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.
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!"
"Yes, Polly."
"Here's something for you; and if I don't live to get out, you'll always keep it to remember me by, won't you?"
"I shouldn't need it for that, Polly; but I'll always keep it, whatever it is."
It was Paul's sketch of the underground picnic-party, and Derrick knew what it was when he took it and thrust it into the bosom of his shirt, though days passed before he had a chance to look at it.
Three days after this the same men and boys lay on their log platform, in almost the same positions, but they were haggard, emaciated, faint, and weak. Their last drop of oil had been burned, and they were in total darkness. A light would have shown that they lay like dead men.
Suddenly one of them lifts his head and listens. "Thank God! thank God!" he exclaims, in a husky voice, hardly more than a whisper, "I hear them! they're coming!"
Derrick's quick ear had detected the muffled sound of blows, and his words gave new life to the dying men around him.
From the moment the news came that nine men and boys were imprisoned in the flooded mine, preparations for their rescue, or at least of learning their fate, were pushed with all vigor. Although it had stopped raining, the night was dark, and great bonfires were lighted about the mouth of the slope. These were placed in charge of the old breaker boss, Mr. Guffy, and his boys, who fed them with dry timbers, and kept up the brilliant blaze until daylight.
Around these fires the entire population of the village stood and discussed the situation; and by their light the workers were enabled to perform their tasks. The miners were divided into gangs, headed by the mine boss and by Tom Evert, and their work was the fetching of the steam pumps from across the valley and setting them up near the mouth of the slope. They had to be connected, by long lines of iron pipe, with the boilers under the breaker, and from each a double line of hose was carried down the slope until water was reached.
It was nearly daylight when these operations were completed, and a faint cheer went up from the weary watchers as they saw four powerful streams of water added to the torrent that the regular mine pump had kept flowing all night.
"Now, men," said the mine boss, when he saw that all was working to his satisfaction, "I want you to go home and get all the solid rest you can in the next two days, for after that I shall probably call upon you to work night and day."
"We'll be ready boss, whenever you give the word," was the prompt answer from a score of stalwart fellows. Then all turned towards their homes, knowing they could do nothing more until the pumps had prepared a way for them.
During the next day the news of the disaster spread far and wide, and from all sides visitors poured into the little village. Among these were a number of reporters from the metropolitan papers, some of whom, filled with a sense of their own importance, buzzed around like so many bumblebees. They blundered into all sorts of places where they had no business, bored everybody whom they could approach with absurd questions, and made of themselves public nuisances generally.
While some among them acted thus foolishly, there were others who behaved like gentlemen and the sensible fellows they were. Of these the most noticeable was a well-built, pleasant-faced young man, named Allan McClain. He asked few questions, but each one had evidently been well considered and was directly to the point. He was quiet and unobtrusive, never displayed a note-book or pencil, kept his eyes and ears wide open, and, as a result, sent to his paper the best accounts of the situation that were published. How he did it was a mystery to the others, few of whom had even thought of giving to their business the careful study and attention that McClain bestowed upon it.
The mine boss had been particularly annoyed by the conduct of several of these members of the press, and when they applied to him for permission to accompany the first gang of workmen down into the mine, he firmly but courteously said "No."
He explained to them the dangers attending the proposed undertaking, and that there would be no room in the mine for any but those actively engaged in the work of rescue.
Some of the reporters made such an outcry at this, and talked so loudly of their rights and of what they would do in case the mine boss persisted in his refusal, that he finally said if they could not behave better than they had he should be compelled to order them from the colliery altogether.
During this scene Allan McClain listened to all that was said without speaking a word. Shortly afterwards the mine boss, meeting him alone, said, "I am sorry, sir, to be obliged to include you in my apparent discourtesy, but you know that if I made a single exception I could not enforce my rule."
"I know it, Mr. Jones," was the pleasant answer, "and I do not expect any privileges that may not be extended to the rest. Your action will, however, make no difference to me, as I expect to leave the village to-day."
Allan McClain did take the afternoon train away from Raven Brook, after bidding his companions good-by; but none of them knew where he had gone or the reasons for his departure.
