Kitabı oku: «The Vicar's People», sayfa 19
Chapter Forty
Something Wrong
They were civil enough to him at the hotel, but Geoffrey could not help noticing that there was a peculiar something in his reception.
Of course it was strange his going there, and it led to talking about him; of this he could not help feeling sure.
“Let them talk,” he muttered, “if it pleases them;” and, after a late dinner, and spending an hour or two in writing, he made up his mind to go to bed and have a good night’s rest, to make up for the losses of the previous night.
He felt that he would like to know how old Mr Paul was, but he could not send or ask with any degree of comfort, so he went to bed at ten.
But it was not to rest. His nerves had been so unduly excited by the events of the past twenty-four hours that, try how he would, he could not get to sleep.
As a rule, strong, healthy, and hearty, no sooner was his head upon his pillow than he dropped off into a deep slumber. But this night his mind was in a continuous whirl. He tossed, he turned, got up and bathed his beating temples and burning forehead, scrubbed himself with a towel, and lay down again, but there was no sleep.
Now he was following poor Madge along the cliff, and plunging into the sea to save her. Then he was facing Bessie Prawle, whose eyes looked reproachfully at him. Again, he would be back at the cottage going through that pitiful scene with poor old Mr Paul; and when at last he succeeded in dismissing that from his mind, he was haunted by the face of Rhoda gazing at him with such a look of scorn and contempt that he was obliged to sit up in bed to make sure it was not real.
“Upsets a man’s nerves, no matter how strong he may be,” argued Geoffrey; and he once more threw himself down, wishing that he was back at the cottage, for, as it was comparatively early, there were noises in the hotel that helped to keep him awake.
At last, about midnight, he seemed to have successfully laid the whole of the unrestful spirits that had been haunting him, and, feeling calmer, he uttered a sigh of satisfaction, and felt that he was going now to enjoy his well-earned rest, when a fresh thought leaped to his brain, and that was about Wheal Carnac.
He had been down the mine that evening, and every thing was progressing admirably. The machinery was in perfect order, the men settling down more and more to their work, and they were in a high state of delight at the success that had attended Pengelly’s investigations. Why then should he trouble himself about Wheal Carnac?
He argued with himself that it was imagination, due to the excited state of his nerves and the worries of the day. He felt that it was that; but, in spite of his reasoning, he could not rest. Sleep seemed to be out of the question, and yet he would be terribly unfit for the next day’s work.
At last he could bear it no longer, and, feeling that rest would not come unless he could satisfy himself that the place was safe, he got up and dressed.
“I’m growing a wise man,” he said, mockingly. “I wonder whether any one has run away with the mine? Perhaps there is a burglary on, and they are breaking into the boiler.”
At the same time he felt that a walk in the cool night air would calm his nerves, and he prepared to descend, when a new difficulty assailed him.
It was past midnight now, every one in the place had retired, and no doubt he would have some difficulty in getting out.
“I say the people here are mad,” he thought; “they will think me mad. Well, let them.”
He went down as cautiously as he could, and found that his difficulty about getting out was only imaginary, for the door was easily opened, and, as he closed it behind him, and felt the cool night air upon his forehead, he uttered a sigh of relief.
His plans were soon made; he would go first to Pengelly, and knock him up and hear his report: for the manager was going to stay there a couple or three hours after his superior had left the mine.
He felt some compunction in this; but he knew Pengelly’s interest in the works, and how willing he would be to answer questions; so he walked on, thinking over two or three plans which he had been revolving in his mind to propose to Mr Penwynn for Pengelly’s benefit, and as a reward for his discovery.
Every thing was very still under the brilliant starlit sky, and as Geoffrey reached the narrow lane where Pengelly lived, he again felt some little compunction at arousing him; but, as he had gone so far, he determined to proceed.
The slight tap he gave on the door was quite sufficient to waken the miner, and Geoffrey plainly heard him leap out of bed. The next moment the casement just above his head was opened.
“What’s the matter?” he said quickly.
