Kitabı oku: «The Vicar's People», sayfa 7
Chapter Fourteen
Pengelly – Miner
“I should just like to shake hands with you, sir,” said Geoffrey’s guide, wiping his hand carefully upon his flannel trousers after using his fingers to snuff both candles. “I never thought you’d come down half-way – that I didn’t. You’re a plucked un, sir. That’s about what you are, if you’ll excuse me.”
Geoffrey laughed, and shook hands with his guide, finding that he had risen wonderfully in the man’s estimation, the manager looking at him quite admiringly.
“My name’s Curnow,” he said, “Richard Curnow, and I’d like to see you again, sir. Now what can I show you?”
“Every thing!” exclaimed Geoffrey. “Let me see all the workings, and what sort of stuff you are sending up.”
“Why, you’ve been down a mine before, sir?” said the manager, curiously, and he gazed inquiringly in Geoffrey’s face with a look of suspicion, gradually growing plainer; but he remained very civil, and led the way through the maze of passages through which for many a generation the ore had been picked out – laboriously hewn out of the solid rock as the veins of tin were patiently followed. Every now and then some dark, echoing gallery struck off at right angles, till Geoffrey felt, as he stumbled on, that a stranger would soon lose his way in such a terrible labyrinth, if not his life through falling down one of the well-like pits yawning here and there at his feet.
Sometimes the way had a lofty roof, and the floor was clear; sometimes they had to stoop and wade through mud and water, and crawl round buttresses of rock to avoid a fall, or to step from sleeper to sleeper of a very primitive tramway.
“Let me see,” said the manager. “Amos Pengelly ought to be somewhere about here. Wait a minute, and let’s try if we can hear him.”
There were only a few distant echoing noises to be heard, as they stood in the midst of that black darkness, their candles just shedding a halo of light round them, and casting grotesque shadows of their forms upon the glistening walls, and they once more groped more than walked along, Geoffrey pausing now and again, though, to examine with his light the various tokens of minerals that could be seen cropping out on wall and roof, to all of which actions the guide gave an impatient shrug.
“They don’t mean any thing,” he said. “We’ve pretty well worked the old place out. There’s Amos!”
Geoffrey turned from the place he was examining, and could hear a confused sound; but after journeying on for about a hundred yards the manager stopped and touched his arm.
They had just reached a low side passage, at the end of which there was a faint glow, and there, keeping time to the clicking sharp strokes of a pick, came the sounds of a rich tenor voice, whose owner seemed to be throwing his whole soul into what he was singing.
“Hal – le – hal – le – lu – i – jah. Hal – le – hal – le – lu – i – jah.”
And so on slowly, every other syllable being accompanied by a stroke of the pick. Then, as the verse of the old-fashioned anthem being sung came to an end, there was a pause, the light seemed to be shifted, and the singer began again, but this time choosing Luther’s hymn as an accompaniment to the strokes of his pick.
“Here’s a gentleman come to see you, Amos! Creep out, my lad; we can’t get in to you.”
They had approached the singer till the ceiling was so low that it would have necessitated crawling to where Geoffrey could see by the light of a candle, stuck with a lump of clay against the rocky wall, a dark figure, half lying upon one side, vigorously working a sharp-pointed steel pickaxe, and chipping down fragments of glistening tin-grained quartz.
On hearing the summons, the figure gave itself a roll over and crawled slowly out, when in the short, lame, thick-set miner Geoffrey recognised the man with the piece of conger eel who had explained the fishing to him on the cliff.
“This is our Amos Pengelly,” said the manager, as if he were showing one of the curiosities of the mine; “works all week-days and sings psalms; goes out preaching on Sundays.”
“Well,” said Geoffrey, bluntly, “he might do worse.”
Amos nodded and looked curiously at the speaker, who went down on hands and knees to creep to where the miner had been at work; took down the candle from the wall, and examined the vein of glistening tin and the fragments that had been chipped off.
“Very poor stuff,” said Geoffrey, as he returned.
“Ah, we work out poorer stuff than that,” said the manager, “don’t we, Amos?”
