"What are you thinking about, Cinder?" said Mike one day, when they were
out together, after a long, hard morning's work up at the Ladelles, over
algebra and Latin, with the tutor who was resident at the Mount, the
Doctor sharing, however, in the cost. "You seem to have been so moony
and stupid lately."
"Have I?" said Vince starting.
"Yes, always going into brown studies. I know: you can't recollect that
problem in Euclid."
"What, the forty-seventh? Why, that's the one I recollect best.
Guess!"
"What you were thinking about?"
Vince nodded.
"Give it up," said Mike.
"The Scraw."
"What about it? That it's guarded by water goblins and sea serpents and
things, as old Joe calls them?"
"No," said Vince quietly: "I've been thinking about it ever since we
were out with him that day in the boat."
"Well, and what do you think?" said Mike, who while he talked was trying
how far he could jerk the flat pieces of oyster-shell, of which there
were plenty near, off the cliff; but with all his skill--and he could
throw far--they seemed, in the immensity around, as if they dropped
close to the cliff foot.
"I think, as I thought that day, that old Joe doesn't want us to go
there."
Mike was about to throw another shell, but he faced round at this with
his curiosity roused.
"Why?"
"Ah! that's what I want to know; and I can't think of any reason why he
shouldn't want us to go there. It seems so queer."
"Yes, it does seem queer," assented Mike.
"Of course the fishermen believe in all kinds of old women's tales about
ghosts and goblins, and ill-wishing and that sort of nonsense, just as
the women do about old Mother Remming's being a witch; but old Joe
always seemed to me to be such a hard, solid old chap, who would laugh
at a story about the fairies coming in the night and drying any one's
cow."
"Well, I always thought something of that sort; but what he says must be
right about the horrible currents among the rocks."
"Yes; there are fierce currents, I suppose, at some times of the tide."
"Well, that means it's dangerous."
"Of course it is, sometimes; but I'm not going to believe all he said."
"Nobody's ever been there."
"Indeed!"
"Oh yes, that's right," said Mike. "I've often heard the men talk about
what an awful place it was, and say they wouldn't go on any account."
"And did that scare you?"
"Well, I don't think it did, because I always felt afterwards that I
should like to climb somewhere along there till I could look over down
to the sea. But of course you couldn't do it."
"I don't know," said Vince; "I should like to try."
"But after what old Joe Daygo said, you couldn't go there in a boat."
"Couldn't you?"
"No."
"Then how is it that old Joe himself can go?"
Mike dropped down on the cliff turf beside his companion and stared at
him. "He never did go!"
"Yes, he did, for I was up on the Gull Cliff one day watching the birds,
and I saw Joe go creeping round underneath in the boat, and sail across
the bay, and then about the great point right in towards the Scraw."
"You mean it, Cinder?"
"Yes."
"It wasn't fancy?"
"No; I'm sure."
"Then there is some reason why he doesn't want us there. I say!"
"Well?"
"Let's go and see."
"You'd be afraid."
"No; I wouldn't if you wouldn't."
"I'll go if you will."
"Then we will. But how? Boat?"
"No; I say let's have a rope and try if we can't climb round by the
cliff. It will be a jolly good adventure, and I keep feeling more and
more as if I wanted to know what it all means."
"Then we will, and I'm ready to begin whenever you are. Why, we may
find a valley of gold."
"Or get a bad tumble."
"We'll risk that."
"Then let's set to and make our plans."
The boys ceased speaking, and became very thoughtful; and, as if to
sharpen their ideas, each took out his knife--a long-hafted jack knife
such as a sailor uses, fastened by a lanyard to his waist. There was
rather a rivalry between them as to which had the biggest,
longest-bladed and sharpest knife--a point that was never decided; and
the blades had rather a hard time of it, for they were constantly being
opened and whetted so as to maintain a razor edge.
