Chapter XXXI
 
Now  to  return  to  Tom  and Becky's share in the picnic. They tripped
along the murky aisles with the rest of the company, visiting the familiar
wonders of the cave-wonders dubbed with rather overdescriptive names, such
as "The Drawing-Room," "The Cathedral," "Aladdin's Palace," and so on.
Presently the hide-and-seek frolicking began, and Tom and Becky engaged in
it with zeal until the exertion began to grow a trifle wearisome; then
they wandered down a sinuous avenue holding their candles aloft and
reading the tangled web-work of names, dates, post-office addresses, and
mottoes with which the rocky walls had been frescoed (in candle-smoke).
Still drifting along and talking, they scarcely noticed that they were now
in a part of the cave whose walls were not frescoed. They smoked their own
names under an overhanging shelf and moved on. Presently they came to a
place where a little stream of water, trickling over a ledge and carrying
a limestone sediment with it, had, in the slow-dragging ages, formed a
laced and ruffled Niagara in gleaming and imperishable stone. Tom squeezed
his small body behind it in order to illuminate it for Becky's
gratification. He found that it curtained a sort of steep natural stairway
which was enclosed between narrow walls, and at once the ambition to be a
discoverer seized him. Becky responded to his call, and they made a
smoke-mark for future guidance, and started upon their quest. They wound
this way and that, far down into the secret depths of the cave, made
another mark, and branched off in search of novelties to tell the upper
world about. In one place they found a spacious cavern, from whose ceiling
depended a multitude of shining stalactites of the length and
circumference of a man's leg; they walked all about it, wondering and
admiring, and presently left it by one of the numerous passages that
opened into it. This shortly brought them to a bewitching spring, whose
basin was incrusted with a frostwork of glittering crystals; it was in the
midst of a cavern whose walls were supported by many fantastic pillars
which had been formed by the joining of great stalactites and stalagmites
together, the result of the ceaseless water-drip of centuries. Under the
roof vast knots of bats had packed themselves together, thousands in a
bunch; the lights disturbed the creatures and they came flocking down by
hundreds, squeaking and darting furiously at the candles. Tom knew their
ways and the danger of this sort of conduct. He seized Becky's hand and
hurried her into the first corridor that offered; and none too soon, for a
bat struck Becky's light out with its wing while she was passing out of
the cavern. The bats chased the children a good distance; but the
fugitives plunged into every new passage that offered, and at last got rid
of the perilous things. Tom found a subterranean lake, shortly, which
stretched its dim length away until its shape was lost in the shadows. He
wanted to explore its borders, but concluded that it would be best to sit
down and rest awhile, first. Now, for the first time, the deep stillness
of the place laid a clammy hand upon the spirits of the children. Becky
said:
"Why, I didn't notice, but it seems ever so long since I heard any of
the others."
"Come to think, Becky, we are away down below them-and I don't know how
far away north, or south, or east, or whichever it is. We couldn't hear
them here."
Becky grew apprehensive.
"I wonder how long we've been down here, Tom? We better start back."
"Yes, I reckon we better. P'raps we better."
"Can you find the way, Tom? It's all a mixed-up crookedness to me."
"I reckon I could find it-but then the bats. If they put our candles
out it will be an awful fix. Let's try some other way, so as not to go
through there."
"Well. But I hope we won't get lost. It would be so awful!" and the
girl shuddered at the thought of the dreadful possibilities.
They started through a corridor, and traversed it in silence a long
way, glancing at each new opening, to see if there was anything familiar
about the look of it; but they were all strange. Every time Tom made an
examination, Becky would watch his face for an encouraging sign, and he
would say cheerily:
"Oh, it's all right. This ain't the one, but we'll come to it right
away!"
But he felt less and less hopeful with each failure, and presently
began to turn off into diverging avenues at sheer random, in desperate
hope of finding the one that was wanted. He still said it was "all right,"
but there was such a leaden dread at his heart that the words had lost
their ring and sounded just as if he had said, "All is lost!" Becky clung
to his side in an anguish of fear, and tried hard to keep back the tears,
but they would come. At last she said:
"Oh, Tom, never mind the bats, let's go back that way! We seem to get
worse and worse off all the time."
"Listen!" said he.
Profound silence; silence so deep that even their breathings were
conspicuous in the hush. Tom shouted. The call went echoing down the empty
aisles and died out in the distance in a faint sound that resembled a
ripple of mocking laughter.
"Oh, don't do it again, Tom, it is too horrid," said Becky.
"It is horrid, but I better, Becky; they might hear us, you know," and
he shouted again.
The "might" was even a chillier horror than the ghostly laughter, it so
confessed a perishing hope. The children stood still and listened; but
there was no result. Tom turned upon the back track at once, and hurried
his steps. It was but a little while before a certain indecision in his
manner revealed another fearful fact to Becky-he could not find his way
back!