The pumping of the mine was so successful that two days later the water in it was lowered a few feet below the roof of the great chamber at the bottom of the slope. The mine boss had watched it closely, going down almost every hour to note the change of its level, and he now decided that the time had come to begin more active operations.
The day before, a sturdy young man, much begrimed with coal-dust, and wearing a rough suit of mine clothes that had evidently seen long service, had presented himself at the mouth of the slope, and asked leave to take part in the rescue, in case there was any way in which he could be made useful. He said that he came from the neighboring colliery of Black Run, where the Raven Brook men had once rendered good service during a time of disaster, and that his name was Jack Hobson. The mine boss had thanked him for his offer of assistance, and said he would gladly accept it if he found an opportunity. The young man remained near the scene of operations, making himself so generally useful, and performing with such promptness and intelligence any little task given him, that the mine boss took a decided fancy to him before the day was over.
Now that Mr. Jones wanted three reliable men to go down with him and make an exploration, he selected Tom Evert, Jack Hobson, and another young miner who had a brother among the victims of the flood.
The departure of this little party was watched by a great crowd of people, who realized that if work could not be begun at once there would be little chance of finding any of the imprisoned men alive. Among the spectators were many reporters, any one of whom would gladly have paid a round sum to be taken along, and thus gain an opportunity of describing the appearance of the drowned mine.
At the foot of the slope the exploring party found a rude but strong flat-boat that the mine boss had caused to be built and sent down for this very purpose. Sitting in it with bent bodies, for there was but little space beneath the roof of the chamber, they pushed off across the black waters and began a voyage so weird and mysterious that at first their thoughts found no expression in words.
All about them floated traces of the disaster; here the body of a drowned mule, and there a bale of hay, or a quantity of timbers that, wrenched and broken, told of the awful force of the waters. These and many like tokens of destruction came slowly within the narrow circle of light from their lamps, and vanished again behind them.
After a careful search along the opposite side of the chamber, they located gangway No. 1, in which the water was still within two inches of the roof.
"It'll be some time afore we can get in there, sir," said Tom Evert.
"Yes, Tom, three days at least, perhaps more."
"T' big breast lies in here on this side t' gangway."
"I know it, Tom; and if you'll pick out the spot that promises easiest working, we'll open a heading into it. We may find them there. If we don't we can work our way through it, above the water level, to the wall that divides it from the next one. Some of them are almost sure to be there if they're still alive."
"That's what I think, sir; and if you say so, we'll start in right here. Can you tell just how far in t' breast lies?"
"If that's all, we'll soon knock a hole through that, and then, please God, I'll find my crippled lad, an' t' brave one that went back after him. If we find 'em dead, old Tom Evert don't never want to come out alive. He couldn't."
"Never fear, Tom, we'll find them alive," said the mine boss, cheerily. "I have full faith that we shall. If they're only in the big breast we'll have them out in three days more. Now, men, drive those staples into the wall, make the boat fast to them, and pitch in. As soon as you've cut a shelf to work on, I'll go back for fresh hands. This job's going to be done with half-hour reliefs."
Jack Hobson held the staples in position while Tom Evert, lying on his side, drove them into the wall of solid coal with a dozen blows from his heavy hammer.
These were the blows heard faintly by Derrick Sterling on the farther side of that massive wall; and the welcome sound carried with it new life and hope to him and his fainting comrades.
Dropping the hammer, and seizing his pick, the burly miner struck a mighty blow at the wall, and followed it up with others so fast and furious that the coal fell rattling into the boat, or splashing into the water in glistening showers. The work of rescue was begun.
As he sat there, Jack Hobson's eye lighted on a long, dark object floating near them, and calling attention to it, he said,
"Don't you think, sir, that water trough might be bailed out and used as a sort of boat to establish communication between this point and the foot of the slope? I have been used to canoes, and believe I could manage it."
The mine boss said it was a good idea, and he could try if he wanted to.
So the trough, which was simply a long, flat-bottomed box, was brought alongside, bailed out, and placed in charge of the young man from Black Run. He made a rude paddle, and during the next two days did capital service in ferrying miners and tools back and forth between the opposite sides of the chamber. By this addition to the underground fleet the large boat could be left at the entrance to the heading, where it proved most useful as a landing-stage.