But, probably from not being expert, these razor-like edges were not
maintained, and this was partly due to the selection of the sharpener
upon which they were whetted. The sole of a boot is no doubt suitable,
but not when it contains nails, which was the case with those worn by
the lads. The rail of a gate is harmless, while a smooth piece of slate
makes a moderately good enough soft hone. But when it comes to rubbing
a blade upon a piece of gneiss, quartz crystal, or granite, the result
is most unsatisfactory, the edge of the knife being prone to look like a
very bad imitation of a miniature saw.
From force of habit each lad on opening his knife looked round for
something upon which to give his knife a whet; but up there on the soft
turf of a cliff slope whetstones were scarce. Down below on the
wave-washed strand boulders and pebbles were plentiful enough, and in
addition there was the rock; but from where they were it was a good
quarter of a mile to the nearest place where a descent could be safely
made. But the next moment Mike found an oyster-shell, upon which he
began diligently to rub his blade; while, failing this, Vince pulled his
foot across his knee, vigorously stropped his knife on the sole of his
boot, and gave a finishing touch to the edge by passing it to and fro
upon the palm of his hand.
This done, each looked out for something to cut, where there was for
some distance round nothing but grass. This Vince began to shave off
gently, with Mike watching him for a few moments; but the pursuit seemed
to him too trivial, and, after wrinkling up his forehead for a few
moments as if perplexed, an idea struck him, and he began to score the
soft turf in regular lines, as if it were a loin of pork, but with this
difference, that when he had made about a dozen strokes he commenced
cutting between the marks, and sloping his blade so that he carved out
the turf, leaving a series of ridges and furrows as he went on.
This was on his part an ingenious enough way of using the blade, out on
an island cliff on a glorious sunny day; but at the end of a minute it
became as monotonous as it was purposeless, and Vince shut his knife
with a snap, after carefully wiping the blade; while Mike, who had been
blunting the point of his by bringing it in contact with the granite,
which, where they were, only lay three or four inches beneath the velvet
turf, followed suit, after seeing that his knife point would need a good
grinding before he could consider it to be in a satisfactory state.
"Well," said Mike, after they had looked at each other for a few
moments, "how are we going to make our plans?"
"I dunno," replied Vince. "Yes, I do. You can't make plans here.
Let's go and see what the place is like."
"No; that's wrong," said Mike, wrinkling his forehead again. "A general
always makes his plans of how he'll attack a country before he starts,
and takes what is necessary with him."
"Yes, but then he has maps of the country, and knows what he will want.
We have no maps; but we've got the country, so I say let's go and see
first--reconnoitre."
"Very well," said Mike, rising slowly.
"Don't seem very ready," said Vince. "Not scared about it, are you?"
"No, I don't think so," replied Mike thoughtfully; "only doesn't it seem
rather--rather queer to go to a place that is strange, and where you
don't know what there may be?"
"Of course it does," said Vince frankly; "and I am just a little like
that. I suppose it's what the men here all feel, and it keeps them
away."
"Yes, that's it," said Mike eagerly.
"But then, you know, they believe lots of things that we laugh at.
There isn't a man or boy here in Crag would go and sit in the churchyard
on a dark night."
"Well, you wouldn't either," said Mike.
"No, I suppose not," said Vince thoughtfully. "I don't think I believe
in ghosts--I'm sure I don't; and I know that if I saw anything I should
feel it was some one trying to frighten us. But I shouldn't like to go
and sit in a churchyard in the dark, because--because--"
"You'd be afraid," said Mike, with a laugh.
"Yes, I should be afraid, but not as you mean," said the lad. "I should
feel that it was doing a mocking, boasting sort of thing toward the dead
people who were all lying asleep there."
"Dead," interposed Mike.
"No: father says asleep--quietly asleep, after being in pain and
sickness, or being tired out from growing very old."
Mike looked at him curiously, and they were both silent for a few
moments, till Mike said quickly:--
"I say, though, don't it seem queer to you that we've been here all our
lives, and grown as old as we are, without ever going to the top of the
cliff here and looking down into the Scraw?"
"Yes, that's just what I've been thinking ever since old Joe talked to
us as he did. But I don't know that it is queer."
"Well, I do," said Mike: "it's very queer."
