Читать книгу The Wilderness Mine - Harold Bindloss - Страница 9

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Bright sunshine and speeding shadow touched the bleak moorland. A boisterous wind blew in from sea, but the morning was warm and Creighton's mood was tranquil while his car ran down hill. For one thing, Ruth was happy at Munich and declared she made good progress. The letter Creighton had got before he started related some compliments her masters had made her. Then Janet had not bothered him about bills, and the coke ovens were going well. In a few weeks, he could pay off the banker's loan and Stayward would know nothing about the transaction.

Creighton was careless; things did not bother him long, and when he had put off a trouble he forgot about it. Moreover, he had put a generous dose of brandy in the coffee he had drunk while he smoked a cigarette after breakfast. He did not know if Janet knew about this or not, but he had got the habit when he drove to the works on bitter winter mornings. When the condensers were not turning out good stuff and he expected a hard day at the laboratory, he took a larger dose.

As the car ran down hill the stone walks along the road gave place to ragged thorns. Rusty pit-rope spanned the gaps the wind had made, and the bent trees about the farmsteads were blackened by smoke. Clouds of dingy fumes from the blast-furnaces trailed across the sky, and clusters of chimney stacks dotted the green sweep of corn by the coast. The bleak landscape was stained by the grime of industry, but the sun shone and the wind was bracing. Creighton felt cheerful as he smoked his cigar.

When the car rolled into a mean, black village he slowed the engine. Children played about the street, lean whippet dogs ran across, and here and there a broken bottle threatened his tires. Some of the strongly-built men lounging about the doorsteps gave him a nod and some a dull glance. All knew Creighton of the coke ovens, where a number worked, but the North-countryman is not, as a rule, remarkably gracious to his employer, and Stayward was hard. Yet the strange thing was, although the hands disputed with Stayward and his partner was indulgent, they did better work for the man who generally beat them than for Creighton. After all, Stayward sprang from their stock; he was blunt and forceful, and they understood his philosophy. He swore, in their own dialect, when Creighton smiled.

The car turned a corner and Creighton threw away his cigar. A high wall ran along the road, and in one place, a streak of flame leaped up through the smoke from the ovens. The flame ought not to be there; it was near the tank into which spirit was pumped, and a row of small houses fronted the wall. Creighton remembered that they had been puzzled to find a place for the tank, and the spot on which they had fixed did not altogether comply with the rules. He had left the thing to Stayward and did not know how he had satisfied the local council. Stayward's habit was to carry out his plans.

Creighton drove through a gate and stopped. Not far off, a group of men stood about a jet of fire that shot up and broke into a shower of blazing drops. It burned furiously, without slanting from the wind, as if forced up by strong pressure, and smoke that had a strangely pungent smell eddied about the neighboring tank and blew across the wall. Some of the men had shovels and were throwing sand into the flame, which sprang from a hollow like a crater at the top of the pile. Creighton imagined the stop-valve that controlled the supply of spirit to the tank was beneath the sand. The spirit was obviously burning at the valve and he did not see how they could put it out. To begin with, however, the blaze must not be allowed to excite alarm in the village.

"Shut the gate," he said, and turned to a man who had wrapped a greasy red handkerchief round his hand and wrist. "Have you stopped the pump? How did the fire start?"

"Pump's stopped. I reckon spirit's running back from tank; she's mair nor half full. When I com't in, fire was weel alight. Carruthers found valve leaking in t' dark and when he was looking what was wrang she fired from his lamp."

Creighton nodded. The vapor the spirit gave off was strongly inflammable, but there was no use in talking about the carelessness of the man who had used an open engineer's lamp to examine the leaky joint.

"Have you tried to screw down the valve?" he asked.

The other held up his bandaged hand and Creighton saw his skin was blistered above the greasy handkerchief. Moreover, he noted raw red spots on the man's face.

"Yes; I tried 't, but couldn't get hold with spanner because of flame. Neabody else wad gan near and I'll no' try again."

It looked as if his resolve was justified. The jet of fire broke at its top into a shower of burning liquid; the men had buried the valve, and in order to reach the hole from which the blaze sprang one must stand amidst the shower. Nothing could be done to stop the leak, but while Creighton knitted his brows Stayward and a young man ran across the yard. Creighton imagined the young man was his partner's nephew and they had just arrived by the office entrance. Stayward did not ask questions; his plan was to deal with essentials first.

