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"How invariably Nature asserts herself in the end, and defies the puny efforts of man to alter her ways," said Mr. Jones to himself, musingly. Then to his companion he said, "I brought you with me to try you, Derrick. I hated to come myself, for I did not know what might be going on, after all these squeezes and movements of the mine. It had to be done, though, and it seemed a good opportunity for testing your courage, so I asked you to come with me. As a mining engineer, you will often be called upon to perform similar unpleasant and dangerous tasks."

"I was afraid, and didn't want to come one bit," said Derrick, with a nervous laugh.

"That doesn't make any difference. I was afraid too, but we came all the same. The proof of your courage is not whether you are afraid to do a thing or not, but whether or not you do it."

So Derrick's courage was tested, and withstood the test, which was indeed fortunate; for, within a short time, he was to be placed in a position that would try the courage of the bravest man in the world.

CHAPTER XVI
BURSTING OF AN UNDERGROUND RESERVOIR

Upon reaching the surface that evening, Derrick and the mine boss found that the weather had greatly changed since noon and that a storm threatened. It set in that night, and the rain poured down in a steady, determined sort of way, as though it had made up its mind that this time, at least, the earth should be thoroughly watered.

When Derrick joined the other miners at the mouth of the slope in the morning, it was still raining, and as they were lowered into the underground world, the men joked with each other about getting in out of the wet, and pitied the poor fellows who were obliged to work above-ground on such a day.

Descending the second slope into the lowest level of the mine, Tom Evert and his party made an examination of the place in which they were to work. The new excavations on this level were of limited extent, work having only recently been begun on them; but a powerful pump had been placed at the top of the slope leading down into them, and it was to bring the accumulated water in the old workings within reach of it that the mine boss had sent them down.

Going up the old gangway, past the chamber at the foot of the air-shaft which Derrick had such good reason to remember, they soon came to the fallen mass of rock, coal, and earth through which they were to cut a channel and insert a pipe for the release of the water beyond. The material was too loose for blasting, so the work had to be done with pick and shovel, and the debris removed with wheel-barrows, and distributed along the gangway. It was hard, dangerous, and exhausting work, and at the end of three days Derrick was heartily tired of it.

Still the rain poured steadily down, and people in the upper world began to talk of danger from floods, and great damage to the ungathered crops. Even in the mine the effect of the heavy rain began to be noticed. The drippings from the roof fell thicker and faster, the tricklings down the walls became little rivulets, and the black streams in the ditches swirled along angrily. The great pumps worked steadily, night and day, at their fullest speed, and from the mouths of the waste-pipes young rivers of black water were poured; but the mine grew constantly wetter and more uncomfortable.

Finally the mine boss decided that it was almost time to temporarily abandon the lower workings, and allow them to fill up, so that the whole force of both pumps might be directed towards keeping the upper level free of water. He spoke to Tom Evert of this, and the latter begged for just one day more, as he thought he had nearly cut through to the water, and was anxious to get the pipe laid, and have that job off his hands.

"Very well," said Mr. Jones, "you may have one day, Tom, and no more until after the rain stops; for without both pumps in the upper level we shall, very soon, have to shut down altogether."

During the morning of that fourth day they uncovered a wall of rock, which barred their way completely, and Tom Evert decided that at least one blast would be necessary to force an opening through it. After lunch-time he left the other miner, with the two helpers, to drill a hole in it, while he went up into the village to procure some powder and fuse for the work.

Those left below had not been long at work when Derrick noticed a little stream of water spurting out at one side of the rock. He called the attention of the miner to it, and he, without a word, sprang to the place and tried to check the stream, first with earth, and then with strips torn from his shirt, but could not. As he stopped its flow at one point, it burst out at another.

Finally he exclaimed, "It's no use, boys! we'll never be able to draw this water off through any pipe; it's going to take that business into its own hands, and the best thing we can do is to get out of here quick as we know how."

Even as he spoke there came a rattling rush of earth and loose rock, followed by the roar of angry waters, as they leaped out of the blackness like a savage animal upon its prey. The long pent-up waters, swollen by the heavy rains and scorning any effort to draw them off gradually, had burst forth in all their fury, and in less time than it takes to write of it, the old gangway was filled with the surging torrent.

