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Sappers and Miners; The Flood beneath the Sea, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 39. Grip's Bad Luck |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. GRIP'S BAD LUCK "Why don't you speak?" cried Gwyn, angrily. "Has there been an accident? Surely father hasn't gone down!" "Oh, the Colonel's all right, sir," said Hardock, genially. "The gov'nor hasn't gone and lost himself." "But there has been an accident, Sam," cried Joe. "Nor the Major aren't gone down neither, sir," said the man. "Here, let me carry that fish basket. Didn't remember me with a couple o' mullet, did you?" "Yes, two of those are for you, Sam; but do speak out? What is wrong?" "Something as you won't like, sir. Your dog Grip's gone down the mine." "What for? Thinks we're there? Well, that's nothing; he'll soon find his way up. Why did they let him go down?" "Couldn't help it, sir," said the man, slowly. "What--he would go? I did miss him, Joe, when I went home. I remember now, we didn't see him after we went to the mine. He must have missed us, and then thought we had gone down." "Sets one thinking of being lost and his coming after us," said Joe, slowly. "Well, he can't lose his way." "But how do you know he went down, Sam?" asked Gwyn, as they approached the mine. "Harry Vores heerd him." "What, barking?" "'Owlin'." "Oh, at the bottom of the shaft. Dull because no one was down. Then why did you suggest that there was an accident? You gave me quite a turn." "'Cause there was an accident, sir," said Hardock, quietly; and he led the way into the great shed over the pit mouth, where all was very still. Gwyn saw at a glance that something serious had happened to the dog, which was lying on a roughly-made bed composed of a miner's flannel coat placed on the floor, beside which Harry Vores was kneeling; and as soon as the dog heard steps he raised his head, turned his eyes pitifully upon his master, and uttered a doleful howl. "Why, Grip, old chap, what have you been doing?" cried Gwyn, excitedly. "Don't torment him, sir," said Vores; "he's badly hurt." "Where? Oh, Grip! Grip!" cried Gwyn, as he laid his hand on the dog's head, while the poor beast whined dolefully, and made an effort to lick the hand that caressed him, as he gazed up at his master as if asking for sympathy and help. "Both his fore-legs are broken, sir, and I'm afraid he's got nipped across the loins as well." "Nay, nay, nay, Harry," growled Hardock; "not him. If he had been he wouldn't have yowled till you heerd him." "Nipped?" said Gwyn. "Then it wasn't a fall?" "Nay, sir; Harry Vores and me thinks he must ha' missed you, and thought you'd gone down the mine, and waited his chance and jumped on to the up-and-down to go down himself." "Oh, but the dog wouldn't have had sense enough to do that." "I dunno, sir. Grip's got a wonderful lot o' sense of his own! 'Member how he found you two young gents in the mine! Well, he's seen how the men step on and off the up-and-down, and he'd know how to do it. He must, you know." "But some of the men would know," said Gwyn. "Dessay they do, sir, but they're all off work now, and we don't know who did. Well, he must have had a hunt for you, and not smelling you, come back to the foot o' the shaft, and began to mount last thing, till he were close to the top, and then made a slip and got nipped. That's how we think it was--eh, Harry?" "Yes, sir; that's all I can make of it," said Vores. "I was coming by here when the men were all up, and the engine was stopped, and I heard a yowling, and last of all made out that it was down the shaft here; and I fetched Master Hardock and we got the engine started, and I went and found the poor dog four steps down, just ready to lick my hand, but he couldn't wag his tail, and that's what makes me think he's nipped." But just then Grip moved his tail feebly, a mere ghost of a wag. "There!" cried Hardock, triumphantly; "see that? Why, if he'd been caught across the lines he'd have never wagged his tail again." "Poor old Grip," said Gwyn, tenderly; "that must have been it. He tried too much. Caught while coming up. Here, let's look at your paw." The boy tenderly took hold of the dog's right paw, and he whined with pain, but made no resistance, only looked appealingly at his masters to let them examine the left leg. "Oh, there's no doubt about it, Joe; both legs have been crushed." Joe drew a low, hissing breath through his teeth. "It's 'most a wonder as both legs warn't chopped right off," said Vores. "Better for him, pore chap, if they had been." "Hadn't we better put him out of his misery, sir?" said Hardock. "Out of his misery!" cried Gwyn, indignantly. "I should like to put you out of your misery." "Nay, you don't mean that, sir," said the captain, with a chuckle. "Kill my dog!" cried Gwyn. "You'll take his legs right off, won't you, sir, with a sharp knife?" said Vores. "No, I won't," cried Gwyn, fiercely. "Better for him, sir," said Vores. "They'd heal up then." "But you can't give a dog a pair of wooden legs, matey," said Hardock, solemnly. "If you cuts off his front legs, you'd have to cut off his hind-legs to match. Well, he'd only be like one o' them turnspitty dogs then; and it always seems to me a turnspitty to let such cripply things live." "We must take him home, Joe," said Gwyn, who did not seem to heed the words uttered by the men. "Yes," said Joe. "Poor old chap!" and he bent down to softly stroke the dog's head. "Better do it here, Master Gwyn," said Hardock. "We'll take him into the engine-house to the wood block. I know where the chopper's kept." "What!" cried Gwyn, in horror. "Oh, you wretch!" "Nay, sir, not me. It's the kindest thing you can do to him. You needn't come. Harry Vores'll hold him to the block, and I'll take off all four legs clean at one stroke and make a neat job of it, so as the wounds can heal." Gwyn leaped to his feet, seized the basket from where it had been placed upon the floor, tilted it upside down, so that the fish flew out over to one side of the shed, and turned sharply to Joe,--"Catch hold!" he said, as he let the great basket down; and setting the example, he took hold of one end of the flannel couch on which poor Grip lay. Joe took the other, and together they lifted the dog carefully into the basket, where he subsided without a whine, his eyes seeming to say,-- "Master knows best." "I'll carry him to the house, Mr Gwyn, sir," said Vores. "No, thank you," said the boy, shortly; "we can manage." "Didn't mean to offend you, sir," said the man, apologetically. "Wanted to do what was best." "Ay, sir, that we did," said Hardock. "I'm afeard if you get binding up his legs, they'll go all mortificatory and drop off; and a clear cut's better than that, for if his legs mortify like, he'll die. If they're ampitated, he'll bleed a bit, but he'll soon get well." "Thank you both," said Gwyn, quietly. "I know you did not mean harm, but we can manage to get him right, I think. Come along, Joe." They lifted the basket, one at each end, swinging the dog between them, and started off, Grip whining softly, but not attempting to move. "Shall we bring on the fish, sir?" shouted Hardock. "Bother the fish!" cried Gwyn. "No; take it yourselves." _ |
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