_CHRISTMAS MORNING._
It was a shaft into which they fell. Once upon a time they had
planned a mine upon the very borders of the sea at Gwithian. It had
not come up to their anticipations, and soon the idea was abandoned.
The works were never finished, only the shaft remained. When the
tide was at its full, the highest waves came within a dozen feet of
the "Wheal Galore"--for so the deserted mine was called. It was even
found that at certain seasons, when the spring tides were at their
fullest, the sea would run into the mine. This was to have been
prevented by crowning the shaft with a lofty platform, which would
have successfully defied both wind and wave. But the works had never
got so far as that. The money had run out, and the mine was never
represented by anything but what was to all intents and purposes a
deep hole in the ground. This, when the idea was abandoned, they had
covered over with planking, so as to form a solid cover. To Wheal
Galore, down by the winter sea, in the mist and the darkness, the
lads had ignorantly wandered. The planks had either become rotten
with ago or had been displaced, and the result was that Duke and
Lionel fell in. e It was the climax of their evening's amusement,
the wind-up to their Christmas carols. It was an awful feeling to
feel the ground yawn beneath their feet and to be swallowed up by
mother earth. There was a touch of the supernatural about it. Had
they lived in other days, it would have been ascribed to the
machinations of evil spirits. As they felt the earth give way, as
though it had no greater substance than a wafer, the thought came to
both their minds that an earthquake was engulfing them. Down, down
they fell! The horror of it! They would forget it never. Down,
down--the agony and the terror of that falling!
How great their fall they could not tell. They only ceased
descending to sink into unconsciousness. Their senses fled, and they
lay, to all intents and purposes, dead things. A pleasant way of
spending Christmas Eve! Overhead the mist was as dense as ever, the
air was still as silent. Gwithian sands were hidden beneath a
canopy, to pierce which the sight of men could be of no avail. Land
and sea were shrouded in Egyptian darkness. And in the towns, in
Gwithian village just at hand, in many a home throughout the land,
were joy and gladness, and the busiest preparations for Christmas
Day; and the lads lay at the bottom of Wheal Galore. That was their
way of making ready for the birthday of the Lord.
How long they lay insensible they could never tell. He keeps no
count of time whose senses are not his own; but at last Duke awoke to
consciousness. It was a strange awaking, as though he came, he knew
not why, from some strange sleep. All was dark; he strove to rise;
the effort was in vain; the agony was too extreme. He found that all
his body ached and burned, and with a groan he sank back to the
ground. Yet he retained his senses. He knew that there was
something wrong, but what it was he could not think. He endeavoured
to recall the events of the last few hours, but they marshalled
themselves before his eyes as in a dream. He saw them as shadows are
seen, through a glass darkly. He strove to remember where he was,
and how it was he came there, and what had chanced to him; but his
memory refused to wait on him, although he called on it. One sudden
flash of recollection he had. He remembered that Lionel had been
with him. Where was Pollyon now? And as he thought of it, he called
to him in faint uncertain tones.
"Pollyon! Lionel, old man! Pollyon!" But there was no response.
So he kept on repeating, in childish fashion, over and over again, in
faltering accents, "Pollyon! Lionel, old man! Pollyon!"
And at last there came an answer. For in the end Pollyon awoke from
out his stupor; and it was with him, as it had been with Marmaduke,
he could not remember where he was, nor what wind of fortune brought
him there; but all at once, as he still struggled to remember, he
heard a voice, speaking, as it were, close to his ear, say, "Pollyon!
Lionel, old man! Pollyon!" But at first he paid no heed, for all
the things of fact and fancy were mixed up so strangely in his brain,
that he could not tell which one was real, and which one imagination.
But in time it seemed to him he knew the voice, and it still kept
calling on in always the same refrain--"Pollyon! Lionel, old man!
Pollyon!" so that he raised himself up on one arm, and found that he
couldn't sit upon the ground.
"Yes," he said; "who is that calling there?"
"Lionel, old man!" the voice replied, and he knew that it was Duke.
And with the knowledge that it was Duke came back his memory. As if
by magic, all the past came back to him, and he put his hand up to
his head as though the sudden rush of recollection was more than he
could bear. All the night came back to him; all the journey in
search of vengeance; all the disastrous retreat, down to the losing
of themselves upon the sands of Gwithian and the falling down into
the mine; though on that point he was not as yet quite clear. Where
were they actually? He knew that they had fallen, but fallen where,
and why? But Duke still called upon his name, and the sound of
Duke's voice drove for the time all other thoughts away.
He struggled to his feet. He found that he could stand. He was very
sore--sore from top to toe, and stiff. He had no doubt that he was
bruised, but beyond that--and all that is nothing to a boy--it did
not seem to him that he had any injury. So he turned his attention
to Marmaduke, and found that that was not the case with him. He
knelt beside him on the ground, and in tones which were curiously
soft and kind for Lionel Pollyon he said, "Here I am, Duke. Are you
hurt, old boy? What is it has hurt you?"
