another dig. "Can't say as I should like to lie all night on my back
with my hands tied behind me to a big pole, and my ankles and knees
served the same, just as if I was going to be roasted for a cannibal's
dinner, and to make it worse, an old worsted stocking rammed into my
mouth, and a cloth tied over it and behind my neck, to make sure I
didn't get it out."
"What!" cried Perry.
"I said a stocking rammed into my month, sir, so as I shouldn't holler,
only breathe. It is hard on a man, but what was you to do?"
"Then you didn't kill them," cried Perry joyfully.
"Kill 'em," said John Manning, in a tone full of disgust. "Did you ever
know a British soldier, as was a soldier, go killing folk in that way,
sir, when they'd been made prisoners? Master Perry, sir, I'm ashamed o'
you for thinking such a thing o' your father, as is as fine an officer
as ever stepped."
"Not so much ashamed of me as I am of myself," said Perry huskily.
"Then Diego and the other man are all right?"
"They don't think so," said the old soldier with a chuckle. "They're
precious uncomfortable by this time, for I rammed the stockings pretty
far, and I tied them knots with those new hide ropes as tight as they'd
draw."
"Quiet there, quiet," said the colonel sternly, for he had stopped and
let the mules pass him. "No more talking for the present. Can you hear
anything?"
"No, sir, not a sound," said John Manning. But even as he spoke there
was a faint cry borne on the night wind from high up the valley, and
situated as they were, that sound could only have one meaning--pursuit.
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
THE DARK WAY.
"They've missed us," said Cyril excitedly. "Shall I run to the leader,
sir, and hurry him on?"
"No, my lad," said the colonel, "we shall do nothing by hurrying. Our
retreat must be carried out slowly. We can get on no faster than the
mules will walk. Keep on as we are."
He left them after listening for a few minutes, and hurried forward to
reach his place again by the leading mule, for the sagacious beast had
gone steadily on, followed by the others, acting as if it knew its duty
as well as a human being--that duty being to follow the easiest course
offered by the valley, which ran parallel with one of the outer ranges
of foot-hills, there being no track whatever to act as guide.
"Sounds quite reviving," said John Manning in a whisper. "We've had so
much dull do-nothing times, that it quite freshens one up."
"How long will it be before they overtake us?" said Perry anxiously.
"How long have we been coming here, sir?" replied the old soldier.
"I don't know--an hour, I suppose."
"Yes, sir, an hour. Well, if they knew the way we came and followed on,
it would take them hours more than it has taken us."
"Why?" said Cyril sharply.
"Why, sir? because," said John Manning, with one of his dry chuckles,
"they'll have to come along very slowly, searching among the trees as
they come, for fear of overrunning the scent; for as it's dark, they've
got nothing to guide 'em, and I hope they won't find much when it's
light, for the sun will soon dry up the dew which shows the marks made
by brushing it off. We're all right till they hit the track we've come,
and that won't be till some time to-morrow, if they hit it then."
"Oh, they'll know the way we've come," said Perry, who was breathing
hard from excitement.
"They must be very clever then, sir," said John Manning drily. "I
should say they'll think we've made for the way we came."
"Speak lower," said Cyril. "Why?"
"Because, says they, these white fellows haven't got any guides now, and
they only know one road, so they're sure to take it."
"Yes, that sounds likely," said Perry sharply; "but how was it we could
hear them shouting?"
"I know that," said Cyril. "The air is so clear right up here in the
mountains, and the wind is this way. It's like seeing. You know how
close the peaks seem when they're twenty miles away."
"Yes, sir, and sounds run along a hollow like this wonderfully. Why, I
remember in one of the passes up in India, we in the rearguard could
hear the men talking right away in the front as easily as if we were
close to them."
"But look here," said Cyril. "Diego or the other fellow must have seen
which way we came."
"They must have been very sharp then, sir, for I took care to tie a
little biscuit bag over each of their heads, only I left holes for their
noses to come out and breathe. Don't you fret, young gentlemen; we've
got the start, and I don't believe the fight 'll begin 'fore to-morrow
evening, if it do then."
"You know, then, that it will come to a fight," said Perry.
