"A wilful man must have his way" is a proverb the truth of which was
illustrated by the blacksmith on the following day.
David Trevarrow again attempted to dissuade him from his purpose, and
reiterated his offer to go in his stead, but he failed to move him.
Mrs Maggot essayed, and added tears to her suasion, as also did little
Grace; but they failed too--the obdurate man would not give way. The
only one of his household who did not attempt to dissuade him
(excepting, of course, the baby, who cared nothing whatever about the
matter) was Zackey. That urchin not only rejoiced in the failure of the
others to turn his father from his purpose, but pleaded hard to be
allowed to go with him, and share his danger as well as glory. This,
however, was peremptorily denied to the young aspirant to fame and a
premature death by drowning in a dark hole.
Early in the forenoon Maggot and his friends proceeded to the shore,
where they found a number of miners and others assembled near the adit
mouth--among them our hero Oliver Trembath, Mr Donnithorne, and Mr
Cornish, at that time the purser and manager of Botallack mine.
The latter gentleman accosted Maggot as he came forward, and advised him
to be cautious. Of course the smith gave every assurance that was
required of him, and immediately prepared himself to make the dangerous
experiment.
Supplying himself with a number of tallow candles, a mining hammer, and
other tools, Maggot stripped to the waist, and jestingly bidding his
friends farewell, entered the mouth of the tunnel, and disappeared. The
adit level, or tunnel, through which he had to pass to the scene of his
operations, was, as we have said, about a quarter of a mile in length,
about six feet high, and two and a half feet wide. It varied in
dimensions here and there, however, and was rough and irregular
throughout.
For the first hundred yards or so Maggot could see well enough to grope
his way by the daylight which streamed in at the entrance of the adit,
but beyond this point all was intense darkness; so here he stopped, and,
striking a light by means of flint, steel, and tinder, lit one of his
candles. This he attached to a piece of wet clay in the usual fashion,
except that he placed the clay at the lower end of the candle instead of
round the middle of it. He then stuck it against the rock a little
above the level of his head. Lighting another candle he advanced with
it in his hand. Walking, or rather wading onward (for the stream was
ankle-deep) far enough to be almost beyond the influence of the first
candle, he stopped again and stuck up another. Thus, at intervals, he
placed candles along the entire length of the adit, so that he might
have light to guide him in his race from the water which he hoped to set
free. This precaution was necessary, because, although he meant to
carry a candle in his hat all the time, there was a possibility--nay, a
strong probability--that it would be blown or drowned out.
Little more than a quarter of an hour brought him to the scene of his
intended adventure. Here he found the water spirting out all round,
much more violently than it had been the day before. He did not waste
much time in consideration, having made up his mind on the previous
visit as to which part of the rock he would drive the hole through.
Sticking his last candle, therefore, against the driest part of the wall
that could be found, he seized his tools and commenced work.
We have already said that Maggot was a strong man. As he stood there,
naked to the waist, holding the borer with his left hand, and plying the
hammer with all his might with the other, his great breadth of shoulder
and development of muscle were finely displayed by the candlelight,
which fell in brilliant gleams on parts of his frame, while the rest of
him was thrown into shadow, so deep that it would have appeared black,
but for the deeper shade by which it was surrounded--the whole scene
presenting a grand Rembrandt effect.
It is unnecessary to say that Maggot wrought with might and main.
Excited somewhat by the novelty and danger of his undertaking, he felt
relieved by the violence of his exertion. He knew, besides, that the
candles which were to light him on his return were slowly but surely
burning down. Blow after blow resounded through the place incessantly.
When the smith's right arm felt a very little wearied--it was too
powerful to be soon or greatly exhausted--he shifted the hammer to his
left hand, and so the work went on. Suddenly and unexpectedly the borer
was driven to its head into the hole by a tremendous blow. The rock
behind it had given way. Almost at the same instant a large mass of
rock burst outwards, followed by a stream of water so thick and violent
that it went straight at the opposite side of the cavern, against which
it burst in white foam. This, rebounding back and around, rushed
against roof and sides with such force that the whole place was at once
deluged.
Maggot was knocked down at the first gush, but leaped up and turned to
fly. Of course both candles--that in his hat as well as that which he
had affixed to the wall--were extinguished, and he was at once plunged
in total darkness, for the rays of the next light, although visible,
were too feeble to penetrate with any effect to the extremity of the
adit. Blinded by rushing water and confused by his fall, the smith
mistook his direction, and ran against the side of the level with such
violence that he fell again, but his sturdy frame withstood the shock,
and once more he sprang to his feet and leaped along the narrow tunnel
with all the energy of desperation.
Well was it for Maggot at that hour that his heart was bold and his
faculties cool and collected, else then and there his career had ended.