But Duke made no reply. He only mumbled something oddly disconnected
for him.
"If I had a light," said Lionel, "I might do some good with it.
Where did I put those wretched matches which Trevena gave me?"
He felt in all his pockets, and found them, in the last. There were
but a few--half a dozen, not more; he must be careful how he used
them. He took out his knife, and struck one against the rough horn
handle. It burst into a flame. He guarded it with both his hands,
peering by its aid into the face of Marmaduke Tregowan. The light
suddenly flashed before his eyes seemed to do more to rouse the lad
than anything which had gone before, and he looked up at Lionel with
wondering glance.
"Holloa, old boy! Comfortable state of things, isn't it?" said
Lionel, as he perceived the glance of recognition. "This is
Trevena's notion of a merry Christmas, I suppose. How goes it? In
the wars? What's gone wrong with you?"
"I don't know," replied Duke. Judging from his countenance he was
making a violent attempt to smile, though it was only with an effort
he could speak at all. "I fancy there is something broken. I can't
stand up alone."
To prove it he endeavoured to raise himself, but sank back with a cry
of agony.
"Steady!" said Lionel; but Duke was in a faint; and at that moment
the match went out.
[Illustration: "'STEADY!' SAID LIONEL; BUT DUKE WAS IN A FAINT."]
"Well, this is a pretty state of things," said Lionel, with curious
ruefulness, when he understood that Duke had actually lapsed into a
swoon, and that, in a sense which there was no mistaking, the charge
of him was entirely upon his hands. "If this ain't a cheerful sort
of Christmas Eve, I never knew what cheerful meant. Pity it don't
come oftener than once a year; the more of this sort of thing the
merrier. Next time George Trevena has an idea of his own, if he
succeeds in passing it on to me, he's less of an idiot than I took
him for. What's the nest thing to be done, I wonder?"
He had not the faintest notion. He lit another match, and looked
again at Marmaduke. He lay as if in death; there was a cut upon his
brow, from which the blood trickled down upon his face. Lionel took
his handkerchief and wiped the blood away: it was the only thing
which he could do, and by the time that it was done the second match
was out.
Then he eat down upon the ground, with his legs stretched out in
front of him, and considered the position. What was to be done for
Marmaduke? He had by now made up his mind that they were in Wheal
Galore, that they had accidentally stumbled on the shaft, and that
the planks which were supposed to cover it had for some cause or
other given way beneath their tread and let them in. He supposed,
that the shaft was from twelve to fifteen feet in depth--a little
more, maybe, perhaps a little less. The sides were bricked. It was
obviously impossible to scale up a perpendicular brick wall fifteen
feet in height, even were he disposed to leave Duke behind, which he
was very far from being. The prospect was decidedly a pleasant one.
Unless they could attract some one's attention, or some one chanced
to pass that way, they were prisoned there for ever.
"I wonder what they're doing at home," said Lionel, scratching his
head, and turning the problem over in his mind. It was fairly warm
down there; the depth itself was a certain protection from the cold.
"Looking that everything is ready for to-morrow. The dad is giving
the last touches to his sermon, and wondering if Brown's voice is
good enough to lead the anthem. I know it won't be--I know he'll
make a mess of it--I've known it all along; let alone his
nervousness, and he's as nervous as a sprat."
What degree of nervousness is symbolised by the image of a sprat he
did not trouble himself to say; his reflections took another turn.
"The mother'll be counting her mince-pies"--the thought was a very
melancholy one--"and wondering if there'll be enough for all. Now
I'm away, there will be and to spare; not that I'm a particularly
hearty eater, but I can do my duty when I'm called upon. And then in
a few minutes she'll be wondering where I am, and the dad'll say it's
not the sort of thing he likes on Christmas Eve, and it's very
thoughtless of Lionel to be away at such a season." Here he mimicked
the paternal tones. "And then prayer-time'll come, and the dad and
the mother'll look at each other, and say never a word, and the
mother'll put my share away at supper, hoping and praying that the
dad'll not be hard on me when I return,--as though the dad was ever
hard on me in all his days!" And before Lionel knew, his coat-sleeve
had rubbed his eyes. "What a wretch I am! Oh, dad, dad! was there
ever such a dad in all the world as you have been!"
Than he held his peace a while, for he felt such-like thoughts were
more than he could bear; and then, with new resolution, "I know one
thing I'll do," he said, "I'll try a prayer. I never knew a case yet
in which it didn't do a fellow good to pray, and I guess I'm pretty
much in want of God just now; they shan't have all the praying to
themselves at home."
