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Cock-House at Fellsgarth

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<h3>Chapter Seventeen.</h3> <h4>Hawk’s Pike.</h4> Victory has its drawbacks, like everything else. The brilliant retreat of the Modern juniors and their auxiliaries under the enemy’s fire was all very well as a strategic movement. But when it came to deciding what to do next, the difficulties of the situation became painfully apparent. Mr Stratton stayed half an hour chatting over the shop affairs, and then rose to go. “Good night, boys. It’s time for Mr Forder’s boys to be back in their house.” This unpleasant reminder had a very damping effect on the conviviality of the party generally. As soon as the master had gone, Wally said— “It strikes me you Modern kids are in a bit of a mess.” “I’m afraid your bedroom will be a little untidy,” said Fisher minor. “The best thing you can do is to climb back by the window,” suggested D’Arcy. “I don’t fancy you’ll want a warming-pan to-night,” said Ashby. This was all very nice and helpful. The heroes looked at one another dismally. “We must lump it,” said Percy. “They can’t do anything very bad.” “Can’t they?” said Cottle. “Were you ever licked by Brinkman?” “No,” said the others. “All right—I have been—that’s all.” This sounded alarming. D’Arcy said— “Why don’t you come over to our side, and out that lot! We could have no end of larks if you were Classics, instead of little Modern beasts.” “Our side’s as good as yours,” snapped Lickford. “All serene; you’d better go and join them,” said Wally. This did not advance the argument much further. Of course it was out of the question to go and tell tales to the Classic prefects, or even to their own master. Nor was the suggestion of sleeping that night on the Classic side hailed with enthusiasm by either party. On the whole D’Arcy’s suggestion of getting back by the window seemed the most hopeful. When once back they would go straight to bed, where they would be safe for a while. Then, if they could manage to rise at the supernatural hour of six, they might succeed in evading the penalties of rebellion for another day. For to-morrow being exeat day, they would be free to roam where they liked. And they had a very good idea that wherever it was, they would give Forder’s house a very wide berth. “Tell you what!” exclaimed Wally, slapping his brother on the back so hard as to cause him to yell loud enough to bring every prefect of Fellsgarth on to the spot. “Tell you what, old chappies; of course we will! Why ever didn’t we think of it before—eh?” “Think of what?” “Why, we’ll go up Hawk’s Pike, of course.” “Of course we will,” said everybody. What mattered it to them that Hawk’s Pike had defied the ordinary tourist for generations? They weren’t ordinary tourists, or anything like. “You come over for us at six,” said Wally. “Bring the grub we left in your room. It’ll be a regular sell for all those chaps. We’ll make a day of it.” It seemed a magnificent solution of the problem; and on the strength of it the five truants departed, not without misgivings, for their quarters. The rope was still dangling from their window, and Cash, whose father was in the Navy, was selected by general consent as the member of the party best qualified to make the first ascent. He modestly tried to induce some one else to assume the honour, but he was outvoted, and, devoutly hoping to find the coast clear of the enemy, he addressed himself to the venture. It was not particularly arduous for a decent climber, and in a couple of minutes his companions saw him swing himself on to the ledge, and disappear into the room. In a moment he put out his head. “All clear,” said he. “The door’s smashed in, and all the things kicked about anyhow; but there’s no one about.” That was the main thing. The company speedily followed, materially assisted in their clamber by sundry knots tied in the rope by the ingenious Cash, and by his energetic hauling from above. The programme was carried out without a hitch. Without waiting for the bed-bell they one and all presented themselves to the dormitory dame, and requested permission to turn in, pleading severe fatigue (which was by no means imaginary) as the reason for this unwonted haste. So smartly was the retirement effected, that no one was aware of their return to their house until half an hour later. When the dormitory filled up, their five noses were discernible peeping from out the sheets. Whatever chastisement the prefects may have had in store for them evidently could not be administered at present. For a disturbance in the dormitory was a capital offence in Mr Forder’s eyes, and, as the master’s room was adjacent, and he was known to have returned and to be within earshot, the only thing possible was secretly to promise the rebels a warm time of it as soon as they woke next morning. But Revenge sleeps sounder than Caution. As