Kobo: A Story of the Russo-Japanese WarStrang, Herbert
General
Kobo: A Story of the Russo-Japanese War
Strang, Herbert
Russo-Japanese War, 1904-1905 -- Juvenile fiction
He waited until he felt completely recovered from the experience, which,
though lasting only a few seconds, had been a very trying one; then he
rose for the second attempt. This time he placed his left foot in the
loop and grasped the rope with his left hand, leaving his right free.
He sprang off with his right foot, down into the gulf. He went through
the same series of sensations as before, except that he was more
conscious of the motion and more alert at the end of the swing. There
was the staple again; again on his right side; he flung out his arm as
rapidly as he could, touched the iron, caught it, obtained a good grip.
As he did so, the whole weight of his body was thrown on his right hand;
but the strain was only momentary, for instinctively advancing the right
leg he reached the edge of the platform, and with a forward jerk he
stood safe but breathless on firm rock.
Waiting for a few moments to steady himself, he released his left foot
from the rope. Then hitching the end to the staple, he made his way
cautiously up the path. It was broader than it had seemed from the
opposite side of the ravine. At the point where the path had appeared
to vanish into the cliff he now saw that it entered a low tunnel. Going
into this, treading warily, he found that he had come to a flight of
narrow steps. It was pitch dark. With his hands lightly touching the
wall on either side he crept up, waiting after each step, anxious,
suspicious, his ears strained to catch every sound, his eyes peering for
any light above him. Suddenly the steps ceased; he was on level ground
again; he stole forward on tiptoe for what he thought must be between
twenty and thirty yards. From the direction of the tunnel he guessed
that he must now be near one of the flanking towers: the left-hand one
overhanging the ravine. There was still no light, still no sound; this
was not surprising, for the whole garrison save the sentries were
probably asleep. Yet, if he found no light, his enterprise almost
certainly must fail. He went on, groping, conscious of the musty
atmosphere of the passage. He could see nothing: his hands were
outstretched, and he moved them now to the right, now to the left,
touching the walls on both sides.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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