TO THE RESCUE!--A MESSAGE FROM THE PRISONERS
From the moment the news came that nine men and boys were imprisoned in
the flooded mine, preparations for their rescue, or at least of learning
their fate, were pushed with all vigor. Although it had stopped raining,
the night was dark, and great bonfires were lighted about the mouth of
the slope. These were placed in charge of the old breaker boss, Mr.
Guffy, and his boys, who fed them with dry timbers, and kept up the
brilliant blaze until daylight.
Around these fires the entire population of the village stood and
discussed the situation; and by their light the workers were enabled to
perform their tasks. The miners were divided into gangs, headed by the
mine boss and by Tom Evert, and their work was the fetching of the steam
pumps from across the valley and setting them up near the mouth of the
slope. They had to be connected, by long lines of iron pipe, with the
boilers under the breaker, and from each a double line of hose was
carried down the slope until water was reached.
It was nearly daylight when these operations were completed, and a faint
cheer went up from the weary watchers as they saw four powerful streams
of water added to the torrent that the regular mine pump had kept
flowing all night.
"Now, men," said the mine boss, when he saw that all was working to his
satisfaction, "I want you to go home and get all the solid rest you can
in the next two days, for after that I shall probably call upon you to
work night and day."
"We'll be ready boss, whenever you give the word," was the prompt answer
from a score of stalwart fellows. Then all turned towards their homes,
knowing they could do nothing more until the pumps had prepared a way
for them.
During the next day the news of the disaster spread far and wide, and
from all sides visitors poured into the little village. Among these were
a number of reporters from the metropolitan papers, some of whom, filled
with a sense of their own importance, buzzed around like so many
bumblebees. They blundered into all sorts of places where they had no
business, bored everybody whom they could approach with absurd
questions, and made of themselves public nuisances generally.
While some among them acted thus foolishly, there were others who
behaved like gentlemen and the sensible fellows they were. Of these the
most noticeable was a well-built, pleasant-faced young man, named Allan
McClain. He asked few questions, but each one had evidently been well
considered and was directly to the point. He was quiet and unobtrusive,
never displayed a note-book or pencil, kept his eyes and ears wide open,
and, as a result, sent to his paper the best accounts of the situation
that were published. How he did it was a mystery to the others, few of
whom had even thought of giving to their business the careful study and
attention that McClain bestowed upon it.
The mine boss had been particularly annoyed by the conduct of several of
these members of the press, and when they applied to him for permission
to accompany the first gang of workmen down into the mine, he firmly but
courteously said "No."
He explained to them the dangers attending the proposed undertaking, and
that there would be no room in the mine for any but those actively
engaged in the work of rescue.
Some of the reporters made such an outcry at this, and talked so loudly
of their rights and of what they would do in case the mine boss
persisted in his refusal, that he finally said if they could not behave
better than they had he should be compelled to order them from the
colliery altogether.
During this scene Allan McClain listened to all that was said without
speaking a word. Shortly afterwards the mine boss, meeting him alone,
said, "I am sorry, sir, to be obliged to include you in my apparent
discourtesy, but you know that if I made a single exception I could not
enforce my rule."
"I know it, Mr. Jones," was the pleasant answer, "and I do not expect
any privileges that may not be extended to the rest. Your action will,
however, make no difference to me, as I expect to leave the village
to-day."
Allan McClain did take the afternoon train away from Raven Brook, after
bidding his companions good-by; but none of them knew where he had gone
or the reasons for his departure.
The pumping of the mine was so successful that two days later the water
in it was lowered a few feet below the roof of the great chamber at the
bottom of the slope. The mine boss had watched it closely, going down
almost every hour to note the change of its level, and he now decided
that the time had come to begin more active operations.
The day before, a sturdy young man, much begrimed with coal-dust, and
wearing a rough suit of mine clothes that had evidently seen long
service, had presented himself at the mouth of the slope, and asked
leave to take part in the rescue, in case there was any way in which he
could be made useful. He said that he came from the neighboring colliery
of Black Run, where the Raven Brook men had once rendered good service
during a time of disaster, and that his name was Jack Hobson. The mine
boss had thanked him for his offer of assistance, and said he would
gladly accept it if he found an opportunity. The young man remained near
the scene of operations, making himself so generally useful, and
performing with such promptness and intelligence any little task given
him, that the mine boss took a decided fancy to him before the day was
over.