The work was pushed with all possible speed, a dozen of the strongest and most skilful miners, who handled their picks with desperate energy, taking half-hourly turns each at driving the heading. Behind the miner who was thus at work, other men passed out the loosened material from hand to hand, and thus kept the opening clear. Whenever there was no demand for his services as ferry-man, Jack Hobson took his place among these workers, and by his cheering words and tireless energy kept up their spirits and spurred them on to greater efforts.
When they had got about half-way through it was thought best to close the outer end of the heading with an air-tight door, and place another ten feet behind it, thus forming an airlock. Fresh air was forced into and compressed in the heading by means of an air-pump operated from the flat-boat at the outer end. These precautions were taken for fear lest when they broke through into the breast the air in it, compressed by the flood, should rush out with destructive force. It was also feared that, relieved from its air pressure, the water in the breast would rise and cut off the escape of any persons who might be in there.
The position of those engaged in the work of rescue was by no means free from peril. The pumps, running at fullest speed, were barely able to keep the water from rising and flooding the new heading, so great and continuous was the flow into the mine from the soaked earth above it. They did not know but that any moment some fresh and unsuspected accumulation in the old workings might break forth and send a second flood pouring in upon them. Above all there was an ever-present danger from foul gases, which formed so rapidly that at times work had to be entirely suspended until they could be cleared away. Thus every time the relief men went down to their self-imposed labor their departure was watched by anxious women with tearful eyes and heavy hearts.
For a day and a night these stout-hearted men worked without knowing whether they sought the living or the dead. On the afternoon of the second day, during a momentary pause in the steady rattle of the picks, Jack Hobson, who was at the inner end of the heading, thought he heard a knocking. Calling for perfect silence, he listened. Yes, it was! Faint, but unmistakable, it came again.
"Tap, tap, tap; tap, tap, tap; tap, tap, tap," and a pause. Then it was repeated, and its meaning could not be doubted. As plain as human speech, it said,
"Here we are, still alive, but in great distress. We know you are coming, but you must hurry."
From mouth to mouth the joyful news was carried out from the heading, across the sullen waters, up the slope to the anxious waiting throngs, and on throbbing wires throughout the length and breadth of the land.
Mrs. Sterling heard it and lifted her tear-stained face in earnest thankfulness to Heaven. The Halfords heard it in Philadelphia, and Mr. Halford said he could stand it no longer, but must go to Raven Brook and be on hand when the men were rescued. Before another sun rose that faint tapping made in the recesses of the drowned mine by Derrick Sterling with a bit of rock had been heard around the world.
Now the brave fellows in the heading knew what they were working for, and the blows of their picks fell faster and harder than ever on the glistening wall that still opposed its black front to them.
The excitement at the mouth of the mine was now intense, and every man who came up from it was besieged by anxious inquiries for the very latest news. What was the meaning of the three taps three times repeated? Did it signify that there were nine persons in the breast, or only three? If only three, where were the others? Who were the three? How many were alive? Were any dead? These and a thousand like questions were asked and discussed, but nobody could answer them certainly.
The reports brought up were only regarding the progress of the work. So many feet in an hour, so many yards a day. Now there are only six feet more to cut through; now five, four, three, and now but eighteen inches. The suspense is terrible. To the mothers and wives waiting for the end up in the little village it is almost too great to be borne. To the haggard men behind those eighteen inches of black rock it seems as though the breath of fresh air for want of which they are dying would come too late.
They press eagerly against the wall, and in their feebleness pick vainly at it with their fingers. It will not yield. Even Monk Tooley, who was so fierce and strong five days before, can make no impression on it.
Now but one foot of wall remains, and Tom Evert pauses in his task to dash the sweat-drops from his eyes, and to call, as he has already a dozen times,
"Holloa! Holloa in there!"
Like an echo comes the answer, faint but distinct,
"Holloa! Hurry!"
He only stops to call louder than before, but with a tremble in his voice,
"Is—Paul—Evert—alive?" and with ear held against the wet wall he breathlessly awaits the answer.
"Yes."
The word is enough, and with the fury and strength of a giant he again attacks the wall. He pays no attention to the relief who is ready to take his place. He knows nothing, cares for nothing, save that his boy is waiting for him beyond those few inches of crumbling coal.
