Читать книгу A Miner's Million - John Monk Foster - Страница 7

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When Lady Ruth Gordan dropped behind her companions, saying her boot had come untied, and she wished to re-tie it, she had not the remotest intention of playing a practical joke upon her friends. Her boot had come unfastened, and she stopped merely to refasten it.

The tying of the boot occupied only a space of a quarter or half a minute, yet in that short time the others were out of sight, a twist in the way having taken them beyond Lady Ruth's visive range.

Her boot tied, Ruth Gordan rose from her stooping position and sped after her friends, dashing right onwards, instead of taking the way to the right, along which the rest of the party were then journeying, unconscious of her absence. She sped along for some time expecting at each moment to overtake her friends, and failing to do so she increased her speed, but even this failed to bring her within sight or hearing of her companions. Then she stopped and listened intently.

But nothing save silence reached her ears. Her companions must still be a considerable way in advance, or she would have heard the sound of either their voices or feet.

Rising, she redoubled her former speed, and after travelling a considerable distance she again stopped and listened, with even more than the former intentness.

All was silent as before.

Suddenly a thought flashed with painful clearness through her brain, like a vivid streak of lightning cleaving the deep blackness of a starless and moonless night.

She had taken the wrong way.

She was lost in the mine!

She did not give vent to a shriek of terror, or sink senseless to the floor as these thoughts careered through her mind. A feeling of annoyance, rather than of pain or fear, possessed her. She knew that the others would soon miss her, and she felt certain that Walter Gray would find her quickly enough.

When Lady Ruth looked round her she felt quite sure that she had taken the wrong way. The way along which she had travelled in company with the rest of the party had a line of rails, for the pit wagons, running along it; and the way in which she now found herself had no such line of rails.

Lady Ruth possessed plenty of intelligence, and a glance at the floor of the mine confirmed her suspicions that her friends had not gone along that way. The floor was covered with a thick coating of fine black dust, and the most careful scrutiny revealed not the slightest impression of feet beyond the point she had reached, whilst behind her she could see the marks of her own feet quite plainly.

Turning round, her ladyship retraced her footsteps, walking quickly, though not so quickly as before, for her former exertions had told upon her, and she was of an indolent nature, always preferring to lounge in a comfortable carriage to footing it along the road. Besides, she was in no great hurry. She expected each moment to hear the voices or feet of her friends coming to look for her, led by Walter Gray, who would be so glad to find her all right.

Now that her ladyship came to think of it she was even glad of her mishap. Adventures were matters almost unknown to dull modern days, and it was something out of the common to have been really lost in a mine, and that mine the deepest in all England.

Such an adventure would make her in a manner famous. Everybody would be talking about the beautiful noble woman who was lost in a mine, and the papers would all have something to say about her. When she returned to London all her fashionable acquaintances would be asking her to relate her adventure, and, of course, she would detail her experiences with such additions thereto as her imagination might suggest.

Pleased with these thoughts, Lady Ruth sat down on a stone to rest. She was fatigued, it is true, but she did not stop on that account. She wished her friends to find her; she did not desire to find her friends. The latter contingency would rob her adventure of half its interest, so she rested herself, and patiently awaited the coming of her rescuers, with Walter at their head.

One thing only was needed to make her adventure perfect. If Walter Gray would only come by himself and find her there, she knew what would very likely happen. Overjoyed at finding her quite safe, his love would find utterance; he would ask her to be his wife, and she would consent.

Yes! She would permit him to win her. A millionaire who was young, tolerably good-looking, and certainly clever, was by no means a man to pass by. Besides, Walter Gray had got nearer her heart than any other man had ever got. There was something about him—she could not tell exactly what—that interested her despite herself. There was more of the real man about him, less artificiality, more truth and worth than the men she had been used to rubbing shoulders with.

These thoughts took up time, and it suddenly occurred to her ladyship that Walter Gray and her other friends were a long time in coming to her rescue, and this thought suggested another which was still less pleasant.

Suppose she was not missed until the party returned to the Hall? She would be left alone for hours, perhaps all night, and who knew what might happen to her in that time. She had foolishly underrated the danger of her position. Some of the terrible accidents of which she had sometimes read might happen to herself. The roof might fall and crush her to death, battering her beautiful face and frail graceful form out of all human semblance; or an explosion might take place and burn her to a cinder.

She sprang to her feet with a loud cry of fear. She had given the rein to her imagination, and fancied dangers had frightened her more than real ones.

She had now but one desire; to find her friends as quickly as possible; and with that intention she hurried along the narrow passage, stooping as she ran, for the way was low, and more than once Lady Ruth knocked her head against the roof.

Suddenly she stopped in her mad speed and dropped on her knees with a cry of affright.

