“The time’s up,” said a voice, and I found myself urged back a few paces, and my feet lifted over the edge of the cliff. It is impossible to describe my sensations of horror at this moment. I was then lowered down, every instant expecting to be let drop, till I found my hands clutching the grass, and my nails digging into the uncertain soil which fringed it. I judged that my uncle had been treated in the same way, from what the smugglers said. They then left us, satisfied that we could not release ourselves. Bad as they were, perhaps they did not wish to witness our death, though I could hear their mocking laughter as they quitted the spot. I was light, and I held on for dear life.
“Uncle, are you there?” I exclaimed.
“Yes, Neil, I am,” he answered; “but I am afraid of using any exertion to lift myself up, lest the earth should give way. You are light, though; so try to drag yourself slowly up by your arms, then get your elbows on the turf, and tear the bandage from your eyes, and come to my assistance.”
“Oh, I cannot, uncle, I cannot!” I cried, in an agony of fear; for I found it impossible to move without almost a certainty of missing my hold altogether. Again I tried all I could to lift myself up, but it would not do. I shouted at the top of my voice. Every instant my strength was failing me.
“I must let go, uncle, indeed I must,” I exclaimed. “Good-bye, uncle.”
“So must I, my boy,” he answered. “Good-bye, if we do not succeed; but make a final effort, and spring up. So now—”
I tried to spring up, and so did he, I conclude. Alas! the earth crumbled beneath his hands; a deep groan escaped his bosom—not for himself, but for his wife and children, and all he held dear in the world. He could hold on no longer. I also failed in my attempt to spring up. Down I went; but what was my surprise, instead of being dashed to pieces, to find that I had reached a bottom of some sort, rather splashy certainly, only a few feet below where I had been hanging. An exclamation at the same moment from my uncle reached my ears. I tore off the bandage from my eyes, and looking round, I saw him but a short distance from me, and discovered that we were at the bottom of a chalk-pit, with all our limbs safe and sound, instead of being both of us mangled corpses at the foot of High-Peak Cliff. Our position was not dignified; and certainly, though it was much less romantic and full of horror than it would have been had the catastrophe we expected really occurred, and had we figured in the newspapers as the subjects of a dreadful accident, it was, I must own, far more agreeable to my feelings.
“Uncle,” I sung out, “are you hurt?”
“No, Neil, my boy; but rather wet, from a puddle I’ve fallen into,” he answered. “So those confounded rascals have been playing us a trick all the time. However, it’s better thus than we expected, and it proves that they are not as bad as we thought them.”
“So I was thinking,” I replied, moving up to him. “But, I say, uncle, how are we to get out of this?”