Chapter Sixteen.An Attack of Heroes.“That was a topper for him, Ydoll,” said Joe, as they stood outside. “Phew! what a hot, stuffy place it is!”“We were the first there, Joe,” said Gwyn, who had not heard his companion’s words. “But what was he going to do?”“Who going to do—that chap?”“Yes. I’m sure he meant mischief of some kind. I’ll speak to father. He won’t interfere with the people coming to-day, because it’s like a sight, this beginning: but afterwards he’ll have to give orders for no one but the work-people to be about.”“Hullo, what’s this?” cried Joe.For a shout arose, and a man stood forward from the crowd, making signals.“I know: they want the steam turned on.”Gwyn stepped back to the mouth of the temporary engine-house, told the driver, and he connected a band with the shaft; this started another long band, and the power was communicated to the pump, with the result that a huge wheel began to turn, a massive rod was set in motion, and a burst of cheers arose; for, with a steady, heavy, clanking sound, the first gallons of water were raised, to fall gushing into the cistern-like box, and then begin to flow steadily along the adit; the boys, after a glance or two down the deep shaft, now one intricacy of upright ladder and platform, hurrying off to where a series of ladders had been affixed to the face of the cliff, down which they went, to reach a strongly-built platform at the mouth of the adit.It was rather different from the spot on which Gwyn had knelt a few months before, waiting for help to come and rescue him from his perilous position, and he thought of it, as he descended the carefully-secured ladders, connected with the rock face by means of strong iron stanchions.“I say, Joe,” he cried, as they descended, “better than hanging at the end of a rope. Why, it’s safe as safe.”“So long as you don’t let go,” was the reply from above him.“Well, don’t you let go, or you’ll be knocking me off. I say, I wonder what the birds think of it all.”“Don’t seem to mind it much,” replied Joe. “But I suppose we sha’n’t leave these ladders here when the mine-shaft is all right.”“No, because we shall go along the adit, that way. Father says Sam Hardock wants the gallery widened a little, so that a tramway can be laid down, and then he’ll run trucks along it, and tilt all the rubbish into the sea.”“Yes, young gentlemen, that’s the way,” said a voice below them. “So you’re coming down to have a look?”“I say, Sam, you startled me,” cried Gwyn. “Well, how does the pump work?”“Splendidly, sir; here’s a regular stream of water coming along, and running into the sea like a cascade, as they call it. Only ten more steps, sir. That’s it! Mind how you come there. None too much room. We must have a strong rail all round here, or there’ll be some accident. Two more steps, Mr Joe. That’s the way! Now then, sir, don’t this look business-like?”The boys were standing now on the platform, whose struts were sloping to the rock below, and through an opening between them and the mouth of the adit the water came running out, bright and clear, to plunge down the face of the cliff in a volume, which promised well for draining the mine.“Why, it won’t take long to empty the place at this rate,” cried Joe, as he knelt upon the platform and gazed down at the falling water, which dropped sheer for about twenty feet, then struck the rock, glanced off, and fell the rest of the way in a broken sheet of foam, which rapidly changed into a heavy rain.“No, sir, it won’t take very long,” said Hardock. “A few weeks, I suppose; because, as it lowers, we shall have to put down fresh machinery to reach it, and so on, right to the sumph at the bottom.”“Oh, not a few weeks,” said Gwyn, in a tone of doubt. “Well, say months, then, sir. Nobody can tell. If you gave me a plan of the mine on paper, with the number and size of the galleries, I could tell you pretty exactly; but, of course, we don’t know. There may be miles of workings at different levels; and, on the other hand, there may be not—only the shaft, and that we can soon master.”“But suppose that there’s a hole into it from the sea,” said Joe, looking up from where he knelt, with a droll look of inquiry in his eyes.“Why, then we shall want more pumps, and a fresh place to put the water in,” cried Gwyn, laughing. “Rather too big a job for you, that, Sam Hardock.”“Oh, I don’t know, sir. We might p’r’aps find out where the gashly hole was, and put a big cork in it. But let’s try first and see. What do you say to coming through to the shaft, and having a look whether the water’s beginning to lower?”“But we shall get out feet so wet.”“Bah! what’s a drop o’ water, my lad, when there’s a big bit o’ business on? Have off your shoes and stockings, then. I’ve got a light.”“Will you come, Joe?”“Of course, if you’re going,” said the boy, sturdily, as if it were a matter beyond question. “But you haven’t told Sam about the engine-house.”“What about it?” said the man, anxiously. “What!” he continued, on hearing what they had noticed. “That’s bad, my lads, that’s bad, and they mean mischief. But I don’t see what harm he could have done to the fire, only burnt himself—and sarve him right. Wanted to see, perhaps, how our bylers was set. I know that chap, though—met him more than once, when I’ve been here and there in different towns, talking to folk of a night over a pipe—when I was looking for work, you know. One of those chaps, he seemed to be, as is always hanging about with both ears wide open to see what they can ketch. I fancy he had something to do with the two gents as came over to buy the mine. I aren’t sure, but I think that’s it.”“I feel quite sure,” said Gwyn, emphatically. “Very well, then, sir; what we’ve got to do is to keep him off our premises, so that he don’t get picking up our notions of working the old mine. He’s after something, or he wouldn’t be here to-day. Regular old mining hand, he is; and I daresay he was squinting over our machinery, and he wants to see the pumping come to naught. Just please him. But look at this; isn’t it fine?”He pointed to the steady stream of clear water rushing toward them, and falling downward, glittering in the sunshine. “Ready to go in with me?”For answer the two boys took off their boots and socks, and stood them in a niche in the rock, while Hardock passed in through the mouth of the adit; and directly after he had disappeared in the darkness, he re-appeared in the midst of a glow of light produced by a lanthorn he had placed behind a piece of rock.“Come on, my lads,” he cried, and the two boys stepped in, with the cold water gurgling about their feet, and stooping to avoid striking their heads against the roof of the low gallery.“One o’ the first things I mean to have done is to set the men to cut a gully along here for the water to run in, for I daresay we shall always have to keep the pump going. Then the water can keep to itself, and we shall have a dry place for the trucks to run along.”“But this place won’t be used much,” said Gwyn, as he followed the man, and kept on thinking about his strange feelings, as he crept along there in the darkness toward the light, after his terrible fall.“I don’t know so much about that, my lad. Don’t you see, it will be splendid for getting rid of our rubbish? The trucks can be tilted, and away it will go; but what’s to prevent us from loading ships with ore out below there in fine weather? But we shall see.”It was a strange experience to pass out of the brilliant sunshine into the black, cold tunnel through the rock, with the water bubbling about their feet, and a creepy, gurgling whispering sound coming toward them in company with a heavy dull clanking, as the huge pump worked steadily on. Try how they would to be firm, and forcing themselves to fall back upon the knowledge of what was taking place, there was still the feeling that this little stream of water was only the advance guard of a deluge, and that at any moment it might increase to a rushing flood, which would sweep them away, dashing them out headlong from the mouth of the gallery to fall into the sea.But there in front was the black outline of Hardock’s stooping figure, with the lanthorn held before him, and making the water flash and sparkle, while from time to time the man held up the lanthorn, and pointed to a glittering appearance in the roof, or on the walls.“Ore,” he said, with a chuckle. “I didn’t come to your father, Master Gwyn, with empty hands, did I? Well, I’m glad he woke up to what it’s all worth. Here we are.”He stopped short, for they had come to the shaft, and his light showed up the strong beams and wet iron ties which held the machinery in place. There were a couple of men here, too, with lanthorns hanging from what seemed to be a cross-beam. On their right, was a wet-looking ladder, whose rounds glistened, and this ran up into darkness, where a great beam had been fixed, with a square hole where the top of the ladder rested, the light from above being almost entirely cut off.The men said something to Hardock, but their words were almost inaudible in the rattle and clank of the great pump, and the wash and rush of the water as it was drawn into a huge trough, and rushed from it into the adit.Hardock gave them a nod in reply, and then signed to the boys as he swung his lanthorn.“Come and look here,” he shouted; and, with their bare feet slipping on the wet planks that were just loosely laid across the beams fitted into the old holes, cut no one knew when, in the sides of the shaft, they went down to where Hardock dropped on his knees and held the lanthorn through an opening, so that the light was reflected from the water, whose level was about a foot below where they now stood.“See that?” he shouted, so as to make his voice heard.“What, the water?” cried Gwyn. “Yes.”“No, no; my mark that I made in the wall with a pick?”“Oh, yes; the granite looks quite white,” said Gwyn, as he looked at the roughly-cut notch some six inches long.“How far is the water below it?” cried Hardock.“About seven inches, eh, Joe?”“Nearly eight.”“Then you may go up and tell your father the good news. He’ll like to hear it from you. Tell him that we’ve lowered the water seven inches since the pump started, and if nothing goes wrong, we shall soon be making a stage lower down.”“But what should go wrong?” cried Joe, who looked full of excitement.“A hundred things, my lad. Machinery’s a ticklish thing, and as for a mine, you never know what’s going to happen from one hour to another. Go on, up with you both, my lads; it’s news they’ll be glad to hear, and you ought to be proud to take it.”“We are,” cried Gwyn, heartily. “It’s splendid, Sam. You have done well.”“Tidy, my lad, tidy. Will you go up the ladder here?”“No,” said Gwyn, “we’ve left our shoes and stockings outside.”“Very well; go that way, then.”“Yes,” said Joe, “it’s better than going up the shaft; the ladders look so wet, and the water drops upon you. I saw it dripping yesterday. Come on.”He stepped into the adit, and Gwyn followed.“Don’t want a light, I s’pose?” said Hardock.“Oh, no; we shall see the sunshine directly,” said Gwyn; and the two boys retraced their wet steps, soon caught sight of the light shining in, and made their way out to the platform, where they sat down in the sunshine to wipe their feet with their handkerchiefs, and then put on socks and boots, each giving his feet a stamp as he rose erect.“Isn’t the water cold! My feet are like ice,” said Joe.“They’ll soon get warm climbing up these ladders,” said Gwyn. “But steady! Don’t jump about; this platform doesn’t seem any too safe. I’ll ask father to have the stout rail put round. Shall I go first?”“No; you came down first,” said Joe. “My turn now. But I say, I’d a deal rather go up and down in a bucket. What a height it seems.”“Well, make it less,” said Gwyn. “Up with you! don’t stand looking at it. I want to be at the top.”“So do I,” said Joe, as he stood holding on by one of the rounds of the ladder, they two and the platform looking wonderfully small on the face of that immense cliff; the platform bearing a striking resemblance to some little bracket nailed against a wall, and occupied by two sparrows.Then, uttering a low sigh, Joe began to mount steadily, and as soon as he was a dozen feet up, Gwyn followed him.“It doesn’t do to look upwards, does it?” said Joe, suddenly, when they had been climbing for about half-a-minute.“Well, don’t think about it, then. And don’t talk. You want all your breath for a job like this.”Joe was silent, and the only sounds heard were the scraping of their boots on the wooden spells, and the crying of the gulls squabbling over some wave-tossed weed far below.Then, all at once, when he was about half-way up, Joe suddenly stopped short, but Gwyn did not notice it till his cap was within a few inches of the other’s boots.“Well, go on,” he cried cheerily. “What’s the matter—out of breath?”“No.”“Eh? What is it—what’s the matter?” said Gwyn, for he was startled by the tone in which the word was uttered.“I—I don’t know,” came back in a hoarse whisper, which sent a shudder through Gwyn, as he involuntarily glanced down at the awful depth beneath him. “It’s the cold water, I think. One of my feet has gone dead, and the other’s getting numb. Gwyn! Gwyn! Here, quick! I don’t know what I’m— Quick!—help! I’m going to fall!”
