----"How fearful
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low!
The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air,
Show scarce so gross as beetles! Half-way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire! dreadful trade!"
KING LEAR.
This digression on the family of Wychecombe has led us far from the
signal-station, the head-land, and the fog, with which the tale opened.
The little dwelling connected with the station stood at a short distance
from the staff, sheltered, by the formation of the ground, from the
bleak winds of the channel, and fairly embowered in shrubs and flowers.
It was a humble cottage, that had been ornamented with more taste than
was usual in England at that day. Its whitened walls, thatched roof,
picketed garden, and trellised porch, bespoke care, and a mental
improvement in the inmates, that were scarcely to be expected in persons
so humbly employed as the keeper of the signal-staff, and his family.
All near the house, too, was in the same excellent condition; for while
the head-land itself lay in common, this portion of it was enclosed in
two or three pretty little fields, that were grazed by a single horse,
and a couple of cows. There were no hedges, however, the thorn not
growing willingly in a situation so exposed; but the fields were divided
by fences, neatly enough made of wood, that declared its own origin,
having in fact been part of the timbers and planks of a wreck. As the
whole was whitewashed, it had a rustic, and in a climate where the sun
is seldom oppressive, by no means a disagreeable appearance.
The scene with which we desire to commence the tale, opens about seven
o'clock on a July morning. On a bench at the foot of the signal-staff,
was seated one of a frame that was naturally large and robust, but which
was sensibly beginning to give way, either by age or disease. A glance
at the red, bloated face, would suffice to tell a medical man, that the
habits had more to do with the growing failure of the system, than any
natural derangement of the physical organs. The face, too, was
singularly manly, and had once been handsome, even; nay, it was not
altogether without claims to be so considered still; though intemperance
was making sad inroads on its comeliness. This person was about fifty
years old, and his air, as well as his attire, denoted a mariner; not a
common seaman, nor yet altogether an officer; but one of those of a
middle station, who in navies used to form a class by themselves; being
of a rank that entitled them to the honours of the quarter-deck, though
out of the regular line of promotion. In a word, he wore the
unpretending uniform of a master. A century ago, the dress of the
English naval officer was exceedingly simple, though more appropriate to
the profession perhaps, than the more showy attire that has since been
introduced. Epaulettes were not used by any, and the anchor button, with
the tint that is called navy blue, and which is meant to represent the
deep hue of the ocean, with white facings, composed the principal
peculiarities of the dress. The person introduced to the reader, whose
name was Dutton, and who was simply the officer in charge of the
signal-station, had a certain neatness about his well-worn uniform, his
linen, and all of his attire, which showed that some person more
interested in such matters than one of his habits was likely to be, had
the care of his wardrobe. In this respect, indeed, his appearance was
unexceptionable; and there was an air about the whole man which showed
that nature, if not education, had intended him for something far better
than the being he actually was.
Dutton was waiting, at that early hour, to ascertain, as the veil of
mist was raised from the face of the sea, whether a sail might be in
sight, that required of him the execution of any of his simple
functions. That some one was near by, on the head-land, too, was quite
evident, by the occasional interchange of speech; though no person but
himself was visible. The direction of the sounds would seem to indicate
that a man was actually over the brow of the cliff, perhaps a hundred
feet removed from the seat occupied by the master.
"Recollect the sailor's maxim, Mr. Wychecombe," called out Dutton, in a
warning voice; "one hand for the king, and the other for self! Those
cliffs are ticklish places; and really it does seem a little unnatural
that a sea-faring person like yourself, should have so great a passion
for flowers, as to risk his neck in order to make a posy!"
"Never fear for me, Mr. Dutton," answered a full, manly voice, that one
could have sworn issued from the chest of youth; "never fear for me; we
sailors are used to hanging in the air."
"Ay, with good three-stranded ropes to hold on by, young gentleman. Now
His Majesty's government has just made you an officer, there is a sort
of obligation to take care of your life, in order that it may be used,
and, at need, given away, in his service."
"Quite true--quite true, Mr. Dutton--so true, I wonder you think it
necessary to remind me of it. I am very grateful to His Majesty's
government, and--"
While speaking, the voice seemed to descend, getting at each instant
less and less distinct, until, in the end, it became quite inaudible.