And he stood up and knelt upon the ground, and took off his cap and
laid it by his side, and prayed out loud, so that any one who chose
might hear. It was a characteristic prayer, just such a one as might
be expected to come from Lionel; but there was no mistake about his
earnestness; every word came straight up from his heart and went at
once to God.
"And, O Lord"--these were some of the words he used, and it was
curious to notice the mixture of childlike trust and worldly
shrewdness which prompted them--"don't be hard upon us boys. We know
that vengeance is Thine, but Jabez Fruin killed George's dog, and we
felt that we must square it up with him; and Duke and I are in Thy
hands, O Lord. It's Christmas Eve, and to-morrow's Christmas Day,
and the birthday of Thy Son; forgive us, for His sake, O dear Lord,
and help us out of the hole which we are in."
Ho spoke unto the Lord in his curious boyish fashion, as though He
were his own familiar friend, and the speaking seemed to comfort him;
and he opened all his heart to Him, and told Him all there was to
tell, and all that he would have Him do, and all in curiously
familiar tones, as though the Lord were close at hand, and would
listen, no matter what the fashion of his speech. And, indeed, he
was very right in that; for the Lord is always at our sides, and asks
not for eloquence of words, but only that we should tell Him what in
very truth is in our heart.
And when he had done praying, he still remained on his knees a time;
and as he stayed there, with his head bowed down and his hands
clasped in front of him, he heard a sound above. He raised his head
and listened; it came again. Surely there was no mistaking what it
was. Splash! splash! It was the splashing of the waves.
"Why," said he to himself, "how well you can hear the sea upon a
sudden! If we had only heard it half as plain before, we should
never be in such a scrape as this. But it's always the same; if you
want a thing, you never get it till you've done wanting it."
Suddenly there came a louder splash, and surely, yes! something
trickled down upon his head, It was the water! He sprang to his feet
with a cry. There was no mistaking it; the sea was trickling down
into the mine. He stood for a moment irresolute, with his face
turned upwards, listening with might and main. Again splash! and
down the water came on his uncovered head.
"We'll be drowned," he said; and if one could but have had a light,
they would have seen that his cheeks were a shade paler than they had
been before. "We'll be drowned, as well as broken to bits and
starved. It's a spring tide, and it isn't full till midnight, and
it's a long way off midnight now, and we'll be drowned; that's a
comfortable thing to know."
Down the water came again, more of it than ever; no doubt the ground
would soon be soaked. He stooped and felt it with his hand; it was
already wet to his touch. He went to where Duke was lying.
"Duke," he said, and laid his hand upon his shoulder, "Duke, old
boy!" The reply was inarticulate, but he did make some sort of
sound, and Lionel spoke to him again.
"Don't you know me, Duke? It is I, Lionel. Wake up, old boy, and
try to pull yourself together."
There was silence; again the water came trickling down. He lit
another match. Duke's eyes were open, and he looked up at Pollyon by
the uncertain light of the flickering match, evidently trying to
collect his senses. All at once the effort was successful; he moved
his hand and touched Pollyon's, which was just beside it.
"Is this Christmas Eve?" he said, in accents very faint, but which
were very sweet and clear; it was scarcely the voice of Marmaduke.
Before Lionel could reply he continued, "Do you remember the half-way
house? I've thought about it a good deal since. I've made up my
mind to choose the path which leads to God. Don't you think
Christmas a good time to turn over a new leaf?"
"Yes," answered Lionel, rather staggered by such a question at such a
season; "any time's a good time for doing that."
"But Christmas--don't you think Christmas is a better time than any?
What would your father say? I remember once hearing him say that
Christmas was the best time of all the year."
Lionel could not reply, for at that moment down the water came with a
greater force than ever; it covered the bottom of the shaft to the
depth of at least an inch.
"I say, old man, do you think that you could bear to be lifted on my
knee? I'll be as gentle as I can; but it seems to me the sea is
coming in, and it ain't pleasant to be lying in a pool of water."
"Oh, I don't care. I'm too heavy to be carried on your knee; I can
manage where I am. Do you think that we shall drown?"
"I don't know; the tide is rising still; it's full at midnight, but
we're a good way from that, I fancy, yet." Again the water came,
quite in a torrent now; it splashed upon Pollyon's legs. "Come,
Duke, this will not do; you must come upon my knee. Never mind the
weight; it's the pain I'm thinking of to you."
"Never mind the pain; it will not hurt at all; it just feels as
though I had not anything--neither hands nor feet nor anything; but
I'm such a heavy brute--you'll have enough of me ere long."
But Lionel was not to be dissuaded. He put his arms beneath
Tregowan, and raised him as gently as he could. He himself sat down
in the water, with his back against the wall, and laid Duke's head
upon his shoulder, and held him in his arms, so that he was high and
dry above the water; and in that position they remained a time.