“That was a topper for him, Ydoll,” said Joe, as they stood outside. “Phew! what a hot, stuffy place it is!”
“We were the first there, Joe,” said Gwyn, who had not heard his companion’s words. “But what was he going to do?”
“Who going to do—that chap?”
“Yes. I’m sure he meant mischief of some kind. I’ll speak to father. He won’t interfere with the people coming to-day, because it’s like a sight, this beginning: but afterwards he’ll have to give orders for no one but the work-people to be about.”
“Hullo, what’s this?” cried Joe.
For a shout arose, and a man stood forward from the crowd, making signals.
“I know: they want the steam turned on.”
Gwyn stepped back to the mouth of the temporary engine-house, told the driver, and he connected a band with the shaft; this started another long band, and the power was communicated to the pump, with the result that a huge wheel began to turn, a massive rod was set in motion, and a burst of cheers arose; for, with a steady, heavy, clanking sound, the first gallons of water were raised, to fall gushing into the cistern-like box, and then begin to flow steadily along the adit; the boys, after a glance or two down the deep shaft, now one intricacy of upright ladder and platform, hurrying off to where a series of ladders had been affixed to the face of the cliff, down which they went, to reach a strongly-built platform at the mouth of the adit.
It was rather different from the spot on which Gwyn had knelt a few months before, waiting for help to come and rescue him from his perilous position, and he thought of it, as he descended the carefully-secured ladders, connected with the rock face by means of strong iron stanchions.
“I say, Joe,” he cried, as they descended, “better than hanging at the end of a rope. Why, it’s safe as safe.”
“So long as you don’t let go,” was the reply from above him.
“Well, don’t you let go, or you’ll be knocking me off. I say, I wonder what the birds think of it all.”
“Don’t seem to mind it much,” replied Joe. “But I suppose we sha’n’t leave these ladders here when the mine-shaft is all right.”
“No, because we shall go along the adit, that way. Father says Sam Hardock wants the gallery widened a little, so that a tramway can be laid down, and then he’ll run trucks along it, and tilt all the rubbish into the sea.”
“Yes, young gentlemen, that’s the way,” said a voice below them. “So you’re coming down to have a look?”
“I say, Sam, you startled me,” cried Gwyn. “Well, how does the pump work?”
“Splendidly, sir; here’s a regular stream of water coming along, and running into the sea like a cascade, as they call it. Only ten more steps, sir. That’s it! Mind how you come there. None too much room. We must have a strong rail all round here, or there’ll be some accident. Two more steps, Mr Joe. That’s the way! Now then, sir, don’t this look business-like?”
The boys were standing now on the platform, whose struts were sloping to the rock below, and through an opening between them and the mouth of the adit the water came running out, bright and clear, to plunge down the face of the cliff in a volume, which promised well for draining the mine.
“Why, it won’t take long to empty the place at this rate,” cried Joe, as he knelt upon the platform and gazed down at the falling water, which dropped sheer for about twenty feet, then struck the rock, glanced off, and fell the rest of the way in a broken sheet of foam, which rapidly changed into a heavy rain.
“No, sir, it won’t take very long,” said Hardock. “A few weeks, I suppose; because, as it lowers, we shall have to put down fresh machinery to reach it, and so on, right to the sumph at the bottom.”
“Oh, not a few weeks,” said Gwyn, in a tone of doubt. “Well, say months, then, sir. Nobody can tell. If you gave me a plan of the mine on paper, with the number and size of the galleries, I could tell you pretty exactly; but, of course, we don’t know. There may be miles of workings at different levels; and, on the other hand, there may be not—only the shaft, and that we can soon master.”
“But suppose that there’s a hole into it from the sea,” said Joe, looking up from where he knelt, with a droll look of inquiry in his eyes.
“Why, then we shall want more pumps, and a fresh place to put the water in,” cried Gwyn, laughing. “Rather too big a job for you, that, Sam Hardock.”
“Oh, I don’t know, sir. We might p’r’aps find out where the gashly hole was, and put a big cork in it. But let’s try first and see. What do you say to coming through to the shaft, and having a look whether the water’s beginning to lower?”
“But we shall get out feet so wet.”
“Bah! what’s a drop o’ water, my lad, when there’s a big bit o’ business on? Have off your shoes and stockings, then. I’ve got a light.”
“Will you come, Joe?”
“Of course, if you’re going,” said the boy, sturdily, as if it were a matter beyond question. “But you haven’t told Sam about the engine-house.”
“What about it?” said the man, anxiously. “What!” he continued, on hearing what they had noticed. “That’s bad, my lads, that’s bad, and they mean mischief. But I don’t see what harm he could have done to the fire, only burnt himself—and sarve him right. Wanted to see, perhaps, how our bylers was set. I know that chap, though—met him more than once, when I’ve been here and there in different towns, talking to folk of a night over a pipe—when I was looking for work, you know. One of those chaps, he seemed to be, as is always hanging about with both ears wide open to see what they can ketch. I fancy he had something to do with the two gents as came over to buy the mine. I aren’t sure, but I think that’s it.”
“I feel quite sure,” said Gwyn, emphatically. “Very well, then, sir; what we’ve got to do is to keep him off our premises, so that he don’t get picking up our notions of working the old mine. He’s after something, or he wouldn’t be here to-day. Regular old mining hand, he is; and I daresay he was squinting over our machinery, and he wants to see the pumping come to naught. Just please him. But look at this; isn’t it fine?”
He pointed to the steady stream of clear water rushing toward them, and falling downward, glittering in the sunshine. “Ready to go in with me?”
For answer the two boys took off their boots and socks, and stood them in a niche in the rock, while Hardock passed in through the mouth of the adit; and directly after he had disappeared in the darkness, he re-appeared in the midst of a glow of light produced by a lanthorn he had placed behind a piece of rock.
“Come on, my lads,” he cried, and the two boys stepped in, with the cold water gurgling about their feet, and stooping to avoid striking their heads against the roof of the low gallery.
“One o’ the first things I mean to have done is to set the men to cut a gully along here for the water to run in, for I daresay we shall always have to keep the pump going. Then the water can keep to itself, and we shall have a dry place for the trucks to run along.”
“But this place won’t be used much,” said Gwyn, as he followed the man, and kept on thinking about his strange feelings, as he crept along there in the darkness toward the light, after his terrible fall.
“I don’t know so much about that, my lad. Don’t you see, it will be splendid for getting rid of our rubbish? The trucks can be tilted, and away it will go; but what’s to prevent us from loading ships with ore out below there in fine weather? But we shall see.”
It was a strange experience to pass out of the brilliant sunshine into the black, cold tunnel through the rock, with the water bubbling about their feet, and a creepy, gurgling whispering sound coming toward them in company with a heavy dull clanking, as the huge pump worked steadily on. Try how they would to be firm, and forcing themselves to fall back upon the knowledge of what was taking place, there was still the feeling that this little stream of water was only the advance guard of a deluge, and that at any moment it might increase to a rushing flood, which would sweep them away, dashing them out headlong from the mouth of the gallery to fall into the sea.
But there in front was the black outline of Hardock’s stooping figure, with the lanthorn held before him, and making the water flash and sparkle, while from time to time the man held up the lanthorn, and pointed to a glittering appearance in the roof, or on the walls.
“Ore,” he said, with a chuckle. “I didn’t come to your father, Master Gwyn, with empty hands, did I? Well, I’m glad he woke up to what it’s all worth. Here we are.”
He stopped short, for they had come to the shaft, and his light showed up the strong beams and wet iron ties which held the machinery in place. There were a couple of men here, too, with lanthorns hanging from what seemed to be a cross-beam. On their right, was a wet-looking ladder, whose rounds glistened, and this ran up into darkness, where a great beam had been fixed, with a square hole where the top of the ladder rested, the light from above being almost entirely cut off.
The men said something to Hardock, but their words were almost inaudible in the rattle and clank of the great pump, and the wash and rush of the water as it was drawn into a huge trough, and rushed from it into the adit.
Hardock gave them a nod in reply, and then signed to the boys as he swung his lanthorn.
“Come and look here,” he shouted; and, with their bare feet slipping on the wet planks that were just loosely laid across the beams fitted into the old holes, cut no one knew when, in the sides of the shaft, they went down to where Hardock dropped on his knees and held the lanthorn through an opening, so that the light was reflected from the water, whose level was about a foot below where they now stood.
“See that?” he shouted, so as to make his voice heard.
“What, the water?” cried Gwyn. “Yes.”
“No, no; my mark that I made in the wall with a pick?”
“Oh, yes; the granite looks quite white,” said Gwyn, as he looked at the roughly-cut notch some six inches long.
“How far is the water below it?” cried Hardock.
“About seven inches, eh, Joe?”
“Nearly eight.”
“Then you may go up and tell your father the good news. He’ll like to hear it from you. Tell him that we’ve lowered the water seven inches since the pump started, and if nothing goes wrong, we shall soon be making a stage lower down.”
“But what should go wrong?” cried Joe, who looked full of excitement.
“A hundred things, my lad. Machinery’s a ticklish thing, and as for a mine, you never know what’s going to happen from one hour to another. Go on, up with you both, my lads; it’s news they’ll be glad to hear, and you ought to be proud to take it.”
“We are,” cried Gwyn, heartily. “It’s splendid, Sam. You have done well.”
“Tidy, my lad, tidy. Will you go up the ladder here?”
“No,” said Gwyn, “we’ve left our shoes and stockings outside.”
“Very well; go that way, then.”
“Yes,” said Joe, “it’s better than going up the shaft; the ladders look so wet, and the water drops upon you. I saw it dripping yesterday. Come on.”
He stepped into the adit, and Gwyn followed.
“Don’t want a light, I s’pose?” said Hardock.
“Oh, no; we shall see the sunshine directly,” said Gwyn; and the two boys retraced their wet steps, soon caught sight of the light shining in, and made their way out to the platform, where they sat down in the sunshine to wipe their feet with their handkerchiefs, and then put on socks and boots, each giving his feet a stamp as he rose erect.
“Isn’t the water cold! My feet are like ice,” said Joe.
“They’ll soon get warm climbing up these ladders,” said Gwyn. “But steady! Don’t jump about; this platform doesn’t seem any too safe. I’ll ask father to have the stout rail put round. Shall I go first?”
“No; you came down first,” said Joe. “My turn now. But I say, I’d a deal rather go up and down in a bucket. What a height it seems.”
“Well, make it less,” said Gwyn. “Up with you! don’t stand looking at it. I want to be at the top.”
“So do I,” said Joe, as he stood holding on by one of the rounds of the ladder, they two and the platform looking wonderfully small on the face of that immense cliff; the platform bearing a striking resemblance to some little bracket nailed against a wall, and occupied by two sparrows.
Then, uttering a low sigh, Joe began to mount steadily, and as soon as he was a dozen feet up, Gwyn followed him.
“It doesn’t do to look upwards, does it?” said Joe, suddenly, when they had been climbing for about half-a-minute.
“Well, don’t think about it, then. And don’t talk. You want all your breath for a job like this.”
