There could be no doubt that Philip Hexton did mean to win the fight,
and there could also be no doubt that he was going the right way to work
to win it. The greater part of the men met his efforts for their good
in a surly, churlish way, as people will meet any one who tries to
interfere with their cherished notions; but there were others, few
though they were, who had the good sense and honesty to own that the
young deputy was right, and to join with him in trying to reform the
ways of the men in the pit.
Ebenezer Parks went on with his work as usual, showing no disposition to
resume the quarrel; but Philip noticed one thing, and that was--the man
never would look him in the face. No sooner did the young deputy come
in sight than Parks bent over his work, or stooped to trim his lamp with
the wire that passed through it; he never once gazed frankly and openly
in Philip's eyes.
Time wore on, and there could be no doubt about it, the mine regulations
were better kept, and hence there was less likelihood of an accident
occurring, though, of course, the utmost vigilance could not protect
those who worked from mishap.
Philip, with his father's help, devised two or three alterations in the
ventilation of the mine, which also made it less fiery, as the pitmen
called it; but his great project was to have another shaft.
"You see, father," he said, "we burrow into the ground like animals, but
we do not take their precautions. A fox or a rabbit always has a second
hole by which he can escape if there is anything wrong with the first.
Ours is without doubt a dangerous pit, and if anything happened to block
the shaft, the poor fellows down below would be entombed."
"Yes, my boy," said Mr Hexton grimly; "but it doesn't cost the rabbits
or the foxes ten thousand pounds to make their second hole. It would
cost us that. We must be content with one."
That question of a second shaft was always cropping up in Philip
Hexton's brain, for, said he to himself, it is a sin against four
hundred men to let them go down that place without providing them with
proper means of escape. But upon going into calculations he found that
the cost of a second shaft would approach the ten thousand pounds before
all was ready, and he knew that the proprietors would not listen to such
a proposition. What, then, was to be done?
The answer came to him one evening like a flash of thought; and,
starting off, he made his way through the scrubby patch of woodland on
the hill-slope joining the colliery lands to the next property.
It took him some time to find that of which he was in search, for the
neglected ground was overgrown with tangled brambles, hazels, and
pollards; and a stranger would have at once looked upon the wilderness
of a place as unturned ground. But Philip knew better. He was growing
weary of his search, however, when he made his discovery in a fashion
that he did not anticipate, for, just as he was forcing his way through
a tangled part of the wood, and parting the shady hazel stubbs that
arrested his progress, his feet seemed to drop suddenly from beneath
him, and he went down into semi-darkness, to hang clinging with the
energy of despair to the hazel boughs; while, had he had any doubt about
his position as he swung gently to and fro, he was taught by the
horrible echoing plash that came up from hundreds of feet below, as the
mass of crumbling earth and roots, upon which he had stepped, fell into
the water.
For a few moments the horror of his position seemed to paralyse him, and
such a strange sense of terror mastered his faculties that he felt that
he must lose his hold and fall into the depths, to be drowned in a few
moments in the awful pit. For this was the place of which he had been
in search--the shaft of the old colliery, that had not been worked for
quite a hundred years; a place almost forgotten, but of whose existence
he was sure, for in the plan of their own mine he had found allusions to
it and some former manager had made notes of the risks that might be
encountered if any of the galleries were driven far enough to tap either
of those belonging to the ancient mine, which would contain water enough
to flood their own.
The elastic hazel boughs had bent down and down until Philip Hexton's
head was five or six feet below the crumbling edge of the mine shaft;
and as he endeavoured to obtain more hold for his feet, he only seemed
to kick the earth and stones away, causing them to fall and send up a
repetition of that horrible echoing plash. Below him, as he glanced
down once, all was terrible darkness, though even in his horror he
noticed that the sides of the old shaft were covered with beautiful
ferns. Above him was a tangle of crossing and interweaving branches,
twigs, and brambles, and if, as might take place at any moment, the
boughs by which he held should break, there was no hope for him. He
knew that he must die, and probably his fate would never become known.
He hung there swinging to and fro for some moments, making not the
slightest effort, till the horribly paralysing shock had somewhat passed
away. Then, as his nerves began to resume their wonted tone, he tried
to think.
All depended upon his being perfectly cool, and calling up all his
strength of mind he made his plans.