five struck in the clock tower, Ramshaw, who had had it on his mind he might oversleep himself, and, in consequence, had been up looking at his watch every ten minutes during the night, slipped finally out of bed, and roused each of his partners. He expected no gratitude for his good offices, and was not disappointed. The sleepers growled and grunted at his well-meant efforts, pulled the clothes over their heads, called him unfriendly names, threatened him with untold vengeance, and scouted all idea of danger by delay, till he was almost tired of trying. But by the end of three-quarters of an hour, with the aid of a moist sponge and other persuasives, he got them to their feet well awake to a sense of the undertaking before them. They still grumbled—at the cold, and the darkness, and the fatigue, and blamed Ramshaw for all three. They heartily despised themselves for their promise to the Classic boys last night, and still more for the row with their own prefects, which was the cause for all this inconvenience. But as they gradually slipped on their clothes, and the warm bed receded more into the background, they cheered up and recovered their courage. There was no difficulty in getting out. The dormitory door stood open. Brinkman, who was the prefect on duty, lay snoring loud and long in the end bed. Mr Forder’s bedroom was on the safe side of a brick wall. Carrying their boots in their hands they slunk off to their study, where they made a hasty selection from the miscellaneous provisions stored over-night, and then, one by one, solemnly slid down the rope. Once on the grass, in the chill, dark air, depression fell upon them a second time. Their thoughts returned to the snug beds they had left. Even Brinkman and Clapperton could not take it out of them more than this white frost and nipping air. However, the bell began to toll six; and the thought of their companions in discomfort spurred them on to energy. They crawled across the Green to Wakefield’s. Four ghostly figures were visible in the feeble dawn, hovering under the wall. “Got the grub?” It was the cheery voice of Wally Wheatfield, at sound of which the pilgrims took comfort, and were glad they had turned out after all. The first thing was to get clear of Fellsgarth, which was easily accomplished, as no one was about. Even had they been observed, beyond the general wonder of seeing nine juniors taking a morning walk at 6 a.m., there was nothing to interfere with their liberty. As soon as they got into Shargle Woods a brief council of war was held. “It’s a jolly stiff climb,” said Wally. “I’ve got a compass,” said Ashby, as if that disposed of the difficulty. Ashby had an ulster, which just then seemed to some of his comrades a still more enviable possession. “How many miles?” asked Lickford. “Miles? Who ever reckoned mountains by miles? It’s three hours to the top.” “That’ll be nine o’clock,” wisely observed Cash. “Who knows the way up?” Percy asked. “Way up? Can’t you see it?” said Wally. “When you get to the bottom, you go straight up.” “All very well for you. I can’t walk up a perpendicular cliff. I dare say I could come straight down if I tried,” submitted Percy. “Oh, there are lots of paths. It’s as easy as pot,” said Wally. “Suppose we have a bit of grub now. It’ll be less to carry, you know.” Whereupon an attack was made on the provisions, with the result that considerably less was left to carry up. The meal ended, a start was made in earnest, and the party trailed down the valley towards the lake at an easy jog-trot, and came to the conclusion that ascending a pike was ridiculously simple work. By the time they reached the lake, and began to strike up the winding lane that led round to the rearward slopes of the great mountain, an hour had passed. “Nearly half-way there,” said Fisher minor, hoping some one would corroborate the statement. “Oh, we don’t count that bit we’ve come anything,” said Wally. “We’re just starting up now.” “Oh,” said Fisher, again hoping to be confirmed. “Then it’s only two hours’ climb?” “That’s all you know about it. Wisdom used to say he could do it in three hours from the lake-side. But he was a wonner to go. Come along; wire in, you chaps.” “Where did Wisdom get killed?” asked Percy, by way of a little genial conversation. “I heard over the other side, down the cliffs above the lake. He got caught in a mist and lost his way.” “How do you know this is the right way up?” asked Cottle. “Because it’s as plain as the nose on your face,” retorted the guide. It was a long dreary pull up the lower slope, over the wet grass and through the bracken, and Fisher minor before he accomplished the first stage was heartily sick of Hawk’s Pike. One or two of his companions, to tell the truth, were not quite as enamoured of the expedition as they tried to appear, but they kept their emotions to themselves. Wally was the only member of the party who was uniformly cheerful, and