"It feels as though it were a dream," and Duke spoke as though he
were speaking in a dream, "and as though soon I shall wake up and
find that everything is gone. Is it a dream, Pollyon?"
"A nightmare--that's more the style of it, my boy, and a pretty bad
one too at that."
"It doesn't seem like that to me. I feel as though I were at rest,
and everything were going well with me. I feel as though I were so
near to God that no one ever yet was nearer. I feel somehow as
though I could almost see Him. Don't you think that on Christmas Eve
we may be nearer to God than at any other time in all the year?"
"We're very near to Him just now, and it's quite upon the cards that
soon we may be nearer still. Duke, you're not afraid, old boy?"
"Afraid! when did a Tregowan know anything of fear?" There was a
flash of his old pride in the words; but he came back to his newer
tone again. "Of what should I be afraid? Do you think that I am
going to die? Is that why God seems to be so very near? It was a
good thing you told me about the halfway house. I could not have
died as I was then, but now all things seem to have turned out so
well."
Lionel held his peace. Duke, as he had said, was no slight weight;
his bearer's arms were cramped, and all his limbs ached beneath his
burden. By now, too, the water was coming in faster than ever; it
was six inches deep. If he wished to raise Duke from out its reach,
he would have to stand up, and do his best to hold him in an upright
position. This he explained, and Duke, who seemed to regard the
whole affair as of no consequence at all, told him to do exactly as
he would. So Lionel struggled to his feet with Duke still in his
arms. He put his back against the wall, so that there might be
something to relieve him of at least a portion of the weight, and
holding Tregowan as a mother holds her babe, he waited there for
whatever might befall.
"Do you know a prayer?" asked Marmaduke, still in the same calm and
contented tone.
"Can you not pray?" said Pollyon between his teeth, for the physical
anguish was almost as much as he could bear. Duke's injuries were
evidently of a kind which had numbed his faculties and left him in a
semi-unconscious state; while the life was yet hot and strong in
Lionel, and he could not look forward with equanimity to being
drowned like a rat in a hole.
"Our Father," began Duke, in reply to Lionel's inquiry, "which art in
heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in
earth as it is done in heaven." And so on to the end. And when he
had finished, Lionel took up the strain upon his own account, and in
a tone very different to Duke's, every word wrung from a heart which
was filled to the brim with agony.
"Save us boys, O Lord, from death this night. Not for our sakes
only, but also for those at home. But, O Lord, if it is Thy will
that we should die, let death come quick, and take me before this
thing is more than I can bear."
But still the waters rose. They were up to Pollyon's knees, they
reached almost to his thigh. And as the sea came dashing in, it fell
sometimes on the lads, and, breaking upon their heads, blinded them
with spray.
"I wonder," said Tregowan once, when the waves had used them in this
fashion, "how it will be if there is no sea in heaven? I cannot
understand happiness away from winds and waves for ever."
But Lionel made no reply. He was in no mood to enter on those
subtleties. His jaw was tightly clenched; the muscles of his face
and body stood out like ropes drawn taut. His senses were fast
failing him; there was a film before his eyes. By degrees he was
only conscious of one desire, and that was, at any cost, to hold
Tregowan above the rising waters. He was careless of himself. With
a sort of grim irony he asked God to give him strength that it might
be useful to his friend. The minutes passed. Still the waters rose.
They had reached his waist. They surged to and fro so violently that
it was with difficulty he could keep his footing. Tregowan was in
his arms. He stuck with the strength of desperation with his back
against the wall, looking death steadfastly in the face. With the
noise of the waters mingled Duke's babbling; both rang without
ceasing in his ears.
"Duke, old boy," he said at last, "I guess it's nearly done. We'll
be with God ere long. Our Christmas'll be spent with Him. If I had
only known it was to come to this, how different it would have been!
It will be hard upon your mother, Duke, old boy, and upon my people
too." His voice died away as he spoke of his people.
"I'd like to have said good-bye to the mother," was all Duke seemed
to have to say; and he repeated it, "I'd like to have said good-bye
to the mother." Suddenly Pollyon stooped and kissed him. "Lionel!
Lionel! how good a friend you've been!"
But Pollyon replied with a return of his own manner--
"I don't suppose it's any use for us to say good-bye. It's like our
luck. We can't even indulge in the sweet sentiment of parting, for
we shall both be off together."
But then the human nature which was in him got the better of his
assumption of sarcastic indifference, and he cried with an exceeding
bitter cry, "Oh, I wish the tide were at the full! I wish the tide
were at the full! It is hard to die in such a hole as this."
And while even yet the words went up the shaft the sound of bells
broke out upon the air. It was the peal at Gwithian Church hard by,
telling all men that it was the midnight hour, and that already
another Christmas was born into the world. For it was Christmas
morning, and the tide was at the full.