Dutton looked uneasy, for at that instant a noise was heard, and then it
was quite clear some heavy object was falling down the face of the
cliff. Now it was that the mariner felt the want of good nerves, and
experienced the sense of humiliation which accompanied the consciousness
of having destroyed them by his excesses. He trembled in every limb,
and, for the moment, was actually unable to rise. A light step at his
side, however, drew a glance in that direction, and his eye fell on the
form of a lovely girl of nineteen, his own daughter, Mildred.
"I heard you calling to some one, father," said the latter, looking
wistfully, but distrustfully at her parent, as if wondering at his
yielding to his infirmity so early in the day; "can I be of service to
you?"
"Poor Wychecombe!" exclaimed Dutton. "He went over the cliff in search
of a nosegay to offer to yourself, and--and--I fear--greatly fear--"
"What, father?" demanded Mildred, in a voice of horror, the rich color
disappearing from a face which it left of the hue of death.
"No--no--no--he _cannot_ have fallen."
Dutton bent his head down, drew a long breath, and then seemed to gain
more command of his nerves. He was about to rise, when the sound of a
horse's feet was heard, and then Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, mounted on a
quiet pony, rode slowly up to the signal-staff. It was a common thing
for the baronet to appear on the cliffs early in the morning, but it was
not usual for him to come unattended. The instant her eyes fell on the
fine form of the venerable old man, Mildred, who seemed to know him
well, and to use the familiarity of one confident of being a favourite,
exclaimed--
"Oh! Sir Wycherly, how fortunate--where is Richard?"
"Good morrow, my pretty Milly," answered the baronet, cheerfully;
"fortunate or not, here I am, and not a bit flattered that your first
question should be after the groom, instead of his master. I have sent
Dick on a message to the vicar's. Now my poor brother, the judge, is
dead and gone, I find Mr. Rotherham more and more necessary to me."
"Oh! dear Sir Wycherly--Mr. Wychecombe--Lieutenant Wychecombe, I
mean--the young officer from Virginia--he who was so desperately
wounded--in whose recovery we all took so deep an interest--"
"Well--what of him, child?--you surely do not mean to put him on a level
with Mr. Rotherham, in the way of religious consolation--and, as for
anything else, there is no consanguinity between the Wychecombes of
Virginia and my family. He may be a _filius nullius_ of the Wychecombes
of Wychecombe-Regis, Herts, but has no connection with those of
Wychecombe-Hall, Devonshire."
"There--there--the cliff!--the cliff!" added Mildred, unable, for the
moment, to be more explicit.
As the girl pointed towards the precipice, and looked the very image of
horror, the good-hearted old baronet began to get some glimpses of the
truth; and, by means of a few words with Dutton, soon knew quite as much
as his two companions. Descending from his pony with surprising activity
for one of his years, Sir Wycherly was soon on his feet, and a sort of
confused consultation between the three succeeded. Neither liked to
approach the cliff, which was nearly perpendicular at the extremity of
the head-land, and was always a trial to the nerves of those who shrunk
from standing on the verge of precipices. They stood like persons
paralyzed, until Dutton, ashamed of his weakness, and recalling the
thousand lessons in coolness and courage he had received in his own
manly profession, made a movement towards advancing to the edge of the
cliff, in order to ascertain the real state of the case. The blood
returned to the cheeks of Mildred, too, and she again found a portion of
her natural spirit raising her courage.
"Stop, father," she said, hastily; "you are infirm, and are in a tremour
at this moment. My head is steadier--let me go to the verge of the hill,
and learn what has happened."
This was uttered with a forced calmness that deceived her auditors, both
of whom, the one from age, and the other from shattered nerves, were
certainly in no condition to assume the same office. It required the
all-seeing eye, which alone can scan the heart, to read all the agonized
suspense with which that young and beautiful creature approached the
spot, where she might command a view of the whole of the side of the
fearful declivity, from its giddy summit to the base, where it was
washed by the sea. The latter, indeed, could not literally be seen from
above, the waves having so far undermined the cliff, as to leave a
projection that concealed the point where the rocks and the water came
absolutely in contact; the upper portion of the weather-worn rocks
falling a little inwards, so as to leave a ragged surface that was
sufficiently broken to contain patches of earth, and verdure, sprinkled
with the flowers peculiar to such an exposure. The fog, also,
intercepted the sight, giving to the descent the appearance of a
fathomless abyss. Had the life of the most indifferent person been in
jeopardy, under the circumstances named, Mildred would have been filled
with deep awe; but a gush of tender sensations, which had hitherto been
pent up in the sacred privacy of her virgin affections, struggled with
natural horror, as she trod lightly on the very verge of the declivity,
and cast a timid but eager glance beneath. Then she recoiled a step,
raised her hands in alarm, and hid her face, as if to shut out some
frightful spectacle.
