Parkhurst Boys Part 32

"Yes, mother; but father, how is he?"

"Come and see him."

I sprang up the stairs beside her. She opened the door softly, and bade me enter.

My father lay there dead.

"He waited for you all day," said my mother, "and died not an hour ago.

His last words were, `Charlie is late.' Oh, Charlie, why did you not come sooner?"

Then she knelt with me beside my dead father. And, in that dark lonely chamber, that night, the turning-point of my life was reached.

Boys, I am an old man now; but, believe me, since that awful moment I have never, to my knowledge, dawdled again!

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

A NIGHT ON SCAFELL PIKE.

Off at last! Hard work to get off, though; as if a fellow of fifteen wasn't old enough to take care of himself. Mother cut up as much as if I'd asked leave to go to my own funeral--said I was too young, and knew nothing of the world, and all that sort of thing. But I don't see what knowing the world has to do with a week's tramp in the Lakes; not much of the world there--anyhow, where I mean to go.

I've got it all up in the guide-book, and written out my programme, and given them my address for every day, and promised to keep a diary, and always sleep between blankets, for fear the sheets shouldn't be aired-- and what more can a fellow do?

Well, then mother said I must promise to keep in the valleys, and not attempt to climb any of the mountains. Oh, ah! lively work that would be. I might just as well stay at home and walk round Russell Square fifty times a day; and I said so, and repeated off from memory what the guide-book says about the way up Helvellyn. This last fetched them rather, and convinced them I wasn't undertaking what I didn't know all about. So at last father said, "Let the boy go, it may do him good and teach him self-reliance."

"But what'll be the good of that," sobs mother, "if my Bartholomew falls over a precipice and never comes home?"

"Oh, I'll promise not to fall over a precipice," said I.

And at last it was settled, and here I am in the train, half-way to Windermere.

Just been looking through my knapsack. Frightful nuisance! Had it weighed at Euston, and it weighs 4 pounds 8 ounces. I wanted to keep it under 4 pounds! Must be the spare s.h.i.+rt the girls insisted on my bringing, as if I couldn't wash the one I've got on in half a dozen waterfalls a day, and just run myself dry afterwards! Don't see what I can throw out. Must take the guide-book, and boot-laces, and needle and worsted for my blisters, and a collar for Sunday, and a match-box, and this diary book and a night-s.h.i.+rt. Bother that extra eight ounces.

I'm certain it will drag me down. By the way there are the sandwiches and apples! Suppose I eat them now, that'll make it all right. Good thought that. Here goes!

Getting near Windermere now--be there in an hour. May as well put on my knapsack, so as to be ready. By the way, I hope my money's all right, and I hope father's given me enough. He paid for my return ticket down here, and he's given me 6 s.h.i.+llings a day for the rest of the time.

Says he did the Lakes once on 5 s.h.i.+llings a day when he was a boy.

Somehow don't fancy there'll be much change for me out of the 6 s.h.i.+llings, if the guide-book says right; but you won't catch me spending more! Shan't ride anywhere where I can walk, and don't mean to tip any waiters all the time! Shall have to shut up now and look at the scenery at page 52 of the guide-book.

8 p.m., Ambleside.--The "Green Unicorn." Here at last, very f.a.gged. I mean to have a row with the shoemaker when I get home about the hobs on my boots. Two of them are clean out, and all the rest are beginning to get worn already. Anyhow, I sold the coach people by walking. They thought I was bound to drive, but I didn't. Wouldn't have minded it, though, once or twice between Windermere and here, for of course I'm not in training yet.

Hope this inn isn't a dear one. It's the smallest I could find in the place, and I don't think they're likely to charge for attendance; if they do, it'll be a swindle, for I ordered eggs and bacon an hour ago, and they've not come yet. I wonder what they'll charge for the eggs and bacon. Suppose there are two eggs, that'll be 2 pence; and a slice of bacon, 2 pence; bread, 1 penny; tea, 1 penny; that's 7 pence; oughtn't to be more than 10 pence at the outside.

Ah, here it comes.

Good supper it was, too, and not much left at the end.

Mean to do Scafell to-morrow. Highest mountain in England, guide-book says. Two fellows in the inn are going, too; but I don't intend to hang on to them, as they seem to think no end of themselves. They're Cambridge fellows, and talk as if they could do anything. I'd like to take the s.h.i.+ne out of them.

Tuesday, 8 a.m.--Just fancy, the swindlers here charged me 2 s.h.i.+llings for that tea, 2 s.h.i.+llings 6 pence for my bed, and 1 s.h.i.+lling for attendance--5 s.h.i.+llings 6 pence! I call it robbery, and told them so, and said they needn't suppose they could take _me_ in. They said it was the usual charge, and they didn't make any difference for small boys, as they found they ate quite as much as grown-up people. The two Cambridge fellows seemed to find something to laugh at in this, and one of them said I didn't mind being taken in, but I didn't like being taken in and done for. I suppose he thought this was a joke. Some idiots can grin at anything.

