Deep Down, a Tale of the Cornish Mines by R. M. Ballantyne (readnow txt) 📖

That was a sad day in St. Just which followed the event related in the last chapter. Many a heart-broken wail was heard round the mouths of the shafts, as the remains of those who perished were brought to the surface, and conveyed to their former homes.

Saddest of all perhaps was the procession that marched slowly to the cottage of blind John Batten, and laid the two fair-haired lads before their stricken parents. Tears were wrung from the strongest men there when they beheld the agonised but tearless mother guide her husband’s hand to their faces that he might for the last time feel the loved ones whom, she said in the bitterness of her grief, “he should never see more.”

“Never see more, dear lass!” he replied with a sad smile, “how can thee say so? Shall we not behold their dear faces again when we see our blessed Lord face to face?”

Thus the Christian miner comforted himself and his sorrowing family.

It is right to add that such catastrophes are not of frequent occurrence in the mines. The danger of “holing to a house of water,” is so great and so well known that the operation is usually conducted with great care, and accident is well guarded against.

Nevertheless, an occasional act of carelessness will now and then result in a terrible disaster. A catastrophe, similar in all its chief features to that which has been related in the last chapter, happened in North Levant mine many years ago, and in the burying-ground of the Wesleyan Chapel of St. Just may be seen a tombstone, which bears record of the sad event as follows:—

Sacred to the memory of James, aged 20, and John, aged 15 years, sons of James and Nanny Thomas of Bollowall, in this Parish, who were drowned (with three others) by the holing to a house of water in North Levant Mine on the first of April 1867.

A “house” of much larger dimensions, and containing a much greater body of water than that which caused the latest destruction of life in North Levant mine, was cleared of water not long ago in Botallack. The agents knew of its existence, for, the whole region both above and below ground being measured off and planned, they could lay their finger on the exact spot where they knew that an old mine existed. They kept a large borer, six feet long, going constantly before them as they cut their way towards the point of danger. The result was that when the borer at last pierced through to the old mine, there were six feet of solid rock between them and the water. Through the small hole the water flowed, and thus the mine was slowly but safely drained. In the other case, the ground happened to be soft, and had been somewhat recklessly cut away.

Of course, there are occasions—proving the truth of the proverb that “accidents will happen in the best regulated families”—in which neither foresight nor precaution can prevent evil; but these are comparatively few. Sometimes the cupidity of a miner will lead him, for the sake of following a rich lode, to approach too near and too recklessly to danger, despite the vigilance of captains, and cause considerable risk to the mine as well as to themselves. Such was the case once long ago at Botallack, when the miners below the sea cut away the rock to within three or four feet of the water, and actually made a small hole through so that they had to plug it up with a piece of wood.

This is a fact which we can vouch for, having seen the plug, and heard the boulders rattling loudly over our head with each successive wave; but there is no danger here, because the cutting under the sea is narrow, and the rock solid and intensely hard.

Such also was the case, not many years since, at Levant mine, where the men working in the levels under the sea drove upwards until the salt water began to trickle through to them in alarming quantities—insomuch that the other miners struck work, and refused to go again into the mine, unless the workings in that part were stopped, and the place made secure. This was accordingly done, and the men returned to the mine. The danger here was really great, because the cutting that had been made was wide, and the ground overhead comparatively soft.

But, to return to our tale.

For many days after the catastrophe Oliver Trembath lay in his bed suffering from severe cuts and bruises, as well as from what must have been, as nearly as possible, concussion of the brain, for he had certainly been washed down one of the winzes, although he himself retained only a confused recollection of the events of that terrible day, and could not tell what had befallen him. At length, however, he became convalescent, and a good deal of his old vigour returned.

During this period of illness and convalescence Oliver had been constrained by old Mr Donnithorne to take up his abode in his house, and the young doctor could not have experienced more attention and kindness from the old couple if he had been their son. Rose Ellis, too, did her best to cheer him, and, as we need scarcely add, was wonderfully successful in her efforts!

