CAUGHT IN THE CYCLONE
Tales from the Works
of
G. A. Henty
BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
LONDON AND GLASGOW
1915
BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
50 Old Bailey, London
17 Stanhope Street, Glasgow
BLACKIE & SON (INDIA) LIMITED
Warwick House, Fort Street, Bombay
BLACKIE & SON (CANADA) LIMITED
1118 Bay Street, Toronto
Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
George Alfred Henty, war correspondent and author, was born at Trumpington, near Cambridge, on December 8, 1832. He was educated at Westminster School and Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge. Leaving Cambridge without a degree, he went to the Crimea during the war with Russia and served in the purveyor's department of the army. On being invalided home he was appointed purveyor to the forces, and in 1859 he went to Italy to organize the hospitals of the Italian legion. After his return he held similar home appointments for a time, but he resigned his commission later and engaged in mining operations in Wales and Sardinia. In 1865 he began his career as war correspondent for the Standard newspaper, and in this capacity went through the Austro-Italian, Abyssinian, Franco-German, Ashanti, and Turco-Servian campaigns. He was also in Paris during the Commune, and he accompanied Edward VII when, as Prince of Wales, he visited India. He described two of these campaigns in The March to Magdala (1868) and The March to Coomassie (1874). His death took place on his yacht in Weymouth harbour on November 16, 1902.
Henty wrote several novels of the orthodox type, but his reputation rests upon his stories for boys, which are full of adventure and are mostly based on famous historical events. Among them are:* Out on the Pampas* (1868); The Young Franc-Tireurs (1871), a Story of the Franco-German War; The Young Buglers, a Tale of the Peninsular War (1879); In Times of Peril, a Tale of India (1881); Under Drake's Flag (1882); With Clive in India (1883); Facing Death (1883), treating of coal-mining; The Young Colonists (1884), a Story of the Transvaal Revolt and the Zulu War; The Lion of the North (1885), a Story of Gustavus Adolphus; St. George for England: a Tale of Cressy and Poitiers (1885); In Freedom's Cause: a Story of Wallace and Bruce (1885); The Young Carthaginian (1886), a Story of Hannibal; With Wolfe in Canada (1886); Orange and Green: a Tale of the Boyne and Limerick (1887); Bonnie Prince Charlie: a Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden (1887); The Cat of Bubastes (1888), treating of Life in Ancient Egypt; Captain Bayley's Heir (1888); By Pike and Dyke (1889), a Story of the Dutch War of Independence; One of the 28th: a Tale of Waterloo (1889); Tales of Daring and Danger (1889); A Chapter of Adventures (1890); By Right of Conquest (1890), a Story of the Conquest of Mexico; The Tiger of Mysore (1895), a Story of Tippoo Sahib; Through Russian Snows (1895), a Tale of Napoleon's retreat from Moscow; The Reign of Terror (1896); With Moore at Corunna (1897); Both Sides the Border (1898), a Story of Hotspur and Owen Glendower; In the Irish Brigade (1900); With Roberts to Pretoria (1902); With Kitchener in the Soudan (1903); and With the Allies to Pekin (1904).
CONTENTS
[THE MATE'S STORY], from "The Plague Ship"
[THE EXPLOSION IN THE VAUGHAN PIT], from "Facing Death"
[THE RED CAPTAIN], from "One of the 28th"
[A WIFE'S STRATAGEM], from "In Freedom's Cause"
[KINDNESS REWARDED], from "Captain Bayley's Heir"
[A BATTLE WITH WOLVES], from "The Young Carthaginian"
[A CYCLONE IN THE BAY OF BENGAL], from "A Chapter of Adventures"
[THE FLOOD IN PINE-TREE GULCH], from "Tales of Daring and Danger"
[A BRUSH WITH THE CHINESE], from "Tales of Daring and Danger"
[THE BLACK DEATH], from "St. George for England"
[THE WHITE SHIP], from "The Reign of Terror"
[THE CHILD'S RETURN], from "With Wolfe in Canada"
[THE BLACK HOLE OF CALCUTTA], from "With Clive in India"
THE MATE'S STORY.
FROM "THE PLAGUE SHIP."
(By kind permission of the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge.)
[Mr. Thompson, at one time second mate of the whaling ship The Two Brothers, was telling his three nieces the story of his last voyage in that ship. At Singapore, on her way home from the South Seas, she had taken on board, as passengers, a Mr. Williams and his wife and daughter. Mr. Williams had been working for twenty years among the Papuans as missionary. On the homeward voyage they had been blown down by a hurricane among the Malay Islands, and had been attacked by the Malays, but had beaten them off. Having told the story of that engagement, Mr. Thompson went on—]
The breeze for the next ten days was steady and favourable. We were fairly on our way now, and began to hope that our ill-luck was at an end, and that we were going to make a fast and comfortable homeward run. Ten days after we had left the island the look-out reported a sail. We were taking a slight breeze along with us, and we came up fast to the ship, which was lying becalmed.
"What can she be doing, Mr. Wilson?" the captain said. "She has got nothing above her topsails, although she must see that we are bringing down a breeze with us."
"Can't make her out, sir," Mr. Wilson replied. He fetched a glass from the companion and raised it to his eye. "Her ensign's reversed, sir," he exclaimed. "She is in distress somehow."
We bore down to her, and the skipper threw the barque up into the wind within a hundred yards of her. Till we got close we could not see a soul on deck, but now a head appeared above the bulwark.
"What's the matter with you?" the captain shouted.
"We have got fever on board. The captain and both mates are dead. There are only seven of us left alive, and two of them have got it. For God's sake help us!"
The men had shown themselves brave enough in their fight with the Malays, but standing as they were by the bulwark, watching the strange ship, there wasn't one but shrank back when he heard that hail. And well they might, for when the Indian fever gets on board a ship there is no saying what may come of it. There were white faces on the poop too, and I reckon that there wasn't one of us who didn't feel a cold thrill run through him.
