A CRIPPLE'S BRAVE DEED
As Bill Tooley thus met the fate Derrick had so narrowly escaped, and
the Young Sleepers who followed him were left without a leader, they
were thrown into a sad state of confusion. Two of them started to run
back, another threw himself on the floor and burst into loud
lamentations, while the fourth stood motionless and silent from fear. Of
them all, only Paul Evert, the crippled lad, retained his presence of
mind.
As upon all such occasions he who retains full command of his faculties
and remains calm at once assumes the position of a leader, so it was
now.
In a voice that sounded loud and stern as compared with his ordinary
gentle tone, Paul commanded the runaways to stop and return at once.
They hesitated a moment and then obeyed him. He ordered the boy who lay
upon the floor to cease his outcries and get up. Then the little fellow
approached as close to the air-shaft as he dared, and lying down, with
his head beyond its edge, he listened. In a moment he was rewarded for
his pains, for he heard a faint moan. There came another more
distinctly, and he knew that wherever Bill Tooley was he was still
alive, and might possibly be saved.
Taking the lamp from his cap, and the coil of line from about his neck,
where it seemed to have been placed for this very emergency, he tied the
one to an end of the other and gently lowered it into the shaft. Before
doing this he ordered two of the boys to hold him tightly by the legs,
and thus prevent him from slipping over the edge. Quieted, and with some
of their courage restored by his coolness, they did as he directed, and
held him with so firm a grip that for many days afterwards his legs bore
black and blue imprints of their fingers.
As the little lamp swung downward the draught of air caused it to flare
and flicker as though it were about to be extinguished, but it was
nearly full of oil, and the wick had just been pricked up, so it
continued to burn and throw an uncertain light upon the glistening
masses of coal that formed the sides of the shaft. It had not been
lowered more than ten feet when its feeble rays disclosed a dark object,
apparently suspended in mid-air, in the centre of the shaft. It was Bill
Tooley, and Paul saw that by some means his downward plunge had been
arrested, and that he was now clinging to an invisible support.
Hastily pulling up the lamp, Paul replaced it on his cap, and doubling
his line, made one end of it fast to an old timber prop or support of
the gangway roof that stood a short distance from the shaft. Knotting
the loose end about his body, and bidding the boys place one of the old
logs close to the edge of the shaft and hold it there to prevent the
rope from being chafed or cut, the brave little hump-backed lad, who,
like most of those in his condition, was unusually strong in his arms,
swung himself into the dark hole. Down he slid into the blackness,
slowly and cautiously, until he came to the object of his search. It was
Bill Tooley's limp body hanging across a stout timber brace, which,
extending from side to side of the shaft and firmly bedded in its walls
at each end, had been left there by the miners who cut this air-channel.
As Paul's withered leg was of no assistance to him in clinging to the
timber, he lashed himself securely to it before attempting to do
anything for the boy who had so recently been his enemy and tormentor,
and was now dependent upon his efforts for even a chance for life. Bill
was not unconscious, though so weak from pain and fright as to be nearly
helpless. Under the influence of Paul's cheering words, and after the
line had been securely fastened about his body, he was induced to let go
his desperate hold of the timber and grasp the rope. Then Paul called
out to the boys above to pull up very slowly and carefully, as the least
carelessness might result in dashing both Bill and him to the bottom of
the shaft.
Bill Tooley was a heavy weight for the frightened boys at the top to
manage, and several times, even in the short distance of ten feet, his
upward progress was arrested, and Paul feared that they were about to
let him slip back. Obeying his instructions, two of the boys walked away
with the rope, instead of trying to pull up hand-over-hand, while the
other two held the log at the edge in place, and made ready to catch
hold of Bill's arm as soon as he should come within reach.
Finally his head appeared above the surface, and he was dragged,
screaming with pain, over the edge, and laid groaning on the floor of
the gangway. Then the rope was again lowered to the brave little fellow
who was clinging in perfect darkness--for his light had at length blown
out--to the timber brace in the shaft. He was drawn to the surface much
more quickly and easily than Bill Tooley had been; but when he found
himself once more in safety, a reaction from the nervous strain of the
past half-hour set in. Throwing himself down beside Bill, he began to
sob so violently as to greatly astonish the boys, who beheld but could
not comprehend this weakness in one whose strong will had but a minute
before so completely mastered theirs.
In a few moments Paul recovered his composure sufficiently to ask two of
the boys to go to the chamber at the foot of the slope and procure
assistance to carry Bill Tooley, who was evidently unable to walk. After
a long delay these two returned, in company with several miners, who
brought a stretcher such as is often kept in coal mines in readiness for
the accidents that are so common to them.
