Spurred on by the evident terror of the lad, Hunter covered the last few feet quickly, and came alongside him just in the nick of time, for the youth was almost exhausted. His hands were bruised and cut from clutching at stones, and the lighthouseman’s were little better.
“You’re all right now, sonny,” he said. “We’ll soon have you down.”
But, though he said the comforting words, there was a little thought at the back of his mind that it might be some time before they reached safety, for he, too, found that the position was none too safe a one; that while he himself might have been able to get away alone, he could not hope to carry the unfortunate boy without further help. There was no use in looking down; help could not come that way. But it might come from above, and, glancing up, his heart gave a great bound as he saw that the coastguards, under Chief Officer Young, had arrived on the scene, bringing with them the one thing that was necessary—a rope! It was a very lifeline to Hunter.
Down the rope fell; and then the lighthouseman saw that, owing to the projecting edge of the cliff, it hung more than an arm’s length away from him. He would have to move carefully away in order to reach it. The boy seemed to realise this, and before Hunter moved an inch he called out in fear:
“Don’t leave me, sir. I can’t hold on!”
“Now, see here, laddie,” was the reply. “You’re all right. I won’t let go of you. But I’ve got to get that rope. Keep still.” And, holding on to the boy with one hand, he moved gingerly away, digging his heels deep in the cliffside as he did so to get a purchase. Once, twice, nay, thrice he tried to catch the rope, and at last did so; but the strain of holding the boy at the same time that he reached out for it was terrible, and the soft earth gave way more than once, threatening to send the pair of them hurtling below.
So far, so good. The next task was to fasten the boy on the rope. Once again footholds had to be dug in the cliff—deep holes that would not give way beneath his weight as he laboured. Adept at knotting, accustomed to work of this kind, Hunter soon had the boy fast in the rope. And then:
“Lower away!” he cried; and the coastguards let the rope out inch by inch, while the rescuer steadied it, and kept it from swinging round and round.
“Easy!” he yelled, as clods of earth and great stones, dislodged by the rope as it slid over the edge, came tumbling about his ears, threatening to knock him from his perch, threatening, too, to smash into the boy being lowered to safety. And “easy” it was! Those coastguards knew their work.
At last it was done; the boy was on the beach, thoroughly shaken, dreadfully scared, but safe, thanks to the pluck of the lighthouseman, who was soon hauled to the top, and, as he told me, “went indoors and forgot all about it” until later he received a letter from the secretary to the Carnegie Hero Fund Trustees, commending him on his bravery and suitably rewarding him, though it goes without saying that his best reward was the knowledge that he had been able to save the life of the unfortunate youth.