It was during this period that Oliver made the acquaintance of a young man of St. Just, named Charles Tregarthen—a congenial spirit—and one who was, besides, a thorough gentleman and an earnest Christian. With this youth he formed a sincere friendship, and although the subject of religion was never obtrusively thrust upon him by young Tregarthen, it entered so obviously into all his thoughts, and shone so clearly in his words and conduct, that Oliver’s heart was touched, and he received impressions at that time which never left him.

Oliver and his friend were sitting one forenoon in Mr Donnithorne’s dining-room, which commanded an extensive view of green fields and grass-covered stone walls, with the beams and machinery of mines on the horizon, and the blue sea beyond. They were planning a short walking tour, which it was thought would be of great benefit to Oliver in that stage of his recovery, when old Mr Donnithorne entered the room with a somewhat perturbed expression of countenance.

“How are you, Charlie my boy?” he said. “Oliver, I want to have a few minutes’ talk with you in my room on business; I know Charlie will excuse you.”

“I was on the point of taking leave at any rate,” said Tregarthen with a smile, as he grasped Oliver’s hand; “think over our plan, like a good fellow; I am sure Mr Donnithorne will approve of it, and I’ll look in to-morrow forenoon to hear what decision you come to.”

“Oliver,” said Mr Donnithorne, sitting down opposite the invalid when his friend had left, and frowning portentously, “d’you know I’m a ruined man?”

“I trust not, uncle,” replied Oliver with an incredulous smile, supposing that the old gentleman was jesting.

“Yes, but I am,” he repeated with tremendous gravity. “At all events, I shall be ere long. These—these—vile jewels will be the death of me.”

Having thus broken the ice Mr Donnithorne went on with much volubility of utterance and exasperation of tone to explain that legal proceedings had been instituted for the recovery of the jewels which he had purchased from the fishermen; that things seemed almost certain to go against him; and that in all probability he should be compelled to sell his estate in order to refund the money.

“But can you not sell your shares in Botallack and refund with the proceeds?” said Oliver.

“No, I cannot,” replied the old gentleman. “You know that at present these shares are scarcely saleable except at a ruinous discount, and it would be a pity to part with them just now, seeing that there is some hope of improvement at this time. There is nothing for it but to sell my estate, and I don’t think there will be enough left to buy butter to my bread after this unhappy affair is settled, for it amounts to some thousands of pounds.”

“Indeed, uncle! how comes it that they found out the value of them?”

“Oh, simply enough, Oliver, but strangely too. You must know that Maggot, the scoundrel (and yet not such a scoundrel either, for the fellow informed on me in a passion, without having any idea of the severity of the consequences that would follow),—Maggot, it seems, kept the cloth belt in which the jewels were found tied round the owner’s waist, and there happened to be a piece of parchment sewed up in the folds of it, in which the number and value of the jewels were enumerated. This belt was ferreted out by the lawyers, and the result is that, as I said before, I shall be a ruined man. Verily,” added Mr Donnithorne, with a look of vexation, as he stumped up and down the room with his hands thrust deep into his breeches pockets, “verily, my wife was a true prophetess when she told me that my sin would be sure to find me out, and that honesty was the best policy. ’Pon my conscience, I’m half inclined to haul down my colours and let her manage me after all!”

“I am much concerned at what you tell me,” said Oliver, “and I regret now very deeply that the few hundreds which I possessed when I came here—and which you know are all my fortune—have also been invested in Botallack shares, for they should have been heartily at your service, uncle.”

“Don’t trouble yourself about your hundreds, lad,” said the old gentleman testily; “I didn’t come here to ask assistance from you in that way, but to tell you the facts of the case, and ask you to do me the favour to carry a letter to my lawyer in Penzance, and inquire into the condition of a mine I have something to do with there—a somewhat singular mine, which I think will surprise as well as interest you; will you do this, for me, lad?”

“Most willingly,” replied Oliver. “You heard my friend Charlie Tregarthen speak of our intention to go on a walking tour for a couple of days; now, if you have no objection, he and I will set off together without delay, and make Penzance our goal, going round by the Land’s End and the coast.”

“So be it, Oliver, and don’t hurry yourselves, for the business will wait well enough for a day or two. But take care of yourself, lad; don’t go swimming off the Land’s End again, and above all things avoid smugglers. The scoundrels! they have been the ruin of me, Oliver. Not bad fellows in their way either,