At last his pick strikes through. A few more desperate strokes and the barrier is broken away. He springs into the breast. Another instant and his crippled lad, whom he had thought never to see again, is strained to his heart, and the burly miner is sobbing like a child.
In the overwhelming joy of the moment, Tom Evert had no thought save for the son whom he had snatched from the very gates of death. He was absolutely unconscious of the presence of another human being in the breast, nor did the broken words of blessing and gratitude uttered by the faint-voiced miners find their way to his ear. His instinct was to get his lad out from that stifling, foul-aired place, and, still holding him in his arms, he crawled back through the heading, was borne swiftly across the waters from which he had snatched their prey, and drawn up the slope.
As he stepped from the car at its mouth, and they saw what it was he bore so tenderly and proudly, a mighty cheer went up from the assembled throng. Another and another. They were wild with joy. The long suspense was over, the terrible strain was relaxed, and they gave way to their feelings.
Suddenly they noticed that the drooping head of the lad was not lifted from the broad shoulder on which it rested. His arms hung limp and lifeless. A great silence came over the multitude. They stood awe-stricken, as in the presence of death, and pressing aside in front of the advancing miner, they made way for him to pass.
Still bearing his burden, unconscious of all besides, and looking neither to the right nor to the left, Tom Evert passed through the human lane thus formed, and went home—home to the rude, unpainted house in which Paul was born, and which, during the darkness and despair of the past five days, had been a constant picture before his mind's eye—home to the mother whose tenderest love has ever been for her crippled boy. Home!
Although Tom Evert, with eyes and ears only for his own, had no thought of the others for whom he had broken open the prison door, there was no lack of warm hearts and willing hands to help them.
Following close after the miner Warren Jones entered the breast, and directly behind him was Jack Hobson. The light from their lamps dazzled the eyes that for three days had lived in a darkness as absolute as though no light existed in the universe. Turning them away from the light, the prisoners listened eagerly for the voices of their deliverers. The first words they heard were from the mine boss, the man on whom they had depended, and who they knew had planned and carried out their rescue.
"Are you all here, men?"
"There's nine of us."
"And all alive?"
"All alive yet, thank God; though Boodle, poor lad, is wellnigh gone."
"Where is Derrick Sterling?"
"Here I am, sir," came a weak but well-known voice from back in the darkness.
Before Mr. Jones could locate it, the young man who had followed him so closely into the breast sprang to the side of the lad, and seizing his hand, exclaimed,
"Derrick Sterling, you are a splendid fellow, and this is one of the very happiest moments of my life!"
"Who are you?" asked Derrick, faintly.
"My name is Allan McClain," was the answer, "and if you will give me your friendship I shall consider it an honor to be proud of."
Trying weakly to return the hand-pressure of the young stranger, Derrick answered,
"He who has come to our rescue at the risk of his own life must indeed be my friend!"
Then the mine boss found them, and saying, "Drink this, my poor, brave lad," gave him a cup of rich warm soup, that had been made nearly an hour before, and kept warm over a spirit-lamp in the boat, just outside the heading.
It filled the boy with new life, and when he and the others had drank of it all that was allowed them, they felt strong enough to crawl out through the heading.
Derrick was the first to go and the first to be drawn up the slope, supported in the car by the young man to whom he had just given his friendship. As they approached the blessed sunlight, and the weary lad caught its first gleam, still far above him, he pressed the hand of his companion, and could do nothing but gaze at it. Could it be the very light of day that he had longed for and prayed for and despaired of ever seeing again? He knew it must be, but it seemed almost too glorious to be real.
When they reached the surface, the light that had roused such a tumult of feeling within him revealed two great tears coursing slowly down through the grime of his hollow cheeks.
The excitement over Paul Evert's appearance was as nothing compared with that aroused by the sight of Derrick Sterling. Had not his name been a household word throughout the land for days? Was he not a brave fellow whom they all loved? Could they cheer loud enough or long enough to do him honor, and testify their joy at his deliverance? It did not seem as though they could; and poor Derrick stood before them, trembling with strong emotion, without knowing which way to turn or look.
