Cormorant Crag Part 9

"Then there is some reason why he doesn't want us there. I say!"

"Well?"

"Let's go and see."

"You'd be afraid."

"No; I wouldn't if you wouldn't."

"I'll go if you will."

"Then we will. But how? Boat?"

"No; I say let's have a rope and try if we can't climb round by the cliff. It will be a jolly good adventure, and I keep feeling more and more as if I wanted to know what it all means."

"Then we will, and I'm ready to begin whenever you are. Why, we may find a valley of gold."

"Or get a bad tumble."

"We'll risk that."

"Then let's set to and make our plans."

The boys ceased speaking, and became very thoughtful; and, as if to sharpen their ideas, each took out his knife--a long-hafted jack knife such as a sailor uses, fastened by a lanyard to his waist. There was rather a rivalry between them as to which had the biggest, longest-bladed and sharpest knife--a point that was never decided; and the blades had rather a hard time of it, for they were constantly being opened and whetted so as to maintain a razor edge.

But, probably from not being expert, these razor-like edges were not maintained, and this was partly due to the selection of the sharpener upon which they were whetted. The sole of a boot is no doubt suitable, but not when it contains nails, which was the case with those worn by the lads. The rail of a gate is harmless, while a smooth piece of slate makes a moderately good enough soft hone. But when it comes to rubbing a blade upon a piece of gneiss, quartz crystal, or granite, the result is most unsatisfactory, the edge of the knife being p.r.o.ne to look like a very bad imitation of a miniature saw.

From force of habit each lad on opening his knife looked round for something upon which to give his knife a whet; but up there on the soft turf of a cliff slope whetstones were scarce. Down below on the wave-washed strand boulders and pebbles were plentiful enough, and in addition there was the rock; but from where they were it was a good quarter of a mile to the nearest place where a descent could be safely made. But the next moment Mike found an oyster-sh.e.l.l, upon which he began diligently to rub his blade; while, failing this, Vince pulled his foot across his knee, vigorously stropped his knife on the sole of his boot, and gave a finishing touch to the edge by pa.s.sing it to and fro upon the palm of his hand.

This done, each looked out for something to cut, where there was for some distance round nothing but gra.s.s. This Vince began to shave off gently, with Mike watching him for a few moments; but the pursuit seemed to him too trivial, and, after wrinkling up his forehead for a few moments as if perplexed, an idea struck him, and he began to score the soft turf in regular lines, as if it were a loin of pork, but with this difference, that when he had made about a dozen strokes he commenced cutting between the marks, and sloping his blade so that he carved out the turf, leaving a series of ridges and furrows as he went on.

This was on his part an ingenious enough way of using the blade, out on an island cliff on a glorious sunny day; but at the end of a minute it became as monotonous as it was purposeless, and Vince shut his knife with a snap, after carefully wiping the blade; while Mike, who had been blunting the point of his by bringing it in contact with the granite, which, where they were, only lay three or four inches beneath the velvet turf, followed suit, after seeing that his knife point would need a good grinding before he could consider it to be in a satisfactory state.

"Well," said Mike, after they had looked at each other for a few moments, "how are we going to make our plans?"

"I dunno," replied Vince. "Yes, I do. You can't make plans here.

Let's go and see what the place is like."

"No; that's wrong," said Mike, wrinkling his forehead again. "A general always makes his plans of how he'll attack a country before he starts, and takes what is necessary with him."

"Yes, but then he has maps of the country, and knows what he will want.

We have no maps; but we've got the country, so I say let's go and see first--reconnoitre."

"Very well," said Mike, rising slowly.

"Don't seem very ready," said Vince. "Not scared about it, are you?"

"No, I don't think so," replied Mike thoughtfully; "only doesn't it seem rather--rather queer to go to a place that is strange, and where you don't know what there may be?"

"Of course it does," said Vince frankly; "and I am just a little like that. I suppose it's what the men here all feel, and it keeps them away."

"Yes, that's it," said Mike eagerly.

"But then, you know, they believe lots of things that we laugh at.

There isn't a man or boy here in Crag would go and sit in the churchyard on a dark night."

"Well, you wouldn't either," said Mike.

"No, I suppose not," said Vince thoughtfully. "I don't think I believe in ghosts--I'm sure I don't; and I know that if I saw anything I should feel it was some one trying to frighten us. But I shouldn't like to go and sit in a churchyard in the dark, because--because--"

"You'd be afraid," said Mike, with a laugh.

"Yes, I should be afraid, but not as you mean," said the lad. "I should feel that it was doing a mocking, boasting sort of thing toward the dead people who were all lying asleep there."

"Dead," interposed Mike.

"No: father says asleep--quietly asleep, after being in pain and sickness, or being tired out from growing very old."

Mike looked at him curiously, and they were both silent for a few moments, till Mike said quickly:--

"I say, though, don't it seem queer to you that we've been here all our lives, and grown as old as we are, without ever going to the top of the cliff here and looking down into the Scraw?"

"Yes, that's just what I've been thinking ever since old Joe talked to us as he did. But I don't know that it is queer."

"Well, I do," said Mike: "it's very queer."

"No, it isn't. Ever since we can remember everybody has said that you can't get there, because n.o.body could climb up; and then while we were little we always heard people talk almost in a whisper about it, as if it were something that oughtn't to be named; and so of course we didn't think for ourselves, and took all they said as being right. But you know there may be whirlpools and holes and black caverns and sharp rocks, and I dare say there are regular monsters of congers down in the deep places that have never been disturbed."

"And sharks."

"No, I don't think there would be sharks. They live out in the open sea more, where it's not so rough."

"I say, how big have we ever seen a conger?"

"Why, that one Carnach brought in and said he'd had a terrible fight with: don't you remember?"

"Yes, I remember; he caught it on a dark thunderstormy day, and said when he hooked it first, baiting with a pilchard, it came so easy that he thought it was a little one, and swam up every time he slackened his line till he got it close to the top. But when he went to hook it in with his gaff he fell back over the thwart, because as soon as it saw him it opened its mouth and came over the gunwale with a rush, and hunted him round the boat till he hit it over the head with his little axe."

"Yes, I remember," said Vince, taking up the narrative; "and then he said they had a terrible fight, for it twisted its tail round his leg and struck at him, getting hold of his tarpaulin coat with its teeth and holding on till he got the blade of the axe into the cut he had made and sawed away till he got through the backbone. Oh yes, we heard him tell the story lots of times about how strong it was, and how it bruised his leg where it hit him with its tail, and how he was beginning to feel that, in spite of its head being nearly off, it seemed as if it would finish him, when all at once it dropped down in the bottom of the boat and only just heaved about. I used to believe it all, but he always puts more and more to it whenever he tells the tale. I don't believe it now."

"But it was a monster."

"Yes: two inches short of seven feet long, and as big round as a cod-fish; and I don't see why there mayn't be some twice as big in the Scraw. But I'm not going to believe in there being anything else, Mike; and we're going to see."

"Nothing horrid living in the caves?"

"Bogies and mermen and Goblin Jacks? No: stuff!"