At the first outbreak Derrick and his companions started to run for their lives down the gangway, but as they reached the door of the Mollies' meeting-room the torrent was upon them. They had barely time to spring inside the door and close it as the mad waters swept past. The door offered but a momentary protection, but ere it had been crushed in they were climbing the old air-shaft towards the upper level. It was a desperate undertaking, for the few timber braces left by those who had cut the shaft were so far apart that often they had to dig little holes for their hands and feet in the coal of the sides, and thus work their way slowly and painfully upward. It was their only chance, and they knew it, for they could hear the detached bits of falling coal and rock splash into the water as it rose in the shaft behind them.

Finally they reached the top. As they drew themselves wearily, with almost the last of their strength, over the edge, and lay on the floor of the gangway, they were filled with new terror at seeing the light from their lamps reflected in the black waters apparently but a few feet below them. The water was evidently rising into the upper level, and before long their present place of refuge would be flooded. Urged by this peril, they made all possible speed down the gangway into the new workings at the foot of the slope, where they were confronted by a scene of the greatest confusion.

The gangways, headings, chambers, and breasts of the lower vein were already full of the turbid flood, and the few miners who had been at work down there had barely escaped with their lives into the level above. Now the water was rising so rapidly that it was evident the upper level would also be flooded in a few minutes.

In the great chamber at the bottom of the slope that led to the upper world and safety, miners were flocking from all parts of the workings. Some were trying to drive frightened mules up the travelling-road; others were throwing movable property into cars to be drawn up the slope, and others still were crowding into the same cars, that they too might reach a place of safety.

The two men who were with Derrick ran to one of these cars, calling on him to follow them. It was already so crowded that they could not wedge themselves into it, so they clung on behind, and were thus dragged up the slope.

That Derrick did not follow them was because he thought of Paul Evert. Poor little lame Paul! where was he amid all this danger and confusion? Had he already got out of the mine, or was he still at his station back in the dark gangway, unmindful of danger? Perhaps somebody had seen him. Derrick shouted, "Where is Paul Evert? Has anybody seen him?"

The answer came in the voice of one of the mule-boys. "Yes, I seed him, 'bout five minutes ago, when I run out de las' load. He ain't come out yet."

Could Derrick leave him down there, to take his chances of getting out or drowning, while he sought safety for himself?

With one instant of agonized thought he decided that he could not. Snatching up a can of oil on which his eye happened to light as it stood by the track just at the foot of the slope, he dashed into gangway No. 1, shouting as he did so, "I'm going to try and get Paul Evert out! If we don't get back come and look for us; we'll hold out as long as we can."

They tried to stop him, and shouted to him to come back; that there was no hope, and he was only throwing away his own life; but he paid no attention to them, and was gone before they could prevent him.

He had hardly disappeared from their sight when the water began to rush and roar up from the mouth of the lower slope, in a froth-crowned, surging torrent. At the same instant it poured out from the old gangway, to which it had access through the air-shaft up which Derrick and his companions had escaped.

They knew by its great leaps and spurts that some other reservoir had broken loose, and that before it found the level it was seeking the whole mine must be flooded and drowned. There was no more thought of saving property, but each man became intent only on escaping with his life from the swirling flood.

They had got several cars fastened together, ready for such an emergency, and now these were quickly filled with grimy-faced, frightened men and boys. The signal was given to hoist. There came a strain on the great cable, and as the fierce waters rushed at them, and even flung their black, wet arms about them as if to hold them back, the cars were drawn up, slowly up, beyond reach of the destroying flood, towards daylight and safety.

At the top of the slope was another scene of wild anxiety and confusion most pitiable to witness. Men, women, and children stood, without other protection than their thin garments, in the pitiless rain, praying, shouting, discussing, asking questions which nobody could answer, and crowding forward to scan, with breathless anxiety, the faces of each car-load of miners as it reached the surface.

