Читать книгу A Slave of the Ring - J. Monk Foster - Страница 6

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BY the time Paul Massilon gained the brow of the exploded mine he found that the mouth of the White Crow shaft was surrounded by an excited crowd of people numbering at the least some two or three thousand, drawn thither from the town and the adjacent villages by the evil and swift travelling tidings of the explosion.

With difficulty the under-manager got the excited throng to part and permit him to pass through it, but when he was recognised by someone the folks fell asunder readily enough. On all hands, as he fought his way towards the mouth of the pit, he could hear the perturbed bystanders mutter comments upon the dread disaster, its character, cause, and consequences.

Many of the crowd were miners, not a few of whom had worked at the White Crow pit previously, or were working there still, and the rude comments they made respecting the seam and its dangerous nature, although couched in the rough terse vernacular of the neighbourhood, struck the young under-manager as being very near the truth.

One burly pitman vowed with a strange string of oaths that the mine was a veritable gasometer, and that it had been so for many years; another in equally vigorous terminology swore that little or nothing had been done to make the seam safe, and that he had left in consequence; others still asseverated that it would all come out at the inquiry, and that somebody would be lucky if they did not get sent to prison over the job.

In vain Paul attempted to shut his ears to those running comments upon the very statements he had made early that morning, and to add to the confusion and augment his trouble, the distracted exclamations of those who had relatives down the ill-fated pit rung in the air shrilly, clamantly.

At length he forced his way to the mouth of the shaft, up which a thick sulphurous column of smoke was still belching, as if it were the outlet of some gigantic furnace that burned in the nether regions.

Even on the verge of the yawning gulf the confusion was paramount. Hither and thither the muttering, awe-filled masses of people swayed; old men and lads, shrieking women also, some with children in their arms, eddied to and fro, and the great fire which burnt redly in the tall cresset threw a strange, weird glare over the surging multitude of passion-marked faces.

Sick at heart, and almost on the verge of desperation, he paused for an instant within a pace of the fire, and prayed for a giant's irresistible strength that he might sweep the pit-top clear of the howling host, end the confusion, and make some effort to save the unfortunate beings underground.

Just then someone tapped him sharply on the shoulder. Turning quickly he found himself standing face to face with Joss Simm, the under-looker of the exploded seam.

'What is it, Simm?'

'Come in't th' engine-heawse, Mester Paul,' the man cried, as he thrust his bearded jowl against Massilon's cheek. 'Th' boss is theer, an' he's bin axin' for yo'.'

With a nod Paul sprang to the man's side, and they elbowed a path mercilessly through the blatant mob to the door of the engine-house, which opened at Simm's cry. Inside Paul found Mr. Baldwin, the engine-man, and two or three other miners all attired in their off-work clothes, save the engineer.

The chief manager was sitting on a narrow form against the white-washed wall, and a single glance showed Paul how terribly the explosion had affected his superior. The old man's face was white, and drawn about the eyes and nose, his teeth were continually nipping his nether lip, and his gaze, ordinarily so bright and open, was that of one who was half distracted.

'I am glad you have come, Paul!' Mr. Baldwin began. 'My God! isn't this awful after what you were saying this morning? I only hope——'

'What has been done?' Paul asked, hastening to interrupt his chief, upon whose mind it was evident the under-manager's deliverances of the morning were preying.

'Done! Nothing!' Baldwin cried in impotent passion. 'What can we do? What can anybody do with that awful mob pressing round the shaft, and that infernal current of sulphur coming up it?'

'Something must be done, and at once!' Paul said, in a quiet authoritative manner. 'We must clear the pit top at any cost, and I mean to clear it. You stay here, Mr. Baldwin. This calamity has upset you, and you will perhaps allow me to take your place under the circumstances?'

'Heaven knows,' the old pitman exclaimed feebly, 'that this disaster has nearly unhinged my mind. Do what you think best, lad. I shall be better soon.'

'Someone ought to fetch the police to keep the brow clear. Unless——'

'I have sent to the chief constable of Ashlynton for a dozen constables, Paul!' the chief broke in. 'They may arrive any moment now.'

'That is better,' Massilon answered more cheerfully. 'When they do come we will soon clear the crowd back so as to give us some elbow room. And, now, how long is it since the explosion occurred?'

'I heard the report,' the engine-tenter observed, 'at a quarter-past 8 exactly.'

'And it is now a few minutes after 9,' Paul remarked as he glanced at his watch. 'And since you heard the report of the explosion have you heard any knocking from below, Barlow?'

