Sappers and Miners Part 80

"Because you've got to help us out of this place?"

"I? Help you?"

"Yes; it's your duty. You've no right to lie like that, giving up everything."

"I'm so weak and sleepy," protested the man.

"So was I, but I fought it all down. Now then, climb up to where he is."

"I--I can't, Mr Gwyn; and, besides, it's too narrow for me."

"How do you know till you try? Come: up with you at once."

"Must I, Mr Gwyn, sir?"

"Yes, of course; so get up and try."

Sam Hardock groaned, and began to creep slowly up the steep slope, Gwyn leading the way; but at the end of a minute the man subsided.

"It's of no use, sir; I can't do it. I haven't the strength of a rat."

"Keep on; it will come," cried Gwyn. "Keep on, sir, and try. You must get to the top, where Joe Jollivet is."

"No, no; let me die in quiet."

"Very well; when I have got you into a good dry place. You can't die in peace with the cold black water creeping over you."

"N-no," said Hardock, with a s.h.i.+ver.

"Come on, then, at once," cried Gwyn; and, unable to resist the imperious way in which he was ordered, the poor fellow began to struggle up the narrow rift, while Gwyn, keeping his fears to himself, trembled lest the place should prove too strait.

Twice over Hardock came to a stand; but at a word from Gwyn he made fresh efforts, the way in which the lad showed him the road encouraging him somewhat; till at last, panting and exhausted, he dragged himself beyond the last angle, and rolled over upon the stony slope where Joe had been holding his lanthorn over the dark pa.s.sage, and looking down.

"We can go no farther till he's rested," whispered Gwyn.

"No; but look how the water's rising. How long will it be before it reaches up to here?"

Gwyn shook his head, and listened to the murmur of the rising flood, which sounded soft and distant; but the rush of wind grew louder, sweeping up the cavity with the loud whistling sound of a tempest.

Gwyn rose to his knees, trimmed his light, and said less breathlessly now,--

"Let Sam rest a bit, while we try and find how Grip went."

And he held up the light and shaded his eyes.

There was no need of a painted white arrow to point the way, for the whistling wind could be felt now by extending a hand from where they lay in shelter; and as soon as Gwyn began to creep on all-fours towards the upper portion of the sloping cavity in which they lay, the fierce current of air pressed against him as the water had when he was wading a short time before.

"Better keep the lanthorn back in shelter," said Gwyn, hastily; "it makes mine gutter down terribly."

He handed Joe the ring, and once more went on to find the wide opening they had reached rapidly contract till once more it resembled the jagged pa.s.sage through which they had forced themselves.

The slope was greater, though, and the way soon became a chimney-like climb, changing directions again and again, while in the darkness the wind whistled and shrieked by him furiously, coming with so much force that it felt as if it was impelling him forward.

And still he went on climbing along the tunnel-like place till further progress was checked by something in front; and with the wind now tearing by him with a roar, he felt above and below the obstacle, finding room to pa.s.s his arm beyond it readily; but further progress was impossible, the pa.s.sage being completely choked by the block of stone which must have slid down from above.

CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

SAM HARDOCK AT HIS WORST.

Gwyn tugged and strained at the block, hoping to dislodge it as he had the former one; but his efforts were vain, and at last, with his fingers sore and the perspiration streaming down his face, he backed down the steep chimney-like place, satisfied that Grip must have made his way through the narrow aperture beneath one corner of the block, where the wind rushed up, but perfectly convinced that without the aid of tools or gunpowder no human being could force a way, while the very idea of gunpowder suggested the explosion causing the tumbling down of the rock around to bury them alive.

"Well," said Joe, looking up at him anxiously, with his face showing clearly by the open door of his lanthorn, "can we get farther?"

Gwyn felt as if he could not reply, and remained silent.

"You might as well tell me the worst."

"I'm going to try again," said Gwyn, hoa.r.s.ely, and he glanced at Hardock, who was lying p.r.o.ne on the rock with his face buried in his hands. "The way's blocked up."

"Then we shall have to lie here till the water comes gurgling up to fill this place and drown us, if we are not smothered before."

"We can't be smothered in a place where there is so much air."

"I don't know," said Joe, thoughtfully--his feeling of despair seeming to have deadened the agony he had felt; "I've been thinking it out while you were grovelling up there like a rat, and I think that the air will soon be all driven out of the mine by the water. Ugh! hark at it now.

How it comes bubbling and racing up there! If you put your head over the edge of the rock there, it's fit to blow you away, and it smells horribly. But can't you get any farther up?"

"No, not a foot. Go up and try yourself."

"No," said Joe, slowly. "A bit ago I felt as if I could do anything to get out of this horrible place; but now I'm f.a.gged, like Sam Hardock there, and don't seem to mind much about it, except when I think of father."

"Don't talk like that," cried Gwyn, pa.s.sionately, "I can't bear it.

Here, we must do something; it's so cowardly to lie down and die without trying to get out. You go up there, and perhaps you will do better than I did."

"No; you tried, and you're cleverer than I am."

"No, I'm not. You try. You shall try," cried Gwyn, with energy. "Go up at once. Stop; let's put up a fresh candle."

"It's of no use; you can't--I've been trying."

"Joe! Don't say there are no more candles."

"Wasn't going to. There's one, but the wick's soaked and it won't burn."

Gwyn s.n.a.t.c.hed at the candle, examined the blackened end and sodden wick, and then turned it upside down, holding the bottom end close to the flame of his own light and letting the grease drip away till fresh wick was exposed and gradually began to burn.

"I should never have thought of doing that," said Joe, calmly, as he lay on his chest resting his chin upon his hands.