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Sappers and Miners; The Flood beneath the Sea, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 25. True To The Core |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. TRUE TO THE CORE "Do you mean it, Master Gwyn?" said Dinass, sharply. "Mean it? Of course. You'll come with us and help." The man's mouth opened widely, and he stared for a few moments before he spoke,-- "Help to get lanthorns and candles, sir? Yes, of course." "Come down with us," said Gwyn, sharply. "You can't let us go alone." "Not let you go alone, sir," growled the man, surlily. "Well, you see--" "Yes, we see," cried Gwyn, "you have been used to mines, we have not." "Much used to this one as I am, sir. I don't know no more about it than you do." "'Course you don't, matey," said the engineer, "but you can't say you won't go with 'em to look for the guv'nors and our mate." "Can't I? Yes, I can," cried Dinass, fiercely; "easy; I won't go-- there!" "Yah!" came in a fierce growl from the men outside. "Ah, but you don't mean it," cried the engineer. "Yes, I do," cried Dinass. "Don't you be so precious handy sending people where they don't want to go. Why don't you go yourself?" "How can I go?" said the engineer, sharply. "My dooty's here. Can you manage the skep and rope?" "How do I know till I try?" growled Dinass. "Try? Why, you'd be doing some mischief. I've no right to leave my work while anyone's down, and I won't leave it; but I'd go if I was free." "Tom Dinass will go," said Joe. "You can't leave us in the lurch like this." "'Course not: it's his gammon," cried a man at the opening into the shed-like place. "You'll go, mate." "Ay, he'll go," rose in chorus. "No, he won't," said Dinass, angrily. "I get five-and-twenty shilling a week for working here, not for going to chuck away my life." "Gahn!" shouted a man. "Your life aren't worth more nor no one else's. Who are you?" "Never you mind who I am," growled Dinass, "I aren't going to chuck away my life, and so I tell you." "Who wants you to chuck away your life? Go on down, like a man," said the engineer. "You go yourself; I'll take care of the engines," cried Dinass. "That will do," said Gwyn, quietly. "Let us have candles, please, quick." "Oh, you're not going down alone, young gen'lemen," said the man at the doorway who had spoken the most. "Some on us'll go with you if he won't, but the guv'nors made him second like to Master Hardock, and he ought to go, and he will, too, or we'll make him." "Oh, will you?" cried Dinass, fiercely; "and how will you make me?" "Why, if you don't go down like a man along with the young masters, we'll tie you neck and crop, and stuff you in the skep, and two more of us'll come, too, and make you go first. What do you say to that?" "Say you daren't," cried Dinass. "What do you say, lads?" cried the man. "Oh, we'll make him go," came in chorus. By this time, as Dinass stood there angry and defiant, the engineer had produced a candle-box and lit a couple of lanthorns, when Gwyn and Joe each took one, and stepped into the empty skep, followed by Grip, who curled up by their feet. "Can't go like that, young gents. Them caps won't do. Here, come out. Who'll lend young masters hats?" A couple of the strong leathern hats were eagerly offered, but only one would fit, and a fresh selection had to be made. "Better have flannel jackets, sir," said the engineer to Gwyn. "No, no, we can't wait for anything else. Come, Joe. Now let us down." He raised the iron rail which protected the hole, and again stepped into the skep, followed by Joe, lanthorn in hand, and with the candle-box slung from his shoulder. "Now, Tom Dinass," cried the engineer, "I'm with you." "Nay, I don't go this time," was the surly reply, as Dinass looked sharply round at the men who had crowded into the shed, and in response to a meaning nod from the engineer began to edge nearer to him. "Are you quite ready, Joe? Lower away," cried Gwyn. "Wait a minute, sir," said the engineer, "you aren't quite ready. Now, then, Dinass, be a man." "Oh, I'm man enough," said the miner, taking out his pipe and tobacco, "but I don't go down this time, I tell you." "Yes, you do," said the man who had spoken. "Ready?" "Nay," cried Dinass, thrusting back his pipe and pouch and catching up a miner's pick, which he swung round his head; "keep back, you cowards. You're afraid to go yourselves, and you want to force me. Keep off, or I'll do someone a mischief. There isn't one of you as dare tackle me like a man." "Oh, yes, there is," cried the first speaker; "any of us would. Now, once more, will you go down with the young gentlemen?" "Go yourself. No!" "Oh, I'd go, but it's your job. You're made next to Master Sam Hardock, so just show that you're worth the job." "Lower away there," cried Dinass, "and let the boys go down theirselves." "Not me," said the engineer. "Right," said the leader of the men. "Now, Tom Dinass, this time settles it: will you go down?" "No!" "Then here goes to make you." The man dashed at Dinass, who struck at him with the pick, but the handle was cleverly caught, the tool wrested from his grasp and thrown on the floor, while, before the striker could recover himself, he was seized, there was a short struggle, and his opponent, who was a clever Cornish wrestler, gave him what is termed the cross-buttock, lifted him from the ground, and laid him heavily on his back. The men raised a frantic cheer of delight, which