"Oh, Tom, you didn't make any marks!"
"Becky, I was such a fool! Such a fool! I never thought we might want
to come back! No-I can't find the way. It's all mixed up."
"Tom, Tom, we're lost! we're lost! We never can get out of this awful
place! Oh, why DID we ever leave the others!"
She sank to the ground and burst into such a frenzy of crying that Tom
was appalled with the idea that she might die, or lose her reason. He sat
down by her and put his arms around her; she buried her face in his bosom,
she clung to him, she poured out her terrors, her unavailing regrets, and
the far echoes turned them all to jeering laughter. Tom begged her to
pluck up hope again, and she said she could not. He fell to blaming and
abusing himself for getting her into this miserable situation; this had a
better effect. She said she would try to hope again, she would get up and
follow wherever he might lead if only he would not talk like that any
more. For he was no more to blame than she, she said.
So they moved on again-aimlessly-simply at random-all they could do was
to move, keep moving. For a little while, hope made a show of reviving-not
with any reason to back it, but only because it is its nature to revive
when the spring has not been taken out of it by age and familiarity with
failure.
By-and-by Tom took Becky's candle and blew it out. This economy meant
so much! Words were not needed. Becky understood, and her hope died again.
She knew that Tom had a whole candle and three or four pieces in his
pockets-yet he must economize.
By-and-by, fatigue began to assert its claims; the children tried to
pay attention, for it was dreadful to think of sitting down when time was
grown to be so precious, moving, in some direction, in any direction, was
at least progress and might bear fruit; but to sit down was to invite
death and shorten its pursuit.
At last Becky's frail limbs refused to carry her farther. She sat down.
Tom rested with her, and they talked of home, and the friends there, and
the comfortable beds and, above all, the light! Becky cried, and Tom tried
to think of some way of comforting her, but all his encouragements were
grown threadbare with use, and sounded like sarcasms. Fatigue bore so
heavily upon Becky that she drowsed off to sleep. Tom was grateful. He sat
looking into her drawn face and saw it grow smooth and natural under the
influence of pleasant dreams; and by-and-by a smile dawned and rested
there. The peaceful face reflected somewhat of peace and healing into his
own spirit, and his thoughts wandered away to bygone times and dreamy
memories. While he was deep in his musings, Becky woke up with a breezy
little laugh-but it was stricken dead upon her lips, and a groan followed
it.
"Oh, how COULD I sleep! I wish I never, never had waked! No! No, I
don't, Tom! Don't look so! I won't say it again."
"I'm glad you've slept, Becky; you'll feel rested, now, and we'll find
the way out."
"We can try, Tom; but I've seen such a beautiful country in my dream. I
reckon we are going there."
"Maybe not, maybe not. Cheer up, Becky, and let's go on trying."
They rose up and wandered along, hand in hand and hopeless. They tried
to estimate how long they had been in the cave, but all they knew was that
it seemed days and weeks, and yet it was plain that this could not be, for
their candles were not gone yet. A long time after this-they could not
tell how long-Tom said they must go softly and listen for dripping
water-they must find a spring. They found one presently, and Tom said it
was time to rest again. Both were cruelly tired, yet Becky said she
thought she could go a little farther. She was surprised to hear Tom
dissent. She could not understand it. They sat down, and Tom fastened his
candle to the wall in front of them with some clay. Thought was soon busy;
nothing was said for some time. Then Becky broke the silence:
"Tom, I am so hungry!"
Tom took something out of his pocket.
"Do you remember this?" said he.
Becky almost smiled.
"It's our wedding-cake, Tom."
"Yes-I wish it was as big as a barrel, for it's all we've got."
"I saved it from the picnic for us to dream on, Tom, the way grown-up
people do with weddingcake-but it'll be our-"
She dropped the sentence where it was. Tom divided the cake and Becky
ate with good appetite, while Tom nibbled at his moiety. There was
abundance of cold water to finish the feast with. By-and-by Becky
suggested that they move on again. Tom was silent a moment. Then he said:
"Becky, can you bear it if I tell you something?"
Becky's face paled, but she thought she could.
"Well, then, Becky, we must stay here, where there's water to drink.
That little piece is our last candle!"
Becky gave loose to tears and wailings. Tom did what he could to
comfort her, but with little effect. At length Becky said:
"Tom!"
"Well, Becky?"
"They'll miss us and hunt for us!"
"Yes, they will! Certainly they will!"
"Maybe they're hunting for us now, Tom."
"Why, I reckon maybe they are. I hope they are."
"When would they miss us, Tom?"
"When they get back to the boat, I reckon."
"Tom, it might be dark then-would they notice we hadn't come?"
