THE HERMIT OF THE CLIFF
The last thing that Robert could remember was the singing of the waters
in his ears and a weight as of lead that bore him downward with a force
which he felt unable to resist.
But at the critical moment, when the doors of death seemed to be
swinging open to admit him, he was firmly seized by a slender, muscular
arm, extended from a boat shaped somewhat like an Indian canoe and rowed
by a tall, thin man with white hair and a long white beard.
In the dusk our hero had not seen the boat nor known that help was so
near at hand. But the occupant of the boat had, from a distance, seen
the going to pieces of the raft, and appreciated the peril of the brave
swimmer, and paddled his boat energetically toward him just in time to
rescue him when already insensible.
Pale and with closed eyes lay Robert in the bottom of the boat. The old
man--for so he appeared--rather anxiously opened the boy’s shirt and
placed his hand over his heart. An expression of relief appeared on his
face.
“He will do,” he said sententiously and turned his attention to the
boat.
Half a mile from the cliff on which stood the fisherman’s cabin was
another, rising to a greater height.
To this the stranger directed his boat. He fastened it and then, raising
our hero in his arms, walked toward the cliff.
There was a cavity as wide as a door, but less in height, through which
he passed, lowering his head as he entered. Inside the opening steadily
widened and became higher. This cavity was about ten feet above the
sandy beach and was reached by a ladder.
On he passed, guided amid the darkness by a light from a lantern hanging
from the roof. The front portion of the cavern seemed like a hall,
through which a narrow doorway led into a larger room, which was
furnished like the interior of a house. Upon a walnut table stood a
lamp, which the stranger lighted. He took the boy, already beginning to
breathe more freely, and laid him on a lounge, covered with a buffalo
skin, at the opposite side of the apartment. From a shelf he took a
bottle and administered a cordial to Robert, who, though not yet
sensible, mechanically swallowed it.
The effect was almost instantaneous.
The boy opened his eyes and looked about him in bewilderment.
“Where am I?” he inquired.
“What can you remember?” asked the old man.
Robert shuddered.
“I was struggling in the water,” he answered. “I thought I was
drowning.”
Then, gazing at the strange apartment and the majestic face of the
venerable stranger, he said hesitatingly:
“Am I still living or was I drowned?”
He was not certain whether he had made the mysterious passage from this
world to the next, so strange and unfamiliar seemed everything about
him.
“You are still in life,” answered the stranger, smiling gravely. “God
has spared you, and a long life is yet before you if He wills.”
“And you saved me?”
“Yes.”
“How can I thank you? I owe you my life,” said Robert gratefully.
“I am indebted to you for the opportunity once more to be of use to one
of my race.”
“I don’t understand how you could have saved me. When I went down I
could see no one near.”
“On account of the dusk. I was not far away in my boat. I saw your peril
and hastened to your assistance. Fortunately I was not too late. Do you
know who it is that has saved you?”
“Yes,” answered Robert.
“You have seen me before?”
“Yes, but not often.”
“How do people call me?”
“They call you ‘the hermit of the cliff.’”
“As well that as anything else,” said the old man. “What more do they
say of me?”
Robert seemed reluctant to tell, but there was something imperative in
the old man’s tone.
“Some say you are crazy,” he answered.
“I am not surprised to hear it. The world is apt to say that of one who
behaves differently from his fellows. But I must not talk too much of
myself. How do you feel?”
“I feel weak,” answered Robert.
“Doubtless. Swimming against such a current was a severe strain upon
your strength. Let me feel your pulse.”
He pressed his finger upon Robert’s pulse and reported that the action
was slow.
“It means exhaustion,” he said. “You must sleep well, and to-morrow
morning you will feel as well as usual.”
“But I ought to go home,” said Robert, trying to rise. “My aunt will
feel anxious about me.”
“Who is your aunt?”
“I am the nephew of John Trafton, who has a small house on the cliff.”
“I know. He is a fisherman.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t disturb yourself. Word shall be sent to your aunt that you are
safe. I will give you a sleeping draught, and to-morrow morning we will
speak further.”
Somehow Robert did not dream of resisting the will of his host. The old
man had an air of command to which it seemed natural to submit.
Moreover, he knew that to this mysterious stranger--the hermit of the
cliff, as the fishermen called him--he was indebted for his life, and
such a man must necessarily be his friend. Robert was, besides, in that
condition of physical languor when, if he had felt disposed, he would
have found it very difficult to make resistance to the will of another.
“First of all,” said the old man, “you must take off your wet clothes. I
will place them where they can dry, so that you may put them on in the
morning.”
With assistance Robert divested himself of his wet garments. As we know,
he had little to take off. The stranger brought out a nightgown and then
placed our hero in his own bed, wrapping him up in blankets.
“Now for the sleeping draught,” he said.
From a bottle he poured out a few drops, which Robert swallowed. In less
than three minutes he had closed his eyes and was in a profound
slumber.
The old man regarded him with satisfaction as he lay breathing
tranquilly upon the bed.
“He is young and strong. Nature has been kind to him and given him an
excellent constitution. Sleep will repair the ill effects of exposure. I
must remember my promise to the boy,” he said.
Turning to the table, he drew from a drawer writing materials and wrote
the brief message which, as we have already seen, was duly delivered,
and then walked to the entrance of the cavern.
He placed a whistle to his lips, and in response to his summons a black
dog came bounding to him from the recesses of the grotto and fawned upon
him.
“Come with me, Carlo; I have work for you,” he said.
The dog, as if he understood, followed his master out upon the beach.
They walked far enough to bring into clear distinctness the cabin on the
cliff.
“Do you see that house. Carlo?” asked his master, directing the dog’s
attention with his outstretched finger.
Carlo answered by a short, quick bark, which apparently meant “yes.”
“Carry this note there. Do you understand?”
The dog opened his mouth to receive the missive and trotted contentedly
away.
The hermit turned and retraced his steps to the cavern. He stood beside
the bed and saw, to his satisfaction, that Robert was still sleeping
peacefully.
“It is strange,” said he musingly, “that I should feel such an interest
in this boy. I had forsworn all intercourse with my kind, save to
provide myself with the necessaries of life. For two years I have lived
here alone with my dog and I fancied that I felt no further interest in
the affairs of my fellow men. Yet here is a poor boy thrown on my hands,
and I feel positive pleasure in having him with me. Yet he is nothing to
me. He belongs to a poor fisherman’s family, and probably he is
uneducated, and has no tastes in common with me. Yet he is an attractive
boy. He has a well-shaped head and a bright eye. There must be a
capacity for something better and higher. I will speak with him in the
morning.”
He opened a volume from his bookcase, to which reference has not as yet
been made, and for two hours he seemed to be absorbed by it.
Closing it at length, he threw himself upon the couch on which Robert
had at first been placed and finally fell asleep.