Brothers -- Juvenile fiction; Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; Grandparent and child -- Juvenile fiction; Short stories
"'No fear, mother!' said I; 'even if the tide should come in upon us,
I reckon that I'm active and strong enough to climb to the top of the
cliff; but I could not say as much for Sam, with his weak arms and the
swelling on his ankle, I know he has no chance of climbing, so I'll
keep out of harm's way for his sake.'"
"'And for your own, too, Peter,' said Sam, as we walked along the beach
together; 'you are strong and active, to be sure, but you are no more
able than I be, to climb up such a mighty high cliff.'"
"'There may be two opinions as to that,' said I, for I had a great
notion of my own powers, and prided myself on being agile as a goat on
the rocks. Well," pursued the blind pauper, "we had plenty of luck that
day in finding shells on the shore; both of us filled our bags, and we
were so eager and pleased with our success, that we wandered on farther
and farther, and scarce gave a thought to the tide, till we saw the
white creamy foam tossed on the sand from the waves that came rolling
and tumbling in shore, and we looked up and saw the great white cliff
rising high and bluff before us!"
"'I say, Sam,' cried I, 'just see how the tide's coming in! 'Tis time
for us to make the best of our way back to mother!'"
"My brother turned white as a sheet. ''Tis too late for that,' said
he, giving a wildered gaze at the waste of heaving billows. For the
coast just there made a bend like a crescent, and though we stood upon
dry land still, the white-topped waves, both afore and ahind us, were
rolling right up to the cliff! Where we had walked dry-shod not an hour
before, there was nothing to be seen but the waters which soon would
cover the place where we were!"
"'What's to be done!' cried my brother, as he looked up at the great
rocky wall before us.
"'Keep a good heart!' said I, 'I'll climb up to the top o' the cliff,
and then I'll get help and a rope, and we'll draw you up to safety.'"
"So I put down my bag, and I pulled off my jacket, for it was clear
enough that I could not climb with them. I knew well, though I didn't
choose to say it, that it would be hard work to get to the top of so
high and steep a cliff; but I did not know, I would not believe that
it was impossible for me to do so. By dint of straining every muscle,
clasping, clutching at every jutting crag or little rock-plant that
offered a hold, I managed to struggle up a few yards. But the way grew
steeper and harder. I could scarcely find place for my foot, or hold
for my hand; the earth was slipping beneath me! I panted—I gasped—I
strained—feeling myself falling, I tried, with a violent effort, to
catch hold of a little stump that secured to be just beyond my reach. I
caught it, but lost my footing—hung for a moment by one hand, then the
stump gave way, and with a cry of fear I fell heavily down the rock!"
"Oh! grandfather, were you much hurt?" exclaimed Rose, who had listened
with breathless interest to Peter's account of his perilous adventure.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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