“Nothing, I hope, Pengelly.”
“Oh, it’s you, sir!”
“Yes, it is I, Pengelly. Tell me, did you leave all right?”
“Yes, sir; quite right.”
“At what time?”
“I was there till nine, sir. Have you been since?”
“No, Pengelly; but I have got an uneasy feeling upon me that something might be wrong. I couldn’t sleep, so I came on to you.”
“Guilty conscience,” thought Pengelly.
“I think,” continued Geoffrey, “I’ll walk on down there to see if every thing is right. Good-night.”
“No, sir, stop a minute, and I’ll come too.”
Geoffrey protested, but as he protested Pengelly jumped into his flannel trousers and frock, and in the time that a modern gentleman would have taken to unbutton his eyelids and think about his bath, the miner was dressed and coming down.
“It’s a shame to rouse you up, Pengelly, about such a fancy as mine,” said Geoffrey. “I was restless, and that made me fidget about the mine.”
“Well, sir, she’s worth fidgetting about,” said Pengelly. “Let’s go down. It won’t do any harm. There’s the two engine-men on, and it will show them that we may we expected at any time, and teach them their duty.”
Geoffrey longed to say something in his own defence to the miner, as they went along under the starlit sky, but his pride kept him silent; and, gradually growing calmer and at his ease as the fresh breeze from the sea blew upon his face, they went on and on till they began climbing the rugged path to where the engine-house stood up dim and gaunt against the sky, with its lit-up windows and door having a grotesque resemblance to the face of some fiery monster, who was uttering a low, panting roar.
They found the engine steadily working, raising and lowering the enormous rod of the series of pumps, and a steady, rushing noise told that the water was running fast.
“They’re both fast asleep,” said Pengelly. “Hallo! who’s that?”
“Where?” said Geoffrey. “I don’t see any one.”
“I’d be sworn I saw some one go away,” exclaimed Pengelly, leaping forward, but only to return to where Geoffrey stood.
“I expect it was fancy, sir; but let’s go and rouse them up. They’ve no business to be asleep.”
He led the way into the engine-house, where, by the glow from the stoke-hole fire, the two men on duty could be seen lying back on the stone bench that formed their seat, fast asleep; and, though Pengelly shook them again and again, he could only evoke a deep stertorous snore from each in turn.
“I don’t like this, sir,” said Pengelly. “Let’s take a look round.”
Geoffrey took a lantern from a rough shelf, and together they visited office, stables, and the various buildings, ending by going towards the shaft, when Pengelly suddenly uttered a cry.
“What’s wrong?” cried Geoffrey, excitedly, though the knowledge had come to him at the same moment as to his man.
“She’s burst in, sir. Oh, listen! She’s burst in!”
And as Geoffrey bent over the shaft, the fearful sound of the rushing water flooding the mine rose from the echoing depths upon his ear.
Stunned by the nature of the catastrophe, Geoffrey Trethick stood clutching the framework of the shaft, and leaned over listening to the surging roar of the water as it seemed to him to come bursting up through the winzes in fountains and rushing in triumph through each gallery and drive.
As for Pengelly, he had thrown himself upon the ground, and for a time neither spoke.
“Is this treachery or accident, Pengelly?” cried Trethick at last in a hoarse, changed voice.
“Call it judgment, sir – call it judgment,” groaned the miner. “If we sin, the punishment must find us out.”
“Pengelly?” cried Geoffrey, as he turned upon him in his rage. “There, I cannot argue with you now. What can we do?”
“Do!” cried Pengelly, piteously. “Do nothing. What can we do but pray and ask for mercy and help, sir, from above.”
“Help!” cried Geoffrey. “God helps those who help themselves. Let us be up and doing, man alive.”
“It’s no time to be up and doing now, sir,” replied Pengelly solemnly. “Listen, sir; do you hear? Hark at the water, as if the fountains of the great deep were broken up. Mr Trethick, sir,” he continued, incongruously, “we may stop the engine, for a dozen such could not master the water gathering there.”