"What's to be done?" the captain said in a low voice, more as if he was asking the question of himself than us.
At first no one spoke, and then Mr. Williams said:
"Our duty is clear. God has sent us here to their aid, and whatever be the risk, we must run it; we cannot sail away and leave them to perish."
"It is a terrible choice to have to make," the captain said huskily. "I am responsible for the lives of all on board this ship, passengers and crew. I know what these fevers are; they go right through a ship. There are but seven men alive now on yonder vessel; another day or two there may not be one. If we have dealings with them, their fate may be ours."
"We are all in God's hands," the clergyman said quietly. "I have over and over again risked the lives of my dear ones in His service, and I am ready to do so again. You agree with me," he said, turning to his wife and daughter, "that, however great the danger, it is our duty to aid these poor creatures?"
Mrs. Williams glanced piteously at her daughter, and her lip quivered, but she bowed her head in assent, while Jane exclaimed:
"Of course, father; who could hesitate for a moment?"
THE MATE'S STORY.—II.
The skipper looked at the rest of us. Not one of us but would rather have met a score of prahus, crowded with Malays thirsting for our blood, than have boarded that ship; but after Jane Williams had spoken not one but was ashamed to say what he thought. At last, seeing none of the others would speak, I answered:
"If the ladies are ready to take the risk, sir, it is not for us men to draw back. As Mr. Williams says, we are all in God's hands, so let us do our duty."
"So be it," the captain said solemnly; and turning to the men, who were clustered in the waist, he ordered a boat to be lowered.
There was a general shout of "No! no! It will be throwing away our lives!"
Then an old sailor came forward.
"My mates have asked me, captain, to speak for them, and say that they are of one mind that it will be just throwing away our lives to board that ship. We are ready to obey you, Captain Peters, to do our duty like men in storm or calm, but we won't have the plague brought on board this ship."
There was a general chorus of assent, and some of the men sprang to the braces, and prepared to haul the yards aft and put her on her course again. We looked at the captain for orders. There were but three of us, for the trader and the parson couldn't be reckoned upon in a fight against the crew, and the passenger mate was still laid up with his leg.
"Men," the skipper said, "remember that there are seven sailors like yourselves on board that ship who must die if you don't go to their rescue. Think what your feelings would be if you were in their case, and a ship came up within hailing distance, and sailed away and left you to die."
"It comes to this, sir," the spokesman said. "Like enough they will die anyhow, whether they stop there or whether they come on board. It ain't a case of saving their lives, for maybe they wouldn't be saved after all; we should be just throwing away our lives for nothing."
Maybe the skipper was somewhat of the same opinion. Anyhow there was no good trying to use force, for they were eight to one against us. He half turned round, and wouldn't, I think, have said any more, when Jane Williams stepped forward to the poop rail.
"Men," she said, "my father has told me so much of English sailors, how brave they are, how ready to risk their lives for others, that I cannot think you really mean to sail away and desert these poor people. We are ready, my father, mother, and I, to run the risk; surely you will do the same."
The men stood silent a minute, and then, one after another, turned away, as if they could not stand her pleading face. But I could see that they were still determined not to risk having the plague on board. The sailor said a word or two to his mates and then turned to her.
THE MATE'S STORY.—III.
"There is not a man of this crew, Miss," he said, "but would do anything for you. Not one but would risk his life for you in a right-down manful fight. But we are not ready to die like dogs, and that when maybe no good whatever would come of it; and we don't hold that, just on the chance of saving seven lives, we are called upon to risk losing thirty."
Jane turned round with a different expression on her face. I never saw any one look like it, and never shall again; but it seemed to me that her face all shone, and she said:
"Then, father, we at least can do our duty, and our place is there."
Her father understood her.
"You are right, Jane, quite right, my child. Captain, will you give us one of the boats? I and my wife and daughter will go on board that ship. Will you leave our things at the Cape when you touch there, for us to pick up, if it is God's will we ever reach the land?"
The captain stood like one dumb; then I said: "Captain Peters, as it seems that there are no officers on board the ship, I will, if you will give me permission, go on board her also and take charge."
"Very well, Mr. Thompson; if such is your wish I shall certainly not oppose it, and I honour you for the proposal."
"Can you spare me four men, sir, if I can get them to volunteer?"
The captain nodded, and I turned to the men.
"My lads," I said, "Mr. Williams, his wife and daughter, are going on board that ship; they are going to leave The Two Brothers for good, and to throw in their lot with those poor wretches there. With the captain's permission I am going to take command of her, and I want four volunteers to go with me. I want no men with wives and children dependent upon them, for we shall be taking our lives in our hands. I want four men who have no one to grieve for them at home if they die in doing their duty. I want four true English hearts who will imitate the example set them by these ladies."
Eight of the men stepped forward at once. Sailors are curious creatures. There wasn't one of them but had shrunk from the idea, of the introduction of fever on board The Two Brothers; but to go on board the pest-stricken vessel was an act of heroism which they were ready to perform. Besides, though they had refused to respond to the appeal of Jane Williams, and had held together as a body, there was not one of them who did not at heart feel ashamed at being beaten in courage by a girl. The eight men who stepped forward were, I believe, the only unmarried men among the crew, and I believe that had I asked them there wasn't a man but would have gone.
I chose four of them, and in a few minutes they had got their kits out of the fo'castle and placed them in one of the boats. The steward brought the boxes from the passengers' cabin, and the captain ordered a barrel of vinegar and a keg of powder to be hoisted into the boat. Just as the men were getting ready to lower her from the davits, the sailor who had acted as spokesman came forward.
"Captain Peters, the men wants me to say as they have changed their minds and are ready to go off and bring those men on board. It isn't in nature for men to stand by and see themselves beaten by two women."
