SHOWS THE MINER IN HIS SUNDAY GARB, AND ASTONISHES CLEAREMOUT, BESIDES
RELATING SOME INCIDENTS OF AN ACCIDENT.
The sun rose bright and hot on Sunday morning, but the little birds were
up before the great luminary, singing their morning hymn with noisy
delight. It was a peaceful day. The wind was at rest and the sea was
calm. In the ancient town of St. Just it was peculiarly peaceful, for
the numerous and untiring "stamps"--which all the week had continued
their clang and clatter, morning, noon, and night, without
intermission--found rest on that hallowed day, and the great engines
ceased to bow their massive heads, with the exception of those that
worked the pumps. Even these, however, were required to do as little
work as was compatible with the due drainage of the mines, and as their
huge pulsations were intermittent--few and far between--they did not
succeed in disturbing the universal serenity of the morning.
If there are in this country men who, more than any other, need repose,
we should say they are the miners of Cornwall, for their week's work is
exhausting far beyond that of most other labourers in the kingdom.
Perhaps the herculean men employed in malleable-iron works toil as
severely, but, besides the cheering consciousness of being well paid for
their labour, these men exert their powers in the midst of sunlight and
fresh air, while the miners toil in bad air, and get little pay in hard
times. Sunday is indeed to them the Sabbath-day--it is literally what
that word signifies, a day of much-required rest for body, soul, and
spirit.
Pity that the good old word which God gave us is not more universally
used among Christians! Would it not have been better that the
translation Rest-day had been adopted, so that even ignorant men might
have understood its true signification, than that we should have saddled
it with a heathen name, to be an apple of discord in all generations?
However, Sunday it is, so Sunday it will stand, we suppose, as long as
the world lasts. After all, despite its faulty origin, that word is
invested with old and hallowed associations in the minds of many, so we
enter our protest against the folly of our forefathers very humbly,
beseeching those who are prone to become nettled on this subject to
excuse our audacity!
Well, as we have said, the Sunday morning to which we refer was
peaceful; so would have been Maggot's household had Maggot's youngest
baby never been born; but, having been born, that robust cherub asserted
his right to freedom of action more violently than ever did the most
rabid Radical or tyrannical Tory. He "swarmed" about the house, and
kicked and yelled his uttermost, to the great distress of poor little
Grace, whose anxiety to get him ready for chapel was gradually becoming
feverish. But baby Maggot had as much objection to go to chapel as his
wicked father, who was at that time enjoying a pipe on the cliffs, and
intended to leave his family to the escort of David Trevarrow.
Fortunately, baby gave in about half-past nine, so that little Grace had
him washed and dressed, and on his way to chapel in pretty good time,
all things considered.
No one who entered the Wesleyan Chapel of St. Just that morning for the
first time could have imagined that a large proportion of the
well-dressed people who filled the pews were miners and balmaidens.
Some of the latter were elegantly, we might almost say gorgeously,
attired, insomuch that, but for their hands and speech, they might
almost have passed for ladies of fashion. The very latest thing in
bonnets, and the newest mantles, were to be seen on their pretty heads
and shapely shoulders.
As we have said before, and now repeat, this circumstance arose from the
frequency of the visits of the individual styled "Johnny Fortnight,"
whose great aim and end in life is to supply miners, chiefly the females
among them, with the necessaries, and unnecessaries, of wearing apparel.
When the managing director entered Mr Donnithorne's pew and sat down
beside his buxom hostess, he felt, but of course was much too well bred
to express astonishment; for his host had told him that a large number
of the people who attended the chapel were miners, and for a time he
failed to see any of the class whom he had hitherto been accustomed to
associate with rusty-red and torn garbs, and dirty hands and faces. But
he soon observed that many of the stalwart, serious-looking men with
black coats and white linen, had strong, muscular hands, with
hard-looking knuckles, which, in some instances, exhibited old or recent
cuts and bruises.
It was a new sight for the managing director to behold the large and
apparently well-off families filing into the pews, for, to say truth,
Mr Clearemout was not much in the habit of attending church, and he had
never before entered a Methodist chapel. He watched with much curiosity
the gradual filling of the seats, and the grave, quiet demeanour of the
people. Especially interesting was it when Maggot's family came in and
sat down, with the baby Maggot in charge of little Grace. Mr
Clearemout had met Maggot, and had seen his family; but interest gave
place to astonishment when Mrs Penrose walked into the church, backed
by her sixteen children, the eldest males among whom were miners, and
the eldest females tin-dressers, while the little males and females
aspired to be miners and tin-dressers in the course of time.