There right in front of her were two ways; which was the right way? which the wrong one? Which way had she come? which way was she to go? When she rushed after her friends she had never noticed the way along which she sped, and, consequently, she had no remembrance of either of the ways which fronted her, and was at a loss which one to follow.

Suddenly she jumped to her feet with a glad cry. A yard or two down one of the ways in front of her was a board on which something was written in chalk, and on going to it she read the following:—

Walter Gray, August 9, 1871,

and above the writing was an arrow roughly sketched in chalk.

Lady Ruth was not aware that it is the custom for mine officials, when going through the mine, to write their names and date of visit on some convenient spot to show that they have been there. But she was aware of one thing. The mere fact of Walter Gray's name being on the board attested that he had been there only a few weeks before, and she also felt tolerably certain that he must have proceeded along the road in which the board lay, for the head of the roughly sketched arrow was pointed in that direction.

Cheered up by this discovery she picked up her lamp, having placed it on the floor when she found the board, and proceeded along leisurely. The excitement of the last few minutes had exhausted her more than all her previous exertions, and she would fain have rested, but the wish to see her friends once more overcame every other feeling, and spurred her onward.

She went along, listening now and again for evidence of her friends' whereabouts, but nothing pertaining to them revealed itself to her eyesight or hearing.

The silence pervading the low dark chambers and corridors of the mine was so intense as to appear to her like the roaring of the sea, as she listened with fast-throbbing heart, and wet, heated face. She wiped the big beads of perspiration from her face, and thrust her handkerchief into a fold of her dress, mistaking it for her pocket, and when she rose the handkerchief dropped to the floor.

She was in one of the main air-ways of the mine, and the swift ventilating current swept past her like a strong wind, playing with delicious coldness on her neck and face.

Her ladyship was thoroughly tired of her adventure now. She was intensely annoyed at her mishap, and much chagrined that her friends had not discovered her ere this. Surely Walter ought to have missed her at once, and lost no time in rescuing her from these dark, tortuous ways.

What a time it seemed since she had stopped to tie her unfortunate boot? How far had she travelled since then, and how much farther would she have to travel ere she found her friends again?

"What is that? They are coming at last!"

She jumped to her feet and listened eagerly. What was the noise she heard? What could it be, save the sound of her friends' feet, with Walter Gray at their head? They were coming at last to her rescue.

"Heaven help me—I am lost!"

This cry broke from Ruth Gordan's lips as she darted rapidly forward for dear life. The noise she had heard was the sound caused by the breaking of a wooden prop, which supported the roof close by where she stood, and when the prop broke with a crash, and a large stone fell with a great clatter, she gave vent to a terrible cry of agony.

It appeared to her that all the sides and roof were closing in upon her, and would crush her to death. A terrible fear rose in her breast, a cry of terror welled from her mouth, and she sprang forward to avoid, if possible, the awful fate that was menacing her.

In her hurry and excitement she did not notice a piece of timber which lay in the way; she trod upon it; it twisted under her foot, and in a moment she was thrown violently to the floor, her lamp flew from her fingers, struck against the hard ground with a clatter, and was extinguished.

For a few awful moments she lay in the darkness on the cold, hard floor, unable to either cry out or move. She expected each moment to feel the hard pitiless rocks fall upon her and batter her to death, and for the space of five seconds—though it appeared an hour to her—she suffered only as they can suffer who fear death, yet feel his icy knuckles on their throats.

But the slow moments passed, and she remained unhurt. All was quiet, saving the trickling of a few small fragments of the roof where the large stone had already fallen, and Lady Ruth rose to her feet with a prayer on her lips, which were usually strangers to holy words. Fear, and not love, was the mother of her devotion.

Even as she fell prostrate Lady Ruth had noticed a large hole scooped in the side of the way, and into this hole she dragged herself, her spirit broken, and physically exhausted. She sank in a heap in the cavernous place of refuge she had found, and the tears flowed freely down her soft cheeks, the saline streams cutting little channels through the dust which had gathered on her beautiful face.

As she sat there in the intense darkness and deep silence, a wave of pity swept over her ladyship's heart as she thought of the poor wretches who had to labour day after day all the year through in such a place. What an awful thing it would be to have to spend the rest of her life in such a prison?

As she lay huddled up in her hole with the strong air current sweeping past her feet, she manufactured many hopes and fears to cheer her one moment and frighten her the next. How long would her friends be yet? Surely, not long. Walter—dear Walter, now—would not lose a minute when her life was at stake. How glad she would have been to welcome his presence at that instant, with loving words and kisses, to have flung her arms around his neck and hailed him as her rescuer.

Yes, Walter would find her, but when? Perhaps he would come only to find her stiffened from cold in death. Already an age seemed to have fled since she had lost sight of her friends, and another might go by ere she was discovered.