Joe was silent, and the only sounds heard were the scraping of their boots on the wooden spells, and the crying of the gulls squabbling over some wave-tossed weed far below.
Then, all at once, when he was about half-way up, Joe suddenly stopped short, but Gwyn did not notice it till his cap was within a few inches of the other’s boots.
“Well, go on,” he cried cheerily. “What’s the matter—out of breath?”
“No.”
“Eh? What is it—what’s the matter?” said Gwyn, for he was startled by the tone in which the word was uttered.
“I—I don’t know,” came back in a hoarse whisper, which sent a shudder through Gwyn, as he involuntarily glanced down at the awful depth beneath him. “It’s the cold water, I think. One of my feet has gone dead, and the other’s getting numb. Gwyn! Gwyn! Here, quick! I don’t know what I’m— Quick!—help! I’m going to fall!”
Chapter Seventeen.Gwyn shows his Mettle.Too much horrified for the moment even to speak, Gwyn grasped the sides of the ladder with spasmodic strength; his eyes dilated, his jaw dropped, and he clung there completely paralysed. Then his mental balance came back as suddenly as he had lost it, and feeling once more the strong, healthy lad he was, it came to him like a flash that it was impossible that Joe Jollivet, his companion in hundreds of rock-climbing expeditions—where they had successfully made their way along places which would have given onlookers what is known as “the creeps,”—could be in the danger he described, and with a merry laugh, he cried,—“Get out! Go on, you old humbug, or I’ll get a pin out of my waistcoat and give you the spur.”There was no response.“Do you hear, old Jolly-wet? I say, you know, this isn’t the sort of place for playing larks. Wait till we’re up, and I’ll give you such a warming!”Then the chill of horror came back, for Joe said in a whisper, whose tones swept away all possibility of his playing tricks,—“I’m not larking. I can’t stir.”“I tell you you are larking,” cried Gwyn, fiercely. “Such nonsense! Go on up, or I’ll drive a pin into you right up to the head.”The cold chill increased now, and Gwyn shuddered, for Joe said faintly,—“Do, please; it might give me strength.”The vain hope that it might be all a trick was gone, and Gwyn was face to face with the horror of their position. He too looked down, and there was the platform, with the water splashing and glittering in the sunshine as it struck upon the rock; and he knew that no help could come from that direction, for Hardock was at the pump in the shaft. He looked up to the edge of the cliff, but no one was there, for the people were all gathered about the top of the mine, and were not likely to come and look over and see their position. If help was to come to the boy above him, that help must come from where he stood; and, with the recollection of his own peril when he was being hauled up by the rope, forcing itself upon him, he began to act with a feeling of desperation which was ready to rob him of such nerve as he possessed.A clear and prompt action was necessary, as he knew only too well, and, setting his teeth hard together, he went on up without a word, step by step, as he leaned back to the full stretch of his arms, and reached to where he could just force his feet, one on either side of his companion’s, the spell of the ladder just affording sufficient width, and then pressing Joe close against the rounds with his heavily-throbbing breast, he held on in silence for a few moments, trying to speak, but no words would come.Meanwhile, Joe remained silent and rigid, as if half insensible; and Gwyn’s brain was active, though his tongue was silent, battling as he was with the question what to do.“Oh, if those gulls would only keep away!” he groaned to himself, for at least a dozen came softly swooping about them, and one so close that the boy felt the waft of the air set in motion by its wings.Then the throbbing and fluttering at his heart grew less painful, and the power to speak returned.With a strong endeavour to be calm and easy, he forced himself to treat the position jauntily.“There you are, old chap,” he cried; “friend in need’s a friend indeed. I could hold you on like that for a month—five minutes,” he added to himself. Then aloud once more. “Feel better?”There was no reply.“Do you hear, stupid—feel better?”A low sigh—almost a groan—was the only answer, and Gwyn’s teeth grated together.“Here, you, Joe,” he said firmly. “I know you can hear what I say, so listen. You don’t want for us both to go down, I know, so you’ve got to throw off the horrible feeling that’s come over you, and do what I say. I’m going to hold you up like this for five minutes to get your wind, and then you’ve got to start and go up round by round. You can’t fall because I shall follow you, keeping like this, and holding you on till you’re better. You can hear all that, you know.”Joe bent his head, and a peculiar quivering, catching sigh escaped his lips.“It’s all nonsense; you want to give up over climbing a ladder such as we could run up. ’Tisn’t like being on the rocks with nothing to hold on by, now, is it? Let’s see; we’re half of the way up, and we can soon do it, so say when you feel ready, and then up you go!”But after a guess at the space of time named, Joe showed no inclination to say he was ready, and stood there, pressed against the ladder, breathing very feebly, and Gwyn began to be attacked once more by the chill of dread.He fought it back in his desperation, and in a tone which surprised himself, he cried,—“Now, then! Time’s up! Go on!”To his intense delight, his energy seemed to be communicated to his companion; and as he hung back a little, Joe reached with one hand, got a fresh hold there with the other, and, raising his right foot, drew himself slowly and cautiously up, to stand on the next spell.“Cheerily ho!” sang out Gwyn, as he followed. “I knew, I knew you could do it. Now then! Don’t stop to get cold. Up you go before I get out that pin.”Joe slowly and laboriously began again, and reached the next step, but Gwyn felt no increase of hope, for he could tell how feeble and nerveless the boy was. But he went on talking lightly, as he followed and let the poor fellow feel the support of his breast.“That’s your sort. Nine inches higher. Two nine inches more—a foot and a half. But, I say, no games; don’t start off with a run and leave me behind. You’d better let me go with you, in case your foot gives—gives way again.”That repetition of the word gives was caused by a peculiar catching of Gwyn’s breath.“I say,” he continued, as they paused, “this is ever so much better than going up those wet ladders in the shaft. I shall never like that way. Don’t you remember looking down the shaft of that mine, where the hot, steamy mist came up, and the rounds of the ladder were all slippery with the grease that dropped from the men’s candles stuck in their caps? I do. I said it would be like going down ladders of ice, and that you’d never catch me on them. Our way won’t be hot and steamy like that was, because there’ll always be a draught of fresh sea air running up from the adit. Now then, up you go again! I begin to want my dinner.”Joe did not stir, and Gwyn’s face turned ghastly, while his mouth opened ready for the utterance of a wild cry for help.But the cry did not escape, for Gwyn’s teeth closed with a snap. He felt that it would result in adding to his companion’s despair.He was once more master of himself.“Now then!” he cried; “I don’t want to use that pin. Go on, old lazybones.”The energy was transferred again, and Joe slowly struggled up another step, closely followed by Gwyn, and then remained motionless and silent.“You stop and let yourself get cold again,” cried Gwyn, resolutely now. “Begin once more, and don’t stop. You needn’t mind, old chap. I’ve got you as tight as tight. Now then, can’t you feel how safe you are? Off with you! I shall always be ready to give you a nip and hold you on. Now then, off!”But there was no response.“Do you hear! This isn’t the place to go to sleep, Joe! Wake up! Go on! Never mind your feet being numb. Go on pulling yourself up with your hands. I’ll give you a shove to help.”No reply; no movement; and but for the spasmodic way in which the boy clung with his hands, as if involuntarily, like a bird or a bat clings in its sleep, he might have been pronounced perfectly helpless.“Now, once more, are you going to begin?” cried Gwyn, shouting fiercely. “Do you hear?”Still no reply, and in spite of appeal, threat, and at last a blow delivered heavily upon his shoulder, Joe did not stir, and Gwyn felt that their case was desperate indeed. Each time he had forced his companion to make an effort it was as if the result was due to the energy he had communicated from his own body; but now he felt in his despair as if a reverse action were taking place, and his companion’s want of nerve and inertia were being communicated to him; for the chilly feeling of despair was on the increase, and he knew now that poor Joe was beyond helping himself.“What can I do?” he thought, as he once more forced himself to the point of thinking and acting. To get his companion up by his own force was impossible. Even if he could have carried the weight up the ladder, it would have been impossible to get a good hold and retain it, and he already felt himself growing weak from horror.What to do?It would have been easy enough to climb over his companion and save his own life; but how could he ever look Major Jollivet or his father in the eyes again? The momentary thought was dismissed on the instant as being cowardly and unworthy of an English lad. But what to do?If he could have left him for a few minutes, he could have either gone up or gone down, and shouted for help; but he knew perfectly well that the moment he left the boy to himself, he would fall headlong.“What shall I do? What shall I do?” he groaned aloud, and a querulous cry from one of the gulls still floating around them came as if in reply.“Oh, if I only had a gun,” he cried angrily. “Get out, you beasts! Who’s going to fall!”Then he uttered a cry for help, and another, and another; but the shouts sounded feeble, and were lost in space, while more and more it was forced upon him that Joe was now insensible from fear and despair, his nerve completely gone.What could he do? There seemed to be nothing but to hold on till Joe fell, and then for his father’s sake, he must try and save himself.“Oh, if I only had a piece of rope,” he muttered; but he had not so much as a piece of string. There was his silk neckerchief; that was something, and Joe was wearing one, too, exactly like it; for the boys had a habit of dressing the same.It was something to do—something to occupy his thoughts for a few moments, and, setting one hand free, he passed it round the side of the ladder, leaned toward it, as he forced it toward his neck; his fingers seized the knot—a sailor’s slip-knot—and the next minute the handkerchief was loose in his hands.A few more long moments, and he had taken his companion’s from his neck. Then came the knotting together, a task which needed the service of both hands, and for a time he hesitated about setting the second free.Free he could not make it, but by clinging round the sides of the ladder with both arms, he brought his hands together, and with the skill taught him by the Cornish fishermen, he soon, without the help of his eyes, had the two handkerchiefs securely joined in a knot that would not slip, and was now possessed with a twisted silken cord about five feet long.But how slight! Still it was of silk, and it was his only chance unless help came; and of that there seemed to be not the slightest hope.He twisted the silk round and round in his hands for some seconds after the fashion that he and Joe had observed when making a snood for their fishing lines, and then passing one end round the spell that was on a level with Joe’s throat, he drew till both ends were of a length, and then tied the silken cord tightly to the piece of stout, strong oak, letting the ends hang down.Joe’s hands were grasping the sides of the ladder—how feebly Gwyn did not know till he tried to move the left, when it gave way at once, and would have fallen to his side but for his own strong grasp. Holding it firmly, he passed it round the left side of the ladder, placing it along the spell, and then passing one of the silken ends round the wrist, he drew it tight to the spell and kept it there, while he loosened the boy’s right-hand, passed that round the other side, so that wrist rested upon wrist, and the next minute the handkerchief was slipped round it, and drawn tightly, binding both together.They were safely held so long as he kept up a tension upon the end of the silk; and this with great effort he was able to do with his left hand, while, working in the opposite way, he passed the second end round the two wrists once, dragged it as hard as he could, and then tied the first portion of a simple knot. Then he dragged again and again, bringing his teeth to bear in holding the shorter end of the handkerchief, while he tugged and tugged till the silk cut into the boy’s flesh, and his wrists were dragged firmly down upon the spell. There the second portion of the knot was tied; and, feeling that Joe could not slip, he bound the longer end round again twice, brought the first end to meet it, and once again tied as hard as he could.Breathless with the exertion of holding on by his crooked arms while he worked, and with the perspiration streaming down his face, he stood there panting for a few moments, holding on tightly, and peering through the spells to make sure that his knots were secure, and the silken cord sufficiently tight to stay Joe’s wrists from being dragged through. Then he tried the fastening again, satisfying himself that Joe was as safe as hands could make him, and that his arms could not possibly be dragged away from the spell to which they were tied, even if his feet slipped from the round below.Satisfied at this, Gwyn’s heart gave a throb of satisfaction.