At the mouth of the slope stood Mr. Jones, in constant communication with a trusty fellow down in the mine, at the other end of the speaking-tube. With him were half a dozen steady men, upon whom he could depend, and to whom he had given orders not to allow a living soul to go down in any of the empty cars he was despatching as rapidly as possible to those below,

"There are plenty down there now," he said, "and perhaps more than can be drawn up before the water reaches them. You can do no good there yet awhile. When the time comes that I want volunteers to go down I'll let you know fast enough." He kept the mouth of the travelling-road similarly guarded, and no one was allowed to descend.

Among those who pressed close to him, and begged, almost with tears in their eyes, to be allowed to go down and make one effort to save their loved ones before the waters reached them, was burly Tom Evert.

"My lad, my crippled lad's down there, boss; ye can't refuse a feyther the chance to save his boy," pleaded the big miner.

"Tom, if he's not already at the foot of the slope, you know as well as I that there's not one chance in ten thousand of finding and getting him out. They tell me the water's rising fast on the upper level already. No, my poor fellow, you must wait a bit. You're to be my right-hand man in the work that I fear is ahead of us. I can't let you throw away your life without a chance of its doing good."

"And Derrick, boss, the brave lad I left in the low level facing the waters. It's fearful to think on. If he's drownded and my lad's drownded, their death'll be on my hands. I might ha' gone more slow and cautious like. I might ha' kep' out altogether the day, an' let the low level flood, as ye talked of, boss, but for being a pig-headed fool."

"Don't take on that way, Tom. Cheer up, man. You'll see them all coming up out of the trouble safe and sound yet. And don't take this matter to heart as you're doing. If there's any blame to be placed it's on my head; but I don't think there's blame to be placed on any of us. There's One above who rules such matters, and who sends rain and floods as He does the sunshine, all for some wise purpose."

Just then word came up the speaking-tube that the water was gaining so fast that all hands were about to leave the mine. At the same instant the harsh clang of the engine-room gong was heard. The wire cable was strained taut, and then began to move slowly over its rollers. "They are coming!" shouts the mine boss. "Stand back and give them room."

But the crowd could not stand back. Who were coming? Were all there, or were some left? It was not in human nature to stand back. They must see, and learn the worst at once.

Oh, how slowly the cable moved! How terrible was the suspense! A great silence fell upon the waiting people. It was unbroken save by the creaking of the rollers on the slope, the pattering of raindrops, and an occasional hysterical sob.

At last the twinkling lights are seen down in the blackness. Then the first car comes in sight; then another, and another, until at last the entire train, with its human freight, has reached the surface.

"Stay where you are, men!" commands the mine boss, "Answer to your names as I call them off."

The young man's voice rings out sharp and clear as he calls the long roll, beginning, "Adams, Andrews, Apgar," and so on down the alphabet to "Zegler"; and clear and prompt come back the answers, "Here, here, here," of those who have come up from the pit.

At last it is finished, and the awful truth is known. Nine men and boys are unaccounted for, and they were not at the foot of the slope when the cruel waters sprang into the great chamber and the last car was drawn up. Nine are down there, alive or dead; and among them are Derrick Sterling, Paul Evert, and Monk Tooley.

With the cries and tears of joy over those who had come up and were restored to loving hearts, a shudder passed over the assembly, and a groan of anguish rose from it that was pierced by a single sharp cry. It was that of a widowed mother for her only son.

Springing on an empty car, and standing where all could see him, the mine boss spoke to them.

"It will all come out right yet," he said. "Keep up your courage. Those brave fellows down there are not going to let themselves be drowned like rats in a hole. They'll make a strong fight for life first, and it's going to be a fight that we can help them in. They're safe enough for the present, in some high place beyond the reach of the water, and there they'll stay till we go for them and fetch them out. We'll have two more pumps here and at work before morning. They will soon make room for us to work down there. Then if we don't find the lads we're after, we are no miners, that's all. There's a promise for you now! See it, men?"

With this the speaker pointed to the eastern sky, and all eyes were turned in that direction. From horizon to horizon it was spanned by a glorious rainbow. One end rested on the opposite side of their own valley, above the old workings of the mine, while the other was uplifted on a lofty mountain-top. In the west the sun had broken through the black rain-clouds, and was now sinking in a glory that passes description.