Now that Mr. Jones wanted three reliable men to go down with him and
make an exploration, he selected Tom Evert, Jack Hobson, and another
young miner who had a brother among the victims of the flood.
The departure of this little party was watched by a great crowd of
people, who realized that if work could not be begun at once there would
be little chance of finding any of the imprisoned men alive. Among the
spectators were many reporters, any one of whom would gladly have paid a
round sum to be taken along, and thus gain an opportunity of describing
the appearance of the drowned mine.
At the foot of the slope the exploring party found a rude but strong
flat-boat that the mine boss had caused to be built and sent down for
this very purpose. Sitting in it with bent bodies, for there was but
little space beneath the roof of the chamber, they pushed off across the
black waters and began a voyage so weird and mysterious that at first
their thoughts found no expression in words.
All about them floated traces of the disaster; here the body of a
drowned mule, and there a bale of hay, or a quantity of timbers that,
wrenched and broken, told of the awful force of the waters. These and
many like tokens of destruction came slowly within the narrow circle of
light from their lamps, and vanished again behind them.
After a careful search along the opposite side of the chamber, they
located gangway No. 1, in which the water was still within two inches of
the roof.
"It'll be some time afore we can get in there, sir," said Tom Evert.
"Yes, Tom, three days at least, perhaps more."
"T' big breast lies in here on this side t' gangway."
"I know it, Tom; and if you'll pick out the spot that promises easiest
working, we'll open a heading into it. We may find them there. If we
don't we can work our way through it, above the water level, to the wall
that divides it from the next one. Some of them are almost sure to be
there if they're still alive."
"That's what I think, sir; and if you say so, we'll start in right here.
Can you tell just how far in t' breast lies?"
"If that's all, we'll soon knock a hole through that, and then, please
God, I'll find my crippled lad, an' t' brave one that went back after
him. If we find 'em dead, old Tom Evert don't never want to come out
alive. He couldn't."
"Never fear, Tom, we'll find them alive," said the mine boss, cheerily.
"I have full faith that we shall. If they're only in the big breast
we'll have them out in three days more. Now, men, drive those staples
into the wall, make the boat fast to them, and pitch in. As soon as
you've cut a shelf to work on, I'll go back for fresh hands. This job's
going to be done with half-hour reliefs."
Jack Hobson held the staples in position while Tom Evert, lying on his
side, drove them into the wall of solid coal with a dozen blows from his
heavy hammer.
These were the blows heard faintly by Derrick Sterling on the farther
side of that massive wall; and the welcome sound carried with it new
life and hope to him and his fainting comrades.
Dropping the hammer, and seizing his pick, the burly miner struck a
mighty blow at the wall, and followed it up with others so fast and
furious that the coal fell rattling into the boat, or splashing into the
water in glistening showers. The work of rescue was begun.
As he sat there, Jack Hobson's eye lighted on a long, dark object
floating near them, and calling attention to it, he said,
"Don't you think, sir, that water trough might be bailed out and used as
a sort of boat to establish communication between this point and the
foot of the slope? I have been used to canoes, and believe I could
manage it."
The mine boss said it was a good idea, and he could try if he wanted to.
So the trough, which was simply a long, flat-bottomed box, was brought
alongside, bailed out, and placed in charge of the young man from Black
Run. He made a rude paddle, and during the next two days did capital
service in ferrying miners and tools back and forth between the opposite
sides of the chamber. By this addition to the underground fleet the
large boat could be left at the entrance to the heading, where it proved
most useful as a landing-stage.
The work was pushed with all possible speed, a dozen of the strongest
and most skilful miners, who handled their picks with desperate energy,
taking half-hourly turns each at driving the heading. Behind the miner
who was thus at work, other men passed out the loosened material from
hand to hand, and thus kept the opening clear. Whenever there was no
demand for his services as ferry-man, Jack Hobson took his place among
these workers, and by his cheering words and tireless energy kept up
their spirits and spurred them on to greater efforts.
