Then came a night of stars, and once again Amos Gregory was shook up to
his heels by somebody running in hot haste with news just as the farmer
was about to go to bed. And once more it was his nephew, Ernest, who
brought the tale.
"I've found a wondrous pit in the rough ground beyond Four Acre Field," he
said. "I came upon it this afternoon, rabbiting, and but for the blessing
of God, should have falled in, for the top's worn away and some big stones
have fallen in. 'Tis just off the path in that clitter of stone beside the
stile."
The young man was panting and so excited that his words tripped each
other; but his uncle didn't see for the minute why he should be, and spoke
according.
"My father always thought there was a shaft hole there," answered Amos,
"and very likely there may be, and time have worn it to the light, for
Vitifer Mine used to run out into a lot of passages that be deserted now,
and there's the famous adit in Smallcumbe Goyle, half a mile away, to the
west, long deserted now; and when I was a child, me and my brothers often
played in the mouth of it. The place was blocked years ago by a fall from
the roof. But why for you want to run to me with this story at such an
hour, Ernest, I can't well say. Us ought to be abed, and Sarah will soon
larn you to keep better hours, I reckon. You're a lot too excitable and I
could wish it altered."
But the man's nephew explained. "That ain't all, Uncle Amos," he went on,
"for I found Uncle Joe's hat alongside the place! There it lies still and
little the worse--blue jay feather and all. But I dursn't touch it for
fear of the law, and seeing it just after I'd found the hole, filled me
with fear and terror. Because it looks cruel as if Uncle had pretty near
got home that fatal night, and coming across by the field path in the
dark, got in the rough and went down the pit."
Well, Amos had reached for his boots you may be sure before Ernest was to
the end of his tale, and in five minutes he'd put on his coat and gone out
with Ernest to see the spot.
Their eyes soon got used to the starlight, and by the time they reached
the field called Four Acre, Amos was seeing pretty clear. In one corner
where a field path ran from a stile down the side, was a stony hillock
dotted with blackthorns and briars and all overgrown with nettles, and in
the midst of it, sure enough, time and weather had broke open a hole as
went down into the bowels of the earth beneath. And beside this hole,
little the worse for five weeks in the open, lay Joe Gregory's billycock
hat.
Amos fetched a box of matches out of his pocket, struck one and looked at
the hat. Then he peered down into the black pit alongside, and, as he did
so, he felt a heavy push from behind, and he was gone--falling down into
darkness and death afore he knew what had happened. And in that awful
moment, such a terrible strange thing be man's mind, it weren't fear of
death and judgment, nor yet horror of the smash that must happen when he
got to the bottom, that gripped Gregory's brain: it was just a feeling of
wild anger against himself, that he'd ever been such a fool as to trust a
man with a glide in his eye!
In the fraction of time as passed, while he was falling, his wits moved
like lightning, and he saw, not only what had happened, but why it had
happened. He saw that Ernest Gregory knew all about Joe and had probably
done him in five weeks ago; and he saw likewise that now it was his turn
to be murdered. Then Vitifer and Furze Hill would both belong to the young
man. All this Amos saw; and he felt also a dreadful, conquering desire to
tell the people what had happened and be revenged; and he told himself
that his ghost should come to Merripit if he had to break out of hell to
come, and give his friends no rest till they was laid upon the track of
his nephew.
All that worked through his brain in an instant moment, like things happen
in a dream, and then he was brought up sudden and fell so light that he
knew he weren't dead yet, but heard something crack at the same moment.
And then Amos discovered he was on a rotten landing-stage of old timber,
with the shaft hole above him and a head, outlined against the stars,
looking down, and another hole extending below. He was, in fact, catched
half-way to his doom and hung there with the devil above and the unknown
deep below and hung up on the mouldering wood. He heard Ernest laugh then,
and the sound was such as none had ever heard from him before--more like a
beast's noise than a man's. Then his head disappeared and Amos was just
wondering what next, when his nephew came to the hole again and dropped a
great stone. It shot past the wretched chap where he hung, just touching
his elbow, and then Amos, seeing he was to be stoned to make sure, called
upon God to save him alive. He pressed back against the pit side, while
the crumbling timber gave under him and threatened to let him down any
moment, but the action saved his life, for the time being, for as he
moved, down came another stone and then another. Where the joists of the
stage went in, however, was a bit of cover for the unfortunate chap--just
enough to keep him clear of the danger from above, and there he stuck,
pressed to the rock like a lichen, with great stones going by so close
that they curled his hair. All was black as pitch and the young devil up
over had no thought that his poor uncle was still alive. Amos uttered no
sound, and presently, his work done as he thought, Ernest began the next
job and Gregory heard him making all snug overhead. Soon the ray of
starlight was blotted out and the pit mouth blocked up with timber first
and stones afterwards; and Amos doubted not that his young relation had
made the spot look as usual and blocked it so as nothing less than the
trump of Doom would ever unseal it again.
