Sappers and Miners Part 82

The appearance of Joe's boots put an end to their conversation; and a few minutes after he turned his face to them, looking ghastly in the feeble light of the lanthorns.

"Thought I was going to die caught fast in there," he said, with a sob, "Oh, Ydoll, it was horrible. You can't think how bad."

"Lie down for a bit and rest," said Gwyn, gently, for the poor fellow was quite hysterical from what he had gone through; and without a word he obeyed, lying perfectly still save when a shudder shook him from head to foot, and he clung fast to Gwyn's hand.

"Do you think you could do any good by trying?" said Gwyn at last.

"Me, sir?" said Sam. "No; I'm too big. I should get stuck fast."

"No, there's room enough. He got himself fixed by wedging his arm in beyond the stone."

"Yes, that was it," sighed Joe; and, to the surprise of both, Hardock picked up his lanthorn, crawled to the hole, thrust it in and followed, while the two lads lay listening to the rustling sounds he made, half drowned by the shrieking and whistling of the wind.

In about a quarter-of-an-hour he backed out, drawing his light after him.

"It's of no use, my lads," he said; "we may shake hands now, for we've done all that we can do. I've been trying hard at that stone, but it's wedged in fast. A shot o' powder might drive it out, but our hands aren't powder nor dinnymite neither, and we may give it up."

No one spoke, and they lay there utterly exhausted in mind and body, hour after hour, while their clothes began slowly to dry upon their bodies. The rush of wind and the gurgle of water went on as if it were boiling violently; and something like sleep overtook them, for they did not move.

But from time to time Gwyn bent over one or the other of the lanthorns to see to the candles, his one great dread being now lest they should sink into a deep stupor, and come to, finding that they were in the dark.

Then suddenly, after lying down for some time trying to imagine that it was all some terrible dream, there was a quick, short bark; and unable to bear this, the lad uttered a wild cry, and then, from the terrible tension being taken so suddenly from off his nerves, he burst into a hysterical fit of laughter.

The next minute Grip was licking at his face, following it up by the same endearment bestowed upon the other two, and then bursting into a prolonged fit of barking.

CHAPTER FIFTY.

NEWS FROM GRa.s.s.

"Ydoll! Ydoll! Look! look!" cried Joe, suddenly. "Here, Grip! Grip!

Quick!"

But Gwyn had seen and caught at the dog's collar as soon as Joe had shouted to him; and as rapidly as his trembling fingers would allow, he untied the string which bound a white packet to the ring in the dog's collar.

It was a note written in pencil, the words large, and easy to see; but they seemed to sail round before the lad's eyes, and minutes had elapsed before he could read in his father's bold hand:--

"Try and keep a good heart. Grip has shown us the way, and, please G.o.d, we'll reach you before many hours have pa.s.sed. Tie a handkerchief to the dog's collar if you get this, and are all well.

Send him back at once.

"Arthur Pendarve."

A strange sobbing sound escaped from Gwyn's lips as with trembling hands he tied his pocket-handkerchief tightly to the dog's collar.

"Now, Grip!" he cried in a husky voice which did not sound like his own; and the dog, who was standing panting, with his tongue out and curled up at the tip, uttered an eager bark. "Home! home!" cried Gwyn; and the dog made for the hole, dashed in, and disappeared, while his master crept away into the darkness of the lowest part of the long, sloping grotto-like place, and half-an-hour must have pa.s.sed before he joined the others and lay down close to the hole where Grip had disappeared.

They had no idea of how the time pa.s.sed, and they could not speak, for their hearts were too full. Words did not come till they heard a fresh barking, and the dog came scuffling out of the opening into the light, this time with the Colonel's flask tied to his collar, and stood panting while it was untied.

It was one of the large flat leather-covered bottles with a silver screw top and silver cup, which slipped on the bottom; and now, for the first time awaking to the fact that he was in a fainting condition, Gwyn slipped off the cup, unscrewed the top, and poured out some of the contents of the bottle, handing the vessel to Hardock, who shook his head.

"Nay, sir," he said, "I'll wait till we get out; I'm a tot'ler."