"We must empty tank," he said and pushed one of the men. "Gan to station for benzol car and see you bring her; shunting engine's in the yard." Then he turned to the others. "Tak' your shovels. We're gan t' dig."

They followed him to the tank, and seizing a spade, he marked out a trench. Creighton got a pick, for although he was not given to physical effort the need was urgent and he saw Stayward's plan. The tank was not large, but it held a quantity of explosive spirit, and Stayward meant to run off some of the liquid. This would lessen the risk, but it was not enough. The tank was thin and sparks rained about its top; the spirit was volatile and the vapor it gave off could hardly be kept in by the caulking at the joints. If the tank bursts, the burning liquid must be turned into the trench before it could flow about the yard and into the street.

They got to work and Creighton noted that Stayward's nephew, who had thrown off his vest and jacket, used the shovel well. He was an athletic young fellow and looked good-humored and frank. Fresh men came to help, the trench got deeper, and presently a small locomotive snorted up the line that ran into the yard, and pushed a big steel cylinder up to the tank. Black smoke and sparks blew round the engine, and the driver looked out.

"It's nea a varra safe job you're giving us," he said. "Hooiver, we'll try 't if you'll fix your pipe quick."

"Two's enough to help him," Stayward remarked. "The rest of you will dig."

Creighton, digging and watching the men at the pipe, was conscious of keen suspense. It looked as if the steel cylinder filled very slowly, the blaze had leaped up higher, and one could not tell when a spark might start an explosion. There was some leakage round the joint where the pipe was screwed to the tank. The thing was horribly risky, but the men went on digging and nobody looked disturbed. They were slow North-country folk and hard to move.

At length the engine whistled and rolled away with its load. Some of the dangerous stuff was gone, the pressure was eased, and the flame sank a little. Creighton, with a feeling of keen satisfaction, stopped to get his breath and straighten his aching back. Next moment, however, he dropped his spade, for there was a sharp crack, and he saw the tank split along a joint of the plates. It opened, as if torn apart, a heavy report shook the ovens, and a column of fire leaped up. Then thick smoke rolled about the yard, and Creighton saw a burning flood run across the ground. His face and hands smarted, and he thought he noted dark spots with smoldering edges on his clothes.

The men went back for a few yards, and then stopped when Stayward shouted. Creighton saw him run forward, into the smoke, with his nephew close by; but for the next few minutes he was desperately occupied. Waves of fire overflowed the trench and broke against the bank behind, bent figures loomed in the smoke, and one heard the furious clink of shovels. The men's job was plain; they must hold back and, if possible, smother the fire. They needed no orders and Stayward gave none. He worked where the fire was hottest and when he ran to meet a fresh wave of burning spirit his nephew followed.

In the meantime, the roar of the explosion had alarmed the village. Clogs rattled on the stones outside and shouts came from behind the gate.

"Keep it shut," Stayward ordered. "Let nobody in."

Before long some of the men were burned and some half blinded, for the tank had not been altogether wrecked and the spirit, expanded by the heat, welled up from its lower part. The men not burned were breathless and nearly exhausted, but they labored on, until a few stopped for a moment when a bell clanged noisily in the street and somebody beat on the gate.

"Here's fire-engine; let her in!" a man outside shouted.

"Water's nea use," Stayward replied. "They can play hose on hooses if they're keen on a job."

There were fresh shouts, the crowd in the street began an angry clamor, and the gate shook. It looked as if the firemen were resolved to come in, but the gate stood the battering and Stayward's men worked on. The fire was slowly dying out under the showers of sand and soil, and at length only spasmodic spurts of flame leaped up from the trench. Stayward threw down his shovel and lifted his hand.

"I reckon you have done a good job and I will not forget," he said. "Noo we must wait until she cools and you'll gan back to ovens."

They went off. It was not Stayward's rule to say too much, and he and Creighton went to the office. Creighton's hands and face smarted; Stayward's coat was riddled by holes. The sleeve of the young man's shirt was burned and his arm was stained by soot. He stopped for a moment by the door, with the light from a window opposite in his eyes, which hurt because he had been in the smoke.

"My nephew, Geoffrey Lisle; he has come down for a short holiday," Stayward remarked.

Lisle bowed to Creighton, whom he could not see distinctly. The office was small and Creighton sat in the shadow behind the open door.