“The wall was too thin to stand the pressure,” groaned Geoffrey, “and yet it seemed so safe. Is it possible that any tricks can have been played with the mine? Yes; I see it now,” he cried passionately. “That man you saw – those two fellows drunk – yes, of course. Look! the cage is down. Some one must have gone below to-night.”
Pengelly, roused by his companion’s words, seemed now to grasp their meaning, and, gazing from Geoffrey to the space where the cage should have been, he ran into the engine-house, and, turning the bars, threw the wheels in gear, when, after what seemed to be an interminable space of time, the dripping cage came up empty to the mouth.
“Some one has, been down,” said Pengelly, hoarsely; “but whoever it was has not come up;” and without another word, the miner walked slowly back into the engine-house, sat down, and buried his face in his hands.
For a time Geoffrey stood there, holding by the iron rail that protected the shaft, listening to the rushing water, for even yet he could hardly realise the appalling nature of the affair. A short time back it would have been a very serious loss! but now, just as prosperity in fullest tide had come upon them, sweeping away all doubts and fears, the calamity seemed greater than he could bear.
And Rhoda? Mr Penwynn? What was he to say to them?
Well, the former would pity and sympathise, and he must begin again.
The latter would help him no more.
It was horrible, and if he could only bring it home —
He shuddered, for he recalled Pengelly’s words.
Perhaps the cause of that mischief was below.
Then, like an icy blast, came the recollection of that other trouble – the suspicion that had been laid at his door; but he laughed that off with contempt, and turning at last, he followed Pengelly into the engine-house, where the fire burned ruddily, the two men slept, and, as if in mockery, the vast engine kept up its solemn, heavy thump, bent, apparently now, so Geoffrey thought, upon the task of pumping the Atlantic Ocean dry.
“Blow off the steam, man; throw open the furnace bars,” cried Geoffrey, suddenly, “and stop that cursed engine clank. The game’s up for the present. I’m going home to bed.”
Even as he spoke the words he recalled that he had no home, and Pengelly laid his hand upon his arm.
“I’ll do your orders, master,” he said sadly, “and then I’m going back to pray, for it’s a judgment on us, master, a judgment for our sins.”
He was about to say you, for in his simple breast the poor fellow believed the tale that was the talk of the little place.
“But he’s my master,” he had said; “and I’ll serve him true, for who knows but what I may some day make him sorrow for his sin, and see the light.”
Geoffrey turned upon him angrily, but Pengelly’s face disarmed him; and as the miner obeyed his orders and the clank of the great pump ceased, he threw himself upon the stone bench, and, staring in at the flaming furnace-fire, asked himself how he was to face the coming day.
Chapter Forty One
How Lannoe Earned his Hundred Pounds
Miner Lannoe had well made his plans, and, after abiding his time, he had arranged with a confederate to be at the shaft mouth ready to lower down the cage, when he should give the signal, and draw him up.
On second thoughts he told his confederate to lower down the cage first, and then to be ready to touch the handles of the engine in due form, and draw him up.
They had both worked at mines long enough to be quite conversant with the lowering and raising of a cage, and a promise of half a sovereign and unlimited beer was quite enough to enlist a man he knew in his service – a convenient kind of man, who was stupid enough to do what he was told without asking questions.
But this would necessitate the agreement of the two men who would be on duty keeping the engine pumping all night, for the mine was still very wet.
But Lannoe knew how to manage them. A bottle of smuggled brandy, which he knew how to get, was quite sufficient for the purpose, especially when drugged with tobacco, and thoroughly fulfilled his wishes, doing more too than he anticipated for his employer’s service.
He was obliged to trust to his confederate, for he had made up his mind to stay down, but his orders were simple in the extreme. The man had only to stroll into the engine-house, when he had seen every one off the premises, with the bottle of brandy under his arm, propose a drink, and not drink himself.
“If he don’t keep all square it will be awkward,” thought Lannoe, as he hung back when the other men left the pit; and, pulling out some bread and cheese, sat down in the dark and made a hearty meal.