CHAPTER XVII
IMPRISONED IN THE FLOODED MINE

Mr. Halford looked up from the paper that he was reading at the breakfast-table in the pleasant Philadelphia home, and exclaimed, "Here's an account of a terrible colliery disaster, wife; and I do believe it is in Warren Jones's mine, the very one you and Nellie visited a few days ago."

"Oh, husband, it can't be!"

"It certainly is, though. 'Raven Brook Colliery. Flooded last evening just as men were about to quit work. Rushing waters cut off retreat of nine men and boys, of whose fate nothing is yet known. Rest escape. Water still rising. But little hope of a rescue. Following is list of victims: Sterling, Evert, Tooley–'"

"Not Derrick Sterling, father, nor Paul Evert, nor Bill Tooley?" interrupted Miss Nellie, as she left her seat and went to look over his shoulder.

"Yes, my dear, those are the very names. Derrick, Paul, and Monk—not Bill—Tooley; and here is something more about one of them:

"'Derrick Sterling, whose name appears among those of the victims, is the only son of the late Gilbert Sterling, a mining engineer, formerly well known in this city. The young man was seen at the foot of the slope just before the final rush of waters. He might easily have escaped, but went back into the mine in the vain attempt to save his friend Paul Evert, a crippled lad. He fully realized the terrible risk he was running, for his last words were, "If we don't get out, come and look for us." This is a notable instance of modern heroism, and is an example of that greatest of all love which is willing to sacrifice life for friendship.'"

"Poor Derrick! Poor little Paul! Oh, it is too awful!" and tender-hearted Nellie Halford burst into tears.

So all the world knew that Derrick Sterling was a hero, and that, alive or dead, he was somewhere in that flooded mine. After that morning thousands of people who had never heard his name before eagerly scanned the daily papers for more news concerning him and the poor fellows whose fate he was sharing.

Derrick had not gone far in his search for Paul Evert when his lamp, which had been burning dimly for some minutes, though unnoticed in his excitement, gave an expiring flash and went out. The boy's impulse was to return to the foot of the slope for a new supply of oil. Then he remembered that he had a canful with him, the one he had almost unconsciously snatched up when he started on his present errand. Filling the lamp in the dark was slow work, and occupied several minutes of valuable time.

While thus engaged his ear caught the sound of rushing waters that seemed to come from out of the darkness behind him. Nearer and nearer it came, and it grew louder and louder, as with trembling hand he struck a match and relighted his lamp. Its first gleam fell upon a wall of black waters rolling rapidly towards him, up the gangway, breast-high, and cutting off all chance of escape.

What should he do? It was useless to run; the waters could run faster than he. It would be impossible to stem that fierce current and fight his way out against it. Must he, then, die, alone in that awful place with no sound save the roar of waters in his ears? Could it be that he should never again see his mother and little Helen and the sunlight? Was his life over, and must he be carried away by the black flood that was reaching out to seize him?

Like a flash these thoughts passed through his mind, and like another flash came a ray of hope. Close beside him was the mouth of a chute belonging to a breast that he knew followed the slant of the vein upward for a great distance.

He sprang towards it, flung his oil-can into it, and in another moment, though the chute was above his head, he had climbed the slippery wall and entered it. As he drew himself up beyond their reach the savage waters made a fierce leap after him, and swept on with an angry, snarling roar. A few minutes later they had risen above the mouth of the chute and completely filled the gangway. Derrick was entombed, and the door was sealed behind him.

In the mean time a similar escape was being effected but a short distance from him, though he knew nothing of it. Monk Tooley and four other men working near him in a distant part of the mine received no intimation of the outbreak of waters and the disaster that was about to overwhelm them. Their first warning of trouble came with the stoppage of the air-currents that supplied them with the very breath of life.

For a few minutes they waited for them to be resumed; then, flinging down their tools, and filled with a strange fear, they started through the maze of galleries towards the slope. On their way they were joined by Aleck, the blacksmith, and Boodle, his helper. Next they came upon Paul Evert, standing anxiously by his door. He had become conscious, without being able to explain how, that something terrible was about to happen, though he had no idea what form the terror was to take.

