"It happened that close to the corner a large lump of rock and earth was breaking away, a cleft was opening, so that presently, it seemed possible at any moment, the mass would fall headlong into the blue deeps below.This impending avalanche was not in my path along the Bisse, it was no sort of danger to me, but in some way its insecurity gave a final touch to my cowardice.I could not get myself round that corner."He turned away.He went and examined the planks in the other direction, and these he found less forbidding.He crossed one precipitous place, with a fall of twoscore feet or less beneath him, and found worse ahead.There also he managed.A third place was still more disagreeable.The plank was worn and thin, and sagged under him.He went along it supporting himself against the rock above the Bisse with an extended hand.Halfway the rock fell back, so that there was nothing whatever to hold.He stopped, hesitating whether he should go back--but on this plank there was no going back because no turning round seemed practicable.While he was still hesitating there came a helpful intervention.Behind him he saw a peasant appearing and disappearing behind trees and projecting rock masses, and coming across the previous plank at a vigorous trot....
Under the stimulus of a spectator Benham got to the end of this third place without much trouble.Then very politely he stood aside for the expert to go ahead so that he could follow at his own pace.
There were, however, more difficulties yet to come, and a disagreeable humiliation.That confounded peasant developed a parental solicitude.After each crossing he waited, and presently began to offer advice and encouragement.At last came a place where everything was overhanging, where the Bisse was leaking, and the plank wet and slippery.The water ran out of the leak near the brim of the wooden channel and fell in a long shivering thread of silver.
THERE WAS NO SOUND OF ITS FALL.It just fell--into a void.Benham wished he had not noted that.He groaned, but faced the plank; he knew this would be the slowest affair of all.
The peasant surveyed him from the further side.
"Don't be afraid!" cried the peasant in his clumsy Valaisian French, and returned, returning along the plank that seemed quite sufficiently loaded without him, extending a charitable hand.
"Damn!" whispered Benham, but he took the hand.
Afterwards, rather ignobly, he tried to explain in his public-school French."Pas de peur," he said."Pas de peur.Mais la tete, n'a pas l'habitude."The peasant, failing to understand, assured him again that there was no danger.
("Damn!")
Benham was led over all the other planks, he was led as if he was an old lady crossing a glacier.He was led into absolute safety, and shamefacedly he rewarded his guide.Then he went a little way and sat down, swore softly, and watched the honest man go striding and plunging down towards Lens until he was out of sight.
"Now," said Benham to himself, "if I do not go back along the planks my secret honour is gone for ever."He told himself that he had not a good head, that he was not well, that the sun was setting and the light no longer good, that he had a very good chance indeed of getting killed.Then it came to him suddenly as a clear and simple truth, as something luminously plain, that it is better to get killed than go away defeated by such fears and unsteadiness as his.The change came into his mind as if a white light were suddenly turned on--where there had been nothing but shadows and darkness.He rose to his feet and went swiftly and intently the whole way back, going with a kind of temperate recklessness, and, because he was no longer careful, easily.He went on beyond his starting place toward the corner, and did that supreme bit, to and fro, that bit where the lump was falling away, and he had to crouch, as gaily as the rest.Then he recrossed the Bisse upon the pine log, clambered up through the pines to the crest, and returned through the meadows to his own hotel.
After that he should have slept the sleep of contentment, but instead he had quite dreadful nightmares, of hanging in frozen fear above incredible declivities, of ill-aimed leaps across chasms to slippery footholds, of planks that swayed and broke suddenly in the middle and headed him down and down....
The next day in the sunshine he walked the Bisse again with those dreams like trailing mists in his mind, and by comparison the path of the Bisse was nothing, it was like walking along a kerbstone, it was an exercise for young ladies....
7
In his younger days Benham had regarded Fear as a shameful secret and as a thing to be got rid of altogether.It seemed to him that to feel fear was to fall short of aristocracy, and in spite of the deep dreads and disgusts that haunted his mind, he set about the business of its subjugation as if it were a spiritual amputation.
But as he emerged from the egotism of adolescence he came to realize that this was too comprehensive an operation; every one feels fear, and your true aristocrat is not one who has eliminated, but one who controls or ignores it.Brave men are men who do things when they are afraid to do them, just as Nelson, even when he was seasick, and he was frequently seasick, was still master of the sea.Benham developed two leading ideas about fear; one that it is worse at the first onset, and far worse than any real experience, and the other that fear is essentially a social instinct.He set himself upon these lines to study--what can we call it?--the taming of fear, the nature, care, and management of fear....
