” I muttered back. “What was it?”
He ran down the slope to the sand, and I followed at a leap, thinking
he meant that the cliff was falling. But when I saw his face I knew
that some excitement other than fear was moving him.
“It was the badger,” he said, turning sharp on me. “Now, do you
understand what that means?”
Perhaps I had a glimmering; but I shook my head feebly to repudiate
it.
“Why!” he cried reproachfully. “Dicky, you gowk! If he goes to earth
at the top and comes and puts his nose out here, what does it mean but
that the crypts ain’t as blocked as we supposed!”
“There must be a passage through, of course,” I murmured.
Harry nodded, primming his lips. “Well?” said he.
“Why, it don’t follow that where a badger can go, we can.”
“It does with me,” he said shortly.
An odd little silence fell between us. Then Harry turned away, and
began to move off, whistling. At a bound I was after him, with a
furious red face, and, seizing his arm, had whipped him round.
“I’m going to try to get into the hill up there,” I cried. “If you’re
afraid to come too, stop behind like a coward!”
He stared at me amazed; then fell a’ grinning.
“I never said you were a coward,” he retorted.
“But you meant it,” I answered, fuming.
We were bristling, actually, as on that far-off day when we had first
come into collision. Our fists were clenched; the backs of our necks
tingled; it was really a pregnant moment.
But the good old fellow resolved it, and in the best way possible. The
fire suddenly left his eyes.
“O, Dick,” he said; “what asses we are! Look here, I’ll tell you--I
should funk it going up there alone, and you wouldn’t, it seems;
that’s the truth. I only wanted to dare you, for my own sake.”
“O, all right!” I said, pocketing my fists, and pretty ashamed of
myself. I kicked the sand about, not knowing how to escape the
situation gracefully. At last I in my turn blurted out: “What rot this
is! Let’s forget it all, and just discuss ways and means.”
“You really intend to try?” said Harry, his face relighting.
“If I die for it now,” I answered.
“O, well!” he said, heaving a profound sigh. “It’s simple enough.
We’ll just climb up there, and say ‘open sesame,’ and walk in.”
This little inspiration to identify our adventure with Ali Baba’s was
quite a happy one. Not forty Dutch smugglers, but forty beautiful
Persian thieves with scimitars and waxed moustaches! It tinctured with
romance at once the thought of the ugly sights it was possible we
might encounter. Our half fearful design became, in a flash of
coloured light, a tingling conspiracy.
It was too late, of course, to attempt anything that evening. But the
following afternoon was a half-holiday with us, and quite apt to our
purpose. In the interval we secured some candles and a box of the
friction matches then lately come into use, as also, privately, Uncle
Jenico’s geological hammer, a sturdy tool with a heavy butt and a long
steel pick to balance its head. And with these, and nothing else
whatever but our trust in ourselves, we issued forth after a hasty
early dinner, and no word said to anybody, to dare and do.
We had resolved, after consultation, to make the attempt from above
rather than below; because, in the first place, we should be less
likely to attract attention, and, in the second, because a descent of
twenty feet appeared easier of accomplishment than a climb of thirty
up that slippery glacis. So we started, unregarded of any one, as we
supposed, by way of the valley, and were not long in reaching the brow
of the Mitre where it overlooked the well and the recent landfall.
It was all strangely altered here, and, near the edge, risky footing
at the best. But we stole up cautiously, and, going upon our stomachs
the last yard or two, looked down. Below us, at a rather giddy
distance, projected some spars and ledges of the fractured masonry.
Fortunately, however, the interval between us and them was not balked
by any bulge in the cliff, but showed a smooth descent, and not too
sheer for the essay. Still, it did not do to dwell upon it.
“Are you ready?” I whispered. “I’m going down.”
“No, you aren’t,” said Harry. “Me first.”
I only answered by crooking my elbow to keep him back.
“Don’t be a fool!” he protested. “We shall break away, and both go
faster than we want, if you aren’t careful.”
I made no reply but to resist him doggedly, till at last, with a
grunt, he let me go, and I turned, lying flat-faced, and swung my legs
over the precipice.