Joining the fugitives, he was hobbling along as fast as possible, and trying to keep pace with their rapid strides, when Monk Tooley stopped, picked him up, and, holding him like a baby in his strong arms, said, "We'll get on faster dis way, lad."

Half-way to the slope they met the advancing waters from which Derrick had just escaped.

The miner who was in advance gave a great cry of "It's a flood, mates, and it's cut us off. We're all dead men!"

"No we beant!" shouted Monk Tooley. "Up wid ye, men, inter de breast we just passed."

Running back a few steps to the mouth of a chute he had noticed a moment before, the miner tossed Paul up into it much in the same way that Derrick had tossed his oil-can into a similar opening. Springing up after him, Tooley lent a hand to those behind, and with an almost supernatural strength dragged one after another of them up bodily beyond the reach of the flood. Only poor Boodle was caught by it and swept off his feet; but he clutched the legs of the man ahead of him, and both were drawn up together. In another minute they too were sealed in behind an impassable wall of water.

Although they did not know it at the time, they were in a chamber adjoining that in which Derrick had sought refuge, and were divided from him only by a single wall of coal a few feet thick. It was a very small chamber, for the coal found in it proving of an inferior quality, it had quickly been abandoned. The one on the opposite side of the wall from them, in which Derrick found himself, was of great extent, being in fact several breasts or chambers thrown into one by the "robbing out" of their dividing walls of coal.

"Out wid yer lights, men!" cried Monk Tooley as soon as they had all been dragged in. "De air's bad enough now, an' de lamps 'll burn de life outen it. Besides, we'll soon have need of all de ile dat's left in 'em."

The air of that confined space was already heavy and close, with eight men to breathe it, and eight lamps to consume its oxygen. Extinguishing all the others, they sat around one lamp, pricked down low, for they could not bear the thought of absolute darkness.

Monk Tooley had assumed a sort of leadership among them, and by virtue of it he ordered every lunch-pail to be emptied of what scraps of food it contained, and all of it to be given to Paul for safe keeping. There was not much—barely enough of broken crusts and bits of meat to fill Paul's pail; but it was something, and must be doled out sparingly, for already the men gazed at it with hungry eyes.

Then they tried to talk of their situation and discuss the chances of escape. On this subject they had but little to say, however, for they all knew that long before the waters could be lowered so that any attempt to save them could be made, the foul air of that small chamber would have done its fatal work. Indeed, they knew that before one day should have passed their misery would be ended.

Even as they tried to talk, poor Boodle, saying that he was sleepy, lay down on the bare rock floor, where he was almost instantly fast asleep and breathing heavily. "'Tis like he'll never wake again," said one of the miners, gloomily.

"Let him sleep, then; 'tis the easiest way out of it," responded a comrade.

One after another they succumbed to the effects of the heavy atmosphere, and fell asleep. Finally, all excepting the crippled lad, even including Monk Tooley, whose light Paul had taken and set beside him, lay stretched out on the hard floor, sound asleep and breathing in a distressed manner.

Paul felt drowsy, but the horror of his surroundings was too great to admit of his sleeping. He wanted to think, and try and prepare his mind for the awful unknown future that overshadowed him. As he thought, great tears began to run down his thin cheeks, then came a choking sob, and he buried his face in his hands. Gradually he became calm again, and his thoughts resembled delightful dreams, so full were they of pleasant things. In another moment they would have been dreams, and the last of that little band would have been wrapped in a slumber from which neither he nor they would ever have wakened. From this condition a sharp squeak caused Paul to start and look up.

Directly in front of him, and so close that he could have touched it, was a large rat, whose eyes twinkled and glistened in the lamplight. As Paul lifted his head it uttered another squeak and sat up on its hind-legs.

"I do believe it's Socrates," said Paul; and sure enough it was.