I told the hotel people I should certainly not pay for attendance, as I didn't consider I had had any. The waiter said very well, my boots would do as well, and they would keep them till I settled the bill, and they had no time to stand fooling about with a whipper-snapper. Of course I had to sh.e.l.l out, as my boots were worth more than the whole bill--although my bootmaker has taken me in pretty well over the hobnails. I told them I should take good care to tell every one what sort of people they were, and I wouldn't have any breakfast there to pay them out.

Fancy this made them look rather blue, but the lesson will be good for them. Catch me getting done like that again! I'm going to start now, 8 a.m., as I want to get ahead of the Cambridge idiots. Page 54 of the guide-book has all about the scenery at Ambleside.

12 o'clock, Dungeon Ghyl.--Stopping here for lunch. Awful grind up the valley in the sun with an empty stomach. Going in for a 9 pence lunch here. The fellow says the weather is going to break this afternoon, and I'd better mind what I'm up to, going up Scafell Pike. He wants me to take a guide, that's his little dodge. As if I couldn't take care of myself! I've got it all up in the guide-book, and guess I could find the top blindfold. I'll laugh if I get up before the Cambridge fellows.

They'll probably funk it, though, or miss the way, and have to get me to give them a leg up. It'll be a good lesson for them.

Don't think much of the inn here, so I'm glad I shan't be putting up here for the night. The waiter looks as if he expects to be tipped for everything. He seemed regularly cut up when I told him I was going on to Wastdale Head from the top, and shouldn't be staying here. Of course he tried to get me to come back, and said I could never get over to Wastdale this night. All stuff, I know, for it's no distance on the map. "Oh," he said, "don't you believe in the maps; they're no guide.

Take my advice, and don't try to go to Wastdale, my boy." I was a good mind to be down on him for being so familiar, but what was the use? As if he knew better than the guide-books! Ah! here comes my lunch.

4 p.m., top of Rosset Ghyl.--Had to pay 1 s.h.i.+lling for that 9 pence lunch after all, as they charged 3 pence for attendance in the bill.

Didn't care to have a row, as the Cambridge fellows turned up just that minute. Beastly the way they always grin when they see me. As if they couldn't grin at one another. I cleared out as soon as they came, and started up here.

There was a mile or so of pretty level path to the bottom of this ravine, and then it was a tremendous climb up to the top. You have to scramble nearly straight up among the rocks on each side of the waterfall, and if one of my hobnails went off, I'm certain half a dozen did. I'll tell my father not to pay that cobbler at all. I can't make out how the sheep manage to go up and down this place as they do. I know I'm glad I'm not coming back this way. I thought I was over once or twice as it was, owing to those wretched boots.

The Cambridge duffers caught me about half-way up, trying to look as if they weren't f.a.gged. I knew better--never saw fellows so blown. They appeared to be greatly amused because I happened to slip backwards down a gra.s.s slope just as they pa.s.sed, as if there was anything funny in that. One of them called out, "It's the other way up, youngster," and the other said, "We'll tell them you're on the way at the top." I was a good mind to shut them up, but I got some earth in my mouth at the moment, and as they didn't wait, it wasn't any use going after them.

However, I expect I shall find them regularly done up when I get a little higher, and then perhaps they'll be sorry they cheeked me. All about the view from Rosset Ghyl in page 72 of the guide-book. Awful sell; it's coming on to rain, and quite misty, too. I'd better go on, or I shan't get the view from the top.

6 o'clock.--Don't exactly know where I am. Regular Scotch mist come down over the hills, and I can't see twenty yards. Only sitting down now because I'm not quite sure whether I'm right or wrong. Been looking it up in the guide-book, but there's not much to guide you there when you can't see your way. The only thing is, it says there are little cairns marking the way up to the top, every fifty yards or so. It would be rather a tip to find one of them.

The wind is making a noise, exactly like the sea, against the side of the mountain. I saw the side a little while ago, like a great black cliff, but it's too misty to see it now. Hope it'll clear up soon, or I may be late getting down to Wastdale. By the way, I wonder if they call this heap of stones I'm sitting on one of the cairns? Good idea! it must be.

Yes, it's all right; I left my traps here and went fifty yards further on up the slope, and there's another cairn there--very lucky! I had a job to find my way back here in the mist, though. However, I'm on the right track now. Wonder what's become of those Cambridge fellows.

They're sure not to be up to my tips, and most likely they're wandering about lost. Poor duffers!