“You can’t fall, Joe,” he said. “I don’t want to leave you, but I must go for help.”There was no reply.“Can you hear what I say?” cried Gwyn.Still no reply; and, feeling that he might safely leave him, Gwyn hesitated for a moment or two as to whether he should go up or down.The latter seemed to be the quicker way, and, after descending a step or two, he threw arms and legs round the sides of the ladder, and let himself slide to the platform.Here he stood for a moment to look up and see Joe hanging as he had left him. Then, stooping down, he entered the adit, out of which the clanging sound of the huge pump went on volleying, while the water kept up its hissing and rushing sound.“Hardock!” he shouted, with his hands to his lips, and the cry reverberated in the narrow passage; but, though he shouted again and again, his voice did not penetrate, for the sound of the pumping and rushing of water, and the boy had to make his way right to where Hardock was anxiously watching the working of the machinery; and as Gwyn reached him, he was once more holding his lanthorn down to see how much the water had fallen.The man gave a violent start as a hand was laid upon his shoulder.“Come back!” shouted Hardock, to make himself heard, and he gazed wonderingly at the boy, whose face was ghastly. “Here, don’t you go and say young Master Joe has fallen.”Gwyn placed his lips to the foreman’s ear.“Can’t fall yet. Send word—ropes—top of ladder at once. Danger.”Hardock waited to hear no more, but dragged at the wire which formed the rough temporary signal to the engine-house, and the great beam of the pump stopped its work at once, when the silence was profound, save for a murmur high up over them at the mouth of the shaft.“What is it there?” came in a familiar voice, which sounded dull and strange as it was echoed from the dripping walls.“Help!” shouted Gwyn. “Long ropes to the head of the outside ladders.”“Right!” came back.“What’s wrong?” came down then in another voice.“Joe Jollivet—danger,” shouted Gwyn, stepping back to reply. “Now, come on!” he cried to Hardock; and he led the way along the adit from which, short as had been the time since the pump ceased working, the water had run off.No more was said as they hurried along as fast as the sloping position necessary allowed; and on stepping out on to the platform, Gwyn looked up in fear and trembling, lest the silken cord should have given way, and fully anticipating that the ladder would be vacant.Hardock uttered a groan, but Gwyn had already begun to climb.“What are you going to do, lad?” shouted the man, excitedly.“Go up and hold him on.”“No, no; I’m stronger than you.” But Gwyn was already making his way up as fast as he could, and Hardock, after a momentary hesitation, followed.Before they were half way, voices at the top were heard. “Hold tight!” shouted the Colonel, in his fierce military fashion. “Rope!”Then an order was heard, and a great coil of rope was thrown out, so that it might fall clear of the climbers, whizzed away from the rock with the rings opening out, and directly after, was hanging beside the ladder right to the platform.There was a clever brain at work on the top of the cliff, for, as Gwyn climbed the ladder, the rope was hauled in so as to keep the end close to his hands; and, seeing this, the boy uttered a sigh of relief, and climbed on, feeling that there was hope of saving his comrade now.“Shall I send someone down?” shouted the Colonel, who was evidently in command at the top.“No. We’ll do it,” cried Gwyn, breathlessly. “All right, Joe. We’re here.”There was no response from above him, and at every step Gwyn felt as if his legs were turning to lead, and a nightmare-like sensation came over him of being obliged to keep on always clambering a tremendous ladder without ever reaching to where Joe was bound.And all this in the very brief space of time before he reached to where he had tied the insensible lad.Gwyn uttered a sigh like a groan as he touched Joe’s feet. Then, without hesitating, he went higher, till he was on a level, with his feet resting on the same spell, fully expecting moment by moment, as he ascended, that the silk would give way and Joe’s fall dash them both down. And, as at last he thrust his arms through the ladder on either side of the boy’s neck and then spread them out, so as to secure them both tightly pressed against the spells, his head began to swim, and he felt that he could do no more.His position saved him, for in those moments he could not have clung there by his hands, his helplessness was too great.But this was all momentary, and he was recalled to himself by the voice of Hardock.“I say, lad, hope this ladder’s strong enough for all three. Now, then; what’s next? Will you tie the rope round him and cast him free?”Gwyn made no reply. His lips parted, and he strove to speak, but not a word would come.“D’yer hear?” said Hardock. “I say, will you make the rope fast round him?”“Below there!” came from above. “Make the rope fast round Joe’s chest—tight knots, mind, and send him up first. Be smart!”“All right, sir,” shouted back Hardock, as he took hold of the rope swinging close to his hand. “Now, then, Master Gwyn, don’t stand there such a gashly while thinking about it. Lay hold and knot it round him. They’ll soon draw him away from under you.”Gwyn uttered an inarticulate sound, but only wedged his arms out more firmly.“Ready?” came from above in the Colonel’s voice.“No, nothing like,” roared Hardock. “Hold hard. Now, my lad, look alive. Don’t think about it, but get hold of the rope, and draw it round his chest. Mind and not tie him to the ladder. Steady, for it’s all of a quiver now.”Still Gwyn made no sign.“Hi! What’s come to you?” growled Hardock.“Are you asleep, below there?” shouted the Colonel. “Hold fast, and I’ll send someone down.”“Nay, nay!” yelled Hardock, “the ladder won’t bear another. I’ll get it done directly. Now, Master Gwyn, pull yourself together, and make this rope fast. D’yer hear?”“Yes,” gasped the boy at last. “Wait a minute and I’ll try.”“Wait a minute and you’ll try,” growled the man. “We shall all be down directly. My word! What is the use o’ boys. Hi! hold fast and I’ll try and get up above you and tie the rope myself.”“No, no!” cried Gwyn, frantically. “You can’t climb over us.”“But I must, lad, I aren’t going to get round inside and try it that way. I aren’t a boy now.”“No, don’t try that,” panted Gwyn, breathlessly. “You’d pull us off. I’m coming round again. I’ll try soon, but I don’t seem to have any breath.”“Hi! below there! what are you about?” shouted the Colonel. “Make that rope fast.”“Yes, sir; yes, sir; directly,” yelled Hardock. “You, must wait.”“Make it fast round Jollivet,” shouted the Colonel.“All right, sir. Now, Master Gwyn, you hear what your guv’nor says?”“Yes, I hear, Sam,” panted the lad; “and I’m trying to do it. I’ll begin as soon as ever I can, but I feel that if I let go, Joe would come down on you. He has no strength left in him, and—and I’m not much better.”“And you’ll let go, too,” growled the man to himself, “and if you do, it’s all over with me.” Then aloud: “Hold tight, my lad; I’m coming up.”
Too much horrified for the moment even to speak, Gwyn grasped the sides of the ladder with spasmodic strength; his eyes dilated, his jaw dropped, and he clung there completely paralysed. Then his mental balance came back as suddenly as he had lost it, and feeling once more the strong, healthy lad he was, it came to him like a flash that it was impossible that Joe Jollivet, his companion in hundreds of rock-climbing expeditions—where they had successfully made their way along places which would have given onlookers what is known as “the creeps,”—could be in the danger he described, and with a merry laugh, he cried,—
“Get out! Go on, you old humbug, or I’ll get a pin out of my waistcoat and give you the spur.”
There was no response.
“Do you hear, old Jolly-wet? I say, you know, this isn’t the sort of place for playing larks. Wait till we’re up, and I’ll give you such a warming!”
Then the chill of horror came back, for Joe said in a whisper, whose tones swept away all possibility of his playing tricks,—
“I’m not larking. I can’t stir.”
“I tell you you are larking,” cried Gwyn, fiercely. “Such nonsense! Go on up, or I’ll drive a pin into you right up to the head.”
The cold chill increased now, and Gwyn shuddered, for Joe said faintly,—
“Do, please; it might give me strength.”
The vain hope that it might be all a trick was gone, and Gwyn was face to face with the horror of their position. He too looked down, and there was the platform, with the water splashing and glittering in the sunshine as it struck upon the rock; and he knew that no help could come from that direction, for Hardock was at the pump in the shaft. He looked up to the edge of the cliff, but no one was there, for the people were all gathered about the top of the mine, and were not likely to come and look over and see their position. If help was to come to the boy above him, that help must come from where he stood; and, with the recollection of his own peril when he was being hauled up by the rope, forcing itself upon him, he began to act with a feeling of desperation which was ready to rob him of such nerve as he possessed.
A clear and prompt action was necessary, as he knew only too well, and, setting his teeth hard together, he went on up without a word, step by step, as he leaned back to the full stretch of his arms, and reached to where he could just force his feet, one on either side of his companion’s, the spell of the ladder just affording sufficient width, and then pressing Joe close against the rounds with his heavily-throbbing breast, he held on in silence for a few moments, trying to speak, but no words would come.
Meanwhile, Joe remained silent and rigid, as if half insensible; and Gwyn’s brain was active, though his tongue was silent, battling as he was with the question what to do.
“Oh, if those gulls would only keep away!” he groaned to himself, for at least a dozen came softly swooping about them, and one so close that the boy felt the waft of the air set in motion by its wings.
Then the throbbing and fluttering at his heart grew less painful, and the power to speak returned.
With a strong endeavour to be calm and easy, he forced himself to treat the position jauntily.
“There you are, old chap,” he cried; “friend in need’s a friend indeed. I could hold you on like that for a month—five minutes,” he added to himself. Then aloud once more. “Feel better?”
There was no reply.
“Do you hear, stupid—feel better?”
A low sigh—almost a groan—was the only answer, and Gwyn’s teeth grated together.
“Here, you, Joe,” he said firmly. “I know you can hear what I say, so listen. You don’t want for us both to go down, I know, so you’ve got to throw off the horrible feeling that’s come over you, and do what I say. I’m going to hold you up like this for five minutes to get your wind, and then you’ve got to start and go up round by round. You can’t fall because I shall follow you, keeping like this, and holding you on till you’re better. You can hear all that, you know.”
Joe bent his head, and a peculiar quivering, catching sigh escaped his lips.
“It’s all nonsense; you want to give up over climbing a ladder such as we could run up. ’Tisn’t like being on the rocks with nothing to hold on by, now, is it? Let’s see; we’re half of the way up, and we can soon do it, so say when you feel ready, and then up you go!”
But after a guess at the space of time named, Joe showed no inclination to say he was ready, and stood there, pressed against the ladder, breathing very feebly, and Gwyn began to be attacked once more by the chill of dread.
He fought it back in his desperation, and in a tone which surprised himself, he cried,—
“Now, then! Time’s up! Go on!”
To his intense delight, his energy seemed to be communicated to his companion; and as he hung back a little, Joe reached with one hand, got a fresh hold there with the other, and, raising his right foot, drew himself slowly and cautiously up, to stand on the next spell.
“Cheerily ho!” sang out Gwyn, as he followed. “I knew, I knew you could do it. Now then! Don’t stop to get cold. Up you go before I get out that pin.”
Joe slowly and laboriously began again, and reached the next step, but Gwyn felt no increase of hope, for he could tell how feeble and nerveless the boy was. But he went on talking lightly, as he followed and let the poor fellow feel the support of his breast.
