The rugged pile of rocks along by the ruins of the old mine was a
favourite spot with Geoffrey in these troubled days. From hence, when
he had clambered into a sheltered nook, where there was a little natural
platform, he could see the track towards the town, and think of that
evening when, glorified by the wonderful sunset, he had enjoyed that
strange dream of love and hope. Every grey-lichened stone seemed to
light up once more as he took his seat there, and reflected those
wondrous tints that had for the moment coloured his life before all had
turned grey and gloomy once again.
He could see, too, Wheal Carnac from where he used to sit with his back
against the natural wall, looking as hard and grim as the rock itself.
There lay the unlucky mine and the stony promontory, with the surges
breaking fiercely at its base, as if the tide resented its presence and
was always striving to tear down a pile that had served to crush the
young man's fortunes.
Time stole on, but his position remained the same; for though the vicar
had urged him again and again to make some effort to clear himself, he
had sternly refused.
"No," he said, "I shall wait; and if you value my acquaintance, or
friendship, if you like to call it so, I beg that you will say nothing
to a soul upon my behalf."
The vicar sighed, but he allowed himself to be swayed by Geoffrey, whom
he feared to tell of his suspicions concerning the state of affairs at
An Morlock, for he could not help seeing how rapidly John Tregenna was
becoming Mr Penwynn's master, and how helplessly the banker was
drifting to a bitter end.
Geoffrey's old blackened meerschaum used to be brought out, and as he
leisurely smoked he used to think of all that had taken place since his
first arrival in Carnac, and wonder whether he had been wanting in any
way in his duties to those who had intrusted him with so important a
task.
He was seated there one morning when, in the midst of the reverie in
which he was indulging, he was interrupted by the sound of footsteps,
and, looking up, he saw old Prawle approaching and beckoning to him in a
mysterious fashion.
"What's the matter?" said Geoffrey, starting up.
"I want you," whispered the old man, though probably there was not a
soul within half a mile.
"Well, what do you want?"
"Business--particular business. Come down to my place and talk."
"Why, can't you talk here?" said Geoffrey, gruffly.
"No, no. Come to my place."
Soured, disappointed, and out of humour, Geoffrey was on the point of
declining; but the old man had manifested so kindly a disposition
towards him of late that he followed him without another word along the
cliff to the Cove, where they descended the rough stairs to the bit of a
cave; where the old man, instead of producing brandy and tobacco as
Geoffrey expected, took down an old ship's lantern, saw that it was well
trimmed, placed some matches inside, and then placed it inside his rough
jacket.
"Wait a bit," he said, "and I'll show you;" and he laughed audibly.
"Look here. You carry this compass," he continued, taking one from a
shelf.
"But what do you want? What are you going to do?" said Geoffrey.
"I'll tell you soon," said the old man. "I've been talking it over with
my Bessie, and she says I may trust you, and that I am to do it. I
haven't lived to my time for nothing."
"I'm much obliged to Miss Bessie for her trust," said Geoffrey bitterly;
"but what is it? Are you going to dig up some of your old hoards of
money?"
"No, no; no, no," chuckled the old fellow, grimly. "I don't bury my
money. I know what I'm about. Come along."
Geoffrey followed him down the rest of the rough way to the rocky shore,
where the old man's boat was lying, and between them they ran her out
into the tiny harbour, formed by a few jutting pieces of rock, got in,
and, after arranging some great boulders as ballast, old Prawle was
about to take both sculls, when Geoffrey took one.
"Here, I'll pull as well," he said. "I want work."
"Pull then," said the old man. As soon as he had placed the lantern and
compass in the stern of the boat, the oars fell with a splash, and,
timing the effort exactly, they rode out on a gently-heaving wave, and
then old Prawle kept the boat about fifty yards from where the waves
beat on the time-worn rocks.
"Tide's just right," said the old man. "Easy. Pull steadily, my lad.
There's no hurry. Hear about old Master Penwynn?"
"No. What?" said Geoffrey, sharply.
