THE SECRET MEETING--A PLUNGE DOWN AN AIR-SHAFT
What Mrs. Sterling saw was her own son Derrick, who was just about to
enter the house. As the light from behind her shone full upon him, he
presented a sorry spectacle, and one well calculated to draw forth an
exclamation from an anxious mother. Hatless and coatless, his face
bruised, swollen, and so covered with blood and coal-dust that its
features were almost unrecognizable, he could not well have presented a
more striking contrast to the clean, cheerful lad whom she had sent down
into the mine with a kiss and a blessing that very morning.
"Why, Derrick!" she exclaimed, the moment she made sure that it was
really he. "What has happened to you? has there been an accident? They
said you were kept down for overwork. Tell me the worst at once, dear!
Are you badly hurt?"
"No, indeed, mother," answered the boy in as cheerful a tone as he could
command. "I am not much hurt, only bruised and banged a little by a
blast that I carelessly stayed too close to. A little hot water and soap
will put me all right again after I've had some supper; but, if you love
me, mother, give me something to eat quickly, for I'm most starved."
By this time they were within the house, and as Mrs. Sterling hastened
to make ready the supper she had saved for Derrick, he dropped into a
chair utterly exhausted. He might well be exhausted, for what he had
passed through and suffered since leaving home that morning could not
have been borne by a boy of weaker constitution or less strength of
will. He was greatly revived by two cups of strong tea and the food set
before him. After satisfying his hunger he went to his own room, and
took a bath in water as hot as he could bear it, and washed his cuts and
bruises with white castile-soap, a piece of which Mrs. Sterling always
managed to keep on hand for such emergencies. It was fortunate for her
peace of mind that the fond mother did not see the cruel bruises that
covered her boy's body from head to foot.
The bath refreshed him so much, and so loosened the joints that were
beginning to feel very stiff and painful, that Derrick believed he was
able, before going to bed, to perform the one duty still remaining to be
done. Mrs. Sterling thought he had gone to bed, and was greatly
surprised to see him come from his room fully dressed. When he told her
that he must go out again to deliver an important message to the mine
boss, she begged him to wait until morning, or at least to let her carry
it for him. Assuring her that it was absolutely necessary that he should
deliver the message himself that very night, and saying that he would be
back within an hour, Derrick kissed his mother and went out.
On the street he met with but one person, a miner hurrying towards the
slope, to whom he did not speak, and who he thought did not recognize
him.
Mr. Jones had closed his house for the night, and was about to retire,
when he was startled by a knock at the outer door. Recent events had
rendered him so suspicious and cautious that he stepped to his desk and
took from it a revolver, which he held in his hand as he stood near the
door, and without opening it, called out,
"Who's there? and what do you want at this time of night?"
As softly as he could, and yet make himself heard, Derrick answered,
"It is I, sir, Derrick Sterling, and I have got something important to
tell you."
At this answer a man who had stolen up behind Derrick, unperceived by
him in the darkness, slipped away with noiseless but hurried footsteps.
"Is anybody with you?" demanded the mine boss, without opening the door.
"No, sir; I am all alone."
Then the door was cautiously opened, Derrick was bidden to step inside
quickly, and it was immediately closed again and bolted. Leading the way
into the library, the mine boss said, not unkindly, but somewhat
impatiently,
"Well, Sterling, what brings you here at this time of night? working
boys should be in bed and asleep before this."
While Derrick is explaining to the mine boss why he is not abed and
asleep, and giving his reasons for disturbing him at that late hour, we
will return to the mine, and see for ourselves what befell him there,
after the events narrated in the last chapter.
The Young Sleepers had left him blindfolded, alone, and in total
darkness, lying on the floor of an unfamiliar gangway. The boy's first
impulse, when he realized that his persecutors had departed and left him
alone, was to tear the bandage from his eyes and fling it far from him.
Of course this did not enable him to see anything, but he felt more free
now that the cloth was removed, and was thankful they had not bound his
wrists so that he could not have reached it.
His next impulse was to shout for help, but an instant's reflection
decided him not to do so. It was not at all probable that anybody except
his tormentors would hear him, and they would only rejoice at this
evidence of his distress. He knew that all his shoutings would not bring
them to him until they were ready to come, and he felt that he had too
little strength left to waste it thus uselessly.
He could not bear to remain where he was without at least making an
attempt to help himself; so he rose to his feet, and feeling his way
very cautiously, began to walk along the gangway. Although he did not
know it, he involuntarily turned in the opposite direction from the
place where Bill Tooley and his companions were waiting and listening to
hear from him.
For some time Derrick expected to reach a door, behind which he should
find a boy, or to meet a train of mule-cars, or a miner who would lead
him to the foot of the slope. At length, however, when he had walked a
long distance, and yet found none of these, his courage began to leave
him and a wild terror to take its place.
