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Sappers and Miners; The Flood beneath the Sea, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 35. The Help At Last |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. THE HELP AT LAST Joe uttered a groan, and began to wade after his companion, scraping the lanthorn against the roof from time to time in his agitation. He would have called to Gwyn to come back, but he could not find the words. He felt, though, that he must follow to help him, and began to wonder whether he could keep the light above water with one hand as he swam; and he prepared to try, for he felt that he must strike out as soon as the water touched his chin. Then he paused, for from out of the darkness, and loud above the splashing, came Gwyn's angry words to the dog. "You wretch! Come back!" he roared. "Wait till I get out of this, and I'll give you such a licking as will make your coat rougher than ever. Come back, will you!" Grip made no sign of hearing, but swam on with all his might, and as he swam with one hand, Gwyn kept on lowering his feet to try for the bottom; but the dog's swimming was so energetic that the boy lost his balance again and again, and had a lesson in a man's helplessness in the water. At last, and just when a feeling of dread was beginning to freeze his nerves, Gwyn, on lowering his legs, touched the rock, and giving an angry drag at the kerchiefs to check the dog, he regained his feet, and found the water little above his waist. "It's all right," he panted. "Come on, Joe; the floor dips down there, and you're nearly in the deepest part, I think. I don't suppose you'll have to swim. I shouldn't if this wretch of a dog had not pulled me over." Joe waded on very slowly and cautiously, finding his companion's words quite correct, and that, after just keeping his mouth above water, the level sank during the next few paces to his chin, then to his chest, and soon after to his waist, after which he easily reached his dripping companion. "Nice mess, isn't it?" said Gwyn. "I wish old Sam Hardock was in it-- pretending that the mine was pumped out. Will you be quiet, Grip? There, get on! It's all right if we're going in the proper direction;" and then, after wading on about a couple of hundred yards with the water still falling, Grip was able to walk, and uttering a joyous bark, he splashed along for a little way, and then stopped short, and gave himself a regular canine water-distributing shake which made him seem as if about to throw off his skin. "Look at that," cried Gwyn now. "Only just wet above one's shoes." Another fifty yards and they were upon the dry rocky floor, which they liberally bedewed with the water which trickled from their clothes as they were hurried on by the dog, who strained more than ever at his leash. "It must be a good sign for him to tug like this," said Gwyn. "Yes; he seems to know the way. It's of no use to try and stop him, for we know that we were all wrong, and perhaps he's right." "Yes; look at him," said Gwyn; "there can't be a doubt about it. See how he tugs to get along." "Yes; and now I think of it," said Joe, eagerly, "we haven't come through that hall-like place with the pillars all about." "Haven't come to it yet, perhaps." Joe shook his head, and gave his companion a meaning look. "It isn't that," he said. "We've come quite a different way." "Well, it doesn't matter," said Gwyn, so long as we get to the foot of the shaft; "and I shall be very glad, for, wet, tired, and hungry, it's very horrible being here." They went on, led by the dog like two blind beggars Gwyn said, as he tried to look cheerfully upon their position, when he received another mental check, for Joe cried suddenly, "Stop a moment, for there's something wrong with this candle;" and a shudder worse than that which had attacked the boy when the water first rose to his breast ran through his nerves. Joe opened the door of the lanthorn with a jerk, and the candle, which had fallen over on one side and was smoking the glass, dropped out on to the rocky floor; but Gwyn stooped quickly and saved it from becoming extinct, while the dog uttered an impatient bark and dragged at the leash again. And it was always so as they proceeded, that the boys' strength, which had flickered up at the hope of rescue brought by the dog, rapidly burned down now like the candle, which quickly approached its end; while the dog seemed to be untiring and toiled and tugged away, as if trying to draw his master onward. They spoke less and less, and dragged their feet, and grew more helpless, till at the end of a couple of hours Joe suddenly said,-- "It's of no use, Ydoll; I can go no farther, and he's only taking us more into the mine. There isn't a bit of it we've passed before." "Never mind; we must trust him now," said Gwyn, sadly; "we can't go back." "No, but we oughtn't to have trusted him at all. We ought to have felt that we knew better than a dog." "Stop! What are you going to do?" cried Gwyn, angrily. "This," said Joe; and he let himself sink down on the rocky floor, and laid his head on his hand. "No, no; get up! You sha'n't turn coward like