The reporters, who were taking mental notes of his appearance, also gazed curiously at the young man who had come up from the mine with him, and on whom he now leaned. He was a miner, of course, for he was dressed in mine clothes, and was as begrimed as the sootiest delver of them all, but who was he? He had somewhere lost his miner's cap, and the yellow, close-cropped curls of his uncovered head had a strangely familiar look.
He noticed their stares, knew what was passing in their minds, and laughingly said:
"Yes, fellows; I'm McClain of theExplorer, and I guess I've got a beat on you all this time." Then to Derrick he said, "Come, Sterling, we must get out of this; there's a mother waiting for you over there."
Just then another car-load of rescued men was drawn up, and again the excited spectators broke forth in a tumult of cheers. Under cover of this diversion, Derrick, half supported by Allan McClain, walked slowly away towards the little vine-covered cottage at the end of the village street. Here his mother awaited him, for she felt that their meeting was something too sacred to be witnessed by stranger eyes.
At the mouth of the slope similar meetings were taking place between others who had less self-control or less delicacy, but who, in their way, showed equal affection and deep feeling. Wives greeted husbands who appeared to them as risen from the dead, and mothers wept over sons whom they had deemed lost to them forever.
As Monk Tooley stepped from the car, the first to hold out a hand to him was his son Bill, leaning on a crutch, and still bearing traces of his illness. His greeting was,
"Well, feyther, we've missed yer sad! Thought maybe yer wouldn't get back no more."
"I'm not dat easy got rid of, lad. Had a plenty ter eat, hain't yer?"
"Plenty, feyther, sich as it was."
"Dat's more'n I have, an' I hope yer've saved a bite fer yer dad. Starvin's hungry work."
Nothing else was overheard; but the tones of the rough man and his equally rough son held an unwonted accent of tenderness. As they grasped each other's hand, one gazed curiously at his father's haggard face, and the other cast a pitying glance at his son's rude crutch.
Not the least interested spectator of these touching scenes was Mr. Halford, who had arrived that morning from Philadelphia. When, after all the rest had been sent safely to the surface the mine boss was drawn up the slope, and was in turn greeted with a rousing cheer, that gentlemen slipped an arm through his, and led him away, saying,
"You have done nobly, Warren, and I am proud to call you brother."
"I could have done nothing, Harold, if these brave fellows had not stood by me as they have."
"And they could have done nothing without your level head to direct them and your splendid example to stimulate them."
So the great colliery disaster was happily ended, and in Raven Brook village great sorrow was turned to great joy.
As the two gentlemen sat talking together in the room that the mine boss called his den, that evening, Mr. Halford said,
"By-the-way, Warren, I did not take this trip wholly out of curiosity to witness your rescue of the miners. I want to learn something of this young Sterling. Did you know his father?"
"Yes, he was one of my warmest friends."
"Was his name Gilbert?"
"Yes."
"Do you know whether he ever lived in Crawford County?"
"That is where he came from; he was born and raised there."
"Did you ever hear him speak of owning any property there?"
"I have heard him mention a little old rocky farm that was left to him; but he always spoke of it as being too poor to have any value. In fact he once told me that it was not worth the taxes he paid on it."
"I declare, I believe it is the very place! If these Sterlings turn out to be the people you lead me to think they are, Warren, there's a small fortune awaiting them."
"What! a fortune awaiting the widow Sterling and Derrick? It can't be! Why, they haven't a relative in the world."
"That may all be, but what I tell you is true. If this Gilbert Sterling was a son of Deacon Giles Sterling of Newfields, in Crawford County, his heirs are the owners of one of the most valuable bits of property in the State. Why, man, this little old rocky farm you speak of, if it is the same—and I am inclined to think it must be—lies in the very centre of the richest oil district that has yet been discovered. The best-paying well owned by our company is located on its border. For a clear title to that farm I am authorized to offer twenty-five thousand dollars cash, and a one-fifth interest in whatever oil may be taken from it."
The next morning Mr. Jones called at the Sterlings', and was amazed to find Derrick already showing signs of recovery. A splendid constitution and a determined will, aided by twelve hours of sleep and an abundance of nourishing food, were already beginning to efface the traces of hunger and suffering.
