Sappers and Miners Part 59

"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 pa.s.sages, 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 gra.s.s.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

GRIP'S ANTIPATHY.

"I really think you ought to stay in, Gwyn," said Mrs Pendarve, anxiously.

"Oh, I'll stay in if you like, mother," said the boy, patting the hand that was laid upon his arm, and looking affectionately in his mother's eyes; "but don't you think it would be all nonsense?"

"Yes," said the Colonel, firmly, as he looked up from the work he was reading. "He's quite well, my dear."

"No, no, my love; he's too pale to be well."

"Fancy, my dear; but perhaps he may be. Describe your symptoms, Gwyn, my boy."

"Haven't got any to describe, father," said Gwyn, merrily.

"Well, then, to satisfy your mother, how do you feel?"

"Ashamed of myself, father, for having had the doctor."

"Exactly. He's quite well, my dear. It was bad for him, of course; but a strong, healthy boy does not take long to recover from a long walk and some enforced abstinence--There, you can go, Gwyn, and--"

"Yes, father?" said the boy, for the Colonel paused.

"There's young Jollivet coming over the hill, so Major Jollivet and I would feel greatly obliged if you two lads did not get into another sc.r.a.pe for some time to come."

"Oh, I say," cried Gwyn, "I do call that too bad. Isn't it, mother?

Father lets the Major take him down and get lost in the mine--"

"Nothing of the kind, sir. We found our way back--you did not."

"And then when we go down," continued Gwyn, without heeding his father's words, "to try and find them, father calls it getting into a sc.r.a.pe."

"Ah, well, never mind what I called it," said the Colonel, smiling; "but be careful, please. We don't want any more exploring."

Gwyn went off, met Joe, and they made for a favourite place on the cliff where they could look down on the sea and the sailing gulls to have a chat about their late adventure, this being their first meeting since they were carried home from the mine.