“Head or Tail?”
“Tail.” said Pat.
Bart tossed. Pat lost. It was Pat’s business therefore to go down.
“Sure an it’s aisy climbin,” said Pat, “an the pick’ll be a help whin I
return.”
With these words he departed.
Seated on the log, Bart looked down, watching Pat’s descent. They had
climbed about half way up the pit, and Pat had about fifty feet to go
down. Looking down, it was dark, and Pat at length disappeared from
view. Bart could only hear him as he moved about. At length there was a
deep stillness. Bart grew alarmed.
“Pat!” he called.
No answer came. “Pat!” he called again.
Still no answer.
“Pat!” he called, as loud as he could, for he was now thoroughly
frightened. As he called, he put his feet over, and prepared to descend.
“I’m here,” Pat’s voice came up. “Don’t come down. I’m coming up.”
These words filled Bart with a feeling of immense relief. He now heard
Pat moving again, and at length saw him ascending. Nearer he came, and
nearer. But Bart noticed that he did not have the pickaxe. He feared
by this that it had been buried beneath the fallen logs. If so, their
situation was as desperate as ever. But he said not a word.
Pat at length reached the place where Bart was, and flung himself down,
panting heavily. Bart watched him in silence.
“The pickaxe is buried,” said he at length, “I suppose.7’
“Worse,” said Pat, with something like a groan.
“Worse?” repeated Bart in dismay.
“Yis, worse,” said Pat. “The water’s comin in. There’s six feet of it,
an more too. The hole’s flooded, an fillin up.”
At this awful intelligence Bart sat petrified with horror, and said not
one word.
“It’s the diggin away at the casin,” said Pat, dolefully, “an the cuttin
away of the earth, that’s done the business, so it is. I can onderstand
it all easy enough. Sure this pit’s close by the money-hole, an the
bottom of it’s close by the drain that they towld us of. An them that
made this hole didn’t dare to go one inch further. An that’s the very
thing, so it is, that we’ve done. We’ve cut, and dug, and broke through
into the drain. What’s worse, all the casin an all the earth’s broke
and fallen down. An there’s no knowin the mischief we’ve done. Any how,
we’ve broke through to the “drain”--bad luck to it; and the water’s jist
now a powerin in fast enough. Sure it’s got to the top of them logs that
we stood upon end--the long ones; and they’re more’n six feet long, an
it’s risin ivery minit, so it is, an it’s comin up, an it’ll soon be
up to this place, so it will. An sure it’s lost an done for we are
intirely, an there you have it.”
After this dreadful intelligence, not a word was spoken for a long time.
Pat had said his say, and had nothing to add to it. Bart had heard it,
and had nothing to say. He was dumb. They were helpless. They could go
no farther. Here they were on this log, half way up the pit, but unable
to ascend any further, and with the prospect before them of swift and
inevitable destruction.
They had worked long and diligently. Not one mouthful had they eaten
since morning; but in their deep anxiety, they had felt no hunger. They
had labored as those only can labor who are struggling for life. And
this was the end. But all this time they had not been conscious of the
passage of the hours; yet those hours had been flying by none the less.
Time had been passing during their long labor at the logs below--how
much time they had never suspected.
The first indication which they had of this lapse of time was the
discovery which they now made of a gradually increasing gloom. At first
they attributed this to the gathering of clouds over the sky above; but
after a time the gloom increased to an extent which made itself apparent
even to their despairing minds. And what was it? Could it be twilight?
Could it be evening? Was it possible that the day had passed away? Long
indeed had the time seemed; yet, even in spite of this, they felt an
additional shock at this discovery. Yet it was true. It was evening. The
day was done. They two had passed the day in this pit. This was night
that was now coming swiftly on.
They remained motionless and silent. Nothing could be done; and the
thoughts of each were too deep for utterance. Words were useless now.
In the mind of each there was an awful expectation of a doom that was
coming upon them--inevitable, swift, terrible! They could only await it
in dumb despair.
Night was coming, adding by its darkness to the horror of their
situation. Death in daylight is bad enough, but in the dark how much
worse! And the fate that threatened them appeared wherever they might
turn their eyes--above, in the shape of that broken beam which yet in
the twilight appeared defined in a shadowy form against the dim sky;
around, in this treacherous casing, which, being undermined, might at
any moment fall, like the lower portion, and crush them; beneath, most
awfully, and most surely, are those dark, stealthy, secret waters
which had come in from the “drain” upon them as though to punish their
rashness, and make them pay for it with their lives. In the midst of all
these fears they remembered the superstitious words of the man whom they
had questioned, “Flesh and blood will never lay hands on that treasure,
unless there’s a sacrifice made--the sacrifice of human life!” Such was
the declaration of the man on the shore, and this declaration now made
itself remembered. The sacrifice of life. What life? Was it theirs? Were
they, then, the destined victims? Awful thought! Yet how else could it
be? Yes, that declaration was a prophecy, and that prophecy was being
fulfilled in them. But O, how hard it was to die thus! so young! in
such a way! to die when no friends were near! and where their fate would
never, never be known to those friends.