Taking Tales Part 30

"Here he is, Mrs Adams, all right," exclaimed Samuel, as he drew near.

The change from grief to joy, as she saw her boy stretching out his arms towards her, was almost too much for her strength, and she burst into tears as she took him from Kempson and pressed him to her bosom. When she recovered a little, she began to pour out her thanks to Samuel--

"Oh don't thank me, Mrs Adams, it was d.i.c.k found your boy, and if it had not been for him, he would have died--no doubt about that," answered Samuel.

"And I should have been very, very sorry, if I hadn't found him, that I should Mrs Adams," said d.i.c.k quietly. "You know what friends we are.

Now I dare say he would like to have a wash and go to bed."

"Thank ye, d.i.c.k--I would, mother," murmured David, who by this time had been brought into the house and placed in a chair.

"I would give him a little broth or tea, Mrs Adams, and he'll come all right soon," said Samuel, as he and his son left the cottage to return to the mine.

"Bless you, bless you, my boy," said the widow, as she watched d.i.c.k from the window for a moment: and she didn't say those words with her mouth only, but with her whole heart.

Samuel would have sent d.i.c.k home, but he begged that, though he was tired, he might go back to learn how it had fared with poor Bill Hagger.

"But I thought that Bill Hagger was one of your greatest enemies. He seemed always to be ill-treating you," observed Samuel.

"So he did, father," answered d.i.c.k. "But don't you mind what the missionary said the other day? 'We should love our enemies and do good to them that despitefully use us and hate us.'"

"So he did, d.i.c.k, to be sure; and I've often thought since then, what a hard matter it must be to do it."

"He said that we must pray for G.o.d's help and grace, father, and that then we shall be able to do what now seems so hard," was d.i.c.k's answer.

On reaching the bottom of the shaft, and going on a little way, they met some men carrying Bill Hagger, who had been got out from under the coal, but so dreadfully mangled, that it did not seem possible he could live.

Samuel now went back to work with his pick, and d.i.c.k returned to the charge of his trap.

STORY SIX, CHAPTER 5.

Day after day d.i.c.k sat by the side of his trap, all in the dark and by himself, opening and shutting it, as the corves and rolleys came by, and Samuel worked away as usual with his pick and spade. Though not as strong as many of the other hewers, he made as much as any one else by keeping at his work. The missionary continued to come to the village occasionally on the Sunday, but many of the men were absent that day, or would not come to hear. He was a man very earnest in his work. His great object was so to preach the gospel, that his hearers might understand and accept the offers it makes. He therefore considered how he might best get the ears of all the people in the district. Few men, knowing the dangers of a coal mine, would go down a second time for pleasure; but hearing that all the labourers collected in one place to eat their meals, he got leave to go down to read the Bible and preach to them all that time. They understood from this that he really wished to do them good; and in the course of a week or two there were very few who did not try to attend to what he said. Some few did much more than that, they repented--they turned to Christ--they put their whole trust in Him. Happy was it for those few who did so.

d.i.c.k was now becoming a biggish boy, and he hoped soon to be made a putter. He did not like the work a bit more than before. He could not help thinking of the green fields he remembered playing in when he was a little boy, and he ofttimes sighed for them; but his parents wanted him to work in the mines, and so it was his duty to stay on where he was.

At last he was made a putter, and had, with two other boys, to push and pull along the rolleys. He had been about a week at the work, when one day, as he was going ahead of a laden rolley, he slipped, and before those behind saw what had happened, the rolley went over his foot. He shrieked out, for the pain was very great, and it seemed as if his foot was smashed to pieces. "I shall be a cripple all my life, like poor Lawry; oh dear, oh dear!" was his first thought.

His companions put him on the rolley and took him to the foot of the shaft. He was soon drawn up to the pit's mouth, when the banksman got two men to carry him home on a stretcher, and sent for the doctor.

"Oh, d.i.c.k, d.i.c.k, what is the matter? Another of my boys a cripple!"

cried poor Mrs Kempson, when the men brought him in and placed him on his bed.

d.i.c.k could scarcely speak for the pain.

"Don't know, mother. Hope not," he could just murmur out.

"Was there ever so unfortunate a woman as I am? my poor boy! my poor boy!" she cried, trying to cut off d.i.c.k's boot and stocking, which was covered with blood.

The doctor came at last, and said that he was afraid it would be a long time before d.i.c.k could use his foot; but that, if he took care, he might recover entirely.