“Ay,” said the miner, looking eagerly at the visitor. “Was you thinking of buying this mine, sir?”
“No!” said Geoffrey, shortly.
“Surveying it for some one else, perhaps?”
“What’s the good of talking like that, Amos,” said the manager, “when it is not for sale?”
“I heered as it was,” said Amos, still gazing searchingly at the well-built young man before him. “But whether it be or not, sir, if you wants to buy a good working and paying mine, you buy Wheal Carnac.”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha!” laughed the manager, a man who had evidently been himself a working miner. “Oh, come, Amos! I wonder at you who call yourself a Christian man trying to persuade a stranger to buy that old swindle.”
“I don’t care!” cried Amos, excitedly, “Christian or no Christian,” and he gave his pick a blow on the rock which made the sparks fly, “I know there’s good stuff down that shaft, and if it arn’t been found yet it’s because they haven’t looked in the right place. You go and look at it, sir, and see what you think.”
“Don’t you do nothing of the sort, sir,” said the manager. “It’s a gashly old hole, down which thousands of pounds have been thrown, and machinery wasted over. Don’t you take any notice of what Amos says.”
“All right,” said the miner, making the sparks fly again as he smote the rock angrily. “I haven’t worked underground man and boy for five and twenty year without knowing something about it, and as I’m a honest man, why Wheal Carnac’s a fortune to them as know’d how to work it.”
“I’ll have another look at the place,” said Geoffrey, who was struck by the man’s earnestness.
“You just do, sir, you just do, and if that place don’t turn out right, I’ll – I’ll – ”
“Swallow your pick heft, eh, Amos?” said the manager, tauntingly.
“Nay, I won’t; but I’ll never believe in any thing again. But you can’t look at the stuff they got up, sir, she’s full of water.”
“And it would take hundreds of pounds to get her dry, eh, Amos? Don’t you worry your head about Wheal Carnac, sir, unless you want a place to work a company, and draw a salary until they are sick of it.”
“As some rogues down in these parts do,” said Amos, making the sparks fly again.
“I don’t know about rogues,” said the manager, laughing. “There’s always plenty of fools with heaps of money, which they want to invest in mines, and I don’t see why the adventurers shouldn’t have it as well as any one else.”
Geoffrey turned in disgust from the manager, and held his candle so that its light should fall upon the frank, honest face of the miner, whose ways rather won upon him.
“Look here, Pengelly,” he said, “you and I will have a chat about Wheal Carnac and a look at the ore together.”
“Will you, sir? will you?” cried the miner, excitedly. “I can show you some of the ore. When will you look?”
“Any time you like,” said Geoffrey. “I don’t suppose any thing will come of it, but I came to see all I can.”
“I’ve – I’ve waited years upon years to see that mine fairly tried,” cried Pengelly, “but every one laughs at me.”
“Of course they do, Amos,” said the manager, banteringly. “Why, you did trick one party into fooling away thousands.”
“Trick? trick? I tricked any one?” cried the miner, who had for the last few minutes been writhing under the lash of the other’s tongue. “It’s a lie – a cruel he!” he exclaimed, and in a furious burst of passion he whirled up his steel pick as though it had been a straw, to strike at the cause of his annoyance.
Amos Pengelly’s furious burst of passion was but of momentary duration. As Geoffrey made a step forward to seize his arm, the pick dropped from the man’s hand, his face became convulsed, and all token of menace had gone. One moment he had been ready to strike down the manager for hinting that he was dishonest; the next his arms fell to his sides, his head drooped, his shoulders heaved, and he turned away into the darkness of the mine, uttering a low, piteous moaning as if torn by some great agony that he wished to hide from the sight of man.
“Come away, sir,” said the manager, quietly, “he won’t like to face us again to-day,” and as Geoffrey rather unwillingly followed him, the manager went on towards the foot of the shaft. “Poor old Amos! I believe he’s a bit touched in the head. I haven’t seen him in one of his fits of passion like that for months. He’s off now into one of the darkest corners he can find, and he’ll be down on his knees praying as hard as ever he can. His temper gets the better of him sometimes, and he’s such a religious chap that he won’t forgive himself for getting in a rage; but when he comes up to grass to-night he’ll walk straight to my office, as humble as a child, and beg my pardon.”