this. Get up, I say!" "I--can't," said Joe. "I'm dead beat. You go on, and if Grip takes you out try and find me again. If you can't, tell father I did my best." "I won't; I sha'n't," cried Gwyn, furiously. "Think I'm going to leave you?" "Yes. Save yourself." "You get up," cried Gwyn; and stooping down, he caught one of his companion's arms, dragged at it with a heavy jerk, and found that he had miscalculated his strength, for he sank upon his knees, felt as if the lanthorn was gliding round him, and then subsided close by where Joe lay, while just then the dog gave a furious tug at the leash, freed itself, and dashed off into the darkness, barking apparently with delight. "It's of no good, Joe; I'm as bad as you," said Gwyn, slowly; "I can't get up again." "Never mind, Ydoll; we have done our duty, old chap, as the dads said we ought to as soldiers' sons. We have, haven't we?" "No, not quite," cried Gwyn. "Let's have one more try--I will, and you shall." He made an effort to rise, but sank back and nearly fainted, but recovered himself to feel that Joe had got hold of his hand, and he uttered a piteous sigh. "Light's going out, Jolly, and if they don't find us soon our lights'll go out, too. I wouldn't care so much if it wasn't for the mater, because it will nearly kill her," he continued drearily. "She's ever so fond of me, though I've alway been doing things to upset her. Father won't mind so much, because he'll say I died like a man doing my duty." "How will they know that?" mused Joe, whose eyes were half-closed. "Let's write it down on paper." Gwyn was silent for a few moments as he lay thinking, but at last he spoke. "No," he said; "that would be like what father calls blowing your own trumpet. He used to say to me that if he had gone about praising himself and telling people that he was a great soldier and had done all kinds of brave deeds, he would have been made a general before now; but he wouldn't. 'If they can't find out I've done my duty, and served my Queen as I should, let it be,' he said. And that's what we ought to do when we've fought well. If they don't find out that we've done what we should, it doesn't much matter; let it go. I'm tired out and faint, as you are, and--so's the candle, Joe. There, it has gone out." Joe uttered a low, long, weary sigh, as, after dancing up and down two or three times, the light suddenly went out. "Frightened?" said Gwyn, gently, as the black darkness closed them in. "No, only sleepy," was the reply. "Good-night." "Good-night," said Gwyn, softly; and the next minute they were sleeping calmly, with their breath coming and going gently, and the dripping of water from somewhere close at hand sounding like the beating of the pendulum of some great clock. Once more the loud barking of a dog, long after the boys had lain down to rest, and Grip was dragging first at Gwyn, then at Joe, seizing their jackets in his teeth and tugging and shaking at them, but with no greater effect than to make Gwyn utter a weary sigh. The dog barked again and tugged at him, but, finding his efforts of no avail, he stood with his paws resting on his master's breast, threw up his head, and uttered a dismal long-drawn howl which went echoing along the passages, and a faint shout was heard from far away. The dog sprang from where he stood, ran a few yards, and stood barking furiously before running back to where Gwyn lay, when he seized and shook him again, and howled, ending by giving three or four licks at his face. Then he threw up his head once more, and sent forth another prolonged, dismal howl. This was answered by a faintly-heard whistle, and the dog barked loudly over and over again, till a voice nearer now called his name. All this was repeated till a gleam was seen on the wall, and now the dog grew frantic in his barking, running to and fro, and finally, as voices were faintly heard, and the gleaming of lights grew plainer, he crouched down with his head resting on Gwyn's breast, panting heavily as if tired out. "Here, Grip! Grip! Grip! Where are you?" rang out in the Colonel's voice; and the dog answered with a single bark, repeated at intervals till the lights grew plainer, shadows appeared on the walls, there was the trampling of feet, and a voice said,-- "Hold up, sir; he must be close at hand. The dog keeps in one place, so he must have found them. Here, here, here!" There was a long whistle, but the dog did not leave his place, only gave a sharp bark; and the next minute lights were being held over the Major and Colonel Pendarve, as they knelt beside their sons, trying all they knew to bring them back to their senses. Their efforts were not without effect, for after a time Gwyn opened his eyes, stared blankly at the light, and said feebly,-- "Don't! Let me go to sleep." Shortly after the two boys were being carefully carried in a semi-unconscious state by the willing hands of the search-party, through the bewildering mazes of the old mine, with Grip trotting on in front as if he were in command; and in this way the foot of the shaft was reached and they were safely taken to grass. _ |
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