The manner of Clarke was more impressive than his words: though they, generally speaking, were not unapt.

We pursued our way together, mutually gratified by what had pa.s.sed.

Perhaps there is no sensation that so cheers, and sooths the soul, as the knowledge that there are other human beings, whose happiness seems knitted and bound up with our own; willing to share our fate, receive our favours, and, whenever occasion offers, to return them ten fold!

And the pleasure is infinitely increased, when those who are ambitious of being beloved by us seem to feel, and acknowledge, that we have more amply the power of conferring than even of receiving happiness.

CHAPTER VI

_A foolish guide, and a gloomy night: The fears and dangers of darkness: Casual lights lead to error, and mishap_

While we had been discussing the above points, we had sat down; and rose to pursue our journey, as soon as we had brought them to a conclusion. We were on the borders of a forest. As we proceeded, we came up with a countryman; who, enquiring where we were going, told us that, by striking a little out of the road, we might save half a mile.

We had nine miles to travel, to the inn at which the stage coaches stopped; and were very willing, Clarke especially, to shorten the way. The countryman said he was going part of the road; and that the remainder was so plain it could not be mistaken. Accordingly, we put ourselves under his guidance.

The sun had been down, by this time, nearly an hour and a half. The moon gave some light; but the wind was rising, she was continually obscured by thick swift-flying clouds, and our conductor advised us to push on, for it was likely to be a very bad night.

In less than a quarter of an hour his prophecy began to be fulfilled.

The rain fell, and at intervals the opposing clouds and currents of air, aided by the impediments of hills and trees, gave us a full variety of that whistling, roaring, and howling, which is heard in high winds.

The darkness thickened upon us, and I was about to request the countryman to lead us to some village, or even barn, for shelter, when he suddenly struck into another path; and, bidding us good night, again told us 'we could not miss our road.' We could not see where he was gone to; and, though we repeatedly called, we called in vain: he was too anxious to get shelter himself to heed our anxiety, and was soon out of hearing.

So long as we could discern, the path we were in appeared to be tolerably beaten: but we now could no longer trace any path; for it was too dark for the ground to have any distinct colour. We had skirted the forest; and our only remaining guide was a hedge on our left.

In this hedge we placed our hopes. We followed its direction, I know not how long, till it suddenly turned off, at an angle; and we found ourselves, as far as we could conjecture, from the intervening lights and the strenuous efforts we made to discover the objects around us, on the edge of some wild place, probably a heath, with hills, and consequently deep vallies, perhaps streams of water, and precipices.

We paused; we knelt down, examined with our eyes, and felt about with our hands, to discover whether we yet were in a path; but could find none.

We continued our consultation, till we had begun to think it advisable to return, once more guided by the hedge. Yet this was not only very uncertain, but the idea of a retrograde motion was by no means pleasant.

While we were in this irresolute dilemma, we thought we saw a light; that glimmered for a moment, and as suddenly disappeared. We watched, I know not how long, and again saw it twinkle, though, as we thought, in something of a different direction. Clarke said it was a Will o'the whisp. I replied, it might be one, but, as it seemed the only chance we had, my advice was to continue our walk in that direction; in hopes that, if it were a light proceeding from any house or village, it would become more visible as we approached.

We walked on, I know not how far; and then paused; but discovered no more of the light. We walked again; again stood still, and looked on every side of us, either for the light or any other object; but we could see nothing distinctly. The obscure forms around us had varied their appearance; and whether they were hills, or clouds, or what they were, we could not possibly discover: though the first we still thought was the most probable.

By this time, we had no certain recollection of which way we had come; or to what point we were directing our course. We were continually in doubt: now pausing; now conjecturing; now proceeding.

We continued to wander, we knew not whither. Sometimes it appeared we went up hill; and sometimes down. We had stepped very cautiously, and therefore very slowly; had warned each other continually to be careful; and had not dared to take twenty steps at a time, without mutually enquiring to know if all were safe.

We continued, environed as it were by the objects that most powerfully inspire fear; by the darkness of night, the tumult of the elements, the utter ignorance of where we were or by what objects surrounded, and the dejectedness which our situation inspired. Thieves and a.s.sa.s.sins might be at our back, and we could not hear them: gulphs, rocks, or rivers, in our front, or on either side, and we could not see them. The next step might plunge us, headlong, we knew not whither.

These fears were not all imaginary. Finding the ground very uneven on a sudden, and stumbling dangerously myself, I stood still--I did not hear my companion!--I called--I received no answer! I repeated, in a louder tone, 'Clarke! Where are you?'--Still no answer!