“That’s your sort. Nine inches higher. Two nine inches more—a foot and a half. But, I say, no games; don’t start off with a run and leave me behind. You’d better let me go with you, in case your foot gives—gives way again.”
That repetition of the word gives was caused by a peculiar catching of Gwyn’s breath.
“I say,” he continued, as they paused, “this is ever so much better than going up those wet ladders in the shaft. I shall never like that way. Don’t you remember looking down the shaft of that mine, where the hot, steamy mist came up, and the rounds of the ladder were all slippery with the grease that dropped from the men’s candles stuck in their caps? I do. I said it would be like going down ladders of ice, and that you’d never catch me on them. Our way won’t be hot and steamy like that was, because there’ll always be a draught of fresh sea air running up from the adit. Now then, up you go again! I begin to want my dinner.”
Joe did not stir, and Gwyn’s face turned ghastly, while his mouth opened ready for the utterance of a wild cry for help.
But the cry did not escape, for Gwyn’s teeth closed with a snap. He felt that it would result in adding to his companion’s despair.
He was once more master of himself.
“Now then!” he cried; “I don’t want to use that pin. Go on, old lazybones.”
The energy was transferred again, and Joe slowly struggled up another step, closely followed by Gwyn, and then remained motionless and silent.
“You stop and let yourself get cold again,” cried Gwyn, resolutely now. “Begin once more, and don’t stop. You needn’t mind, old chap. I’ve got you as tight as tight. Now then, can’t you feel how safe you are? Off with you! I shall always be ready to give you a nip and hold you on. Now then, off!”
But there was no response.
“Do you hear! This isn’t the place to go to sleep, Joe! Wake up! Go on! Never mind your feet being numb. Go on pulling yourself up with your hands. I’ll give you a shove to help.”
No reply; no movement; and but for the spasmodic way in which the boy clung with his hands, as if involuntarily, like a bird or a bat clings in its sleep, he might have been pronounced perfectly helpless.
“Now, once more, are you going to begin?” cried Gwyn, shouting fiercely. “Do you hear?”
Still no reply, and in spite of appeal, threat, and at last a blow delivered heavily upon his shoulder, Joe did not stir, and Gwyn felt that their case was desperate indeed. Each time he had forced his companion to make an effort it was as if the result was due to the energy he had communicated from his own body; but now he felt in his despair as if a reverse action were taking place, and his companion’s want of nerve and inertia were being communicated to him; for the chilly feeling of despair was on the increase, and he knew now that poor Joe was beyond helping himself.
“What can I do?” he thought, as he once more forced himself to the point of thinking and acting. To get his companion up by his own force was impossible. Even if he could have carried the weight up the ladder, it would have been impossible to get a good hold and retain it, and he already felt himself growing weak from horror.
What to do?
It would have been easy enough to climb over his companion and save his own life; but how could he ever look Major Jollivet or his father in the eyes again? The momentary thought was dismissed on the instant as being cowardly and unworthy of an English lad. But what to do?
If he could have left him for a few minutes, he could have either gone up or gone down, and shouted for help; but he knew perfectly well that the moment he left the boy to himself, he would fall headlong.
“What shall I do? What shall I do?” he groaned aloud, and a querulous cry from one of the gulls still floating around them came as if in reply.
“Oh, if I only had a gun,” he cried angrily. “Get out, you beasts! Who’s going to fall!”
Then he uttered a cry for help, and another, and another; but the shouts sounded feeble, and were lost in space, while more and more it was forced upon him that Joe was now insensible from fear and despair, his nerve completely gone.
What could he do? There seemed to be nothing but to hold on till Joe fell, and then for his father’s sake, he must try and save himself.
“Oh, if I only had a piece of rope,” he muttered; but he had not so much as a piece of string. There was his silk neckerchief; that was something, and Joe was wearing one, too, exactly like it; for the boys had a habit of dressing the same.
It was something to do—something to occupy his thoughts for a few moments, and, setting one hand free, he passed it round the side of the ladder, leaned toward it, as he forced it toward his neck; his fingers seized the knot—a sailor’s slip-knot—and the next minute the handkerchief was loose in his hands.
A few more long moments, and he had taken his companion’s from his neck. Then came the knotting together, a task which needed the service of both hands, and for a time he hesitated about setting the second free.
Free he could not make it, but by clinging round the sides of the ladder with both arms, he brought his hands together, and with the skill taught him by the Cornish fishermen, he soon, without the help of his eyes, had the two handkerchiefs securely joined in a knot that would not slip, and was now possessed with a twisted silken cord about five feet long.
But how slight! Still it was of silk, and it was his only chance unless help came; and of that there seemed to be not the slightest hope.
He twisted the silk round and round in his hands for some seconds after the fashion that he and Joe had observed when making a snood for their fishing lines, and then passing one end round the spell that was on a level with Joe’s throat, he drew till both ends were of a length, and then tied the silken cord tightly to the piece of stout, strong oak, letting the ends hang down.
Joe’s hands were grasping the sides of the ladder—how feebly Gwyn did not know till he tried to move the left, when it gave way at once, and would have fallen to his side but for his own strong grasp. Holding it firmly, he passed it round the left side of the ladder, placing it along the spell, and then passing one of the silken ends round the wrist, he drew it tight to the spell and kept it there, while he loosened the boy’s right-hand, passed that round the other side, so that wrist rested upon wrist, and the next minute the handkerchief was slipped round it, and drawn tightly, binding both together.
They were safely held so long as he kept up a tension upon the end of the silk; and this with great effort he was able to do with his left hand, while, working in the opposite way, he passed the second end round the two wrists once, dragged it as hard as he could, and then tied the first portion of a simple knot. Then he dragged again and again, bringing his teeth to bear in holding the shorter end of the handkerchief, while he tugged and tugged till the silk cut into the boy’s flesh, and his wrists were dragged firmly down upon the spell. There the second portion of the knot was tied; and, feeling that Joe could not slip, he bound the longer end round again twice, brought the first end to meet it, and once again tied as hard as he could.
Breathless with the exertion of holding on by his crooked arms while he worked, and with the perspiration streaming down his face, he stood there panting for a few moments, holding on tightly, and peering through the spells to make sure that his knots were secure, and the silken cord sufficiently tight to stay Joe’s wrists from being dragged through. Then he tried the fastening again, satisfying himself that Joe was as safe as hands could make him, and that his arms could not possibly be dragged away from the spell to which they were tied, even if his feet slipped from the round below.
Satisfied at this, Gwyn’s heart gave a throb of satisfaction.
“You can’t fall, Joe,” he said. “I don’t want to leave you, but I must go for help.”
There was no reply.
“Can you hear what I say?” cried Gwyn.
Still no reply; and, feeling that he might safely leave him, Gwyn hesitated for a moment or two as to whether he should go up or down.
The latter seemed to be the quicker way, and, after descending a step or two, he threw arms and legs round the sides of the ladder, and let himself slide to the platform.
Here he stood for a moment to look up and see Joe hanging as he had left him. Then, stooping down, he entered the adit, out of which the clanging sound of the huge pump went on volleying, while the water kept up its hissing and rushing sound.
“Hardock!” he shouted, with his hands to his lips, and the cry reverberated in the narrow passage; but, though he shouted again and again, his voice did not penetrate, for the sound of the pumping and rushing of water, and the boy had to make his way right to where Hardock was anxiously watching the working of the machinery; and as Gwyn reached him, he was once more holding his lanthorn down to see how much the water had fallen.
The man gave a violent start as a hand was laid upon his shoulder.
“Come back!” shouted Hardock, to make himself heard, and he gazed wonderingly at the boy, whose face was ghastly. “Here, don’t you go and say young Master Joe has fallen.”
Gwyn placed his lips to the foreman’s ear.
“Can’t fall yet. Send word—ropes—top of ladder at once. Danger.”
Hardock waited to hear no more, but dragged at the wire which formed the rough temporary signal to the engine-house, and the great beam of the pump stopped its work at once, when the silence was profound, save for a murmur high up over them at the mouth of the shaft.
“What is it there?” came in a familiar voice, which sounded dull and strange as it was echoed from the dripping walls.
“Help!” shouted Gwyn. “Long ropes to the head of the outside ladders.”
“Right!” came back.
“What’s wrong?” came down then in another voice.
“Joe Jollivet—danger,” shouted Gwyn, stepping back to reply. “Now, come on!” he cried to Hardock; and he led the way along the adit from which, short as had been the time since the pump ceased working, the water had run off.
No more was said as they hurried along as fast as the sloping position necessary allowed; and on stepping out on to the platform, Gwyn looked up in fear and trembling, lest the silken cord should have given way, and fully anticipating that the ladder would be vacant.
Hardock uttered a groan, but Gwyn had already begun to climb.
“What are you going to do, lad?” shouted the man, excitedly.
“Go up and hold him on.”
“No, no; I’m stronger than you.” But Gwyn was already making his way up as fast as he could, and Hardock, after a momentary hesitation, followed.
Before they were half way, voices at the top were heard. “Hold tight!” shouted the Colonel, in his fierce military fashion. “Rope!”
Then an order was heard, and a great coil of rope was thrown out, so that it might fall clear of the climbers, whizzed away from the rock with the rings opening out, and directly after, was hanging beside the ladder right to the platform.
There was a clever brain at work on the top of the cliff, for, as Gwyn climbed the ladder, the rope was hauled in so as to keep the end close to his hands; and, seeing this, the boy uttered a sigh of relief, and climbed on, feeling that there was hope of saving his comrade now.
“Shall I send someone down?” shouted the Colonel, who was evidently in command at the top.
“No. We’ll do it,” cried Gwyn, breathlessly. “All right, Joe. We’re here.”
There was no response from above him, and at every step Gwyn felt as if his legs were turning to lead, and a nightmare-like sensation came over him of being obliged to keep on always clambering a tremendous ladder without ever reaching to where Joe was bound.
And all this in the very brief space of time before he reached to where he had tied the insensible lad.
Gwyn uttered a sigh like a groan as he touched Joe’s feet. Then, without hesitating, he went higher, till he was on a level, with his feet resting on the same spell, fully expecting moment by moment, as he ascended, that the silk would give way and Joe’s fall dash them both down. And, as at last he thrust his arms through the ladder on either side of the boy’s neck and then spread them out, so as to secure them both tightly pressed against the spells, his head began to swim, and he felt that he could do no more.
His position saved him, for in those moments he could not have clung there by his hands, his helplessness was too great.
But this was all momentary, and he was recalled to himself by the voice of Hardock.
“I say, lad, hope this ladder’s strong enough for all three. Now, then; what’s next? Will you tie the rope round him and cast him free?”
Gwyn made no reply. His lips parted, and he strove to speak, but not a word would come.
“D’yer hear?” said Hardock. “I say, will you make the rope fast round him?”
“Below there!” came from above. “Make the rope fast round Joe’s chest—tight knots, mind, and send him up first. Be smart!”
“All right, sir,” shouted back Hardock, as he took hold of the rope swinging close to his hand. “Now, then, Master Gwyn, don’t stand there such a gashly while thinking about it. Lay hold and knot it round him. They’ll soon draw him away from under you.”
Gwyn uttered an inarticulate sound, but only wedged his arms out more firmly.
“Ready?” came from above in the Colonel’s voice.
“No, nothing like,” roared Hardock. “Hold hard. Now, my lad, look alive. Don’t think about it, but get hold of the rope, and draw it round his chest. Mind and not tie him to the ladder. Steady, for it’s all of a quiver now.”