We had a short consultation, but Mr. Williams pointed out that the plan arranged was the best, as only those who went on board the ship were running a risk; while if the men were brought on board The Two Brothers the whole crew might be carried off.
"Thank you, men, for your offer," he said to them, when we had talked it over; "but the other plan is clearly the best, and I ask each and all of you to offer up a prayer to Almighty God that He will protect us in this work which we undertake for His sake."
The clergyman uncovered, as did every man on board, and you could have heard a pin drop as he prayed. Then those who were to go took their places in the boat, and as the skipper handed in the ladies, every man stood bareheaded. Not a word was said. I don't think any one could have trusted himself to speak. I gave the word, the boat was lowered, and the falls unhooked.
"God bless you all!" the captain said in a broken voice.
There was a sort of murmur from the rest, and I don't believe there was a dry eye on the ship as we rowed away.
THE MATE'S STORY.—IV.
"Now, lads," I said as we got near the vessel, "you must remember that the best preservative against the fever is to keep up your spirits. You must make up your minds that you have come on board to fight it, and you don't mean to be beaten, and with God's help and protection I think that we shall win the day. You were all cheery and confident when those Malays were coming on to attack us; we must fight the fever in just the same spirit."
A rope was thrown as we came alongside, and I mounted on to the deck; just as I did so there came a cheer from The Two Brothers. It was a strange sort of cheer, but we understood that while our messmates wanted to say good-bye to us, their voices were too much choked to come out clear and strong.
"Give them a cheer back, lads," I said; and though there were only six men, the shout we gave was a deal louder and heartier than that of the whole crew of The Two Brothers; the ladies waved their handkerchiefs. Then we heard the skipper's voice across the water giving orders; the yards swung round, and The Two Brothers began to slip through the water again on her course. Then I jumped down from the rail on to the deck of the vessel. Four men were standing there. They looked ghastly and shrunken, as if they had scarce strength enough to haul at a rope.
"Now, my lads," I said, "I have been sent on board to take the command here. I have four hands with me, and two ladies and a clergyman have been brave enough to come to nurse and help you. Where are the others?"
"The two who are down with the fever are in their bunks; the other man is seeing after them."
"Are there any dead on board?"
"Yes; the captain and first mate are lying dead aft. One died yesterday, the other two days ago. There are two or three forward. It seemed no use to bury them."
The tone in which the man spoke showed how thoroughly he had lost heart.
"Well, my lads," I said, "now you have got to bestir yourselves. I shall not let my men come on board till the ship's cleared of dead. After that they will come and make things tidy and shipshape. Just fetch up an old sail and some needles; get some shot out of the rack. First of all I will give you each some quinine."
Two bottles were handed me up from the boat, and then I cast off the rope.
"Drop behind a hundred yards or so," I said to the men, "and don't come up until I hail you."
The thought that help was at hand cheered up the five sailors, and they set about the work with a will. One of them happened to be the sail-maker, and when the others brought up the bodies from the cabin he sewed them up roughly in canvas, with a couple of shot at their feet. As fast as they were done up we hove them overboard. In an hour it was finished. Then I hailed the boat, and when it came up told the men to come on deck.
"Mr. Williams," I said, "I shall let you tow behind for a bit until I have got things pretty straight."
Then we set to work in earnest. I flashed off a lot of gunpowder in the cabins and fo'castle, and then sluiced everything with vinegar and water. We washed down the floors and decks and everything we could get at. Then, when we had done everything we could to get the ship sweet, we hauled the boat alongside, got our passengers up, hoisted up the boat, squared our sails, and laid her head on her course.
THE MATE'S STORY.—V.
We rigged up a sort of awning, and brought the two sick men out of the fo'castle, and slung cots for them under it, and the two ladies at once took charge of them. Then we set to work to get up a little tent for the ladies on the poop. We rigged an awning over the fo'castle for the rest of us, for I thought it better that no one should sleep below.
That night one of the sick men died, but the next day the other showed signs of mending. This was hopeful, for not one of those who had caught the fever before had recovered. The next day two men of the original crew were down with it. I can't tell you how the two ladies nursed those sick men; if they had been their own brothers they could not have done more for them. The parson helped them.
At first our hands were pretty full, as you may guess, and it was a good thing it was so, for the men had no time to think or to wonder whose turn was to come next. All hands were on duty during the day, and at night I divided them into two watches, four men in one and three in the other.
I kept on deck all night, and managed to get a sleep in the daytime. Night and morning all hands mustered for prayers; and often, as we went about our work during the day, we could hear Jane Williams singing a hymn, as she sat beside the sick men. The calmness of the two ladies did more even than work to keep up the men's heart and courage; and even the three of the old crew still on their feet picked up and grew hopeful. Neither of the two men last attacked died; and when four days more passed without anyone else sickening, we began to think that the fever had lost its power.
But one morning, just as the dawn was stealing over the sky, Mrs. Williams came out from the little tent on the poop, and hurried up to me as I was pacing up and down by the rail. There was no need for her to speak. It was light enough to see that her face was pale and her lips quivering, and her hands in a sort of restless flutter. I knew at once that Jane Williams was down with the fever. It seemed to me as if her voice sounded from a long way off as she said:
"Will you call my husband, Mr. Thompson? I fear that our Jane is ill."
It was light enough, but I stumbled against things half a dozen times as I made my way forward and sent the parson to his child. All that day the ship seemed under a spell. The men moved about without speaking a word, and I am sure there wasn't one of them who wouldn't have given his life for hers. It was late in the evening when Mr. Williams came forward, and taking my hand said:
"Jane wishes to speak to you."
Her mother came out of the tent as I went in. I moved up to the side of the cot on which Jane was lying, and took her hand, but I couldn't have spoken if my life depended on it. She smiled quietly up at me.
