Kitabı oku: «The Vast Abyss», sayfa 24
Chapter Forty Seven
There was a heavy post one morning at breakfast, and as Mrs Fidler glanced at the letters, she screwed up her face and turned her eyes upon Tom, to shake her head as much as to say, “What work, what work!”
For to write a letter was a terrible effort to Mrs Fidler. She could write a beautifully clear hand, as the names of the contents of her jampots bore witness, but, as she confided to Tom, it was “such a job to find the next word to set down.”
One of the letters was so big and legal-looking in its broad blue envelope, whose ragged edges told that it was lined with linen, that it took Tom’s eye at once; but Uncle Richard merely slit it open, peered inside, and laid it beside his plate till the meal was at an end.
“I’m going up into the laboratory, Tom,” he said then, and left the room.
“That means he’d like me to go too,” thought Tom, and in a minute or two he followed, and caught sight of Pete at the end of the lane watching him, with his dog at his heels, but only to turn off and walk away.
“Does that mean mischief?” thought Tom, as he went into the mill, and he shook his head as he felt that Pete was a hopeless case.
To his surprise, on entering the laboratory, where Uncle Richard was seated before the bureau with the great letter before him, he was saluted with —
“I see there’s your protégé Pete Warboys banging about again. He is always watching this place, or waiting for you to go and play with him.”
“You mean fight with him, uncle,” said Tom dryly.
“Well, that does seem more in your way. Mr Maxted says you’re winning him over, but I doubt it.”
“Yes, uncle, so do I,” said Tom, smiling.
“I feel in doubt,” continued Uncle Richard, “whether I ought not to have tried to prove whether it was really he who helped to break in here. But there: I only want to be left in peace, and a month’s imprisonment would do him harm, and bring out matters I want forgotten. Ever seen these before?”
He drew some legal-looking documents from the big envelope and held them out.
“The other papers that were stolen from that drawer, uncle?”
“Yes,” said Uncle Richard, looking very stern as he took them back and threw them into the receptacle, which he then locked up, and pocketed his keys. “Which is it, Tom – repentance, or because they are of no use to the thief?”
“Let’s hope it is the first, uncle,” replied Tom gravely, and his uncle uttered a long, deep-toned —
“Hah!” Then, “Come along, and let’s think of something pleasanter, my boy.”
They went up into the observatory, where the new diagonal mirror Tom had ground and silvered was fitted into the telescope; and that night being gloriously clear, the new addition was tested, and proved to be almost perfect.
“As nearly perfect as we shall get it, Tom,” said Uncle Richard; and then till quite late a glorious evening was spent, searching the dark depths of space for twin stars, Tom having a goodly share of the observations; and when he was not using the glass making shift with the star-finder, and listening the while to his uncle’s comments upon that which he saw.
The telescope was directed at the double star Castor; which, with Pollux, was glittering brightly in the black-looking sky, when Uncle Richard made way for the boy to take his place.
“Wonderfully clear, uncle.”
“But do you notice anything particular?”
“Yes; I was going to say, it’s like it is sometimes when the moon is low-down; the air seems to be all in a quiver.”
“That is so, Tom. People don’t, as a rule, think that they can see the atmosphere, but you can see it to-night all in motion. I think it means wind.”
“Wind blowing hard a very long way up?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Tom.
“What’s the matter?”
“It was so sudden. A cloud has swept right across.”
Uncle Richard stepped up to the opening, and looked out into the night.
“Yes,” he said, “we may shut up for the night; there’s a dense black curtain of clouds drawing across the sky. Come and look. Ah! how brilliant!”
Tom started. He had just taken his eye from the great glass, when the interior of the observatory was lit up for an instant by a flash of lightning, and as soon as his dazzled eyes mastered the intense darkness which followed, he joined his uncle, and looked out of the great shutter opening, to see the singular sight, of one-half of the heavens brilliantly illuminated with the countless orbs, while the Milky Way was clearly defined; the other of an inky blackness, moving steadily, cutting off star after star, till two-thirds of the sky was darkened, and in half-an-hour, when the shutter was drawn over and fastened, not a star was to be seen.
“We are going to have a wild night, Tom, I think,” said Uncle Richard; and as he spoke there was a rumbling noise amongst the woodwork overhead, caused by a passing blast. “There, let’s go in.”
Coffee was waiting when they went in, after leaving all safe, and very welcome, for they were both shivering. Soon after bed was sought, and Tom dropped into a deep sleep, from which he was roused by a rattling at his door, while some one else seemed to be shaking his window. Then there was a rumble like thunder in the chimney, and the beating at the door.
