During the winter we had a hard time of it to keep the roof of our house
over our head, let alone preserving the mine in working order! The
snow, the ice, the stormy gales, that seem to haunt the vicinity of the
Rocky Mountains and their outlying ranges, each in turn assailed us: and
then, on the melting of the snow at the first breath of approaching
spring, the floods, which were the most virulent antagonists with whom
we had to grapple, almost overwhelmed us! There was `water, water
everywhere,' as Coleridge says in his `Ancient Mariner.' The whole
valley, almost as far as you can see, was one vast foaming torrent, that
bore down all our puny protections in the shape of ramparts and
stockades. It nearly swept away our rough dwelling bodily; it did more,
it demolished the dam we had erected across the gulch just there,"--
pointing to the spot as he spoke--"and wrecked the heading of the shaft,
filling the mine as a matter of course."
"And up to then, in spite of all your digging, you had met with no
water?" asked Ernest Wilton. "Was that so?"
"Not a drop, which I very much wondered at, considering that we are
almost in the centre of the tributaries of the Cheyenne and Missouri--
any number of tiny streams rising amongst these hills, and gaining
additional body as they proceed onward to join the greater rivers from
fresh sources that cross their course at different angles."
"And after the floods?"
"Why, we set to work like men, I can tell you:--Seth, there, will bear
me out."
"We did so, sirree," said that worthy, with a most emphatic nod.
"Yes," continued Mr Rawlings, "we first renovated the dam, and dug out
a channel for the overplus of water on either side of the shaft; and
then we started pumping out the mine."
"An' it were a job!" said Seth, taking up the thread of the story.
"I've been in a vessel as sprung a leak, and where the hands were
pumping day and night, with nary a spell off, so as to kip a plank
atween us and the bottom of Davy Jones's looker; but, never, in all my
born days, have I seed sich pumpin' as went on in that thaar week!"
"As Seth says," resumed Mr Rawlings, "we were like mariners pumping at
the hold of a water-logged ship, as if for life. We pumped, and pumped,
and pumped; but, in spite of all our efforts, only succeeded in just
keeping the enemy in check, that's all."
"Can't get the mine dry, eh?"
"No, not for any length of time. What we gain in the day, we lose again
at night. In concise terms, I may put it, that by keeping the hose
constantly at work, which of course interrupts the progress of
excavation, we barely manage to hold our own, neither gaining nor losing
an inch."
"That's a bad lookout!" said Ernest Wilton, shaking his head.
It was. It meant ruin to all their hopes and expectations; the
inglorious end of the expedition; the sacrifice of all their toil and
perseverance throughout those terribly arduous winter months; their
waste of energy in struggling with the powers of nature. It meant all
that, and more!
Such a state of things would never do to last.
Difficulties were only made for men to overcome, according to the maxim
which had hitherto guided Mr Rawlings and Seth Allport, and which they
had preached to the more faint-hearted members of their party; and,
Ernest Wilton was a thorough disciple of their creed, for he was not one
to be daunted by obstacles, no matter how grievous and apparently
insurmountable they were;--no, not he.
The young engineer went down the mine to look for himself, and to form
his own opinion as to what was best to be done in the emergency.
He went down looking grave enough, but he returned with a more hopeful
expression on his face, which at once cheered up the somewhat despondent
spirits of those awaiting him above--for he preferred descending alone.
"Well?" inquired Mr Rawlings, interrogatively.
"It might be worse," said the young engineer smiling.
"That sounds good," said Seth Allport, his countenance, which had
previously been grimmer than ever, beaming over its whole expanse, as if
the sun was trying to shine through overhanging clouds and fog. Seth's
phiz was as expressive as a barometer any clay.
"I think I see a way out of the difficulty," said Ernest Wilton to ease
their anxiety, which he could readily sympathise with after what he had
seen.
"I am sure you would not say so unless you had some hopes of its
success," said Mr Rawlings, whom the good news seemed to affect more
than all the previous trials had done, for he looked quite pale, and
almost trembled with eagerness as he questioned the bearer of the
welcome tidings.
"No," said Ernest Wilton joyously, for he was very glad to be able to
communicate the intelligence to those who had succoured him in his own
distress, and now appealed to him for assistance. "There's a chance for
the mine yet; and you need not despair of having spent your toil in
vain."