I then shouted, with all the fear that I felt, and heard a faint response, that seemed to be beneath me, and at a prodigious distance.

It terrified; yet it relieved. We had spoken not three minutes before.

I stood silent, in hopes he would speak again: but my fears were too violent to remain so long. I once more called; and he replied, with rather a louder voice which lessened the apparent distance, 'Take care! You'll dash yourself to pieces!'

'Are you hurt?' said I.

'I hope not much,' returned he. 'For G.o.d's sake take care of yourself!'

'Can you walk?'

'I shall be able presently, I believe.'

'How can I get to you?'

'I don't know.'

'Stay where you are, and I will try.'

'For G.o.d in heaven's sake don't! You'll certainly break your neck! I suppose I am in a chalk pit, or at the bottom of a steep crag.'

'I will crawl to you on my hands and knees.'

'Good G.o.d! You will surely kill yourself!'

'Nothing can be more dangerous than to lie here on the wet ground. We must only take care to keep within hearing of each other.'

While I spoke, I began to put my crawling expedient in practice; still calling to Clarke, every half minute, and endeavouring to proceed in the direction of his voice.

I found the rough impediments around me increase; till, presently, I came to one that was ruder than the rest. I crawled upon it, sustained by my knees and right hand, and stretching forward with my left. I groped, but felt nothing. I cautiously laid my belly to the ground and stretched out my other arm. Still it was vacancy. I stretched a little more violently; feeling forward, and on each side; and I seemed to be projected upon a point, my head and shoulders inclining over a dark abyss, which the imagination left unfathomable.

I own I felt terror; and the sensation certainly was not lessened, when, making an attempt to recover my position and go back, my support began to give way. My effort to retreat was as violent as my terror: but it was too late. The ground shook, loosened, and, with the struggle I made carrying me with it, toppled headlong down. What the height that I fell was I have no means of ascertaining; for the heath on which we were wandering abounds with quarries, and precipices; but either it was, in fact, or my fears made it prodigious.

Had this expedient been proposed under such circ.u.mstances, as the only probable one of bringing me and Clarke together again, who would not have shuddered at it? Yet, though it is true I received a violent shock, I know of no injury that it did me. As soon as I recovered my presence of mind, I replied to Clarke; whose questions were vehement; he having heard me fall. After mutual enquiry, we found we were both once more upon our legs, and had escaped broken bones. Though they had been severely shaken: Clarke's much the most violently.

But where were we now? How should we discover? Perhaps in a stone quarry; or lime pit. Perhaps at the edge of waters. It might be we had fallen down only on the first bank, or ridge of a quarry; and had a precipice ten fold more dreadful before us.

While we were conjecturing, the stroke of a large clock, brought whizzing in the wind, struck full upon our ear. We listened, with the most anxious ardour. The next stroke was very, very faint: a different current had carried it a different way: and, with all our eager attention, we could not be certain that we heard any more.

Yet, though we had lost much time and our progress had been excessively tedious, it could not be two o'clock in the morning. It might indeed very probably be twelve.

The first stroke of the clock made us conjecture it came from some steeple, or hall tower, at no very great distance. The second carried our imaginations we knew not whither. We had not yet recovered courage enough to take more steps than were necessary to come to each other; and, while we were considering, during an intermitting pause of the roaring of the wind, we distinctly heard a cur yelp.

Encouraged by this, we immediately hallooed with all our might. The wind again began to chafe, and swell, and seemed to mock at our distress. Still we repeated our efforts, whenever the wind paused: but, instead of voices intending to answer our calls, we heard shrill whistlings; which certainly were produced by men.

Could it be by good men? By any but night marauders; intent on mischief, but disturbed and alarmed? They were signals indubitably; for we shouted again, they were again given, and were then repeated from another quarter: at least, if they were not, they were miraculously imitated, by the dying away of the wind.

In a little while, we again heard the cur yelp; and immediately afterward a howling, which was so mingled with the blast, that we could not tell whether it were the wind itself, the yelling of a dog, or the agonizing cries of a human voice: but it was a dreadfully dismal sound. We listened with perturbed and deep attention; and it was several times repeated, with increasing uncertainty, confusion and terror.

What was to be done? My patience was exhausted. Danger itself could no longer detain me; and I told Clarke I was determined to make toward the village, or whatever the place was, from whence, dangerous and doubtful as they were, these various sounds proceeded.

Finding me resolute, he was very earnest to have led the way; and, when I would not permit him, he grasped me by the hand, and told me that, if there were pitfalls and gulphs, and if I did go down, unless he should have strength enough to save me, we would go down together.