Taking Tales Part 29

All appeared to agree with her except d.i.c.k. He was sure that David would not have gone away without, at all events, hinting his intention to him.

The next day was Sunday, when no mines are worked. d.i.c.k, in spite of his fears of bogies, had made up his mind to go and search for his friend alone if he could get no one to go with him. He thought perhaps the b.u.t.ty would let him go down with his Davy lamp. He would fill his pockets with bits of paper and drop them as he went along, so as to find his way back, and to know where he had been over before. He had got several old newspapers to tear up, and he would take a stick with him, and a basket of food, and a bottle of beer, and he would go into every nook and pa.s.sage of the mine till he had found his friend. d.i.c.k's were brave thoughts. He fancied that he should have foes of all sorts to fight with, but for the sake of his friend he made up his mind to meet them.

Note 1. The "b.u.t.ty" is the head man over all the works, and indeed everything about the pit; the "doggy" has charge of the underground works, and looks after all the men and boys in the pit.

STORY SIX, CHAPTER 4.

The next day was Sunday, when the missionary again came to the village, and did not fail to visit Samuel Kempson's cottage. He heard of the disappearance of David Adams. He pointed out the only source from which the sorrowing mother could obtain comfort, and besought all those present to turn at once to the Lord. He reminded them that any moment they might all be hurried into eternity. He asked each man present to say how many friends of his had been cut off on a sudden--how many had died unprepared--and then begged them to tell him if they were ready to leave the world; and if they were not ready, when would they be ready?

"Do not delay, do not delay, my friends," he said, in a voice which went to the hearts of many of his hearers.

Among them was Samuel Kempson. From that day he became a serious-minded man, while he did his best to show by his life that his heart was changed. Others again listened, but went away and continued in the same bad habits in which they had before indulged.

d.i.c.k was eager for Monday morning, when the pit would be again at work, that he might go and look for David. Long before daybreak he was on foot on his way to the pit's mouth. He had to wait, however, till the under-viewers and deputy over-men had gone down to see the condition of the pit, whether it was fit for people to work in, or whether any stream of bad air had burst out likely to kill or injure any one. At last the mine was reported safe, and d.i.c.k, and the other boys, and several of the men were allowed to descend. d.i.c.k eagerly inquired of the deputy over-men if they had seen anything of David. No; they did not even think that he was in the pit, was their reply. d.i.c.k remembered that the missionary had said "that those who trust in G.o.d and do right need fear no evil."

"That's what I am doing," he said to himself, as he took his Davy's lamp from the lamp room, and grasped his stick. "I don't fear the black bogies or any other creatures such as Bill Hagger is so fond of talking about. May be, as the missionary says, there are no such things, and David thinks that it was Bill Hagger himself who frightened me." With such thoughts, brave little d.i.c.k strengthened his mind, and braced up his heart as he walked on.

From the gate-road, or chief gallery, roads opened off on either side.

d.i.c.k made up his mind to go to the farthest end, and then to work down one side, shouting as he went along, and then the other, dropping his bits of paper. He walked as fast as he could, but to move along with a ma.s.s of rock and earth and coal a thousand feet thick overhead, is not like walking across the green fields with the blue sky above one, and the fresh air blowing, and the sun s.h.i.+ning, and the birds singing. d.i.c.k had only walls of coal on either side, or pillars of coal, or caves out of which the coal had been hewn, or the mouths of other long pa.s.sages, some leading upwards, some downwards to other levels. He had a black roof of rock above him, and black ground under his feet. "Anybody seen anything of David Adams?" he asked of the different gangs of pushers, hoisters, or thrusters he met with their trucks of coal as they came out of the pa.s.sages and holes on all sides, some so low that they had to stoop down till their heads were no higher than the trucks.

"No; what, is he not found yet?" was the answer he got generally.

It took him nearly half an hour to get to the end of the gate-road.