"That's Penrose's family," whispered Mr Donnithorne to his guest.
"What! the local's family?"
Mr Donnithorne nodded.
Soon after, a tall, gentlemanly man ascended the pulpit.
The managing director was disappointed. He had come there to hear a
miner preach, and behold, a clergyman!
"Who is he?" inquired Clearemout.
But Mr Donnithorne did not answer. He was looking up the hymn for Mrs
D, who, being short-sighted, claimed exemption from the duty of "looking
up" anything. Besides, he was a kind, good man at heart--though rather
fond of smuggling and given to the bottle, according to Oliver
Trembath's account of him--and liked to pay his wife little attentions.
But there were still greater novelties in store for the London man that
morning. It was new to him to hear John Wesley's beautiful hymns sung
to equally beautiful tunes, which were not, however, unfamiliar to his
ear, and sung with a degree of fervour that quite drowned his own voice,
powerful and deep though it was. It was a new and impressive thing to
hear the thrilling, earnest tones of the preacher as he offered up an
eloquent extempore prayer--to the petitions in which many of the people
in the congregation gave utterance at times to startlingly fervent and
loud responses--not in set phraseology, but in words that were called
forth by the nature of each petition, such as "Glory to God," "Amen,"
"Thanks be to Him"--showing that the worshippers followed and
sympathised with their spokesman, thus making his prayer their own. But
the newest thing of all was to hear the preacher deliver an eloquent,
earnest, able, and well-digested sermon, without book or note, in the
same natural tone of voice with which a man might address his fellow in
the street--a style of address which riveted the attention of the
hearers, induced them to expect that he had really something important
to say to them, and that he thoroughly believed in the truth of what he
said.
"A powerful man," observed the managing director as they went out; "your
clergyman, I suppose?"
"No, sir," replied Mr Donnithorne with a chuckle, "our minister is
preaching elsewhere to-day. That was James Penrose."
"What! the miner?" exclaimed Clearemout in astonishment.
"Ay, the local preacher too."
"Why, the man spoke like Demosthenes, and quoted Bacon, Locke, Milton,
and I know not whom all--you amaze me," said Mr Clearemout. "Surely
all your local preachers are not equal to this one."
"Alas, no! some of the young ones are indeed able enough to spout poetry
and quote old authors, and too fond they are of doing so; nevertheless,
as I have said to you before, most of the local preachers are
sober-minded, sterling Christian men, and a few of them have eminent
capabilities. Had Penrose been a younger man, he would probably have
entered the ministry, but being above forty, with an uncommonly large
family, he thinks it his duty to remain as he is, and do as much good as
he can."
"But surely he might find employment better suited to his talents?" said
Clearemout.
"There is not much scope in St. Just," replied Mr Donnithorne, with a
smile, "and it is a serious thing for a man in his circumstances to
change his abode and vocation. No, no, I think he is right to remain a
miner."
"Well, I confess that I admire his talents," returned Clearemout, "but I
still think that an ordinary miner would suit me better."
"Well, I know of one who will suit you admirably. He is common enough
to look at, and if you will accompany me into the mine to-morrow I'll
introduce you to him. I'm not fond of descending the ladders nowadays,
though I could do it very well when a youth, but as the man I speak of
works in one of the levels near the surface, I'll be glad to go down
with you, and Captain Dan shall lead us."
True to his word, the old gentleman met Mr Clearemout the following
morning at nine o'clock, and accompanied him down into the mine.
Their descent was unmarked by anything particular at first. They wore
the usual suit of underground clothing, and each carried a lighted
candle attached to his hat. After descending about thirty fathoms they
left the main shaft and traversed the windings of a level until they
came to a place where the sound of voices and hammers indicated that the
miners were working. In a few seconds they reached the end of the
level.
Here two men were "driving" the level, and another--a very tall,
powerful man--was standing in a hole driven up slanting-ways into the
roof, and cutting the rock above his head. His attitude and aspect were
extremely picturesque, standing as he did on a raised platform with his
legs firmly planted, his muscular arms raised above him to cut the rock
overhead, and the candle so placed as to cause his figure to appear
almost black and unnaturally gigantic.
