INTRODUCES A STRANGER, DESCRIBES A PICNIC, AND REVEALS SOME SECRETS OF
MINING.
Somewhere in the vicinity of that magnificent piece of coast scenery in
West Cornwall, known by the name of Gurnard's Head, there sauntered, one
fine afternoon, a gentleman of tall, commanding aspect. All the parts
of this gentleman were, if we may so speak, _prononce_. Everything
about him savoured of the superlative degree. His head and face were
handsome and large, but their size was not apparent because of the
capacity of his broad shoulders and wide chest. His waist was slender,
hair curly and very black, only to be excelled by the intense blackness
of his eyes. His nose was prominent; mouth large and well shaped;
forehead high and broad; whiskers enormous; and nostrils so large as to
appear dilated. He was a bony man, a powerful man--also tall and
straight, and a little beyond forty. He was to all appearance a hero of
romance, and his mind seemed to be filled with romantic thoughts, for he
smiled frequently as he gazed around him from the top of the cliffs on
the beautiful landscape which lay spread out at his feet.
Above him there were wild undulating slopes covered with rich green
gorse; below were the cliffs of Gurnard's Cove, with rocky projections
that resemble the castellated work of man's hand, and intermingled
therewith much of the _materiel_ connected with the pilchard fishery,
with masses of masonry so heavy and picturesque as to resemble Nature's
handiwork. Beyond lay the blue waters of the Atlantic, which at that
time were calm almost as a mill-pond, studded with a hundred sails, and
glittering in sunshine.
The spot appeared a beautiful solitude, for no living thing was visible
save the romantic gentleman and a few seagulls and sheep. The pilchard
fishery had not yet commenced, and the three or four fishermen who
pitched and repaired their boats on the one little spot of sand that
could be seen far below on that rugged coast appeared like mice, and
were too far distant to break the feeling of solitude--a feeling which
was not a little enhanced by the appearance, on a spot not far distant,
of the ruined engine-house of a deserted mine.
It was indeed a lovely afternoon, and a beautiful scene--a very
misanthrope would have gazed on it with an approach at least to
benignity. No wonder that George Augustus Clearemout smiled on it so
joyously, and whisked his walking-cane vigorously in the exuberance of
his delight.
But, strange to say, his smile was always brightest, and the cane
flourished most energetically, when he turned his eyes on the ruined
mine! He even laughed once or twice, and muttered to himself as he
looked at the picturesque object; yet there seemed nothing in its
appearance calculated to produce laughter. On the contrary, there were
those alive whom the sight of it might have reduced to tears, for, in
its brief existence, it had raised uncommonly little tin or copper,
although it had succeeded in sinking an immense amount of gold!
Nevertheless Mr Clearemout chuckled every time he looked at the ruin,
and appeared very much tickled with the thoughts to which it gave rise.
"Yes! the very thing! capital!" he muttered to himself, turning again
and again to the object of his admiration, "couldn't be better--ha! ha!
most suitable; yes, it will do for 'em, probably it will _do_ 'em--do
'em," (he repeated the phrase two or three times with a greater display
of white teeth at each utterance of it), "a most superb name--Wheal
Do-em--ha! ha! Spell it with two o's to make it look more natural, and
ensure correct pronunciation--Wheal Dooem--nothing could be finer, quite
candid and above-board--no one can call it a swindle."
This last idea caused Mr Clearemout to break into the loudest laugh in
which he had hitherto indulged, and he was about to repeat it, when the
appearance of a phaeton at a turn of the carriage road reduced him to
gravity.
The vehicle contained a party of ladies and gentlemen from St. Just,
among whom were Rose Ellis, Mrs Donnithorne and her husband, Oliver
Trembath, and Mr William Grenfell, a gentleman of property in the
neighbourhood.
As it approached the spot where Mr Clearemout stood, the horse swerved
at a sheep which started out from behind a furze bush, and then backed
so rapidly that the hind-wheels were on the point of passing over the
edge of the road, when the tall stranger sprang to its head, and led it
gently forward.
The danger was not great, for the road at the place was elevated little
above the sward, but it was sufficiently so to warrant a profusion of
thanks from the occupants of the vehicle, and a pressing invitation to
Mr Clearemout to join the picnic party then and there assembling.
"You see, we're not all here," said Mr Donnithorne, bustling about
energetically, as he pulled baskets and bottles from the body of the
vehicle, while Oliver assisted the ladies to alight; "there's another
machineful coming, but we have lots of grub for all, and will only be
too glad of your company, Mr--Mr--what did you say?"
"Clearemout," interposed that gentleman, with a bow and a bland smile
that quite took Mr Donnithorne by storm.
