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Dead Man's Land: Being the Voyage to Zimbambangwe of certain and uncertain, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 35. Striking A Damp Match |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. STRIKING A DAMP MATCH Mark Roche turned cold--not the cold of contact with ice, but what may be termed in contradistinction to muscular cold, a mental freezing of the nerves with horror. For how long a space of time he could not afterwards have told, he stood bending over what he felt must be some horrible depth down which his cousin had fallen, to be plunged into deep water at the bottom. Every faculty was chained save that of hearing as he listened, waiting for some fresh disturbance of the depths below by Dean rising to the surface to begin struggling for life. And all this time he could not cry out for help. It seemed to him as if he could not have breathed for the icy hand that was clutching him at the throat. There were moments when he could not even think, when it seemed to be unreal, a nightmare-like dream of suffering when he had been called upon to bear the horror of knowing that his cousin had died a horrible death, while he could not even feel that it was his duty to climb down somewhere into the darkness where he might be able to extend to the poor fellow a saving hand as he rose. But all was still; the last faint whisperings of the water against the rocky sides had died out. Not a sound arose. He could not even hear his own breath. And then all at once he uttered a gasp as he expired the breath he had held, and _thud, thud, thud, thud_, he felt his heart leap the pulsations keeping on now at a tremendous rate as they beat against his quivering breast. He might have been dead during the moments that had passed. Now he was wildly alive, for, as if by the magic touch of a magician's wand, he had been brought back to himself, as in a slow, awestricken whisper Dean uttered the words, from somewhere apparently close below, "Mark! Did you hear that?" Once more the lad could not reply, and Dean's voice rose again, loudly and wildly agitated now. "Mark! Are you there? Did you hear that?" "Yes, yes," gasped the boy. "Oh, Dean, old fellow, I thought it was you that had gone down!" "No; but wasn't it an escape? I began to climb, and a big stone upon which I had trusted myself went down with that horrible splash; but I kept hold of the side, and I am all right yet. But oh, how you frightened me! I began to think, the same as you did, that it was you who had fallen, in spite of knowing that it was the stone. But being here in the darkness makes one so nervous." "Yes," panted Mark, who was pressing his hands to his breast. "But I say, what's the matter with you? Your voice sounds so queer!" "Does it? I shall be better directly. Fancying you had fallen set my heart off racing--a sort of palpitation; but it's calming down now. Can you hold on? Are you safe?" "Well, I don't feel so bad. That horrible frightened feeling has gone off, and I think I can hold on or begin to climb again now." "No, no; don't try yet," cried Mark. "All right; but what are you going to do?" "Come down to you as soon as I can breathe more easily. I am all of a quiver, and just as if I had been running a race." "All right, then, wait; but it's of no use for you to try to get down. What good could you do?" "I don't know yet," replied Mark. "All I know is that I can't leave you like this. I must come and help you." "No, you mustn't," said Dean. "You would only be in the way, and I am getting more and more all right. I felt just like a little child in the dark for the time; but that nasty sensation has all gone now. Why, Mark, old man, you seem to be worse than I was." "I am," said Mark emphatically. "You couldn't be, old fellow. I should be quite ashamed of it, only I couldn't help it a bit. It was very stupid, but I had got a sort of idea that I had slipped down into a place full of bogeys, and I daren't let you shout again for fear that it would be telling all those--what's his names--that made the echoes where I was. Ugh! It was horrid! But the queer part of it is that though I must be in a very awkward place, with water down below, I don't seem to mind; but I don't want to get wet. It would be rather awkward if I went down, though; but I don't think it's far, and it would be better to fall into water than on to stones. One would come to the surface again directly and get hold of the walls somewhere." "But it would be very horrid," said Mark hoarsely. "Oh, when you come to think of it," said Dean coolly, "that's only fancy. Water's water, and it's only because it's dark that it seems so horrid; for it is only seems, you know, because if the sun were shining right down here we should think nothing of it." "'M-m-m-no," said Mark dubiously. Then speaking more firmly, "Look here, Dean." "Can't; it's all black," replied the lad coolly. "Well, you know what I mean. Can you hold on?" "Oh, yes; I