“And you’ll forgive him?” said Geoffrey.
“Forgive him? Oh, yes! poor chap. Why not? He can’t help it.”
“He seems an honest fellow,” said Geoffrey, musingly.
“Honest? Oh, yes! he’s honest as the day’s long, sir. I’d trust him with all our sales’ money without counting it. His failing is that he’s gone off religious crazy; and what’s as bad, he’s in love with a handsome girl who don’t care for him. Bess Prawle, down at the Cove, is as straight as an arrow, and poor Amos is quite a cripple, and not the sort of fellow to take the fancy of a dashing girl like she.”
“Poor fellow,” said Geoffrey, softly, as he followed his guide, who kept on conversing.
“Then, too, sir, poor old Amos got that craze on about Wheal Carnac, and wanting people to believe in it, so that altogether it’s no wonder he turns queer. People say that Bess Prawle, who’s a bit of a witch, has ill-wished him, but I don’t know. One thing I do know, though – poor old Amos is about as good a workman as ever handled a pick.”
“Then,” said Geoffrey, thoughtfully, “you think Wheal Carnac is worthless?”
“Worthless? Worthless? Ha-ha-ha!” roared the manager. “If you had lived down here you’d have laughed as I do to see what money’s been wasted there. No end of people have been took in with that mine. Just you go and have a look at it yourself, sir. You seem to know a bit about mining. Of course you can’t do much, but you can turn over a few of the stones and see what was dug out last. Now, sir, what do you say – would you like to see any more of the place?”
“No,” replied Geoffrey, who had been in several parts of the mine, and spoken to different men at work, “no, I have seen all I wish to see for one day,” and, following his guide to the foot of the shaft, the terrible array of ladders was attacked; and at last, with wearied and strained muscles, Geoffrey reached the mouth in safety, feeling as if he had never seen the sky look so pure and blue, or felt the breath of heaven so sweet.
He was drenched with perspiration, and only too glad to accept the manager’s hospitality, and have a wash and rest. But he was well satisfied with his visit, in which he had learned no little, but above all, he could not help dwelling upon the words of the miner, and feeling deeply impressed about the deserted mine – so deeply indeed that what had been merely a visit of curiosity proved to be the turning-point in his future career.
An hour afterwards he was striding back towards Carnac, while Amos Pengelly was still upon his knees in the darkest part of Horton Friendship, the great tears streaming from his eyes as he prayed, in all the sincerity of his great soul, for forgiveness of his burst of anger, and for strength to control the temper that mastered him from time to time, lest the day should come when he should go forth into the world with the curse of Cain upon his brow – for that was the black shadow that haunted the poor fellow’s life.
Chapter Fifteen
Mr Penwynn Makes a Friend
“I cannot help it, papa. You know how obedient I have always been to you; but in this case I really cannot give way.”
“Yes, yes, yes, Rhoda! you obey me in a thousand unimportant things, but now there is something upon which a great deal of our future turns you refuse.”
“I cannot – I never could love Mr Tregenna, papa.”
“He is a thorough gentleman, is he not?”
“Yes – oh, yes!”
“And handsome, and well-informed, and clever. A thoroughly polished – there, quite a ladies’ man.”
“Ladies’ man!” exclaimed Rhoda, in tones of disgust. “Handsome and well-informed, of course, papa.”
“Well then, my dear,” said Mr Penwynn, ignoring Rhoda’s peculiar look. “What more do you want?”
“Papa! do you think I want to marry a ladies’ man?” said Rhoda, scornfully.
