Chapter 37 | A Perilous Descent | The Adventures of Don Lavington

The heat was terrible, and it seemed to Don as if the difficulties met with in their outward journey had been intensified on their return. Thorns caught in their garments, and, failing these, in their flesh. Twice over Jem stepped a little too much off the faint track, and had narrow escapes of plunging into pools of hot mud, whose presence was marked by films of strange green vegetation.

Then they mistook their way, and after struggling along some distance they came out suddenly on a portion of the mountain side, where to continue their course meant that they must clamber up, descend a sheer precipice of at least a hundred feet by hanging on to the vine-like growths and ferns, or return.

They stopped and stared at each other in dismay.

“Know where we went wrong, Mas’ Don?” said Jem.

“No; do you?”

“Not I, my lad. Think it must ha’ been where I had that last slip into the black hasty pudding.”

“What shall we do, Jem? If we go back we shall lose an hour.”

“Yes! Quite that; and ’tarn’t no good to climb up here. I could do it; but it’s waste o’ time.”

“Could we get down here?”

“Oh, yes,” said Jem drily; “we could get down easy enough; only the thing is, how should we be when we did get down?”

“You mean we should fall to the bottom?”

“Well, you see, Mas’ Don,” said Jem, rubbing one ear as he peered down; “it wouldn’t be a clean fall, ’cause we should scrittle and scruttle from bush to bush, and ketch here and snatch there. We should go right down to the bottom, sure enough, but we might be broke by the time we got there.”

“Jem, Jem, don’t talk like that!” cried Don angrily. “Do you think it possible to go down?”

“Well, Mas’ Don, I think the best way down would be with our old crane and the windlass tackle.”

“Do you dare climb down?”

“Ye-es, I think so, Mas’ Don; only arn’t there no other way?”

“Not if we want to save them down at the village.”

“Well, but do we want to save ’em, Mas’ Don? They’re all werry well, but—”

“And have been very kind to us, Jem. We must warn them of danger.”

“But, lookye here, Mas’ Don, s’pose it arn’t danger. Pretty pair o’ Bristol noodles we shall look, lying down at the bottom here, with all our legs and arms broke for nothing at all.”

Don stood gazing at his companion, full of perplexity.

“Think it is real danger, Mas’ Don?”

“I’m afraid so. You heard Tomati say that there were desperate fights sometimes.”

“Don’t call him Tomati; I ’ates it,” growled Jem. “Well, I s’pose it is danger, then.”

“And we must look the matter in the face, Jem. If we go back those people will be at the village before us. Perhaps we shall meet them, and be made prisoners; but if we go on here, we shall save an hour, perhaps two. Yes, I shall climb down.”

“No, no; let me go first, Mas’ Don.”

“Why?”

“Because I shall do to tumble on if you do let go, or any bush breaks.”

“Here seems to be about the best place, Jem,” said Don, without heeding his companion’s last remark; and, setting his teeth, he lowered himself down, holding on by the bushes and aerial roots of the various tough, stunted pieces of vegetation, which clung to the decomposing volcanic rock.

Jem’s face puckered up as he set his teeth, and watched Don descend a few feet. Then, stooping over, he said cheerily,—

“That’s the way, Mas’ Don; take it cool, stick tight, and never think about the bottom. Are you getting on all right?”

“Yes.”

“That’s your sort. I’m coming now.”

Jem began to whistle as he lowered himself over the edge of the precipice, a few feet to Don’s right; and directly after he began to sing merrily,—

“‘There was a man in Bristol city,

Fol de rol de riddle-lol-de-ri.

And that’s the first o’ this here ditty,

Fol de rol de-riddle-lol-de-ri.’

“Say, Mas’ Don, ’tarn’t so bad, after all.”

“It’s terrible, Jem!” panted Don, “Can we do it?”

“Can we do it? Ha, ha, ha!” cried Jem. “Can we do it? Hark at him! We’re just the boys as can do it. Why, it arn’t half so bad as being up on the main-top gallant yard.

“‘Fol de rol de-riddle-lol-de-ri.’”

“Don’t make that noise, Jem, pray.”

“Why not, my lad? That’s your sort; try all the roots before you trust ’em. I’m getting on splen—”

Rush!