am standing upright on a big piece of stone that sticks out of the side." "Yes. Go on." "I am," said Dean quite calmly. "But wait a minute; I want to see--no, no, I mean find out--how far it is to the water." "What are you going to do?" "Drop this piece of stone in that I am touching. It is quite loose." "No, no; don't!" cried Mark excitedly. "It will raise up all those horrible echoes again." "Well, let it. Who's afraid?" _Plosh_! "There!" cried Dean. "Why, I don't believe it's six feet below where I'm standing. What a queer whispering echo it does make, though. I wonder whether there is any kind of fish down here. Eels or newts, perhaps. Now then, what's to be done next?" Mark was silent for a few moments, and then beginning to be more imbued with his cousin's coolness and matter-of-fact way of treating his position, he exclaimed, "I can't think as clearly as you do, Dean. I want to see what's best, and all that I can come to is that I must go for help. If you dare hold on there till I come back with the others, and ropes or halters--" "Dare?" cried Dean. "There's no _dare_ about it. I must. But I say, what a pair of guffins we are!" "Oh, don't talk like that," said Mark. "It is very brave and good of you, but I know it is only done to try to cheer me up. I wish I wasn't such a coward, Dean." "I don't," said Dean, with quite a laugh. "You are just the sort of coward I like--sticking to your comrade like this. Think I want you to be one of those brave fellows who would run away, calling murder? But I say, arn't we a pair of guffins?" "Oh, don't talk like that! What do you mean?" "Well, here we are in the dark." "Yes; we had no business to come. We ought to have known that we might be lost here after sundown, and have brought a lantern." "Pooh! Who was going to expect that Pig and Mak were going to dodge us like they did? But all the same we did show some gumption, only we let ourselves get our heads full of fancies; and here have we been standing in the dark all this time with each a box of matches in his pocket." "Oh!" ejaculated Mark. "You get yours," continued Dean. "I am all right now, and I don't want to risk slithering off into the cold wet water." _Scratch_! There was a faint line of phosphorescence giving its pallid gleam for a few moments; then the rattle as of matches being moved about in a tin box, another scratch, a line of light, and then a very faint dull spark seemed to descend and become extinct in the water beneath. "Try again," said Dean. _Scratch_! The same line of light, and the phosphorescent tip of the match going down again to expire in the water. "Hope you have got plenty of matches," said Dean. "Yes, plenty," cried Mark, making the rattle in the box again. "You must have got them wet somehow." "No, no," cried Mark impatiently. "It is my fingers that are so moist with perspiration." "What a bother! I'd have a try, but my hands are regularly wet. The stones down here are dripping and oozing." "Don't you stir," cried Mark. "I'll try again, and give my fingers a good rub first on my sleeve." "Yes, do; and mind you don't touch the round tip of the match." "I'm afraid I must have done so to all of them." "Afraid be hanged!" said Dean impetuously. "What is there to be afraid of? Now, don't hurry. I'm getting as cool as a dessert ice; and you are getting better, arn't you?" "Ye-es." "Well, it doesn't sound like it. You don't seem to be yourself, old chap. You know I always look up to you as being more plucky than I am. Here we are getting better every minute, and there is nothing to hurry about. They won't begin the supper till we get back. Leave the matches alone for a minute or two and give a good hail. They must be looking for us." "No, no; I can't shout now." "Why?" "Oh, I don't know. There, I must strike another match." "No, you mustn't. Give a good hail." "I can't, I tell you." "Well, I can," cried Dean. "I don't feel a bit frightened of bogeys now." "Ahoy-y-y-y-y!" he shouted, and there was a hollow echoing noise, but nothing approaching what they had heard before. Then they listened till the reverberations died out; but there was no hopeful sound to cheer them, and with a low despairing sigh which he tried in vain to suppress, Mark drew another carefully selected match across the side of the box. This time there was a flash, the head of the tiny wax taper blazed out, illumined the square hole into which Dean had slipped, and revealed him about a dozen feet below where his cousin was holding the match. "Quick!" cried Dean. "Get another out and light it before you burn your fingers. Well done--that's the way! Hold it more over. I want to reconnoitre, as the soldiers say." "Be careful!" panted Mark. "Mind you don't slip." "Trust me," said Dean. "No, no, don't light another. It will only be waste, because I have seen it all." "I had better light another match," cried Mark hoarsely. "No, you hadn't. Chuck that down; you are burning your fingers." The still burning end of the tiny taper lit