Samuel, who had been hewing at the end of a long gallery far away from the foot of the shaft, only heard of the accident to his boy on his way home. Once he would have grumbled very much. Now he only thought of poor d.i.c.k's pain, and not at all of the loss of his wages, and the additional mouth he would have to feed. d.i.c.k was more sorry for his father and mother than for himself. David came, whenever he could, to see him, and he amused himself by cutting-out models, as he did when he was ill before. He could now also read well, but he and David had read through and through all their books and the tracts which the missionary had left them. They were therefore very thankful when he came again; and hearing how much d.i.c.k wanted books, left them several nice magazines. Some had beautiful pictures. Neither d.i.c.k nor David had ever seen anything which they thought so fine. When d.i.c.k heard from the missionary that the pictures were made from carvings on blocks of wood, he said that he should like to learn so curious an art. The missionary, seeing this, explained how it was done; and d.i.c.k forthwith drew a rolley on a block, and cut away all the white wood between the lines. Then he rubbed over the raised parts with lamp black, and pressed it down on a piece of white paper. There, to his delight, was the drawing of a rolley. It was not very well done, but Lawry and David thought a great deal of it.

The missionary smiled when he saw it. "A very good beginning, my boy.

Persevere, and it may be that you may make some use of your talent in this way," he observed.

d.i.c.k had not, however, learned to do much better before the doctor said that he thought his foot was healed enough to let him go to work in a few days. d.i.c.k was eager to go at once, but Samuel said that he must stay at play a few days longer. d.i.c.k had no love for his task in the pit, but he felt that as he was fed he ought to work as soon as he could. At last it was arranged that d.i.c.k should go to work the next Monday.

Samuel kissed his younger children, as he was about to start with his eldest boy to his work.

"We'll have you with us, d.i.c.k, all right and strong next week. You are to be a half-marrow, I hear. Well, it's better than sitting at a trap all day." He said, as he went out, looking back with a pleasant smile, "Good-bye, all."

"He's a kind father, and he is much kinder and gentler than he used to be before the missionary came," thought d.i.c.k, as Samuel disappeared round the corner of the street.

Samuel Kempson went on his way to the pit's mouth, where a number of other men collected, ready to go down as soon as the banksman called them.

It was a fine morning; the sun was just rising in the clear sky out from the far-off sea. Samuel drew a breath of the pure morning air, and gazed round at the blue sky and glorious sun, as he stepped off into the corve, in which, with many others, he was to descend the shaft. Bill Hagger, who had completely recovered from his accident, and was now a hewer, was among his companions. Bill, unhappily, was not among those who willingly listened to the missionary. He was the same rough, coa.r.s.e being as before, a constant visitor at the ale-house, a fearful swearer, and ready at all times for any mischief. There were too many like him.

Samuel and the others having got their picks newly sharpened, and their spades, went to the lamp-house for their lamps. These were handed to them, carefully locked, so that they might not open the lamp and expose the flame to the surrounding air. They were driving a new gallery, and as a good deal of fire-damp was likely to come out, it was necessary to be very careful.

Samuel pa.s.sed David Adams, who was still a trapper, on his way to his trap. David asked after d.i.c.k.

"He'll be down with us in a few days, I hope," was the answer, in a cheerful tone.

Nearly two hundred human beings were toiling away down in those long, narrow pa.s.sages. Some with pick-axes were getting out the huge lumps of coal from the solid vein, others were breaking them up and shovelling them into the baskets. The putters were dragging or pus.h.i.+ng the baskets towards a main road, where they were received by the "crane-hoister,"

who, with his crane, lifted them on the rolley-wagons. These were dragged along a tramway by sleek, stout ponies to the foot of the shaft, under charge of a wagoner.

Other men were engaged at the foot of the shaft, hooking on the corves full of coal to be drawn up by the machinery above. There were three shafts. At the bottom of one was a large furnace kept always burning that it might a.s.sist to draw down the pure air from above and send the bad air upwards. Down another shaft was a huge pump, pumping up the water which got into the mine. The third shaft was that by which the men chiefly went up and down, and the coals were drawn up, though the furnace shaft could also be used for that purpose. There were men to tend the furnaces, and stable-men to look after the horses, and lamp-men, and blacksmiths to sharpen the tools and mend the iron-work of the wagons, and rolley-way-men to keep the roads in order, besides several for other sorts of jobs. All these were busy working away at their several posts. Samuel Kempson was among the hewers farthest from the main shaft. Near him was Bill Hagger. They had been working for some hours when the welcome sound of blows on the trap-doors told them that dinner and drink time had arrived. Leaving their tools, they unhooked the lamps, which hung on nails above their heads, and hastened to the drink place, an open s.p.a.ce to which their dinners were brought from the shaft on rolleys, chiefly in basins done up in handkerchiefs, each having his proper mark. Some had the first letters of their names, others bits of different coloured cloth, others b.u.t.tons. Each man having found his dinner, took his seat, when Samuel became aware that his friend the missionary was present. He was standing with his back to the wall, and some candles fixed to a tree, or support, near him. All were silent. Having read a chapter in the Bible, the missionary earnestly entreated them to seek the Lord while He might be found. It was an impressive discourse, and the missionary himself had often cause to think of it afterwards. The dinner-time was soon over, and the labourers hastened back to their work, and the missionary returned to the world above.

