Too much horrified for the moment even to speak, Gwyn grasped the sides
of the ladder with spasmodic strength; his eyes dilated, his jaw
dropped, and he clung there completely paralysed. Then his mental
balance came back as suddenly as he had lost it, and feeling once more
the strong, healthy lad he was, it came to him like a flash that it was
impossible that Joe Jollivet, his companion in hundreds of rock-climbing
expeditions--where they had successfully made their way along places
which would have given onlookers what is known as "the creeps,"--could
be in the danger he described, and with a merry laugh, he cried,--
"Get out! Go on, you old humbug, or I'll get a pin out of my waistcoat
and give you the spur."
There was no response.
"Do you hear, old Jolly-wet? I say, you know, this isn't the sort of
place for playing larks. Wait till we're up, and I'll give you such a
warming!"
Then the chill of horror came back, for Joe said in a whisper, whose
tones swept away all possibility of his playing tricks,--
"I'm not larking. I can't stir."
"I tell you you are larking," cried Gwyn, fiercely. "Such nonsense! Go
on up, or I'll drive a pin into you right up to the head."
The cold chill increased now, and Gwyn shuddered, for Joe said
faintly,--
"Do, please; it might give me strength."
The vain hope that it might be all a trick was gone, and Gwyn was face
to face with the horror of their position. He too looked down, and
there was the platform, with the water splashing and glittering in the
sunshine as it struck upon the rock; and he knew that no help could come
from that direction, for Hardock was at the pump in the shaft. He
looked up to the edge of the cliff, but no one was there, for the people
were all gathered about the top of the mine, and were not likely to come
and look over and see their position. If help was to come to the boy
above him, that help must come from where he stood; and, with the
recollection of his own peril when he was being hauled up by the rope,
forcing itself upon him, he began to act with a feeling of desperation
which was ready to rob him of such nerve as he possessed.
A clear and prompt action was necessary, as he knew only too well, and,
setting his teeth hard together, he went on up without a word, step by
step, as he leaned back to the full stretch of his arms, and reached to
where he could just force his feet, one on either side of his
companion's, the spell of the ladder just affording sufficient width,
and then pressing Joe close against the rounds with his
heavily-throbbing breast, he held on in silence for a few moments,
trying to speak, but no words would come.
Meanwhile, Joe remained silent and rigid, as if half insensible; and
Gwyn's brain was active, though his tongue was silent, battling as he
was with the question what to do.
"Oh, if those gulls would only keep away!" he groaned to himself, for at
least a dozen came softly swooping about them, and one so close that the
boy felt the waft of the air set in motion by its wings.
Then the throbbing and fluttering at his heart grew less painful, and
the power to speak returned.
With a strong endeavour to be calm and easy, he forced himself to treat
the position jauntily.
"There you are, old chap," he cried; "friend in need's a friend indeed.
I could hold you on like that for a month--five minutes," he added to
himself. Then aloud once more. "Feel better?"
There was no reply.
"Do you hear, stupid--feel better?"
A low sigh--almost a groan--was the only answer, and Gwyn's teeth grated
together.
"Here, you, Joe," he said firmly. "I know you can hear what I say, so
listen. You don't want for us both to go down, I know, so you've got to
throw off the horrible feeling that's come over you, and do what I say.
I'm going to hold you up like this for five minutes to get your wind,
and then you've got to start and go up round by round. You can't fall
because I shall follow you, keeping like this, and holding you on till
you're better. You can hear all that, you know."
Joe bent his head, and a peculiar quivering, catching sigh escaped his
lips.
"It's all nonsense; you want to give up over climbing a ladder such as
we could run up. 'Tisn't like being on the rocks with nothing to hold
on by, now, is it? Let's see; we're half of the way up, and we can soon
do it, so say when you feel ready, and then up you go!"
But after a guess at the space of time named, Joe showed no inclination
to say he was ready, and stood there, pressed against the ladder,
breathing very feebly, and Gwyn began to be attacked once more by the
chill of dread.
He fought it back in his desperation, and in a tone which surprised
himself, he cried,--
"Now, then! Time's up! Go on!"
To his intense delight, his energy seemed to be communicated to his
companion; and as he hung back a little, Joe reached with one hand, got
a fresh hold there with the other, and, raising his right foot, drew
himself slowly and cautiously up, to stand on the next spell.
"Cheerily ho!" sang out Gwyn, as he followed. "I knew, I knew you could
do it. Now then! Don't stop to get cold. Up you go before I get out
that pin."