"You have had bad luck this morning," said Lisle. "It will cost you something to re-plate the tank and I think a number of windows were broken when the top blew off. However, I must try to get rid of this soot and put on my jacket."

He went behind a partition where water and towels were kept and the others heard a splash. Then he resumed, speaking across the low partition: "Didn't you build the thing rather near the street?"

"We were cramped for room. The yard is small," Creighton replied.

"One doesn't want a tank of explosive spirit beside one's office, but there are rules about such things. How did you satisfy the local council?"

"I left that to your uncle. I don't know the arguments he used, but they seem to have had some weight. The important thing is, he didn't see a better site for the tank."

Lisle laughed. "Well, I admit he is rather hard to beat. However, since I've burned my arm I'll go and see if the engineer can give me some olive oil. I know my way about and expect you want to talk."

He went off by a door behind the partition, and Stayward said, "The lad has been at the works when you were away. He's employed by a good firm of mining engineers and, for a young man, his judgement's quick and sound. I expect you saw he spotted the worst trouble we're going to have?"

Creighton said he had noted this and Stayward, knitting his heavy brows, was silent for a minute or two. He was a big, rugged North-countryman, with steady eyes, a stern face, and touches of white in his hair. Although he had been to a famous school, he used the Cumbrian dialect when he was moved. The Staywards had long owned a belt of bleak hillside and had kept it after the small statesmen, driven by economic pressure, sold their farms. For the most part, they were frugal folk, and since the weather was inhospitable and the soil was poor, now and then invested money in mining ventures. There were useful minerals in the hills but the cost of extraction generally absorbed the profit.

Stayward's father, however, had sold much of the estate and lost the money on Liverpool shipping shares. Creighton imagined his partner's ambition was to buy back the land, and with this object he had mortgaged his diminished inheritance and built the coke ovens. Now it looked as if the last of the Stayward money was gone.

"What's damage going to cost us?" Stayward asked presently.

"It depends," said Creighton. "To begin with, if we're liable for the repairs to the houses——"

"We are liable. We put tank in wrong place and must pay."

"There was nowhere else it could be put."

"Weel I ken that," said Stayward. "I took the risk; when I built ovens it was all a risk. However, we'll say it costs five hundred pounds. Where's money coming from?"

Creighton tried to hide his disturbance. Stayward knew they were embarrassed, but Creighton hoped he did not know how bad the situation really was.

"Not from the bank, I think," he answered. "There's not much use in bothering Evans."

Somewhat to his relief, Stayward nodded. One danger was put off and something might happen that would ease the strain. Creighton had a hopeful temperament and never fronted trouble until he was forced. In this Stayward was different; he studied obstacles ahead and made his plans to move them from his path. "I see a way," Stayward said. "Greenbank folk are blowing out a furnace and will not want their coke, but we have a stock of soft coal good enough to make foundry stuff. We'll put it in ovens and work off the foundry contract. They pay end of month for all deliveries."

Creighton got a bad jolt and the hope he had begun to indulge vanished. Stayward's plan looked good and Creighton could urge nothing against it but the convincing argument he durst not use. The coal that would make foundry coke was not theirs, because he had pawned it with the bank manager.

"I don't know," he said, as carelessly as possible. "We'll soon have to pay the colliery owners."

"Colliery must wait. Trade's slack, and we take a lot o' their coal; they must get their interest and mayhappen will not bother us much."

"But——" said Creighton and stopped, for Stayward gave him an impatient glance and got up.

"Have you no guts, man? Unless we take a bold line and keep it, there's nowt but ruin for us. Weel, I'll give foreman his orders to start on foundry coke in morning; and then I'll look at damage."

He jerked his powerful shoulders, frowned, and went off, while Creighton sat in a slack pose and gazed moodily in front. He durst not tell his partner the coal they were going to sell the foundry belonged to the bank. Moreover, this was not all; there was another irregularity he had used to persuade Evans, and Stayward was honest. Creighton would not think about it. After all, perhaps, Stayward need not know, and the coking of the inferior coal was enough to occupy Creighton. To sell goods one had already pawned was obviously dishonest, but Creighton wondered whether it was criminal fraud. Although he did not know the law about such things, he was afraid. However, Evans would not find out for some time, and Creighton went off to the laboratory.