Suddenly, like a flash, it occurred to him that he had not struck any
rails in walking, nor felt any indications of a car-track. Filled with a
new dread, he stooped down, and with trembling hands felt every inch of
the wet floor from one side of the gangway to the other. There was no
sign of a track, and he knew, what he had already suspected, that it had
been torn up, and that he was in an abandoned gangway, which another
human being might not enter for years.
This revelation of the full horror of his situation was too much for the
overstrained nerves of the poor lad. He uttered a loud cry, which was
echoed and re-echoed with startling distinctness through the silent,
rock-walled gallery, flung himself on the wet floor, and burst into
bitter sobbings.
How long he lay there, in a sort of semi-stupor after this first
outburst of his despair, he had no means of knowing, but he was finally
roused into an attitude of eager attention by what sounded like a
distant murmur of voices. He sat up, and then sprang to his feet,
rubbing his eyes and staring in a bewildered manner into the darkness of
the gangway ahead of him. Did he see a light only a few paces before
him? It seemed so. Yet he was not sure, for it was not a direct ray, as
from a lamp, but a sort of dim, flickering radiance that appeared to
rise from the very floor almost at his feet.
For several minutes Derrick stared at it incredulously, unable to fathom
the mystery of its appearance. Was it a light produced by human agency,
or was it one of those weird illuminations that sometimes arise from the
dampness and foul air of old mines? He stepped towards it to satisfy
himself of its true character, and as he did so was confronted by a
danger so terrible that, although he had escaped it, his heart almost
stopped beating as he realized its full extent.
By the vague light proceeding from it he saw a pit-hole occupying the
entire width of the gangway, and apparently of great depth. Around its
edge had been built a barrier of logs breast-high. Through age these had
so decayed and fallen that, had Derrick continued a few steps further on
his way, instead of stopping to indulge his grief, he must have walked
into the pit and fallen to the bottom.
The sound of voices that he had heard came up through this opening, and
he was just about to call for help, to whoever was down there, when his
attention was arrested by one voice louder and harsher than the others.
It sounded like that of Job Taskar, the blacksmith, and it said, as
though in settlement of some dispute,
"I don't care a rap who does it, or how it is done, Jones must be put
out of the way somehow or other."
Another voice, which was hardly audible, asked, "What about the kid?"
To this came answer in a voice which there was no mistaking for other
than Monk Tooley's,
"De Young Sleepers is lookin' arter him. Dey're givin' him a big scare.
Blinded him, and toted him back and for'ard, going in and out t'old
gangway door between whiles to make him think he was a long ways off.
Den dey left him just inside t'old gangway, nigh de slope. He thinks
he's at de far end of nowhere by dis time. Dey'll soon drive him from de
mine."
"If they don't, others will," said Job Taskar's voice. "We don't want no
boss's pets spying round this mine. Now, lads, we'll get out of this.
Remember, next regular meeting's on the 27th. We'll fix then how all's
to be done."
There was a confused murmuring after this, but Derrick could make
nothing out of it, and in a few minutes a strong draught of air sucked
down the hole over which he hung, and the dim light disappeared. As it
did so, the poor lad gave one wild cry for help. It only reached the
ears of the last of those below as he was leaving the chamber in which
they had held their meeting. To him it sounded so awful and supernatural
that he was greatly frightened, and hurried on after the others, leaving
the door open behind him, whereby the strong draught down the air-shaft
was continued.
For a few minutes Derrick thought he was indeed lost, and gave himself
up to despair. Then he gradually recalled the words of Monk Tooley that
referred to himself, and received a gleam of hope from them. If indeed
he had been left just inside the door of an old gangway, near the foot
of the slope, might he not find his way back to it and escape? He
shuddered as he thought of the long walk through the awful darkness, but
he was no better off where he was. So, with much thinking and
hesitation, he finally started back on the road he had come, carefully
feeling his way and making but slow progress.
He thought he should never reach the end; but at last he came to a door,
beyond which he heard the sound of human voices, and through the
crevices of which air was rushing outward. Cautiously he pulled it open,
fearing lest some of his late persecutors might be waiting to seize him.
The way was clear, and though he saw several lights in the distance,
none was near him. Gently closing the door, he darted towards the
travelling-road down which he had come that morning, and entered it
without having been observed.
The climb up the gigantic stairway was a tedious one for the weary lad,
and called for such frequent rests that it occupied him nearly an hour.
When he finally reached the top he had barely strength enough left to
drag himself home.
This was the story that Derrick Sterling told the assistant
superintendent in the library of the latter's house that night.
Mr. Jones listened to it with the gravest and most earnest attention,
only interrupting now and then to ask a question concerning some point
that was not made quite clear, or to give utterance to an expression of
sympathy as Derrick related some of his sufferings.