By this time, Dutton's practical knowledge and recollection had
returned. As is common with seamen, whose minds contain vivid pictures
of the intricate tracery of their vessel's rigging in the darkest
nights, his thoughts had flashed athwart all the probable circumstances,
and presented a just image of the facts.
"The boy could not be seen had he absolutely fallen, and were there no
fog; for the cliff tumbles home, Sir Wycherly," he said, eagerly,
unconsciously using a familiar nautical phrase to express his meaning.
"He must be clinging to the side of the precipice, and that, too, above
the swell of the rocks."
Stimulated by a common feeling, the two men now advanced hastily to the
brow of the hill, and there, indeed, as with Mildred herself, a single
look sufficed to tell them the whole truth. Young Wychecombe, in leaning
forward to pluck a flower, had pressed so hard upon the bit of rock on
which a foot rested, as to cause it to break, thereby losing his
balance. A presence of mind that amounted almost to inspiration, and a
high resolution, alone saved him from being dashed to pieces. Perceiving
the rock to give way, he threw himself forward, and alighted on a narrow
shelf, a few feet beneath the place where he had just stood, and at
least ten feet removed from it, laterally. The shelf on which he
alighted was ragged, and but two or three feet wide. It would have
afforded only a check to his fall, had there not fortunately been some
shrubs among the rocks above it. By these shrubs the young man caught,
actually swinging off in the air, under the impetus of his leap.
Happily, the shrubs were too well rooted to give way; and, swinging
himself round, with the address of a sailor, the youthful lieutenant was
immediately on his feet, in comparative safety. The silence that
succeeded was the consequence of the shock he felt, in finding him so
suddenly thrown into this perilous situation. The summit of the cliff
was now about six fathoms above his head, and the shelf on which he
stood, impended over a portion of the cliff that was absolutely
perpendicular, and which might be said to be out of the line of those
projections along which he had so lately been idly gathering flowers. It
was physically impossible for any human being to extricate himself from
such a situation, without assistance. This Wychecombe understood at a
glance, and he had passed the few minutes that intervened between his
fall and the appearance of the party above him, in devising the means
necessary to his liberation. As it was, few men, unaccustomed to the
giddy elevations of the mast, could have mustered a sufficient command
of nerve to maintain a position on the ledge where he stood. Even he
could not have continued there, without steadying his form by the aid of
the bushes.
As soon as the baronet and Dutton got a glimpse of the perilous position
of young Wychecombe, each recoiled in horror from the sight, as if
fearful of being precipitated on top of him. Both, then, actually lay
down on the grass, and approached the edge of the cliff again, in that
humble attitude, even trembling as they lay at length, with their chins
projecting over the rocks, staring downwards at the victim. The young
man could see nothing of all this; for, as he stood with his back
against the cliff, he had not room to turn, with safety, or even to look
upwards. Mildred, however, seemed to lose all sense of self and of
danger, in view of the extremity in which the youth beneath was placed.
She stood on the very verge of the precipice, and looked down with
steadiness and impunity that would have been utterly impossible for her
to attain under less exciting circumstances; even allowing the young man
to catch a glimpse of her rich locks, as they hung about her beautiful
face.
"For God's sake, Mildred," called out the youth, "keep further from the
cliff--I see you, and we can now hear each other without so much risk."
"What can we do to rescue you, Wychecombe?" eagerly asked the girl.
"Tell me, I entreat you; for Sir Wycherly and my father are both
unnerved!"
"Blessed creature! and _you_ are mindful of my danger! But, be not
uneasy, Mildred; do as I tell you, and all will yet be well. I hope you
hear and understand what I say, dearest girl?"
"Perfectly," returned Mildred, nearly choked by the effort to be calm.
"I hear every syllable--speak on."
"Go you then to the signal-halyards--let one end fly loose, and pull
upon the other, until the whole line has come down--when that is done,
return here, and I will tell you more--but, for heaven's sake, keep
farther from the cliff."
The thought that the rope, small and frail as it seemed, might be of
use, flashed on the brain of the girl; and in a moment she was at the
staff. Time and again, when liquor incapacitated her father to perform
his duty, had Mildred bent-on, and hoisted the signals for him; and
thus, happily, she was expert in the use of the halyards. In a minute
she had unrove them, and the long line lay in a little pile at her feet.