Bending forward and stooping low, he bounded away like a hunted deer,
but the rush of water was so great that it rapidly gained on him, and,
by concealing the uneven places in the path, caused him to stumble. His
relay of candles served him in good stead; nevertheless, despite their
light and his own caution, he more than once narrowly missed dashing out
his brains on the low roof. On came the water after the fugitive, a
mighty, hissing, vaulting torrent, filling the level behind, and leaping
up on the man higher and higher as he struggled and floundered on for
life. Quickly, and before quarter of the distance to the adit mouth was
traversed, it gurgled up to his waist, swept him off his legs, and
hurled him against projecting rocks. Once and again did he succeed in
regaining his foothold, but in a moment or two the rising flood swept
him down and hurled him violently onward, sporting with him on its
foaming crest until it disgorged him at last, and cast him, stunned,
bruised, and bleeding, on the seashore.
Of course the unfortunate man's friends had waited for him with some
impatience, and great was their anxiety when the first of the flood made
its appearance. When, immediately after, the battered form of their
comrade was flung on the beach, they ran forward and bore him out of the
stream.
Oliver Trembath being on the spot, Maggot wae at once attended to, and
his wounds bound up.
"He'll do; he's all right," said Oliver, on completing the work--"only
got a few cuts and bruises, and lost a little blood, but that won't harm
him."
The expression of anxiety that had appeared on the faces of those who
stood around at once vanished on hearing these reassuring words.
"I knaw'd it," said John Cock energetically. "I knaw'd he couldn't be
killed--not he."
"I trust that you may be right, Oliver," said old Mr Donnithorne,
looking with much concern on the pale countenance of the poor smith, who
still lay stretched out, with only a slight motion of the chest to prove
that the vital spark had not been altogether extinguished.
"No fear of him, he's sure to come round," replied Oliver; "come, lads,
up with him on your backs."
He raised the smith's shoulder as he spoke. Three tall and powerful
miners promptly lent their aid, and Maggot was raised shoulder-high, and
conveyed up the steep, winding path that led to the top of the cliff.
"It would never do to lose Maggot," murmured Mr Donnithorne, as if
speaking to himself while he followed the procession beside Mr Cornish;
"he's far too good a--"
"A smuggler--eh?" interrupted the purser, with a laugh.
"Eh, ah! did I say smuggler?" cried Mr Donnithorne; "surely not, for of
all vices that of smuggling is one of the worst, unless it be an
overfondness for the bottle. I meant to have said that he is too
valuable a man for St. Just to lose--in many ways; and you know, Mr
Cornish, that he is a famous wrestler--a man of whom St. Just may be
justly proud."
Mr Donnithorne cast a sly glance at his companion, whom he knew to be
partial to the ancient Cornish pastime of wrestling. Indeed, if report
said truly, the worthy purser had himself in his youthful days been a
celebrated amateur wrestler, one who had never been thrown, even
although he had on more than one occasion been induced in a frolic to
enter the public ring and measure his strength with the best men that
could be brought against him. He was long past the time of life when
men indulge in such rough play, but his tall commanding figure and huge
chest and shoulders were quite sufficient to warrant the belief that
what was said of him was possible, while the expression of his fine
massive countenance, and the humorous glance of his clear, black eye,
bore evidence that it was highly probable.
"'Twould be foul injustice," said the purser with a quiet laugh, "if I
were to deny that Maggot is a good man and true, in the matter of
wrestling; nevertheless he is an arrant rogue, and defrauds the revenue
woefully. But, after all he is only the cat's-paw; those who employ him
are the real sinners--eh, Mr Donnithorne?"
"Surely, surely," replied the old gentleman with much gravity; "and it
is to be hoped that this accident will have the effect of turning Maggot
from his evil ways."
The purser could not refrain from a laugh at the hypocritical solemnity
of the old gentleman, who was, he well knew, one of the very sinners
whom he condemned with such righteous indignation, but their arrival at
Maggot's cottage prevented further conversation on the subject at that
time.
Mrs Maggot, although a good deal agitated when her husband's almost
inanimate and bloody form was carried in and laid on the bed, was by no
means overcome with alarm. She, like the wives of St. Just miners
generally, was too well accustomed to hear of accidents and to see their
results, to give way to wild fears before she had learned the extent of
her calamity; so, when she found that it was not serious, she dried her
eyes, and busied herself in attending to all the little duties which the
occasion required. Little Grace, too, although terribly frightened, and
very pale, was quite self-possessed, and went about the house assisting
her mother ably, despite the tendency to sob, which she found it very
difficult to overcome. But the baby behaved in the most shameful and
outrageous manner. His naughtiness is almost indescribable. The
instant the door opened, and his father's bloody face was presented to
view, baby set up a roar so tremendous that a number of dogs in the
neighbourhood struck in with a loud chorus, and the black kitten,
startled out of an innocent slumber, rushed incontinently under the bed,
faced about, and fuffed in impotent dismay!
But not only did baby roar--he also fell on the floor and kicked,
thereby rendering his noise exasperating, besides exposing his fat
person to the risk of being trod upon. Zackey was therefore told off as
a detachment to keep this enemy in check, a duty which he performed
nobly, until his worthy father was comfortably put to bed, after which
the friends retired, and left the smith to the tender care of his own
family.
"He has done good service anyhow," observed Mr Donnithorne to his
nephew, as he parted from him that evening; "for he has cleared the mine
of water that it would have cost hundreds of pounds and many months to
pump out."