"Well, say a skirmish, sir. We in the rearguard 'll have to be divided
into three companies, and keep on retiring one after the other, and
taking up fresh ground to protect the baggage-train. It's all right,
gentlemen, and it'll be quite a new experience for you both. You'll
like it as soon as the excitement begins."
"Excitement?" cried Perry. "Suppose one of us is shot."
"Ah, we don't think of that, sir, in the army," said John Manning. "We
think of the enemy getting that. But, if one of us is so unlucky, why,
then, he'll be clapped on a mule's back and go on with the
baggage-train."
The two boys stopped then to listen, but all was silent save the faint
rustling made by the mules in front as they went steadily onward in
their leader's track. The night was dark, but the stars glittered
brilliantly overhead in a broad strip which showed how deep down the
valley had grown, and how wall-like the sides rose in their blackness.
"I say," whispered Perry, stopping short. "Doesn't it make you feel
shivery?"
"No," said Cyril. "Shuddery. We seem to be going on, down and down, as
if this were a slope leading right underground. I shall be glad when
the daylight comes, so that we can see where we are going.--Hear any one
coming?"
"No, but let's go on, or we may be left behind."
"Well, we are left behind now."
"But suppose we missed the others. It would be horrible."
"No fear," said Cyril; "the valley's getting narrower and narrower, and
if we keep on, we're sure to overtake the mules."
Cyril was right, for in a few minutes they heard the faint patter of the
hoofs again, and were glad to keep close in the rear, for instinctively
the patient beasts picked out the easiest way. And now from being a
smooth, grassy, park-like, open valley, the route they followed began to
contract into a gorge, from whose wall-like sides masses of stone had
been tumbled down in the course of ages, till the bottom was growing
more difficult to traverse every mile they passed; while, for aught they
knew in the darkness, they might be skirting precipice and pitfall of
the most dangerous kind, depending, as they were, entirely upon the
mules.
They had suggestions of there being unknown depths around, for to their
left there was the gurgling, rushing sound of water, apparently deep
down beneath the fallen stones, sometimes louder, sometimes dying away
into a murmur; till all at once, as they turned a corner into sudden,
complete darkness--for the long band of starry light overhead was now
shut out--they were startled by a deep echoing, booming roar, and a
chilling damp air smote them in the face as it came down, evidently from
some gorge to their right, which joined the one along which they had
travelled.
It needed no explanation. Light failed, but they knew as well as if
they were in broad sunshine that they were face to face with a huge
cascade which came gliding down from far on high into some terrific
chasm far below, while the change from the calm silence of the valley
they had traversed to the deafening sound which rose from below, was
confusing and strange to such a degree, that they came to a stand.
It was not that the noise was so great, as that it seemed, paradoxical
as it may sound, so huge and soft, and to pervade all space, to the
exclusion of everything else. As Cyril said afterwards, it was a noise
that did not pierce and ring in your ears, but stopped them up and
smothered all speech; while the darkness was so deep, that no one felt
the slightest desire to take a step forward.
Perry was the first to make any move, for all at once he felt for Cyril,
placed his lips close to his ear, and said excitedly:
"My father: can you hear him?"
"No," replied his companion, after a pause. "I can only hear the
water."
"Then he must have fallen in.--Here, John Manning. Where is the
lantern?"
"Tied to the first mule's pack, sir."
"Oh!" exclaimed Perry excitedly, and then he shouted "Father!" as loudly
as he could, but the cry seemed to be driven back in his face.
"I'll light a match, sir," cried Manning, and after a few moments there
was a flash, the gleam of a light, and the shape of the old soldier's
hands, with the tiny flame gleaming ruddily between his fingers; but,
save that the boys saw the familiar rugged features of the man's face
for a few moments, they saw nothing more, and the darkness grew painful
as the match went out.
John Manning struck another light, got the splint well in a blaze, and
tossed it from him; but there was nothing to be seen but mist. The boys
now shouted together, but without result, and a chilling sensation of
dread came over them as they grasped each other's wet cold hand, not
daring to stir, and with the horrible feeling increasing upon them that
some terrible tragedy must have happened to their leader.
Just when the sensation of horror was at its height, John Manning's
voice was heard.
"What had we best do, gentlemen--go forward or go back?"
"We ought to go forward," said Cyril.
"Yes, that's what I feel, sir," shouted the man; "but next step may be
down into the pit."
