Gwyn tugged and strained at the block, hoping to dislodge it as he had
the former one; but his efforts were vain, and at last, with his fingers
sore and the perspiration streaming down his face, he backed down the
steep chimney-like place, satisfied that Grip must have made his way
through the narrow aperture beneath one corner of the block, where the
wind rushed up, but perfectly convinced that without the aid of tools or
gunpowder no human being could force a way, while the very idea of
gunpowder suggested the explosion causing the tumbling down of the rock
around to bury them alive.
"Well," said Joe, looking up at him anxiously, with his face showing
clearly by the open door of his lanthorn, "can we get farther?"
Gwyn felt as if he could not reply, and remained silent.
"You might as well tell me the worst."
"I'm going to try again," said Gwyn, hoarsely, and he glanced at
Hardock, who was lying prone on the rock with his face buried in his
hands. "The way's blocked up."
"Then we shall have to lie here till the water comes gurgling up to fill
this place and drown us, if we are not smothered before."
"We can't be smothered in a place where there is so much air."
"I don't know," said Joe, thoughtfully--his feeling of despair seeming
to have deadened the agony he had felt; "I've been thinking it out while
you were grovelling up there like a rat, and I think that the air will
soon be all driven out of the mine by the water. Ugh! hark at it now.
How it comes bubbling and racing up there! If you put your head over
the edge of the rock there, it's fit to blow you away, and it smells
horribly. But can't you get any farther up?"
"No, not a foot. Go up and try yourself."
"No," said Joe, slowly. "A bit ago I felt as if I could do anything to
get out of this horrible place; but now I'm fagged, like Sam Hardock
there, and don't seem to mind much about it, except when I think of
father."
"Don't talk like that," cried Gwyn, passionately, "I can't bear it.
Here, we must do something; it's so cowardly to lie down and die without
trying to get out. You go up there, and perhaps you will do better than
I did."
"No; you tried, and you're cleverer than I am."
"No, I'm not. You try. You shall try," cried Gwyn, with energy. "Go
up at once. Stop; let's put up a fresh candle."
"It's of no use; you can't--I've been trying."
"Joe! Don't say there are no more candles."
"Wasn't going to. There's one, but the wick's soaked and it won't
burn."
Gwyn snatched at the candle, examined the blackened end and sodden wick,
and then turned it upside down, holding the bottom end close to the
flame of his own light and letting the grease drip away till fresh wick
was exposed and gradually began to burn.
"I should never have thought of doing that," said Joe, calmly, as he lay
on his chest resting his chin upon his hands.
"There," cried Gwyn, sticking up the fresh candle in the tin sconce, and
waiting till the fat around it had congealed. "Now you go on up, and
see what you can do. Keep the door side of the lanthorn away from the
wind."
"Must I go?" said Joe, dolefully.
"Yes, if you want to see the poor Major again."
"Ah!" sighed Joe, and taking the lanthorn, he crawled up to where Gwyn
had been, while the latter searched eagerly round to try and find out
some other opening. But, saving that by which they had come, and up
which the whistling, roaring and gurgling increased in intensity, and
sounded as if some writhing mass of subterranean creatures were fighting
their way through the dark passage to escape from the flood, there was
not the smallest crack, and he turned again to where Joe was passing out
of sight, his boot soles alone visible as he slowly crawled up the
narrow chimney-like place.
Then they disappeared, and Gwyn turned to where Hardock was lying on his
face.
"Sam," he said.
There was no reply.
"Sam!" he cried, angrily now; and the man slowly raised his face and
gazed at him reproachfully.
"Might let me die in peace," he groaned.
"You rouse up, and try and help us," said Gwyn, firmly; and his will
being the stronger, the man began to raise himself slowly into a sitting
position, shuddering as he listened to the furious hurricane of sounds
which came up the narrow rift.
"It's only a noise, Sam," said Gwyn. "I say, there has never been any
mining done up here, has there?"
"Never, sir. It's all natural rock. Look at the crystals."
"That's what I thought. But look up there at Joe."
"Eh? Where's Mr Joe Jollivet?"
"Clambering up that hole where Grip must have gone. He must have got up
to the surface."
Hardock shook his head.
"Why not?" continued Gwyn, eagerly. "The wind rushes up there."
"Ay, but wind will go where even a mouse couldn't."
"But if Grip hadn't got up there, he'd have come back."
"If he could, sir--if he could. But don't, don't ask me questions; I'm
all mazed like, and can't think or do anything. I only want to go to
sleep, sir, out of it all, never to have any more of this horror and
trouble."
"Look here, Sam," continued Gwyn; "this noise of the wind coming up
means the water filling up the passages and driving it out, doesn't it?"
"I s'pose so, sir."
"How long will it be before the mine is quite full of water?"
"Who knows, sir? Tends on how big the hole is. Maybe hours, for it's a
vasty place--miles of workings."
"Then the water won't come up to us till the passages are all full."
"No, sir, and maybe not come to us at all. We may be too high."
"Too high? Of course. If we're above sea-level now, it won't reach
us."
"No, sir. You see the mouth of the mine's quite two hundred feet above
sea-level, the workings are all below."
"Then we may escape yet?"
"Escape, sir?" said Hardock, despairingly. "How?"
"Grip has gone up to grass."
"Ay, perhaps he has escaped," said Hardock, dismally.
"And if he has, do you think he will not bring us help? Why, it may
come any time."
"Yes, to the hole he got out of; and it'll take five years to dig down
through the solid rock to get us out. Nay, Master Gwyn, you may give it
up. We're as good as dead."
A faint sound, half groan, half cry, arrested them; and Gwyn hurried to
the crack up which Joe Jollivet had crawled.
"What is it? Can you get by?"
"No, no," came back faintly, the words being half drowned by the noise
of the wind; "stuck fast."
"Oh, why did he grow so long and awkward!" muttered Gwyn. "Here, Joe,
turn round a bit and try and come back on your side."
"Been trying hard, and I can't come back."
Gwyn's heart sank, and he hesitated for a few moments, till the piteous
word "Help!" reached his ears, when he crept into the hole, leaving his
lanthorn burning outside, sheltered from the current of air which rushed
to the outlet, and began to crawl up as fast as he could.
"Help!" came again.
"Coming. You must turn."
"Can't, I tell you. Oh, Ydoll, old fellow, it's all over now I--ah!"
Then there was a wild cry that petrified Gwyn, just as he was nearing
the place where Joe had managed to wedge himself, for it might have
meant anything.