Mr Penwynn looked at the bright flushed face, and felt as proud as he did vexed. He was seated at a writing-table, and the blotting-paper before him bore testimony to his annoyance, for it was covered with the initials of unpleasant words, which he kept dotting down to relieve his feelings – a habit in which he indulged sometimes at the office, as Mr Chynoweth was well aware. He nearly spoiled a new quill pen in dashing down another letter, and then went on, —
“No, no, of course not, Rhody; but Tregenna is not a silly dandy. Besides, as I have before told you, he is very useful to me, and an alliance with him would be most valuable. There, there – you must think the matter over.”
“I cannot, papa. I have told Mr Tregenna plainly that he must not hope.”
“Nonsense, my dear; take time. Let the matter rest awhile. Be friends with him, and in a few months you will be ready to regret this hasty decision.”
“No, papa,” said Rhoda, decidedly. “Mr Tregenna can never be more to me than an acquaintance.”
“You have not heard any thing – any serious – there, any scandal?”
“I, papa? I have heard that he is too attentive – there, it is not that.”
“Then try not to be so foolish, my dear. I am going down to the office, and I shall see Tregenna again to-day. Let me tell him that he is not to look upon the matter as finally closed. Poor fellow! I never saw a man look so dejected. I could not have believed that he would take it so to heart.”
“Papa,” said Rhoda, impetuously, “I have promised Mr Tregenna that we should continue friends. If you lead him to believe that he is to persevere with his suit, I shall absolutely hate him.”
Mr Penwynn turned upon her angrily, but as she stood before him, with heightened colour and flashing eyes, gazing full in his face, he felt that she was no weak girl to be subdued by a burst of parental anger, and forced into a course against which her spirit rebelled. For some reason or other she evidently felt an intense repugnance to Tregenna, and, though he would gladly have gained the day, and made the solicitor his ally, he felt that at present there was not the slightest chance for such a consummation of his plans. He knew his child’s character only too well, and seeing how hopeless it was at present to persevere, he made a virtue of necessity and gave way.
“Well, well, my dear,” he said, quietly, “God knows that I would not force on this affair against your prospects of happiness. There, there,” he continued, taking her in his arms, “we must not fall out, Rhody. I can’t afford to have clouds come between us. Wicked tyrant,” he said, laughing, “and oppressor of the poor as you think me, Rhody, I want your love, my child, and I must have it.”
“Papa, papa!” she cried, clinging to him, “pray forgive me. I could not love Mr Tregenna. And why should you wish to rob yourself? I have only enough love for you, dear,” she continued, taking his face between her hands, and kissing him passionately. “If I reproach you sometimes about the poor people, it is because I am so jealous of my father’s good name, and it cuts me to the heart to think that the people should not look up to, and venerate him as I do myself.”
“Tut-tut-tut! my darling. If I were a saint they would still talk. Am I not working for you? I want you to be rich, and to stand as high in the world as I can contrive.”
“Yes, yes, I know, dear,” she said, with her hand playing about his face and caressing his grey hair; “but I would rather be poor than lose the people’s respect.”
“Well, well, Rhody, my darling,” he said, smiling, “we’ll be rich and respectable as well. There, there, I must go. John Tregenna must get some one else to cure his broken heart. Good-by, my dear, good-by.”
“And you are not angry with me, papa?”
“Not a bit, Rhody,” he said, kissing her affectionately, and looking at her with eyes suffused, but full of pride. “Angry? no! God bless you, my dear! I’m disappointed, but I don’t know but what I like you all the better for your spirit.”
He hurried away to hide his weakness, for his love for his child was the one soft spot in his nature.
“I’m glad, and yet I’m sorry,” he said. “Tregenna would have been a powerful friend, and now what I have to hope is that he will not prove to be a bitter enemy. I must fight it out, I suppose, just as I have fought out far worse troubles.”
“Any one been, Chynoweth?” he said to his confidential clerk, as he entered his office.
“Mr Tregenna’s waiting to see you, sir.”
“Humph! so soon,” muttered Mr Penwynn, who was somewhat taken aback; but he put a good face upon it, entered his private room, and shook hands with the solicitor, whose eyes were fixed upon him inquiringly.
“Well,” he said, “what news?”
