Читать книгу A Slave of the Ring - J. Monk Foster - Страница 7

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IT was the afternoon of the day following the explosion at the White Crow, and the hero of this plain unvarnished narrative was at home in his own unpretentious, though comfortable lodgings, enjoying a well-earned meal, and as he sat there munching his toothsome dinner, it was but natural that his thoughts should revert to the stirring incidents with which the whole of the previous night had been filled.

First he thought of Mary Stanley and of the undecided answer she had given him; then by an easy channel his reflections flowed to the disaster at the pit and what ensued.

After satisfying himself that old Stanley and his son were really immured behind the fall of roof, Massilon and his comrades lost no time in tunnelling a path to them.

From the colliers' places near at hand tools were readily obtained, and with picks, hammers, and spades such a vigorous onslaught was made upon the fallen mass that in an hour or so a narrow excavation was driven along one side of the heap, sufficiently wide to enable father and son to creep through to freedom.

And while this work of rescue was being so strenuously carried on Joss Simm had arrived upon the scene with the welcome intelligence that all the miners in the down brow and the north level had been discovered uninjured.

Half a score of miners accompanied the under-looker, and to him and them Massilon delegated the sorrowful and unpleasant work of removing the dead lying on the other side of the jig.

It was an hour after midnight when Paul and the other miners again stood on the bank of the White Crow mine. Mr. Baldwin was still there, and eagerly awaiting the reappearance of his assistant manager. The huge crowd had dwindled away, only a few stragglers being left now, and the bodies of the unfortunate sufferers had been placed in one of the sheds in the colliery yard.

The police had departed an hour before, and the rescue parties as they came up the shaft had gone homeward after receiving many thanks and kindly words from the large-souled old miner who ruled over the destinies of Myrelands' collieries.

Then the chief and his lieutenant had repaired to the engine-house together, and when Paul had resumed the garments he had doffed some hours before they went homeward arm in arm.

'I shall never forget what you have done this night, Paul,' Baldwin had remarked in tones of sincerest feeling. 'But for you, lad, I don't know what I should have done. This affair has taken ten years of life out of me, and I feel the strain of it all yet.'

'Don't thank me, Mr. Baldwin,' Massilon answered, warmly. 'Thank the men who helped us so readily and behaved so splendidly. And, after all, things might have been so much worse. Thank God we were able to save seventeen out of the twenty and three.'

'Yes, Paul, yes. That is something to thank God for; but the worst has to be faced yet.'

'The worst?' Paul had queried in amaze.

'The worst! We have to face the inquest on those poor chaps, and the Government inspector of mines. I shall wire to him to-morrow, and till he comes I think it will be as well if we leave the seam as it stands. Of course, there will be no work to-morrow, but I want you to meet me at the office at nine o'clock, and then we can talk things over.'

'All right, I will meet you, sir.'

Then they shook hands very heartily, after saying good-night, and each went home.

Massilon had repaired to his work at the usual hour, to find that all the pits were closed save for the officials and a few datallers.

At the time named Paul had repaired to the office to keep his appointment with his superior, and then he was told that Mr. Baldwin was so poorly that he was confined to bed under his medical man's advice.

Expecting to find his chief back in his accustomed place by dinner, Paul and Joss Simm and one of the firemen had gone down the White Crow Pit; had made a careful survey of all the workings in the vicinity of the drift wherein the two scorched miners were found, and where, in all probability, the gas had exploded; and then on ascending the shaft at one o'clock he had gone to dinner, intending to hurry back to the colliery afterwards.

While he was enjoying his repast, as has been set forth already, Mrs. Hanson, the respectable old widow with whom he lodged, brought him a letter. There was no stamp upon it or postmark, but a glance at the hand-writing on the envelope told him whence it came.

'Who brought this, Mrs. Hanson?' Paul asked.

'Mrs. Baldwin's maid.'

'Will you tell her to wait a moment?'

The widow hurried from the room to detain the messenger, and the young man tore off the cover to find the following brief note.

'Will you come to my house as early as possible?

I cannot get out of doors, and I want to see you very much.

Don't fail to come, Paul.

'MARK BALDWIN.'

It was but the work of a minute to indite a reply, saying he would come as desired, and when his answer was written and despatched the young miner resumed his meal.

