The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 20Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 20
Stevenson, Robert Louis
French -- England -- Fiction; Prisoners of war -- Fiction
Of a sudden I knocked against the cliff with such a thump as almost
bereft me of my sense; and, as reason twinkled back, I was amazed to
find that I was in a state of rest, that the face of the precipice here
inclined outwards at an angle which relieved me almost wholly of the
burthen of my own weight, and that one of my feet was safely planted on
a ledge. I drew one of the sweetest breaths in my experience, hugged
myself against the rope, and closed my eyes in a kind of ecstasy of
relief. It occurred to me next to see how far I was advanced on my
unlucky journey, a point on which I had not a shadow of a guess. I
looked up: there was nothing above me but the blackness of the night and
the fog. I craned timidly forward and looked down. There, upon a floor
of darkness, I beheld a certain pattern of hazy lights, some of them
aligned as in thoroughfares, others standing apart as in solitary
houses; and before I could well realise it, or had in the least
estimated my distance, a wave of nausea and vertigo warned me to lie
back and close my eyes. In this situation I had really but the one wish,
and that was: something else to think of! Strange to say, I got it; a
veil was torn from my mind, and I saw what a fool I was--what fools we
had all been--and that I had no business to be thus dangling between
earth and heaven by my arms. The only thing to have done was to have
attached me to a rope and lowered me, and I had never the wit to see it
till that moment!
I filled my lungs, got a good hold on my rope, and once more launched
myself on the descent. As it chanced, the worst of the danger was at an
end, and I was so fortunate as to be never again exposed to any violent
concussion. Soon after I must have passed within a little distance of a
bush of wallflower, for the scent of it came over me with that
impression of reality which characterises scents in darkness. This made
me a second landmark, the ledge being my first. I began accordingly to
compute intervals of time: so much to the ledge, so much again to the
wallflower, so much more below. If I were not at the bottom of the rock,
I calculated I must be near indeed to the end of the rope, and there was
no doubt that I was not far from the end of my own resources. I began to
be light-headed and to be tempted to let go--now arguing that I was
certainly arrived within a few feet of the level and could safely risk a
fall, anon persuaded I was still close at the top and it was idle to
continue longer on the rock. In the midst of which I came to a bearing
on plain ground, and had nearly wept aloud. My hands were as good as
flayed, my courage entirely exhausted, and, what with the long strain
and the sudden relief, my limbs shook under me with more than the
violence of ague, and I was glad to cling to the rope.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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