"Bully for you!" exclaimed Seth Allport. "Didn't I say now--ask anybody
present if I didn't anyhow--that you'd brought us good luck?"
"I rejoice to hear you say so," said Mr Rawlings, a little more calmly,
although his whole fortune had been at stake, as it were; for if the
mine had turned out a failure he would have been ruined, and had to
begin the world over again. "It would have been hard that all our
labour should have gone for nothing."
"Well, my dear sir," said Ernest Wilton cheerfully, "you need not
complain now. It is not a case with you of `Love's labour lost,' as in
Shakespeare's play of that title."
STORY ONE, CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
COUNTERMINING.
"What do you think of doing?" asked Mr Rawlings, drawing a long breath
of relief on hearing Ernest Wilton's cheering words. "We have tried
almost everything to stop the flow of water and failed--Seth and I; and
although you appear so sanguine, I hardly see what can be done, myself."
And he sighed again, as if he were returning to his previous state of
despondency.
"Did you ever hear the old Irish saying that `there's more ways of
killing a pig besides hanging him?'" asked Ernest Wilton, instead of
answering the other's question at once.
"Yes," laughingly replied Mr Rawlings.
"Then," said the young engineer, "I am going to carry that precept into
practice regarding your mine."
"How?"
"You have tried pumping without avail, have you not?" said Ernest
Wilton.
"That's a fact," said Seth Allport, with the full power of his down-east
nasal intonation. "Yer couldn't hit nearer the mark than thaat, I
guess, sirree."
"And you could never get the water lower than fifty feet off the bottom
of the shaft?" pursued the young engineer, stating his case, "could
you?"
"No, not a foot lower," said Mr Rawlings.
"Then what think you of a countermine?"
"I don't quite understand you," said Mr Rawlings.
"Don't you?" said Ernest Wilton, smiling, "and yet it is easy enough to
answer, as you told me just now, when I wondered how you did not know
when the water came into the shaft."
"Pray explain," replied Mr Rawlings. "I didn't keep you in suspense,
you know, when you confessed your inability to answer the question."
"No," said the other, "and I'll treat you as fairly now. You see, at
present there is only an intervening wall, of about one hundred yards in
gross thickness, dividing the shaft from the channel of the gulch
outside. The upper part of the stratum is mere gravel, for as you
found, in winter the river extends beyond the point where you are
sinking. Judging by the eye, I should say that the mouth of the shaft
is twenty feet above the level of the water in the river. So far you
would naturally find no water. When you began work the water in the
river must have been ten feet at least lower than it is at present,
consequently it was no higher than the solid rock where you began to
work down in the quartz. So long as the river was below that level you
naturally would meet with no water whatever, however deep you might
sink, but directly it rose so that it was higher than the level of the
rock, it would penetrate through the gravel like a sieve, and will fill
your shaft as fast as you can pump it out. Gradually the river will
sink as the dry season comes on, and in the autumn will be again below
the level of the rock. You can't wait for that, and must therefore
carry your shaft from the top of the bed rock to the level of the water
in the stream, say twelve-feet in all, but of course we will get the
levels accurately."
"That sounds right," Seth nodded approvingly. "What's go ter be done?"
"The job is by no means a difficult one," Ernest Wilton answered. "In
the first place, we must widen the shaft by a foot down to the level of
the rock, that will give six inches all round. Then we must square off
and level the top of the rock, which will then be a level shaft six
inches wide all round. While you are doing this we must make a drum
ready. That is easily made. We must make four circular frameworks,
fasten twelve-feet planks, carefully fitted together, and pitched
outside them so as to make it perfectly water-tight. We ought to have a
layer of hydraulic lime or cement laid on the rock for the drum to rest
on; but if we have not got them, some well-puddled clay will do as well.
Then when the drum is in position in the shaft of rock, its upper end
will be higher than the level of the water in the river, and if the rock
is compact and free from fissures we shall be perfectly dry however deep
we may sink. How are you off for strong planks? They must be strong to
resist the pressure of the water and gravel."
"I fear that we have no planks of that thickness whatever," Mr Rawlings
said. "We only brought enough timber for the scaffolding over the mine,
and a little for framework if it wanted lining. You see, we did line it
down to the rock. I think we have one balk of nine-inch timber left."
