Part 18 (1/2)

”Wish again,” said Samson, with a chuckle.

”What for?”

”Because then you'll get one,” said the gardener, laughing.

”Why, Samson, what do you mean?” cried Scarlett.

”This here!”

There was a rattling sound, a clicking noise of flint upon steel, and soon after a glowing spark appeared, then a blue flame, a splint burst into a blaze, and directly after Samson's red and s.h.i.+ning features could be seen by the light of the candle he had lit inside a lanthorn.

”There, lads,” he said, closing the door with a snap; ”you didn't think to tell me to bring that, but I thought of it, and there we are. Now we can see what we're about,” he continued, as he swung the lanthorn above his head; ”and not much to see nayther. Only an 'ole. Yes, of course.

There you are. Sheep's bones. Dessay many a one's tumbled down here.

Hole don't go up very high,” he added, once more raising the lanthorn above his head; ”but it goes down to the sea for sartain.”

”Oh, Samson, and you've left the line up above. If we had it here, we might have swung the lanthorn down and seen how deep it was.”

”That's just like you, Master Fred,” said Samson. ”You always think other folk will do what you'd do. You'd ha' left the line up at the top, same as you did your clothes, but being only a gardener, and a very bad one, as my brother Nat says, I put that there line in my pocket, and here it is.”

Fred's answer was a slap on Samson's hard broad back, as he tied one end of the line to the lanthorn-ring, swung it over the edge of the shelf, and they watched it go down sixty or seventy feet, feebly illumining the sides of the cave, and as it grew lower an additional radiance was displayed by the light striking on the bottom, which proved to be full of water kept slightly in motion by the influx of the waves outside.

”Not much to see, my lads,” said Samson. ”No gold, nor silver, nor nothing. Shouldn't wonder if there's pigeons' nesties, though, only you couldn't get at 'em without a ladder. There! seen enough?”

”No; I want to see whether there is any way down,” said Fred.

”Any way down?” said Samson, swinging the lanthorn to and fro. ”No, my lad--yes, there is. Easily get down at that corner. Slide down or slip down. See!”

”Yes,” said the lads in a breath; and long afterwards they recalled their eagerness to know about a means of descent from that shelf.

”Yes,” said Samson; ”you might make a short cut down to the sea this way if you wanted to. But you don't want to, and it wouldn't be any good if you did, because you'd be obliged to have a boat outside; and if the boat wasn't well-minded, it would soon be banged to matchwood among the rocks. There, my bit o' ground's waiting to be dug, and I've got you two out of your hobble, so here goes back.”

As he spoke, he rapidly hauled up the lanthorn, forming the line into rings, untying the end from the ring, and, after giving it a twist, thrusting it back into his pocket, while he undid the strap he wore about his waist, thrust an end through the lanthorn-ring, and buckled it on once more.

”Will you go first, Samson?” said Fred.

”No; I mean to go last. I don't leave here till I see you both safe.

What should I have said to your mothers if you'd been lost and not found for a hundred years? Nice state of affairs that would ha' been.”

”Go on first, Scar,” said Fred; ”we'll hold the rope tight, so that it will be easy.”

Scarlett reached up, seized the rope, and began to climb, getting the thick cord well round his legs, as he struggled up for nearly twenty feet, and then he slipped down again.

”Can't we go down the other way, and climb the cliff?”

”No, you can't,” said Samson, gruffly. ”You've got to go up as you come down. Here, Master Fred, show him the way.”

Fred seized the rope, and began to climb, but with no better success; and he, too, glided down again after a severe struggle.

”The rope's so slippery,” he said angrily.