Sappers and Miners: The Flood beneath the Sea

by George Manville Fenn

Still no reply, and in spite of appeal, threat, and at last a blow delivered heavily upon his shoulder, Joe did not stir, and Gwyn felt that their case was desperate indeed. Each time he had forced his companion to make an effort it was as if the result was due to the energy he had communicated from his own body; but now he felt in his despair as if a reverse action were taking place, and his companion’s want of nerve and inertia were being communicated to him; for the chilly feeling of despair was on the increase, and he knew now that poor Joe was beyond helping himself.

“What can I do?” he thought, as he once more forced himself to the point of thinking and acting. To get his companion up by his own force was impossible. Even if he could have carried the weight up the ladder, it would have been impossible to get a good hold and retain it, and he already felt himself growing weak from horror.

What to do?

It would have been easy enough to climb over his companion and save his own life; but how could he ever look Major Jollivet or his father in the eyes again? The momentary thought was dismissed on the instant as being cowardly and unworthy of an English lad. But what to do?

If he could have left him for a few minutes, he could have either gone up or gone down, and shouted for help; but he knew perfectly well that the moment he left the boy to himself, he would fall headlong.

“What shall I do? What shall I do?” he groaned aloud, and a querulous cry from one of the gulls still floating around them came as if in reply.

“Oh, if I only had a gun,” he cried angrily. “Get out, you beasts! Who’s going to fall!”

Then he uttered a cry for help, and another, and another; but the shouts sounded feeble, and were lost in space, while more and more it was forced upon him that Joe was now insensible from fear and despair, his nerve completely gone.

What could he do? There seemed to be nothing but to hold on till Joe fell, and then for his father’s sake, he must try and save himself.

“Oh, if I only had a piece of rope,” he muttered; but he had not so much as a piece of string. There was his silk neckerchief; that was something, and Joe was wearing one, too, exactly like it; for the boys had a habit of dressing the same.