The next day was Sunday, when the missionary again came to the village,
and did not fail to visit Samuel Kempson's cottage. He heard of the
disappearance of David Adams. He pointed out the only source from which
the sorrowing mother could obtain comfort, and besought all those
present to turn at once to the Lord. He reminded them that any moment
they might all be hurried into eternity. He asked each man present to
say how many friends of his had been cut off on a sudden--how many had
died unprepared--and then begged them to tell him if they were ready to
leave the world; and if they were not ready, when would they be ready?
"Do not delay, do not delay, my friends," he said, in a voice which went
to the hearts of many of his hearers.
Among them was Samuel Kempson. From that day he became a serious-minded
man, while he did his best to show by his life that his heart was
changed. Others again listened, but went away and continued in the same
bad habits in which they had before indulged.
Dick was eager for Monday morning, when the pit would be again at work,
that he might go and look for David. Long before daybreak he was on
foot on his way to the pit's mouth. He had to wait, however, till the
under-viewers and deputy over-men had gone down to see the condition of
the pit, whether it was fit for people to work in, or whether any stream
of bad air had burst out likely to kill or injure any one. At last the
mine was reported safe, and Dick, and the other boys, and several of the
men were allowed to descend. Dick eagerly inquired of the deputy
over-men if they had seen anything of David. No; they did not even
think that he was in the pit, was their reply. Dick remembered that the
missionary had said "that those who trust in God and do right need fear
no evil."
"That's what I am doing," he said to himself, as he took his Davy's lamp
from the lamp room, and grasped his stick. "I don't fear the black
bogies or any other creatures such as Bill Hagger is so fond of talking
about. May be, as the missionary says, there are no such things, and
David thinks that it was Bill Hagger himself who frightened me." With
such thoughts, brave little Dick strengthened his mind, and braced up
his heart as he walked on.
From the gate-road, or chief gallery, roads opened off on either side.
Dick made up his mind to go to the farthest end, and then to work down
one side, shouting as he went along, and then the other, dropping his
bits of paper. He walked as fast as he could, but to move along with a
mass of rock and earth and coal a thousand feet thick overhead, is not
like walking across the green fields with the blue sky above one, and
the fresh air blowing, and the sun shining, and the birds singing. Dick
had only walls of coal on either side, or pillars of coal, or caves out
of which the coal had been hewn, or the mouths of other long passages,
some leading upwards, some downwards to other levels. He had a black
roof of rock above him, and black ground under his feet. "Anybody seen
anything of David Adams?" he asked of the different gangs of pushers,
hoisters, or thrusters he met with their trucks of coal as they came out
of the passages and holes on all sides, some so low that they had to
stoop down till their heads were no higher than the trucks.
"No; what, is he not found yet?" was the answer he got generally.
It took him nearly half an hour to get to the end of the gate-road.
When he reached thus far, he took the first opening to the right, and
began dropping his paper, and calling out his friend's name. He went on
and on, expecting to get into another gate-road, and in time to reach
the main shaft. How long he had been walking he could not tell, when he
found himself in a deserted part of the mine. It was like a large, low
hall, the roof supported by stout pieces of timber, called "sprags," in
some places, and in others by "cogs," or lumps of coal, or by pillars of
coal. It was necessary here to be more careful than ever in strewing
the paper, or it might be long indeed before he could find his way out
again. He thought of poor David; how, if he had got here, he might have
wandered about round and round, like a person lost in a wood, and sunk
down overcome at last, and not able to rise up again. He could not
altogether get over either fears for himself. His lamp shed a very dim
light, and that only to a short distance, and he thought he saw dark
forms moving about here and there, sometimes stopping and looking at
him, and then going on again. He, like a true hero, had braced up his
nerves to brave everything he might meet, or he would have shrieked out,
and tried to run away. He, however, stoutly kept on his way, uttering a
prayer that if they were evil spirits, they might do him no harm. Still
he, as before, cried out David's name; but there was no answer.
His heart at length began to sink within him; a faintness came over him.
He had got a long, long way from the shaft, and he had hoped before
this to find his friend. His legs ached, too, for he had been for a
long time wandering about. He sat down at last on a block of coal and
thought over what he should do. Nothing should make him give up the
search; that he was determined on. Then he remembered that his lamp
would not last much longer; so he got up, and pushed on. He had need of
all his courage, for when he stopped he thought that he heard sighs and
groans and distant cries. He had often before trembled at hearing such
sounds, thinking that they were made by the evil spirits or hobgoblins
of whom Bill Hagger had told him. Now, after a moment's thought, he
knew that they were caused by the wind passing through a trap either not
well closed or with a slit in it. He could not open his lamp to see how
much oil remained in it, and as he could only guess how long he had been
walking, he could not tell what moment he might find the light go out.
