IMPRISONED IN THE FLOODED MINE
Mr. Halford looked up from the paper that he was reading at the
breakfast-table in the pleasant Philadelphia home, and exclaimed,
"Here's an account of a terrible colliery disaster, wife; and I do
believe it is in Warren Jones's mine, the very one you and Nellie
visited a few days ago."
"Oh, husband, it can't be!"
"It certainly is, though. 'Raven Brook Colliery. Flooded last evening
just as men were about to quit work. Rushing waters cut off retreat of
nine men and boys, of whose fate nothing is yet known. Rest escape.
Water still rising. But little hope of a rescue. Following is list of
victims: Sterling, Evert, Tooley----'"
"Not Derrick Sterling, father, nor Paul Evert, nor Bill Tooley?"
interrupted Miss Nellie, as she left her seat and went to look over his
shoulder.
"Yes, my dear, those are the very names. Derrick, Paul, and Monk--not
Bill--Tooley; and here is something more about one of them:
"'Derrick Sterling, whose name appears among those of the victims, is
the only son of the late Gilbert Sterling, a mining engineer, formerly
well known in this city. The young man was seen at the foot of the slope
just before the final rush of waters. He might easily have escaped, but
went back into the mine in the vain attempt to save his friend Paul
Evert, a crippled lad. He fully realized the terrible risk he was
running, for his last words were, "If we don't get out, come and look
for us." This is a notable instance of modern heroism, and is an example
of that greatest of all love which is willing to sacrifice life for
friendship.'"
"Poor Derrick! Poor little Paul! Oh, it is too awful!" and
tender-hearted Nellie Halford burst into tears.
So all the world knew that Derrick Sterling was a hero, and that, alive
or dead, he was somewhere in that flooded mine. After that morning
thousands of people who had never heard his name before eagerly scanned
the daily papers for more news concerning him and the poor fellows whose
fate he was sharing.
Derrick had not gone far in his search for Paul Evert when his lamp,
which had been burning dimly for some minutes, though unnoticed in his
excitement, gave an expiring flash and went out. The boy's impulse was
to return to the foot of the slope for a new supply of oil. Then he
remembered that he had a canful with him, the one he had almost
unconsciously snatched up when he started on his present errand. Filling
the lamp in the dark was slow work, and occupied several minutes of
valuable time.
While thus engaged his ear caught the sound of rushing waters that
seemed to come from out of the darkness behind him. Nearer and nearer it
came, and it grew louder and louder, as with trembling hand he struck a
match and relighted his lamp. Its first gleam fell upon a wall of black
waters rolling rapidly towards him, up the gangway, breast-high, and
cutting off all chance of escape.
What should he do? It was useless to run; the waters could run faster
than he. It would be impossible to stem that fierce current and fight
his way out against it. Must he, then, die, alone in that awful place
with no sound save the roar of waters in his ears? Could it be that he
should never again see his mother and little Helen and the sunlight? Was
his life over, and must he be carried away by the black flood that was
reaching out to seize him?
Like a flash these thoughts passed through his mind, and like another
flash came a ray of hope. Close beside him was the mouth of a chute
belonging to a breast that he knew followed the slant of the vein upward
for a great distance.
He sprang towards it, flung his oil-can into it, and in another moment,
though the chute was above his head, he had climbed the slippery wall
and entered it. As he drew himself up beyond their reach the savage
waters made a fierce leap after him, and swept on with an angry,
snarling roar. A few minutes later they had risen above the mouth of the
chute and completely filled the gangway. Derrick was entombed, and the
door was sealed behind him.
In the mean time a similar escape was being effected but a short
distance from him, though he knew nothing of it. Monk Tooley and four
other men working near him in a distant part of the mine received no
intimation of the outbreak of waters and the disaster that was about to
overwhelm them. Their first warning of trouble came with the stoppage of
the air-currents that supplied them with the very breath of life.
For a few minutes they waited for them to be resumed; then, flinging
down their tools, and filled with a strange fear, they started through
the maze of galleries towards the slope. On their way they were joined
by Aleck, the blacksmith, and Boodle, his helper. Next they came upon
Paul Evert, standing anxiously by his door. He had become conscious,
without being able to explain how, that something terrible was about to
happen, though he had no idea what form the terror was to take.
Joining the fugitives, he was hobbling along as fast as possible, and
trying to keep pace with their rapid strides, when Monk Tooley stopped,
picked him up, and, holding him like a baby in his strong arms, said,
"We'll get on faster dis way, lad."
