Amidst the admiration and enjoyment which all felt in the contemplation of this novel spectacle, an unpleasant conviction crossed the minds of even the most enthusiastic, that they were indeed, as Wilkins had remarked, "in a fix." It was impossible to proceed unless they could ascend the formidable brush-covered cliffs, where the weight of a man clinging to the bushes might bring down an avalanche of the crumbling sandstone rock to bury him in its fall; or, still more perilous, that they should attempt to ascend what Gerald called "the Giant's Staircase"—the mighty cataract itself.
The voice of the torrent drowned the weaker voice of man; Arthur could not understand that Gerald was calling out to Hugh to follow him; and before he could proclaim any interdiction, the two light-footed, active boys, by clinging to the firmly-rooted grass in the crevices, had gained a resting-place on the first step of the rocks at the extreme edge of the fall, and were calling on the rest to follow them.
At this extremity about four feet of the rocks remained dry from the summit to the base, and certainly this must be the ladder they must mount if they hoped to escape; but how difficult, how perilous, was the attempt! Jack surveyed the ground attentively, then producing from his pocket a large roll of cord, he tied one end to a mangrove-tree on the beach, and unrolling it as he went up, followed the boys, holding the line tight to support Mr. Mayburn and Margaret, Jenny and Ruth, who, assisted by Arthur and Wilkins, were one after another raised to the first resting-place. Arthur soon joined them; but Wilkins remained to see the whole ascent completed before he would leave the strand.
Distracted by the noise of the torrent, the dashing of the spray, and the terror lest the slippery stone or the supporting clump of grass should fail them, it was a fearful struggle for the timid women, and for Mr. Mayburn, quite as timid and much less light than they, to be raised from step to step, assisted always by Arthur below and Jack above; but finally they were placed in safety on the heights of the cataract. Then Jack waved his handkerchief, for his voice would have been inaudible, as a signal for Wilkins to follow; and he, more accustomed than they to climbing, loosed and leisurely wound up the cord, as he sprang from rock to rock, till he joined the grateful and happy family.
The first sentiment of all was thankfulness to God, poured forth in earnest prayer. Their next feeling was curiosity to look upon a new, open country, after being so long imprisoned in the gloomy ravine below. They saw that the river was no longer a broad, navigable stream, but was flowing through many narrow channels from the east and south-east, which united above the cataract. An open and lovely glade lay before them, thinly wooded, and covered with tall grass, and flowers of the most brilliant dyes. Birds of rare beauty and strange notes hovered about the rivulets, and the air was darkened with insects; but they saw no trace yet of man. Far away to the south-east lay a gray line of mountains, towards which the wishes of all the anxious travellers turned.
"That range of mountains must be our first aim, papa," said Arthur. "Thank God, we seem yet to be in a land of plenty; nor need we have any fear of destitution so long as we continue in a well-watered district. If you are now able to proceed, Margaret, we must endeavor to bivouac on some spot less exposed to the rays of the sun and the observation of the natives than this. Let us follow the nearest channel of the river; if we wish to diverge further south, it will not be difficult to cross it."
A sharp twang startled Mr. Mayburn, and a beautiful bird fell at his feet.
"Just as I wished it, sir," said Gerald. "I meant the bird to be laid at your feet. Wasn't it a capital shot, Hugh?"
"Lucky, at any rate, Gerald," answered Hugh. "Well, papa, what bird is it?"
"It is perfectly new to me, Hugh," answered his father, "as, indeed, all the strange creation around me seems to be. The toes, like those of the Scansores, are placed two forward, and two backward, to facilitate the running up trees, and in form it so much resembles our cuckoo, that doubtless it is the bird we have read of as the Pheasant-cuckoo. See, there are more running among the grass, like pheasants—and hark how they whirr as they take to flight, now that they have been startled by that mischievous boy."