Menhardoc Part 55

"There," said Will the next minute, as he stood holding on behind a rock, with d.i.c.k by his side. "We're safe enough here; the wind goes by us, you see, and the waves don't bite here. Now, what do you think of that?"

d.i.c.k drew a long breath two or three times over before he could speak, for the scene was awful in its grandeur, and, young as he was, he felt what mere pigmies are men in face of the giants of the elements when Nature is in anger and lets loose her storms upon our sh.o.r.es.

Every minute, from amidst the boiling chaos of waves, one bigger than the rest came slowly from seaward with a strange gliding motion, to raise itself up like some crested serpent and curl over, and then, as it was riven in ten thousand streams and sheets of jagged foam, there was a dull roar as of thunder, the wind shrieked and yelled, and, serpent-like, the broken wave hissed, and seethed, and choked, and gurgled horribly amongst the rocks.

"What do you think of that?" said Will again gravely as he placed his lips close to d.i.c.k's ear.

"How awful the sea is!" panted d.i.c.k as he seemed more than ever to realise its force.

"Yes," said Will quietly, and there was a sad smile on the boy's lip as he spoke. "But you said a little while ago that our men ought to help the s.h.i.+pwrecked men. Shall we get down that boat and have a row?"

"Row!" cried d.i.c.k with a horrified look; "why, it couldn't be done."

"Would you like to see your father and some more men get down that boat and put off to sea?"

"It would be impossible," cried d.i.c.k. "She would be tossed over by the waves and everybody drowned."

"Hah! Yes," said Will smiling. "You see now the danger. Many people say that fishermen are cowardly for not doing more, when the case is that they know the danger, and those who talk and write about it don't.

It isn't everybody who has seen the sea-coast in a storm. Shall we go up?"

"Yes," panted d.i.c.k; "it is too awful to stay here. If a wave were to curl round the corner we should be swept away."

"Yes," said Will, "but the waves will not curl round the corner. They can't come here."

He pointed to the rugged path, for it was hard work to speak and make each other hear; and d.i.c.k began nervously to climb back, looking down once or twice at the hungry waves, which seemed ready to leap up at him and tear him from the rocks.

"I say," he cried, "I'm glad Taff isn't here."

Will smiled, for he felt that Arthur would never have ventured down the cliff.

"Now," said d.i.c.k, as they reached the shelf path once more, and he felt less nervous, "I want to go up right to the top of the cliff and feel the wind."

"Feel the wind?" cried Will.

"Yes; feel how strong it is. Which is the best way?"

"I'll show you," said Will smiling; and leading the way he walked a little back towards the town and then turned into a rift similar to that by which they had descended to the sh.o.r.e.

"This way," he shouted, for the wind caught them here with tremendous force, and great b.a.l.l.s of foam were whirled up over the face of the cliff and then away on the wings of the wind inland.

"What a difference!" cried d.i.c.k as soon as they had entered the rift: for there was a perfect lull here, and all seemed comparatively at peace.

"Yes, it is sheltered here," replied d.i.c.k; "but wait a few minutes and you will feel the wind again."

"Yes. I want to feel it just as it comes off the sea. I'm going to stand right at the edge. It won't blow me down, will it?"

"No; not there," said Will smiling. "Here we are. Now come and try."

As soon as they emerged from the shelter of the rift and stood upon the storm-swept cliff, d.i.c.k had to clap his hand to his head to keep on his hat, for the wind seized it and swept it to the extent of the lanyard by which it was fortunately held, and there it tugged and strained like a queerly-shaped kite.

The wind now was terrific, coming in deafening gusts, and more than once making d.i.c.k stagger. In fact if he had set off to run inland it would have almost carried him off his legs.

"Didn't--know--blow--so--hard," he panted, turning his back so that he could breathe more freely, when the wind immediately began to part the boy's hair behind in two or three different ways, but only to alter them directly as if not satisfied with the result.

"Come along," shouted Will. "Let's get to the edge."

d.i.c.k turned round, caught at Will's extended hand, and leaning forward, tramped with him step for step towards the edge of the cliff, which went sheer down a couple of hundred feet to the sh.o.r.e.

They had to force their way st.u.r.dily along for about a hundred yards with the wind as it came right off the Atlantic shrieking by their ears, and deafening and confusing them. The short wiry gra.s.s was all quivering, and it was plain enough to understand why trees found it so hard to grow where they were exposed to the fury of the sea breezes that blew so many months in the year.

Step--step--step by step, the wind seeming really to push them back.

Now and then, when it came with its most furious gusts, the lads regularly leaned forward against it as if it were some strange elastic solid; and then, as they nearly reached the edge, it lulled all at once, and right at the verge all was calm.

"Oh, what a pity!" cried d.i.c.k, as he stood there panting and regaining his breath; "only to think of it turning so still now that we are here."

"Turning so still!" said Will, laughing; "why, it's blowing harder than ever. Look at the foam-b.a.l.l.s."

"Yes; it's blowing there," said d.i.c.k; "but it's quite calm here. Never mind; I'll wait. There'll be a regular guster directly."

"No," said Will quietly; "you may stand here all day and you'll hardly feel the wind."

"But why's that?" cried d.i.c.k.

"Because we are right at the edge of a tall flat-faced cliff," said Will. "It's generally so."

"But I don't understand it," cried d.i.c.k. "It's blowing very hard, and we are not in shelter. Why don't it blow here?"

"Because we are right at the edge of the cliff."

"Don't talk stuff and nonsense, Will," said d.i.c.k testily. "How can you be so absurd? Why, that's where the wind would blow hardest."

"No, it isn't," replied Will.

"Now look here," said d.i.c.k. "I know that we London chaps are all behind you country fellows over sea-side things--catching fish, and boating, and about winds and tides; but I do know better than you here. The edge of a cliff like this must be the place where the wind blows hardest."

"But you feel for yourself that it doesn't," said Will laughing.

"Not just now," cried d.i.c.k, "but it will directly."

"No, it will not."

"But look at the foam flying and the spray going like a storm of rain."

"Yes," said Will, "but not at the edge of the cliff. Look at the gra.s.s and wild flowers; they grow longer and better here too. The wind off the sea never blows very hard here."

"Oh, what stuff!" cried d.i.c.k; "you're as obstinate as old Taff. It will blow here directly."

"Come along," said Will quietly; and he walked a short distance inland, taking his companion into the full force of the gale once more.