jarred terribly on the two boys in their anxious state, though all the same they could not help feeling satisfied at seeing Dinass prostrated and lying helpless with the miner's foot upon his chest. "Let him get up," said Gwyn; "we'd sooner go alone than with him; but if you'll come with us I should be glad." "I'd come with you, sir, or any on us would--" "Ay, ay," chorused the men. "But we feel, as miners, that when a man's got his dooty to do, he must do it. So Master Tom Dinass here must go by fair means or foul." "I'll go," cried Dinass. "Set o' cowards--ten or a dozen on you again' one." "Nay, there was only one again' you with bare hands and without a pick. You go down, mate, and when you come up t'others'll see fair, and I'll show you whether I'm a coward." "Don't I tell you I'll go?" growled Dinass. "Let me get up." "Do you mean it? No games, or it'll be the worse for you," said the miner, sternly. "I said I'd go with them," growled Dinass. "I aren't afraid, but I warn't engaged to do this sort of thing." "You'll go, then?" "Are you deaf? Yersss!" roared Dinass; and as the miner took his foot from the prostrate man's chest another moved to the doorway to guard against retreat. But if Dinass had any intention of breaking away he did not show it. He rose to his feet, shook himself, and picking up his hat, which had been knocked off, put it on, took it off again, glanced round for one he considered suitable, snatched it from its wearer's head, put it on his own and pitched the one he had worn to the miner he had robbed, and then stepped into the skep. "There you are," he said. "Now, then, lower away;" and as he spoke he stooped down quickly seized the dog by the collar, and swung him out of the skep. "Don't! Don't do that," cried Gwyn. "Let the dog come." But his words were too late; the rail was clapped down, the engineer had seized the handle; there was a clang, a sharp blow upon a gong, and it seemed to the boys that the floor they had just left had suddenly shot up to the ceiling. Then it gave place to a glow of light dotted with heads, and amidst a low murmur of voices there rose the furious barking of a dog. Directly after, they were conscious of the singular sensation that is felt when in a swing and descending after the rise, but in a greatly intensified way. Then the glow overhead grew fainter and smaller, and the lanthorns they held seemed to burn more brightly, while a peculiar whishing, dripping noise made itself heard, telling of water oozing from some seam. "For we always are so jolly, oh! So jolly, oh!" sang Dinass in a harsh, discordant voice. "How do you like this, youngsters?" Neither of the boys answered, but the same thought came to them both--"that their companion was singing to make a show of his courage." "I didn't want to fight," continued Dinass; "but I could have knocked that fellow Harry Vores into the middle of next week if I'd liked. I'd have come down, too, without any fuss if they'd asked me properly; but I'm not going to be bullied and driven, so I tell 'em." Still neither Gwyn nor Joe spoke, but stood listening to the dripping water, and wondering at the easy way in which the skep went down past platform and beam, whose presence was only shown by the gleam of the wet wood as the lanthorns passed. And still down and down for what seemed to be an interminable length of time. They knew that they must have passed the openings of several horizontal galleries, but they saw no signs of them, as they stood drawing their breath hard, till all at once the skep stopped, and Dinass shouted boisterously,-- "Here we are; bottom. Give's hold o' one o' them lanthorns, or we shall be in the sumph." He snatched the lanthorn Joe carried, held it down, and stepped off the skep. "It's all right," he said; "there's some planking here." The two boys followed, and looked down into the black thick water of the sumph, a great tank into which the drainings of the mine ran ready for being pumped up; and now Gwyn held up his light to try and penetrate the gloom, but could only dimly trace the entrance of what appeared to be a huge, arch-roofed tunnel, and as they stepped over the rough wet granite beneath it, Dinass placed a hand to the side of his mouth and uttered a stentorian hail, which went echoing and rolling along before them, to be answered quite plainly from somewhere at a distance. A load fell from Gwyn's breast, and he uttered a sigh of relief. "It's all right, Joe," he said. "There they are, but some distance in. Come on." He led the way, Joe followed, and Dinass came last with the other lanthorn; and in a few minutes the great archway contracted and grew lower and lower, till it very nearly met their heads, and the sides of the place were so near that they could in places have been touched by the extended hands. "Hold hard a moment," said Dinass, after they had gone on a short distance; and as the boys turned to him wonderingly, he continued, "this here's the main lead of course, but it's sure to begin striking out directly right and left like the roots of a tree. What you've got to do's to keep to the main lead, and not go turning off either side. It's not very easy, because they're often as big as one another. That's what I wanted to say to you as one thing to mind. T'other's to keep a sharp look-out for ways downward to lower leads. There would be no railings left round here, 'cause the wood'll all have rotted away. I'd keep your light low down, and if you see