"We must go on," said Perry excitedly; "my father wants help. He's in
danger, I'm sure, or he would have made some sign."
As he spoke, he snatched his hand from Cyril's grasp, and took a step or
two forward into the black darkness.
"Perry!" shouted Cyril, in a voice which sounded like a faint whisper,
as he felt himself seized by the shoulder, John Manning's great hand
closing upon it like a vice, and holding it firmly.
"Where's Master Perry?"
No answer escaped Cyril's lips for a minute. He felt suffocated, and it
was not until John Manning had shaken him violently and repeated his
question twice, that he panted out the single word, "Gone."
"Can you see where--has he fallen in?" was panted in his ear.
"No; he stepped from me to help the colonel, and then he was gone."
John Manning groaned, and Cyril felt the strong man's hand trembling,
and the vibration thrilled through the boy's frame until every nerve
quivered with the horrible dread which assailed him.
All at once he felt the lips at his ear again.
"Let's shout together, sir," was whispered, and they tried hard to make
their voices heard, calling together with all their strength, but they
did not seem to be able to pierce the roar which pressed, as it were,
upon them; and though they repeated the cry at intervals and listened
for a reply, none came.
"It's no good, Mr Cyril, sir," groaned John Manning. "I'm ready, sir,
to do anything to try and save my poor colonel and Master Perry; what
can I do? It's like chucking away my life and yours, sir, to stir a
step."
"Yes, and I'd help you," said Cyril despairingly; "but we dare not move
in this terrible darkness."
"Shall we try to go back, sir?"
"No," shouted Cyril firmly. "We must not do that."
"What then, sir? What can we do?"
"Wait for daylight," Cyril shouted back in the man's ear. Then softly
to himself: "And pray."
CHAPTER TWENTY.
WAITING FOR DAYLIGHT.
As John Manning afterwards said, those were hours to make a man's hair
turn grey, and to Cyril every minute seemed to be indefinitely
prolonged, as he stood till he felt his knees begin to give way beneath
him, and finally sank cautiously down upon them--John Manning imitating
his movement--till they both rested upon wet, slippery rock.
There they crouched with strained ears, waiting for the light which
seemed as if it would never come, while the noise was crushing them
back, as it were, upon themselves, and dulling their brains till all was
to Cyril like some terrible dream. There were moments when he felt as
if his senses were leaving him, and the sensation was almost welcome,
for the agony at last grew greater than he could bear.
He had reached this pitch as he crouched there with his arm drawn
tightly through John Manning's, when he felt the man's grasp upon him
loosened, and the next moment he felt a thrust.
He knew directly what it meant. Following the movement, he became
conscious of some pale, bluish-looking smoke on his left, and as this
grew clearer, he realised that it was not smoke, but a thick mist
between him and the coming light of day; but for a few minutes there was
nothing more.
Then by slow degrees this dim, grey appearance grew and expanded, till
the boy made out that the mist rose out of the depths before them, and
at last that he and John Manning were crouching upon a ledge of rock on
one side of a great gulf, down into which the waters thundered from
their right, while overhead the wall of rock rose up nearly straight,
the light of day being shut out by the dense mist which rose from below.
This light increased rapidly now in pale gleams from the left, and a
faint, soft diffusion from above, showing that they were where a vast
rift in the mountain joined at right angles the valley they had
descended, while the rocky sides were so close that they nearly met
overhead. But some time elapsed before they could make out more, the
steamy mist obscuring everything, and preventing them from seeing
anything of Perry or the colonel.
They had both risen to their feet, and clasping hands, began, as soon as
it was possible to see a step or two, to try to penetrate farther in;
but before they had gone half-a-dozen steps, John Manning, who looked
misty and unsubstantial to Cyril, stopped short and pointed downward in
front of him to where the rock looked slippery as glass.
"He went down there, sir," he shouted, and loosening his grasp, threw
himself down upon his chest, and wormed himself forward, so as to get
his head over the gulf and look down.
Cyril watched the man in agony, fully expecting to see him glide forward
out of sight; but in a few minutes he worked himself back, rose, and
placed his lips to the boy's ear again.
"Can't see. All one thick cloud of spray."
Cyril gave a great start, for at that moment, from out of the misty
gloom, the colonel strode forward to meet them.
