The Splendid Spur<br />Being Memoirs of the Adventures of Mr. John Marvel, a Servant of His Late Maj by Arthur Quiller-Couch (the giving tree read aloud .txt) 📖

“Sit i' the noose, lad, an' hold round the knot. For sign to hoist again, tug the rope hard. I can hold.”

He paid it out carefully while I stepp'd to the edge. With the noose about my loins I thrust myself gently over, and in a trice hung swaying.

On three sides the sky compass'd me—wild and red, save where to eastward the dawn was paling: on the fourth the dark rocky face seem'd gliding upward as Billy lower'd. Far below I heard the wash of the sea, and could just spy the white spume of it glimmering. It stole some of the heart out of me, and I took my eyes off it.

Some feet below the top, the cliff fetch'd a slant inward, so that I dangled a full three feet out from the face. As a boy I had adventured something of this sort on the north sides of Gable and the Pillar, and once (after a nest of eaglets) on the Mickledore cliffs: but then 'twas daylight. Now, tho' I saw the ledge under me, about a third of the way down, it look'd, in the darkness, to be so extremely narrow, that 'tis probable I should have call'd out to Billy to draw me up but for the certainty that he would never hear: so instead I held very tight and wish'd it over.

Down I sway'd (Billy letting out the rope very steady), and at last swung myself inward to the ledge, gain'd a footing, and took a glance round before slipping off the rope.

I stood on a shelf of sandy rock that wound round the cliff some way to my left, and then, as I thought, broke sharply away. 'Twas mainly about a yard in width, but in places no more than two feet. In the growing light I noted the face of the headland ribb'd with several of these ledges, of varying length, but all hollow'd away underneath (as I suppose by the sea in former ages), so that the cliff's summit overhung the base by a great way: and peering over I saw the waves creeping right beneath me.

Now all this while I had not let Master Tingcomb out of my mind. So I slipp'd off the rope and left it to dangle, while I crept forward to explore, keeping well against the rock and planting my feet with great caution.

I believe I was twenty minutes taking as many steps, when at the point where the ledge broke off I saw the ends of an iron ladder sticking up, and close beside it a great hole in the rock, which till now the curve of the cliff had hid. The ladder no doubt stood on a second shelf below.

I was pausing to consider this, when a bright ray stream'd across the sea toward me, and the red rim of the sun rose out of the waters, outfacing the glow on the headland, and rending the film of smoke that hung like a curtain about the horizon. 'Twas as if by alchemy that the red ripples melted to gold; and I stood watching with a child's delight.

I heard the sound of a footstep: and fac'd round.

Before me, not six paces off, stood Hannibal Tingcomb.

He was issuing from the hole with a sack on his shoulder, and sneaking to descend the steps, when he threw a glance behind—and saw me!

Neither spoke. With a face grey as ashes he turn'd very slowly, until in the unnatural light we look'd straight into each other's eyes. His never blink'd, but stared—stared horribly, while the veins swell'd black on his forehead and his lips work'd, attempting speech. No words came—only a long drawn sob, deep down in his throat.

And then, letting slip the sack, he flung his arms up, ran a pace or two toward me, and tumbled on his face in a fit. His left shoulder hung over the verge; his legs slipp'd. In a trice he was hanging by his arms, his old distorted face turn'd up, and a froth about his lips. I made a step to save him: and then jump'd back, flattening myself against the rock.

The ledge was breaking.

I saw a seam gape at my feet. I saw it widen and spread to right and left. I heard a ripping, rending noise—a rush of stones and earth: and, clawing the air, with a wild screech, Master Tingcomb pitch'd backward, head over heels, into space.

Then follow'd silence: then a horrible splash as he struck the water, far below: then again a slipping and trickling, as more of the ledge broke away—at first a pebble or two sliding—a dribble of earth—next, a crash and a cloud of dust. A last stone ran loose and dropp'd. Then fell a silence so deep I could catch the roar of the flames on the hill behind.

Standing there, my arms thrown back and fingers spread against the rock, I saw a wave run out, widen, and lose itself on the face of the sea. Under my feet but eight inches of the cornice remain'd. My toes stuck forward over the gulf.

{Illustration: The ledge was breaking.}

A score of startled gulls with their cries call'd me to myself. I open'd my eyes, that had shut in sheer giddiness. Close on my left the ledge was broke back to the very base, cutting me off by twelve feet from that part where the ladder still rested. No man could jump it, standing. To the right there was no gap: but in one place only was the footing over ten inches wide, and at the end my rope hung over the sea, a good yard away from the edge.

I shut my eyes and shouted.

There was no answer. In the dead stillness I could hear the rafters falling in the House of Gleys, and the shouts of the men at work. The Godsend lay around the point, out of sight. And Billy, deaf as a stone, sat no doubt by his rope, placidly waiting my signal.

I scream'd again and again. The rock flung my voice seaward. Across the summit vaulted above, there drifted a puff of brown smoke. No one heard.

A while of weakness followed. My brain reel'd: my fingers dug into the rock behind till they bled. I bent forward—forward over the heaving mist through which the sea crawl'd like a snake. It beckon'd me down, that crawling water....

I stiffened my knees and the faintness pass'd. I must not look down again. It flashed on me that Delia had call'd me weak: and I hardened my heart to fight it out. I would face round to the cliff and work toward the rope.

'Twas a hateful moment while I turned: for to do so I must let go with one hand. And the rock thrust me outward. But at last I faced the cliff; waited a moment while my knees shook; and moving a foot cautiously to the left, began to work my way along, an inch at a time.

Looking down to guide my feet, I saw the waves twinkling beneath my heels. My palms press'd the rock. At every three inches I was fain to rest my forehead against it and gasp. Minute after minute went by—endless, intolerable, and still the rope seem'd as far away as ever. A cold sweat ran off me: a nausea possessed me. Once, where the ledge was widest, I sank on one knee, and