And even if that weren't so, he knew he could never climb up the five and
twenty feet or more he'd fallen. Indeed, at that moment the poor chap
heartily wished he was at the bottom so dead as a hammer and battered to
pulp and out of his misery. For what remained? Nought but a hideous end
long drawn out. In fact he felt exceeding sorry for himself, as well he
might; but then his nature came to the rescue, and he told himself that
where there was life there was hope; and he turned over the situation with
his usual pluck and judgment and axed himself if there was anything left
that he might do, to put up a fight against such cruel odds.
And he found there was but one thing alone. He couldn't go up and he felt
only too sure the only part of him as would ever get out of that living
grave was his immortal soul, when the end came; but he reckoned it might
be possible to get down. The only other course was to bide where he was,
wait till morning, and then lift his voice and bawl in hope some fellow
creature might hear and succour. But as the only fellow being like to hear
him was his nephew, there didn't seem much promise to that. He waited
another half hour till he knew his murderer was certainly gone home; then
he lighted matches and with the aid of the last two left in his box
scanned the sides of the pit under him. They were rough hewn, and given
light he reckoned he could go down by 'em with a bit of luck and the Lord
to guide his feet. Then he considered how far it might be to the bottom,
and dropped a piece of stone or two, and was a good bit heartened to find
the distance weren't so very tremendous. In fact he judged himself to be
about half-way down and reckoned that another thirty feet or thereabout
would get him to the end. He took off his coat then and flung it down; and
next he started, with his heart in his mouth, to do or die.
Amos Gregory promised himself that nought but death waited for him down
beneath, and he was right enough for that matter. How he got down without
breaking his neck he never could tell, but the pit sloped outward from
below and he managed to find foothold and fingerhold as he sank gingerly
lower and lower. A thousand times he thought he was gone. Then he did fall
in good truth, for a wedge of granite came out in his hand; but to his
great thankfulness, he hadn't got to slither and struggle for more than a
matter of another dozen feet, and then he came down on his own coat what
he'd dropped before him. So there he was, only scratched and torn a bit,
and like a toad in a hole, he sat for a bit on his coat and panted and
breathed foul air. 'Twas dark as a wolf's mouth, of course, and he didn't
know from Adam what dangers lay around him; but he couldn't bide still
long and so rose up and began to grope with feet and hands. He kicked a
few of the big stones that Ernest Gregory had thrown down, as he thought
atop of him; and then he found the bottom of the hole was bigger than he
guessed. And then he kicked a soft object and a great wonder happened.
Kneeling to see what it might be, he put forth his hand, touched a
clay-cold, sodden lump of something, and found a sudden, steady blaze of
light flash out of it. He drew back and the light went out. Then he
touched again and the light answered.
By this time Amos had catched another light in his brain-pan and knowed
too bitter well what he'd found. He groped into the garments of that poor
clay and found the light that he'd set going was hid in a dead man's
breast pocket. Then he got hold of it, drew out an electric torch and
turned it on the withered corpse of his elder brother. There lay Joe and
the small dried-up carcase of him weren't much the worse seemingly in that
cold, dry place; but Amos shivered and went goose-flesh down his spine,
for half the poor little man's face was eat away by some unknown beast.
Joe's brother sat down then with his brains swimming in his skull, and for
a bit he was too horrified to do ought but shiver and sweat; and then his
wits steadied down and he saw that what was so awful in itself yet carried
in its horror just that ray of hope he wanted now to push him on.
His instinct was always terrible strong for self-preservation, and his
thoughts leapt forward; and he saw that if a fox had bit poor dead Joe,
the creature must have come from somewheres. Of course a fox can go where
a man cannot, yet that foxes homed here meant hope for Amos; and there
also was the blessed torch he'd took from his dead brother's breast.
He nerved himself and felt all over the poor corpse and found Joe's purse
and his tobacco pouch and the two pipes he was reported to have bought at
Exeter; and doubtless he'd bought the electric torch also, for Amos knew
that his brother possessed no such thing afore. But there it was: he'd
been tempted to buy the toy, and though it couldn't bring him back to
life, there was just a dog's chance it might save his brother's. Amos knew
the thing wouldn't last very long alight, so he husbanded it careful and
only turned it on when his hands couldn't tell him what he wanted to know.