Still Gwyn made no sign.
“Hi! What’s come to you?” growled Hardock.
“Are you asleep, below there?” shouted the Colonel. “Hold fast, and I’ll send someone down.”
“Nay, nay!” yelled Hardock, “the ladder won’t bear another. I’ll get it done directly. Now, Master Gwyn, pull yourself together, and make this rope fast. D’yer hear?”
“Yes,” gasped the boy at last. “Wait a minute and I’ll try.”
“Wait a minute and you’ll try,” growled the man. “We shall all be down directly. My word! What is the use o’ boys. Hi! hold fast and I’ll try and get up above you and tie the rope myself.”
“No, no!” cried Gwyn, frantically. “You can’t climb over us.”
“But I must, lad, I aren’t going to get round inside and try it that way. I aren’t a boy now.”
“No, don’t try that,” panted Gwyn, breathlessly. “You’d pull us off. I’m coming round again. I’ll try soon, but I don’t seem to have any breath.”
“Hi! below there! what are you about?” shouted the Colonel. “Make that rope fast.”
“Yes, sir; yes, sir; directly,” yelled Hardock. “You, must wait.”
“Make it fast round Jollivet,” shouted the Colonel.
“All right, sir. Now, Master Gwyn, you hear what your guv’nor says?”
“Yes, I hear, Sam,” panted the lad; “and I’m trying to do it. I’ll begin as soon as ever I can, but I feel that if I let go, Joe would come down on you. He has no strength left in him, and—and I’m not much better.”
“And you’ll let go, too,” growled the man to himself, “and if you do, it’s all over with me.” Then aloud: “Hold tight, my lad; I’m coming up.”
Chapter Eighteen.An Ignominious Ascent.“Am I to send someone down?” cried the Colonel, angrily.“No, father,” shouted Gwyn, his father’s voice seeming to give him new force. “The ladder won’t bear four.”“Then make fast that knot, sir. Quick, at once!”“Yes, father,” said the boy, as a thrill of energy ran through him, and he felt as if he could once more do something toward relieving himself from the strange feeling of inertia which had fettered every sense.“You get up higher,” growled Hardock, “and hold on, my lad.”“No. Keep where you are,” cried Gwyn, whose voice now sounded firm. “If I leave him, he’ll go.”“Nay, you go on; I’ll take care o’ that,” said Hardock. “Up with you!”“Keep down, I say,” cried Gwyn, fiercely.“Are you ready?” shouted the Colonel.“In another minute, father,” cried Gwyn; and, drawing out one arm, he made a snatch at the rope, drew it from Hardock’s hand, and then hauled it higher by using his teeth as well as his right-hand.“Better let me come, my lad.”“No,” said Gwyn, shortly.“Ready?” came from above.“Not quite, father. I’ll say when.”That last demand gave the final fillip to the lad’s nerves, and, taking tightly hold of the spell above Joe’s head with both hands, he raised his own legs till they came level with Joe’s loins, and bestriding him as if on horseback, he crooked his legs and ankles round the sides of the ladder, held on by forcing his toes round a spell, and then, with his hands free, he hung back, and quickly knotted the rope about Joe’s chest.“Steady, my lad! Be ready to take hold,” said Hardock, whose face was now streaming with perspiration, and his hands wet, as he looked up at the perilous position of Gwyn. Then, obeying a sudden thought, he loosened one hand, snatched off his cap, threw it down, and took three steps up the ladder, raising himself so that he could force his head beneath the lad, with the result that he gave him plenty of support, relieving him of a great deal of the strain on his muscles, for during the next minute he was, as it were, seated upon the mining captain’s head.“That’s better,” panted Gwyn.“Make a good knot, lad,” growled Hardock; and all was perfectly silent at the edge of the cliff above them, for every movement was being attentively watched.“Hah!” sighed Gwyn, as he tightened the last knot.“Quite safe?” asked Hardock.“Yes, quite.”“What next?”“Get down!”“Are you right?”“Yes.”Hardock yielded very slowly for a while, and then stopped and raised himself again.“What yer doing?”“Getting out my knife. He’s lashed to the spell.”“Oh!”Gwyn’s hands were dripping wet, and, as he tried to force his right into his pocket, he had a hard struggle, for it stuck to the lining, the strain of his position helping to resist its passage. But at last he forced it in, to find to his horror that the knife was not in that pocket, and he had a terrible job to drag out his hand.“Can’t get at my knife,” he panted.“All right; have mine,” was growled, and Hardock took out and opened his own. “Here you are.”The boy blindly lowered his hand for the knife, and not a whisper was heard in those critical moments. For every movement was scanned, and the Colonel was lying on hischest, straining his eyes, as he waited to give the order to haul up.Gwyn gripped the knife, a sharp-pointed Spanish blade, and raised it, bending forward now, so as to look over Joe’s shoulder to see where to cut.His intention was to thrust the point in between the silken cord and the boy’s wrists; but he found it impossible without having both hands, and there was nothing for it but to saw right down.This he began to do just beneath the knots, hoping that the last part would yield before the knife could touch the boy’s skin.“Take care, my lad,” growled Hardock.“Yes; I’m trying not to cut him,” panted Gwyn.“Nay, I mean when you’re through. Hold tight yourself.”“Yes, I’ll try.”“Tell ’em to make the rope quite taut.”“Haul and hold fast,” cried Gwyn.“Right!” came promptly from above, and a heavy strain was felt.“I—tied it—so tight,” muttered Gwyn, as he sawed away.“Ay, and his weight. Steady, my lad, steady!”“Hah! that’s through,” cried Gwyn. “Be ready to haul.”“Right!” came from above.“Shall I get lower?” said Hardock.“Yes!—No! The other knot holds him,” panted Gwyn; and he had to begin cutting again; but this time he found that by laying the blade of the knife flat against the spell, he could force the point beneath the handkerchief. “Now, steady, Sam,” he said, “I’m going to have one big cut, and then hold on.”“All right, my lad. I’ll support you all I can, but you must hold tight.”The strain on the rope was firm and steady, as Gwyn drew a deep breath, forced the knife point steadily through beneath the silk, raised the edge of the blade a little more and a little more, and then, in an agony of despair, just as he was about to give one bold thrust, he let go, and snatched at the ladder side.For all at once there was a sharp, scraping sound. The silk, which had been strained like a fiddle-string over a bridge, parted on the edge of the keen knife, and, as Joe’s arms dropped quite nerveless and inert, down went the knife, and Gwyn felt that he was going after.For in those brief moments he seemed to be falling fast.But he was not moving; it was Joe being drawn upward, and the next minute Gwyn was clinging with his breast now on the spells of the ladder, against which he was being pressed, Hardock, with a rapid movement, having forced himself up so as to occupy the same position as Gwyn had so lately held with respect to Joe.“He’s all right—if your knots hold,” said Hardock, softly. “How is it with you, my lad?”“Out of breath, that’s all. I can’t look, though, now, Sam. Watch and see if he goes up all right.”“No need, my lad,” said the man, bitterly. “We should soon know if he came down. Come, hold up your chin, and show your pluck. There’s nothing to mind now. Why, you’re all of a tremble.”“Yes; it isn’t that I feel frightened now,” said the boy; “but all the muscles in my legs and arms are as if they were trembling and jerking.”“’Nough to make ’em,” growled Hardock. “Never mind, the rope’ll soon be down again—yes, they’ve got him, and they’re letting another down. I’ll soon have you fast and send you up.”“No, you won’t, Sam,” said Gwyn, who was rapidly recovering his balance. “I haven’t forgotten the last knot you made round me.”“Well, well! I do call that mean,” growled the man. “You comes and fetches me to help, and I has to chuck my cap away; then you chucks my best knife down after it; and now you chucks that there in my teeth. I do call it a gashly shame.”“Never mind. I don’t want the rope at all,” said Gwyn. “There, slacken your hold. I’m going to climb up.”“Nay; better have the rope, my lad.”“I don’t want the rope. I’m tired and hot, but I can climb up.”“Gwyn!” came at that moment.“Yes, father.”“Just sarves you right,” growled Hardock. “Take some of the gashly conceit out of you, my lad. Now, then, I’m going to tie you up.”“No; I shall do it myself,” said Gwyn, making a snatch at the line lowered down. “Now, get out of my way.”“Oh, very well; but don’t blame me if you fall.”“No fear, Sam.”“Nay, there’s no fear, my lad; but I hope we’re not going to have no more o’ this sort o’ thing. There’s the pumping stopped and everything out o’ gear, but it’s always the way when there’s boys about. I never could understand what use they were, on’y to get in mischief and upset the work. We sha’n’t get much tin out o’ Ydoll mine if you two’s going to hang about, I know that much. Now, then, the rope aren’t safe.”“Yes, it is,” said Gwyn, who had made a loop and passed it over his head and arms. “I’m not going to swing. I’m going to walk up.”“Ready, my lad?” cried the Colonel.“Yes, father; but I’ll climb up, please. You can have the rope hauled on as I come.”“Come on, then,” cried the Colonel.“Yes, father, coming.”“Hor, hor!” laughed Hardock, derisively, as he drew back to the full extent of his arms so as to set Gwyn free. “Up you goes, my lad, led just like a puppy-dog at the end of a string. Mind you don’t fall.”“If it wasn’t so dangerous for you, I’d kick you, Sam,” said Gwyn.“Kick away, then, my lad; ’taint the first time I’ve been on a ladder by a few thousand times. My hands and feet grows to a ladder, like, and holds on. You won’t knock me off. But I say!”“What is it?” said Gwyn, who was steadily ascending, with the rope held fairly taut from above.“You’ll pay for a new hat for me?”“Oh, yes, of course.”“And another knife, better than the one you pitched overboard?”“Oh, we can come round in a boat and find that when the tide’s down.”“Rocks are never bare when the tide’s down here, my lad. There’s always six fathom o’ water close below here; so you wouldn’t ha’ been broken up if you’d falled; but you might ha’ been drownded. That were a five-shilling knife.”“All right, Sam, I’ll buy you another,” shouted Gwyn, who was some distance up now.“Thank ye. Before you go, though,” said Sam Hardock.“Go? Go where?”“Off to school, my lad; I’m going to ’tishion your two fathers to send you both right away, for I can’t have you playing no more of your pranks in my mine, and so I tell you.”Gwyn made no reply, but he went steadily up, while, on casting a glance below, he saw that the mine captain was making his way as steadily down; but he thought a good deal, and a great deal more afterwards, for, on reaching the top of the cliff, there lay Joe on the short grass, looking ghastly pale, and his father, with Joe’s, ready to seize him by the arm and draw him into safety.“There must be no more of this,” said the Colonel, sternly. “You two boys are not fit to be trusted in these dangerous places. Now, go home at once.”The little crowd attracted by the accident had begun to cheer wildly, but the congratulatory sound did Gwyn no good. He did not feel a bit like the hero of an adventure, one who had done brave deeds, but a very ordinary schoolboy sort of personage, who was being corrected for a fault, and he felt very miserable as he turned to Joe.“Are you coming home, too?”“Yes. I suppose so,” said Joe, dismally.There was another cheer, and the boys felt as if they could not face the crowd, till an angry flush came upon Gwyn’s cheeks; for there stood, right in the front, the big, swarthy fellow who had been caught plumbing the depth of the mine, and he was grinning widely at them both.“Ugh!” thought Gwyn, “how I should like to punch that chap’s head. Here, Joe, let’s tell our fathers that this fellow is hanging about here.”“No,” said Joe, dismally. “I feel as if I didn’t mind about anything now. My father looked at me as if I’d been doing it all on purpose to annoy him. Let’s go home.”