“Tom! wake up, lad!”
“Yes! All right!” cried the boy, springing out of bed. “Anything the matter, uncle?”
“Yes. Terrible storm. The big shutter has been torn open, and is beating about on the top of the mill.”
“All right; I’ll go and fasten it,” cried Tom, beginning to dress rapidly, and waking up more and more to the fact that a wild storm was raging. Every now and then, after a great deal of shrieking and howling, as if the wind was forcing itself through crack and cranny, there came a loud heavy bass booming sound, as a vast wave of air broke upon the house, making the windows seem to be on the point of falling in, while the slates upon the roof clattered and the chimneys shook.
“My word, it blows!” muttered Tom, as he buttoned up his jacket tightly, and hurried down-stairs, to find that there were lights in the kitchen and dining-room, while in the hall stood Mrs Fidler, in a wonderful costume of dressing-gown, shawl, and night-cap.
“What a storm, my dear!” she said.
“You up?”
“Oh yes, my dear; it was impossible to lie. I’ve lit the kitchen fire, for poor cook is in hysterics, and Maria is sobbing and crying – quite helpless.”
“How silly!” muttered Tom. “Where’s uncle?”
“Here I am. Ready?”
For Uncle Richard appeared with a ready-lit lantern and the keys.
“We shall have to go out by the front door, Tom; the wind’s worse on the other side of the house.”
“I’m ready, uncle.”
“Pray take care, sir,” said Mrs Fidler. “If one of the sails of that mill is blown off – oh, dear, dear, what am I thinking about?”
“What indeed, Mrs Fidler! Be ready to close the door after us, for the wind has tremendous force. – Come along, Tom.”
He led the way, opened the door, and the wind rushed in, banging others, setting pictures swinging, whisking a couple of hats off their pegs, and rushing up into the house with a roar.
Mrs Fidler strove to close the door as they passed out, but failed, and Tom had to help, holding on by the handle, and dragging the door to.
Outside, the evergreens were beaten down, and the loose strands of the different creepers were flogging wall and trellis-work in a way which forbode destruction to both tree and trellis. Twice over Tom had to turn his back to get his breath, and in the darkness he could see the ornamental conifers of the garden bent over like grass; while from a short distance away, where the pine-wood commenced, there was a tremendous roar, as of breakers during a storm. Fir-trees in a soft breeze murmur like the sea; in a gale the resemblance is startling.
Half-way to the yard gate Tom was caught by a sudden blast, buffeted, and, staggering hard, had again to turn his back before he could get his breath; while as the gate was reached, another blast caught the lantern, swung it against the post, the glass was broken, and puff, the light went out.
“We must go back,” said Uncle Richard, with his lips close to Tom’s ear.
“No, all right; there’s a box of matches in the table-drawer up-stairs.”
They pushed on, Tom closing the gate, which was nearly torn from his hand, while, as they ascended to the mill, the wind came with redoubled violence, and they had quite a struggle to get, to the door.
“It is terrible,” panted Uncle Richard, as soon as they were inside with the door closed, and the wind shrieking and roaring around the tall building as if seeking to sweep it away.
They mounted in profound darkness to the laboratory, where the matches were found, and all the time the trap-door overhead was being lifted a few inches every minute, and fell with a clap, while the shrieking of the wind, and the rattling and banging of the woodwork in the observatory, sounded ominous of danger to the work of many, many months.
“Time we came, Tom,” said Uncle Richard grimly, as the lantern was lit, and the broken pane replaced by the covers torn from an old book just about the size.
“Yes, quite,” replied Tom. “Come on.”
He stepped quickly to the ladder-like stairs, sprang up, threw open the trap-door, and was about to enter the room, when the trap-door was flung back upon him violently.
“Hurt?” shouted Uncle Richard.
“Yes; not much,” cried Tom, and thrusting the trap-door open again, he forced it back, and, aware now of the danger, held it firmly as he got up; and then, while his uncle followed with the light, closing it again directly and securing it with a bolt.
Tom’s heart beat as the dim light of the lantern was thrown upon the great telescope, for fear that it should have met with injury, but to his great delight the top was directed right away from the open shutter, which now gave evidence of its loose state by yielding to the pressure of the wind, and giving a tremendous bang.
“Now, Tom, how are we to stop that?” shouted Uncle Richard, for the roar through the opening, mingled with hissing and shrieking, was deafening.