“That’ll give a fellow strength,” he muttered, when he had done. “Now let’s see what’s what? Ugh! it’s a gashly job; but a hundred pound’s a big lump, and it may be a hundred and fifty.”
He took out a box of matches, lit a lantern, and walked cautiously towards the foot of the shaft, to find that the cage had been lowered down since the men went up – Pengelly with the last batch; and from that he argued that his confederate was on the watch.
To make sure he uttered a low whistle, which went up, seeming to increase as it rose, and an answer came back.
“That’s right,” he muttered. “I should stand awkward if he wasn’t there.”
He felt a strange sense of hesitation come over him, and a tremor of dread that made him flinch from his task, till he thought of Pengelly, and the money that was to be his reward.
“There’s nothing to be scared about,” he muttered. “If he wasn’t there I could get up the winze, and then up to the next gallery by the ladders, so I’m all right.”
Satisfying himself that he had nothing to fear on his own account, he turned and went on along the dark galleries, all of which were pretty familiar to him, till he reached the place where the new workings were going on, and stopped by the end of the passage where Geoffrey had marked out the portion that was not to be touched.
The man’s face looked very stern and grim as he took out of his pocket along cartridge, ready for blasting purposes, one which he had filched from the receptacle, and three fuses, which he tied together, end to end, so as to make one of extraordinary length.
Laying these upon a ledge ready, he went off to a niche in the rock some distance off and returned with a miner’s tamping-iron, and slipping off his frock, and turning up the sleeves of his tight jersey shirt, he paused for a few moments to consider.
As he stood listening, the stillness of the mine was awful, and the sweat stood out upon his forehead as he glanced timorously round; but, nerving himself with the thoughts of revenge and reward, he poised the bar, and the next minute the galleries were echoing to the strokes of the tamping-iron, while the sparks flew thick and fast from the stone.
He was an old and practised hand, knowing full well how to wield the implement so as to bore a hole big enough to hold the cartridge, and he toiled steadily on, forgetting his fear in his work, determined to go in a certain distance, and then insert the cartridge, light the fuse, and escape.
He calculated pretty well what the consequences would be. The thin wall at the end of the gallery would have a goodly piece blown out, and the water would rush in, flooding the mine beyond possibility of redemption.
Stroke, stroke, stroke, with the sparks flying fast, and once more the light from his lantern, as in the case of Geoffrey, cast that strange, weird shadow, as of the evil genius of the mine waving its arms, and threatening the intruder upon his realms.
Now the man paused and examined the edge of the tool he used, and wiped his forehead that was bedewed with sweat. Then he worked on again, till the sparks flew faster and faster, and he grimly laughed as he thought of what would be the consequences should one reach the cartridge.
“No fear of that,” he said, half aloud; and he worked on again for quite an hour before he stopped to rest.
“It’s gashly work all alone here,” he muttered, and he stood listening, but the only sound he heard was the regular thumping beat of the great pump, and the rushing noise of water, which came to him softened by the distance through which it travelled.
Another long attack upon the rock, with the tamping-iron going in deeper and deeper, till, with a grim look of satisfaction, he finished his work, and wiped and stood the tool aside.
“That’s long habit,” he said, half aloud. “That tool won’t be wanted any more; and, perhaps, a lad named Lannoe, with a hundred pound in his pocket, and a place where he can get more if he wants it, may stand better with old Prawle than a lame, preaching hound as ain’t so rich after all.”
“I wonder what time it is,” he muttered, with a shiver; and, having now completed one stage of his work, he hesitated, thinking of his means of escape; and, taking up his lantern, he went rapidly along to the foot of the shaft, listened for a few minutes, and then uttered a low whistle, which went reverberating up the long shaft to the still night air, and another whistle came back in answer.
“One whistle, make ready; two, draw up,” muttered Lannoe; and once more he threaded his way along the galleries, till he reached the spot where he had been at work.