'No, sir,' said the engine-man, sadly, 'not a single knock.'

'All lost, Paul! All lost! God help them!' Baldwin muttered brokenly.

'Perhaps not!' Massilon cried, still speaking in a cheery way that gave no truthful index to his feelings. 'Anyhow, we must hope for the best, and do our best also, when the moment for work comes. Don't you remember, Mr. Baldwin, that you told me this morning that "the lives of miners are always in the hands of God"?'

The distracted chief-manager groaned in response, and his subordinate turned to the under-looker.

'What time did the night shift men go down, Simm?'

'Between 6 an' 7, Mester Paul.'

'How many of them were there all told—colliers, drawers, and datallers?'

'Three an' twenty, sir.'

'Three and twenty down below, and never a single knock yet from the pit-eye to show that one is alive! But even yet,' cried Paul, doggedly, 'I will not resign all hope. All sorts of things may have happened to keep the men back from the shaft. A fall may have blocked up the way to the pit-eye; the bell rope is perhaps broken.'

Paul paused, and then turning to Barlow, the engine-tenter, asked: 'Are the cages all right, do you know?'

'They are—or seem to be,' was the quick response. 'Mr. Baldwin told me when he came to try the cages, and I run 'em up and down the pit two or three times.'

'And you didn't notice that they stuck or collided with anything at any point?' Paul added.

'Not the least, sir.'

'Thank heaven for that!' Massilon said fervently. Then he exclaimed angrily, 'I wonder if those police from the town are ever going to come; or are we to waste the whole night here—and all those poor fellows below. You will go down, Joss, I suppose?'

'What else? An' there's plenty o' chaps eawt theer ont' brow as'll goo deawn too,' the under-looker said warmly.

'Good! Go on the brow now, Simm, and pick out a dozen of the strongest and most reliable men you can find. If you can get men who know the seam and work in it, don't accept strangers as volunteers. We want helpers in this business, and not men to hamper us. But I need not tell you, Joss; you understand.'

'Ay, ay! ah do. It's not th' first tahme 'at ah've bin in a pit what's fired.'

'Then go and get ready; I'll be with you shortly.'

The under-looker went forth with another miner at his side, and without more ado Massilon began to strip himself for the fray upon which he knew it was absolutely necessary he and others should enter if a solitary one of those twenty-three beings down the pit was to be brought forth alive.

Hanging his hat on a peg in the wall he drew off his coat and vest and placed them under his headgear, then he unfastened his collar and tie and put them away also, borrowed the 'winder's' belt and cap, and was ready for the struggle that lay before him.

Standing there in his scanty attire Paul Massilon presented a striking picture of young, strong, virile manhood. He was three years or so under thirty; was tall, deep-chested, and powerfully-limbed. His strong jaw betokened more than ordinary self-will, his clear, sparkling, dark eyes bespoke his intelligence, while his finely-shaped head, with its closely-cropped black hair, well-moulded throat, olive complexion, and heavy moustache of raven hue, denoted one who was not only fitted to lead men in a crisis such as the present, but a man also of whom any mother might have been proud—a lover whom any woman might have done honour to her taste by loving.

Baldwin glanced up as Paul strode towards the door, and the old miner's eyes glowed with sudden fire.

'By——, Paul I will go with you!' the chief cried as he jumped to his feet. 'I cannot sit here while you all risk life and limb below!'

'You will do nothing of the kind, Mr. Baldwin!' Paul cried firmly, and his voice had an autocratic ring now. 'Your place is here on the surface, and you will be able to see to things that none of us understand. Let us go to the pit mouth together.'

The manager bent his head submissively, as if he and his subordinate had suddenly changed places, and then they went towards the redly flaming cresset, to find that a sergeant and half a dozen constables had just appeared upon the scene, and were already sweeping back the crowd from the mouth of the luckless shaft.

Ten minutes later Paul Massilon, Joss Simm, two of the day-shift firemen, and four other miners stepped into the cage, each bearing in his hand a lighted 'Davy.' Then the word was given to lower them into the dubious depths, and as the great cage and the rescue party vanished from sight a loud cheer rolled up to the dark sky from the throats of the soul-stirred crowd.

Slowly the iron structure sank into the bowels of the earth, and each man in it gripped the crossbars with a grim face and set teeth. To say those eight men carried their lives in their hands would not be stating the truth. Had their existence been in their own keeping it would have been tolerably safe, for each was cool, resolute, daring.