“Am I to send someone down?” cried the Colonel, angrily.
“No, father,” shouted Gwyn, his father’s voice seeming to give him new force. “The ladder won’t bear four.”
“Then make fast that knot, sir. Quick, at once!”
“Yes, father,” said the boy, as a thrill of energy ran through him, and he felt as if he could once more do something toward relieving himself from the strange feeling of inertia which had fettered every sense.
“You get up higher,” growled Hardock, “and hold on, my lad.”
“No. Keep where you are,” cried Gwyn, whose voice now sounded firm. “If I leave him, he’ll go.”
“Nay, you go on; I’ll take care o’ that,” said Hardock. “Up with you!”
“Keep down, I say,” cried Gwyn, fiercely.
“Are you ready?” shouted the Colonel.
“In another minute, father,” cried Gwyn; and, drawing out one arm, he made a snatch at the rope, drew it from Hardock’s hand, and then hauled it higher by using his teeth as well as his right-hand.
“Better let me come, my lad.”
“No,” said Gwyn, shortly.
“Ready?” came from above.
“Not quite, father. I’ll say when.”
That last demand gave the final fillip to the lad’s nerves, and, taking tightly hold of the spell above Joe’s head with both hands, he raised his own legs till they came level with Joe’s loins, and bestriding him as if on horseback, he crooked his legs and ankles round the sides of the ladder, held on by forcing his toes round a spell, and then, with his hands free, he hung back, and quickly knotted the rope about Joe’s chest.
“Steady, my lad! Be ready to take hold,” said Hardock, whose face was now streaming with perspiration, and his hands wet, as he looked up at the perilous position of Gwyn. Then, obeying a sudden thought, he loosened one hand, snatched off his cap, threw it down, and took three steps up the ladder, raising himself so that he could force his head beneath the lad, with the result that he gave him plenty of support, relieving him of a great deal of the strain on his muscles, for during the next minute he was, as it were, seated upon the mining captain’s head.
“That’s better,” panted Gwyn.
“Make a good knot, lad,” growled Hardock; and all was perfectly silent at the edge of the cliff above them, for every movement was being attentively watched.
“Hah!” sighed Gwyn, as he tightened the last knot.
“Quite safe?” asked Hardock.
“Yes, quite.”
“What next?”
“Get down!”
“Are you right?”
“Yes.”
Hardock yielded very slowly for a while, and then stopped and raised himself again.
“What yer doing?”
“Getting out my knife. He’s lashed to the spell.”
“Oh!”
Gwyn’s hands were dripping wet, and, as he tried to force his right into his pocket, he had a hard struggle, for it stuck to the lining, the strain of his position helping to resist its passage. But at last he forced it in, to find to his horror that the knife was not in that pocket, and he had a terrible job to drag out his hand.
“Can’t get at my knife,” he panted.
“All right; have mine,” was growled, and Hardock took out and opened his own. “Here you are.”
The boy blindly lowered his hand for the knife, and not a whisper was heard in those critical moments. For every movement was scanned, and the Colonel was lying on hischest, straining his eyes, as he waited to give the order to haul up.
Gwyn gripped the knife, a sharp-pointed Spanish blade, and raised it, bending forward now, so as to look over Joe’s shoulder to see where to cut.
His intention was to thrust the point in between the silken cord and the boy’s wrists; but he found it impossible without having both hands, and there was nothing for it but to saw right down.
This he began to do just beneath the knots, hoping that the last part would yield before the knife could touch the boy’s skin.
“Take care, my lad,” growled Hardock.
“Yes; I’m trying not to cut him,” panted Gwyn.
“Nay, I mean when you’re through. Hold tight yourself.”
“Yes, I’ll try.”
“Tell ’em to make the rope quite taut.”
“Haul and hold fast,” cried Gwyn.
“Right!” came promptly from above, and a heavy strain was felt.
“I—tied it—so tight,” muttered Gwyn, as he sawed away.
“Ay, and his weight. Steady, my lad, steady!”
“Hah! that’s through,” cried Gwyn. “Be ready to haul.”
“Right!” came from above.
“Shall I get lower?” said Hardock.
“Yes!—No! The other knot holds him,” panted Gwyn; and he had to begin cutting again; but this time he found that by laying the blade of the knife flat against the spell, he could force the point beneath the handkerchief. “Now, steady, Sam,” he said, “I’m going to have one big cut, and then hold on.”
“All right, my lad. I’ll support you all I can, but you must hold tight.”
The strain on the rope was firm and steady, as Gwyn drew a deep breath, forced the knife point steadily through beneath the silk, raised the edge of the blade a little more and a little more, and then, in an agony of despair, just as he was about to give one bold thrust, he let go, and snatched at the ladder side.
For all at once there was a sharp, scraping sound. The silk, which had been strained like a fiddle-string over a bridge, parted on the edge of the keen knife, and, as Joe’s arms dropped quite nerveless and inert, down went the knife, and Gwyn felt that he was going after.
For in those brief moments he seemed to be falling fast.
But he was not moving; it was Joe being drawn upward, and the next minute Gwyn was clinging with his breast now on the spells of the ladder, against which he was being pressed, Hardock, with a rapid movement, having forced himself up so as to occupy the same position as Gwyn had so lately held with respect to Joe.
“He’s all right—if your knots hold,” said Hardock, softly. “How is it with you, my lad?”
“Out of breath, that’s all. I can’t look, though, now, Sam. Watch and see if he goes up all right.”
“No need, my lad,” said the man, bitterly. “We should soon know if he came down. Come, hold up your chin, and show your pluck. There’s nothing to mind now. Why, you’re all of a tremble.”
“Yes; it isn’t that I feel frightened now,” said the boy; “but all the muscles in my legs and arms are as if they were trembling and jerking.”
“’Nough to make ’em,” growled Hardock. “Never mind, the rope’ll soon be down again—yes, they’ve got him, and they’re letting another down. I’ll soon have you fast and send you up.”
“No, you won’t, Sam,” said Gwyn, who was rapidly recovering his balance. “I haven’t forgotten the last knot you made round me.”
“Well, well! I do call that mean,” growled the man. “You comes and fetches me to help, and I has to chuck my cap away; then you chucks my best knife down after it; and now you chucks that there in my teeth. I do call it a gashly shame.”
“Never mind. I don’t want the rope at all,” said Gwyn. “There, slacken your hold. I’m going to climb up.”
“Nay; better have the rope, my lad.”
“I don’t want the rope. I’m tired and hot, but I can climb up.”
“Gwyn!” came at that moment.
“Yes, father.”
“Just sarves you right,” growled Hardock. “Take some of the gashly conceit out of you, my lad. Now, then, I’m going to tie you up.”
“No; I shall do it myself,” said Gwyn, making a snatch at the line lowered down. “Now, get out of my way.”
“Oh, very well; but don’t blame me if you fall.”
“No fear, Sam.”
“Nay, there’s no fear, my lad; but I hope we’re not going to have no more o’ this sort o’ thing. There’s the pumping stopped and everything out o’ gear, but it’s always the way when there’s boys about. I never could understand what use they were, on’y to get in mischief and upset the work. We sha’n’t get much tin out o’ Ydoll mine if you two’s going to hang about, I know that much. Now, then, the rope aren’t safe.”
“Yes, it is,” said Gwyn, who had made a loop and passed it over his head and arms. “I’m not going to swing. I’m going to walk up.”
“Ready, my lad?” cried the Colonel.
“Yes, father; but I’ll climb up, please. You can have the rope hauled on as I come.”
“Come on, then,” cried the Colonel.
“Yes, father, coming.”
“Hor, hor!” laughed Hardock, derisively, as he drew back to the full extent of his arms so as to set Gwyn free. “Up you goes, my lad, led just like a puppy-dog at the end of a string. Mind you don’t fall.”
“If it wasn’t so dangerous for you, I’d kick you, Sam,” said Gwyn.
“Kick away, then, my lad; ’taint the first time I’ve been on a ladder by a few thousand times. My hands and feet grows to a ladder, like, and holds on. You won’t knock me off. But I say!”
“What is it?” said Gwyn, who was steadily ascending, with the rope held fairly taut from above.
“You’ll pay for a new hat for me?”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“And another knife, better than the one you pitched overboard?”
“Oh, we can come round in a boat and find that when the tide’s down.”
“Rocks are never bare when the tide’s down here, my lad. There’s always six fathom o’ water close below here; so you wouldn’t ha’ been broken up if you’d falled; but you might ha’ been drownded. That were a five-shilling knife.”
“All right, Sam, I’ll buy you another,” shouted Gwyn, who was some distance up now.
“Thank ye. Before you go, though,” said Sam Hardock.
“Go? Go where?”
“Off to school, my lad; I’m going to ’tishion your two fathers to send you both right away, for I can’t have you playing no more of your pranks in my mine, and so I tell you.”
Gwyn made no reply, but he went steadily up, while, on casting a glance below, he saw that the mine captain was making his way as steadily down; but he thought a good deal, and a great deal more afterwards, for, on reaching the top of the cliff, there lay Joe on the short grass, looking ghastly pale, and his father, with Joe’s, ready to seize him by the arm and draw him into safety.
“There must be no more of this,” said the Colonel, sternly. “You two boys are not fit to be trusted in these dangerous places. Now, go home at once.”
The little crowd attracted by the accident had begun to cheer wildly, but the congratulatory sound did Gwyn no good. He did not feel a bit like the hero of an adventure, one who had done brave deeds, but a very ordinary schoolboy sort of personage, who was being corrected for a fault, and he felt very miserable as he turned to Joe.
“Are you coming home, too?”
“Yes. I suppose so,” said Joe, dismally.
There was another cheer, and the boys felt as if they could not face the crowd, till an angry flush came upon Gwyn’s cheeks; for there stood, right in the front, the big, swarthy fellow who had been caught plumbing the depth of the mine, and he was grinning widely at them both.
“Ugh!” thought Gwyn, “how I should like to punch that chap’s head. Here, Joe, let’s tell our fathers that this fellow is hanging about here.”
“No,” said Joe, dismally. “I feel as if I didn’t mind about anything now. My father looked at me as if I’d been doing it all on purpose to annoy him. Let’s go home.”
