“Yes,” said the lads in a breath; and long afterwards they recalled their eagerness to know about a means of descent from that shelf.
“Yes,” said Samson; “you might make a short cut down to the sea this way if you wanted to. But you don’t want to, and it wouldn’t be any good if you did, because you’d be obliged to have a boat outside; and if the boat wasn’t well-minded, it would soon be banged to matchwood among the rocks. There, my bit o’ ground’s waiting to be dug, and I’ve got you two out of your hobble, so here goes back.”
As he spoke, he rapidly hauled up the lanthorn, forming the line into rings, untying the end from the ring, and, after giving it a twist, thrusting it back into his pocket, while he undid the strap he wore about his waist, thrust an end through the lanthorn-ring, and buckled it on once more.
“Will you go first, Samson?” said Fred.
“No; I mean to go last. I don’t leave here till I see you both safe. What should I have said to your mothers if you’d been lost and not found for a hundred years? Nice state of affairs that would ha’ been.”
“Go on first, Scar,” said Fred; “we’ll hold the rope tight, so that it will be easy.”
Scarlett reached up, seized the rope, and began to climb, getting the thick cord well round his legs, as he struggled up for nearly twenty feet, and then he slipped down again.
“Can’t we go down the other way, and climb the cliff?”
“No, you can’t,” said Samson, gruffly. “You’ve got to go up as you come down. Here, Master Fred, show him the way.”
Fred seized the rope, and began to climb, but with no better success; and he, too, glided down again after a severe struggle.