"They say things are going very bad with him, and that he'll soon be as
poor as you."
"No," said Geoffrey. "I did hear that he had losses some months ago.
But is this true?"
"P'r'aps not," said old Prawle, gruffly. "Tom Jennen and some of 'em
were talking about it. Amos Pengelly heard it, too."
Geoffrey was silent, and his heart began to throb as he thought of
Rhoda, and of how it must bitterly affect her. Only a few months ago,
and it seemed as if he had secured for her the fortune of a princess;
now she was to be as poor as he, and they were still estranged.
"You oughtn't to mind," said old Prawle, laughing. "Penwynn did not
behave so well to you."
"Would you mind changing the conversation, Mr Prawle?" said Geoffrey,
sharply, when the old man uttered a low chuckle and went on steadily
rowing.
"Are we going to fish?" said Geoffrey, after they had been rowing along
in the shadow of the rocks for some time.
"Yes: to fish for money, my lad," said the old fellow. "Pull steady."
Geoffrey obeyed, and after his long days of enforced idleness, during
which his thoughts had seemed to eat into his mind like cankers, there
was something quite refreshing in the rowing over the heaving sea, and
joined to it there was a spice of excitement to know what the old man
really meant.
They rowed on and on with the bright waters of the bay on one side, and
the weed-hung, weather-worn granite on the other, where every wave that
ran beneath them seemed to playfully dash at the rocks, to lift the
long, tangled brown and olive-green weeds, toss them, and deck them with
gems as if they were the tresses of some uncouth sea-monster, before
dashing up the wall that checked their way, and falling back in spray.
After a time, as Geoffrey glanced over his shoulder, he caught sight of
the towering chimney above Wheal Carnac, and as he snatched his gaze, as
it were, away, he found that old Prawle was watching him, and he uttered
a low, chuckling laugh.
"Yon's the mine," he said, looking at Geoffrey curiously, as the young
man took so tremendous a tug at his oar that the boat was pulled
slightly round.
"Easy, my lad; easy," said old Prawle. "Don't you like the look of the
mine?"
Geoffrey did not answer, but pulled away, though with less violence; and
so they rowed on till suddenly old Prawle exclaimed, as they were lying
now well under the promontory,--
"You'd best give me the other oar."
Without a word Geoffrey obeyed, and watched him curiously as, after
taking both sculls now, he turned the boat's head towards the rocks, and
waiting his time, as he pulled gently on, he paused till a good wave
came in, and then, balancing the little boat on the top, allowed it to
be carried right in between a couple of masses of rock, barely wide
enough apart to admit of its passing. Then, pulling one oar sharply, he
turned round by another mass of rock, and Geoffrey found that they were
in smooth water, floating in under a rough arch, so low that they had to
bend right down in the boat for a minute; after which the ceiling rose,
and he found that they were in a rugged cavern, whose light only came
from the low opening through which they had passed. It was a gloomy,
weird-looking place, in which the waves plashed, and sucked, and sounded
hollow, echoing, and strange, each wave that came softly rolling in,
carrying them forward as it passed under them, and then seemed to
continue its journey into the darkness ahead.
"Mouth's covered at high water," said old Prawle, as he laid the oars in
the boat.
"Then how shall we get out?" said Geoffrey, to whom the idea of being
caught by the tide and drowned in such a place as this had, in spite of
his troubles, no attraction.
"Same as we got in," growled old Prawle. "'Fraid?"
"No," said Geoffrey, sturdily. "I don't want to be caught though."
"I've been several times," said the old man, with a hoarse chuckle. "It
scared me the first time, but I soon found there was plenty of room."
"Bit of smuggling?" said Geoffrey.
"Iss, my son," said the old man, with a laugh. "I don't believe there's
a soul ever been in this zorn besides me."
"But you don't smuggle now?" said Geoffrey.
"No, not unless I want a drop of brandy or Hollands gin."
"Then why have you come here?"
"Ha, ha, ha! I'll show you," said the old man, laughing. "I haven't
lived here for nothing. Wait till I've lit the lantern, and we'll see."