Joe slowly and laboriously began again, and reached the next step, but
Gwyn felt no increase of hope, for he could tell how feeble and
nerveless the boy was. But he went on talking lightly, as he followed
and let the poor fellow feel the support of his breast.
"That's your sort. Nine inches higher. Two nine inches more--a foot
and a half. But, I say, no games; don't start off with a run and leave
me behind. You'd better let me go with you, in case your foot gives--
gives way again."
That repetition of the word gives was caused by a peculiar catching of
Gwyn's breath.
"I say," he continued, as they paused, "this is ever so much better than
going up those wet ladders in the shaft. I shall never like that way.
Don't you remember looking down the shaft of that mine, where the hot,
steamy mist came up, and the rounds of the ladder were all slippery with
the grease that dropped from the men's candles stuck in their caps? I
do. I said it would be like going down ladders of ice, and that you'd
never catch me on them. Our way won't be hot and steamy like that was,
because there'll always be a draught of fresh sea air running up from
the adit. Now then, up you go again! I begin to want my dinner."
Joe did not stir, and Gwyn's face turned ghastly, while his mouth opened
ready for the utterance of a wild cry for help.
But the cry did not escape, for Gwyn's teeth closed with a snap. He
felt that it would result in adding to his companion's despair.
He was once more master of himself.
"Now then!" he cried; "I don't want to use that pin. Go on, old
lazybones."
The energy was transferred again, and Joe slowly struggled up another
step, closely followed by Gwyn, and then remained motionless and silent.
"You stop and let yourself get cold again," cried Gwyn, resolutely now.
"Begin once more, and don't stop. You needn't mind, old chap. I've got
you as tight as tight. Now then, can't you feel how safe you are? Off
with you! I shall always be ready to give you a nip and hold you on.
Now then, off!"
But there was no response.
"Do you hear! This isn't the place to go to sleep, Joe! Wake up! Go
on! Never mind your feet being numb. Go on pulling yourself up with
your hands. I'll give you a shove to help."
No reply; no movement; and but for the spasmodic way in which the boy
clung with his hands, as if involuntarily, like a bird or a bat clings
in its sleep, he might have been pronounced perfectly helpless.
"Now, once more, are you going to begin?" cried Gwyn, shouting fiercely.
"Do you hear?"
Still no reply, and in spite of appeal, threat, and at last a blow
delivered heavily upon his shoulder, Joe did not stir, and Gwyn felt
that their case was desperate indeed. Each time he had forced his
companion to make an effort it was as if the result was due to the
energy he had communicated from his own body; but now he felt in his
despair as if a reverse action were taking place, and his companion's
want of nerve and inertia were being communicated to him; for the chilly
feeling of despair was on the increase, and he knew now that poor Joe
was beyond helping himself.
"What can I do?" he thought, as he once more forced himself to the point
of thinking and acting. To get his companion up by his own force was
impossible. Even if he could have carried the weight up the ladder, it
would have been impossible to get a good hold and retain it, and he
already felt himself growing weak from horror.
What to do?
It would have been easy enough to climb over his companion and save his
own life; but how could he ever look Major Jollivet or his father in the
eyes again? The momentary thought was dismissed on the instant as being
cowardly and unworthy of an English lad. But what to do?
If he could have left him for a few minutes, he could have either gone
up or gone down, and shouted for help; but he knew perfectly well that
the moment he left the boy to himself, he would fall headlong.
"What shall I do? What shall I do?" he groaned aloud, and a querulous
cry from one of the gulls still floating around them came as if in
reply.
"Oh, if I only had a gun," he cried angrily. "Get out, you beasts!
Who's going to fall!"
Then he uttered a cry for help, and another, and another; but the shouts
sounded feeble, and were lost in space, while more and more it was
forced upon him that Joe was now insensible from fear and despair, his
nerve completely gone.
What could he do? There seemed to be nothing but to hold on till Joe
fell, and then for his father's sake, he must try and save himself.
"Oh, if I only had a piece of rope," he muttered; but he had not so much
as a piece of string. There was his silk neckerchief; that was
something, and Joe was wearing one, too, exactly like it; for the boys
had a habit of dressing the same.
It was something to do--something to occupy his thoughts for a few
moments, and, setting one hand free, he passed it round the side of the
ladder, leaned toward it, as he forced it toward his neck; his fingers
seized the knot--a sailor's slip-knot--and the next minute the
handkerchief was loose in his hands.
A few more long moments, and he had taken his companion's from his neck.
Then came the knotting together, a task which needed the service of
both hands, and for a time he hesitated about setting the second free.