From what the messenger boys had told them, these men knew most of the
facts connected with the accident. They were so loud in their praise of
Paul for his brave deed that he became greatly confused, though it must
be confessed that praise from these great strong men, any one of whom
would be proud to have done what he had, sounded very pleasantly to the
crippled lad. In order to have a little time to think it all over, he
hobbled on ahead of the others, who moved but slowly with their burden.
When he was thus alone with his thoughts, Paul suddenly remembered the
object for which he had entered the mine. It had been completely lost
sight of in the excitement of the past hour, but now he realized that
they had discovered nothing concerning Derrick's fate. He grew faint and
cold at the remembrance of the air-shaft. Did his dear friend's body lie
at the bottom of it? He trembled as he thought how very possibly this
might be the case, and waiting for the men to overtake him, he asked if
they knew anything of Derrick Sterling.
"Yes," answered one of them, "I saw him come out of his mother's house
as I was passing on my way to the slope, more'n half an hour ago."
"Are you sure?" asked Paul, in great surprise.
"Certainly I am. Why not? was there anything strange in that?"
"Yes, we thought he was lost in the mine, and have been hunting for
him."
"Well, you were mistaken, that's all, and you've had your hunt for
nothing."
Paul was made very happy by this news, though it greatly puzzled him.
The other boys were relieved to hear that Derrick was safe, but greatly
alarmed as to what fate was in store for them as a punishment for the
injuries they had inflicted upon him. Judging from what they would have
done under similar circumstances, they did not doubt that Derrick had
already spread the story of his wrongs through the village, together
with the names of all those who had persecuted him.
At length the party reached the foot of the slope, and Bill Tooley, with
his head resting in Paul Evert's lap, and moaning with pain, was sent in
an empty car to the surface. The bully had made himself so unpopular by
his cruelty, and by his overbearing ways, that nobody except Paul felt
very sorry for him. When it was learned that he had received his
injuries in consequence of his persecution of Derrick Sterling, the
general verdict was that he was rightly served.
The injured boy was carried to his home, whither Paul accompanied him;
but the latter was so frightened by the outcries of Mrs. Tooley when she
learned what had happened that he hurried away without entering the
house. On his way home he stopped at the Sterlings' to inquire if
Derrick were really safe, and was much comforted to learn that he had
just come in and gone to bed--"Where you should be yourself, Paul," said
Mrs. Sterling, kindly, as she bade him good-night.
As the tired but light-hearted boy hobbled into his own home, his
father, who had sat up waiting for him, without knowing where he had
been, roughly ordered him to bed, saying it was no time of night for
lads like him to be prowling about the street.
The sensitive little fellow went up-stairs without a word, all his
light-heartedness dispelled by this harsh reception, and the tears
starting to his eyes. His back ached so from his unwonted exertions that
even after he got to bed he tossed and tumbled feverishly for several
hours before falling into a troubled sleep.
Tom Evert left his house earlier than usual the next morning, and went
to the mouth of the slope, where he found a number of his friends
assembled. They began to congratulate him, and continued to do so until
in great bewilderment he exclaimed,
"What's it for, mates? Is it a joke?"
"For thy son, man."
"For my son? which of 'em?"
"Thy crippled lad, Paul, of course. Is the man daft?"
"No; but I think ye must be, to be running on in such a fashion about a
lad that's not only a wellnigh helpless cripple, but I'm afeared is
going bad ways. 'Twas nearer midnight nor sundown before he came in frae
t' street last night, and I sent him to bed wi' a flea in his ear."
A perfect roar of laughter greeted this speech.
"Wellnigh helpless, is he?" cried one. "Well, if he's helpless I'd like
to know what you'd name helpful?"
"Going to the bad, is he?"
"Out late o' nights! That's a good one."
"An' yez sint him to bed wid a flea in his ear, an' him just afther
doin' the dade should mak' ye the proudest fayther in de place! Did iver
I moind de likes of that?"
These and many similar expressions greeted the ear of the astonished
miner, and from them he began to comprehend that his son Paul had done
something wonderful, and had thereby become a famous character in the
village. At length, after much effort, for they would not believe but
that he knew the whole story, he learned of his boy's brave deed of the
night before. Instead of going down the slope the miner hurried home,
where he found Paul, looking very pale and languid, just sitting down to
his breakfast.
Picking up the frail boy, and holding him in his strong arms as he used
to when he was a baby, the delighted father exclaimed,
"Paul, lad, forgie me this time, and I'll never speak thee rough again.