"'Tis done, Wycherly," she said, again looking over the cliff; "shall I
throw you down one end of the rope?--but, alas! I have not strength to
raise you; and Sir Wycherly and father seem unable to assist me!"
"Do not hurry yourself, Mildred, and all will be well. Go, and put one
end of the line around the signal-staff, then put the two ends together,
tie them in a knot, and drop them down over my head. Be careful not to
come too near the cliff, for--"
The last injunction was useless, Mildred having flown to execute her
commission. Her quick mind readily comprehended what was expected of
her, and her nimble fingers soon performed their task. Tying a knot in
the ends of the line, she did as desired, and the small rope was soon
dangling within reach of Wychecombe's arm. It is not easy to make a
landsman understand the confidence which a sailor feels in a rope. Place
but a frail and rotten piece of twisted hemp in his hand, and he will
risk his person in situations from which he would otherwise recoil in
dread. Accustomed to hang suspended in the air, with ropes only for his
foothold, or with ropes to grasp with his hand, his eye gets an
intuitive knowledge of what will sustain him, and he unhesitatingly
trusts his person to a few seemingly slight strands, that, to one
unpractised, appear wholly unworthy of his confidence. Signal-halyards
are ropes smaller than the little finger of a man of any size; but they
are usually made with care, and every rope-yarn tells. Wychecombe, too,
was aware that these particular halyards were new, for he had assisted
in reeving them himself, only the week before. It was owing to this
circumstance that they were long enough to reach him; a large allowance
for wear and tear having been made in cutting them from the coil. As it
was, the ends dropped some twenty feet below the ledge on which he
stood.
"All safe, now, Mildred!" cried the young man, in a voice of exultation
the moment his hand caught the two ends of the line, which he
immediately passed around his body, beneath the arms, as a precaution
against accidents. "All safe, now, dearest girl; have no further concern
about me."
Mildred drew back, for worlds could not have tempted her to witness the
desperate effort that she knew must follow. By this time, Sir Wycherly,
who had been an interested witness of all that passed, found his voice,
and assumed the office of director.
"Stop, my young namesake," he eagerly cried, when he found that the
sailor was about to make an effort to drag his own body up the cliff;
"stop; that will never do; let Dutton and me do that much for you, at
least. We have seen all that has passed, and are now able to do
something."
"No--no, Sir Wycherly--on no account touch the halyards. By hauling them
over the top of the rocks you will probably cut them, or part them, and
then I'm lost, without hope!"
"Oh! Sir Wycherly," said Mildred, earnestly, clasping her hands
together, as if to enforce the request with prayer; "do not--do not
touch the line."
"We had better let the lad manage the matter in his own way," put in
Dutton; "he is active, resolute, and a seaman, and will do better for
himself than I fear we can do for him. He has got a turn round his body,
and is tolerably safe against any slip, or mishap."
As the words were uttered, the whole three drew back a short distance
and watched the result, in intense anxiety. Dutton, however, so far
recollected himself, as to take an end of the old halyards, which were
kept in a chest at the foot of the staff, and to make, an attempt to
stopper together the two parts of the little rope on which the youth
depended, for should one of the parts of it break, without this
precaution, there was nothing to prevent the halyards from running round
the staff, and destroying the hold. The size of the halyards rendered
this expedient very difficult of attainment, but enough was done to give
the arrangement a little more of the air of security. All this time
young Wychecombe was making his own preparations on the ledge, and quite
out of view; but the tension on the halyards soon announced that his
weight was now pendent from them. Mildred's heart seemed ready to leap
from her mouth, as she noted each jerk on the lines; and her father
watched every new pull, as if he expected the next moment would produce
the final catastrophe. It required a prodigious effort in the young man
to raise his own weight for such a distance, by lines so small. Had the
rope been of any size, the achievement would have been trifling for one
of the frame and habits of the sailor, more especially as he could
slightly avail himself of his feet, by pressing them against the rocks;
but, as it was, he felt as if he were dragging the mountain up after
him. At length, his head appeared a few inches above the rocks, but with
his feet pressed against the cliff, and his body inclining outward, at
an angle of forty-five degrees.
"Help him--help him, father!" exclaimed Mildred, covering her face with
her hands, to exclude the sight of Wychecombe's desperate struggles. "If
he fall now, he will be destroyed. Oh! save him, save him, Sir
Wycherly!"