The boy gave his visitor a cheerful greeting, and tried to express something of his gratitude in words, but they failed him utterly.
The other said, "Don't try, Derrick. It's over now, and we all have cause for the most profound gratitude; but each of us understands the other's feelings, and there is no need of words between us."
Mrs. Sterling's eyes were filled with happy tears as, sitting beside her son, she tried to tell something of the pride she felt in him. After a while she said,
"I know it's wrong, but I can't help trying to look ahead a little, and, I confess, with some anxiety. I want my boy to do what is right, and I do not want him to remain idle; but oh! Mr. Jones, I cannot let him go down into that awful mine again. It has nearly killed him; and I am sure I could not survive another such experience."
"I don't blame you for feeling as you do," said the young man, "and I think perhaps some other arrangement can be made. One reason for my calling this morning was to ask if I might bring a gentleman to see you who is greatly interested in Derrick, and desirous of making his acquaintance. Are you willing that I should, and do you think Derrick is strong enough to receive visitors?"
"Certainly I am," said Mrs. Sterling; and Derrick answered for himself that he felt strong enough to see any number of gentlemen who were interested in him.
So Mr. Jones left them, and shortly afterwards returned with Mr. Halford, who soon won his way to the mother's heart by saying pleasant things about her boy, and to Derrick's by thanking him for his kindness to Mrs. Halford and Miss Nellie. He said that he had been especially commissioned by his daughter to inquire concerning the welfare of her bumping-mule, and was glad to hear from Derrick that that knowing animal was rapidly recovering from his injuries.
The conversation was led on from one thing to another, until Mr. Halford was satisfied that he had really found the family of whom he was in search. Then he told them of the good-fortune in store for them, provided they could prove their ownership of the little Bradford County farm.
Trembling with excitement, Mrs. Sterling brought out a box full of her husband's papers, among which was found a deed for the farm, and receipts for taxes paid up to the time of his death.
Having satisfied himself of the correctness of these, Mr. Halford made them the offer of which he had spoken to Mr. Jones the evening before. Then he left them, saying he knew they would want some time to consider his proposition, and that he would call the next day to learn their decision.
After their visitors had gone, Derrick and his mother gazed wonderingly at each other. Could it all be true? Were their days of poverty really over? Was the overworked mother to have a release from the toil and the bitter anxieties that made her look so thin and careworn? Were Derrick's dreams of a college education and a profession about to be realized?
Long and earnestly they talked, but not as to what answer they should give Mr. Halford. They had decided that almost before he left. They talked with grateful and loving hearts of the Heavenly Father who had so ordered their ways as to turn their very darkness into brightest light. As she thought over her mercies, the wonderful promises that had sustained the widowed mother through so many an hour of trial came back to her with their fullest force.
That afternoon Derrick felt strong enough to walk out, and went to the Everts' to see his dear friend and recent companion in suffering. He found Paul able to see and talk to him, but in bed, and very weak and languid.
"If I could only get away, far away from it all, Dare," he said. "The horror of the mine hangs over me all the time, and I'd almost rather never get well than go down into it again."
Then Derrick bent down and whispered something that brought a new light into the crippled lad's eyes and a faint flush to his pale cheeks.
"Oh, Dare!" he exclaimed. "Is it true? Really! Do you mean it?"
Derrick answered that it was true, and he meant every word of it.
What Derrick whispered to Paul Evert as he bent over him was: "You needn't ever go down in the mine again, Polly. I want you to go to Philadelphia with me to learn to be an artist. The money's ready, and it's all fixed that I'm to go; and if you only say the word it will be fixed for you to go too. I'm only waiting for you to get strong to tell you the whole story. Don't say a word about it yet, though, for it's a secret."
A hope like this was a wonderful medicine to the delicate lad, and when, an hour later, his father came in, he was astonished at the change for the better that had come over him.
"Why, Paul lad, an hour since I was thinking I'd saved thee for naught but to die, after all," said the miner. "Now I find thee bright and smiling, and chipper as a tomtit. Whatever's happened?"
"Derrick's been to see me, father."
"Ay; I might ha' know'd it. No other could cheer thee like him. He's a noble lad, and a true friend o' thine, Paul. I doubt if another would ha' gone back i' t' face o' t' skirling waters on chance o' saving thee."
