‘There they are, sir,’ said someone at his elbow. It was Rigden. He was pointing upward. Mor tried to see. He could still discern nothing. He felt as if he had become blind. A terrible blockage in his throat nearly stopped him from breathing. Then gradually he began to make out the shape of the tower, rising up sheer into the night sky above him. He stepped back a little.
There was no moon, and the tower emerged blackly against a black sky. It was in two segments: a lower square part which rose out of the roof of Main School, and was used as a book store - there were two small windows in this segment - and above this an extremely tall spire, ornamented with a great deal of grotesque tracery, and ending in a bronze pinnacle. Between the square part of the tower and the Gothic spire there was a jutting parapet, which reached out for a distance of two or three feet, overhanging the lower segment. On the upper side the spire reached almost to the edges of the parapet, which was wide below and narrow above, so that the whole tower had a top-heavy spear-like appearance.
‘There, sir, at the parapet,’ said Rigden, still beside him. Then Mor, craning his neck backwards, saw two dark shapes clinging to the tower. One seemed to be on the parapet, the other just below it, adhering somehow to the side of the wall. They didn’t appear to be moving. A claw of fear contracted slowly about Mor’s heart. He could see better now.
Someone said, ‘They must be stuck.’ A great crowd had by now collected in the centre of the playground, almost the whole School must be there. Glancing back, Mor saw row after row of heads outlined against the light which streamed from the doors of the Gym. Everyone was talking and pointing. The noise rose in a cloud through the warm night air. Mor thought, this will scare them out of their wits and they’ll lose their nerve. He turned, half resolved to clear the boys from the playground. But it was impossible. To do so would create even more noise and chaos than there was already. He looked up again. The pair on the tower were still motionless. It looked as if they were able to get neither up nor down.
Prewett came up to him, pushing through the throng. It was too dark to see his face. He said to Mor, ‘Bill, I’m afraid it’s your son and young Carde.’
‘I know,’ said Mor. He was still looking up. What could be done? He realized that he was shaking all over with violent tremors. ‘Has anyone sent for the fire-brigade?’ he asked Prewett. A long ladder. Why hadn’t he thought of that instantly?
‘Everard is telephoning,’ said Prewett.
‘Oh God,’ said Mor. ‘Oh God! They’re obviously paralysed and can’t move.’
Prewett put a hand on his shoulder. ‘There’s the ladder that’s kept behind the pavilion — ’
‘It’s too short,’ said Mor.
‘Shall I go and get it, sir?’ said Rigden, who was standing in a group of boys just behind them.
‘Yes, go,’ said Mor, ‘but it’s too short’ Several boys ran away to accompany Rigden.
Mor bit his hand. Was there nothing he could do? He feared that at any moment Donald or Carde would lose his nerve completely. Still, neither of them appeared to be moving. The agony of the fear nearly broke his body in two.
A steady murmur of excitement was rising from the watching crowd. ‘Turn on the flood-lights!’ cried a voice from the back.
‘No!’ cried Mor, turning towards the speaker. ‘You’ll startle them!’
It was too late. A stampede had started in the direction of the boiler-room, where the master switches were. A moment later the façade of Main School sprang violently out of the darkness, mercilessly illuminated by the powerful flood-lights. Carefully adjusted beams lit up the tower from top to bottom, picking out every detail. A gasp arose from the crowd and everyone covered his eyes, dazzled. Mor gave a moan of fear and tried to look upward. His eyes closed against the violent light. When he opened them he saw, very clearly revealed, the figures of the two boys clinging to the tower. Donald was above, lying full length upon the extremely narrow top of the parapet. Carde was below the overhang. He was clinging like a fly to the edge of the tower. He had one arm over the parapet, and the other curiously flattened against the wall. Then Mor saw that he was holding on to the wire of the lightning conductor which ran down from the top of the tower. His feet were turned sideways, finding a precarious foothold on a tiny decorative ledge, an inch or two wide, which girdled the tower a few feet below the parapet. A rope, which the boys had somehow managed to fix to the base of the spire, dangled some distance away, out of Carde’s reach; and even if he could otherwise have hoisted himself out, past the overhang and on to the parapet, helped perhaps by the lightning conductor which went snaking on upwards above his head, it was impossible for him to do so since Donald was in the way.
Donald lay full length along the extremely narrow upper side of the parapet, his face turned inward towards the stone, and one long arm extended above his head to grasp a projecting piece of decoration. His other arm was hidden. His legs were oddly twisted under him. He had obviously got himself into an awkward position and now dared not move for fear of rolling off the narrow ledge, which could not be more than about ten inches across. On the ledge close to Donald’s outstretched arm was balanced a white shining object which it took Mor a moment to recognize as a chamber-pot. This had evidently been destined to be placed on the topmost pinnacle as evidence of the climb.
Alarmed by the sudden illumination, Donald had moved slightly and shifted the chamber-pot. It oscillated for a moment, and then came toppling over the edge of the parapet, flashed downward, and broke into a thousand small pieces on the asphalt of the playground. A terrible shudder went through the crowd. Mor could hear one or two of the smaller boys beginning to cry.