"I wanted to say good-bye, Dick. I know what you have wished for, but you see God has settled it otherwise, and He knows what is best for us. Do not grieve, dear; we shall meet again, you know!"
She died that night. Before morning a strong breeze sprang up and freshened to a gale. I didn't think we should live through it, short-handed as we were, and cared nothing whether we did or not; but I had to do my duty. We had to cut away many of the sails, for we were too weak to handle them. At last we got her under snug canvas. We ran four days before the gale, and when it died out got sail on again, and made our way safely to the Cape.
The gale had blown the last of the fever away, and by the time we reached the Cape the three sick men were all fit for duty again. When we got there we fumigated and whitewashed her, and shipped some fresh hands and brought her home.
Uncle Dick stopped. The story was told. To him it was ended when Jane Williams died. The three girls were crying quietly, and not a word was spoken till the eldest rose from her seat, and putting her hands on his shoulders, stooped and kissed him.
"And that is the reason, Uncle Dick," she said, "why you never married?"
"I suppose so, Bessy. I have waited. You know she said we should meet again!"
THE EXPLOSION IN THE VAUGHAN PIT.
FROM "FACING DEATH."
[Jack Simpson was a young collier working at the Vaughan pit in Lancashire. By careful attention to his work, and by private study of the science of mining, he had raised himself to the position of "viewer" or underground foreman. The mine having been found to be badly ventilated and dangerous, steps were being taken to put it right. But, as the events of the following story show, it was too late.]
One day, when Jack came up from his rounds at ten o'clock, to eat his breakfast and write up his journal of the state of the mine, he saw Mr. Brook (the owner of the mine) and the manager drive up to the pit mouth. Jack shrank back from the little window of the office where he was writing, and did not look out again until he knew that they had descended the mine; he did not wish to have any appearance of thrusting himself forward.
For another hour he wrote; and then the window of the office flew in pieces, the chairs danced, and the walls rocked, while a dull heavy roar, like distant thunder, burst upon his ears.
Jack leaped to his feet and rushed to the door. Black smoke was pouring up from the pit's mouth, sticks and pieces of wood and coal were falling in a shower in the yard; and Jack saw that his worst fears had been realized, and that a terrible explosion had taken place in the Vaughan pit.
For a moment he stood stunned. There were, he knew, over three hundred men and boys in the pit, and he turned faint and sick as the thought of their fate came across him. Then he ran towards the top of the shaft.
The bankman lay insensible at a distance of some yards from the pit, where he had been thrown by the force of the explosion. Two or three men came running up with white scared faces. The smoke had nearly ceased already; the damage was done, and a deadly stillness seemed to reign.
Jack ran into the engine-house. The engineman was leaning against a wall, scared and almost fainting.
"Are you hurt, John?"
"No!"
"Pull yourself round, man. The first thing is to see if the lift is all right. I see one of the cages is at bank, and the force of the explosion is in the upcast shaft. Just give a turn or two to the engine and see if the winding gear is all right. Slowly."
The engineman turned on the steam; there was a slight movement, and then the engine stopped.
"A little more steam," Jack said. "The cage has caught, but it may come."
There was a jerk, and then the engine began to work.
"That is all right," Jack said, "whether the lower cage is on or not. Stop now, and wind it back, and get the other cage up again. Does the bell act, I wonder?"
Jack pulled the wire which, when in order, struck a bell at the bottom of the shaft, and then looked at a bell hanging over his head for the answer. None came.
"I expect the wire's broken," he said, and went out to the pit's mouth again.
The surface-men were all gathered round now, the tip-men, and the yard-men, and those from the coke-ovens, all looking wild and pale.
"I am going down," Jack said; "we may find some poor fellows near the bottom, and can't wait till a head-man comes on the ground. Who will go with me? I don't want any married men, for you know, lads, there may be another blow at any moment."
"I will go with you," one of the yard-men said, stepping forward; "there's no one dependent on me."
"I, too," said another; "it doesn't matter to any one but myself whether I come up again or not."
THE VAUGHAN PIT.—II.
Jack brought three safety-lamps from the lamp-room, and took his place in the cage with the two volunteers.
"Lower away," he shouted, "but go very slowly when we get near the bottom, and look out for our signal."
It was but three minutes from the moment that the cage began to sink to that when it touched the bottom of the shaft, but it seemed an age to those in it. They knew that at any moment a second explosion might come, and that they might be driven far up into the air above the top of the shaft, mere scorched fragments of flesh.
Not a word was spoken during the descent, and there was a general exclamation of "Thank God!" when they felt the cage touch the bottom.
Jack, as an official of the mine, at once took the lead.
"Now," he said, "let us push straight up the main road."
Just as they stepped out, they came across the bodies of two men, and stooped over them with their lamps.
"Both dead," Jack said; "we can do nothing for them."
A little way on were some waggons thrown together in a heap, and broken up; the body of a pony; and that of the lad, his driver. Then they came to the first door—a door no longer, not a fragment of it remaining. In the door-boy's niche the lad lay in a heap. They bent over him.
"He is alive," Jack said. "Will you two carry him to the cage? I will look round and see if there is any one else about here; beyond, this way, there is no hope. Make haste! Look how the gas is catching inside the lamps, the place is full of fire-damp."
The men took up the lad, and turned to go to the bottom of the shaft. Jack went a few yards down a cross road, and then followed them. He was in the act of turning into the next road to glance at that also, when he felt a rush of air.
"Down on your faces!" he shouted, and, springing a couple of paces farther up the cross-road, threw himself on his face.
There was a mighty roar—a thundering sound, as of an express train—a blinding light, and a scorching heat. Jack felt himself lifted from the ground by the force of the blast, and dashed down again.
Then he knew it was over, and staggered to his feet. The force of the explosion had passed along the main road, and so up the shaft, and he owed his life to the fact that he had been in the side road and off its course. He returned into the main road, but near the bottom of the shaft he was brought to a standstill.