“O, you old brute!” he said. “Well, go easy, then, and dig your toes
in.”
And with that I let go and slid away, clawing and scratching like a
cat coming down a tree. It was just to fasten on and commit one’s self
to luck, which, fortunately for me, directed my feet to a ledge, on
which I brought up, gasping and spitting out dirt. But once secure of
my hold, and in a state to look about me, I was relieved to find that
the position was much more possible than it had seemed either from
above or below, the projecting spits of stonework being more and more
pronounced than had showed at a distance.
I took a minute to get my wind, and then called up to Harry to follow;
but he was already on his way. I saw him coming at a risky pace, and
by a slightly divergent course, which he had taken to avoid me. It
would have carried him clear of the ruin altogether had I not, at the
psychologic moment, clapped my hand to the seat of his small-clothes
and checked his descent.
“O!” he howled, “let go!”
“I won’t!” I cried. “Don’t be an ass! Stick your foot out here!”
With a desperate effort he managed to wriggle oblique, and in a moment
we were standing together on the ledge.
“That was give and take,” he panted. “Like being saved from drowning
by a shark. Can’t say your bark’s worse than your bite.”
I chuckled so that I was near falling off our perch, till a sudden
thought sobered me.
“Supposing, after all, we can’t get in, or up or down neither?” I said
dismayed. “A pretty picture we shall make, stuck up here.”
“Well, it’s too late to think of that now,” answered Harry, coolly.
“Lend me a hand while I kick.”
He let out on the wall of mud in front, which we had hoped was just a
mask or screen hiding a cavity behind; but his foot only sunk to the
ankle in it without effect.
“So there!” he said. “We must look for a better place, that’s all.”
We were standing, so far as we could judge, about midway up the
groining of the vault, and right under the apex, a little above and to
the right of us, gaped a small round fissure.
“See?” said Harry, excitedly; “that’s the place. It don’t go
perpendicular like the others, which means that it’s sunk away from
some support above it. Hold me, now.”
I clutched him the best I could, gripping a stone with my other hand,
and he brought the big hammer from his jacket pocket, and poised
himself, standing high on his toes. “Open sesame!” says he, and struck
with all the force he could muster on the soil just under the hole.
The result made him stagger, for he had expected some resistance, and
there was none. The whole top of a mound of silt, which stopped the
neck, it seemed, of the decapitated crypts, and into the thick base of
which he had first struck his foot, broke away and fell inwards,
revealing an aperture, already, under that one blow, large enough for
a man to crawl through.
Harry, recovering himself, quietly repocketed the tool, and turned to
me. His face was a little white, but his mouth was set as grim as sin.
“It’s my turn,” he said. “Think you can give me a leg up?”
It was no use my disputing, as he was on the right side. Working with
infinite caution and difficulty on that perilous eyrie, I managed to
stoop, and, getting my hands under one of his feet, levered him slowly
up, while he drew on every projection he could reach, until he was
able to claw his arms into the hole and hang on.
“Now,” came his voice out, muffled and hollow, “one shove, and----”
I drove with the word; dig went his feet and knees; he sprawled
convulsively a moment; got hold; the mound jerked and sunk a little
under him, a clatter of _débris_ went down the cliff face, and he was
in.
Almost in the same instant his face, hot and staring, re-emerged, and
then his arms.
“Here,” he panted. “Can you reach?”
Not by a couple of feet could I.
“Hold tight and catch me,” I said. “I’m going to jump.”
Fixing my eyes on him, and crouching to the lowest I dared, I sprang,
and he snatched and gripped my wrists.
“Now!” he gasped; and instantly the both of us were battling and
struggling, he to hold me firm, and I to get way on and leverage.
For a minute the issue was doubtful; the mound sunk and crumbled still
lower; I clawed frantically with my toes, my legs going like a frog’s
on a slippery basin. But at last I got hold, and a little ease to my
lungs; and so, hauling on to the hands held out to me, and wriggling
up foot by foot, was drawn into the opening, now much enlarged, and
crawling through, rolled, tangled up with Harry, down a slope into
darkness.