When they had got about half-way through it was thought best to close
the outer end of the heading with an air-tight door, and place another
ten feet behind it, thus forming an airlock. Fresh air was forced into
and compressed in the heading by means of an air-pump operated from the
flat-boat at the outer end. These precautions were taken for fear lest
when they broke through into the breast the air in it, compressed by the
flood, should rush out with destructive force. It was also feared that,
relieved from its air pressure, the water in the breast would rise and
cut off the escape of any persons who might be in there.
The position of those engaged in the work of rescue was by no means free
from peril. The pumps, running at fullest speed, were barely able to
keep the water from rising and flooding the new heading, so great and
continuous was the flow into the mine from the soaked earth above it.
They did not know but that any moment some fresh and unsuspected
accumulation in the old workings might break forth and send a second
flood pouring in upon them. Above all there was an ever-present danger
from foul gases, which formed so rapidly that at times work had to be
entirely suspended until they could be cleared away. Thus every time the
relief men went down to their self-imposed labor their departure was
watched by anxious women with tearful eyes and heavy hearts.
For a day and a night these stout-hearted men worked without knowing
whether they sought the living or the dead. On the afternoon of the
second day, during a momentary pause in the steady rattle of the picks,
Jack Hobson, who was at the inner end of the heading, thought he heard a
knocking. Calling for perfect silence, he listened. Yes, it was! Faint,
but unmistakable, it came again.
"Tap, tap, tap; tap, tap, tap; tap, tap, tap," and a pause. Then it was
repeated, and its meaning could not be doubted. As plain as human
speech, it said,
"Here we are, still alive, but in great distress. We know you are
coming, but you must hurry."
From mouth to mouth the joyful news was carried out from the heading,
across the sullen waters, up the slope to the anxious waiting throngs,
and on throbbing wires throughout the length and breadth of the land.
Mrs. Sterling heard it and lifted her tear-stained face in earnest
thankfulness to Heaven. The Halfords heard it in Philadelphia, and Mr.
Halford said he could stand it no longer, but must go to Raven Brook and
be on hand when the men were rescued. Before another sun rose that faint
tapping made in the recesses of the drowned mine by Derrick Sterling
with a bit of rock had been heard around the world.
Now the brave fellows in the heading knew what they were working for,
and the blows of their picks fell faster and harder than ever on the
glistening wall that still opposed its black front to them.
The excitement at the mouth of the mine was now intense, and every man
who came up from it was besieged by anxious inquiries for the very
latest news. What was the meaning of the three taps three times
repeated? Did it signify that there were nine persons in the breast, or
only three? If only three, where were the others? Who were the three?
How many were alive? Were any dead? These and a thousand like questions
were asked and discussed, but nobody could answer them certainly.
The reports brought up were only regarding the progress of the work. So
many feet in an hour, so many yards a day. Now there are only six feet
more to cut through; now five, four, three, and now but eighteen inches.
The suspense is terrible. To the mothers and wives waiting for the end
up in the little village it is almost too great to be borne. To the
haggard men behind those eighteen inches of black rock it seems as
though the breath of fresh air for want of which they are dying would
come too late.
They press eagerly against the wall, and in their feebleness pick vainly
at it with their fingers. It will not yield. Even Monk Tooley, who was
so fierce and strong five days before, can make no impression on it.
Now but one foot of wall remains, and Tom Evert pauses in his task to
dash the sweat-drops from his eyes, and to call, as he has already a
dozen times,
"Holloa! Holloa in there!"
Like an echo comes the answer, faint but distinct,
"Holloa! Hurry!"
He only stops to call louder than before, but with a tremble in his
voice,
"Is--Paul--Evert--alive?" and with ear held against the wet wall he
breathlessly awaits the answer.
"Yes."
The word is enough, and with the fury and strength of a giant he again
attacks the wall. He pays no attention to the relief who is ready to
take his place. He knows nothing, cares for nothing, save that his boy
is waiting for him beyond those few inches of crumbling coal.
At last his pick strikes through. A few more desperate strokes and the
barrier is broken away. He springs into the breast. Another instant and
his crippled lad, whom he had thought never to see again, is strained to
his heart, and the burly miner is sobbing like a child.