At first it seemed as though there weren't no way out; but with the help
of the light, he found at last a little, low tunnel that opened out of the
hole; and then he found another opposite to it. And the one he reckoned
must run up under Vitifer into the thickness of the hill; while t'other
pointed south. Then, thinking upon the lay of the land, Amos reckoned the
second might be most like to lead to the air. And yet his heart sank a
minute later, for he guessed--rightly as it proved--that the south tunnel
was that which opened into a cave at Smallcumbe Goyle, near half a mile
down under. A place it was where he'd often played his games as a child;
but that ancient mine adit was well known to be choked by a heavy fall of
rock fifty yards from the mouth, so it didn't look very hopeful he'd win
through. However his instinct told him the sole chance lay there; for
t'other channel, if pursued, could only lead to the heart of the hill. He
set out according and after travelling twenty yards with bent head found
the roof of the tunnel lift and went on pretty steady without adventures
for a few hundred yards. 'Twas very evil air and he doubted if he'd keep
his head much longer; but with the torch light to guide his feet, he
staggered forward conscious only of one thing, and that was a great and
growing pain in his elbow. That's where the first stone had grazed him
that his nephew had thrown down the pit, and he stopped and found he was
cut to the bone and bleeding a lot. The loss vexed him worse than the
pain, for he knew very well you can't lose blood without losing strength,
and he couldn't tell yet whether it might not be within his strength to
save him at the other end. So he slit a piece off the tail of his shirt
and tied it above his elbow so tight as he was able. Then he held on, but
knew too well he was getting spent. For a man well over fifty year can't
spend a night of that sort and find himself none the worse for it.
A bit farther forward there was a little more to breathe, and as the
tunnel dropped, he felt the air sweeter. And that put a pinch more hope
into him again. It was up and down with him and his mind in a torment, but
at last he tried not to think at all, and just let his instinct to fight
for life hold him and concentrated all his mind and muscle upon it. Yet
one thought persisted in his worst moments: and that was, that if he
didn't come through, his nephew wouldn't be hanged, but enjoy the two
farms for his natural life; and the picture of that vexed Amos so terrible
that without doubt 'twas as useful to help him as a bottle of strong
waters would have been.
On he went, and then he had a shock, for the torch was very near spent and
began to grow dimmer; so he put it out to save the dying rays against when
he might need them. And he slowed down and rested for half an hour, then
refreshed, he pushed slowly on again.
And things happened just as he expected they would do; for after another
spell, he was brought up short and he found the way blocked and knew that
he stood a hundred feet and no more from the mouth of the tunnel in a
grass-grown valley bottom among the rocks outside. But he might as well
have been ten miles away, and too well he knew it. The air was sweet here,
for where foxes can run, air can also go; but outlet there was none for
him, though somewhere in the mass of stone he doubted not there was a
fox-way. He turned on the torch then and shifted a good few big stones and
moved more; but he saw in half an hour the job was beyond his powers and
that if he'd been Goliath of Gath he couldn't have broke down that curtain
of granite single-handed.
He'd found a pool of water and got a drink and he'd satisfied his mind
that his elbow bled no more, and that was all the cheer he had, for now
his torch went out for good and with its last gleam he'd looked at his
watch and seen that it was half after two in the morning. Night or day,
however, promised to be all the same for Amos now, and he couldn't tell
whether daylight would penetrate the fall of stone when it came, or if the
rock was too heavy to allow of it. And in any case a gleam of morning
wouldn't help him, for the Goyle was two good miles from Merripit village,
and a month might well pass before any man went that way. Nor would Amos
be the wiser if a regiment of soldiers was marching outside. So it looked
as if chance had only put off the evil hour, and he sat down on a stone
and chewed a bit of tobacco and felt he was up against his end at last.
Weariness and chill as he grew cold acted upon the man, and afore he knew
it he drew up his feet, rested his head on his sound arm, and fell into
heavy sleep. For hours he slumbered and woke so stiff as a log. But the
sleep had served him well and he found his mind active and his limbs
rested and his belly crying for food.
He poked about and at last saw something dim that thrust out of the dark
on the ground, and then it got brighter, and he marked low down, no higher
than his knee, a blue ghost of light shooting through some cleft among the
stones. It waxed until he could put down his watch and read the hands by
it. And he found it was past six o'clock.
He set to work at the rocks again presently, but surrounded by darkness he
didn't know where to begin and knew that a hungry man, with nought but his
two hands, could make no great impression on all that stone; but he turned
where the ray came through and putting his head to the earth, found there
was a narrow channel out to the daylight, and wished he could take shape
of a badger and so get through.
Time dragged and hope waned. But the water proved a source of strength,
and Amos knew a man can hold out a long time if water ban't denied. His
life passed through his mind with all its ups and downs, and he found time
to be thankful even in all his trouble that he was a bachelor without wife
or child to mourn him. And then his thoughts ran on to the great mystery
there would be and the hunt after him; and he saw very clear indeed that
all would go just as it done before, and the police would never find a
trace, and Ernest Gregory would weep his eyes out of his head very near
and offer a reward so large that everybody would say he was an angel
barring the wings.