Good God! how long was she to endure this terrible darkness and silence. Her brain would give way soon, and she would become hopelessly mad. Already her imagination began to people the dark corridors of the mine with monstrous shapes—great, terrible creatures, dragon-headed and eagle-winged—with slimy bodies and horrible gaping mouths, ready to swallow her up, and leave her fate for ever a mystery.

Was her life to end thus? Were all her dreams of sumptuous luxury and ease and social success to be buried with her, far from the light of day?

"No! no! no!" she shrieked out, and then she prayed earnestly.

But she did not pray for her soul to be saved for the world to come; she prayed for her body to be saved for the present life, and even as she uttered her fervent solicitations for help there rung on her affrighted ears what she thought the knell of her doom.

A report mighty as an earthquake shock ran along the corridors of the mine, she felt the ground tremble beneath her, and a tongue of flame mighty as a million lightning flashes hurled past the hole in which she crouched, its hot breath singing her hair and striking terror to her heart.

Then she sank into the merciful oblivion of a swoon.

"God help Lady Ruth now!" Walter Gray cried in agonized tones, "for nothing but heaven's help can save her now."

Sir Wilton Haigh, with white face, Dick Bandon, quite serious now, and the others exclaimed with one voice, "What's the matter?"

"The pit has exploded," Walter answered, "and it would have killed a thousand men had they been down the mine!"

"What's to be done?" cried Dick Bandon. "Surely something can be done to save Lady Ruth!"

"Yes! yes!" broke in the baronet, "we must do something, and at once. Tell us, Gray, what we must do."

"I fear that little can be done for Lady Ruth now," Walter answered in husky tones as he turned his head away to hide the tears in his eyes. "Of course," he continued, "I shall go down the pit at once and do what I can."

"We'll go with you!" the baronet and Dick Bandon cried in a breath.

"No! no!" Walter replied; "you would only be in the way. You know absolutely nothing of the mine, and you cannot help me. I shall have plenty of help in a few minutes. The noise of the explosion will have aroused all my miners, and the pit brow will be crowded before long, and I shall have plenty of able men to choose from."

Sir Wilton and Bandon expostulated, but Walter remained firm, and the baronet and his guests departed for Olsham with sad hearts and sorrowful faces, meeting as they went away crowds of men and women hurrying towards the exploded pit.

A quarter of an hour after the explosion the pit bank was filled with a crowd of excited men, many of whom worked down the pit that had fired. Everybody was asking everybody else if anybody was down the pit, and no one could give a satisfactory answer.

It was dark now; the last rays of day were dying out in the west behind Olsham Hall. Walter stepped forward amongst the excited miners. His presence stilled the clamour, and all waited for him to speak. A single glance around discovered many familiar faces in the throng, and then he spoke.

"Lads," he said, speaking quietly and clearly so that all of them could hear him. "You know that the Arley Mine has fired. There's only one person down the pit, and that person is a lady—one of my friends. How many of you are willing to help me to save her? Five pounds to everyone who goes with me. But I want no one to volunteer except those who know every inch of the mine. Step out those who are willing to go with me."

A crowd of volunteers answered Walter Gray's appeal, and it was not the promised reward that caused them to step boldly out from the crowd. Miners are perhaps the most ignorant class of workmen extant, but when human life is in danger they rank with the very highest. The soldier is brave who faces the mouth of the enemy's cannon, but he is braver still who enters an exploded mine.

Walter quickly selected a score of the hardiest of the volunteers—men he knew well, and could trust implicitly, and a descent was at once effected into the pit. On reaching the bottom Walter divided his men into two gangs, placing himself at the head of one, and a clever young miner (Jack Mathas), at the head of the other.

"You will go along the South Level, Jack," Walter said ere the gangs parted, "and work round towards the far end of the North Level, where I am going. Be as careful as you can, and if you meet with anything on fire let me know at once if it is dangerous."

"I will," Jack Mathas answered, and then the gangs parted, one going southward and the other northward.

To use a very hackneyed phrase, Walter Gray's feelings may be better imagined than described. His conscience was far from satisfied with his conduct of the last hour or two. He had been so remiss in his duty as to permit one of the party he had conducted to the mine to get lost, and in all probability his negligence would cost a life. But fate had punished him for his dereliction by taking the dearest being earth held.

All the members of the rescue party were fully aware of the dangerous nature of their work. A second explosion might occur at any moment and sweep them all away—even at that instant another explosion might be brewing in some far away corner of the mine.

Knowing their peril they were on their guard, going cautiously along. Walter's heart grew a little less heavy when he found that the ventilating current was sweeping along as usual. This fact told him that the explosion had not shaken down the roof so as to impede the inrush and outrush of pure air, without which it would have been impossible to enter the mine. If Lady Ruth had not been killed by the explosion there was a chance of saving her life if nothing interfered with the ventilation of the mine.