He took the matches, and as he struck one the roof and sides of the cave
seemed to flash with metallic green, but Geoffrey saw that it was only
the bright, wet moss that he had found in the adit of the old mine, and
he sat there watching the old man, as he lit and closed the lantern, set
it down on the thwart, and then proceeded to guide the boat forward
along the narrow channel of water, over which the granite roof spread in
a low arch, sometimes rising ten or twenty feet, but more often coming
down as if to crush them.
They must have gone several hundred yards, and still they went on,
though it grew much more narrow, till there was little more than room
enough for the boat to go along, but the water seemed deep beneath her
keel, and the cavern or rift still wound on.
"What have you got in here, Father Prawle?" said Geoffrey, at length,
after sitting for some time watching the strange effects of light and
shadow, as the old man forced the boat along by thrusting the boat-hook
against the roof or sides.
"Nothing," said the old man, laconically.
"Then why have we come?"
"Wait and see."
"All right," said Geoffrey, and, leaning back, he began to think of
Rhoda, and of the news he had heard, wondering the while whether she
would ever be brave enough to do him justice, and frankly own that she
was wrong.
Then he thought of her being poor, and, looking at it in one light, he
did not feel very sorry, though he felt a kind of pang to think that she
would miss so many of the old refinements of life.
"Which--_vide_ self--any one can very well do without," he said, half
aloud.
"What?" growled his guide.
"I was only muttering, Father Prawle. How much farther are we going?"
"Not far."
The old man forced the boat along for quite another hundred yards, and
then, taking hold of the painter, he leaped upon a rock and secured the
rope.
"Jump out, and bring the lamp and the compass, my lad," said the old
fellow, in his rough, grim way; and on Geoffrey landing he said to the
old man, sharply,--
"Is there ore in here?"
"Nothing but some poor tin," was the reply. "But look there, my lad.
The boat won't go up that narrow bit, but that runs on at least a
hundred fathom, for I've waded as far as that."
"What, up that narrow hole?" said Geoffrey, as he peered along a place
that looked a mere crack in the rock floored with water.
"Yes, up that narrow place. Now what do you say?"
"I don't say any thing," replied Geoffrey. "Why have we come here?"
"Bah! Take your compass, lad. Which way does that bit of a cut run?"
"Nor-east by east," said Geoffrey, holding the compass flat.
"Well, suppose you drive right through that nat'ral adit, as you may
call it, for thirty or forty, or p'r'aps fifty fathom, what would you
hit?"
"I see your meaning now," cried Geoffrey, excitedly. "Of course, yes,
we must strike one of the galleries in Wheal Carnac which run under the
promontory from the other side."
"And if you do drive through, what then?" chuckled the old man.
"Why, you'll have an adit that will clear the water off as fast as it
comes in."
"To be sure you will," said Prawle.
"But only to a certain level," said Geoffrey, despondently. "It is of
no use, Prawle; the tin would be fathoms below."
"Damn the tin, boy," cried the old man, excitedly; and, as they stood on
a narrow shelf of rock there, he gripped Geoffrey fiercely by the arm.
"Look here, you, Master Trethick, no man ever did me an ill turn but
what I paid him off, and no man ever did me a good turn but I paid him
off."
"I never did you an ill turn," said Geoffrey.
"No," said the old man, "but you did me a good one, and I wouldn't have
minded now if you'd have had my Bessie; but that's nayther here nor
there. If she likes lame Amos Pengelly better o' the two, why she must
have him; but you helped her when she was hard put to it, and now look
here, I'm going to do you a good turn, and myself too."
"How? I tell you that your adit would be good for nothing," cried
Geoffrey.
"Tchah! Look here," cried the old man, pulling a sale bill out of his
pocket. "Here it all is--Wheal Carnac."
"Put the thing away; it makes me feel half-mad to see it. I tore one
down," cried Geoffrey.