"Stay a minute, Captain Dan," said Mr Donnithorne. "That, Mr
Clearemout, is the man I spoke of--what think you of his personal
appearance?"
Clearemout did not reply for a few minutes, but stood silently watching
the man as he continued to wield his heavy hammer with powerful
strokes--delivering each with a species of gasp which indicated not
exhaustion, but the stern vigour with which it was given.
"He'll do," said Clearemout in a decided tone.
"Hallo! James," shouted Mr Donnithorne.
"Hallo! sir," answered the man looking back over his shoulder.
"There's a gentleman here who wants to speak to you."
The miner flung down his tools, which clattered loudly on the hard rock,
as he leaped from his perch with the agility of one whose muscles are
all in full and constant exercise.
"What! not the local--"
Before the managing director could finish his sentence Mr Donnithorne
introduced him to James Penrose, and left the two for a time to talk
together.
It need scarcely be added that Clearemout was quite willing to avail
himself of the services of the "local," but the local did not meet his
proposals so readily as he would have wished. Penrose was a cautious
man, and said he would call on Mr Clearemout in the evening after he
had had time to consider the matter.
With this reply the other was fain to rest satisfied, and shortly after
he returned to the bottom of the shaft with his friends, leaving the
hardy miner to pursue his work.
At the bottom of the shaft they were accosted by a sturdy little man,
who told them that a large piece of timber was being sent down the
shaft, and it would be advisable to wait until it reached the bottom.
"Is it on the way, Spankey?" asked Captain Dan.
"Iss, sur, if it haven't walked into the thirty-fathom level in
passin'."
Spankey was a humorous individual addicted to joking.
"Are you married, Spankey?" asked Clearemout, looking down with a grin
at the dirty little fellow beside him.
"Iss, sur. Had, two wives, an' the third wan is waitin' for me,
'spose."
"Any children, Spankey?"
"Iss, six, countin' the wan that died before it could spaik."
At this point the beam was heard coming down. In a few seconds it made
its appearance, and was hauled a little to one side by Spankey, who
proceeded to unwind the chain that had supported it.
"I'll give 'em the signal, Captain Dan, to haul up the chain before thee
do go on the ladders."
The signal was given accordingly, and the engine immediately began to
draw up the chain by which the beam had been lowered.
This chain had a hook at one end of it, and, as ill-luck would have it,
the hook caught Spankey by the right leg of his trousers, and whisked
him off his feet. Almost before those beside him could conceive what
had happened, the unfortunate man went up the shaft feet foremost, with
a succession of dreadful yells, in the midst of which could be heard a
fearful rending of strong linen.
Fortunately for Spankey, his nether garments were not only strong, but
new, so that when the rend came to the seam at the foot, it held on,
else had that facetious miner come down the shaft much faster than he
went up, and left his brains at the bottom as a memorial of the shocking
event!
With palpitating hearts, Captain Dan, Clearemout, and old Donnithorne
ran up the ladders as fast as they could. In a few minutes they reached
the thirty-fathom level, and here, to their great relief, they found
Spankey supported in the arms of stout Joe Tonkin.
That worthy, true to his promise to Oliver Trembath, had gone to work in
Botallack Mine, and had that very day commenced operations in the
thirty-fathom level referred to. Hearing the terrible screams of
Spankey, he rushed to the end of the level just as the unfortunate man
was passing it. The risk was great, but Tonkin was accustomed to risks,
and prompt to act. He flung his arms round Spankey, drew him forcibly
into the level, and held on for life. There was a terrible rend; the
leg of the trousers gave way at the hip, and went flapping up to grass,
leaving the horrified miner behind.
"Not gone dead yet, sur, but goin' fast," was Spankey's pathetic reply
to Captain Dan's anxious inquiries.
It was found, however, that, beyond the fright, the man had received no
damage whatever.
The only other noteworthy fact in reference to this incident is, that
when Captain Dan and his companions reached the surface, they were met
by the lander, who, with a face as pale as a ghost, held up the torn
garment. Great was this man's relief, and loud the fit of laughter with
which he expressed it, when Spankey, issuing from the mouth of the
shaft, presented his naked limb, and claimed the leg of his trousers!