“Don’t know,” yelled the boy, as he crept to the opening and found that the wind had wrenched it open, and turned it right over upon the roof. “Must do something,” he shouted again, as he drew in his head.
“If we don’t the wind will end by lifting off this roof, and destroying my glass.”
“Cord’s broke,” said Tom in a momentary lull of the wind. Then the roar began again, and the building quivered, while the shutter was lifted and beaten down again with a bang.
Then, from somewhere out in the darkness, came a tremendous roaring crash, apparently very near.
“What’s that?” cried Tom; “house blown down?”
“One of the big elms on the green for certain. Hark!”
Tom was hearkening, for directly after there was another crash, and another.
“No doubt about it,” said Uncle Richard. “One has struck the other, and the great elms have gone down like skittles.”
“There goes another,” cried Tom, as there was a fresh crash, which sounded louder than either of those which preceded it. “But I don’t want our observatory to go, uncle. You put the light down on the other side, where it’ll be sheltered from the wind, and I’ll get out into the gallery and try if I can drag the shutter over, and then we must nail it in its place.”
“Impossible, my lad. You could not stand out there without being blown off.”
“But I must, uncle. – If the wind comes in – ”
Whoo!
A tremendous squall struck the place, the shutter banged, the wooden dome roof rattled, and in the midst of the deafening din the wind drove in upon them with such force that they felt as if in the open air, and believed for the time that the round wooden top had been lifted off to go sailing away.
“That was a rum one, uncle,” cried Tom breathlessly. “Now then, I must go, before another comes.”
“No, no, my lad; life is of more consequence than observatories; it is not safe for you to go.”
“But I shall be all right if you hold me tightly,” cried Tom. “Come on.”
Uncle Richard gave way, and took a firm grip of the boy’s jacket as he climbed out through the shutter opening into the little gallery, where he reached over to get to the far edge of the shutter, to draw it to him, but the next moment he had crouched down and held on for dear life.
For, as if the storm had pounced upon him to tear him off the high building and sweep him away, down came the wind with a savage roar, and when for a few moments there was a slight lull, Tom yielded to the drag put on him by his uncle, and half climbed, half allowed himself to be lifted into the observatory.
“I never thought the wind could be so strong,” he panted breathlessly.
“It is terrible to-night. I must go myself.”
“You – uncle? Why, the place would hardly bear a man of your weight, and I couldn’t hold you up if you slipped.”
“Could you reach the edge of the shutter?”
“No, uncle, not by far enough.”
“That was as far as I could reach, too. We must give it up and risk everything.”
Tom gave his uncle a droll look, the light from the lantern shining dimly on his face.
“We can’t give it up, uncle. I’ll try again when the wind is not so strong.”
“But you could not reach, boy, and I dare not loose my hold even for a minute.”
“’Tis awkward,” shouted Tom; “but we must do something. Stop a minute: I know. Rope.”
“Yes, of course, the new strong rope in the bottom of the tool-chest.”
Tom took the lantern, and as his uncle held up the trap-door, the boy went down, to return in two or three minutes with a small coil of thin, thoroughly trustworthy new rope, and a hammer and some strong nails; and as soon as the lantern and trap-door were secured, he began to knot the rope round his waist.
“I don’t like letting you go, Tom,” said Uncle Richard, with his lips to the boy’s ear.
“And I don’t like to go, uncle; but this knot can’t slip, and you won’t loose me.”
“No; you may depend upon that, my lad.”
“Very well, then: look here. I’ve brought the hammer and some nails. We can’t fasten the shutter safely here, it would only break away again.”
“Then it is of no use, boy; we must let the place take its chance.”
“We won’t, uncle,” screamed Tom, to make himself heard. “Look here: I know. Where I touched the nearest corner of the shutter it’s broken-away, so I shall get out in the gallery, turn it over into its place, and nail it down from outside.”
“Are you mad?” cried Uncle Richard. “How are you going to get in?”
“Shan’t get in. You’ll let me down outside.”
“Absurd, boy! The rope would be shut in the door, even if I would harbour such a wild scheme for a moment.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” shouted Tom; “the rope would run through the broken-away corner.”
“Nonsense, it is impossible. The place must go.”
Whoo! came the wind again; and once more it seemed as if the roof was to be lifted off like a gigantic umbrella, and carried far away by the storm.
“I must go and do it,” cried Tom.
“No, no, no!” shouted Uncle Richard. “Let’s go down – we may be hurt.”