The roof had fallen, and the passage was blocked with fragments of rock and broken waggons. He knew that the bottom of the shaft must be partly filled up, that his comrades were killed, and that there was no hope of escape in that direction. For a moment he paused to consider; then, turning up the side road to the left, he ran at full speed from the shaft.
He knew that the danger now was not so much from the fire-damp—the explosive gas—as from the even more dreaded choke-damp, which surely follows after an explosion.
Many more miners are killed by this choke-damp, as they hasten to the bottom of the shaft after an explosion, than by the fire itself. Choke-damp, which is carbonic acid gas, is heavier than ordinary air, and thus the lowest parts of a colliery become first filled with it, as they would with water.
In all coal-mines there is a slight, sometimes a considerable, inclination, or "dip" as it is called, of the otherwise flat bed of coal. The shaft is almost always sunk at the lower end of the mine, as by this means the whole pit naturally drains to the well at the bottom of the shaft. From there it is pumped up by the engine above. The loaded waggons, too, are run down from the workings to the bottom of the shaft with comparative ease.
THE VAUGHAN PIT.—III.
The explosion had, as Jack well knew, destroyed all the doors which direct the currents of the air, and the ventilation had entirely ceased. The lower part of the mine, where the explosion had been strongest, would soon be filled with choke-damp, and Jack was making for the old workings, near the upper boundary line of the pit. There the air would remain pure long after it had become poisonous elsewhere.
It was in this quarter of the mine that Bill Haden (Jack's adopted father) and some twenty other colliers worked.
Presently Jack saw lights ahead, and heard a clattering of steps. It was clear that, as he had hoped, the miners working there had escaped the force of the explosion, which had, without doubt, played awful havoc in the parts of the mine where the greater part of the men were at work.
"Stop! stop!" Jack shouted, as they came up to him.
"Is it fire, Jack?" Bill Haden, who was one of the first, asked.
"Yes, Bill; didn't you feel it?"
"Some of us thought we felt a suck of air a quarter hour since, but we weren't sure; and then came another, which blew out the lights. Come along, lad; there is no time for talking."
"It's of no use going on," Jack said; "the shaft's choked up. I came down after the first blow, and I fear there's no living soul in the new workings. By this time they must be full of the choke-damp."
The men looked at each other with blank faces.
"Have you seen Brook?" Jack asked eagerly.
"Yes, he passed our stall with Johnstone ten minutes ago, just before the blast came."
"We may catch him in time to stop him yet," Jack said, "if he has gone round to look at the walling of the old workings. There are three men at work there."
"I'll go with you, Jack," Bill Haden said. "Our best place is my stall, lads," he went on, turning to the others; "that is pretty well the highest ground in the pit, and the air will keep good there as long as anywhere—maybe till help comes. You come along with us, mate," he said, turning to the man who worked with him in his stall.
As they hurried along, Jack, in a few words, told what had taken place, as far as he knew it. Five minutes' run brought them to the place where the masons were at work walling up the entrance to some old workings. They looked astonished at the newcomers.
"Have you seen Mr. Brook?"
"Yes, he and the manager have just gone on. There, don't you see their lights down the heading? No? Well, I saw them a moment since."
"Come along," Jack said. "Quick! I expect they've met it."
At full speed they hurried along. Presently they all stopped short; the lights burnt low, and a choking sensation came on them.
"Back, Jack, for your life!" gasped Bill Haden; but at that moment Jack's feet struck something, which he knew was a body.
"Down at my feet; help!" he cried.
He stooped and tried to raise the body. Then the last gleam of his light went out—his lungs seemed to cease acting, and he saw no more.
THE VAUGHAN PIT.—IV.
When he came to himself again he was being carried on Bill Haden's shoulder.
"All right, dad!" he said. "I am coming round now; put me down."
"That's a good job, Jack. I thought you would scarce come round again."
"Have you got either of the others?"
"We've got Brook; you had your arm round him so tight that Ned and I lifted you together. He's on ahead; the masons are carrying him, and Ned is showing the way. Can you walk now?"
"Yes, I'm better now. How did you manage to breathe, dad?"
"We didn't breathe, Jack; we're too old hands for that. When we saw you fall we just drew back, took a breath, and then shut our mouths, and went down for you just the same as if we'd been a groping for you under water. We got hold of you both, lifted you up, and carried you along as far as we could before we drew a breath again. You're sharp, Jack, but you don't know everything yet."
And Bill Haden chuckled to find that for once his practical experience taught him something that Jack had not learned from his books.
Jack now hurried along after Bill Haden, and in a few minutes reached the place fixed upon. Here the miners were engaged in restoring Mr. Brook, who was just beginning to show signs of life. It was not until Mr. Brook was able to sit up that they began to talk about the future.
Jack's account of the state of things near the shaft was listened to gravely. The fact that the whole of the ventilation had been put out of order, and the proof given by the second explosion that the mine was somewhere on fire, were understood. It sounded their death-knell.
Gallant and unceasing would be the efforts made under any other circumstance to rescue them. But the fact that the pit was on fire, and that fresh explosions might at any moment take place, would make it an act of simple madness for their friends above to try to clear the shaft and headings, and to restore the ventilation.
The fact was further made clear by a sudden flicker of the lamps, and a faint shake, followed by a distant rumble.
"Another blast," Bill Haden said. "That settles us, lads. We may as well turn out all the lamps but two, so as to have light as long as we last out."
"Is there no hope?" Mr. Brook asked presently, coming forward after he had heard from Haden's mate the manner in which he had been so far saved.
"None, master," said Bill Haden. "We are like rats in a trap; and it would have been kinder of us if we had let you lie as you were."
"Your intention was equally kind," Mr. Brook said. "But is there nothing that we can do?"