Thee's made me, I think, the proudest man in the state this day.
Crippled and all, thee's proved thyself worth a score of straight lads,
and to thy fayther thee's worth all the lads in the world. Mither, our
Paul's done that any man in t' mine might be proud of, an' he's the talk
of the colliery."
Thus was Paul more than repaid for all his suffering of the night
before, and as he hobbled to his work in the new breaker that morning he
was once more happy and light-hearted.
The evening before, Job Taskar had called Monk Tooley from his house,
and as they walked away together he said, in a low but significant tone,
"That Sterling lad's not down in the mine, Monk."
"He must be dere, fer de Sleepers left him where he'd be safe, an' I
know he's not come up de slope since."
"He's not there, I tell you; for I just now saw him going into Jones's
house, and heard him say he had something important to tell him."
"If yer saw him and heerd him of course he must be up; but I don't see
how he did it. If he's told de boss anything it must be a blab on de
Sleepers, fer he can't know anything else."
"Whatever it is, he's dangerous to have round, and we must look out for
him."
"All right! just leave him to me. I'll have de Sleepers fix him. Dey'll
do anything my boy Bill tells 'em; he's got 'em under his thumb."
"Look sharp about it, then."
"Ay, ay, mate, I'll give Bill de word to-night soon as he comes in."
Then the two separated, and Monk Tooley went home, thinking over a plan
by which the Young Sleepers, under his son Bill's direction, could
effectually drive Derrick Sterling from the mine. As he opened his own
door he called out in his loud, rough voice,
"Bill come in yet?"
Stepping into the front room, he stood still in amazement. The wife of a
neighbor was holding up a warning finger towards him, and saying,
"Sh--h!"
His own wife and two other women were bending over a bed in one corner,
and the children, whom he had never before known to be quiet when awake,
were standing or sitting silently in various frightened attitudes about
the room.
"Who is it?" he asked, hoarsely, with an attempt at a whisper.
"It's Bill," answered one of the women. "He's badly hurted, falling down
a shaft in the mine, and is like to die. They say Paul the cripple saved
him."
"Bill! my Bill! You're lying!" cried the miner, fiercely. "Bill came out
of de mine wid de day shift. I seen him."
Rough and cruel as he was, the man had, hidden somewhere in his being, a
deep-seated affection for his son Bill. Although he had never been heard
to speak other than harshly to him, Bill was the pride and joy of his
hard life. A blow aimed at Bill struck him with redoubled force. His
hatred of Derrick Sterling arose from the fact that the lad had thrashed
his boy. Now to tell him that his boy Bill was so badly hurt that he was
likely to die was like wrenching from him all that he held worth living
for.
The women made way for the rough miner as he strode to where his son lay
on a heap of soiled bedclothing, tossing and moaning, but unconscious,
and in a high fever. One look was enough, and then Monk Tooley left the
house, and set forth on a ten-mile walk through the night to fetch the
nearest doctor.
By sunrise the doctor had come and gone again, having done what he
could. He said the boy would live if he were kept quiet and had careful
nursing, but that he was injured in such a way that he might be lame for
the rest of his life.
When Monk Tooley went down into the mine that day--for he must now work
harder and more steadily than ever to support this added burden--he was
a silent, heart-broken man.
It was nearly noon before Derrick Sterling awoke after his first day of
bitter experience in the mine. Though he was still sore and lame, hot
water and sleep, two of nature's most powerful remedies in cases of his
kind, had worked such wonders for him that he felt quite ready to enter
the mine again, and face whatever new trials it might have in store for
him.
After dinner the mine boss came to see him, and was amazed to find him
looking so well and cheerful.
"You seem to come up smiling after every knock down, Derrick," he said.
"I shouldn't wonder if you would even be ready to go down into the mine
again to-morrow."
"Indeed I think I must, sir," said Derrick, earnestly. "I don't believe
any one else can get along with Harry Mule as well as I can."
"Let me see. How many years have you been driving him?" asked Mr. Jones,
gravely.
"Only one day, sir," replied Derrick laughing, "but I think he's very
fond of me, and I know I am of him."
"All right; if you insist upon it, you shall go down again to-morrow to
your bumping-mule. Now I want to talk to you seriously."
The conversation that followed was long and earnest, and it was ended by
Mr. Jones saying, just before he left, "I must manage somehow or other
to be there on the 27th, and I want you to go with me, for I don't know
anybody else whom I dare trust. It only remains for us to discover a
way."