no one, not even Percy, exactly liked to incur his contempt by appearing to enjoy the clamber less than he. “Come on, you chaps,” cried the leader as he staggered to the top of the slope. “Keep it up. What a crow it will be for us, when we get to the top!” “I suppose,” gasped Fisher minor, as he threw himself on the grass, “we’re half-way now?” “Getting on,” said Wally. “I dare say on the top of that next ridge we shall be able to see the top.” “What, isn’t that the top?” said poor Fisher, craning his head up towards the beetling crag above them. “Top? No, that’s the knob half-way down we see from the school window. The stiff part begins after that.” Really Wally, if he had tried to be heartless, could not have succeeded better. Had he but expressed some hint at regret that the distance was so long, or vouchsafed the least semblance of a growl at the labour involved, they would have loved him. As it was, they durst do nothing but hate him, and accept his information joyously. “That’s nothing,” said Lickford. “I feel quite fresh; don’t you, you chaps?” “Rather!” they chimed in plaintively. “Better get on,” said Wally, after a few minutes more. How they loathed Wally then! The new slope was worse than the first; for the grass was more boggy, and big stones here and there jarred their tender feet. Besides, it grieved them to see Wally zigzagging steadily on ahead, utterly regardless of their distress behind. Yet no one exactly liked to stop. Had any one had the courage to do so, they would have gone down like a row of ninepins. Let no one charge these boys with chicken-heartedness. On the contrary, they worked up that slope like heroes; all the more so that they were ready to drop, and durst not for very shame. There is no hero like the coward who compels himself to be brave. Many a man in history has become famous for an exploit that cost him far less than this climb cost the Fellsgarth juniors. Therefore let this record at least award the the credit they deserve.—It was some satisfaction, when the knob was reached, and they looked up at the black towering crags above, to see that even Wally seemed staggered for a moment. “We may as well have a rest and some grub before we tackle that lot,” said he. “What do you say?” The motion was carried unanimously. “It’s eleven o’clock,” said Cash. “We’ve been five hours already.” “Thank goodness we’ve broken the back of it,” said Fisher minor. “I don’t know so much about that,” said Percy. “We shan’t get up that as easily as we’ve done so far, I fancy.” “Rather not,” said Wally, cheerfully, with his mouth full of sandwich. “I believe it’s not so bad after we get past those rocks though, on to the top.” “What,” cried Fisher, “isn’t that the top then?” “Bless you, no. We have to go down a bit when we get there, and cross a bog, and then the real pike begins.” The information was received with dead silence, and the party sat grimly munching their lunch with upturned eyes. “Which way do we go?” asked Cottle presently. “I suppose up by the stream. It’s bound to lead up to the bog.” The stream in question was a torrent which fell in a series of leaps through a narrow gorge in the rocks. Fisher minor looked very blue. “I wish I’d got my strong boots,” said he. The dismal tone in which he uttered the words startled the others. “I say, young Fisher,” said D’Arcy, “you’re not done yet, are you!” Fisher minor had not the pluck to say “Yes.” “I’ll be game after this rest. I got a little blown up that last bit, that’s all.” “It doesn’t look awfully far now,” said Ashby. “It’s further than it looks. Come on; let’s be jogging,” said Wally. The new ascent, which consisted chiefly in clambering from stone to stone up the rocky ravine, was less exhausting than the tramp up the bog, and as Wally was no better at this sort of climbing than any of the rest, he did not dishearten them by getting hopelessly ahead, but kept with the party. Occasionally they had to help one another up a specially stiff ledge, and this mutual accommodation was an additional source of comfort to the weak goers. Progress was very slow. Cash, having hauled himself up on to a little platform of moss, looked at his watch and was alarmed to find it was past one. The huge ravine, at the far head of which they could see the open sky, seemed a tremendous distance yet. And after that, according to Wally, was to come the bog and the cliffs beyond, on which Wisdom lost his life. Yet none of these things was quite so bad as the rolling up of some fleecy clouds behind them, which effaced the view below, and seemed to be crawling up the mountain in pursuit of them. Cash pointed this out to Wally, who grunted. “We shall miss the view from the top,” said he. “If we ever get there,” said Cash. On they scrambled again, casting every now and then a longing look upward at the grim ravine head, and now and then an anxious glance behind at the fast overhauling clouds. “We’re bound