"Nothing," Bill Haden said. "We have got our dinners with us, and might make them last, a mouthful at a time, to keep life in us for a week or more. But what would be the use of it? It may be weeks—ay, or months—before they can stifle the fire and make their way here."
"Can you suggest nothing, Jack?" Mr. Brook asked. "You are the only officer of the pit left now," he added with a faint smile.
Jack had not spoken since he reached the stall, but had sat down on a block of coal, with his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands—a favourite attitude of his when thinking deeply.
THE VAUGHAN PIT.—V.
The other colliers had thrown themselves down on the ground; some sobbed as they thought of their loved ones above, some lay in silence.
Jack answered by rising to his feet.
"Yes, sir, I think we may do something."
The men raised themselves in surprise.
"In the first place, sir, I should send men in each direction to see how near the choke-damp has got. There are four roads by which it could come up. I would shut the doors on this side of the places it has got to, roll blocks of coal and rubbish to keep them tight, and stop up the chinks with wet mud. That will keep the gas from coming up, and there is air enough in the stalls and headings to last us a long time."
"But that would only prolong our lives for a few days, Jack, and I don't know that would be any advantage. Better to be choked by the gas than to die of starvation," Mr. Brook said; and a murmur from the men showed that they agreed with him.
"I vote for lighting our pipes," one of the miners said. "If there is fiery gas here, it would be better to finish with it at once."
There was a general expression of approval.
"Wait!" Jack said; "wait till I have done. You know, Mr. Brook, we are close to our north boundary here, in some places within a very few yards. Now the 'Logan,' which lies next to us, has been worked out years ago. Of course it is full of water, and it was from fear of tapping that water that the works were stopped here.
"A good deal comes in through the coal in No. 15 stall, which I expect is nearest to it. Now if we could work into the 'Logan,' the water would rush down into our workings, and, as our pit is a good deal bigger than the 'Logan' ever was, it will fill the lower workings and put out the fire, but won't reach us here.
"Then we can get up through the 'Logan,' where the air is sure to be all right, as the water will bring good air down with it. We may not do it in time, but it is a chance. What do you say, sir?"
"It is worth trying, at any rate," Mr. Brook said. "Bravo, my lad! your clear head may save us yet.
"Now, lads," Mr. Brook continued, "Jack Simpson is master now, and we will all work under his orders. But before we begin, boys, let us say a prayer. We are in God's hands; let us ask His protection."
Every head was bared, and the men stood reverently while, in a few words, Mr. Brook prayed for strength and protection, and rescue from their danger.
"Now, Jack," he said when he had finished, "give your orders."
Jack at once sent off two men along each of the roads to find how near the choke-damp had approached, and to block up and seal the doors. It was necessary to strike a light to relight some of the lamps, but this was a danger that could not be helped.
The rest of the men were sent round to all the places where work had been going on, to bring in the tools and dinners to No. 15 stall, to which Jack himself, Bill Haden, and Mr. Brook proceeded at once.
No work had been done there for years. The floor was covered with a black mud, and a close examination of the face showed tiny streamlets of water trickling down in several places. It was therefore determined to begin work in No. 15.
"You don't mean to use powder, Jack?" Bill Haden asked.
"No, dad; without any ventilation we should be choked with the smoke, and there would be the danger from the gas. When we think we are getting near the water we will put in a big shot, so as to blow in the face."
THE VAUGHAN PIT.—VI.
When the men returned with the tools and the dinners, the latter done up in handkerchiefs, Jack asked Mr. Brook to take charge of the food.
"There are just twenty of us, sir, without you, and nineteen dinners. So if you divide among us four dinners a day it will last for five days, and by that time I hope we shall be free."
Four men only could work at the face of the stall together, and Jack divided the twenty into five sets.
"We will work in quarter-of-an-hour shifts at first," he said; "that will give an hour's rest to a quarter of an hour's work, and a man can work well, we know, for a quarter of an hour. When we get done up we will have half-hour shifts, which will give two hours for a sleep in between."
The men of the first shift set to work without an instant's delay. The vigour and swiftness with which the blows fell upon the face of the rock told that the men who struck them were working for life or death.
Jack took the others into the next stalls and set them to work to clear a narrow strip of the floor next to the upper wall. They were then to cut a little groove in the rocky floor to catch the water as it slowly trickled in, and lead it to small hollows which they were to make in the solid rock. The water coming through the two stalls would, thus collected, be ample for their wants.
Jack then started to see how the men at work at the doors were getting on. These had already nearly finished their tasks. On the road leading to the main workings choke-damp had been met with at a distance of fifty yards from the stall; but upon the upper road it was several hundred yards before it was found.
On the other two roads it was over a hundred yards. The men had torn strips off their flannel jackets and had thrust them into the crevices of the doors, and had then plastered mud from the roadway thickly on. There was now no reason to fear any new rush of choke-damp, unless, indeed, an explosion should take place so violent as to blow in the doors.
This, however, was unlikely, as, with a fire burning, the gas would ignite as it came out; and although there might be many smaller explosions, there would scarcely be one so serious as the first two which had taken place.
The work at the doors and the water being over, the men all gathered in the stall. Then Jack insisted on an equal division of the tobacco, of which almost all the miners possessed some.
Now that they were together again, all the lamps were put out save the two required by the men at work. With work to be done, and a hope of ultimate escape, the men's spirits rose, and between their spells they talked, and now and then even a laugh was heard.
Mr. Brook, although unable to do a share of the work, was very valuable in aiding to keep up their spirits, by his hopeful talk, and by stories of people who had been in great danger in many ways in different parts of the world, but who had at last escaped.
Sometimes one or other of the men would propose a hymn, and then their deep voices would rise together, while the blows of the sledges and picks would keep time to the swing of the tune.