Half an hour later Massilon was washed and dressed, and was making his way in the direction of the western suburbs of Ashlynton, in which quarter the Myreland Collieries were situate, and not far from which Mr. Baldwin resided.

Paul was effusively received by the handsome old lady who bore his chief's name, and shared his home, his life, his joys and sorrows, and after a brief exchange of regrets regarding the disaster at the White Crow he was shown into the room where Mr. Baldwin was sitting up in bed, looking very ill and harassed.

'I am glad you have come, Paul,' Mr. Baldwin said, eagerly, and for an instant the old buoyant spirit flickered in his fine face and kind eyes. 'Sit here,' he added, indicating a chair near the bed-head, 'and let us talk this deplorable business over calmly.'

'I cannot say how sorry I am, Mr. Baldwin,' Massilon murmured in tones of heartiest sympathy, as he seated himself. 'This sad accident has upset you terribly.'

'It has, my lad, it has!' the old man cried, lowly, and he shook his gray head in a pathetic way. 'Well, well, it is over now; and I have been thanking God all night that matters are no worse. What we have to do now, Paul, is to face our troubles and trials as well as we know how.'

'Yes, sir, that is what we have to do,' Paul made answer. 'I hear that the inquest will be held to-morrow afternoon.'

'That is so, lad. But my doctor tells me that he will not permit me to attend the inquiry on any account unless I am much better to-morrow. And sometimes, Paul, I feel glad that I may not be present; but, again, I feel sorry at others.'

'Why?' Paul asked.

'I am glad because I fear what may come out in cross-examination if the relatives of the deceased miners are represented by a smart and half-scrupulous lawyer; I am sorry when I think that you will say too much in my absence.'

'I can only say the truth, Mr. Baldwin,' Paul answered quickly. 'I cannot say less, nor more.'

'And the truth will damn me as an incapable or a reckless manager!' Baldwin exclaimed, in real distress. 'Besides, it will ruin your career just at the moment it is most promising. And think of the annoyance and expense it will entail upon our employer if the verdict is anything except one of accidental death.'

'I think, Mr. Baldwin,' Paul responded, somewhat curtly, 'that we need not trouble ourselves too much about our employer. He, as you know, has never cared to spend the money absolutely necessary to make his mines safe, and he must stand the racket now of his selfish policy.'

'But the thing is done now, Paul, and no amount of talk will mend it. All we can do is to make the best of a bad job.'

'And let things go on in the sweet old way after this affair has blown over. Are the lives of miners always to be at the mercy of their employer's purse?' Massilon demanded warmly.

'No, no! Not that. But do you not see that we are involved now as deeply almost as Mr. Jonathan Myrelands?'

'I fail to see that.'

'Let me show you, then. I have been manager of those collieries for teens of years, and you have worked in them half a score. If things have been going wrong all these years, and we knew it, people will want to know why neither of us spoke before. What will folks be compelled to think of your own action in the matter? You knew that this mine was a very gassy one, that the air-ways were neglected, that great danger was being run each day, and yet you became under-manager and jointly responsible with me for all the pits.'

'By heaven!' cried Paul, as he half-started from the chair, 'I never thought of that!'

'Nor I, before this morning.'

'And what are we to do, Mr. Baldwin?'

'Make the best of the unpleasant circumstances in which we find ourselves placed,' was the ready answer. 'That is all we can do, for to expose our employer's meanness now would be simply to hold ourselves up to public odium as men who are not fit to be trusted with the charge of a clay-pit, let alone a great colliery!'

Paul had risen quietly from his seat, and was slowly pacing the carpeted apartment with a sorely troubled look upon his strong, handsome face, and his fingers were tugging at his heavy moustache, a little trick he had when annoyed.

'I don't half like this work,' Massilon remarked shortly, 'of burning my fingers for the sake of saving Mr. Myrelands' chestnuts.'

'But you see, Paul, don't you,' the chief queried anxiously, 'that we are involved as much as our employer?'

'Yes, I see that, and I am beginning to see as well that I was a slow-witted, infernal ass when I became one of that gentleman's scullions!' Paul cried passionately. 'But I'll put an end to that the instant this miserable business is over!'

'Unless, Paul?' Mark Baldwin said suavely.

'Unless what, Mr. Baldwin?'