Amos was dwelling on what his nephew would get in the next world, to make
up for his fun in this one, and marvelling in his simple mind that the
wicked could flourish like the green bay tree and nothing be done against
'em by Providence, when that happened to fill his mind very full of his
own affairs again.
He was sitting with his eyes on the shaft of daylight under the stones,
when suddenly it went out and for a moment disappeared. But then, like a
cork out of a bottle, something emerged, and Amos saw a long red thing
sneak through and drop, panting, on its side not three yards from him. And
well he knew what it was, even if the reek hadn't told him. 'Twas a hunted
fox that had saved its brush--not for the first time belike--in the old
tin mine working, and that meant more to the man than a sack of diamonds
just then. He moved and the fox, little thinking to find an enemy on that
side of the barrier, jumped to his feet and galloped up the passage so
hard as he could pelt; while Amos strained his ears to the hole and
prepared to lift his voice and have the yell of his life for salvation
when the moment arrived.
How long the fox had stood afore hounds he couldn't tell; but long or
short, they'd run him to the rocks for certain, and then the prisoned man
would hear 'em and try to make the hunters hear him if he could. Hounds
met at Dart Meet that day, and Gregory doubted not they'd found a fox as
was had took 'em up East Dart and then away to the Vitifer mine district,
where he knew he was safe.
And in ten minutes he heard hounds and in five minutes more they was got
within a few yards of him, yelping and nosing t'other side of the granite.
He guessed the huntsman would soon be with 'em at the cave mouth and
presently gave tongue down the road the fox had come, and after shouting
thrice with all his breath, waited, and sure enough heard an answering
shout.
Yes, he'd been heard screaming for his life, and presently the men outside
drew off the hounds and was able to get into conversation with Amos and
larn the rights of his fearful story.
It was only a question of time after that and the field gave up hunting a
fox to save a man. Labourers were sent for, and the rocks attacked in good
earnest; and the huntsman did a very clever thing, for he sent his fox
terrier through the hole to Amos with a packet of sandwiches tied on his
back. Presently the little dog went in again with a bottle of cordial as
one of the hunters gladly gave for the purpose, for Amos Gregory was well
known for a good sport, and the field felt terrible glad as they'd been
called to save him.
As soon as he was in communication with the outer world, Amos had ordered
one thing to be done before all else, and it was done. So long before he'd
got free, for it took five hours of desperate hard work to get to him, the
police had done their bit elsewhere and arrested Ernest Gregory for the
murder of his Uncle Joe. He was spreading muck on Four Acres Field at the
time and called on God to strike the constables dead for doing such a
shameful deed as to suspect him.
'Twas all in the newspapers next day, of course, and all men agreed that
never was such an escape from death afore. In fact, my friend Amos was one
of the wonders of the Dartmoor world for a long time afterwards. He never
got back the full use of his elbow, but weren't a penny the worse any
other way in a month and quite well enough to testify afore the law about
all his adventures had showed him.
And Ernest turned out one of the vain murderers who be quite content to go
down to history on the debit side so long as he's famous, if only for sin.
He explained that Joe Gregory had always intended to come home from Exeter
by way of Moreton, and that he had done so, and that Ernest had met him
there and reckoned that particular wild, black night very well suited for
putting the old man away. He knew all about the codicil to Joe's will, and
having found the mine shaft months afore, used it as we know how. He'd
took Joe to see it on getting home, and knocked him in, just as he'd
treated Amos after. And 'twas all done for the land, which had become his
god; and when Amos told his nephew he'd made no will, he was so good as
signing his own death warrant.
They tried to fetch him in insane; but it didn't work with the jury nor
yet the judge, and Ernest Gregory was hanged for his sins to Exeter gaol;
and Sarah White, who had meant to wed him, felt terrible glad it happened
before and not after the wedding.
As for Vitifer and Furze Hill, now both the property of Amos Gregory, no
doubt Duchy will get 'em after all some day. In fact, Duchy always wins in
the long run, as them mostly do who can afford to wait.
Our old parson preached a fine sermon on the affair after Ernest Gregory
had gone to his reward; for he showed how by the wonderful invention of
his Maker, Joe Gregory, though dead, yet was allowed to save his brother's
life and so proclaim the wonder of God to sinful man. And no doubt all
right-thinking people believed him.
Anyway, Amos set great store upon the electric torch ever after and it
hangs above his mantelshelf to this day. And henceforth he always took off
his hat to a fox whenever he seed one; for he was a very grateful sort of
man and never forgot a kindness.