"Thank goodness," he shouted. "I was very nervous about--Where's
Perry?"
Cyril and John Manning, whose faces had lit up with pleasure, now gave
him a despairing look, which made him seize Cyril by both arms.
"My boy!" he gasped. "Where's my boy?"
There was no reply. There was none needed, for the colonel read in
their faces what was wrong. He had seen them, too, trying to look down
into the misty gulf below, and there was a horrible look of despair in
his countenance as he pointed mutely down into the terrible-looking
gloom.
Then going right to the edge, he tried to look over, but drew back a
little and stretched out his hand to John Manning, hooking his fingers
the while.
The old soldier stepped forward. Long discipline and training had made
him ready to grasp his master's wishes, and planting his right foot
against a projecting piece of the rock, he hooked his fingers in the
colonel's, and then hung slightly back, giving a little and a little
more, till the latter was able to lean right out and gaze down.
It was by this time far lighter, and the mist was here and there
transparent, as it came eddying up more and more like the clouds of
smoke from a fire, but there was no piercing even the lightest parts;
and giving this up in despair, Colonel Campion rose up, made a sign to
them to stand firm, and then stepped rapidly in the direction from which
they had seen him come.
One minute they saw his figure growing fainter along by the side of the
rock-wall, the next he had disappeared in the gloom and mist.
"Let's follow," said Cyril, with his lips to John Manning's ear.
The man shook his head.
"Soldier never leaves his post without orders," he replied. "Better
stay, sir."
Cyril hesitated, but stayed; now watching the spot where the colonel had
disappeared, now letting his eyes wander round the place, which, as the
growing light of day penetrated it more and more, was still awful
enough, with its whirling mist, gloom, and deafening roar of invisible
water falling behind the pearly veil, but far from being as terrible as
when it was all shrouded in deep obscurity.
For the light came down softly from high above their heads, showing that
though the rocky walls nearly approached, there was a firmly-defined
band that would probably be bright and golden when the sun rose, but
John Manning's words were justified as he suddenly leaned forward and
said:
"What a place, sir! It's a wonder there ain't four of us gone for
good."
Just then the colonel reappeared with half-a-dozen of the raw hide ropes
used about the mules for lassoes, tethering, and binding on their loads.
These he threw down, and John Manning followed his example as he began
to knot them together.
"Bear me?" shouted the colonel to the old soldier.
"Two of you, sir," said the latter; "but you lower, I'll go."
The colonel shook his head angrily--the task of speaking was too much in
his state of anguish--and he went on trying the knots he made, while
Cyril picked up one end and examined a couple of the knots before making
a strong loop, and passing it over his head and shoulders.
His action passed un-noticed for a few moments, for he had drawn back;
but when the last rope was joined to the others, the colonel turned and
grasped the boy's intention.
"God bless you, my lad," he cried, "but I cannot let you go."
Cyril hardly heard a word in the midst of that deep-toned, booming
thunder, but he grasped their import, and stood firm.
"Yes," he shouted. "I'm light. Lower me down."
A curious sensation attacked him as he spoke, and he knew that he was
turning pale, but he faced in the direction of the gulf, and tried hard
to pull himself together.
"Perry would have gone down after me," he said to himself, "and it isn't
so very dangerous after all."
But all the while he knew that it was, and also that it was a task
calling for nerve, determination, and strength, all three of which he
seemed to be wanting in when face to face with the dense, wreathing mist
of that terrible gulf.
"I don't care. I'm afraid, horribly afraid," he muttered between his
teeth. "But I'll go. I'd go if it was twice as dangerous, if it's only
to let father know I'm not all bad."
Meanwhile, a short discussion, painfully hard, went on between the
colonel and John Manning, the former hesitating, the latter insisting.
"He's light, and can do it better than you. Perhaps we couldn't pull
you up, nor you me."
Then the colonel held out his hand to Cyril, who grasped it eagerly, but
in an instant the colonel's face began to work, and he drew the lad to
his breast, held him there for a brief moment, and then released him.
"I'm not afraid now," shouted Cyril, and he stepped at once to the edge,
and, as the line was tightened, went down on his face, passed his legs
over, and, grasping the line with both hands, glided down; seeing the
faces of the two men who held the rope disappear, then the shelf; and
the next minute, as he was lowered, he saw nothing but the light mist
which closed him in, and struck dank and chilly to his face and hands.