Half-way to the slope they met the advancing waters from which Derrick
had just escaped.
The miner who was in advance gave a great cry of "It's a flood, mates,
and it's cut us off. We're all dead men!"
"No we beant!" shouted Monk Tooley. "Up wid ye, men, inter de breast we
just passed."
Running back a few steps to the mouth of a chute he had noticed a moment
before, the miner tossed Paul up into it much in the same way that
Derrick had tossed his oil-can into a similar opening. Springing up
after him, Tooley lent a hand to those behind, and with an almost
supernatural strength dragged one after another of them up bodily beyond
the reach of the flood. Only poor Boodle was caught by it and swept off
his feet; but he clutched the legs of the man ahead of him, and both
were drawn up together. In another minute they too were sealed in behind
an impassable wall of water.
Although they did not know it at the time, they were in a chamber
adjoining that in which Derrick had sought refuge, and were divided from
him only by a single wall of coal a few feet thick. It was a very small
chamber, for the coal found in it proving of an inferior quality, it had
quickly been abandoned. The one on the opposite side of the wall from
them, in which Derrick found himself, was of great extent, being in fact
several breasts or chambers thrown into one by the "robbing out" of
their dividing walls of coal.
"Out wid yer lights, men!" cried Monk Tooley as soon as they had all
been dragged in. "De air's bad enough now, an' de lamps 'll burn de life
outen it. Besides, we'll soon have need of all de ile dat's left in
'em."
The air of that confined space was already heavy and close, with eight
men to breathe it, and eight lamps to consume its oxygen. Extinguishing
all the others, they sat around one lamp, pricked down low, for they
could not bear the thought of absolute darkness.
Monk Tooley had assumed a sort of leadership among them, and by virtue
of it he ordered every lunch-pail to be emptied of what scraps of food
it contained, and all of it to be given to Paul for safe keeping. There
was not much--barely enough of broken crusts and bits of meat to fill
Paul's pail; but it was something, and must be doled out sparingly, for
already the men gazed at it with hungry eyes.
Then they tried to talk of their situation and discuss the chances of
escape. On this subject they had but little to say, however, for they
all knew that long before the waters could be lowered so that any
attempt to save them could be made, the foul air of that small chamber
would have done its fatal work. Indeed, they knew that before one day
should have passed their misery would be ended.
Even as they tried to talk, poor Boodle, saying that he was sleepy, lay
down on the bare rock floor, where he was almost instantly fast asleep
and breathing heavily. "'Tis like he'll never wake again," said one of
the miners, gloomily.
"Let him sleep, then; 'tis the easiest way out of it," responded a
comrade.
One after another they succumbed to the effects of the heavy atmosphere,
and fell asleep. Finally, all excepting the crippled lad, even including
Monk Tooley, whose light Paul had taken and set beside him, lay
stretched out on the hard floor, sound asleep and breathing in a
distressed manner.
Paul felt drowsy, but the horror of his surroundings was too great to
admit of his sleeping. He wanted to think, and try and prepare his mind
for the awful unknown future that overshadowed him. As he thought, great
tears began to run down his thin cheeks, then came a choking sob, and he
buried his face in his hands. Gradually he became calm again, and his
thoughts resembled delightful dreams, so full were they of pleasant
things. In another moment they would have been dreams, and the last of
that little band would have been wrapped in a slumber from which neither
he nor they would ever have wakened. From this condition a sharp squeak
caused Paul to start and look up.
Directly in front of him, and so close that he could have touched it,
was a large rat, whose eyes twinkled and glistened in the lamplight. As
Paul lifted his head it uttered another squeak and sat up on its
hind-legs.
"I do believe it's Socrates," said Paul; and sure enough it was.
Mechanically, and without thinking of what he was about, Paul took a bit
of meat from his lunch-pail and tossed it to the rat, which immediately
seized it in its mouth and scampered away. Then Paul realized that he
was wasting precious food, and made a vain effort to catch the rat. The
beast was too quick for him, and darted away towards a dark corner of
the chamber, whither Paul followed it, hoping to discover its nest and
perhaps recover the meat.
He saw the rat run into a hole in the wall about two feet above the
floor; and putting his face down to it, trying to look in, he felt a
delicious current of fresh air. It was not very strong, but it caused
the flame of his lamp to flicker, so that he withdrew it hurriedly for
fear it should be extinguished.