"Let us measure it and see how many two-inch planks it will make."
It was thirty-two feet long. Eight feet was therefore useless for
planks, but would come in for the framework. Twenty-four feet would
make eight planks of a little over two inches thick, nine inches wide,
and twelve-feet long.
"This is less than a fifth of what we require," Ernest Wilton said.
"The shaft is eight feet in diameter, so we shall need some thirty-two
nine-inch planks. However, there are trees about, not very large and
not very high, but big enough to get one or two nine-inch planks
twelve-feet long from each. The first thing to do is to get a supply of
them."
"And you feel quite sure that by lining this portion of the mine with a
drum, as you describe, we shall get over our difficulty with the water?"
Mr Rawlings said.
"Quite sure," Ernest Wilton replied; "providing always that the rock is
solid."
"Then it's as good as done," Seth said emphatically. "You have put us
on the right track, Wilton, and we'll carry it through. I never thought
about the river, and kept on wondering why that darned gravel kept
letting the water through when it was as dry as bones when we drove
through it."
While the preparations were being made and parties scouring the country
for timber the young engineer bent his mind to the task of inventing
some better mode of getting rid of the water than by manual labour--the
mine being sadly deficient in a lot of necessary gear, besides
steam-power, as Ernest Wilton had quickly perceived, although he had
refrained from commenting on the fact.
"You see," said Mr Rawlings, in apology, "I undertook too big an
enterprise with the little capital I had: and, consequently, have been
unable to work it properly. Indeed," he continued confidentially, "if
we don't hit upon a good lead soon I shall have to give up, for my funds
now will hardly suffice to pay the hands what I promised them; and if we
continue working, I should have to get more stores and planks, and lots
of things, which I certainly cannot afford unless we strike visible
gold."
"I have a few hundred dollars of my own--" began Ernest; but Mr
Rawlings stopped him at once.
"No, no, my dear fellow," said he impulsively, "your natural kindness of
heart shall not lead you into throwing away your hard-earned money on my
venture. I shall sink or swim on my own bottom, as the saying goes,
although I thank you sincerely all the same. But about the mine," he
continued, veering away from the delicate subject, "I'm sorry we haven't
got a steam-engine; but that was all Seth's fault. He would believe
that a mine could be pumped out as easily as a vessel's bilge."
"That's me," said Seth, not a whit annoyed at the imputation. "I hate
them donkey enjines. They mostly chokes the pumps, and I'd liefer any
day have hand gear an' a decent crew to clear ship with."
"Well, whether you like it better or not," said Ernest Wilton, with good
humour and good sense combined, "you haven't one, and we'll have to make
the best of a bad bargain."
"That's so!" said Seth, with much satisfaction apparently.
"And that being the case," continued the young engineer, "we'll teach
our enemy to beat itself, or in other words, make water fight water."
"Jerusalem!" exclaimed Seth admiringly. "How on airth will you get to
do that, mister?"
"Look before you," said Ernest Wilton, pointing to the foaming stream
that was dashing along the valley. "Look at the waste of energy there!
Why, with a good undershot wheel that water-power is worth more than a
hundred additional hands at the pumps."
If Seth had looked at the speaker admiringly before, no words could
express his pleased astonishment now. He seemed to glow all over with
gratification.
"I'm jiggered!" he ejaculated, gazing at Ernest Wilton from the tip of
his boots to the top of his head. "You air a screamer, an' no mistake!"
Even Mr Rawlings, generally so sedate of demeanour, in contrast to Seth
Allport, who usually went into extremes, became enthusiastic.
"My dear boy," said he, grasping both of Ernest's hands and shaking them
with much heartiness, "you'll be the making of us all."
"I shall try to be," said the young engineer; "for I certainly don't
intend to be content with merely clearing the mine of water. You don't
know half the value of your property yet; why, that quartz there,"
waving his hand towards a heap of the debris that had been extracted
from the shaft and cast aside as waste, "if passed through a crushing
mill would yield a handsome premium."
"I know," said Mr Rawlings sadly. "But I couldn't afford the
machinery."
"We'll soon manufacture it, with a little help from the nearest town,
where we can get some of the articles we can't make," said Ernest Wilton
sanguinely; "we've got the power to drive the machinery, and that's the
main thing, my dear sir. We'll soon manage the rest."
