Chip, chip, chip--down in the dusky mine! Oh, but the rock at which the
miner chipped was hard, and the bit of rock on which he sat was hard,
and the muscles with which he toiled were hard from prolonged labour;
and the lot of the man seemed hard, as he sat there in the hot, heavy
atmosphere, hour after hour, from morn till eve, with the sweat pouring
down his brow and over his naked shoulders, toiling and moiling with
hammer and chisel.
But stout David Trevarrow did not think his lot peculiarly hard. His
workshop was a low narrow tunnel deep down under the surface of the
earth--ay, and deep under the bottom of the sea! His daily sun was a
tallow candle, which rose regularly at seven in the morning and set at
three in the afternoon. His atmosphere was sadly deficient in
life-giving oxygen, and much vitiated by gunpowder smoke. His working
costume consisted only of a pair of linen trousers; his colour from top
to toe was red as brick-dust, owing to the iron ore around him; his food
was a slice of bread, with, perchance, when he was unusually luxurious,
the addition of a Cornish pasty; and his drink was water. To an
inexperienced eye the man's work would have appeared not only hard but
hopeless, for although his hammer was heavy, his arm strong, and his
chisel sharp and tempered well, each blow produced an apparently
insignificant effect on the flinty rock. Frequently a spark of fire was
all that resulted from a blow, and seldom did more than a series of
little chips fly off, although the man was of herculean mould, and
worked "with a will," as was evident from the kind of gasp or stern
expulsion of the breath with which each blow was accompanied. Unaided
human strength he knew could not achieve much in such a process, so he
directed his energies chiefly to the boring of blast-holes, and left it
to the mighty power of gunpowder to do the hard work of rending the rich
ore from the bowels of the unwilling earth. Yes, the work was very
hard, probably the hardest that human muscles are ever called on to
perform in this toiling world; but again we say that David Trevarrow did
not think so, for he had been born to the work and bred to it, and was
blissfully ignorant of work of a lighter kind, so that, although his
brows frowned at the obstinate rock, his compressed lips smiled, for his
thoughts were pleasant and far away. The unfettered mind was above
ground roaming in fields of light, basking in sunshine, and holding
converse with the birds, as he sat there chip, chip, chipping, down in
the dusky mine.
Stopping at last, the miner wiped his brow, and, rising, stood for a few
moments silently regarding the result of his day's work.
"Now, David," said he to himself, "the question is, what shall us do--
shall us keep on, or shall us knack?"
He paused, as if unable to answer the question. After a time he
muttered, "Keep on; it don't look promisin', sure 'nuff, an' it's poor
pay; but it won't do to give in yet."
Poor pay it was indeed, for the man's earnings during the past month had
been barely ten shillings. But David Trevarrow had neither wife, child,
nor mother to support, so he could afford to toil for poor pay, and,
being of a remarkably hopeful and cheery disposition, he returned home
that afternoon resolved to persevere in his unproductive toil, in the
hope that at last he should discover a good "bunch of copper," or a
"keenly lode of tin."
David was what his friends and the world styled unfortunate. In early
manhood he had been a somewhat wild and reckless fellow--a noted
wrestler, and an adept in all manly sports and games. But a
disappointment in love had taught him very bitterly that life is not all
sunshine; and this, coupled with a physical injury which was the result
of his own folly, crushed his spirit so much that his comrades believed
him to be a "lost man."
The injury referred to was the bursting of a blood-vessel in the lungs.
It was, and still is, the custom of the youthful miners of Cornwall to
test their strength by racing up the almost interminable ladders by
which the mines are reached. This tremendous exertion after a day of
severe toil affected them of course very severely, and in some cases
seriously. Many an able-bodied man has by this means brought himself to
a premature end. Among others, David Trevarrow excelled and suffered.