Free he could not make it, but by clinging round the sides of the ladder
with both arms, he brought his hands together, and with the skill taught
him by the Cornish fishermen, he soon, without the help of his eyes, had
the two handkerchiefs securely joined in a knot that would not slip, and
was now possessed with a twisted silken cord about five feet long.
But how slight! Still it was of silk, and it was his only chance unless
help came; and of that there seemed to be not the slightest hope.
He twisted the silk round and round in his hands for some seconds after
the fashion that he and Joe had observed when making a snood for their
fishing lines, and then passing one end round the spell that was on a
level with Joe's throat, he drew till both ends were of a length, and
then tied the silken cord tightly to the piece of stout, strong oak,
letting the ends hang down.
Joe's hands were grasping the sides of the ladder--how feebly Gwyn did
not know till he tried to move the left, when it gave way at once, and
would have fallen to his side but for his own strong grasp. Holding it
firmly, he passed it round the left side of the ladder, placing it along
the spell, and then passing one of the silken ends round the wrist, he
drew it tight to the spell and kept it there, while he loosened the
boy's right-hand, passed that round the other side, so that wrist rested
upon wrist, and the next minute the handkerchief was slipped round it,
and drawn tightly, binding both together.
They were safely held so long as he kept up a tension upon the end of
the silk; and this with great effort he was able to do with his left
hand, while, working in the opposite way, he passed the second end round
the two wrists once, dragged it as hard as he could, and then tied the
first portion of a simple knot. Then he dragged again and again,
bringing his teeth to bear in holding the shorter end of the
handkerchief, while he tugged and tugged till the silk cut into the
boy's flesh, and his wrists were dragged firmly down upon the spell.
There the second portion of the knot was tied; and, feeling that Joe
could not slip, he bound the longer end round again twice, brought the
first end to meet it, and once again tied as hard as he could.
Breathless with the exertion of holding on by his crooked arms while he
worked, and with the perspiration streaming down his face, he stood
there panting for a few moments, holding on tightly, and peering through
the spells to make sure that his knots were secure, and the silken cord
sufficiently tight to stay Joe's wrists from being dragged through.
Then he tried the fastening again, satisfying himself that Joe was as
safe as hands could make him, and that his arms could not possibly be
dragged away from the spell to which they were tied, even if his feet
slipped from the round below.
Satisfied at this, Gwyn's heart gave a throb of satisfaction.
"You can't fall, Joe," he said. "I don't want to leave you, but I must
go for help."
There was no reply.
"Can you hear what I say?" cried Gwyn.
Still no reply; and, feeling that he might safely leave him, Gwyn
hesitated for a moment or two as to whether he should go up or down.
The latter seemed to be the quicker way, and, after descending a step or
two, he threw arms and legs round the sides of the ladder, and let
himself slide to the platform.
Here he stood for a moment to look up and see Joe hanging as he had left
him. Then, stooping down, he entered the adit, out of which the
clanging sound of the huge pump went on volleying, while the water kept
up its hissing and rushing sound.
"Hardock!" he shouted, with his hands to his lips, and the cry
reverberated in the narrow passage; but, though he shouted again and
again, his voice did not penetrate, for the sound of the pumping and
rushing of water, and the boy had to make his way right to where Hardock
was anxiously watching the working of the machinery; and as Gwyn reached
him, he was once more holding his lanthorn down to see how much the
water had fallen.
The man gave a violent start as a hand was laid upon his shoulder.
"Come back!" shouted Hardock, to make himself heard, and he gazed
wonderingly at the boy, whose face was ghastly. "Here, don't you go and
say young Master Joe has fallen."
Gwyn placed his lips to the foreman's ear.
"Can't fall yet. Send word--ropes--top of ladder at once. Danger."
Hardock waited to hear no more, but dragged at the wire which formed the
rough temporary signal to the engine-house, and the great beam of the
pump stopped its work at once, when the silence was profound, save for a
murmur high up over them at the mouth of the shaft.
"What is it there?" came in a familiar voice, which sounded dull and
strange as it was echoed from the dripping walls.
"Help!" shouted Gwyn. "Long ropes to the head of the outside ladders."
"Right!" came back.
"What's wrong?" came down then in another voice.
"Joe Jollivet--danger," shouted Gwyn, stepping back to reply. "Now,
come on!" he cried to Hardock; and he led the way along the adit from
which, short as had been the time since the pump ceased working, the
water had run off.
No more was said as they hurried along as fast as the sloping position
necessary allowed; and on stepping out on to the platform, Gwyn looked
up in fear and trembling, lest the silken cord should have given way,
and fully anticipating that the ladder would be vacant.