"I don't know. But anyway, your mother would miss you as soon as they
got home."
A frightened look in Becky's face brought Tom to his senses and he saw
that he had made a blunder. Becky was not to have gone home that night!
The children became silent and thoughtful. In a moment a new burst of
grief from Becky showed Tom that the thing in his mind had struck hers
also-that the Sabbath morning might be half spent before Mrs. Thatcher
discovered that Becky was not at Mrs. Harper's.
The children fastened their eyes upon their bit of candle and watched
it melt slowly and pitilessly away; saw the half inch of wick stand alone
at last; saw the feeble flame rise and fall, climb the thin column of
smoke, linger at its top a moment, and then-the horror of utter darkness
reigned!
How long afterward it was that Becky came to a slow consciousness that
she was crying in Tom's arms, neither could tell. All that they knew was,
that after what seemed a mighty stretch of time, both awoke out of a dead
stupor of sleep and resumed their miseries once more. Tom said it might be
Sunday, now-maybe Monday. He tried to get Becky to talk, but her sorrows
were too oppressive, all her hopes were gone. Tom said that they must have
been missed long ago, and no doubt the search was going on. He would shout
and maybe some one would come. He tried it; but in the darkness the
distant echoes sounded so hideously that he tried it no more.
The hours wasted away, and hunger came to torment the captives again. A
portion of Tom's half of the cake was left; they divided and ate it. But
they seemed hungrier than before. The poor morsel of food only whetted
desire.
By-and-by Tom said:
"SH! Did you hear that?"
Both held their breath and listened. There was a sound like the
faintest, far-off shout. Instantly Tom answered it, and leading Becky by
the hand, started groping down the corridor in its direction. Presently he
listened again; again the sound was heard, and apparently a little nearer.
"It's them!" said Tom; "they're coming! Come along, Becky-we're all
right now!"
The joy of the prisoners was almost overwhelming. Their speed was slow,
however, because pitfalls were somewhat common, and had to be guarded
against. They shortly came to one and had to stop. It might be three feet
deep, it might be a hundred-there was no passing it at any rate. Tom got
down on his breast and reached as far down as he could. No botTom. They
must stay there and wait until the searchers came. They listened;
evidently the distant shoutings were growing more distant! a moment or two
more and they had gone altogether. The heart-sinking misery of it! Tom
whooped until he was hoarse, but it was of no use. He talked hopefully to
Becky; but an age of anxious waiting passed and no sounds came again.
The children groped their way back to the spring. The weary time
dragged on; they slept again, and awoke famished and woe-stricken. Tom
believed it must be Tuesday by this time.
Now an idea struck him. There were some side passages near at hand. It
would be better to explore some of these than bear the weight of the heavy
time in idleness. He took a kite-line from his pocket, tied it to a
projection, and he and Becky started, Tom in the lead, unwinding the line
as he groped along. At the end of twenty steps the corridor ended in a
"jumpingoff place." Tom got down on his knees and felt below, and then as
far around the corner as he could reach with his hands conveniently; he
made an effort to stretch yet a little farther to the right, and at that
moment, not twenty yards away, a human hand, holding a candle, appeared
from behind a rock! Tom lifted up a glorious shout, and instantly that
hand was followed by the body it belonged to-Injun Joe's! Tom was
paralyzed; he could not move. He was vastly gratified the next moment, to
see the "Spaniard" take to his heels and get himself out of sight. Tom
wondered that Joe had not recognized his voice and come over and killed
him for testifying in court. But the echoes must have disguised the voice.
Without doubt, that was it, he reasoned. Tom's fright weakened every
muscle in his body. He said to himself that if he had strength enough to
get back to the spring he would stay there, and nothing should tempt him
to run the risk of meeting Injun Joe again. He was careful to keep from
Becky what it was he had seen. He told her he had only shouted "for luck."
But hunger and wretchedness rise superior to fears in the long run.
Another tedious wait at the spring and another long sleep brought changes.
The children awoke tortured with a raging hunger. Tom believed that it
must be Wednesday or Thursday or even Friday or Saturday, now, and that
the search had been given over. He proposed to explore another passage. He
felt willing to risk Injun Joe and all other terrors. But Becky was very
weak. She had sunk into a dreary apathy and would not be roused. She said
she would wait, now, where she was, and die-it would not be long. She told
Tom to go with the kite-line and explore if he chose; but she implored him
to come back every little while and speak to her; and she made him promise
that when the awful time came, he would stay by her and hold her hand
until all was over.
Tom kissed her, with a choking sensation in his throat, and made a show
of being confident of finding the searchers or an escape from the cave;
then he took the kite-line in his hand and went groping down one of the
passages on his hands and knees, distressed with hunger and sick with
bodings of coming doom.