“Bad,” replied Mr Penwynn, quietly.
“You have had a long talk with her?”
“Yes – a very long talk.”
“What does she say?”
“She is immovable.” John Tregenna’s face grew very dark, and he rose from his chair to walk excitedly up and down the office.
“Did you – did you ask for time?” he said hoarsely.
“I did indeed, Tregenna.”
“Did you tell her that I was your best friend?”
“I did, Tregenna. I pleaded your cause as hard as if it had been my own; but she is as firm as so much granite. My dear fellow, I am very sorry, but I am afraid you must give it up.”
“It’s a lie – a cursed lie!” roared Tregenna, who could not control his rage and disappointment. “You have been fighting against me all along, and it is by your orders that she throws me over. I see it all now. You have been playing a cursed, double-faced, traitorous part, and I was a fool to trust to your smooth tongue. But mark my words, Penwynn – ”
“John Tregenna,” said Mr Penwynn, rising and speaking with dignity, “you are now in a passion, produced by what is, of course, a bitter disappointment; but pray in what manner have I failed towards you that you should make such an unfair charge?”
“What have you done?” cried Tregenna, grinding his white teeth. “Did you not lead me on for your own ends to believe that she would accept me, and submit me to the humiliation of this second refusal, which I feel sure now was at your instigation.”
“Mr Tregenna,” said the banker, quietly, but with anger striving for the mastery, “will you have the goodness to go now. Some other time when you are cool I shall be willing to talk to you. We cannot discuss the matter now, for it would be better that we two should not come to an open quarrel.”
Tregenna snatched up his hat, darted a fierce look at the speaker, and strode towards the door, passed out, but in the act of banging it after him he recovered the mastery over his maddened brain.
He came back, closed the door after him softly, threw himself into a chair, and sat down with his forehead resting upon his hands.
Mr Penwynn stood by the table, with one hand in his breast, watching him, and for a time there was an impressive silence in the room.
At the end of a few minutes Tregenna drew a long, deep breath, and rose with his face calm, and a saddened look softening his eyes. He let fall his hands, rose, and advanced towards Rhoda’s father.
“Forgive me, Penwynn,” he said, humbly. “Let me apologise for what I said just now. Forgive me. You cannot tell the agony I suffered, nor conceive the utter feeling of despair and disappointment, nor the rage which seemed to force me to speak as I did. It is over,” he said, as if to himself, “over now. But you will forgive me, Penwynn?”
“Yes,” said the banker, quietly, “I forgive you, Tregenna.”
“My words,” continued the latter, “were as false and cruel as they were undeserved, and I cannot reproach myself enough for my mad folly. Can I apologise more humbly, Penwynn?” he added, with a sad smile.
“You acknowledge, then, that I did my best for you?” said Mr Penwynn.
“I do,” cried Tregenna, eagerly; “and I believe that you acted in all sincerity. Penwynn, you and I must not quarrel. As to Rhoda – Miss Penwynn – if I am not to have her love, let me enjoy her friendship and esteem.”
Mr Penwynn looked at the speaker coldly and searchingly for a few moments, but he could see nothing to indicate that the man before him was not perfectly sincere, and ready to say and do any thing in reparation of the past outbreak.
“You don’t believe me, Penwynn,” cried Tregenna, bitterly. “For heaven’s sake, have a little feeling for a man. Here am I thrown in an instant from a state of hope that I might realise my fondest wishes into a state of utter, abject despair. I am not an angel, man, that I can bear such a disappointment unmoved.”
Mr Penwynn still continued his scrutiny.
“It is a bitter – a cruel overthrow,” continued Tregenna, “and a few moments back I feel as if I must have been mad – I was mad. I could have said and done any thing. Even how I can hardly keep calm. Have some pity on me.”
“My dear Tregenna,” said the banker, laying his hand upon the other’s shoulder, “I do indeed sympathise with you in your disappointment, but I want you to believe that I have been perfectly straightforward and honourable.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Tregenna, excitedly, “I do believe it.”
“You know what Rhoda – Miss Penwynn – is. I ask you, is she like an ordinary weak girl?”