Walter and his party had not proceeded far when he stopped suddenly, saying—

"Hush, lads! Don't you smell something? I think the coal is on fire somewhere close by."

Several of the miners averred also that they could smell "Summat brunnin," and going cautiously onwards their suspicious were verified.

There in front of them blazed a glowing mass of fire. The rich coal splattered and flared like a big furnace, and the atmosphere was impregnated with a considerable amount of "fire-damp." In an hour or so, perhaps sooner, the atmosphere would reach an explosive point, and unless the fire was extinguished before that time another explosion would ensue.

Walter's mind was made up in a moment. The fire must be extinguished, if possible—at least, the effort to do so should be made. The coal was burning on the higher side of the way, and along the lower side a stream of water ran out of some disused workings. A score of willing men with buckets might yet master the fire.

"Every one of you run to the pit shaft as fast as you can go. There will be another explosion in a while if this fire isn't put out. You, Johnson," a grizzly old miner, "must go after Jack Mathas, and tell him what has happened. Bring Jack and all his gang back with you at once, and bring all the buckets you can find. You'll get some in the stables; there are others in the engine-house on the surface. Now go, and be quick back. I'll wait here for you. Perhaps a life depends on your speed."

Walter seated himself on a piece of coal a few yards from the fire as coolly as though he had been sitting down at Sir Wilton Haigh's dinner table. He did not underrate the danger, but he wished to inspire his men with courage, and his cool words and even cooler action had the desired effect.

The miners dashed away at full speed to execute his orders, each one eager to distinguish himself by quickness and daring. In a short time a score of men, most of them bearing a bucket, came upon their young master still seated, and coolly regarding the fire, which had greatly increased in size.

Walter jumped to his feet all vigour and eagerness now, and then the hot, hard work commenced.

"If we beat the fire we live; if it beats us we die," cried Walter, flinging off cap and coat, and seizing a bucket. "If we don't put the fire out in half an hour there will be an explosion—you know what an explosion means."

The sturdy miners had flung off all their clothes above their waists, and they worked as only men can work when they know their lives are at stake. In half an hour the fire was beaten. The workers had been reinforced by a new gang, headed by the Manager of the mine, and this facilitated the work.

After a few minutes rest the whole of the men proceeded to the far end of the mine—that part where Lady Ruth had been last seen. Walter guessed rightly that her ladyship had taken the wrong way when following them, after stopping to tie her boot, and had got into what were called the "back air-ways."

Walter had formed his own theory regarding the cause of the explosion, and on reaching the far end of the mine his thesis turned out correct. The mis-shot had gone off after hanging fire for hours, setting fire to a considerable quantity of "fire-damp," which had accumulated in the vicinity owing to a fall of roof.

On reaching this point Walter divided his men into three gangs, sending each gang in a different direction in order to scour all the old ways with greater facility.

Walter was now in a pitiable state. He expected each moment to come across the dead body of the woman he loved, for even if she had not been killed by the explosion the deadly "after-damp" or carbonic acid gas formed by the explosion would have smothered her.

All the men converged towards an agreed-upon point, and when they met none of them had been successful. Again the men parted, scoured a fresh portion of the mine, and still were unsuccessful. Again and again the men explored different parts of the mine, working their way from the far end towards the pit shaft.

Walter's heart began to glow with hope. There was a chance now of Lady Ruth being alive if she were so far away from the seat of the explosion when it happened, and a mute, eloquent prayer rose from his soul that such might indeed be the case. If his darling were alive he would be content; he cared not for the money the explosion would cost him.

Walter was going cautiously over a big stone that had fallen out of the roof and almost blocked the way, when his hand touched something soft. It was a handkerchief—Lady Ruth's he knew, for it bore her initials elaborately wrought in one corner.

"She can't be far away now," he cried joyfully, and he sprang eagerly forward, and his foot caught something hard which almost tripped him up. Bending down he saw a lamp. 'Twas the one he had lit and handed to Lady Ruth some hours before.

She must be close by. She could not have gone far in the dark, he thought, and glancing round he saw something lying in a hole in the side—a form lying deathly still.

"Good God! she is dead!" he cried in his agony, and stooping he lifted the slight form in his arms.

But Lady Ruth was not dead. She slept, and her slumber passed away as Walter pressed her convulsively to his breast, for he thought her dead, and he forgot that his men were standing by watching him, and even touched to tears by his passionate outburst.

Then Ruth Gordan's eyes opened; she recognised with a start the face that was peering so lovingly and anxiously into her own, and she flung her arms around his neck, crying in tones of passionate endearment—

"Walter! Walter! Thank God, you have saved me!"

Then, seeing the rough miners standing by, each of them looking sheepish enough now, she hid her burning face on her rescuer's breast, and the hot, thankful tears flowed freely down her cheeks.