Kempson had been pecking away for some time, when Bill Hagger, who was next to him, ceased working. "I want my blow of baccy," he said, coming up to Samuel. "That missioner chap put me off it, and that's what I won't stand, so I'm going to have it now."

"What can make you think of such a mad thing, Bill?" exclaimed Samuel.

"You know it's against orders to light a pipe, and good reason too, for a spark might blow us all to pieces in a moment. I smell the fire-damp at this moment, you haven't got matches, I hope?"

"No; but I've got a key to open my lamp," answered Bill, producing a small key from a concealed pocket.

"Don't be mad, Bill," cried Kempson. "You know that you've no business to have that key. As sure as you open your lamp you'll blow yourself and me into bits, and may be everybody in the mine, for I never felt it fuller of gas than it is to-day. Just think, Bill, where our souls are to go; for the gas can't blow them to pieces, remember that."

"I'm not going to be put off by any of your talk," answered Bill, in a surly tone, filling his pipe.

Having done so, before poor Kempson could stop him, he had opened his safety lamp, and put in the bowl of his pipe to light it. In an instant there was a fearful report, a sheet of fire flew along the galleries here, there, and everywhere through the pit, bursting open the traps, tearing off huge fragments of the coal, overthrowing pillars and supports, and sweeping to destruction the helpless human beings it overtook in its course. Those more distant from the first part of the explosion heard it coming, and knew too well its dreadful import. They tried to fly towards the foot of the shaft. There only could they hope for safety; but what hope had they of reaching it with those fiery blasts rus.h.i.+ng through every roadway and pa.s.sage, and the destructive choke-damp rising rapidly on all sides?

David Adams was sitting at his trap ready to open it, for he heard a gang of putters coming along, when a loud, deafening roar sounded in his ears. The door was shaken violently, but resisted the shock, though he felt the hot air coming through the crevices. Loud cries arose on every side from the neighbouring pa.s.sages. The putters rushed on, leaving their wagons, and forced open the trap. David, seizing his lamp, rushed out with them. His first impulse was to cover up his head with his coat, then to draw his comforter over his mouth and nose, for he already smelt the too-well-known stench of the choke-damp. Some of his companions, in their fright, turned the wrong way. He and others pushed on towards the shaft. They had not gone far when they came upon several men, some had fallen, overcome by the choke-damp; others were sitting down, pointing, with looks of terror, at a ma.s.s of brick-work which had fallen in, stopping their advance; while through it came a stream of gas, which it was clear would soon fill the pa.s.sage. The stench was every moment growing stronger and stronger. "We must go back, we must go back," was the cry from those still able to move.

There was another way to the shaft, through the pa.s.sage at which David had been placed. Some of the stronger men led the way, the putters went next, and David was last. Before they could reach the pa.s.sage, for which they were aiming, the main way was filling rapidly with choke-damp. Now one of the men leading fell, now another, and the rest had to pa.s.s over their bodies. To stop to try and help them would have been to give up their own lives without doing any good. David saw several of the putters, strong, hearty lads, drop down by his side, while he was able to keep on from having his mouth covered up, and from attempting to breathe only where the air seemed purest.

The survivors, a small party only, now reached the end of the pa.s.sage, and ran on, driven on by the air, which was rus.h.i.+ng along it. There was hope for them in that direction if no fresh explosion should take place.

But the danger was still very fearful. The fire-damp might any moment find the broken lamp of a dying man, and explode, causing further destruction on every side. On the men sped; now one, now another dropped. The remainder still pressed on. There were a hundred yards or more between them and the foot of the shaft. It seemed a vast distance to go over, when any moment the whole mine might be a sea of fire. Even there safety might not be found.

Hitherto young David had been preserved, but now he felt his strength failing. The hot air was coming up behind. He sprang forward, he thought that he was near the shaft. Cries, and groans, and loud, roaring, hissing sounds were in his ears. All thought and feeling pa.s.sed from him. Not a human voice was heard throughout the long galleries and pa.s.sages of the mine, lately so full of active life. The bodies of the men were there charred and withered, and the only sound was the roar of the escaping gas, as it caught fire and exploded in the far-off pa.s.sages of the mine.