When he reached thus far, he took the first opening to the right, and began dropping his paper, and calling out his friend's name. He went on and on, expecting to get into another gate-road, and in time to reach the main shaft. How long he had been walking he could not tell, when he found himself in a deserted part of the mine. It was like a large, low hall, the roof supported by stout pieces of timber, called "sprags," in some places, and in others by "cogs," or lumps of coal, or by pillars of coal. It was necessary here to be more careful than ever in strewing the paper, or it might be long indeed before he could find his way out again. He thought of poor David; how, if he had got here, he might have wandered about round and round, like a person lost in a wood, and sunk down overcome at last, and not able to rise up again. He could not altogether get over either fears for himself. His lamp shed a very dim light, and that only to a short distance, and he thought he saw dark forms moving about here and there, sometimes stopping and looking at him, and then going on again. He, like a true hero, had braced up his nerves to brave everything he might meet, or he would have shrieked out, and tried to run away. He, however, stoutly kept on his way, uttering a prayer that if they were evil spirits, they might do him no harm. Still he, as before, cried out David's name; but there was no answer.

His heart at length began to sink within him; a faintness came over him.

He had got a long, long way from the shaft, and he had hoped before this to find his friend. His legs ached, too, for he had been for a long time wandering about. He sat down at last on a block of coal and thought over what he should do. Nothing should make him give up the search; that he was determined on. Then he remembered that his lamp would not last much longer; so he got up, and pushed on. He had need of all his courage, for when he stopped he thought that he heard sighs and groans and distant cries. He had often before trembled at hearing such sounds, thinking that they were made by the evil spirits or hobgoblins of whom Bill Hagger had told him. Now, after a moment's thought, he knew that they were caused by the wind pa.s.sing through a trap either not well closed or with a slit in it. He could not open his lamp to see how much oil remained in it, and as he could only guess how long he had been walking, he could not tell what moment he might find the light go out.

He hurried on; he thought that he was in the right way. He was getting near a gate-road, when a moaning sound reached his ear. He stopped that he might be sure whence it came. Then he walked on cautiously towards the place, stopping every now and then to be sure that he was going in the right way. Again he heard the moaning sound. It was like that uttered by a person in pain. He followed it till he got to the mouth of a narrow pa.s.sage, which had been begun, but did not seem to run far.

Suddenly the idea came on him that these sounds were made by one of the much-dreaded bogies. "If it is one of them creatures, he can't do me any harm, for I'm doing what is right," he said to himself, and boldly went in, holding his lamp before him. He had not gone far, when he saw stretched out before him on the ground the form of his young friend. He had his arms extended, as if he had fallen groping his way.

"O David, David, come to life: do now!" cried d.i.c.k, kneeling down by his side.

David uttered a low groan; that was better than if he had been silent.

So, encouraged by this, d.i.c.k lifted him up, and poured a few drops of beer down his throat. The liquid revived him; not from its strength, however.

"Come out of this place, David, do now; the air is very bad and close, you'll never get well while you stay here."

David at last came round enough to know what was said to him, and with d.i.c.k's help was able to crawl into the gate-road, which was not far off.

Here the fresher air, for fresh it was not, brought him still more round, and he sat up and eat some of the food which d.i.c.k had brought.

David kept staring at d.i.c.k all the time he was eating without saying a word, as if he did not know what had happened.

"Come along now, David," said d.i.c.k, at last; "there is no time to lose, for the lamp may be going out, and it won't do to have to find our way to the shaft in the dark."

"Oh no, no. How did you find me, d.i.c.k?" asked David.

"Come to look for you," answered d.i.c.k.

"And how is poor mother? She must have been in a sad way all these days, thinking what had become of me."

"Mrs Adams bears up pretty well," said d.i.c.k.

"But how long do you think I have been down here? A week, or is it longer?" said David.

He could scarcely believe that it had been from the Sat.u.r.day morning till the Monday evening since he was lost.

"I thought that I must have been down very many days," he remarked. "I had my day's dinner with me, so I just took a little nibble of food for breakfast, and another for dinner, and a little more for supper. It seemed to me that I stopped five or six hours between each meal, and then I lay down and went to sleep, and when I awoke I thought it was morning, and that the people would be coming down to work; so I got up and walked on, thinking that they would hear me; but I waited and waited, there was not the sound of a pick anywhere near, and I knew that there would be no use shouting. Once I found the air much cooler, and as I looked up I saw the stars s.h.i.+ning right overhead, and then I knew that I must be under an air shaft. Now, I thought, I shall find the road to the pit's mouth, but I turned the wrong way, I suppose, and at last, when I could go on no longer, I went right into the hole where you found me. I couldn't have been long there. I tried to cry out as loud as I could, but I had no strength; and if you hadn't come, d.i.c.k, I should have died before many minutes."