"I'm sure not, father."
While Paul was thus talking of Derrick, Derrick was talking of Paul.
He had gone home full of a newly formed plan. In fact plans had formed themselves so rapidly in his mind since Mr. Halford's visit that they were already trying to crowd each other from his memory. The one now uppermost was in regard to Paul.
Going to his own room, he took out from a small drawer, where he kept his choicest treasures, the sketch of the underground picnic party that Paul had drawn down in the mine, and given him while they were imprisoned together in the darkness. It was soiled and a little torn, but every spot of grime upon it was a memento of that terrible experience; and though the picture was of recent origin, associations were already clustered so thickly about it that to Derrick it was a priceless treasure.
Showing it to his mother, he asked what she thought of it.
"I think it is capital!" she exclaimed.
Then Derrick told her the story of the sketch, of Paul's longing to be an artist, and his dread of going into the mine again. He ended by saying, "Now, mother, when I go to Philadelphia to prepare for college, can't Polly go with me and study to be an artist? He won't be very expensive, and I'm sure we're going to have money enough for all."
"Of course he can, Derrick. I would much rather you had a companion than to go alone, and I know you two will enjoy much together, and be of great help to each other. As for the money, dear, I would rather remain poor all my life than not have you willing to share whatever you have with those who need it. The longer you live, Derrick, the more fully you will realize that the greatest pleasure to be gained from money is by spending it for the happiness of others."
So it was settled that Derrick and Paul should go to Philadelphia together, and Paul made such haste to get strong, so as to hear the whole story, that it had to be told to him that very evening.
By the next morning, when Mr. Halford called upon the Sterlings to receive their answer to his offer, they had already in imagination spent so much of the money they expected to receive from him that it would have been impossible for them to say anything but "Yes," even if they had wanted to.
Mr. Halford was greatly pleased with the plans made for Derrick and Paul, and promised to look out for them in Philadelphia, secure a pleasant boarding-place for them, and see that they got into the best schools in the city. He said they ought to start as soon as possible, for the autumn terms were about to begin. Before he left he handed Mrs. Sterling a check for a larger amount of money than she had ever in her life possessed. He said she might find it convenient for immediate use while the necessary steps for the transfer of the little Crawford County farm to the great oil company were being taken.
In two weeks after Mr. Halford's departure everything was in readiness for that of the boys, and the time had arrived for them to start for the great city.
Harry Mule, whose leg had been so well mended that it could be taken out of splints, was to be left in charge of Bill Tooley. Bill was to be allowed to hire him out to the mine boss as soon as he was able to work, and that gentleman had promised them both a job at hauling waste cars over the dump. Thus neither of them would be obliged to go down into the mine again.
Bill Tooley was now able to walk without his crutch; but his leg would always be stiff, and he would never be free from a limp in his gait. As Harry Mule had the same peculiarity in his, they became known in the colliery as the two "Stiffies." Under this title they acquired considerable fame for their fondness for each other, and for the wisdom of one of them.
The first of October was a glorious autumn day, and even the ragged colliery village looked pretty, after a fashion, in the golden haze through which the rising sun shone down upon it.
As Derrick, and Paul, accompanied by Mrs. Sterling, Helen, the mine boss, and burly Tom Evert, walked down to the little railway-station, the miners of the day shift were gathering about the mouth of the slope, and preparing to descend into the recently pumped-out workings. From them came many a rough but honest farewell shout to the boys who had endeared themselves to all the village.
"Tak' care o' thysels, lads!" "We'll not forget ye, an' ye'll bear us in mind!" "Whene'er thee's tired o' city, coom back, an' ye'll find a welcome!" "Mind t' fire-damp i' t' city, lads, an' use naught but safeties!" "Good-by!"
As long as they were within hearing the boys, shouted back such answers as, "We'll try to!" "Thank you, Ike! We won't forget you; never fear!" "Good-by all!"
Then the train came along. A few loving words were hastily spoken, and they were off. The hard, grimy, perilous life of the breaker and the mine was left behind, and a new one of study, ambitious dreams, and successes was opening broadly before them.