Here a shrinking sensation seemed to come over him again, for he took the cartridge and fingered it about, held the lantern up to the hole he had made, and asked himself whether he had not better go on and drive it through to the water, so as to let it run in, though he knew all the while that a small pump would easily master as much water as forced its way in through such a hole.
Then he tried the fuse.
Yes, there was plenty of that to burn till he reached the foot of the shaft. Perhaps he might be up before the charge exploded. There was nothing to fear, then.
But still he hesitated, and a word or two would have made him give up his task and escape for his life.
It was not to be: for the thought of the money mastered him. He could easily force more from his employer, who dare not refuse; and, to make matters better, he would be having a rich revenge upon Pengelly.
Was it safe to trust his mate about the drawing up?
Bah! What matter! He could escape without his help if he failed; and, rousing his courage to the sticking-point, he vowed he would wait no longer.
The rest was done in desperate haste and with his hands trembling. The tamping was bold, manly work, but he had to deal now with a great cartridge of gunpowder, he told himself, and he must be careful.
He was careful as he thought, but he would have exercised more care if he had known that the stolen cartridge was not gunpowder, but formed of one of the newly-discovered explosives, made by Geoffrey’s own hands.
He laid his fuse ready for attachment, and placed the lantern a little farther back.
But no: that would not do; his shadow was thrown right across the hole, and he had to change the position of the lantern.
That would do well, and there was no danger; but still he hesitated, and he drew his arm across his wet forehead.
Of course – yes – he must not forget that. He must not leave his jacket behind; and, laying down the cartridge once more, he leisurely put on his frock and cap, hesitated a few minutes longer, and then, with the thoughts of the yellow gold blinding his eyes, he seemed to nerve himself to desperation, picking up the cartridge, and trying to fit it into the hole he had bored.
It went in easily enough for a part of the distance; but the action of the tool had made the hole slightly funnel-shaped, and the cartridge would not go in so far as he wished.
True, he might have fired it where it was, but then he would not have been sure of the result. The wall of rock was comparatively thin, he knew, but unless the cartridge was well in, a sufficiency might not be brought down, and his wish was to make so terrible a gap that no pump ever made, or likely to be made, could keep down the water in the deluged mine.
How it would rush in, carrying all before it, as soon as the shot was fired. He had seen dozens of such blastings, and he knew what great chasms were blown out of the solid rock. Here, where the wall was thin, the whole side would be blown back into the sea, and then where would rich Wheal Carnac be?
John Tregenna would say, at all events, that he had well done his work, he thought; but how was this cartridge to be forced farther in?
He laid it down for a moment, and took up the iron, thinking to enlarge the hole, but he knew it would be an hour’s work, and now he was strung up he wanted it done.
He tried the cartridge again. It nearly fitted; a good drive with the back of the tamping-iron would force it in. So, twisting it round and round, he screwed the paper-covered roll in for so goodly a distance that it was well placed in the wall, and needed, he thought, but a slight thrust or two to send it home.
He was ignorant, and blinded by his desire to finish the task he had undertaken; desperate, too, with the fear that was beginning to master him; and catching up the iron once more, he hesitated for a moment as he turned it round, and then, placing the butt end in the hole, he gave the cartridge a sharp blow.
In the act of striking he moderated the blow, so as not to strike fire from the rock; but no fire was needed there, the percussion was sufficient to explode the mighty imprisoned force, and, as that blow fell, there was one deafening crash, a pause, and then an awful rush of water that swept off the shattered fragments of the dead miner from the floor, and wall, and ceiling, and churned them up and bore them along through the galleries of the ruined mine.
For Lannoe’s blast had been a success. He had blown out so great a mass of the thin wall that the pump had not been invented that could master such a rush of water as that which poured in to flood the mine.
The explosion was sharp, and it roared through the galleries, but the rush of water seemed to drown it, so that the noise which reached dead Lannoe’s mate did not startle his drink-confused brain. He only wondered why Lannoe was so long; and at last, when quite wearied out, he saw Geoffrey Trethick and Pengelly come, he thought it was a good excuse for going, and he ran away.