"Ah, yes, glad to have you, Mr Clearemout; why, our necks might all
have been broken but for you. Rose, my dear, do look after this basket.
There--thanks--how hot it is, to be sure! Mr Clearemout--Mr
Grenfell; no introduction--only to let you know his name--my wife--
niece, Rose--Oliver Trembath, and all the rest; there, dispense with
ceremony on a picnic always. That's the chief fun of it."
While the lively old gentleman ran on thus, and collected the baskets
together, Mr Grenfell, who was a tall, gentlemanly man of about sixty,
with a grave, aristocratic countenance and polite manner, assured Mr
Clearemout that he was happy to make the acquaintance of a man who had
rendered them such opportune service, whereupon Mr Clearemout declared
himself to be fortunate in being present at such a juncture, and
protested that his service was a trifle in itself, although it had led
to an introduction which was most gratifying. Then, turning with much
urbanity of manner to the ladies, he entered into conversation with
them.
"Here they come!" shouted old Mr Donnithorne, as another carriage drove
up.
"The rest of our party," said Mr Grenfell, turning to Mr Clearemout;
"friends from St. Just."
The carriage stopped as he spoke, and a number of ladies and gentlemen
descended therefrom, and mingled their congratulations at the narrow
escape which had just been made, with thanks to the dark stranger, and
with orders, questions, counter-orders, and explanations innumerable,
about baskets to be carried and places to be selected.
The picnic, we need scarcely say, very much resembled picnics in
general. All were in good spirits--elated with the splendour of the
day, the beauty of the views, and the freshness of the sea-breeze that
sprang up soon after their arrival. The only one whose feelings were
not absolutely unruffled was Oliver Trembath. That youth was afflicted
with an unaccountable dislike to the dark stranger which rendered him
somewhat uncomfortable. As for the stranger, he made himself extremely
agreeable--told anecdotes, sang songs, and became an immaculate waiter
on the whole company, handing about plates, glasses, knives, etcetera,
etcetera, as deftly as if he were dealing a pack of cards. Above all,
he was a good listener, and not only heard other people's stories out to
the end, but commented on them as one who had been interested. With all
this, he was particularly attentive to Rose Ellis, but so guarded was he
that no one noticed the attentions as being peculiar except Rose
herself, and Oliver Trembath, who, for the first time in his life, to
his great surprise and displeasure, felt the demon of jealousy
tormenting his breast.
But in the midst of all this, Mr George Augustus Clearemout displayed
an insatiable curiosity in regard to mines and miners. Whatever might
be the subject of conversation for the time, he invariably took the
first opportunity of returning to his favourite theme with one or
another of the party, as occasion served.
Ashamed of the feelings which troubled him, Oliver Trembath resolved to
take the bold and manly step of stifling them, by making himself
agreeable to the object of his dislike. Accordingly, he availed himself
of an opportunity when the party broke up into groups to saunter about
the cliffs, and entered into converse with the stranger on the subject
of mines.
"You appear to take much interest in mining, I think," said he, as they
walked out on the promontory together.
"I do indeed," replied Clearemout; "the mines of Cornwall have ever been
a subject of deep interest to me, and the miners I regard as a race of
men singularly endowed with courage and perseverance."
"Your opinion of them is correct," said Oliver. "Have you ever seen
them at work?"
"No, I have only just arrived in the county, but I hope to visit the
mines ere long."
"When you do," said Oliver with enthusiasm, "your opinion of them will
be strengthened, for their endurance underground, and their perseverance
in a species of labour which taxes their muscular power as well as their
patience to the uttermost, surpasses anything I have either seen or
heard of. England does not fully appreciate, because she is not
minutely acquainted with, the endurance and courage of her Cornish
miners. The rocks through which they have to cut are so hard and
unyielding that men who had not been trained from childhood to subdue
them would lose heart altogether at the weight of toil and the small
return for it. Sometimes, indeed, miners are fortunate, and here, as
elsewhere, lucky hits are made, but for the most part their gains are
barely sufficient for their wants; and whether they are lucky or unlucky
in that respect, the toil is always hard--so hard that few of them
retain health or strength sufficient to go underground beyond the age of
forty-five, while hundreds of them find an early grave, owing to disease
resulting from their peculiar work, or to accidents. These last are
usually occasioned by the bursting out of collections of water which
flood the mines, or the fall of masses of timber, or the premature
explosion of blast-holes. At other times the men lose hold of the
ladders--`fall away' from them, as they express it--or stumble into a
winze, which is a small shaft connecting level with level, in which
latter case death is almost certain to ensue, many of the winzes being
sixty feet deep. In St. Just you will see many poor fellows who have
been blinded or maimed in the mines. Nevertheless Cornish miners are a
contented, uncomplaining race of men, and Cornwall is justly proud of
them."