"No, it isn't. Ever since we can remember everybody has said that you
can't get there, because nobody could climb up; and then while we were
little we always heard people talk almost in a whisper about it, as if
it were something that oughtn't to be named; and so of course we didn't
think for ourselves, and took all they said as being right. But you
know there may be whirlpools and holes and black caverns and sharp
rocks, and I dare say there are regular monsters of congers down in the
deep places that have never been disturbed."
"And sharks."
"No, I don't think there would be sharks. They live out in the open sea
more, where it's not so rough."
"I say, how big have we ever seen a conger?"
"Why, that one Carnach brought in and said he'd had a terrible fight
with: don't you remember?"
"Yes, I remember; he caught it on a dark thunderstormy day, and said
when he hooked it first, baiting with a pilchard, it came so easy that
he thought it was a little one, and swam up every time he slackened his
line till he got it close to the top. But when he went to hook it in
with his gaff he fell back over the thwart, because as soon as it saw
him it opened its mouth and came over the gunwale with a rush, and
hunted him round the boat till he hit it over the head with his little
axe."
"Yes, I remember," said Vince, taking up the narrative; "and then he
said they had a terrible fight, for it twisted its tail round his leg
and struck at him, getting hold of his tarpaulin coat with its teeth and
holding on till he got the blade of the axe into the cut he had made and
sawed away till he got through the backbone. Oh yes, we heard him tell
the story lots of times about how strong it was, and how it bruised his
leg where it hit him with its tail, and how he was beginning to feel
that, in spite of its head being nearly off, it seemed as if it would
finish him, when all at once it dropped down in the bottom of the boat
and only just heaved about. I used to believe it all, but he always
puts more and more to it whenever he tells the tale. I don't believe it
now."
"But it was a monster."
"Yes: two inches short of seven feet long, and as big round as a
cod-fish; and I don't see why there mayn't be some twice as big in the
Scraw. But I'm not going to believe in there being anything else, Mike;
and we're going to see."
"Nothing horrid living in the caves?"
"Bogies and mermen and Goblin Jacks? No: stuff!"
"But up the cliff: you don't think there's anything there that makes it
so that you can't go? I mean--"
"Dragons like father has in that old Latin book about Switzerland?"
"Yes; you've got pictures of them,--horrid things with wings, that lived
in the mountains and passes."
"All gammon!" cried Vince. "People used to believe in all kinds of
nonsense--magicians, and fiery serpents and dragons, and things that we
laugh about now. There, one can't help feeling a bit shrinky, after all
we've heard and been frightened with by people ever since we were little
bits of chaps; but I mean to go. There's nothing worse about the Scraw
than there is about other dangerous places."
"Ah! you say so now because it's broad daylight and the sun shines, but
you'd talk differently if it was dark as pitch."
"Shouldn't go if it was dark as pitch, because we shouldn't know where
we were going. I say, you're not going to turn tail?"
"No," said Mike, "I'll go with you; but one can't help feeling a bit
shrinky. I'm ready: come on."
"Let's seem as if we were not going, then," said Vince.
"We shan't see anybody if we go round by the Dolmen," said Mike. "There
isn't a cottage after you pass the one on the Crusy common."
"And nobody lives in that now."
"Why?" said Mike quickly. "Think they saw anything? It's nearest to
the Scraw Cliff."
"See anything? No. But they used to feel--the wind. Why, it's the
highest part of Crag Island! Come along."
"One minute," said Mike. "You said you thought old Joe didn't want us
to go there."
"Yes," said Vince.
"Well, wasn't it because in his rough, surly way he likes us, and didn't
want us to get hurt?"
"Perhaps!" said Vince laconically.
"Well, there couldn't be any other reason."
"Yes, there could. It might be a splendid place for fishing, and for
ormers and queens and oysters, and he don't want any one else to find it
out."
"Yes, it might be that," said Mike; and he set his teeth and looked as
if he were going upon some desperate venture from which he might never
return alive.
Vince looked a little uneasy too, but there was determination plainly
written on his countenance as the two lads, after a glance round to see
if they were observed, made off together; over the stony cliff.