up the sides of the square hole as it descended to the surface of the water and was extinguished with a faint _spet_. "Now then," cried Dean, "I have got it all fixed at the back of my eyes like what old Buck calls a fortygraff, and just where I am standing it is all straight up and down, but a little way to the left there's a regular set of holes just as if stones had been left out. Why, it's as easy as kissing your hand. This must have been one of the old temple wells, and these holes must have been left like steps for the old people to come down and clip their water." "Oh, do take care!" cried Mark. "Won't I just! I shall be all right. I say, old chap, what a lark!" "Lark!" cried Mark angrily. "What do you mean by that?" "Why, it seems to me quite comic to think that we two fellows, who ought to have known better, should have made such a hullabaloo about nothing at all. Oh, I say, isn't it lucky that nobody else was here! I wouldn't--" "Ah!" gasped Mark, as there was a faint rattling of bits of stone, and _plish, plash, plosh_, three fragments dropped into the water. "All right, sonny," said Dean, who had shifted his position and begun to climb. "I am _en route_; no tree roots here, though, but plenty of stony holes. Clear the course, for up I come!" The boy spoke cheerily enough, but his words were accompanied by a faint panting as if he were making great exertion. "I say, though, Mark," he went on, "how about your brave British boy? How about your manly pluck? Pretty pair we have been! All right, old man; I didn't slip. It was a stone. Ah!" ejaculated the boy, with a cry of pain. "Oh, Dean!" "Don't! It's all right, I tell you. Do you want to frighten me off?" "No, no, no. But you cried out." "Enough to make me. I must have twisted my ankle a bit, and it gave me such a stab just then. All right--better. Up I come. What was I talking about? Oh, I know. But I say, Mark, don't you feel like a gallant young Briton, ready to face any danger?" "No, I don't," cried Mark angrily. "I feel like a miserable coward;" and he uttered a hysterical sob as he passed his wet hand over his dripping brow. "Do you?" said Dean coolly. "Well, that's about what's the matter with me; only this is rather hard work, and I am too busy to squirm. Brave British boys! Ha, ha! Well, I suppose every chap feels a bit soft sometimes. I say, say something." "Oh, take care, old chap!" "Well, I am doing that. Say something else." "I can't!" groaned Mark. "That's enough," cried Dean excitedly. "I can't see, but I can hear that my head must be a bit out of this hole, and--Quick! Hand!" The last two words were ejaculated wildly, and Mark responded by making a snatch in the direction he felt that his cousin must be, and caught him fast, throwing himself backward. There was a rush and the fall of a heavy stone with a tremendous splash; then no sound but a hoarse breathing from two chests. "Hah!" ejaculated Dean. "That last stone must have grown mouldy, and gave way; but it's all right. Now for a rest. Shouldn't like to do that again." Then there was profound silence for the space of a few minutes as the two lads knelt there clinging to each other in the profound darkness, thinking of many things; and the thoughts of both had the same trend, the grips of their hands involuntarily growing tighter the while. How long they knelt there, communing, giving their better feelings full sway, neither knew, but at last the silence was broken by Mark whispering, "Dean, old fellow; what an escape!" "Don't, don't!" was whispered back. "Don't speak to me, or I shall break down." "Ah!" sighed Mark, and there was silence again, broken this time by Dean. "I can't help it, Mark, old fellow. I have been trying so hard; but I must be a terrible coward. Tell me, oh, do tell me! Am I safe?" The answer came faintly from apparently some distance away, in the shape of a sailor's, "Ahoy-y-y-y!" "Yes," cried Mark excitedly. "That's old Dan's voice. They are looking for us. Ahoy-y-y-y!" he shouted, with his voice sounding strangely cracked and wild. Quite a minute elapsed before they heard another hail, and by this time the two boys had pulled themselves together a bit, enough to respond with double the vigour of before, while ere many minutes had passed a steady interchange of calls made the task of the searchers so easy that the gleam of a lantern appeared, to be followed by the report of a gun, and this time there was a perfect volley of the strange echoes. "Hear that?" cried Dean, in his natural voice. "Hear it? Yes?" Dean uttered a gasp as if he were swallowing something that was hard, and then with a laugh he said, "Mark, old chap, isn't it queer! That seems to be the jolliest sound I ever heard in my life." "Yes," said Mark coolly; "but we have got a long walk before us, and no end of stones to climb, and I expect we shall get into a precious row." "Never mind the row, old fellow. I wonder what they've got for supper!" _ |
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