On the advice of Mr. Brook the men divided their portions of food, small as they were, into two parts, one to be eaten every twelve hours; for as the work would proceed night and day, it was better to eat, however little, every twelve hours, than to go twenty-four without food.
THE VAUGHAN PIT.—VII.
The first twenty-four hours over, the stall—or rather the heading, for it was now driven as narrow as it was possible for four men to work at once—had greatly advanced; indeed it would have been difficult even for a miner to believe that so much work had been done in the time.
There was, however, no change in the appearances; the water still trickled in, but they could not see that it came faster than before. As fast as the coal fell it was removed by one of the men who were next for work, so that there was not a minute lost from this cause.
During the next twenty-four hours almost as much work was done as during the first; but upon the third there was a decided falling off. The scanty food was telling upon them now.
The shifts were lengthened to an hour to allow longer time for sleep between each spell of work; and each set of men, when relieved, threw themselves down exhausted, and slept for three hours, until it was their turn to wake up and remove the coal as the set at work got it down.
At the end of seventy-two hours the water was coming through the face much faster than at first. The old miners, accustomed to judge by sound, were of opinion that the wall in front sounded less solid, and that they were coming to the old workings of the Logan pit.
In the three days and nights they had driven the heading nearly fifteen yards from the point where they had begun. Upon the fourth day they worked carefully, driving a borer three feet ahead of them into the coal, as in case of the water bursting through suddenly they would all be drowned.
At the end of ninety hours from the time of striking the first blow the drill which, Jack holding it, Bill Haden was just driving in deeper with a sledge, suddenly went forward, and as suddenly flew out as if shot from a gun, followed by a jet of water driven with tremendous force.
A plug, which had been prepared in readiness, was with difficulty driven into the hole; two men who had been knocked down by the force of the water were picked up much bruised and hurt; and with thankful hearts that the end of their labour was at hand all prepared for the last part of their task.
After an earnest thanksgiving by Mr. Brook for their success thus far, the whole party partook of what was a heartier meal than usual, consisting of the whole of the remaining food. Then choosing the largest of the drills, a hole was driven in the coal two feet in depth, and in this an unusually heavy charge was placed.
"We're done for after all," Bill Haden suddenly exclaimed. "Look at the lamp!"
Every one present felt his heart sink at what he saw. A light flame seemed to fill the whole interior of the lamp. To strike a match to light the fuse would be to cause an instant explosion of the gas. The place where they were working being the highest part of the mine, the fiery gas, which made its way out of the coal at all points above the closed doors, had, being lighter than air, mounted there.
"Put the lamps out," Jack said quickly; "the gauze is nearly red-hot." In a moment they were in darkness.
THE VAUGHAN PIT.—VIII.
"What is to be done now?" Mr. Brook asked after a pause.
There was silence for a while—the case seemed desperate.
"Mr. Brook," Jack said after a time, "it is agreed, is it not, that all here will obey my orders?"
"Yes, certainly, Jack," Mr. Brook answered.
"Whatever they are?"
"Yes, whatever they are."
"Very well," Jack said, "you will all take your coats off and soak them in water, then all set to work to beat the gas out of this heading as far as possible. When that is done as far as can be done, all go into the next stall, and lie down at the upper end; you will be out of the way of the explosion there. Cover your heads with your wet coats, and, Bill, wrap something wet round those cans of powder."
"What then, Jack?"
"That's all," Jack said; "I will fire the train. If the gas explodes at the match it will light the fuse, so that the wall will blow in anyhow."
"No, no," a chorus of voices said; "you will be killed."
"I will light it, Jack," Bill Haden said; "I am getting on now, it's no great odds about me."
"No, dad," Jack said; "I am in charge, and it is for me to do it. You have all promised to obey orders, so set about it at once. Bill, take Mr. Brook up first into the other stall; he won't be able to find his way about in the dark."
Without a word Bill did as he was told, Mr. Brook giving one hearty squeeze to the lad's hand as he was led away. The others, accustomed to the darkness from boyhood, proceeded at once to carry out Jack's instructions, wetting their flannel jackets and then beating the roof with them towards the entrance to the stall; for five minutes they continued this, and then Jack said:
"Now, lads, off to the stall as quick as you can; cover your heads well over; lie down. I will be with you in a minute, or—" or, as Jack knew well, he would be dashed to pieces by the explosion of the gas.
He listened until the sound of the last footstep died away—waited a couple of minutes, to allow them to get safely in position at the other end of the next stall—and then, holding the end of the fuse in one hand and the match in the other, he murmured a prayer, and, stooping to the ground, struck the match.
No explosion followed; he applied it to the fuse, and ran for his life down the narrow heading, down the stall, along the horse road, and up the next stall. "It's alight," he said as he rushed in.
A cheer burst from the men. "Cover your heads close," Jack said as he threw himself down; "the explosion is sure to fire the gas."
For a minute a silence as of death reigned in the mine; then there was a sharp cracking explosion, followed by another like thunder, and, while a flash of fire seemed to surround them, filling the air, firing their clothes, and scorching their limbs, the whole mine shook with a deep roaring.
The men knew that the danger was at an end, threw off the covering from their heads, and struck out the fire from their garments. Some were badly burned about the legs, but any word or cry they may have uttered was drowned in the tremendous roar which continued.
It was the water from the Logan pit rushing into the Vaughan. For five minutes the noise was like thunder; then, as the pressure from behind decreased, the sound gradually grew less, until, in another five minutes, all was quiet.
THE VAUGHAN PIT.—IX.
Then the men rose to their feet. The air in the next stall was clear and fresh, for as the Logan pit had emptied of water, fresh air had of course come down from the surface to take its place.
"We can light our lamps again safely now," Bill Haden said. "We shall want our tools, lads, and the powder; there may be some heavy falls in our way, and we may have hard work yet before we get to the shaft, but the roof rock is strong, so I believe we shall make our way."