"I am much interested in what you tell me," said Clearemout; "in fact I
have come here for the purpose of making inquiry into mines and mining
concerns."
"Then you will find this to be the very place for you," said Oliver.
"My uncle, Mr Donnithorne, and Mr Grenfell, and Mr Cornish are
intimately acquainted with mining in all its phases, and will, I am
certain, be happy to give you all the information in their power. As to
the people of St. Just and its neighbourhood, you will find them most
agreeable and hospitable. I can speak from personal experience,
although I have only been a short time among them."
"I doubt it not," replied Mr Clearemout with a bland smile; "my own
limited experience goes far to corroborate what you say, and I hope to
have the pleasure of still further testing the truth of your
observations."
And Mr George Augustus Clearemout did test their truth for several
weeks after the picnic. He was received with kindness and hospitality
everywhere; he was taken down into the mines by obliging agents, and was
invited to several of the periodical business dinners, called
"account-dinners," at which he met shareholders in the mines, and had an
opportunity of conversing with men of note and wealth from various parts
of the county. He dwelt, during his stay, with old Mr Donnithorne,
and, much to the surprise if not pleasure of Rose, proved himself to be
a proficient on the guitar and a good musician.
At length the dark gentleman took his departure for London, whither we
shall follow him, and watch his proceedings for a very short time,
before returning to the principal scene of our tale.
Almost immediately on his arrival in the great city, he betook himself
to the West End, and there, in a fashionable square, solicited an
interview with an old lady, whose principal noteworthy points were that
she had much gold and not much brains. She was a confiding old lady,
and had, on a previous occasion, been quite won by the insinuating
address of the "charming Mr Clearemout," who had been introduced to her
by a noble lord.
To this confiding old lady George Augustus painted Cornish mines and
mining in the most glowing colours, and recommended her to invest in a
mine a portion of her surplus funds. The confiding old lady had no
taste for speculation, and was rather partial to the three per cent
consols, but George Augustus was so charmingly persuasive that she could
not help giving in--so George proposed little plans, and opened up
little prospects, and the confiding old lady agreed to all the little
plans without paying much regard to the little prospects.
After this Mr Clearemout paid another visit in another West End
square--this time to a gentleman. The gentleman was young and noble,
for Clearemout styled him "My lord." Strange to say he also was of a
confiding nature--very much so indeed--and appeared to be even more
completely under the influence of George Augustus than the confiding old
lady herself.
For the benefit of this young gentleman Mr Clearemout painted the same
picture in the same glowing colours, which colours seemed to grow warmer
as the sun of success rose upon it. He added something about the value
of a name, and referred to money as being a matter of small consequence
in comparison. The young lord, like the old lady, agreed to everything
that was proposed to him, except the proposal to advance money. On that
point he was resolute, but Clearemout did not care much about obtaining
money from the confiding young gentleman. His name was as good as gold,
and would enable him to screw money out of others.
After this the dark man paid a visit to several other friends at the
West End, all of whom were more or less confiding--some with selfish,
others with unselfish, dispositions--but all, without exception, a
little weak intellectually. These had the same glowing pictures of a
Cornish mine laid before them, and most of them swallowed the bait
whole, only one or two being content to nibble.
When afternoon began to merge into evening Mr Clearemout paid a last
visit for the day--but not in the West End, rather nearer to the City--
to a gentleman somewhat like himself, though less prepossessing, for
whose benefit he painted no glowing picture of a mine, but to whom he
said, "Come, Jack, I've made a pretty good job of it; let's go and have
a chop. If your luck has equalled mine the thing is done, and Wheal
Dooem, as I have named the sweet little thing, will be going full swing
in a couple of weeks--costing, perhaps, a few hundreds to put it in
working order, with a trifle thereafter in the shape of wages to a man
and a boy to coal the fire, and keep the thing moving with as much noise
as possible to make a show, and leaving a pretty little balance of some
twenty or thirty thousand at the credit of the Company, for you and me
to enjoy in the meantime--_minus_ a small sum for rent of office,
clerk's salary, gas and coal, etcetera, as long as the bubble lasts."
Thus did this polite scoundrel go about from house to house getting up a
Cornish Mining Company on false pretences (as other polite scoundrels
have done before, and doubtless as others will do again), bringing into
unmerited disrepute those genuine and grand old mines of Cornwall which
have yielded stores of tin and copper, to the enriching of the English
nation, ever since those old-world days when the Phoenicians sailed
their adventurous barks to the "Cassiterides" in quest of tin.
While these things were being done in London, a terrible catastrophe
happened in Botallack mine, which threw a dark cloud for some time over
more than one lowly cottage in St. Just.