WHAT WAS FOUND IN WHEAL DANES.
A full half hour--which to the watchers above seemed a much longer
interval--had elapsed since Richard had disappeared in the depths of
Wheal Danes, and not a sign of his return had reached the attentive
throng.
"I thought he'd come to harm," muttered a fisherman to his neighbor; "it
was a sin and a shame to let him venture."
"Ay, you may say that," returned the other, aloud. "I call it downright
murder in them as sent him."
"It was not I as sent him," observed the inn-keeper, with the honest
indignation of a man that has not right habitually on his own side.
"What _I_ said to the gentleman was, 'Wait till morning.' Why should _I_
send him?" Here he stopped, though his reasons for not wishing to hurry
matters would have been quite conclusive.
"Why was he let to go down at all, being a stranger?" resumed the first
speaker. "Why didn't somebody show him the way?"
"Because nobody knowed it," answered one of the four miners whose
services Richard had retained, and who justly imagined that the
fisherman's remark had been a reflection on his own profession. "I'd ha'
gone down Dunloppel with him at midnight, or any other mine as can be
called such; but this is different."
"Ay, ay, that's so," said a second miner. "We know no more of this place
than you fishermen. There may be as much water in it as in the sea, for
aught we can tell."
"It's my belief they're more afraid of the Dead Hand than the water,"
observed a voice from the crowd, the great majority of which was
composed of fisher folk.
No reply was given to this; perhaps because the speaker, an old cripple,
the Thersites of the village, was beneath notice, perhaps because the
remark was unanswerable. The miners were bold enough against material
enemies, but they were superstitious to a man.
"If Solomon Coe were alive," continued the same voice, "he wouldn't ha'
feared nothin'."
"That's the first word, old man, as ever I heard you speak in his
favor," said a miner, contemptuously; "and you've waited for that till
he's dead."
"Still, he would ha' gone, and you durstn't," observed the old fellow,
cunningly, "and that's the p'int."
These allusions to the Dead Hand and to the missing Solomon were not of
a nature to inspire courage in those to whom it was already lacking, and
a silence again ensued. There was less light, for a torch or two had
gone out, and the mine looked blacker than ever.
"Well, who's a-going down?" croaked the old cripple. "The gentleman came
from your inn, Jonathan, and it's your place, I should think, to look
after him."
"Certainly not," answered the inn-keeper, hastily. "These men here were
hired for this very service."
"That's true," said the first miner. "But what's the use of talking when
the gentleman has got the ladder with him?"
"There's more ladders in the world than one," observed the cripple.
"Here's my grandson, John; he and half a dozen of these young fellows
would fetch Farmer Gray's in less than no time. Come, lads--be off with
ye."
This suggestion was highly applauded, except by the miner who had so
injudiciously compromised himself, and was carried out at once.
When the ladder arrived the three other miners, ashamed of deserting
their comrade, volunteered to descend with him. The excitement among the
spectators was great, indeed, when these four men disappeared in the
levels of Wheal Danes, as Richard had done before them. The light of
their combined torches lingered a little in their rear; the sound of
their voices, as they halloed to one another or to the missing man, was
heard for several minutes. But darkness and silence swallowed _them_ up
also, and the watchers gazed on one another aghast.
It is not an easy thing, even for those accustomed to underground labor,
to search an unfamiliar spot by torch-light; the fitful gleam makes the
objects on which it falls difficult of identification. It is doubtful
whether one has seen this or that before or not--whether we are not
retracing old ground. Even to practiced eyes these objects, too, are not
so salient as the tree or the stone which marks a locality above-ground;
add to this, in the present case, that the searchers were momently in
expectation of coming upon something which they sought and yet feared to
find, and it will be seen that their progress was of necessity but slow.
They kept together, too, as close as sheep, which narrowed the compass
of their researches, and caused their combined torches to distribute
only as much light as one man would have done provided with a
chandelier. They knew, however, that their predecessor had descended
into the second level, so that they did not need to explore the first at
all. The ground was hard, and gave forth echoes to their cautious but
heavy tread; their cries of "Hollo!" "Are you there?" which they
reiterated, like nervous children playing hide-and-seek, reverberated
from roof to wall.
Presently, when they stopped to listen for these voices of the rock to
cease, there was heard a human moan. It seemed to come up from a great
depth out of the darkness before them. They listened earnestly, and the
sound was repeated--the faint cry of a man in grievous pain.
"There must be another level," observed the miner who had volunteered
the search. "This man has fallen down it."