He hurried on; he thought that he was in the right way. He was getting
near a gate-road, when a moaning sound reached his ear. He stopped that
he might be sure whence it came. Then he walked on cautiously towards
the place, stopping every now and then to be sure that he was going in
the right way. Again he heard the moaning sound. It was like that
uttered by a person in pain. He followed it till he got to the mouth of
a narrow passage, which had been begun, but did not seem to run far.
Suddenly the idea came on him that these sounds were made by one of the
much-dreaded bogies. "If it is one of them creatures, he can't do me
any harm, for I'm doing what is right," he said to himself, and boldly
went in, holding his lamp before him. He had not gone far, when he saw
stretched out before him on the ground the form of his young friend. He
had his arms extended, as if he had fallen groping his way.
"O David, David, come to life: do now!" cried Dick, kneeling down by his
side.
David uttered a low groan; that was better than if he had been silent.
So, encouraged by this, Dick lifted him up, and poured a few drops of
beer down his throat. The liquid revived him; not from its strength,
however.
"Come out of this place, David, do now; the air is very bad and close,
you'll never get well while you stay here."
David at last came round enough to know what was said to him, and with
Dick's help was able to crawl into the gate-road, which was not far off.
Here the fresher air, for fresh it was not, brought him still more
round, and he sat up and eat some of the food which Dick had brought.
David kept staring at Dick all the time he was eating without saying a
word, as if he did not know what had happened.
"Come along now, David," said Dick, at last; "there is no time to lose,
for the lamp may be going out, and it won't do to have to find our way
to the shaft in the dark."
"Oh no, no. How did you find me, Dick?" asked David.
"Come to look for you," answered Dick.
"And how is poor mother? She must have been in a sad way all these
days, thinking what had become of me."
"Mrs Adams bears up pretty well," said Dick.
"But how long do you think I have been down here? A week, or is it
longer?" said David.
He could scarcely believe that it had been from the Saturday morning
till the Monday evening since he was lost.
"I thought that I must have been down very many days," he remarked. "I
had my day's dinner with me, so I just took a little nibble of food for
breakfast, and another for dinner, and a little more for supper. It
seemed to me that I stopped five or six hours between each meal, and
then I lay down and went to sleep, and when I awoke I thought it was
morning, and that the people would be coming down to work; so I got up
and walked on, thinking that they would hear me; but I waited and
waited, there was not the sound of a pick anywhere near, and I knew that
there would be no use shouting. Once I found the air much cooler, and
as I looked up I saw the stars shining right overhead, and then I knew
that I must be under an air shaft. Now, I thought, I shall find the
road to the pit's mouth, but I turned the wrong way, I suppose, and at
last, when I could go on no longer, I went right into the hole where you
found me. I couldn't have been long there. I tried to cry out as loud
as I could, but I had no strength; and if you hadn't come, Dick, I
should have died before many minutes."
David gave this account of himself by fits and starts, as he and Dick
were trying to find their way into the chief gate-road. Dick had to
support his friend, who was very weak, and scarcely able to get along.
He himself, too, was ready to faint, for he had been walking some hours,
and that in a hot mine was very trying. For what they could tell they
might still have a long distance to go. They went on for some way, then
again they had to sit down and rest.
"Now, David, we must go on again," exclaimed Dick, rousing himself; "we
shall soon be where the hewers are at work."
"Oh, I cannot, I cannot move another step, I fear," answered David, in a
voice which showed how weak he had become.
Dick made him take a little more food, and then, putting his arm round
him, helped him along. Thus they went on for some distance.
"Hark!" exclaimed Dick, joyfully, "I hear the sound of a pick. Yes, I'm
sure of it. There is some one singing, too. It's a putter. He's
coming this way."
As he spoke, the dull sound of the pick, "thud, thud, thud," reached
their ears. With their spirits raised they were again going on, when
out went Dick's lamp. They were in complete darkness. Not a glimmer of
light came from where the other men were at work. Dick shouted as
loudly as he could to draw attention. As to David, his voice could not
help much. No one attended to them. They stumbled on for some time
farther.
"I know that voice. It's Bill Hagger, I'm sure," said Dick. "I've
often heard him sing that song; I would rather it had been any one else,
but I don't think he would ill-treat us now."