Mor studied the tower. If only there were anything, any plan, which could help. Clearly something had gone wrong about the rope. Mor surmised quickly that the boys might have ascended from the roof of Main School on the adjacent side of the tower, helped by a drainpipe which went part way up at that point, far enough in all probability for them to get their feet on to the tiny ledge, while holding on to the parapet with their hands. Here they must have managed to reach over the overhang and fix the rope on to some projection on the base of the spire. They had then edged their way round to the front, drawing the rope with them, in order perhaps to get the extra help provided by the lightning conductor in getting past the overhang. At some point, however, perhaps when Donald was almost on to the parapet, the rope, which was drawn across the comer from the farther side of the spire, must have escaped and swung back again to its former position, out of the boys’ reach.
Was there any way of getting the rope back to them so that they could hold on to it? Unfortunately they had used only a very short section of the rope, some three feet of it, and even assuming that it was still securely fixed, it hung now on the blind side of the tower where there was no window and no way of getting at it. Someone might reach it by climbing the drainpipe as the boys had done - but then it would be impossible to bring it round again to the front of the tower without edging round the comer on the ledge - and the position of the two boys made any such move impossible. In fact, it was clear that to try to reach them by climbing, even if anyone was willing to attempt it, would be useless, and more likely to dislodge them than to bring them help.
Mor turned about to look for Mr Everard. He found that he was still gasping for breath. He ran into him almost at once, forcing his way through the mass of fascinated and now almost silent boys.
‘Is the fire-brigade -?’ Mor began.
‘They can’t come,’ said Evvy. They’ve all been called to a big fire on the railway. We rang through to Marsington, and the Marsington fire brigade are coming - but they’ll be about another twenty minutes.‘ Evvy was white, and his lower lip trembled. He held on to Mor as if to support himself.
Rigden appeared, pushing through frenziedly to Mor’s side. ‘The ladder from the pavilion,’ he said.
The boys laid it on the ground, the top of it lying at Mor’s feet. It was obviously far too short, that
could be seen at a glance.
‘It’s no use,’ said Mor. He wrung his hands. Could the boys hang on for twenty minutes? It was a miracle that Carde had not fallen already. And if Carde fell, Donald would be panic-stricken, would try to move, and would fall too. Carde could be seen shifting slightly, trying to get his arm, which must be taking a great part of the weight of his body, a little farther on to the upper side of the parapet.
‘A sheet,’ said Mor. ‘Oh God, if only there was something for them to fall on to.’ He spoke aloud, and fell to tearing at his fingers with his teeth. He knew that the school possessed nothing like the professional fireman’s sheet.
‘Bedclothes!’ said Evvy. He was still holding on to Mor’s shoulder.
Mor did not understand him. But Rigden did. ‘School House!’ said Rigden, and turning about led his crew of followers at a run through the staring crowd.
As Mor looked round after them he saw that in the excitement the flood-lights had been switched on to all the other buildings as well. The entire school was floodlit. It was as bright as day in the playground. As he looked he saw a commotion near the opening that led out to the drive, and then an ambulance came backing in. The boys were scuffling and pushing to make way for it. A number of people seemed to have arrived with the ambulance, and a crowd of outsiders, attracted by the unusual spectacle of the lights, had come in from the road. One man was taking photographs. Mor turned his head away.
Below the tower a strange scene was developing. Rigden and his friends had rushed into School House and were now staggering out with piles of sheets, blankets, and pillows in their arms. They ran, with warning shouts, through the crowd and deposited these at the base of the tower. Then they ran back for more. Mor understood Evvy’s idea. He shook his head. It was no use. The drop was colossal. A few blankets on the ground would hardly help. Other boys were now rushing to assist Rigden. They crowded in a struggling mass into School House. Those who could not get in through the doors went in through the windows. Others could be seen running down the paths that led to the other houses. Small detachments set offin the direction of the hall and the Gym and could be seen returning bearing the curtains from the windows and from the stage which they had ripped down. The pile of stuff at the base of the tower grew higher and higher. Almost all the boys were now running to and fro, cannoning into each other, falling, getting entangled in the textiles, and finally struggling forward to climb on to the mounting heap in order to put their burden on the top, slipping, and rolling down again upon those that followed them. They ran now in silence, breathlessly, in their hundreds, vividly revealed, each with several shadows from the opposing lights of the four illuminated façades.
Mor still stood looking up, as if with the very force of his will he could keep his son from falling. The fire-brigade should be arriving now very soon. Only let their ladder be long enough! Suppose it were not? Or suppose — So intently was his gaze now fixed upon the motionless extended form of Donald, that it was not until he heard a gasp of horror from the crowd who had now stopped their racing to and fro, and were staring upward, that he transferred his attention to Carde. Carde was swaying. His head had dropped forward and his arm was very very slowly sliding off the parapet. As this arm supported gradually less and less of his weight, he gripped more and more frantically on to the lightning conductor, trying to pass the hand by which he held it through between the conductor and the stone. He had been spreadeagled against the wall. Now he began to swing slowly round, as one arm moved from the parapet and the other attempted to twine itself about the wire of the conductor. His feet, which had been perched sideways upon the tiny ledge, turned until he was gripping the ledge with his toes. Then Mor saw something terrible. The lightning conductor, now beginning to take most of Carde’s weight, was slowly parting company with the wall. But this was not what was, for Mor, the most dreadful. He saw that the conductor passed upward, over the parapet, across the wider ledge and under his son’s body. If the wire were ripped right away it would dislodge Donald from the ledge.