Hardock uttered a groan, but Gwyn had already begun to climb.
"What are you going to do, lad?" shouted the man, excitedly.
"Go up and hold him on."
"No, no; I'm stronger than you." But Gwyn was already making his way up
as fast as he could, and Hardock, after a momentary hesitation,
followed.
Before they were half way, voices at the top were heard. "Hold tight!"
shouted the Colonel, in his fierce military fashion. "Rope!"
Then an order was heard, and a great coil of rope was thrown out, so
that it might fall clear of the climbers, whizzed away from the rock
with the rings opening out, and directly after, was hanging beside the
ladder right to the platform.
There was a clever brain at work on the top of the cliff, for, as Gwyn
climbed the ladder, the rope was hauled in so as to keep the end close
to his hands; and, seeing this, the boy uttered a sigh of relief, and
climbed on, feeling that there was hope of saving his comrade now.
"Shall I send someone down?" shouted the Colonel, who was evidently in
command at the top.
"No. We'll do it," cried Gwyn, breathlessly. "All right, Joe. We're
here."
There was no response from above him, and at every step Gwyn felt as if
his legs were turning to lead, and a nightmare-like sensation came over
him of being obliged to keep on always clambering a tremendous ladder
without ever reaching to where Joe was bound.
And all this in the very brief space of time before he reached to where
he had tied the insensible lad.
Gwyn uttered a sigh like a groan as he touched Joe's feet. Then,
without hesitating, he went higher, till he was on a level, with his
feet resting on the same spell, fully expecting moment by moment, as he
ascended, that the silk would give way and Joe's fall dash them both
down. And, as at last he thrust his arms through the ladder on either
side of the boy's neck and then spread them out, so as to secure them
both tightly pressed against the spells, his head began to swim, and he
felt that he could do no more.
His position saved him, for in those moments he could not have clung
there by his hands, his helplessness was too great.
But this was all momentary, and he was recalled to himself by the voice
of Hardock.
"I say, lad, hope this ladder's strong enough for all three. Now, then;
what's next? Will you tie the rope round him and cast him free?"
Gwyn made no reply. His lips parted, and he strove to speak, but not a
word would come.
"D'yer hear?" said Hardock. "I say, will you make the rope fast round
him?"
"Below there!" came from above. "Make the rope fast round Joe's chest--
tight knots, mind, and send him up first. Be smart!"
"All right, sir," shouted back Hardock, as he took hold of the rope
swinging close to his hand. "Now, then, Master Gwyn, don't stand there
such a gashly while thinking about it. Lay hold and knot it round him.
They'll soon draw him away from under you."
Gwyn uttered an inarticulate sound, but only wedged his arms out more
firmly.
"Ready?" came from above in the Colonel's voice.
"No, nothing like," roared Hardock. "Hold hard. Now, my lad, look
alive. Don't think about it, but get hold of the rope, and draw it
round his chest. Mind and not tie him to the ladder. Steady, for it's
all of a quiver now."
Still Gwyn made no sign.
"Hi! What's come to you?" growled Hardock.
"Are you asleep, below there?" shouted the Colonel. "Hold fast, and
I'll send someone down."
"Nay, nay!" yelled Hardock, "the ladder won't bear another. I'll get it
done directly. Now, Master Gwyn, pull yourself together, and make this
rope fast. D'yer hear?"
"Yes," gasped the boy at last. "Wait a minute and I'll try."
"Wait a minute and you'll try," growled the man. "We shall all be down
directly. My word! What is the use o' boys. Hi! hold fast and I'll
try and get up above you and tie the rope myself."
"No, no!" cried Gwyn, frantically. "You can't climb over us."
"But I must, lad, I aren't going to get round inside and try it that
way. I aren't a boy now."
"No, don't try that," panted Gwyn, breathlessly. "You'd pull us off.
I'm coming round again. I'll try soon, but I don't seem to have any
breath."
"Hi! below there! what are you about?" shouted the Colonel. "Make that
rope fast."
"Yes, sir; yes, sir; directly," yelled Hardock. "You, must wait."
"Make it fast round Jollivet," shouted the Colonel.
"All right, sir. Now, Master Gwyn, you hear what your guv'nor says?"
"Yes, I hear, Sam," panted the lad; "and I'm trying to do it. I'll
begin as soon as ever I can, but I feel that if I let go, Joe would come
down on you. He has no strength left in him, and--and I'm not much
better."
"And you'll let go, too," growled the man to himself, "and if you do,
it's all over with me." Then aloud: "Hold tight, my lad; I'm coming
up."