Suddenly he started as though he had been shot, and almost let fall the
lamp in his excitement. Had he heard a human voice? Of course not! How
absurd to imagine such a thing! But there it was again; and it said,
"Holloa! Is anybody in there?"
The sound came to his ear distinctly enough this time through the hole,
and placing his mouth close to it, Paul shouted back,
"Holloa! Yes, we're in here, and we want to get out. Who are you?"
The boy almost screamed for joy at the answer which came to this
question; for it was,
"I'm Derrick Sterling. Are you Paul Evert?"
Derrick was almost as greatly affected when the voice said,
"Yes, I'm Paul, and there are a lot more of us in here, and we are
stifling. But oh, Derrick, dear Derrick! I'm so glad you're not
drowned."
Then Paul went back to the others, and found it almost impossible to
waken them. He finally succeeded; and when they comprehended his great
news, each one had to go to the hole, draw in a deep breath of the fresh
air, and call through it to Derrick, for the sake of hearing him answer.
It was so good to hear a human voice besides their own; and though they
knew he was a prisoner like themselves, it somehow filled them with new
hope and longings for life. They had no tools with them, but all fell to
work enlarging the hole with knives, the iron handles of their
lunch-pails, or whatever else they could lay hands upon, while Paul
stood by and held the lamp.
Although Derrick had plenty of air and space to move about in, his
situation had been fully as bad as theirs, for he had been alone.
Nothing is so terrible under such circumstances as solitude, with the
knowledge that you are absolutely cut off from mankind, and may never
hear a human voice again.
He had pricked his lamp down very low so as to save his oil, and was
lying at full length on the cold floor, a prey to the most gloomy
thoughts. All sorts of fantastic forms seemed to mock at him out of the
darkness. He could almost hear their jeering laughter, and was rapidly
giving way to terror and despair, when a ray of light flickered for a
moment on the rocky roof above him.
Springing to his feet and rubbing his eyes, he looked in the direction
from which it seemed to have come, and saw it again, shining through
what he had taken for a solid wall of rock. Then he called out, and Paul
Evert, the very one of whom he had been in search, answered him.
Half an hour later the hole was sufficiently large to allow a man to
squeeze through it, and Derrick had thrown his arms around Paul, and
hugged him in his wild joy and excitement.
The thing for which the miners felt most grateful, next to their escape
from the little stifling chamber and their meeting with Derrick, was his
can of oil. Now they knew that with care they might keep a lamp burning
for many hours; and the dread of total darkness, which is greater than
that of hunger, or thirst, or any form of danger, no longer oppressed
them.
Aleck, the blacksmith, had a watch, and from it they learned that it was
still early in the evening; though it already seemed as if they had been
imprisoned for days. Some of the men began to complain bitterly of
hunger and to beg for food, but Monk Tooley said they should not eat
until the watch showed them that morning had arrived.
To divert their thoughts, he proposed that they should make their way
along the breast to its farther end, so as to be as near as possible to
the slope and a chance of rescue. Acting upon this advice, they made the
attempt. It was a most difficult undertaking, for the floor was of
smooth slate, sloping at a sharp angle towards the gangway. It was like
trying to crawl lengthwise of a steep roof to get from one row of the
timbers that supported the upper wall to another. They were several
hours on the journey, but finally reached the end of the long breast in
safety. There they must wait until relieved from their awful situation
by death, or by a rescuing party who would be obliged to tunnel through
many yards of rock and coal to reach them.
They managed to construct a rude platform of timbers, on which to rest
more comfortably than on the smooth sloping rock floor, and here most of
them lay down to sleep.
Derrick and Paul lay side by side, with arms thrown about each other's
necks. The former was nearly asleep when his companion whispered,
"Dare!"
"Yes, Polly."
"Here's something for you; and if I don't live to get out, you'll always
keep it to remember me by, won't you?"
"I shouldn't need it for that, Polly; but I'll always keep it, whatever
it is."
It was Paul's sketch of the underground picnic-party, and Derrick knew
what it was when he took it and thrust it into the bosom of his shirt,
though days passed before he had a chance to look at it.
Three days after this the same men and boys lay on their log platform,
in almost the same positions, but they were haggard, emaciated, faint,
and weak. Their last drop of oil had been burned, and they were in total
darkness. A light would have shown that they lay like dead men.
Suddenly one of them lifts his head and listens. "Thank God! thank God!"
he exclaims, in a husky voice, hardly more than a whisper, "I hear them!
they're coming!"
Derrick's quick ear had detected the muffled sound of blows, and his
words gave new life to the dying men around him.