7 o'clock.--Hope I'm right, but it's getting more misty than ever, and I can hardly stand up in the wind. It's an awful job, too, feeling one's way along by these cairns; for you can't see one from the other, and the chances are you may now and then lose sight of both, and then you're lost. I've been lost several times, but luckily I've got into the track again. Fancy I must be getting on towards the top, for the rocks are getting bigger and tumbled about in all directions, and the guide-book says that's what the top of Scafell Pike is like. Shan't I be glad to get to the top! I'm frightfully cold and wet here, and there's scarcely a hob left on my wretched boots. I wish I had that cobbler here!

All about the view going up to the top of Scafell Pike on page 76 of the guide-book. Sounds rather like a joke when you can scarcely see your hand in front of you, to read that behind you stretches the beautiful vista of the Langdale Valley, with Wansfell in the distance, and an exquisite glimpse of the waters of Windermere sparkling in the sun; to your right Helvellyn towers amidst its lesser brethren, while to the left the gloomy dome of Coniston lends a serious grandeur to the scene.

Sounds all very fine, but it's a pity they don't put in the view on a day like this as well.

I quite miss the das.h.i.+ng of the wind against the cliffs. They're far behind now, and the wind seems to dash against me instead. Whew! I'd better peg on, or the tea will be cold at Wastdale Head! No sign of the Cambridge fellows. Wonder where they are. Half wish I was with them-- idiots as they are.

8:30 o'clock.--Top at last! I'm black and blue all over, with tumbling among those brutal rocks. Don't know however I got up, and now I'm up, don't know how I shall get down. It's just dark now, and I can scarcely see the paper I'm writing on. Jolly fix I'm in. Can't positively see the big cairn, though I'm sitting on it, and haven't a notion which way I came up to it, or which way I have to go down to Wastdale.

I wish those Cambridge fellows would turn up. They weren't bad fellows after all. In fact, I rather liked one of them. Don't know what to do.

By the way, may as well eat one of the biscuits I have in my knapsack.

Think of sitting up here on the highest spot of England eating a biscuit, and not knowing how to get home! Enough to make any one feel down in the mouth. Wish I was down in the valley. All about the view from the top on page-- Bah! that's too much of a joke. Wish I could see anything! Only thing I can see is that I'm stuck here for the night, and shall probably be found frozen to death in the morning. What an a.s.s I was to snub those jolly Cambridge fellows! Fancy how snug it would be to be sitting between them now. I suppose they're down at the hotel having a good tea before a blazing fire. My word, it makes one blue to--

11 o'clock.--Just had the presence of mind to wind up my watch. Had to sit on my hands a quarter of an hour before I could feel the key in my waistcoat pocket. Ugh! wish the wind would shut up. Never felt so up a tree all my life. Those Cambridge fellows will be curling up in bed now, I expect. Can't write more.

12 o'clock.--It suddenly occurred to me there was no absolute necessity, if I must stick up here all night, to stick at the tip-top. So I crawled down gingerly among the rocks on the side away from the wind and looked, or rather felt, for a sheltered place. Presently I slipped and toppled down between two great boulders and nearly killed myself.

However, when I came to, it struck me I might as well stay here as anywhere else. It's right out of the wind and pretty dry, as the mist doesn't seem to be able to get down into it. Then the lucky idea occurred to me I had two candles in my knapsack and a box of matches, and I might as well light up. So I lit one of the candles, and I've been warming my fingers and toes at it for the last half-hour; also been reading the guide-book, and find that the Isle of Man is visible from this place. Jolly comforting to know it, when I can't even see the tip of my own nose. Got sick of the guide-book after that, and thought it would warm me to say over my Greek irregular verbs. Been through them once, but not quite successful 4,000 feet above the level of the sea.

They remind a fellow rather too much of home. Wonder what they'd think there if they saw me up here. Wish I saw them, and could get a blanket!

I promised them to sleep between blankets every night. It's awful not being able to keep one's promise.

The one thing that does comfort me is, I shan't have to pay anything for attendance to-night. In fact, I never spent such a cheap night anywhere... Booh! had to stop just now and sit on my hands again. Find it warmer even than the candle. How I wish those two Cambridge fellows were here! We could be quite jolly in here, and play round games, and that sort of thing. I've been trying one or two songs to pa.s.s the time, but they didn't come off. Made me homesick to sing, "Here in cool grot"

and "Blow, gentle gales." That reminds me, the wind's dropped since I got in here. Sorry for it. It was some company to have it smas.h.i.+ng all round one. Now it's so quiet it makes a fellow quite creepy. They do talk of mountain-tops being haunted. I know Scafell Pike is, and I'm the haunter. Wonder if there's any chance of anybody turning up? I've a good mind to go on to the cairn and howl and wave my candle about for a bit; it might fetch some one. The only thing is, it might frighten them away. I'll try it, anyhow, and I hope whoever comes will have some grub in his pocket and a pair of gloves.