Sappers and Miners Part 26

"One o' the first things I mean to have done is to set the men to cut a gully along here for the water to run in, for I daresay we shall always have to keep the pump going. Then the water can keep to itself, and we shall have a dry place for the trucks to run along."

"But this place won't be used much," said Gwyn, as he followed the man, and kept on thinking about his strange feelings, as he crept along there in the darkness toward the light, after his terrible fall.

"I don't know so much about that, my lad. Don't you see, it will be splendid for getting rid of our rubbish? The trucks can be tilted, and away it will go; but what's to prevent us from loading s.h.i.+ps with ore out below there in fine weather? But we shall see."

It was a strange experience to pa.s.s out of the brilliant suns.h.i.+ne into the black, cold tunnel through the rock, with the water bubbling about their feet, and a creepy, gurgling whispering sound coming toward them in company with a heavy dull clanking, as the huge pump worked steadily on. Try how they would to be firm, and forcing themselves to fall back upon the knowledge of what was taking place, there was still the feeling that this little stream of water was only the advance guard of a deluge, and that at any moment it might increase to a rus.h.i.+ng flood, which would sweep them away, das.h.i.+ng them out headlong from the mouth of the gallery to fall into the sea.

But there in front was the black outline of Hardock's stooping figure, with the lanthorn held before him, and making the water flash and sparkle, while from time to time the man held up the lanthorn, and pointed to a glittering appearance in the roof, or on the walls.

"Ore," he said, with a chuckle. "I didn't come to your father, Master Gwyn, with empty hands, did I? Well, I'm glad he woke up to what it's all worth. Here we are."

He stopped short, for they had come to the shaft, and his light showed up the strong beams and wet iron ties which held the machinery in place.

There were a couple of men here, too, with lanthorns hanging from what seemed to be a cross-beam. On their right, was a wet-looking ladder, whose rounds glistened, and this ran up into darkness, where a great beam had been fixed, with a square hole where the top of the ladder rested, the light from above being almost entirely cut off.

The men said something to Hardock, but their words were almost inaudible in the rattle and clank of the great pump, and the wash and rush of the water as it was drawn into a huge trough, and rushed from it into the adit.

Hardock gave them a nod in reply, and then signed to the boys as he swung his lanthorn.

"Come and look here," he shouted; and, with their bare feet slipping on the wet planks that were just loosely laid across the beams fitted into the old holes, cut no one knew when, in the sides of the shaft, they went down to where Hardock dropped on his knees and held the lanthorn through an opening, so that the light was reflected from the water, whose level was about a foot below where they now stood.

"See that?" he shouted, so as to make his voice heard.

"What, the water?" cried Gwyn. "Yes."

"No, no; my mark that I made in the wall with a pick?"

"Oh, yes; the granite looks quite white," said Gwyn, as he looked at the roughly-cut notch some six inches long.

"How far is the water below it?" cried Hardock.

"About seven inches, eh, Joe?"

"Nearly eight."

"Then you may go up and tell your father the good news. He'll like to hear it from you. Tell him that we've lowered the water seven inches since the pump started, and if nothing goes wrong, we shall soon be making a stage lower down."

"But what should go wrong?" cried Joe, who looked full of excitement.

"A hundred things, my lad. Machinery's a ticklish thing, and as for a mine, you never know what's going to happen from one hour to another.

Go on, up with you both, my lads; it's news they'll be glad to hear, and you ought to be proud to take it."

"We are," cried Gwyn, heartily. "It's splendid, Sam. You have done well."

"Tidy, my lad, tidy. Will you go up the ladder here?"

"No," said Gwyn, "we've left our shoes and stockings outside."

"Very well; go that way, then."

"Yes," said Joe, "it's better than going up the shaft; the ladders look so wet, and the water drops upon you. I saw it dripping yesterday.

Come on."

He stepped into the adit, and Gwyn followed.

"Don't want a light, I s'pose?" said Hardock.

"Oh, no; we shall see the suns.h.i.+ne directly," said Gwyn; and the two boys retraced their wet steps, soon caught sight of the light s.h.i.+ning in, and made their way out to the platform, where they sat down in the suns.h.i.+ne to wipe their feet with their handkerchiefs, and then put on socks and boots, each giving his feet a stamp as he rose erect.

"Isn't the water cold! My feet are like ice," said Joe.

"They'll soon get warm climbing up these ladders," said Gwyn. "But steady! Don't jump about; this platform doesn't seem any too safe.

I'll ask father to have the stout rail put round. Shall I go first?"

"No; you came down first," said Joe. "My turn now. But I say, I'd a deal rather go up and down in a bucket. What a height it seems."

"Well, make it less," said Gwyn. "Up with you! don't stand looking at it. I want to be at the top."

"So do I," said Joe, as he stood holding on by one of the rounds of the ladder, they two and the platform looking wonderfully small on the face of that immense cliff; the platform bearing a striking resemblance to some little bracket nailed against a wall, and occupied by two sparrows.

Then, uttering a low sigh, Joe began to mount steadily, and as soon as he was a dozen feet up, Gwyn followed him.

"It doesn't do to look upwards, does it?" said Joe, suddenly, when they had been climbing for about half-a-minute.

"Well, don't think about it, then. And don't talk. You want all your breath for a job like this."

Joe was silent, and the only sounds heard were the sc.r.a.ping of their boots on the wooden spells, and the crying of the gulls squabbling over some wave-tossed weed far below.

Then, all at once, when he was about half-way up, Joe suddenly stopped short, but Gwyn did not notice it till his cap was within a few inches of the other's boots.

"Well, go on," he cried cheerily. "What's the matter--out of breath?"

"No."

"Eh? What is it--what's the matter?" said Gwyn, for he was startled by the tone in which the word was uttered.

"I--I don't know," came back in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, which sent a shudder through Gwyn, as he involuntarily glanced down at the awful depth beneath him. "It's the cold water, I think. One of my feet has gone dead, and the other's getting numb. Gwyn! Gwyn! Here, quick! I don't know what I'm--Quick!--help! I'm going to fall!"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

GWYN SHOWS HIS METTLE.

Too much horrified for the moment even to speak, Gwyn grasped the sides of the ladder with spasmodic strength; his eyes dilated, his jaw dropped, and he clung there completely paralysed. Then his mental balance came back as suddenly as he had lost it, and feeling once more the strong, healthy lad he was, it came to him like a flash that it was impossible that Joe Jollivet, his companion in hundreds of rock-climbing expeditions--where they had successfully made their way along places which would have given onlookers what is known as "the creeps,"--could be in the danger he described, and with a merry laugh, he cried,--

"Get out! Go on, you old humbug, or I'll get a pin out of my waistcoat and give you the spur."

There was no response.