'Unless Mr. Myrelands sees fit to change his policy so far as his mines are concerned. When this sad affair is done with we can go to him with some assurance; can afford to tell the naked truth, and say "Mr. Myrelands, unless you are willing to expend the money necessary to make your mines fit for Christians to work in we resign our positions." What do you say to that, Paul?'

'I say "Amen!" with all my heart, sir,' Paul exclaimed with enthusiasm. 'And you pledge me your word to do it, Mr. Baldwin?'

'In the sight of God I do!' the gray-headed old pitman said, lowly, solemnly, as he raised his right hand to heaven.

'Then I pledge you my word in return that no word shall escape my lips at the inquest that you would not have me utter!' was Paul's equally solemn affirmation.

'Thank you, lad, for that! I feel much easier now, and if I am able to crawl to the place I shall be at the inquest!' the chief manager said with a sigh of relief, and a little of his old aspect of contentment stealing back into his face.

'But,' the younger man remarked, as he reseated himself, 'there is one thing we must not overlook, Mr. Baldwin.'

'What is that?'

'No matter what we may decide upon saying—or rather refraining from saying—the truth may be dragged out of us.'

'That is not at all likely,' Mr. Baldwin answered with a weak smile.

'Why?'

'Because everything is in our favour,' was the immediate rejoinder, 'Mr. Greenford, the coroner, is a new man at the business, and hasn't sat on a mining calamity of this sort in his life, and the jury will be composed of amiable duffers—all very well in their own way, but with no more knowledge of mines than you can expect butchers and grocers, drapers and tallow-chandlers, and such like men to possess.'

'I see,' said Paul, with a thoughtful countenance; 'some day when men are wiser, men of that stamp will not be permitted to sit upon mining accidents. It is simply a gross farce that they should be permitted to do so now.'

'A gross farce, as you say, Paul, but in this emergency rather a good job for ourselves. And again, the inspector of mines for the district, Mr. Railton, has wired me that he will not be able to attend personally at the inquiry.'

'He will send his assistant, I suppose?'

'Of course, and that gentleman will be here first thing to-morrow, so Mr. Railton says. And even if the assistant inspector of mines gets here by 9 or 10 o'clock—and it would be treason to expect a Government official to begin before either of the hours named—he will have little time to prosecute any very lengthy investigations underground, for the inquest will begin at 2 sharp, as the coroner has another inquest to hold elsewhere on the same afternoon.'

'What a pitiful, pettifogging business this all is, Mr. Baldwin,' Massilon cried in unconcealed disgust. 'I am heartily sick of the whole dreadful business, and wish it was ended!'

'I am with you there, heart and soul, lad,' was the answer of the chief. 'It is awful, I know, to smooth over things like this, but we are in the hole ourselves, and helpless.'

'Yes, we are helpless,' Paul said, moodily, 'and the real offender will never even be brought into the public eye. But when this affair is done with I shall have something to say to the worthy member for Ashlynton, no matter what the consequences of my speaking out may be.'

'I wired to him also, this morning, at his London address, and he sent back a message saying that he would get here to-morrow morning, some time before the inquiry opened; and that in the meantime I was to announce through the newspapers of the town that Jonathan Myrelands, Esq., M.P., had opened a fund for the relief of the sufferers with a donation of a hundred guineas.'

'Very generous and thoughtful of him, isn't it?' Paul snarled, with black sarcasm and flaming eyes. 'How the ignorant public will applaud the promptitude and beneficence of the honourable representative for Ashlynton!'

'Oh,' Baldwin said quietly, 'you may trust our employer to do the right thing at the most opportune moment. The announcement of that donation of a hundred guineas will send Mr. Myrelands up in the estimation of many people.'

'But not in ours!' Paul cried.

'Perhaps not; still I am heartily glad that he has given the money. It will solace, to some extent, those who have lost a dear one, and I myself have put down my name for ten pounds.'

'You may put my name down for a similar amount,' the young man said sadly, as his thoughts wandered to the wives and children, the mothers and fathers of those who had perished in the White Crow seam last night.

A little while afterwards Massilon went away, thinking with unmixed bitterness of the man whose servant he had become on the previous morning. How much better it would have been, he mused, if Mr. Jonathan Myrelands had spent his hundred guineas in preventive rather than in curative remedies. Had he but done so those who were now lying dead might have been alive still, and he (Paul Massilon) would not have had occasion to feel so ashamed of himself and his master.