He had expected to swing to and fro in the air, and had prepared himself
to grasp at the rock, and try to prevent himself from turning round and
round; but to his surprise he found that he was on a sharp incline, down
which he was sliding easily, for the rock was covered with a slippery
mossy growth, over which his hands glided whenever he tried to check his
course; for, in spite of his determination, the desire to do this
mastered him. Anything to stop himself from going down into that awful
place at some terrible depth below, where the water was churning round
and round, and tossing up this mist of spray. To go down into that must
mean instant death; and after all, what good was he going to do? Poor
Perry had slipped, gone over the edge, and then not fallen headlong, but
glided down at a terrible rate, with no power to arrest his course; and,
if he were not down there below, he must have been swept out by the
stream, and be far away down the river by then.
These thoughts came quickly as he slipped gently down, keeping his face
toward the roaring water and churning mist, but seeing nothing; for the
darkness now, as he was lowered more, began to increase.
Down, down, down! Was there no end to the rope? How long it seemed
before it was checked. Still Cyril tried hard to make out something of
the whereabouts of his friend. But no; if he turned to the right,
toward where there was the hissing noise of the falling water, all was
black, as black as it was below in the fearful hollow into which it
plunged, to send up that deafening, reverberating thunder. At last to
the left there, where he knew the chasm must open into the valley by
which they came, he could see a faint suggestion of light, such light as
one sees when looking towards a candle with the eyes tightly closed, and
when trying to peer through the veined lids.
Then, to his horror, he was being lowered again, for he had believed
that the end of the hide rope was reached.
It seemed a great depth down before there was another check, though
probably it was not more than a dozen or twenty feet; and once more, as
he tried to grasp the slimy rock behind him, he peered about vainly,
knowing that if poor Perry had once begun to glide down that horrible
slope, he must have gone right on down to the bottom.
Then there was a heavier strain upon his chest, and to his intense
relief, now that he felt how vain his effort had been, he turned his
face toward the rocks, and tried to help by climbing, as he was being
drawn up.
Vain effort. Hands and feet glided over the slippery moss, and he soon
subsided, and waited in increasing agony, while he was steadily hauled
up. For, in descending, his senses were hard at work, and he was
momentarily hoping to rest upon some shelf where he might come upon
Perry. But now he had nothing to do but think of himself and his risks,
and, in spite of the effort to be brave, he could not keep his mind from
dwelling upon the knots of the several ropes, and wondering whether
those John Manning tied were as firm as the colonel's, and whether the
rope itself might not have been frayed by passing over the rocks, and
give way just before he reached the shelf.
At last, with head burning, hands and feet like ice, and clothes
drenched with the spray, he felt himself seized by John Manning's strong
fingers and lifted into safety.
It had now become light enough for him to see well around; the mist on
high was turning roseate and warm by reflection, for the sun was rising;
and the colonel turned from him with a look of agony, and stood with his
back to them, while John Manning unloosed the rope.
"Nobody could come out of such a place as that, my lad," he said,
"alive."
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
THE PURSUIT.
"I'll go down again, sir," said Cyril, when the colonel had turned back,
and he had tried to make him understand the nature of the place, as far
as he had been able to make out.
But the colonel shook his head.
"We must go back, and try to reach the stream where it flows out, my
boy," he said. "We can do no good here.--Come, Manning, and fetch the
mules."
John Manning stared, and seemed as if he could not understand.
"The mules, sir--go back and find the stream? What about the Indians,
if they are coming on?" The colonel had forgotten their pursuers. "The
mules," he said then; and he led the way on into the mist, Cyril
following him wonderingly along the continuation of the rocky shelf for
about a hundred yards, and glancing back from time to time to see that
John Manning was close behind, untying the knots of the hide ropes as he
came.
Every step took them nearer to the great waterfall, and in the dim light
Cyril now made out that the path was wider; but all at once it seemed to
end in front of a gleaming sheet of water reaching from the thick mist
below right up to where the rock-walls appeared to give place to the
spray-clouded sky. And there, just before them, all huddled together,
stood the mules, ready to turn toward them as they approached.