No one could beat him in running up the ladders; but one day, on
reaching the surface, blood issued from his mouth, and thenceforth his
racing and wrestling days were ended, and his spirit was broken. A long
illness succeeded. Then he began to mend. Slowly and by degrees his
strength returned, but not his joyous spirit. Still it was some comfort
to feel able for work again, and he "went underground" with some degree
of his old vigour, though not with the light heart or light step of
former days; but bad fortune seemed to follow him everywhere. When
others among his comrades were fortunate in finding copper or tin, David
was most unaccountably unsuccessful. Accidents, too, from falls and
explosions, laid him up more than once, and he not only acquired the
character of an unlucky man from his friends, but despite a naturally
sanguine temperament, he began himself to believe that he was one of the
unluckiest fellows in the world.
About this time the followers of that noble Christian, John Wesley,
began to make an impression on Cornwall, and to exert an influence which
created a mighty change in the hearts and manners of the people, and the
blessed effects of which are abundantly evident at the present day--to
the rejoicing of every Christian soul. One of those ministers of our
Lord happened to meet with David Trevarrow, and was the means of opening
his eyes to many great and previously unknown truths. Among others, he
convinced him that "God's ways are not as man's ways;" that He often,
though not always, leads His people by thorny paths that they know not
of, but does it in love and with His own glory in their happiness as the
end in view; that the Lord Jesus Christ must be to a man "the chiefest
among ten thousand, and altogether lovely," else He is to him nothing at
all, and that he could be convinced of all these truths only by the Holy
Spirit.
It were vain to attempt to tell all that this good man said to the
unhappy miner, but certain it is that from that time forth David became
himself again--and yet not himself. The desire to wrestle and fight and
race returned in a new form. He began to wrestle with principalities
and powers, to fight the good fight of faith, and to run the race set
before him in the gospel. The old hearty smile and laugh and cheery
disposition also returned, and the hopeful spirit, and so much of the
old robust health and strength, that it seemed as if none of the evil
effects of the ruptured blood-vessel remained. So David Trevarrow went,
as of old, daily to the mine. It is true that riches did not flow in
upon him any faster than before, but he did not mind that much, for he
had discovered another mine, in which he toiled at nights after the
day's toil was over, and whence he extracted treasure of greater value
than copper or tin, or even gold--treasure which he scattered in a
Sabbath school with liberal hand, and found himself all the richer for
his prodigality.
Occasionally, after prolonged labour in confined and bad air, a faint
trace of the old complaint showed itself when he reached the top of the
ladders, but he was not now depressed by that circumstance as he used to
be. He was past his prime at the period of which we write, and a
confirmed bachelor.
To return from this digression: David Trevarrow made up his mind, as we
have said, to "go on," and, being a man of resolute purpose, he went on;
seized his hammer and chisel, and continued perseveringly to smite the
flinty rock, surrounded by thick darkness, which was not dispelled but
only rendered visible by the feeble light of the tallow candle that
flared at his side.
Over his head rolled the billows of the Atlantic; the whistling wind
howled among the wild cliffs of the Cornish coast, but they did not
break the deep silence of the miner's place of midnight toil. Heaven's
artillery was rending the sky, and causing the hearts of men to beat
slow with awe. The great boulders ground the pebbles into sand as they
crashed to and fro above him, but he heard them not--or if he did, the
sound reached him as a deep-toned mysterious murmur, for, being in one
of the low levels, with many fathoms of solid rock between him and the
bottom of the superincumbent sea, he was beyond the reach of such
disturbing influences, tremendous though they were.
The miner was making a final effort at his unproductive piece of rock,
and had prolonged his toil far into the night.
Hour after hour he wrought almost without a moment's respite, save for
the purpose, now and then, of trimming his candle. When his right arm
grew tired, he passed the hammer swiftly to his left hand, and, turning
the borer with his right, continued to work with renewed vigour.
At last he paused, and looking over his shoulder called out--"Zackey,
booy."
The sound died away in a hollow echo through the retiring galleries of
the mine, but there was no reply.
"Zackey, booy, are 'ee slaipin'?" he repeated.