"You be quiet," continued the old man, holding the bill against the
mossy rock, so that the light from the lantern fell upon the big
letters.
"Here you are, you see--To be sold by auction, at the M, A, R, T, Mart,
Token-house-yard, unless pre--vi--ously disposed of by private
contract."
"Don't I tell you it half drives me mad to think of the mine being
sold?"
"With all the pumping and other gear, nearly new engines, and modern
machinery," read on old Prawle.
"Are you doing this to tantalise me, Prawle?" cried Geoffrey. "The
whole affair will go for a song."
"To be sure," chuckled the old man. "That's what I've been waiting for,
my lad--for a song, a mere song, eh?"
"It's horrible!" cried Geoffrey, despairingly, "when there's tin enough
there--"
"Hang the tin, I tell you! It's grand, boy, grand. Look, Mr Trethick,
go up to London and buy it."
"Buy it?" said Geoffrey.
"Yes; buy it for as little as you can get it for."
"What, to sell the machinery out of it? No, that I won't."
"Nay, nay, to work it, lad. Buy it, and you and me will make fortunes,
eh?"
"I tell you that your plan's worse than useless. The ore is far below
the level to which we should get the water."
"Give's your hand, Trethick," said the old man, sharply. "Will you
swear that you'll play fair with me?"
"If you like," said Geoffrey.
"I'll take your word without a swear," said the old man. "Shake hands,
lad."
Geoffrey carelessly gave him his hand, which the old man gripped.
"Now look here," he said, "I'll trust you, and I'll find you the money
to go and buy that mine."
"But it will be throwing your money away," said Geoffrey.
"Then I'll throw it away," cried old Prawle. "I want Wheal Carnac, and
I've always meant to have her. Now then, will you go and buy her for
me, and work her for me afterwards on shares?"
"Yes, if you like," said Geoffrey, sadly. "We might, perhaps, hit upon
something; and anyhow I don't think you will have to pay so much that
you would lose."
"Go and buy her for me, then. As soon as we get back you shall go up to
London and buy her for me as cheap as you can. You can go to the old
lawyer I'll tell you of for the money to pay down, as much as is wanted,
and then just you come back to me and I'll talk to you about what I mean
to do."
"Very good," said Geoffrey, "I will; but it means a good bit of money."
"You buy it," said old Prawle; "and whatever you do, don't let it go;
but buy it as cheaply as you can."
Geoffrey stood looking at the old man for a few minutes, and in those
few minutes his whole connection with the mine seemed to pass in review
before him; and as it did, he asked himself whether he should be doing
right in letting the old man invest his money like this.
"Well," said Prawle, "what are you thinking about?"
"You," he said sharply. "Suppose, when you have spent your savings on
this mine, it should turn out a dead failure?"
"Well, what then?"
"You would lose something."
"Well, I know that, don't I? Do you suppose I'm a babby? There, I've
bided my time, my lad, and I know what I'm doing. Are you ready?"
"Yes," said Geoffrey.
"And you'll stick to me, my lad, when the mine's my property?"
"I will, Prawle," said Geoffrey, earnestly, as he shook off his
forebodings; "and, somehow or another, I'll make it pay."
"That'll do, my lad; we understand one another, and you won't repent it.
Just give one more look at your compass."
Geoffrey did so.
"Now then, you feel pretty sure you can hit the workings from here?"
"Yes, I feel certain," said Geoffrey; "and it will relieve the mine
without pumping, but not so that we can get the tin."
"That'll do," said the old man, nodding. "Come along."
He led the way to the boat, and once more kneeling in her bows, he
directed their way along the subterranean passage, while Geoffrey leaned
back in the stern watching him, and thinking that if he had been an
artist he would have desired no better suggestion for a picture of
Charon ferrying some unfortunate soul across the Styx, so weird and
darksome was their way, so strange and gloomy the shadows cast, till
once more in the distance appeared a faint gleam of light playing upon
the surface of the water. Then the low arch came into view, and soon
after they were out in broad daylight once again, and rowing steadily
towards the Cove.