a place like a square well don't step into it. You won't break your neck, 'cause it will be quite full of water, for the pumping hasn't reached down there, but you might be drowned, for it aren't likely I'm coming down after you." "I'll take care," said Gwyn, with his voice sounding husky; and Joe nodded, with his eyes looking wild and dilated. "That's all I wanted to say," said Dinass, "so on you go." "Give another shout," said Gwyn, "and let them know we're here." "What for?" said the man, roughly. "You heard what I said--to let them know we're here. They answered before, but I suppose voices travel a long way." "Sometimes," said the man, with a strange laugh. "Shout, then; your voice is louder than ours," said Gwyn. "What's the good o' shouting? They're miles away somewhere." "No, no, you heard them answer." "No I didn't," said the man, contemptuously; "that was only eckers." "What?" cried Gwyn, with his heart seeming to stand still. "Eckers. Hark here." He put his hand to his mouth, and proved the truth of his words. "Sam!" "_Sam_!" very softly. "Har!" "_Har_!" "Dock!" "_Dock_!"--the echo coming some moments after the calls in a peculiar weird way. "Sam 'Ardock!" shouted Dinass then, with a loudness and suddenness which made the boys start. "_Dock_!" came back from evidently a great distance, giving such an idea of mystery and depth that the boys could hardly repress a shudder. "Only eckers," said the man; "and as old Sam Hardock would say, 'it's a gashly great unked place,' but I think there's some tin in it. Look there and there!" He held up the lanthorn he carried close to the roof, which sparkled with little purply-black grains running in company with a reddish bloom, as if from rouge, amongst the bright quartz of the tunnel. "Oh, never mind the tin," cried Joe. "Pray, pray go on; we're losing time." "Yes, make haste," said Gwyn. "We'd better keep straight along here, and stop and shout at every opening or turning." "Yes, that will be right," said Joe. "Only do keep on. My father is so weak from his illnesses, that I'm afraid he has broken down. I ought not to have let him come." The words seemed strangely incongruous, and made Gwyn glance at his companion; but it was the tender nurse speaking, who had so often waited upon the Major through his campaign-born illnesses, and there was no call for mirth. Onward they went along the rugged tunnel, which wound and zigzagged in all directions, the course of the ancient miners having been governed by the track of the lode of tin; and soon after they came to where a vein had run off to their left, and been laboriously cut out with chisel, hammer, and pick. They shouted till the echoes they raised whispered and died away in the distance; but there was nothing to induce them to stay, and they went on again, to pause directly after by an opening on their right, where they again shouted in turn till they were hoarse, and once more went on to find branch after branch running from the main trunk, if main trunk it was; but all efforts were vain, and an hour must have gone by, nearly a quarter of which, at the last, had been here and there along the rugged gallery, without encountering a branch which showed where another vein had been followed. It was very warm, and the slippery moisture of the place produced a feeling of depression that was fast ripening into despair. At first they had talked a good deal concerning the probabilities of the exploring party coming out into the main trunk from one of the branches they had passed, but, as Gwyn said, they dared not reckon upon this, and must keep on now they were there. And at last they went trudging on almost in silence, the tramping of their feet and the quaint echoes being all that was heard, while three black shadows followed after them along the rugged floor, like three more explorers watching to see which way they went. All at once the silence was broken by Joe, who cried in a sharp, angry way,-- "Stop! Your candle's going out." Gwyn stopped without turning, opened the door of the lanthorn, and uttered an ejaculation. "Quite true," he said; "burned right down. I'll put in another candle." The box was opened, a fresh one taken out, its loose wick burned and blown off in sparks, and then it was lit and stuck in the molten grease of the socket. "You had better have another candle in yours, Dinass," said Joe; and he watched Gwyn's actions impatiently, while the lad carefully trimmed the wick, and waited till the grease of the socket cooled enough to hold the fresh candle firm. "Now," said Joe, "you ought to give another good shout here before we start again." There was no reply. "Well, did you hear what was said?" cried Gwyn, closing and fastening his lanthorn. Still there was no answer. "Here, Tom Dinass," cried Gwyn, raising his lanthorn, as he turned to look back; "why don't you do what you're told?" His answer was a sudden snatch at his arm by Joe, who clung to it in a fierce way. "What's the matter? Aren't you well? Oh, I say, you must hold up now. Here, Tom Dinass." "Gone!" gasped Joe, in a low whisper, full of horror. "Gone? Nonsense! he was here just now." "No. It's ever so long since he spoke to us. Gwyn, he has gone back and left us." "Left us? What, alone here!" faltered Gwyn, as the grey, sparkling roof seemed to revolve before his eyes. "Yes, alone here, Gwyn! Ydoll, old chap, it's horrible. Can we ever find our way back?" _ |
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