to get out of it up there,” sang out Wally. But almost as he spoke the light mist swept past him, blotting out everything but the boulder he stood on and a rift of the dashing water at his feet. The clouds had befriended Fisher minor. They did what he durst not do; ordered the party to halt. “Where are you?” shouted Wally from the invisible. “Here; where are you?” “Stay there; and I’ll come to you.” Slowly the party foregathered, and stood huddled in the blinding mist on a flat rock. “It’s blowing over,” said Wally. “We’d better make back for the hill-side, and get out of this ravine till it clears up.” It was no easy task scrambling back, down that difficult way, over boulders already made slippery by the moist mist, and not able to see four yards ahead. The clouds poured up to meet them in column upon column, growing denser and wetter every minute. At last, how they scarcely knew, they came down to where the rush of the water ceased and the stones gave place to wet grass. “We must be somewhere near where we sat down last,” said Ashby. “Whew! it’s cold.” “The thing is,” said Percy, “aren’t we too much out to the left? There’s no sign of a path that I can see.” “This looks like one,” said a voice ahead, which they recognised as Wally’s. “Come along—this way.” They followed as well as they could, and groped about for the path. Then they shouted. Wally replied out of the mist. “Stay there a bit—it’s not a path. I’ll yell when I’ve got it.” They waited, and for five minutes listened anxiously for the signal. Then they thought they heard it away to the right, and floundered off in pursuit. But after a little they discovered that they were going uphill. “Hadn’t we better go back to where we were,” said Cash, “or we may miss him?” It occurred to most of the party that they had missed him already. Still, they decided to go back. Presently they distinctly heard what sounded like a voice below them. “That must be he. Yell!” They shouted, and again there seemed to come a faint response. “All right,” said Percy. “Stay where you are, and I’ll go and fetch him up.” And he vanished into the mist. “What’s the time?” said Ashby, as the party stood dismally waiting. “Half-past four. It’s a good job it doesn’t get dark till six.” “Only an hour and a half,” said Cottle; “I wish those chaps would come.” But though they strained their ears and eyes, no sign of the missing ones came; nothing but the swish of the rain and the whistle of the wind through the grass. “We’d better go on,” said D’Arcy presently; “they’ll probably get down some other way. Look sharp, or it will be dark.” So they started at a fast walk down the boggy slope. “Keep close,” said D’Arcy after a time. “Are you all there?” Everybody answered for himself, but not for his neighbour. “You there, young Fisher minor?” “Yes,” replied Fisher’s voice from the rear. He seemed so near that they started on again. But after another five minutes, Ashby, who was last but one, shouted again. “Where are you, Fisher minor?” There was no answer. “Wait a bit, you fellows. Fisher minor’s behind.” But no answer came from that direction either. “Here’s a go,” said Ashby to himself. “That kid Fisher’s gone lame, and he’ll be lost if I don’t wait for him.” So he dismally turned back, shouting and whistling as he went. The clouds all round grew duller and heavier in the fading light, and the wind-blown rain struck keenly on the wanderer’s cheek. “That kid,” said Ashby to himself, as he sturdily tramped through the marsh, “ought not to have come. He’s not up to it.” But despite all his shouting and whistling and cooeying, not a sound came out of the mist but the wind and the driving of the rain. Still Ashby could not bring himself to leave the “kid” in the lurch. Even if he did not find him it would be better to— “Ah! what was that?” He clapped his hands to his mouth and shouted against the wind with all his might. His voice was flung back in his face; but with it there came the feeble sound of a “coo-ey” somewhere near. Ashby sprang to it like a drowning man to a straw. If it was only a lost sheep it would be some company. For ten minutes he beat round, shouting all the time, and once or twice fancying he heard an answer. Then suddenly he came upon a great boulder, against which leaned Fisher minor, whimpering and shivering. “Here you are!” said Ashby, joyously. “Thank God for it! I gave you up for lost. The others are gone on. Come on. Hang on my arm, old hoss.” “I can’t; I’m too fagged to go on. I’m awfully sleepy, Ashby. You go on; I’ll come presently.” Ashby’s reply was prompt and vigorous. He took his fellow-junior by the arm and began to march him down the slope as fast, almost faster than his weary legs would carry him. And as they started, the last of the light died out of the mist, and left them in blank darkness. <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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