“Jem!”

“All right, Mas’ Don! Only slipped ten foot of an easy bit to save tumbles.”

“It isn’t true. I was looking at you, and I saw that root you were holding come out of the rock.”

“Did you, Mas’ Don? Oh, I thought I did that o’ purpose,” came from below.

“Where are you?”

“Sitting straddling on a big bit o’ bush.”

“Where? I can’t see you.”

“Here, all right. ’Tarn’t ten foot, it’s about five and twenty—

“‘De-riddle-lol-de-ri.’”

“Jem, we must climb back. It is too risky.”

“No, we mustn’t, Mas’ Don; and it arn’t a bit too risky. Come along, and I’ll wait for you.”

Don hesitated for a minute, and then continued his descent, which seemed to grow more perilous each moment.

“Say, Mas’ Don,” cried Jem cheerily, “what a chance for them birds. Couldn’t they dig their bills into us now!”

“Don’t talk so, Jem. I can’t answer you.”

“Must talk, my lad. Them fern things is as rotten as mud. Don’t you hold on by them. Steady! Steady!”

“Yes. Slipped a little.”

“Well, then, don’t slip a little. What’s your hands for?

“‘There was a man in Bristol city,

Fol de rol de—’”

“Say, Mas’ Don, think there’s any monkeys here?”

“No, no.”

“’Cause how one o’ they would scramble down this precipit. Rather pricky, arn’t it?”

“Yes; don’t talk so.”

“All right!

“‘De-riddle-liddle-lol.’

“I’m getting on first rate now, Mas’ Don—I say.”

“Yes!”

“No press-gang waiting for us down at the bottom here, Mas’ Don?”

“Can you manage it, Jem?”

“Can I manage it? Why, in course I can. How are you getting on?”

Don did not reply, but drew a long breath, as he slowly descended the perilous natural ladder, which seemed interminable.

They were now going down pretty close together, and nearly on a level, presence and example giving to each nerve and endurance to perform the task.

“Steady, dear lad, steady!” cried Jem suddenly, as there was a sharp crack and a slip.

“Piece I was resting on gave way,” said Don hoarsely, as he hung at the full length of his arms, vainly trying to get a resting-place for his feet.

Jem grasped the position in an instant, but remained perfectly cool.

“Don’t kick, Mas’ Don.”

“But I can’t hang here long, Jem.”

“Nobody wants you to, my lad. Wait a minute, and I’ll be under you, and set you right.

“‘There was a man in Bristol city,’”

he sang cheerily, as he struggled sidewise. “‘Fol de—’ I say, Mas’ Don, he was a clever one, but I believe this here would ha’ bothered him. It’s hold on by your eyelids one minute, and wish you was a fly next.”

“Jem.”

“Hullo, lad?”

“If I let go and dropped, how far should I fall?”

“’Bout two foot ten,” said Jem, after a glance below them at the sheer precipice.

“Then I had better drop.”

“If you do you will knock me to the bottom, so just you hold on till I tells you.”

Jem kept up his jocular way of speaking; but if any one could have looked on, he would have seen that his face was curiously mottled with sallow, while his hands were trembling when at liberty, and that there was a curiously wild, set look in his eyes.

“There, Mas’ Don,” he said cheerily, as he finished climbing sidewise till he was exactly beneath. “Now, one moment. That’s it.”

As he spoke he drew himself up a little, taking fast hold of the stem of a bush, and of a projecting stone, while he found foot-hold in a wide crevice.

“Now then, rest your foot on my shoulders. There you are. That’s the way. Two heads is better than one.”

“Can you bear my weight, Jem?”

“Can I bear your weight? Why? You may stand there for a week. Now just you rest your wristies a bit, and then go on climbing down, just as if I warn’t here.”

The minute before Don had felt that he could bear the strain no longer. Now the despairing sensation which came over him had gone, his heart felt lighter as he stood on Jem’s shoulders, and sought another hold for his hands lower down. The wild, fluttering pulsation ceased, and he grew composed.

“I’m rested now, Jem,” said Don.

“Of course you are, my lad. Well, then, now you can climb down aside me. ’Tarn’t so much farther to the bottom.”