“No, you are right. She is not,” said Tregenna, mournfully. “If she were, I should not worship her as I do.”
“She has a will of her own,” continued the banker, “and she can be very firm. At your request I tried to soften her determination – asked her for time, asked her to let you continue your visits as a friend, and renew your proposal six months hence; but it was in vain, and I know her too well not to see that if you continue to press your suit you will not only lose all chance of her intimacy, but excite her dislike.”
“Did she say that?” asked Tregenna, with glittering eyes.
“Well, well, not exactly.”
“But she said that if I pressed my suit she should dislike me.”
“Oh, no! – not so explicit as that. I think not. I – ”
“Speak out plainly, Penwynn,” said Tregenna, sharply. “Don’t play with me.”
“Well, it was something of that sort; but she was greatly excited, for I had pressed her home.”
Tregenna was silent, and turned away his face, which was slightly convulsed. But he soon mastered his emotion, and at the end of a minute turned back to face Mr Penwynn.
“It is over now,” he said, in a low, hoarse voice. “Forgive me my anger, Penwynn. It was very hard to bear, but you see now that I was sincere. You are right – she is very different to other girls. But it would have been the pride of my life to have won her, and whoever does win her I shall hate from the very bottom of my heart.”
“Upon my word, Tregenna, I believe that your hatred will die in the bottom of your heart,” said the banker, wringing his visitor’s hand, “for it will never be called forth. I don’t believe that there is a man living who can rouse any love in Rhoda’s heart save one.”
“And who’s that?” cried Tregenna, with flashing eyes.
“Your humble servant,” said the other, smiling. “She loves me devotedly – God bless her! And I think that I, too, shall be ready to hate any one who robs me of the slightest smile or look.”
“I shall not be jealous of you, Penwynn,” said Tregenna, with a strange gleam in his eyes. “There, I’ll go now and have a walk on the cliff, so as to get my nerves back in tone. We are friends still?”
“Of course – of course!” said Mr Penwynn, warmly.
“I may call just as usual?”
“Call? My dear Tregenna, if you will take my advice, you will drop in just as of old, after drawing a line between the events of the past few days’ proceedings and those which are to come. Bury it all, and forget it as soon as ever you can.”
“I will – I will!” cried Tregenna, holding tightly by the banker’s hand. “It will be best. If I am a little strange at first, you must both look over it.”
“Of course! To be sure. Come soon, and let her see that it is all over.”
“I will!” exclaimed Tregenna; and, after shaking hands once more, he left the room.
“Thank goodness,” said Mr Penwynn, with a sigh of relief, “that’s over. I should not have cared to make an enemy of Tregenna.”
“Damn him!” cried Tregenna, as soon as he was alone, and he ground his teeth savagely. “Give her up? Yes, some day, perhaps: a proud, cold-blooded jilt. Wait a little, my proud beauty, for if I do not some day have you in the dust at my feet, my name’s not John Tregenna.”
He strode on rapidly by the track on the cliff side, leaving Wheal Carnac and the promontory to the left, and making straight for the unused mine on the path to Gwennas Cove.
He was alone now, as he thought, and, in spite of his self-command, he began gesticulating fiercely and talking to himself, without noticing that there was already some one on the track, who drew aside and walked into the unused engine-house to let him pass, and then stood uneasily watching him as he went towards Prawle’s cottage.
“Forget it, and give her up. Let it all be as a something of the past – eh, Master Penwynn? Yes, when Rhoda has been mine for some months – wife or mistress, we’ll see which. Not till then.”
He went on muttering more and more angrily to himself, and the figure that watched limped out to follow; but on seeing Tregenna encounter the rugged old man, Bessie’s father, and enter into conversation, he calmly limped away along the path.
“The old man will take care of her,” he muttered; “and I don’t believe that Bess would listen to him even if she won’t listen to me. But he’s a bad one – one as wouldn’t stop at any thing to have his will, and I don’t know as I’d feel very comfortable if I was him as stood in his way.”