Gwyn handed the silver cup to Joe, who tasted it.

"Eggs and milk," he cried, and drank the contents with avidity before returning the cup.

"Now, Sam," said Gwyn, refilling it.

"Ay, I don't mind that, sir," said Hardock; "and I was thinking I was a bit too particklar when it was sent to save our lives. Hah! That's good," he added, as he drained the last drop. "Sorry I can't wash it out for you, sir. Shall I go down to the water?"

"No, no, I don't mind drinking after you," said Gwyn, as he tremblingly poured out his portion, which was less than the others had taken; and he, too, drank the most grateful draught he had ever had, while the dog, who had couched, placed his head on the lad's knee and looked up at him with all a dog's reverence and affection for his master.

But there was no note this time.

The flask was re-fastened to the dog's collar, and he was sent back; and then the prisoners lay listening to the rus.h.i.+ng and gurgling of the air and water, wondering how long it would take to reach them, for Hardock had been down to find that it had ascended the cavity for some distance; but he expressed his belief that it would be hours before it would hurt them, and the consequence was that, heartened by the prospect of escape, utterly exhausted mentally and bodily as they were, Nature came to their aid, and they all dropped off into a deep sleep.

Gwyn was the first to awaken many hours later, to find all in darkness, and fight alone through the strange feeling of confusion in which he was. But once more Grip came to his help; for no sooner had his master begun to move than he burst out barking loudly.

This woke the others, equally confused and startled at being in the darkness, while the noise of the wind roaring through the cavity sounded appalling.

Gwyn's first effort to light a match was a failure, but the second, within the shelter of a lanthorn, succeeded, and a fresh candle was finally lit.

By this they found that Grip was the bearer of another note, and in addition a packet, which upon being opened was found to contain a card and a pencil.

The note was very brief, stating tersely that efforts were being made to enlarge the way through which the dog had come up, and asking for information regarding their state.

This was furnished as well as the circ.u.mstances would allow, Joe holding the light, while, after placing the card on the smoothest place he could find, Gwyn wrote the answer--the princ.i.p.al point he emphasised being that they were safe so far; but the water was rising, and they had nearly come to the end of their candles.

But even as he wrote there was a cheering sound heard through the whistling of the wind--a sharp, clear clink as of hammer and chisel upon stone.

"Hark! do you hear?" cried Joe, wildly; "they are coming down to us. Oh work, work hard, before the water rises."

He shouted this in a wildly frantic way, and then watched eagerly while Gwyn tied the card in a handkerchief and secured it to the dog's collar, Grip going off directly, as if he quite understood the business now.

This done, Joe and Hardock lay down close to the orifice and listened to the clinking of the hammers, trying the while to imagine what kind of pa.s.sage existed beyond the wedge-like block of stone, and calculating how long it would be before they were rescued. But that was all imagination, too, for there was nothing to base their calculations upon.

Meanwhile Gwyn was more matter-of-fact; for he took the lanthorn and descended to where the water had risen, and there, clinging with one hand, he held the light down, to gaze with a feeling of awe at the bubbling surface, which was in a violent state of agitation, looking as if it were boiling. Every now and then it was heaved up and then fell back with a splash.

Gwyn's object in descending the sharp slope had been to make a mark upon the rock with his knife just at the level of the water, and then try and scratch other marks at about a foot apart, so as to descend again and see how much higher the water had risen.

But this seemed to be impossible, for the level was always changing, the water running up several feet at times and then descending, playing up and down evidently as the pressure of the confined air increased or sank.

Still he made some marks, and then returned to the others to join them in listening.

But this proved weary work, for it was only now and then that they could hear the sound of the hammer, for the current of air seemed to bear it away; while, when by chance the sounds did reach their ears they were most tantalising, at one time seeming very near, and at others so faint that they felt that the work going on must be very distant.

The dog came back with food and lights and stayed with them, now trotting to the opening to bark at the sounds; and at times standing at the edge of the lower cavity to bark fiercely at those from below, his ears and the thick wolf frill about his neck being blown about by the fierce current of air.