The brave lad had not intended to say anything regarding his treatment
by the Young Sleepers, but was obliged to do so in answer to questions
as to how he happened to be left in the old gangway.
When he had finished, the mine boss grasped him warmly by the hand, and
said,
"My boy, by this timely information, so miraculously obtained, you have
doubtless given me a chance for my life which I should not otherwise
have had. Your adventures have been most thrilling, and your deliverance
wonderful. Now go home and to bed; you must not think of going to work
again until I give you permission to do so."
Once more Derrick found his mother anxiously awaiting his return. He
told her that the mine boss had been very kind to him, and that as he
was not going to work the next day she need not waken him in the
morning. Then he threw himself, all dressed as he was, upon his bed, and
while trying to relate to her some of the events of his first day in the
mine, fell into a profound sleep.
Meantime other events, equally thrilling with those just related, were
taking place in the mine.
Bill Tooley's brutal disposition was mainly the result of his home
training and influences, for he could not remember having had a single
gentle or kind word spoken to him in all his stormy life. In spite of it
he was troubled with some prickings of conscience, and a sort of pity
that evening, as he reflected upon the unhappy condition of the lad whom
he had left to wander alone amid the awful blackness of the abandoned
gangway. He had not intended to do anything so cruel as this when he
first left Derrick where he did. He thought the boy would certainly cry
out for help, and after allowing him to suffer thus for a short time he
meant to go to him and offer to release him upon condition of his
joining the Young Sleepers. This plan had been upset by Derrick's
disappearance, and then it was more to assert his authority over his
companions than with the idea of inflicting further cruelty upon their
victim that he had ordered him to be left for a while. Now he began to
feel anxious concerning the fate of the lad, and eager to effect his
release.
Feeling thus, as soon as he had finished an uncomfortable supper in his
wretched home, filled with quarrelling children, and ruled by a
slatternly, shrill-voiced mother, he hurried out to try and induce some
of his companions to accompany him down into the mine in a search for
Derrick. He had some difficulty in doing this, for the other boys were
badly frightened by what had taken place, and dreaded to return into the
mine. It was more than an hour after he started out before he had
persuaded four of the boldest among them to join him in the proposed
search.
As this little party gathered at the mouth of the slope, and prepared to
descend in a car that was about to start down with some timbers for
props, a timid voice said,
"Can't I go too, Bill? Please let me! I know you are going to look for
Derrick. Please, Bill!"
It was Paul Evert, who, with an undefined feeling of dread and fear for
the safety of his friend, had hung on the outskirts of various groups of
boys in the village street until from their conversations he had learned
the whole story. With senses sharpened by anxiety and love, he had
discovered that Bill Tooley and his companions were going in search of
the missing lad. Now, with his father's mine cap bearing its tiny lamp
on his head, he begged to be allowed to go with them.
Bill hesitated for a moment, and then, for fear lest if he refused Paul
would spread the story of what he had discovered, or perhaps, moved by
some better feeling, he said, "Yes, pile in if yer want to, dough I
don't see what good you can do."
Overjoyed to receive this permission, Paul hastily scrambled into the
car just as it began to move, and in a few minutes was landed with the
rest at the foot of the slope.
Some time before this Derrick had emerged from the old gangway, and
turned into the travelling-road, up which he was now laboriously making
his way.
There did not happen to be an overseer at the bottom of the slope just
then, and to the one or two men who observed them the presence of boys
in the mine at all hours of the day and night was too common to attract
comment; so the little party had no difficulty in entering the old
gangway without being noticed or questioned.
For some reason which he could not explain Paul had brought with him a
new clothes-line, which he now carried, coiled and hung about his neck.
Bill Tooley took the lead, and Paul, with the aid of his crutch, hobbled
along close after him, while the others walked fearfully in a bunch at
some little distance behind.
They had not gone far when Bill stopped and picked up a piece of cloth
from the ground.
"Here's what was over his eyes," he said, "an' as it's a bit furder dan
where we left 'im, it shows he's gone furder in."
The boys gazed at the cloth in awe-struck silence, as though it were
something to be dreaded; and, when Bill called out, "Come on, fellers,
yer won't never find nothing a-standin' dere like a lot o' balky mules,"
they followed him even more reluctantly than before.
Lighted by their lamps, they made far more rapid progress than poor
Derrick had in the darkness, and soon approached the place where he had
discovered the dim, reflected light above the mouth of the old
air-shaft. Just here the oil in their leader's lamp began to give out,
and its flame to burn with a waning and uncertain light.
All at once a strong draught of air extinguished it entirely. He took a
step forward in the darkness towards a log which he had barely seen, and
thought might be Derrick Sterling lying down. Then came a terrible cry,
and Paul's light showed nothing in front of him save the yawning mouth
of the shaft down which Bill Tooley had pitched headlong!