“To confess the truth, Mr Godfrey, it’s just the thing I don’t think is as aisy as it looks,” said Doyle. “I’ll try to do it, to please you; but I rather think our friend Pullingo, though not brought up to the sea, will do it more aisy.”
“But how is he to make them understand that we have found the children and want the boat?” I asked.
“Haven’t you got a pencil and paper!” exclaimed Edith. “Just write a note to Mr Mudge, and get him to take it up.”
“A bright idea,” I observed; and taking out my pocket-book, I wrote a few words, explaining the plan we proposed.
Pullingo at once understood that he was to carry up the bit of paper, and did not appear to hesitate about ascending the rope. I remained with Edith and Pierce, while Paddy went back with the black. He soon returned to the cave, when he told me that Pullingo had, without hesitation or the slightest appearance of fear, grasped the rope and begun the ascent, showing as much activity as a monkey, or, as he observed, as if he had been born and bred at sea. He watched him till he had climbed safely over the top of the cliff; when a shout from above told him that my note had been received.
We now sat down, watching the tide, which was still flowing.
“What if it should rise higher than it did yesterday?” I observed; “we should be somewhat cramped for space.”
“I don’t think Pullingo would have left us here if he thought that was going to happen,” said Doyle; “he knows all about it. He is a wonderful fellow; how he came to find out that the children were here, is more than I can tell.”
“We saw his son as we came along yesterday, and perhaps he guessed where we had gone,” said Pierce, thus accounting for the black knowing where to find the children.
Still, I did not feel altogether comfortable as I saw the tide rising higher and higher, and I began to consider that, after all, it might have been better to have tried to go up by the rope.