Mor had not time even to draw a breath at this discovery before Carde fell. The lightning conductor, with a tearing sound which was audible in the tense silence, came away from the wall, and with a sudden and heart-rending cry Carde fell backwards, turning over in the air, and landed with a terrible sound somewhere upon the heap of blankets. A number of boys had run forward in an attempt to break his fall. Confused cries arose, and a strange wailing sound as of a number of people crying. The crowd closed in upon the place where Carde had fallen. The ambulance was backing across the play-ground. People who were presumably doctors and nurses were clearing a way, helped by Mr Everard and Prewett.
Mor did not look at this. Nor did most of the boys. They were watching Donald. What Mor feared had happened. The lightning conductor, pulled violently from below by Carde, had been jerked upward from the place where it passed under Donald’s legs. Convulsively Donald’s body moved, and for a moment it looked as if he would be swept off the ledge. But his hand-hold upon the tracery was strong enough to prevent this. His legs slithered for a moment over the edge, but holding on fiercely with both hands he managed to clamber partly back, his shoulders now raised a little above the ledge, his head pressed against the backward-sloping stone of the spire, both hands clinging to the masonry, one leg bent and braced against the edge of the parapet, and the other leg dangling in space. In this position he immobilized himself. A groan went up from the crowd. It was not a position which could be held for more than a few minutes. The strain on his arms would be too extreme - and he was patently too tired or too terrified to make the effort, almost impossible in any case, of hoisting himself back on to the ledge.
Mor knew that now it was no use to think of the fire-brigade. If there was anything that could be done it must be done in the next minutes. He looked about him wildly. He saw the ladder which the boys had fetched from the pavilion still lying at his feet. It was a tool. Was there anything he could do with it? Then an idea came to him. It was almost hopeless, but it was something to try. He turned to look for helpers. Rigden was still standing beside him. Mor opened his mouth, and found it almost impossible to articulate in order to explain what he wanted to Rigden. In a sort of snapshot he saw Bledyard standing a few feet away, his face screwed up, his mouth open.
‘Is there a rope,’ Mor said to Rigden, ‘which would be long enough to draw this ladder up to the top window in the tower?’
‘There’s a fire escape rope in one of the upper classrooms,’ said Rigden, ‘which reaches to the ground from there. If we dropped it from the tower it would certainly reach the top of the ladder, if we put the ladder up against the building. He spoke quickly and calmly.
Mor said, ‘If we drew the ladder up to the window of the stack room and then stretched it outward it might be possible to rest the other end of it somewhere on the Library building.’
Rigden understood at once. The Library jutted out into the playground, overlapping the front of Main School, but not coming as far forward as the tower. From the top window of the tower, however, it might be possible to slope the ladder not too steeply downward and rest it either on one of the Library windows, where it could be held in place at that end, or upon the roof. In his new position Donald was more or less above the tower window, and the ladder would then be roughly below him.
‘You come and show me where the rope is,’ said Mor. ‘The others can deal with the ladder.’
Rigden explained quickly to two of his friends, who then began explaining to Prewett. The ambulance bearing Carde was driving slowly out of the playground. The smaller boys were reassembling the tall mound of blankets in a new place. Several of Rigden’s friends began to run towards Library building, while others seized the ladder and began to erect it against the wall of Main School. Mor, tearing up the many flights of stars, could hear Rigden running behind him. They reached the top classroom.
‘There it is, said Rigden. The rope was fixed by an enormous iron staple to the ceilin
g, and coiled neatly on top of a cupboard. Mor looked at it with despair. There seemed to be no way of detaching it. To cut or burn through it would take minutes and minutes. With a pickaxe one might have dislodged the staple. As it was -
Rigden had placed a chair on one of the desks and was climbing on to the top of the cupboard. Several of the older boys who had followed them stood in the doorway.
We can’t undo it!‘ said Mor.
‘No need to, sir,’ said Rigden. ‘Well throw it out of the window here, haul the ladder up, and then we can just push it on up from here to the stack room outside the building.’
Mor did not pause to think how stupid he had been. He caught the coil of rope from Rigden, and opened the window and threw it out. Looking down, he saw the playground far below, brilliantly lit up and covered with upturned faces. It was already a long way down. At every moment he expected to hear the terrible cry as Donald fell, and he felt in his own bones the frailty of his son’s body. The ladder was leaning against the wall. A boy who had been mounting it caught the rope as it came flying down, tied it to one of the higher rungs, and slithered to the ground. Mor and Rigden began to pull on the rope.