"It lies to our right," Jack said. "Like our own, it is at the lower end of the pit, so, as long as we don't mount, we are going right for it."
There were, as Haden had expected, many heavy falls of the roof, but the water had swept passages in them, and it was found easier to get along than the colliers had expected. Still it was hard work for men weakened by hunger; and it took them five hours of labour clearing away masses of rock, and floundering through black mud, often three feet deep, before they made their way to the bottom of the Logan shaft. Then they saw the light far above them—the light that at one time they had never expected to see again.
"What o'clock is it now, sir?" Bill Haden asked Mr. Brook, who had from the beginning been the time-keeper of the party.
"Twelve o'clock exactly," he replied. "It is four days and an hour since the pit caught fire."
"What day is it, sir? for I've lost all count of time."
"Sunday," Mr. Brook said after a moment's thought.
"It could not be better," Bill Haden said; "for there will be thousands of people from all round to visit the mine."
"How much powder have you, Bill?" Jack asked.
"Four twenty-pound cans."
"Let us let off ten pounds at a time," Jack said. "Just damp it enough to prevent it from flashing off too suddenly; break up fine some of this damp wood and mix with it, it will add to the smoke."
In a few minutes the powder was ready, and a light applied; it blazed furiously for half a minute, sending volumes of light smoke up the shaft.
"Flash off a couple of pounds of dry powder," Bill Haden said; "there is very little draught up the shaft, and it will drive the air up."
For twenty minutes they continued flashing powder. Then they stopped and allowed the shaft to clear altogether of the smoke.
Presently a small stone fell among them—another—and another, and they knew that some one had noticed the smoke.
[It was indeed true. Their smoke signal had been seen and understood, and before long they were all drawn safely to the surface.
It may be imagined what excitement there was. Women crowded about Jack, calling down blessings on him for saving their husbands, and sons, and sweethearts, from death. And Mr. Brook was not slow to recognize his bravery and skill. He knew that if Jack's suggestions had been attended to, the explosion might not have happened; and so the young collier was made manager of the mine.]
THE RED CAPTAIN.
FROM "ONE OF THE 28TH."
[Ralph Conway, a young officer of the 28th Regiment, was stationed with a detachment on the south coast of Ireland. News was obtained that a notorious gang, led by a ruffian known as the Red Captain, was in hiding among some cliffs. The news came from a woman whose husband had, against his will, been forced to join the band.
Captain O'Connor, Lieutenant Desmond, and Ralph started quietly before daylight in hopes of surprising the gang before they could get news from their friends inland of the intended attack; while it was arranged that a revenue-officer, with a boat-load of men, should cut off their escape by sea.]
Daylight was faintly breaking when they reached the edge of the cliff. Ralph, with ten men, was posted at the spot where a slight track was visible, going down into a sort of gulley. Captain O'Connor then proceeded with half the company to the right, Desmond taking the remainder to the left; each posting men at intervals along the edge of the cliff, and placing parties of four at every point where there appeared the smallest probability of an ascent being made.
All were ordered to load at once. They were to seize anyone coming up the cliff, and in case of resistance to fire without hesitation. The two officers then returned to the spot where they had left Ralph. It was now nearly broad daylight. Leaving the soldiers they went a short distance to a point where the rocks fell away precipitately, and from here had a clear view of the face of the cliffs.
"We had better wait here for a time," the captain said. "The chances are that before long one of them will come out from their hiding-place, and perhaps make his way up to the top to look round. If he does, that will give us an indication as to the direction at any rate of their hiding-place. Now, I will take the ground in front; do you watch to the left, Conway, and you to the right, Desmond. We had better lie down, for on this jutting point we may catch the eye of anyone down there before we can see him. Keep a sharp look-out, lads; it will save us a world of trouble if we can see one of them."
For half an hour they lay quiet, then Desmond suddenly exclaimed:
"There is a man among those fallen rocks half-way up the side. There! he is gone. Perhaps we shall see him again in a moment."
For five minutes they lay with their eyes fixed on the rocks that Desmond pointed out, but there were no signs of life.
"Are you sure you were not mistaken, Desmond?" O'Connor asked.
"Quite certain. He suddenly appeared by the side of that gray boulder, stood there for a moment, and sunk down again. I expect he must have got a view of one of the men somewhere along the top."
"We will wait another ten minutes," O'Connor said, "and then we will take a party to the spot and search it thoroughly. There is the coast-guard boat, so there is no fear of their getting away by water."
Another quarter of an hour passed.
"It is no use waiting any longer. Go along the line, one each way, and bring ten men from points where they can be spared. We will leave them at the top of the path and take the party there down with us. There are only four or five of them, and ten men besides ourselves are ample for the business."
THE RED CAPTAIN.—II.
The arrangements were soon made. Before starting on the descent O'Connor said to the men: "We wish to take the fellows who are hiding down there alive if possible. They are the gang of the fellow known as the 'Red Captain,' and have committed a score of murders; but if it is absolutely necessary you will of course fire. There is one man among them who is there on compulsion, and is less guilty than the rest. He is a fair-haired man, and I should think you would notice the difference between him and the others. Whatever resistance they make it is not probable that he will join in it.
"At any rate, do not fire at him unless it is absolutely necessary to save your own lives. Now see to your priming before we start, and fix bayonets. Mind how you climb over these rocks, because if any of you fall, your musket may go off and shoot someone in front of you. Wherever it is possible scatter out abreast of each other, so as to prevent the possibility of accident. Now, then, march!"
Leading the way, Captain O'Connor descended the little track. It extended but a short distance. Beyond that a chaos of fallen rocks—the remains of an old landslip—stretched away to the shore.
"There is no working along this side-ways, Desmond," Captain O'Connor said, after they had climbed along for some little distance. "We had better make straight down to the shore, follow that for a bit, and then mount again to the spot where you saw the man."