"I'm sure I hope so," replied Mr Rawlings; but he had received such a
chock from the mine already, on account of its turning out so
differently to his expectations, that he could not feel sanguine all at
once, like the young engineer who had not experienced those weary months
of waiting and hope deferred, as he had.
Not so Seth, however. His tone of mind was very opposite to that of Mr
Rawlings.
The ex-mate was as confident of their success now as when they had
started from Boston, before he or the rest knew the perils and arduous
toil they would have to undergo. All those trials vanished as if by
magic from his memory, as quickly as the winter snow was now melting
away from the landscape around them, and he thought he could see the
golden future right in front of his mental gaze, all obstacles being
cleared away in a moment by Ernest Wilton's hopeful words.
"Hooray, Rawlings!" he exclaimed excitedly, twirling his "cheese-cutter"
cap round his head, and executing a sort of hop, skip, and jump of
delight. "The Britisher's the boy for us! I guess we'll strike ile
now, and no flies, you bet, sirree!"
STORY ONE, CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
A HAPPY HUNTING-GROUND.
Within a few days after Ernest Wilton had joined the miners of Minturne
Creek, the winter seemed to vanish away at once, the "chinook wind"
coming with its warm breath from the Pacific through the gaps and passes
of the Rocky Mountains far-away to the west, and dissolving the last
remaining evidences of Jack Frost's handiwork.
The region of the Black Hills, as the young engineer had now the
opportunity of observing, as the mountains and valleys shook off their
snowy mantle and became clothed anew in the fresh green verdure of
spring, is one of the most picturesque in the States, partaking alike of
the lofty grandeur and rough magnificence of the sierras of the north,
and the spreading landscape features to be met with in the middle of the
continent adjacent to the watersheds of the Missouri and Mississippi,
where the open country extends like a panorama on either side for miles.
The Black Hills proper partly lie in Dakota, occupying the south-west
extremity of that state, and partly in Wyoming, and are almost encircled
by the Cheyenne river, the principal fork of that stream extending in a
curve right round the northern limit of the region, to where it joins
the lesser tributary, which similarly skirts the southern side of the
hills. On the north-east, the two branches then unite in one large
river, styled by way of contrast "The Big Cheyenne," which ultimately
falls into the vast rolling tide of the Missouri, some hundred miles
further on due east, at a place called Fort Bennett.
The branches of the Cheyenne are not the only streams of the region, for
many others, some of considerable dimensions and volume, and others mere
tiny brooklets, wander in every direction through the country. The
Black Hills are divided from the adjacent prairie by a series of valleys
some two to three miles across; while, away back from the more elevated
points, the land rolls off into a series of undulating plains, covered
with grasses of every hue, and timbered along the banks of the rivers
that transect them with the useful cottonwood tree, the ash and the
pine, mingled with occasional thickets of willow and the wild cherry,
and briars and brushwood of every description.
The operation of timbering the shaft making satisfactory progress, and
Ernest Wilton's water-wheel, that was to do such wonders, having been
"got well under weigh," as Seth expressed it, the chief members of the
party determined to have an "outing" into the open land lying beyond
their own especial valley, in search of game; for the cry for fresh meat
had again arisen in the camp and urged them on to fresh exertions to
supply the larder, quite apart from their own inclinations to have
another day off the dreary work of the mine, which seemed to fall most
upon Mr Rawlings and Seth, as it was at their mutual suggestion that
they went a "hunting,"--as a shooting expedition is termed in the New
World.
Having so determined, they carried their determination into effect, and
started.
"I should think you had plenty of game here?" said Ernest Wilton, when
they had left Minturne Creek some distance behind them, and entered upon
an extensive prairie, that stretched before them, in waves of grass as
far as the eye could reach, to the horizon.
"I should think so," said Mr Rawlings. "Why, it swarms with it."
"What sort?" asked the other. "Any deer?"
"Every variety you can almost mention. Deer, elk, moose--although these
are to be found more to the northwards--antelope, mountain-sheep--as you
know already--grizzly bears--if you relish such customers--and buffalo
as soon as the sweet summer grasses crop up here, and the pasturage to
the south loses its flavour for them."