“Uncle, the telescope! – all our work! Oh, I can’t come away.”
“But it is risking your life, boy.”
“’Tisn’t, uncle,” cried Tom desperately. “You can hold me tightly with the rope. I should put some nails in my pocket – so, and stick the hammer handle down inside my jacket – so, and then climb out quickly while you held tightly by the rope, and – Just like this, uncle.”
And before he could be checked, Tom stepped to the opening, and with the rapidity born of habit lifted himself out, and then holding on by the sill, lowered his legs into the little gallery.
Uncle Richard darted forward to seize him, but another terrific blast struck the mill, pinning Tom against the woodwork, and literally driving his uncle back from the opening, while the telescope swung round upon its pivot, and various objects were blown to the far side.
For the full space of a minute it seemed as if the dome-like roof must be torn off, while, to add to the confusion and horror, the lantern was blown over and went out, leaving them in utter darkness.
At last, when the strength of the squall was partly spent, Uncle Richard, as he held on by the rope, shouted to Tom to come back; but in his excitement the boy heard nothing. He gave a fierce drag at the rope, crept sidewise beneath the shutter, and exerting all his strength tried to turn it over upon its hinges. But each effort was in vain, for the wind pressed it down.
“I can’t do it – I can’t do it,” he panted, as, pressing his feet against the rail of the gallery, he heaved and heaved with all his might, but only succeeded in getting his arms underneath a little.
Then the rope was dragged fiercely, and his uncle’s voice came through the opening overhead and to his left, but only in a confused murmur, though he felt what must be said; and in despair he was dragging out his hands, for the wind roared louder than ever, pressing him down against the structure with tremendous force. But all at once his hands were set free, for the slight raising of the shutter had been sufficient for the wind to get beneath, and with a rush it was swept by his face, just grazing his chin. There was a tremendous clap, and it was closed, while the boy thought of nothing but holding on as the wind once again pressed him against the building.
And now for a few moments he lost nerve, and clung desperately, feeling as if he must be plucked from his feeble hold and dashed down into the yard. Hammer and nails were forgotten, and he pressed his forehead against the woodwork, while the confusion caused by the roaring of the wind seemed to increase.
Then it was as if a great nerve communicating with safety had been touched, for he felt the rope jerked along sidewise, till it was in the jagged opening at the bottom left-hand corner of the broken shutter.
The feeling was electric, and sent a thrill through the boy.
“I’m all right, I can’t fall,” he muttered; and dragging out the hammer by its head, he felt for the first nail, then ran his hand up the side of the shutter for some distance, judged what would be a fair position for the nail, tapped it in a little way, and then began to drive with vigorous strokes, sometimes missing in the darkness, but nearly always getting good blows on the nail-head, and at last feeling that it was well home.
All this while he felt himself held tightly to the woodwork by the strain upon the cord, and the pressure of the wind:
Getting out another nail, he drove that in a foot lower, close to his chest; another minute, and a third nail was driven home, the exertion and excitement of doing something effectual driving away all thought of danger.
Then jerking the rope a little so as to get more freedom he stood well up, reached as high as possible, and drove in several more nails, and reached over to the other edge of the shutter, where he drove in a couple between the hinges, in case they should be wrenched.
“That must be safe now,” he said to himself, as he lowered himself down to a kneeling position in the gallery, the rope being tightened as he did so, yielding at first, but drawing as if it were made of indiarubber instead of the best hemp.
And now once more Tom felt a sensation of shrinking, for the time had come for his descent, which seemed very easy to talk about in the observatory, but very difficult to perform with the wind blowing a hurricane, and all around him a darkness so thick that it was like that of old – a darkness to be felt.
“But the telescope’s right,” thought Tom, “and the roofs safe;” and getting his lips to the broken opening, he yelled out, doubtful whether his words would be heard in the midst of that bewildering noise – “All right, uncle; lower away!”
He had thrust the hammer back inside his jacket, and now gave the rope a snatch, feeling it yield gently and steadily, as he rose and tried the knot with both hands, but had to thrust them out again to save himself from being dashed against the building, so fierce a squall once more struck him from behind.
The next instant he was once more pinned against the place, and held by the rope as well. This gave him renewed confidence.
“Uncle is on the look-out,” he muttered; and as soon as the worst pressure of the wind was over, he once more shouted through the opening, and losing no time, laid hold of the rail with both hands, resting his chest upon it, raised his legs horizontally, allowed them to drop down, and hung by his arms and the cord; then, as the rope gave, by his hands, and the next minute by the rope, which glided over the rail slowly, and then stopped short, leaving him swinging with his face level with the flooring, and swinging to and fro.