A small reddish-coloured bundle, which lay in a recess close at hand,
uncoiled itself like a hedgehog, and, yawning vociferously, sat up,
revealing the fact that the bundle was a boy.
"Ded 'ee call, uncle?" asked the boy in a sleepy tone.
"Iss did I," said the man; "fetch me the powder an' fuse, my son."
The lad rose, and, fetching out of a dark corner the articles required,
assisted in charging the hole which his uncle had just finished boring.
This was the last hole which the man intended to blast that night. For
weeks past he had laboured day after day--sometimes, as on the present
occasion, at night--and had removed many tons of rock, without procuring
either tin or copper sufficient to repay him for his toil, so that he
resolved to give it up and remove to a more hopeful part of the mine, or
betake himself to another mine altogether. He had now bored his last
hole, and was about to blast it. Applying his candle to the end of the
fuse, he hastened along the level to a sufficient distance to afford
security, warning his nephew as he passed.
Zackey leaped up, and, scrambling over the debris with which the bottom
of the level was covered, made good his retreat. About a minute they
waited in expectancy. Suddenly there was a bright blinding flash, which
lit up the rugged sides of the mine, and revealed its cavernous
ramifications and black depths. This was accompanied by a dull
smothered report and a crash of falling rock, together with a shower of
debris. Instantly the whole place was in profound darkness.
"Aw, booy," exclaimed the miner; "we was too near. It have knacked us
in the dark."
"So't have, uncle; I'll go an' search for the box."
"Do, my son," said David.
In those days lucifer matches had not been invented, and light had to be
struck by means of flint, steel, and tinder. The process was tedious
compared with the rapid action of congreves and vestas in the present
day. The man chipped away for full three minutes before he succeeded in
relighting his candle. This done, the rock was examined.
"Bad still, Uncle David?" inquired the boy.
"Iss, Zackey Maggot, so we'll knack'n, and try the higher mine
to-morrow." Having come to this conclusion Uncle David threw down the
mass of rock which he held in his brawny hands, and, picking up his
implements, said, "Get the tools, booy, and lev us go to grass."
Zackey, who had been in the mine all day, and was tired, tied his tools
at each end of a rope, so that they might be slung over his shoulder and
leave his hands free. Trevarrow treated his in the same way, and,
removing his candle from the wall, fixed it on the front of his hat by
the simple process of sticking thereto the lump of clay to which it was
attached. Zackey having fixed his candle in the same manner, both of
them put on their red-stained flannel shirts and linen coats, and
traversed the level until they reached the bottom of the ladder-shaft.
Here they paused for a few moments before commencing the long wearisome
ascent of almost perpendicular ladders by which the miners descended to
their work or returned "to grass," as they termed the act of returning
to the surface.
It cost them more than half an hour of steady climbing before they
reached the upper part of the shaft and became aware that a storm was
raging in the regions above. On emerging from the mouth of the shaft or
"ladder road," man and boy were in a profuse perspiration, and the sharp
gale warned them to hasten to the moor-house at full speed.
Moor-houses were little buildings in which miners were wont to change
their wet underground garments for dry clothes. Some of these used to
be at a considerable distance from the shafts, and the men were often
injured while going to them from the mine, by being exposed in an
overheated state to cutting winds. Many a stout able-bodied miner has
had a chill given him in this way which has resulted in premature death.
Moor-houses have now been replaced by large drying-houses, near the
mouths of shafts, where every convenience is provided for the men drying
their wet garments and washing their persons on coming to the surface.
Having changed their clothes, uncle and nephew hastened to St. Just,
where they dwelt in the cottage of Maggot, the blacksmith. This man,
who has already been introduced to the reader, was brother-in-law to
David, and father to Zackey.
When David Trevarrow entered his brother-in-law's cottage, and told him
of his bad fortune, and of his resolution to try his luck next day in
the higher mine, little did he imagine that his change of purpose was to
be the first step in a succession of causes which were destined to
result, at no very distant period, in great changes of fortune to some
of his friends in St. Just, as well as to many others in the county.