They had therefore to go back for the ladder. Pushing this before them,
the end began presently to run freely, and then stopped; it had adjusted
itself by the side of the shorter ladder which Richard had brought down
with him.
"He could not have fallen, then," observed a miner, answering his
comrade's remark--as is the custom with this class of great doers and
small talkers--at a considerable interval.
"Yes, he could," replied the one who had first spoken. "See, his ladder
was short, and he may have pitched over."
They stood and listened, peering down into the darkness beneath them;
but there was no repetition of the cries. The wounded man had apparently
spent his last strength, perhaps his last breath, in uttering them.
"He must be down here somewhere. Come on."
The situation was sufficiently appalling; but these men had lost half
their terrors, now that they knew there was a fellow-creature needing
help. They descended slowly; and he who was foremost presently cried
out, "I see him; here he is."
The man was lying on his face quite still; and when they lifted him,
each looked at the other with a grave significance--they had carried too
many from the bowels of the earth to the pit's mouth not to know when a
man was dead. Even a senseless body is not the same to an experienced
bearer as a dead weight. The corpse was still warm, but the head fell
back with a movement not of life.
"You were right, mate. His neck is broke; the poor gentleman pitched
over on his head."
"Stop a bit," exclaimed the man addressed; "see here. Why, it ain't him
at all--it's Solomon Coe."
An exclamation of astonishment burst involuntarily from the other three.
"Then where's the other?" cried they all together.
"I am here," answered a ghastly whisper.
Within but a few feet of Solomon, so that they could hardly have
overlooked him had not the former monopolized their attention, lay
Richard, grievously hurt. Some ribs were broken, and one of them was
pressed in upon the lungs. Still he was alive, and the men turned their
attention first to him, since Solomon was beyond their aid. By help of
the two ladders, side by side, they bore him up the wall of rock; and so
from level to level--a tedious and painful journey to the wounded
man--to the upper air.
He was carried to the inn upon the mattress which his own care had
provided for another; while the four miners, to the amazement of the
throng, once more descended into the pit for a still more ghastly
burden.
Richard could speak a little, though with pain. By his orders a
messenger was dispatched that night to Plymouth to telegraph the news of
the discovery of her husband's body to Mrs. Coe. His next anxiety was to
hear the surgeon's report, not on his own condition, but on that of
Solomon. This gentleman did not arrive for some hours, and Richard was
secretly well pleased at his delay. It was his hope, for a certain
reason, that he would not arrive until the body was stiff and cold.
He saw Richard first, of course. The case was very serious; so much so
that he thought it right to mention the fact, in order that his patient
might settle his worldly affairs if they needed settlement.
"There is no immediate danger, my good Sir; but it is always well in
such cases to have the mind free from anxiety."
"I understand; it is quite right," said Richard, gravely. "Moreover,
since the opportunity may not occur again, let me now state how it all
happened."
"Nay, you must not talk. We know it all, or at least enough of it for
the present."
"What do you know?" asked Richard, with his eyes half shut, but with
eager ears.
"That in your benevolent attempt to seek after Mr. Coe you met with the
same accident--though I trust it will not have the same ending--as that
unfortunate gentleman himself. He pitched upon his head and broke his
neck, while you fell upon your side."
"That is so," murmured Richard. "He and I were partners, you see--"
"There, there; not a word more," insisted the doctor; "your deposition
can wait."
And having done what he could for his patient, he left him, in order to
examine the unfortunate Solomon. His investigation corroborated all that
he had already heard of the circumstances of his death, with which also
Richard's evidence accorded. An observation made by one of the miners
who had found the body, to the effect that it was yet warm when they had
come upon it, excited the surgeon's ridicule.
"It is now Tuesday morning, my friend," said he, "and this poor fellow
met with his death on Saturday night for certain. He could not,
therefore, have been much warmer when you found him than he is now."
"Well, me and my mate here we both fancied--"
"I dare say you did, my man," interrupted the doctor; "and fancy is a
very proper word to apply to such an impression. If you take my advice,
however, you will not repeat such a piece of evidence when put upon your
oath, for the thing is simply impossible."
"Then I suppose we be in the wrong," said Dick to Jack; and on that
supposition they acted.
In this way too self-reliant Science, whose mission it is to explode
fallacies, occasionally assists in the explosion or suffocation of a
fact, for Solomon Coe had not been dead half an hour when his body was
found.
