He knew the symptom for an alarming one—it turned him faint when first he recognized it—and he tried to fix his attention upon the effort to climb higher. But now and again the fear of the space behind and below would creep in. Reason told him that the better part was to return; but he was in no condition to listen to reason. His whole desire—it was fast becoming frantic—was to crawl over the brow of the cliff and be safe.
But where was the brow of the cliff? It seemed to him that he had climbed a thousand feet.
A few minutes later he caught sight of a shrub; then he knew that he was within a few feet of the end of the climb. The shrub—a stunted spruce, which he had good reason to remember—was to his right, peeping round a projection of rock.
He was then on a ledge, with good foothold and good handhold; and a way of return to the shore lay open to him. By craning his neck he made out that if he could pass that projection he would reach shelving, broken rock, and be safe. Then he studied the face of the rocks between—a space of some six feet.
There was foothold there, midway, but he shrank from attempting to reach it. He had never thought in his life to try so perilous a passage. A survey of the course of a body falling from that point was almost more than he could support. Nevertheless, strange as it may seem, the waving shrub tempted him to risk something more to end his suspense. He summoned courage enough to stretch out his right foot and search with his right hand for a hold.
Unfortunately, he found both—a ledge for his foot and a crevice for his fingers.
He drew himself over. It took courage and strength, for it was a long stretch. Had he been cramped for room, had he not been free to move at the starting-point, he could not have managed it. But there he was—both feet on a ledge as wide as his feet were long, both hands with a comfortable grip on solid rock. He shuffled along until he came to the end of the ledge.
His last obstacle now lay before him. He must round the projection which divided him from the broken, shelving rock beyond. Had he foreseen the slightest difficulty he would not have gone so far. So, with confidence, he sought a foothold for his right foot—a crevice for the fingers of his right hand.
And he tried again, with confidence unshaken; again, with patience; again, with rising fear. There was no hold; the passage was impracticable. There was nothing for it but to return.
So he shuffled back to the other end of the ledge. Then, keenly regretting the necessity of return, he sought a foothold for his left foot—a crevice for the fingers of his left hand. He tried again, in some wonder; again, with a rush of fear; again, in abject terror.