"That's a pretty good catalogue," said Ernest, who was a keen sportsman.
"Any birds?"
"The most uncommon slap-up flying game, I guess, in creation," said
Seth, "if yer cares to tackle with sich like; though I prefers runnin'
game, I does."
"Seth is right," said Mr Rawlings; "you will have a varied choice there
likewise: grouse, partridge, prairie-fowl, wild geese, ducks--these two,
however, are more to be met with in the winter months, and will be off
to the Arctic regions soon--all sorts, in fact. And as to fishing, the
salmon and trout--the latter of which you'll find in every stream in the
neighbourhood--beat those of England."
"Well," said Ernest, laughing, "if your report be true, as I see no
reason to doubt, you must have discovered those happy hunting-grounds to
which all good Indians go when they die."
"Don't talk of Injuns," said Seth with a shiver and a shake. "That's
the worst part of the hull thing, I reckon. If it warn't for them, the
place would be a kinder paradise--it would so, sirree; but those Injuns
spile it all."
"What he says is true enough," observed Mr Rawlings. "We are in the
very heart of the Indian country, with Blackfeet, Crows, and Sioux, not
to mention lesser fry, within striking distance; and if there should be
a rising amongst them, as it is threatened this spring or summer, it
would be a bad thing for the people in the sparse and scattered
settlements in Dakota."
"But the United States' army has stations about here, eh?" inquired
Ernest.
"Few and far between," replied Mr Rawlings. "As I told you some little
time since, the nearest one to us is at least a hundred miles away.
Besides that, the detachments quartered here and there are so attenuated
in their numbers that five or six of the so-called companies have to be
concentred together from the different outlying depots in order to
muster any respectable contingent that could take the field against the
Indians should they rise in force."
"An' them Sioux under Spotted Cloud, or whatever else they call their
precious chief, ain't to be despised, I guess, in a free fight," said
Seth.
"Pray don't talk any more about them," said the young engineer,
laughing, as he took off his wideawake and ran his fingers through his
curly brown hair. "I declare my scalp feels quite ticklish already."
"Them redskins 'ud tickle it a sight worse if they got holt of it," said
Seth grimly, cocking his rifle as he spoke. "But I reckon I heerd
somethin' russlin' about thaar to the back of yer, mister," he added
suddenly, gazing intently in the direction he had intimated, to the rear
of the young engineer, where the prairie-grass had already grown to some
height.
"What was it?" said Mr Rawlings, likewise preparing his weapon, and
telling Ernest to follow suit. "Did you see it at all?"
And he peered anxiously about to the right and left.
"Yes, jist for a minnit," responded the ex-mate. "It wer a longish
sorter animale; a catamount or a wolf, maybe. Thaar! Thaar! I seed it
again! Jerusalem! I have it!"
And he fired as he spoke, quick as lightning, as a dark object bounded
from the cover and made a direct plunge at the young engineer, who was
taken unawares, and came to the ground, as much from the suddenness of
the shock as from the impulse of the animal's spring.
"Stay!" shouted Mr Rawlings, as Seth was rushing forwards with his
clubbed rifle to where Ernest Wilton and his assailant appeared
struggling together amidst the grass that almost concealed them from
view. "I'll settle the beast, if you hold back a minute and let me have
a clear aim."
But before he could get a shot, or Seth deal the deadly blow he
contemplated with the butt-end of his rifle, Ernest Wilton uttered an
exclamation that stopped them both--an exclamation of surprise and
agonised entreaty.
"Don't fire!" he cried out in a voice which was half laughing, half
crying. "Don't fire, Mr Rawlings. It is only Wolf."
"Wolf! who's Wolf?" said Mr Rawlings and Seth together, as Ernest
Wilton rose to his feet; the ex-mate adding under his breath, with a
whistle to express astonishment on his part, in his usual way when so
affected, "Jerusalem! this beats Bunker's Hill, anyhow!"
"The dearest and most faithful dog, companion, friend, that any one ever
had," said Ernest with much emotion, caressing a fine, though
half-starved-looking Scotch deer-hound, that appeared in paroxysms of
delight at recognising his master, leaping up to his neck with loving
barks, and licking his face, to express his happiness and affection in
the manner customary to doggydom, almost wild with joy.
"You never told me about him?" said Mr Rawlings.