Mechanically, and without thinking of what he was about, Paul took a bit of meat from his lunch-pail and tossed it to the rat, which immediately seized it in its mouth and scampered away. Then Paul realized that he was wasting precious food, and made a vain effort to catch the rat. The beast was too quick for him, and darted away towards a dark corner of the chamber, whither Paul followed it, hoping to discover its nest and perhaps recover the meat.

He saw the rat run into a hole in the wall about two feet above the floor; and putting his face down to it, trying to look in, he felt a delicious current of fresh air. It was not very strong, but it caused the flame of his lamp to flicker, so that he withdrew it hurriedly for fear it should be extinguished.

Suddenly he started as though he had been shot, and almost let fall the lamp in his excitement. Had he heard a human voice? Of course not! How absurd to imagine such a thing! But there it was again; and it said,

"Holloa! Is anybody in there?"

The sound came to his ear distinctly enough this time through the hole, and placing his mouth close to it, Paul shouted back,

"Holloa! Yes, we're in here, and we want to get out. Who are you?"

The boy almost screamed for joy at the answer which came to this question; for it was,

"I'm Derrick Sterling. Are you Paul Evert?"

Derrick was almost as greatly affected when the voice said,

"Yes, I'm Paul, and there are a lot more of us in here, and we are stifling. But oh, Derrick, dear Derrick! I'm so glad you're not drowned."

Then Paul went back to the others, and found it almost impossible to waken them. He finally succeeded; and when they comprehended his great news, each one had to go to the hole, draw in a deep breath of the fresh air, and call through it to Derrick, for the sake of hearing him answer. It was so good to hear a human voice besides their own; and though they knew he was a prisoner like themselves, it somehow filled them with new hope and longings for life. They had no tools with them, but all fell to work enlarging the hole with knives, the iron handles of their lunch-pails, or whatever else they could lay hands upon, while Paul stood by and held the lamp.

Although Derrick had plenty of air and space to move about in, his situation had been fully as bad as theirs, for he had been alone. Nothing is so terrible under such circumstances as solitude, with the knowledge that you are absolutely cut off from mankind, and may never hear a human voice again.

He had pricked his lamp down very low so as to save his oil, and was lying at full length on the cold floor, a prey to the most gloomy thoughts. All sorts of fantastic forms seemed to mock at him out of the darkness. He could almost hear their jeering laughter, and was rapidly giving way to terror and despair, when a ray of light flickered for a moment on the rocky roof above him.

Springing to his feet and rubbing his eyes, he looked in the direction from which it seemed to have come, and saw it again, shining through what he had taken for a solid wall of rock. Then he called out, and Paul Evert, the very one of whom he had been in search, answered him.

Half an hour later the hole was sufficiently large to allow a man to squeeze through it, and Derrick had thrown his arms around Paul, and hugged him in his wild joy and excitement.

The thing for which the miners felt most grateful, next to their escape from the little stifling chamber and their meeting with Derrick, was his can of oil. Now they knew that with care they might keep a lamp burning for many hours; and the dread of total darkness, which is greater than that of hunger, or thirst, or any form of danger, no longer oppressed them.

Aleck, the blacksmith, had a watch, and from it they learned that it was still early in the evening; though it already seemed as if they had been imprisoned for days. Some of the men began to complain bitterly of hunger and to beg for food, but Monk Tooley said they should not eat until the watch showed them that morning had arrived.

To divert their thoughts, he proposed that they should make their way along the breast to its farther end, so as to be as near as possible to the slope and a chance of rescue. Acting upon this advice, they made the attempt. It was a most difficult undertaking, for the floor was of smooth slate, sloping at a sharp angle towards the gangway. It was like trying to crawl lengthwise of a steep roof to get from one row of the timbers that supported the upper wall to another. They were several hours on the journey, but finally reached the end of the long breast in safety. There they must wait until relieved from their awful situation by death, or by a rescuing party who would be obliged to tunnel through many yards of rock and coal to reach them.

They managed to construct a rude platform of timbers, on which to rest more comfortably than on the smooth sloping rock floor, and here most of them lay down to sleep.

Derrick and Paul lay side by side, with arms thrown about each other's necks. The former was nearly asleep when his companion whispered, "Dare!"