Whoosh! came the wind again, making him lose his hold of the rope and catch at the floor of the gallery, into which he drove his finger-nails for a moment, but only to have them wrenched away, as the wind shrieked and yelled in his ears, and turned him right round and round rapidly like an over-roasted joint.
“Lower away, uncle, lower away!” he shouted; but he might just as well have spared his voice, for not a word could by any possibility have been heard in the observatory, the wind sweeping breath and sound away, and nearly strangling him when he faced it.
Twice over he got a grip of the edge of the gallery, but only to be snatched away again and swung to and fro.
“Why don’t you lower away? Quick! quick!” he shrieked out; and as if in response, he descended three or four feet, and then a couple more in little painful jerks. Then the rope stopped; the wind dashed at him, and he was swung to and fro and round and round like a feather. Now his feet touched the bricks of the mill, then he was far away again, for the rail over which the rope passed projected fully four feet from the top.
He was more and more bewildered; the rope cut into his chest, in spite of his seizing it and holding it with both hands, but only to let go again to stretch them out in the darkness, as he was swung about by the gale, for he was seized now by a dread that he would be dashed heavily against the wall.
Once more he was in motion in jerks, but only for a foot or two, and then the horror of being dashed against the wall grew worse, for the greater length of rope gave the wind more power to swing him violently to and fro.
“Why doesn’t he let me down?” thought Tom, with a fierce feeling of anger rising against his uncle; but that was only momentary, for a fresh dread assailed Tom – he was certain that he had felt the knot of the rope crawling as it were upon his breast, which he knew must mean its giving way, and with a frantic dash he flung up his hands to grasp the cord high up once more.
“Could he climb back into the gallery?”
He tried, but his strength was failing, and after three or four efforts he gave it up, to hang there inert, certain that the rope was nearly undone, and that as soon as his grasp failed upon the thin cord, which could not be long, down he must go, fully five-and-twenty feet – a distance which the horror and darkness and agony made ten times as terrible as it really was, though it would have been bad enough if half.
And all the while the wind raved and roared and tossed him about till he was giddy, and rapidly losing consciousness; twice over he banged heavily against the wall, though for the most part he was swung to and fro parallel to the little gallery. Then a horrible feeling of sickness attacked him, his hands fell to his sides, his head drooped, but the next moment he felt himself reviving, for he was gliding rapidly down; his feet touched the bottom, the rope slackened, then tightened, slackened again, and fell at his feet; while by the time he had staggered to the door, round at the other side of the building, trailing the rope after him like an elongated tail, and holding his painful chest with his hands, that door was opened, and he staggered into his uncle’s arms.
“Well done, my brave lad!” cried Uncle Richard in the comparative silence of the workshop; but Tom could not answer.
“What is it? You are not hurt?”
There was no reply, only a feeble gasp or two, and in his horror his uncle gave him a rough shake, but directly after felt in the darkness for the rope, and rapidly untied it.
“Speak, my boy, if you can,” cried Uncle Richard then. “You are not hurt?”
“No; I’m going to be all right now, I think,” said Tom hoarsely. Then in quite a fierce way he grasped at his uncle’s arm. “Why didn’t you lower me down?” he cried.
“I couldn’t, boy. It was all in the dark, and the rope kept getting wedged by the broken wood. I was afraid to use violence for fear of breaking it, or ravelling it through. Let me help you back into the house. You’ve saved the roof of the mill.”
“Think so?” said Tom huskily.
“Yes, more, Tom – sure,” cried his uncle, jerking the rope into a corner, and re-opening the door.
“Think the light’s quite out?”
“Yes, certain,” cried Uncle Richard; and banging to and locking the door, he caught hold of Tom’s arm.
“I’m all right now,” said the boy; and they hurried back into the house, securing gates as they went, to find Mrs Fidler looking whiter than ever; and quite tearful as she exclaimed —
“Oh dear! I was afraid something dreadful had happened. Do pray sit down and have a cup of tea, sir.”
They did, and with the storm increasing in violence, Tom went up once more to his room, to lie down in his clothes, and listen to the raging wind, and the sounds which told from time to time of destruction to tile, chimney-pot, or tree.
At least he meant to do this, but in ten minutes or so the sound of the wind had lulled him to sleep, and he did not open his eyes again till morning, to find the storm dropped and the sun shining brightly.