Dick shouted to Bill to come with his light. Just at that moment while
they were waiting for Bill's answer, there was a loud, thundering crash,
with a fearful shriek and cries for help.
"The roof has fallen in, and Bill is buried under it. Oh, let us push
on, and see if we cannot help him out," cried Dick.
The two boys had groped their way on for some distance, when they saw
far-off the glimmer of a light.
"That must be Bill's lantern," said Dick. "He must have set it down
before the roof fell in on him."
Bill had ceased shrieking, but they could hear his groans.
They at last reached the spot. A large mass of coal had fallen, and
shut him up in a side passage. Part of it must have fallen on him. The
boys, weak as they were, in vain tried to lift the big lumps of coal off
the young man. They soon saw that they might very likely, in so doing,
bring down more on their own heads, and that it would be better to hurry
on to get help. Dick entirely forgot all the ill-treatment he had
received from Bill, and overcoming the fatigue he had been feeling, ran
on, with the help of Bill's lamp, towards the place where he expected to
find men at work, dragging poor David along with him. He felt David
growing heavier and heavier. At last, without uttering a sound, down he
sank by his side. Was he really dead? He held the light to his
friend's pale face. He breathed. There was only one thing to be done.
He dragged him to the side of the gallery, out of the way of any rolley,
which might by chance come by, and ran on to where he thought he heard
some men at work. He shouted out. The first man who appeared was his
father. He told him that he had found David.
"What alive?" asked Samuel.
"Yes, father; but he won't be if we don't make haste; and besides him
there is Bill Hagger, with a heap of coals over him."
On hearing this, Samuel Kempson called all the men near to go to the
assistance of David and Bill, while one ran to summon a deputy viewer to
direct what was to be done to release Bill. As soon as they reached
David, Samuel lifted him up in his arms, and hurried with him to the
foot of the shaft, accompanied by Dick. When he got there, he begged
that he might be drawn up at once, that he might take the boy to his
mother. They got into the corve, and were drawn up, up, up the deep
shaft. When they reached the mouth of the pit, the fresh air brought
back the colour to David's cheeks, and he opened his eyes for a moment,
but quickly shut them, dazzled by the rays of the sun which was trying
to pierce the murky atmosphere. This, however, showed that there was
some life in the boy; and in better spirits than at first, Samuel
hurried along to the widow, that he might restore her son to her. She
had been over and over again to the pit's mouth to inquire for her boy,
and had to go back to look after her other children.
One of them playing in front of the door, saw the Kempsons coming along:
"Here comes Dick Kempson and his father with a little dead boy in his
arms," cried the child.
The poor widow, her heart sinking with dread, ran out of the cottage,
expecting to see David's lifeless body.
"Here he is, Mrs Adams, all right," exclaimed Samuel, as he drew near.
The change from grief to joy, as she saw her boy stretching out his arms
towards her, was almost too much for her strength, and she burst into
tears as she took him from Kempson and pressed him to her bosom. When
she recovered a little, she began to pour out her thanks to Samuel--
"Oh don't thank me, Mrs Adams, it was Dick found your boy, and if it
had not been for him, he would have died--no doubt about that," answered
Samuel.
"And I should have been very, very sorry, if I hadn't found him, that I
should Mrs Adams," said Dick quietly. "You know what friends we are.
Now I dare say he would like to have a wash and go to bed."
"Thank ye, Dick--I would, mother," murmured David, who by this time had
been brought into the house and placed in a chair.
"I would give him a little broth or tea, Mrs Adams, and he'll come all
right soon," said Samuel, as he and his son left the cottage to return
to the mine.
"Bless you, bless you, my boy," said the widow, as she watched Dick from
the window for a moment: and she didn't say those words with her mouth
only, but with her whole heart.
Samuel would have sent Dick home, but he begged that, though he was
tired, he might go back to learn how it had fared with poor Bill Hagger.
"But I thought that Bill Hagger was one of your greatest enemies. He
seemed always to be ill-treating you," observed Samuel.
"So he did, father," answered Dick. "But don't you mind what the
missionary said the other day? `We should love our enemies and do good
to them that despitefully use us and hate us.'"
"So he did, Dick, to be sure; and I've often thought since then, what a
hard matter it must be to do it."
"He said that we must pray for God's help and grace, father, and that
then we shall be able to do what now seems so hard," was Dick's answer.
On reaching the bottom of the shaft, and going on a little way, they met
some men carrying Bill Hagger, who had been got out from under the coal,
but so dreadfully mangled, that it did not seem possible he could live.
Samuel now went back to work with his pick, and Dick returned to the
charge of his trap.