But neither of those to whom she appealed, could be of any use. The
nervous trembling again came over the father; and as for the baronet,
age and inexperience rendered him helpless.
"Have you no rope, Mr. Dutton, to throw over my shoulders," cried
Wychecombe, suspending his exertions in pure exhaustion, still keeping
all he had gained, with his head projecting outward, over the abyss
beneath, and his face turned towards heaven. "Throw a rope over my
shoulders, and drag my body in to the cliff."
Dutton showed an eager desire to comply, but his nerves had not yet been
excited by the usual potations, and his hands shook in a way to render
it questionable whether he could perform even this simple service. But
for his daughter, indeed, he would hardly have set about it
intelligently. Mildred, accustomed to using the signal-halyards,
procured the old line, and handed it to her father, who discovered some
of his professional knowledge in his manner of using it. Doubling the
halyards twice, he threw the bight over Wychecombe's shoulders, and
aided by Mildred, endeavoured to draw the body of the young man upwards
and towards the cliff. But their united strength was unequal to the
task, and wearied with holding on, and, indeed, unable to support his
own weight any longer by so small a rope, Wychecombe felt compelled to
suffer his feet to drop beneath him, and slid down again upon the ledge.
Here, even his vigorous frame shook with its prodigious exertions; and
he was compelled to seat himself on the shelf, and rest with his back
against the cliff, to recover his self-command and strength. Mildred
uttered a faint shriek as he disappeared, but was too much
horror-stricken to approach the verge of the precipice to ascertain his
fate.
"Be composed, Milly," said her father, "he is safe, as you may see by
the halyards; and to say the truth, the stuff holds on well. So long as
the line proves true, the boy can't fall; he has taken a double turn
with the end of it round his body. Make your mind easy, girl, for I feel
better now, and see my way clear. Don't be uneasy, Sir Wycherly; we'll
have the lad safe on _terra firma_ again, in ten minutes. I scarce know
what has come over me, this morning; but I've not had the command of my
limbs as in common. It cannot be fright, for I've seen too many men in
danger to be disabled by _that_; and I think, Milly, it must be the
rheumatism, of which I've so often spoken, and which I've inherited from
my poor mother, dear old soul. Do you know, Sir Wycherly, that
rheumatism can be inherited like gout?"
"I dare say it may--I dare say it may, Dutton--but never mind the
disease, now; get my young namesake back here on the grass, and I will
hear all about it. I would give the world that I had not sent Dick to
Mr. Rotherham's this morning. Can't we contrive to make the pony pull
the boy up?"
"The traces are hardly strong enough for such work, Sir Wycherly. Have a
little patience, and I will manage the whole thing, 'ship-shape, and
Brister fashion,' as we say at sea. Halloo there, Master
Wychecombe--answer my hail, and I will soon get you into deep water."
"I'm safe on the ledge," returned the voice of Wychecombe, from below;
"I wish you would look to the signal-halyards, and see they do not chafe
against the rocks, Mr. Dutton."
"All right, sir; all right. Slack up, if you please, and let me have all
the line you can, without casting off from your body. Keep fast the end
for fear of accidents."
In an instant the halyards slackened, and Dutton, who by this time had
gained his self-command, though still weak and unnerved by the habits of
the last fifteen years, forced the bight along the edge of the cliff,
until he had brought it over a projection of the rocks, where it
fastened itself. This arrangement caused the line to lead down to the
part of the cliffs from which the young man had fallen, and where it was
by no means difficult for a steady head and active limbs to move about
and pluck flowers. It consequently remained for Wychecombe merely to
regain a footing on that part of the hill-side, to ascend to the summit
without difficulty. It is true he was now below the point from which he
had fallen, but by swinging himself off laterally, or even by springing,
aided by the line, it was not a difficult achievement to reach it, and
he no sooner understood the nature of the change that had been made,
than he set about attempting it. The confident manner of Dutton
encouraged both the baronet and Mildred, and they drew to the cliff,
again; standing near the verge, though on the part where the rocks might
be descended, with less apprehension of consequences.
As soon as Wychecombe had made all his preparations, he stood on the end
of the ledge, tightened the line, looked carefully for a foothold on the
other side of the chasm, and made his leap. As a matter of course, the
body of the young man swung readily across the space, until the line
became perpendicular, and then he found a surface so broken, as to
render his ascent by no means difficult, aided as he was by the
halyards. Scrambling upwards, he soon rejected the aid of the line, and
sprang upon the head-land. At the same instant, Mildred fell senseless
on the grass.