But the fate of them all hung upon a thread, and that thread was beyond their ken. In some remote, unknown, perhaps unreachable corner of the mine the forces of nature—tremendous, terrible, half-known—might at that very moment be acting and interacting upon each other, with the result that a second explosion might ensue unexpectedly and hurl them into eternity, unprepared and unshriven.

Fathom after fathom the black hole soared past them, and still the cage glided along the 'conductors,' easily and freely, without the least perceptible jolt. This was in itself a good sign, and as the bottom of the shaft was approached each man breathed less constrainedly.

It was something to know that when they were venturing into that hell of unknown horrors and dangers their retreat was not cut off. In case they were confronted in the mine with any fresh and insurmountable peril it would be possible for them to rush back to the sanctuary the upper world afforded.

When the cage alighted on the pit bottom Paul Massilon was the first man to step upon the iron 'landing-plates,' being immediately followed by his companions, when a hurried survey of the pit-eye was made.

First of all the under-manager ran to the signalling lever, and finding it intact and uninjured he pulled it five times to notify to those on the surface that the rescue party had arrived at the bottom in safety. Then the men scattered at Paul's command and made a hasty examination of all the adjoining galleries.

In five minutes the eight men were gathered together again. No one of them had anything of importance to relate. Each of the main galleries close to the shaft had been traversed, for the distance of a hundred yards, and no sign of anyone, living or dead, had been seen. Everywhere on all hands there was nothing to be seen or heard save dense blackness, intense stillness.

Then Paul called a council of war, and as he began to speak the cage in which they had descended rose slowly in the air and disappeared. It was apparent that others were coming down to join them, in all probability another set of volunteers which Mr. Baldwin had organised.

'The air current seems all right, Simm,' Paul remarked, as he held his Davy lamp out and watched the deflection of the flame produced by the atmospheric stream that was flowing steadily up the shaft, which happened to be the upcast.

'So it does,' the under-looker replied promptly. 'The fan is working all right, for me an' Mester Ba'din looked at that fust o' a'.'

'And there is no smoke perceptible now, nor even any considerable traces of "choke-damp,"' Massilon continued. 'Those are good signs, my lad, and I think we may save some or all of them yet. As soon as those men now coming down join us we must scatter right and left and search the mine thoroughly. I daresay, Simm, you know where most of the men were working?'

'Ten of 'em were in th' deawn-brow, three or four were on't north level, and th' rest are up th' jig-brow.'

'Well, I'll lead three or four men to explore the jig-brow, Simm; you with three or four others can search the down-brow, and two or three may take the level. We must leave one or two at the pit-eye here, in case anything happens. You understand?'

'Ay, ay, sir!'

As Simm spoke the rattle of the descending cage was heard in the shaft, and in another minute eight more men were standing with the others in the shelter of the vast archway. Every one of the newcomers was attached in different capacities to one or another of the Myrelands pits, and knowing them all more or less intimately, Massilon divided them quickly into three gangs of five men each, leaving only one to take care of the bottom, as other volunteers were expected soon.

With a few whispered instructions to the leaders of the other gangs, in case of emergencies, Paul called cheerily to his own comrades, and they set off at a good pace in the direction of the jig-brow, the under-manager in front, while the other four followed one by one in his wake.

For a number of reasons Paul had elected to take the jig-brow as his portion of the exploded mine. It was there that he and Mr. Baldwin had decided upon constructing the new air-way, and consequently there where old Job Stanley and his son Ben had been set to work that very evening.

In the morning the chief and the under-manager had made a somewhat careful examination of almost every colliers' working place at the top of the jig-brow, and that inspection had driven home to them both the unpleasant fact that firedamp was abundant in each drift, and the ventilation sadly, deplorably, almost criminally deficient everywhere.

Hence, their decision to construct a fresh ventilating gallery without even going to the trouble of consulting their employer respecting the expenditure. In one or other of those gaseous, neglected places, Paul had concluded the explosion had originated.

Five minutes after quitting the pit shaft the small gang of explorers, headed by Massilon, were mounting the jig-brow, and they had not travelled far along the gallery before evidences of the disaster were revealed.

The jig-brow was nine or ten feet wide, and perhaps five feet six inches in height. On either hand irregularly shaped walls of coal rose—straight and hard as granite in places, rotten and crumbling in others—and along the rocky, dust-strewn floor a double line of pit rails was laid.