Chapter Nineteen.A Brutal Threat.Gwyn did not see Joe for a whole week, and he did not go over to the mine, for the Colonel had called him into his room the next morning, and had a very long, serious talk with him, and this was the end of his lesson,—“Of course, I meant you to go and read for the army, Gwyn, my lad, but this mine has quite upset my plans, and I can’t say yet what I shall do about you. It will seem strange for one of our family to take to such a life, but a man can do his duty in the great fight of life as well whether he’s a mine owner or a soldier. He has his men to keep in hand, to win their confidence, and make them follow him, and to set them a good example, Gwyn. But I can’t say anything for certain. It’s all a speculation, and I never shut my eyes to the fact that it may turn out a failure. If it does, we can go back to the old plans.”“Yes, father,” said the boy, rather dolefully, for his father had stopped as if waiting for him to speak.“But if it turns out a successful, honest venture, you’ll have to go on with it, and be my right-hand man. You’ll have to learn to manage, therefore, better than ever I shall, for you’ll begin young. So we’ll take up the study of it a bit, Gwyn, and you shall thoroughly learn what is necessary in geology, and metallurgy and chemistry. If matters come to the worst, you won’t make any the worse officer for knowing such matters as these. It’s a fine thing, knowledge. Nobody can take that away from you, and the more you use it the richer you get. It never wastes.”“No, father,” said Gwyn, who began to feel an intense desire now to go on with his reading about the wars of Europe, and the various campaigns of the British army, while the military text-book, which it had been his father’s delight to examine him in, suddenly seemed to have grown anything but dry.“Begin reading up about the various minerals that accompany tin ore in quartz, for one thing, and we’ll begin upon that text-book, dealing with the various methods of smelting and reducing ores, especially those portions about lead ore, and extracting the silver that is found with it.”“Yes, father,” said Gwyn, quietly; and the boy set his teeth, wrinkled his brow, and looked hard, for Colonel Pendarve treated his son in a very military fashion. He was kindness and gentleness itself, but his laws were like those of the Medes and Persians done into plain English.But the whole week had passed, and Mrs Pendarve took him to task one morning.“Come, Gwyn,” she said, “I am quite sure your father does not wish you to mope over your books, and give up going out to your old amusements.”“Doesn’t he, mother?” said the boy, drearily.“Of course not. What has become of Joe Jollivet? He has not been near you.”“In the black books, too, I suppose,” said Gwyn, bitterly. “Major’s been giving it to him.”“Gwyn, I will not have you talk like that,” said his mother. “You boys both deserve being taken to task for your reckless folly. You forget entirely the agony you caused me when I heard of what had taken place.”“I didn’t want to cause you agony, mother,” pleaded the boy.“I know that, my dear, but you have been growing far too reckless of late. Now be sensible, and go on as if there had been no trouble between your father and you. I wish it. Try and grasp the spirit in which your father’s reproofs were given.”“All right, mother, I will,” said Gwyn; and his face brightened up once more.The consequence was that he went out into the yard, and unchained the dog, with very great difficulty, for the poor beast was nearly mad with excitement directly it realised the fact that it was going out with its master for a run; and as soon as they entered the lane, set off straight for the Major’s gates, stopping every now and then to look round, and to see if Gwyn was going there.But half-way up the hill Gwyn turned off on to the rough granite moorland, and Grip had to come back a hundred yards to the place where his master had turned off, and dashed after him.It didn’t matter to the dog, for there was some imaginary thing to hunt wherever they went; and as soon as he saw that he was on the right track, he began hunting most perseveringly.For Gwyn did not want to go to the Major’s. He felt that he would like to see Joe and have a good long talk with him, as well as compare notes; but if he had gone to the house, he would have had to see the Major, and that gentleman would doubtless have something to say that would not be pleasant to him—perhaps blame him for Joe getting into difficulties.No, he did not want to go to the Major’s.“Like having to take another dose,” he said to himself, and he went on toward the old circle of granite stones which had been set up some long time back, before men began to write the history of their deeds.It lay about a mile from the cove, high up on the windy common among the furze bushes, and was a capital place for a good think. For you could climb up on the top of the highest stone, look right out to sea, and count the great vessels going up and down channel, far away on the glittering waters—large liners which left behind them long, thin clouds of smoke; stately ships with all sail set; trim yachts; and the red-sailed fishing fleet returning from their cruise round the coast, where the best places for shooting their nets were to be found.It was quite a climb up to the old stones, which were not seen from that side till you were close upon them, for they stood in a saucer-like hollow in the highest part of the ridge, and beyond, there was one of the deep gullies with which that part of Cornwall was scored—lovely spots, along which short rivulets made their way from the high ground down to the sea.Grip knew well enough now where his master was making for, and dashed forward as if certain that that mysterious object which he was always hunting had hidden itself away among the stones, and soon after a tremendous barking was heard.“Rabbit,” muttered Gwyn; and for a few moments he felt disposed to begin running and join the dog in the chase. But he did not, for, in spite of being out there on the breezy upland, where all was bright and sunny, he felt dull and disheartened. Things were not as he could wish, for he had just begun to feel old enough to bear upon the rein when it was drawn tight, and to long to have the bit in his teeth and do what he liked. The Colonel had been pleasant enough that morning, but he had not invited him to go to the mine; and it felt like a want of trust in him.So Gwyn felt in no humour for sport of any kind; he did not care to look out at the ships, and speculate upon what port they were bound for; he picked up no stones to send spinning at the grey gulls; did not see that the gorse was wonderfully full of flower; and did not even smell the wild thyme as he crushed it beneath his feet. There were hundreds of tiny blue and copper butterflies flitting about, and a great hawk was havering overhead; but everything seemed as if his mind was out of taste and the objects he generally loved were flavourless.All he felt disposed to do was to turn himself into a young modern ascetic, prick his legs well in going through the furze, and then take a little bark off his shins in climbing twenty feet up on to the great monolith, and there sit and grump.“Bother the dog, what a row he’s making!” he muttered. “I wish I hadn’t brought him.”Then his lips parted to shout to Grip to be quiet, but he did not utter the words, for he stopped short just as he neared the first stone of the circle, on hearing the dog begin to bark furiously again, and a savage voice roar loudly,—“Get out, or I’ll crush your head with this stone!”
Gwyn did not see Joe for a whole week, and he did not go over to the mine, for the Colonel had called him into his room the next morning, and had a very long, serious talk with him, and this was the end of his lesson,—
“Of course, I meant you to go and read for the army, Gwyn, my lad, but this mine has quite upset my plans, and I can’t say yet what I shall do about you. It will seem strange for one of our family to take to such a life, but a man can do his duty in the great fight of life as well whether he’s a mine owner or a soldier. He has his men to keep in hand, to win their confidence, and make them follow him, and to set them a good example, Gwyn. But I can’t say anything for certain. It’s all a speculation, and I never shut my eyes to the fact that it may turn out a failure. If it does, we can go back to the old plans.”
“Yes, father,” said the boy, rather dolefully, for his father had stopped as if waiting for him to speak.
“But if it turns out a successful, honest venture, you’ll have to go on with it, and be my right-hand man. You’ll have to learn to manage, therefore, better than ever I shall, for you’ll begin young. So we’ll take up the study of it a bit, Gwyn, and you shall thoroughly learn what is necessary in geology, and metallurgy and chemistry. If matters come to the worst, you won’t make any the worse officer for knowing such matters as these. It’s a fine thing, knowledge. Nobody can take that away from you, and the more you use it the richer you get. It never wastes.”
“No, father,” said Gwyn, who began to feel an intense desire now to go on with his reading about the wars of Europe, and the various campaigns of the British army, while the military text-book, which it had been his father’s delight to examine him in, suddenly seemed to have grown anything but dry.
“Begin reading up about the various minerals that accompany tin ore in quartz, for one thing, and we’ll begin upon that text-book, dealing with the various methods of smelting and reducing ores, especially those portions about lead ore, and extracting the silver that is found with it.”
“Yes, father,” said Gwyn, quietly; and the boy set his teeth, wrinkled his brow, and looked hard, for Colonel Pendarve treated his son in a very military fashion. He was kindness and gentleness itself, but his laws were like those of the Medes and Persians done into plain English.
But the whole week had passed, and Mrs Pendarve took him to task one morning.
“Come, Gwyn,” she said, “I am quite sure your father does not wish you to mope over your books, and give up going out to your old amusements.”
“Doesn’t he, mother?” said the boy, drearily.
“Of course not. What has become of Joe Jollivet? He has not been near you.”
“In the black books, too, I suppose,” said Gwyn, bitterly. “Major’s been giving it to him.”
“Gwyn, I will not have you talk like that,” said his mother. “You boys both deserve being taken to task for your reckless folly. You forget entirely the agony you caused me when I heard of what had taken place.”
“I didn’t want to cause you agony, mother,” pleaded the boy.
“I know that, my dear, but you have been growing far too reckless of late. Now be sensible, and go on as if there had been no trouble between your father and you. I wish it. Try and grasp the spirit in which your father’s reproofs were given.”
“All right, mother, I will,” said Gwyn; and his face brightened up once more.
The consequence was that he went out into the yard, and unchained the dog, with very great difficulty, for the poor beast was nearly mad with excitement directly it realised the fact that it was going out with its master for a run; and as soon as they entered the lane, set off straight for the Major’s gates, stopping every now and then to look round, and to see if Gwyn was going there.
But half-way up the hill Gwyn turned off on to the rough granite moorland, and Grip had to come back a hundred yards to the place where his master had turned off, and dashed after him.
It didn’t matter to the dog, for there was some imaginary thing to hunt wherever they went; and as soon as he saw that he was on the right track, he began hunting most perseveringly.
For Gwyn did not want to go to the Major’s. He felt that he would like to see Joe and have a good long talk with him, as well as compare notes; but if he had gone to the house, he would have had to see the Major, and that gentleman would doubtless have something to say that would not be pleasant to him—perhaps blame him for Joe getting into difficulties.
No, he did not want to go to the Major’s.
“Like having to take another dose,” he said to himself, and he went on toward the old circle of granite stones which had been set up some long time back, before men began to write the history of their deeds.
It lay about a mile from the cove, high up on the windy common among the furze bushes, and was a capital place for a good think. For you could climb up on the top of the highest stone, look right out to sea, and count the great vessels going up and down channel, far away on the glittering waters—large liners which left behind them long, thin clouds of smoke; stately ships with all sail set; trim yachts; and the red-sailed fishing fleet returning from their cruise round the coast, where the best places for shooting their nets were to be found.
It was quite a climb up to the old stones, which were not seen from that side till you were close upon them, for they stood in a saucer-like hollow in the highest part of the ridge, and beyond, there was one of the deep gullies with which that part of Cornwall was scored—lovely spots, along which short rivulets made their way from the high ground down to the sea.
Grip knew well enough now where his master was making for, and dashed forward as if certain that that mysterious object which he was always hunting had hidden itself away among the stones, and soon after a tremendous barking was heard.
“Rabbit,” muttered Gwyn; and for a few moments he felt disposed to begin running and join the dog in the chase. But he did not, for, in spite of being out there on the breezy upland, where all was bright and sunny, he felt dull and disheartened. Things were not as he could wish, for he had just begun to feel old enough to bear upon the rein when it was drawn tight, and to long to have the bit in his teeth and do what he liked. The Colonel had been pleasant enough that morning, but he had not invited him to go to the mine; and it felt like a want of trust in him.
So Gwyn felt in no humour for sport of any kind; he did not care to look out at the ships, and speculate upon what port they were bound for; he picked up no stones to send spinning at the grey gulls; did not see that the gorse was wonderfully full of flower; and did not even smell the wild thyme as he crushed it beneath his feet. There were hundreds of tiny blue and copper butterflies flitting about, and a great hawk was havering overhead; but everything seemed as if his mind was out of taste and the objects he generally loved were flavourless.
All he felt disposed to do was to turn himself into a young modern ascetic, prick his legs well in going through the furze, and then take a little bark off his shins in climbing twenty feet up on to the great monolith, and there sit and grump.
“Bother the dog, what a row he’s making!” he muttered. “I wish I hadn’t brought him.”
Then his lips parted to shout to Grip to be quiet, but he did not utter the words, for he stopped short just as he neared the first stone of the circle, on hearing the dog begin to bark furiously again, and a savage voice roar loudly,—
“Get out, or I’ll crush your head with this stone!”