If he struggled vigorously he knew that the chances were that he would
tear the rotten moss-grown stubb up by the roots; if he swung about too
much the branches would give way at their intersection with the low
stem; if he should force his feet into the crumbling sides he would only
kick down more stones and soil, and undermine the hazel roots.
It was indeed a position of awful peril--one in which, though such a
proceeding would have been folly, most people would have exhausted
themselves by shrieking for help where there was not a soul within
hearing.
To and fro, with a gentle pendulum-like swing, as he let himself hang to
the full extent of his muscles, swayed Philip Hexton; and then, with the
greater part of his horror mastered by enforced coolness, he made his
first effort for life.
There was no other plan open to him but to draw himself up hand over
hand with as little effort as possible; and this he began to do.
There were plenty more hazel boughs above his head if he could reach
them, and each of these, if added to those he grasped, would strengthen
his position, for they came from other roots; and very cautiously he
made his first effort, drawing himself steadily up till his chin reached
his hands, and then, after waiting a moment, loosening his hold with one
hand, and with a lightning-like rapidity getting a fresh grasp.
In spite of his efforts to change his position cautiously, the hazel
boughs swayed to and fro in a most ominous fashion, and he could hear
the loosened earth and stones falling below him in a shower.
It was enough to unnerve him, but he strove on, knowing now that it was
a question of moments, and that if he could not grasp the boughs of
another stubb the one from which he was banging must give way, and be
precipitated with him into the abyss.
The splashing below was horrible, and it seemed to be multiplied to a
vast extent by the echoes, till the noise came up like a strange hissing
roar.
But there was not a moment to lose; and though the suggestion of his own
fall nearly unnerved him he kept up the struggle hand over hand, but
with the knowledge that he seemed to get no higher, for all he did was
to turn the hazel boughs into powerful levers strong enough to begin
tearing the stubb up by the roots.
One by one he could hear them crack on the side farthest away, and the
great bush came slowly bodily over towards him, bringing bough after
bough within his reach; and these he seized, forcing those he before
clung to down beneath him into the pit.
But still he seemed to get no higher, and--horror of horrors! he could
now see the roots of the hazel coming over towards him.
_Crack_, _crack_, in a dull heavy way, they kept being torn asunder, and
it soon became evident that the bush was only held now by one of its
stoutest roots. The soft earth showered down upon the panting man, and
his muscles quivered under the tension to which they were exposed; but
now he was able to rest his arms to some extent by clinging to the
branches below him with his legs.
Was there no hope? Such a short distance to climb if the hazel stubb
would only hold; but he dare now hardly move, for the slightest
vibration brought down more earth, and, moment by moment, be expected to
hear the final crack, and then to feel the rush of the air as he was
hurried down into the black depths below.
It was very horrible, and so great was the strain upon his mind as well
as muscles that for a moment he found himself thinking whether it would
not be a relief to loosen his hold and fall into oblivion.
"When I have made my last effort!" something seemed to whisper to him,
and with it came the thought that if he were merely clinging to the
hazel stems over the side of a road by some woody bank, he would feel
none of this paralysing fear. The task to win to safety would seem easy
then. Why should it not now?
It was the triumph of mind over cowardice and ignorant fear; and rousing
his energies, while there was yet time, he looked about for the means of
safety.
Yes; there it was. He was no nearer the top than when he first made his
attempt at escape. All he had done was to tear the hazel up by the
roots, but it had bent down with it the bough of another stubb, a stout,
tough-looking bough, belonging evidently to a hazel growing farther from
the edge of the shaft. Could he reach that he might better his
position, but the long, tough, thorny brambles that hung down swaying
about were in his way, unless he could make use of them as ropes.
It was for life, and regardless of their cruel thorns he seized two in
one of his hands and made a snatch higher towards the root of the stubb.
Another: clinging with his knees to the branches.
Another: and he had hold of the crumbling, mossy wood, some of which
fell with a quantity of earth.
Another quick, sharp, despairing effort, and--joy! he had seized the
fresh stout branch that had been bent down by the loosened stubb.
Another effort, and he would have been on the edge of the shaft, when
there was a sharp tug behind, and he felt himself arrested by the
brambles that had twisted round one of his legs--a slight tug, but
enough to stop him in his perilous position. The tangle of hazel boughs
to which his legs were clinging came away with a fierce rush, an
avalanche of earth fell, and Philip Hexton was once more swinging to and
fro over the awful pit, listening with closed eyes to the rustle and
rush of the great rooted-up hazel, as it fell into the pit.