Hitherto the galleries they had sped through were no dirtier or dirt-covered than was their ordinary wont, the hurtling blast of the explosion having swept through them without tearing down either the roof or sides.

But now matters were assuming a different appearance. At one point they encountered a huge mass of broken rock which had been shaken from the roof; at another great splinters of coal had been riven from the sides of the gallery; here the roadway had been torn up as with a giant's hands, and the rails and sleepers were lying across the brow, bent, riven, broken.

But these matters were merely regarded as trivial things, and they pressed onward, seldom pausing unless compelled, speaking not at all save when necessity demanded, and then, at length, the summit of the jig was gained.

Here Paul threw himself on the floor of the mine, and rubbed his shirt sleeve over his sweating brow. His companions rested also, and all looked around them—half-fearing, half-expecting to see some of the mangled forms of those they were there to discover and aid.

The top of the jig was a wide space with level galleries stretching to the right and left, and a continuation of the brow right ahead under the great jig wheel, which was poised in a horizontal position midway between the roof and floor in order that the miners and the small waggons could pass freely underneath.

In a few moments Paul and his mates were on their feet again and gazing about them, uncertain which of the three galleries to explore first. That they were not far away now from the seat of the explosion was apparent from the confused condition of things about them.

The full and empty 'tubs' which always stood in the jig shunts, were derailed and scattered in all directions. Full waggons had been overturned by the lightning-like rush of flame and air, and the coal lay underfoot thickly as if there had been a hailstorm of coal, while many of the empty waggons had been flung violently against each other and were shattered into matchwood.

And still there was no sign of either dead or living. Away beyond the faint stream of radiance their lamps cast all was black as the darkest night, and save when they addressed each other, the silence around was so intense that it seemed to roar in their ears as the sea roars in an ocean shell.

'Look down that level,' Paul said to the man who had brought him intelligence of the disaster when he was with Mary Stanley, 'and I will go under the wheel; you, Ned, can run along the other level for a few score of yards. Shout if you come across anything, remember, and don't go too far. We must not get out of hail of one another.'

'Ay, ay, sir,' the miner replied, and Massilon stooped low, passed beneath the great, flat wheel, and sped along the gallery beyond. He was wondering with a curious mixture of feeling, how the relatives, of the woman he loved were faring, when a loud shout from his companions caused him to rush back to them.

It was unnecessary to ask questions as to why they had recalled him. The answer to the query which had been in his mind was lying at his feet.

Two men and a youth of eighteen or nineteen were lying together on the floor of the mine as composed in position as if they were sleeping. Each figure was stripped to the waist and bareheaded, but neither their quiet features nor their naked trunks showed the slightest disfigurement, and beside each miner rested a lightless Davy lamp.

'Blackdamp!' Paul said sadly, and his companion responded with a sigh and a nod.

The bodies of the dead were reverently lifted and placed in empty waggons, were covered with slips of rough brattice cloth, and then the four men, with Paul at their head, went along the level gallery; the manager having resolved now to explore that side first ere he returned to the jig-brow.

A couple of hundred yards further they came upon a slight fall of roof, and Paul had sprung over the debris with Shannon at his heels; the next man was following when, with an exclamation of horror, he fell backwards, upsetting the miner behind.

'What's up?' Paul demanded.

'There's somebody under the dirt!' was the gasping answer the affrighted miner returned, 'his arm is bare here.'

A glance satisfied all of the truth. There, protruding from the side of the tumbled heap of rock and shale, was a man's arm, naked, black, brawny, and motionless.

Bidding his men fall to work, Paul set them an example, and in a trice five pairs of eager and willing hands were tackling the fall and flinging the shattered fragments of rock behind them. In ten minutes the dead body was drawn forth from the mass, and conveyed to a place where the roof seemed sound, to spare the poor remains any further mutilation.

Again they ran onward, and soon the far end of the level was gained. Here the leader turned up a narrow gallery hewn out of the solid coal, the sides of which were thickly encrusted with layers of burnt mineral and soot which crumbled under the touch and caked off in their fingers.

And then the fountain head of the lamentable and tragic calamity was reached. First they discovered the fragments of a waggon which lay overturned and broken, then a spade with the broad blade bent double, scattered picks with fractured shafts, and last and worst of all the bodies of a powerfully-formed collier and his drawer, a youth of twenty.

It was a horrible and a sickening sight. The poor creatures were in an indescribable state, being woefully battered and burned out of human semblance almost; the head of the man being crushed to a horrid pulp, while the youth's clothes were torn to shreds.