When Richard, alone on his errand of mercy, was approaching the brink of
the third level, he could hear Solomon calling lustily for help. Nay, it
was not only "Help!" but "Murder!" that he cried out; and
notwithstanding the menace that that word implied toward himself,
Richard hurried on, well pleased to hear it; the vigor of the cry
assured him that his enemy was not only living, but unhurt. As the light
he carried grew more distinct to him, indeed, these shouts redoubled;
but when it came quite near, and disclosed the features of its bearer,
there was a dead silence. The two men stood confronting one another--the
one in light, distinctly seen, looking down upon the other in shade,
just as they had parted only eight-and-forty hours ago. To one of them,
as we know, this space had been eventful; but to the other it had seemed
a lifetime--an age of hopes and fears, and latterly of cold despair,
which had now been warmed once more to hope only to freeze again. For
was not this man, to whom he had looked for aid, his cruel foe come back
to taunt him--to behold him already half-way toward death, and to make
its slow approach more bitter? But great as was his agony Solomon held
his peace, nor offered to this monarch of his fate the tribute of a
groan.
"I am come to rescue you," said Richard, in low but distinct tones; "to
undo the evil that I have already done, although it was no less than you
deserved, nor an overpayment of the debt I owed you. In return you will
doubtless denounce me as having meant to murder you."
No answer. If Richard had not heard his cries, it would have seemed that
this poor wretch had lost the power of speech. His huge head drooped
upon his shoulder, and he leaned against the rocky wall as though his
limbs could not have otherwise supported themselves; they shook,
indeed--but was it with weakness or with hate?--as though he had the
palsy.
"Well, you will have reason to do so," continued Richard, calmly, "for I
did mean to murder you. In ten minutes hence you will find yourself
among your neighbors, free to act as you please. I shall make no appeal
to your mercy; it would, I know, be as fruitless as was yours to mine
the other day; but if you abstain from molesting me, this mine, with all
its hidden treasure, shall be your own. I have nothing more to say."
Solomon answered nothing. "Perhaps," thought Richard, "he still doubts
me.--Well, here is the ladder;" and he suited the action to the word.
Solomon's great hand flew out from his side, and clutched a rung as a
dog's teeth close upon a bone; a dog's growl, too, half triumph and half
threat, came from his deep chest; then he began slowly to ascend,
keeping his eyes fixed on Richard. The latter drew back a little to give
him space, and watched him with folded arms.
"Now," said Solomon, stepping off the ladder with the prolonged "Ha!" of
one who breathes freely after long oppression, "it is _my_ turn!"
"What are you about to do?" asked Richard, calmly.
"What! you think we are quits, Richard Yorke, do you? or at least that
when I had seen you hung it would seem so to me? You don't know what it
is to die here slowly in the dark; you are about to learn that."
"Indeed."
"Yes. You complained the other day of my having used the law against
you. Well, you shall not have to reproach me with that a second time. We
are about to change places, you and I, that's all. You shall keep sentry
down yonder till Death comes to relieve _you_. It was indiscreet in you
to venture here alone to dictate terms, my friend."
Solomon's voice was grating and terrible; it had grown hoarse with
calling. His form was gaunt and pinched with hunger; his eyes flashed
like those of some starving beast of prey.
"I swear to you I came here to rescue you, and with no other purpose,"
said Richard, earnestly. "I was not afraid of you when you were hale and
strong, and much less now when you are weakened with privation; but I do
not wish to have your blood upon my hands. I came here to-night--"
"Is it night?" interrupted the other, eagerly. "I did not know that it
was night; how should I, in this place, where there is no day? Well,
that was still more indiscreet of you, for I shall get away unseen,
while you lie here unsought."
"Your scheme is futile. There are fifty men about the pit's mouth now. I
have told them--"
"Liar!" Solomon darted forward; and Richard, throwing away the torch, as
though disdaining to use any advantage in the way of weapon, grappled
with him at once. At the touch of his foe his scruples vanished, and his
hate returned with tenfold fury. But he was in the grasp of a giant.
Privation had doubtless weakened Solomon, but he had still the strength
of a powerful man, and his rage supplied him for the time with all that
he had lost. They clung to one another like snakes, and whirled about
with frantic violence. Whichever fell undermost was a dead man for
certain. For a few moments the expiring torch still showed them each
other's hot, vindictive faces; then they battled in the dark, with
laboring breath and eager strain, swaying they knew not whither. At last
the huge weight of Solomon overbore his lesser antagonist. Richard's
limbs gave way beneath him, and he fell, but fell through space; for in
their gyrations they had, without knowing it, returned to the top of the
ladder. His foe, fast clutched, fell with him, but, pitching on his
head, was killed, as we have seen, upon the instant.
This was the true history of what had occurred in the mine, as Richard,
on his bed of pain, recalled it step by step, and strove to shape it to
his ends.