“Can you reach out far enough for me to come between you and the rock?”

“Just you try, Mas’ Don.”

By this time Don had found a fresh hold for his feet; and nerving himself, he descended slowly, Jem forcing himself out, so that there was enough room for any one to pass; but as Don cleared him, and got right below, the bush to which Jem clung with one hand came slowly out of the interstices of the stones, and but for the exercise of a large amount of muscular power and rigidity of will, he would have swung round and fallen headlong.

“I’m all right now, Jem!” cried Don from below.

“Glad of it, my lad,” muttered Jem, “because I arn’t.”

“Come along down now.”

“How, Mas’ Don?” said Jem grimly.

“The same way as I did.”

“Oh! All right; but the bush I held on by is gone.”

“Well take hold of another.”

“Just you get from under me, Mas’ Don.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“I’m too heavy to ketch like a cricket ball. That’s all, my lad.”

“Oh, Jem, don’t say you are in danger.”

“Not I, my lad, if you don’t want me to; but it is awk’ard. Stand clear,” he shouted. “I’m coming down. No, I arn’t,” he said directly after, as he made a tremendous effort to reach a tough stem below, failed, and then dropped and caught it, and swung first by one hand and then by two.

“I say, Mas’ Don, I thought I was gone.”

“You made my heart seem to jump into my mouth.”

“Did I, lad? Well, it was awk’ard. I was scared lest I should knock you off. Felt just as I did when the chain broke, and you could see the link opening, and a big sugar-hogshead threatening to come down. All right now, my lad. Let’s get on down. Think we’re birds’ nesting, Mas’ Don, and it’ll be all right.”

Don had to nerve himself once more, and they steadily lowered themselves from tuft to tuft, and from stone to stone, with more confidence, till they were about thirty feet from the foot, when farther progress became impossible, for, in place of being perpendicular, the cliff face sloped inward for some distance before becoming perpendicular once more.

“Well, I do call that stoopid,” said Jem, as he stared helplessly at Don. “What are we going to do now?”

“I don’t know, Jem. If we had a bit of rope we could easily descend.”

“And if we’d got wings, Mas’ Don, we might fly.”

“We must climb back, Jem, as— Look here, would these trees bear us?”

“Not likely,” said Jem, staring hard at a couple of young kauri pines, which grew up at the foot of the precipice, and whose fine pointed tops were within a few feet of where they clung.

“But if we could reach them and get fast hold, they would bend and let us down.”

“They’d let us down,” said Jem drily; “but I don’t know ’bout bending.”

Don clung to the face of the rock, hesitating, and wondering whether by any possibility they could get down another way, and finding that it was absolutely hopeless, he made up his mind to act.

“It is next to impossible to climb up, Jem,” he said.

“Yes, Mas’ Don.”

“And we can’t get down.”

“No, Mas’ Don. We shall have to live here for a bit, only I don’t know how we’re going to eat and sleep.”

“Jem.”

“Yes, Mas’ Don.”

“I’m going to jump into that tree.”

“No, Mas’ Don, you mustn’t risk it.”

“And if it breaks—”

“Never mind about the tree breaking. What I don’t like is, s’pose you break.”

“I shall go first, and you can try afterwards.”

“No, no, Mas’ Don; let me try first.”

Don paid no heed to his words, but turned himself completely round, so that he held on, with his back to the stony wall, and his heels upon a couple of rough projections, in so perilous a position that Jem looked on aghast, afraid now to speak. In front of Don, about nine feet away, and the top level with his feet, was the tree of which he had spoken.

As far as support was concerned, it was about as reasonable to trust to a tall fishing-rod; but it appeared to be the only chance, and Don hesitated no longer than was necessary to calculate his chances.

“Don’t do it, Mas’ Don. It’s impossible, and like chucking yourself away. Let’s climb up again; it’s the only chance; and if we can’t get to the village in time, why, it arn’t our fault. No, my lad, don’t!”

As the last words left his lips, Don stood perfectly upright, balancing himself for a few moments, and then, almost as if he were going to dive into the water, he extended his hands and sprang outward into space.

Jem Wimble uttered a low groan.