Dead Mans Rock | Page 9

rag of clothing that told so
terrible a history.
Child as I was, the silent terror of it made me faint and giddy. I shut my
eyes again, and clung, all trembling, to the ledge. Not for untold bribes
could I have gone down and touched that terrible thing, but, as soon as
the first spasm of fear was over, I clambered desperately back and on to
the sands again, as though all the souls of the drowned were pursuing
me.
Once safe upon the beach, I recovered my scattered wits a little. I felt
that I could not repass that dreadful rock, so determined to go across
the sands to Polkimbra, and homewards around the cliffs. Still gazing
at the sea as one fascinated, I made along the length of the beach. The
storm had thrown up vast quantities of weed, that lined the water's edge
in straggling lines and heaps, and every heap in turn chained and
riveted my shuddering eyes, that half expected to see in each some new
or nameless horror.
I was half across the beach, when suddenly I looked up towards
Polkimbra, and saw a man advancing towards me along the edge of the
tide.

He was about two hundred yards from me when I first looked. Heartily
glad to see any human being after my great terror, I ran towards him
eagerly, thinking to recognise one of my friends among the Polkimbra
fishermen. As I drew nearer, however, without attracting his
attention--for the soft sand muffled all sound of footsteps--two things
struck me. The first was that I had never seen a fisherman dressed as
this man was; the second, that he seemed to watch the sea with an
absorbed and eager gaze, as if expecting to find or see something in the
breakers. At last I was near enough to catch the outline of his face, and
knew him to be a stranger.
He wore no hat, and was dressed in a red shirt and trousers that ended
in rags at the knee. His feet were bare, and his clothes clung dripping to
his skin. In height he could not have been much above five feet six
inches, but his shoulders were broad, and his whole appearance, cold
and exhausted as he seemed, gave evidence of great strength. His
tangled hair hung over a somewhat weak face, but the most curious
feature about the man was the air of nervous expectation that marked,
not only his face, but every movement of his body. Altogether, under
most circumstances, I should have shunned him, but fear had made me
desperate. At the distance of about twenty yards I stopped and called to
him.
I had advanced somewhat obliquely from behind, so that at the sound
of my voice he turned sharply round and faced me, but with a terrified
start that was hard to account for. On seeing only a child, however, the
hesitation faded out of his eyes, and he advanced towards me. As he
approached, I could see that he was shivering with cold and hunger.
"Boy," he said, in an eager and expectant voice, "what are you doing
out on the beach so early?"
"Oh, sir!" I answered, "there was such a dreadful storm last night, and
we--that is, mother and I--heard a cry, we thought; and oh! I have
seen--"
"What have you seen?"--and he caught me by the arm with a nervous
grip.

"Only a cap, sir," I said, shrinking--"only a cap; but I climbed up on
Dead Man's Rock just now--the rock at the end of the beach--and I saw
a cap lying there, and it seemed--"
"Come along and show it to me!" and he began to run over the sands
towards the rock, dragging me helpless after him.
Suddenly he stopped.
"You saw nothing else?" he asked, facing round and looking into my
eyes.
"No, sir."
"Nor anybody?"
"Nobody, sir."
"You are sure you saw nobody but me? You didn't happen to see a tall
man with black hair, and rings in his ears?"
"Oh, no, sir."
"You'll swear you saw no such man? Swear it now; say, 'So help me,
God, I haven't seen anybody on the beach but you.'"
I swore it.
"Say, 'Strike me blind if I have!'"
I repeated the words after him, and, with a hurried look around, he set
off running again towards the rock. I had much ado to keep from
tumbling, and even from crying aloud with pain, so tight was his grip.
Fast as we went, the man's teeth chattered and his limbs shook; his wet
clothes flapped and fluttered in the cold morning breeze; his face was
drawn and pinched with exhaustion, but he never slackened his pace
until we reached Dead Man's Rock. Here he stopped and