'We will go back now,' Paul whispered hoarsely, as he shut his eyes and tried to shut that awful scene from his thoughts. 'From what Simms said there were only eight men up the jig, and we have found six of them now. The others are Job and Ben Stanley. They are on the other side of the jig, where we started them cutting a new air-way. Come on, lads. We can do nothing for those poor souls. But the other two may be living, and it is our duty to try to save them.'

He turned from that fearful scene with a deep sigh of relief, and the men followed him with eyes that were dim with unshed tears, and hearts that were throbbing tumultuously with repressed emotion.

Down the fatal drift they sped with flying feet, and though they were all thinking of what they had left behind no one spoke of it. On and on Paul tore, his mind reverting now to the parents of fair Mary Stanley.

Were the two men alive still? If so, what had become of them? If they had escaped surely they would have made their way out before this. It was not inspiriting to remember that every miner they had found so far was past saving, still Paul did not despair. The Stanleys were working so far away from the seat of the explosion that they might have escaped its deadly tongue.

Still, Job and Ben were missing, and it was nearly two hours now since the catastrophe happened. How fiercely—how hungrily he hoped that those two miners were yet in the land of the living, and that he might be the means of saving them.

Down the narrow drift the rescue gang flew, and then along the broader level at the bottom. Soon they were scurrying past the dead body of the man they had dug out of the fall; a little later they were tearing past the tubs containing the rigid figures of the three men who had been smothered by the blackdamp; then they glided across the slippery jig landing-plates, darted into the level beyond, never pausing or abating their pace until the spot where the missing colliers had been set to work was near at hand.

Paul knew the place well. It was he himself who had marked it out, and as he ascended the gallery towards the clearly remembered spot his heart was thumping against his ribs, and the perspiration was streaming down his face and from every pore in his body.

Suddenly he stopped, dropped on his knees, and a wail of pain and disappointment was wrung from his lips. There in front of him was a great fall of roof, and the mountainous heap of rocks made further progress impossible.

What was he to do now? Where were the men he was seeking? A cry from behind caused Paul to turn quickly.

'What is it?' he asked.

'There's meat, and cans and clothes here!' someone exclaimed.

Paul ran back hastily, a prey to a new excitement now. Carefully yet hastily he scrutinised the two packages of meat tied up in cotton handkerchiefs, then he handled the two big cans which were still nearly full of cold tea; next he lifted the garments one by one—the coats, vests, shirts—and tried in vain to identify them.

'Can any of you recognise any of these things?' Paul asked, as he turned to his companions.

'I think,' said Shannon, with some hesitation, 'that they're Job's and Ben's; but I cannot he sartin.'

'I think so, too,' Paul echoed. 'But if that is the case, where are the men themselves?'

'Ay, ay,' somebody cried, 'that's just it. Wheer is Job an' Ben?'

'Behind th' fa',' suggested Shannon.

'By jove, that's it,' Massilon exclaimed, in a glad ringing voice, and in a moment he was running back to the fall.

At the sloping foot of the great mound of fractured strata he knelt down and listened, after commanding the others to remain silent. His ear was placed against the cold hard floor of rock, and his auditive powers were strained to their utmost tension.

For about a minute he remained thus, but not the faintest ripple of sound was borne to his waiting ears. His knowledge of the laws of sound told him that a footfall on the rocky floor beyond the fall would have travelled to his ears at once, clearly, distinctly, rapidly.

But all was still as death. All he could hear was the abnormal beating of his own heart, and when he rose again erect on his knees the face he turned to the others wore a sorely troubled expression.

'Let's sheawt a' together!' suggested Shannon, who had watched Massilon's little scientific experiment without at all understanding it.

'Yes, shout!' Paul cried, half-bitterly.

'Hello! Hello! Hello!'

The voices of the four miners were raised and launched forth in unison, and the single word they emitted flooded the gallery with a deep clangour which rolled and reverberated along the dark passages of the seam.

A moment later and the five men had started to their feet, and were staring at each other strangely, gladly, for an answering cry had reached their unexpected ears. Was it fancy merely, an echo only, or really an answer to the shout?

'Hello!' Paul called out alone.

'Hello!' came back faintly through the fall.

'Who is there?' Paul cried.

'Ben and Job Stanley!'

'Are you safe?'

'All right, but our lamps are out, and the afterdamp is all around us. Be sharp, for God's sake, or we shall be smothered!'