David gave this account of himself by fits and starts, as he and d.i.c.k were trying to find their way into the chief gate-road. d.i.c.k had to support his friend, who was very weak, and scarcely able to get along.

He himself, too, was ready to faint, for he had been walking some hours, and that in a hot mine was very trying. For what they could tell they might still have a long distance to go. They went on for some way, then again they had to sit down and rest.

"Now, David, we must go on again," exclaimed d.i.c.k, rousing himself; "we shall soon be where the hewers are at work."

"Oh, I cannot, I cannot move another step, I fear," answered David, in a voice which showed how weak he had become.

d.i.c.k made him take a little more food, and then, putting his arm round him, helped him along. Thus they went on for some distance.

"Hark!" exclaimed d.i.c.k, joyfully, "I hear the sound of a pick. Yes, I'm sure of it. There is some one singing, too. It's a putter. He's coming this way."

As he spoke, the dull sound of the pick, "thud, thud, thud," reached their ears. With their spirits raised they were again going on, when out went d.i.c.k's lamp. They were in complete darkness. Not a glimmer of light came from where the other men were at work. d.i.c.k shouted as loudly as he could to draw attention. As to David, his voice could not help much. No one attended to them. They stumbled on for some time farther.

"I know that voice. It's Bill Hagger, I'm sure," said d.i.c.k. "I've often heard him sing that song; I would rather it had been any one else, but I don't think he would ill-treat us now."

d.i.c.k shouted to Bill to come with his light. Just at that moment while they were waiting for Bill's answer, there was a loud, thundering crash, with a fearful shriek and cries for help.

"The roof has fallen in, and Bill is buried under it. Oh, let us push on, and see if we cannot help him out," cried d.i.c.k.

The two boys had groped their way on for some distance, when they saw far-off the glimmer of a light.

"That must be Bill's lantern," said d.i.c.k. "He must have set it down before the roof fell in on him."

Bill had ceased shrieking, but they could hear his groans.

They at last reached the spot. A large ma.s.s of coal had fallen, and shut him up in a side pa.s.sage. Part of it must have fallen on him. The boys, weak as they were, in vain tried to lift the big lumps of coal off the young man. They soon saw that they might very likely, in so doing, bring down more on their own heads, and that it would be better to hurry on to get help. d.i.c.k entirely forgot all the ill-treatment he had received from Bill, and overcoming the fatigue he had been feeling, ran on, with the help of Bill's lamp, towards the place where he expected to find men at work, dragging poor David along with him. He felt David growing heavier and heavier. At last, without uttering a sound, down he sank by his side. Was he really dead? He held the light to his friend's pale face. He breathed. There was only one thing to be done.

He dragged him to the side of the gallery, out of the way of any rolley, which might by chance come by, and ran on to where he thought he heard some men at work. He shouted out. The first man who appeared was his father. He told him that he had found David.

"What alive?" asked Samuel.

"Yes, father; but he won't be if we don't make haste; and besides him there is Bill Hagger, with a heap of coals over him."

On hearing this, Samuel Kempson called all the men near to go to the a.s.sistance of David and Bill, while one ran to summon a deputy viewer to direct what was to be done to release Bill. As soon as they reached David, Samuel lifted him up in his arms, and hurried with him to the foot of the shaft, accompanied by d.i.c.k. When he got there, he begged that he might be drawn up at once, that he might take the boy to his mother. They got into the corve, and were drawn up, up, up the deep shaft. When they reached the mouth of the pit, the fresh air brought back the colour to David's cheeks, and he opened his eyes for a moment, but quickly shut them, dazzled by the rays of the sun which was trying to pierce the murky atmosphere. This, however, showed that there was some life in the boy; and in better spirits than at first, Samuel hurried along to the widow, that he might restore her son to her. She had been over and over again to the pit's mouth to inquire for her boy, and had to go back to look after her other children.

One of them playing in front of the door, saw the Kempsons coming along: "Here comes d.i.c.k Kempson and his father with a little dead boy in his arms," cried the child.

The poor widow, her heart sinking with dread, ran out of the cottage, expecting to see David's lifeless body.