Deep Down, a Tale of the Cornish Mines Part 4

With hospitable urgency Mr Donnithorne and his good dame pressed their guests to do justice to the fare set before them, and, during the course of the meal, the former kept up a running fire of question, comment, and reply on every conceivable subject, so that his auditors required to do little more than eat and listen. After supper, however, and when tumblers and gla.s.ses were being put down, he gave the others an opportunity of leading the conversation.

"Now, Oliver," he said, "fill your gla.s.s and let us hear your adventures. What will you have--brandy, gin, or rum? My friend, Captain Dan here, is one of those remarkable men who don't drink anything stronger than ginger-beer. Of course you won't join _him_."

"Thank you," said Oliver. "If you will allow me, I will join your good lady in a gla.s.s of wine. Permit me, Aunt Mary, to fill--"

"No, I thank you, Oliver," said Mrs Donnithorne good-humouredly but firmly, "I side with Captain Dan; but I'll be glad to see you fill your own."

"Ha!" exclaimed Mr Donnithorne, "Molly's sure to side with the opponent of her lawful lord, no matter who or what he be. Fill your own gla.s.s, boy, with what you like--cold water, an it please you--and let us drink the good old Cornish toast, `Fish, tin, and copper,' our three staples, Oliver--the bone, muscle, and fat of the county."

"Fish, tin, and copper," echoed Captain Dan.

"In good sooth," continued Mr Donnithorne, "I have often thought of turning teetotaller myself, but feared to do so lest my wife should take to drinking, just out of opposition. However, let that pa.s.s--and now, Oliver, open thy mouth, lad, and relate those surprising adventures of which you have given me a hint."

"Indeed, uncle, I do not say they are very surprising, although, doubtless, somewhat new to one who has been bred, if not born, in comparatively quiet regions of the earth."

Here Oliver related circ.u.mstantially to his wondering auditors the events which befell him after the time when he left his uncle in the lane--being interrupted only with an occasional exclamation--until he reached the part when he knocked down the man who had rescued him from the waves, when Mr Donnithorne interrupted him with an uncontrollable burst.

"Ha!" shouted the old gentleman; "what! knocked down the man who saved your life, nephew? Fie, fie! But you have not told us his name yet.

What was it?"

"His comrades called him Jim, as I have said; and I think that he once referred to himself as Jim Cuttance, or something like that."

"What say you, boy?" exclaimed Mr Donnithorne, pushing back his chair and gazing at his nephew in amazement. "Hast fought side by side with Jim Cuttance, and then knocked him down?"

"Indeed I have," said Oliver, not quite sure whether his uncle regarded him as a hero or a fool.

The roar of laughter which his answer drew from Captain Dan and his uncle did not tend to enlighten him much.

"Oh! Oliver, Oliver," said the old gentleman, on recovering some degree of composure, "you should have lived in the days of good King Arthur, and been one of the Knights of the Round Table. Knocked down Jim Cuttance! What think'ee, Captain Dan?"

"I think," said the captain, still chuckling quietly, "that the less our friend says about the matter the better for himself."

"Why so?" inquired Oliver quickly.

"Because," replied his uncle, with some return of gravity, "you have a.s.sisted one of the most notorious smugglers that ever lived, to fight his Majesty's coastguard--that's all. What say you, Molly--shall we convict Oliver on his own confession?"

The good lady thus appealed to admitted that it was a serious matter, but urged that as Oliver did the thing in ignorance and out of grat.i.tude, he ought to be forgiven.

"_I_ think he ought to be forgiven for having knocked down Jim Cuttance," said Captain Dan.

"Is he then so notorious?" asked Oliver.

"Why, he is the most daring smuggler on the coast," replied Captain Dan, "and has given the preventive men more trouble than all the others put together. In fact, he is a man who deserves to be hanged, and will probably come to his proper end ere long, if not shot in a brawl beforehand."

"I fear he stands some chance of it now," said Mr Donnithorne, with a sigh, "for he has been talking of erecting a battery near his den at Prussia Cove, and openly defying the Government men."

"You seem to differ from Captain Dan, uncle, in reference to this man,"

said Oliver, with a smile.

"Truly, I do, for although I condemn smuggling,--ahem!" (the old gentleman cast a peculiar glance at the captain), "I don't like to see a st.u.r.dy man hanged or shot--and Jim Cuttance is a stout fellow. I question much whether you could find his match, Captain Dan, amongst all your men?"

"That I could, easily," said the captain with a quiet smile.

"Pardon me, captain," said Oliver, "my uncle has not yet informed me on the point. May I ask what corps you belong to?"

"To a st.u.r.dy corps of tough lads," answered the captain, with another of his quiet smiles--"men who have smelt powder, most of 'em, since they were little boys--live on the battlefield, I may say, almost night and day--spring more mines in a year than all the soldiers in the world put together--and shorten their lives by the stern labour they undergo; but they burn powder to raise, not to waste, metal. Their uniform is red, too, though not quite so red, nor yet so elegant, as that of the men in his Majesty's service. I am one of the underground captains, sir, of Botallack mine."

Captain Dan's colour heightened a very little, and the tones of his voice became a little more powerful as he concluded this reply; but there was no other indication that the enthusiastic soul of one of the "captains" of the most celebrated mine in Cornwall was moved. Oliver felt, however, the contact with a kindred spirit, and, expressing much interest in the mines, proceeded to ask many questions of the captain, who, nothing loath, answered all his queries, and explained to him that he was one of the "captains," or "agents," whose duty it was to superintend the men and the works below the surface--hence the t.i.tle of "underground;" while those who super-intended the works above ground were styled "gra.s.s, or surface captains." He also made an appointment to conduct the young doctor underground, and go over the mine with him at an early date.

While the party in old Mr Donnithorne's dwelling were thus enjoying themselves, a great storm was gathering, and two events, very different from each other in character, were taking place--the one quiet, and apparently unimportant, the other tremendous and fatal--both bearing on and seriously influencing the subjects of our tale.

CHAPTER FOUR.

AT WORK UNDER THE SEA.

Chip, chip, chip--down in the dusky mine! Oh, but the rock at which the miner chipped was hard, and the bit of rock on which he sat was hard, and the muscles with which he toiled were hard from prolonged labour; and the lot of the man seemed hard, as he sat there in the hot, heavy atmosphere, hour after hour, from morn till eve, with the sweat pouring down his brow and over his naked shoulders, toiling and moiling with hammer and chisel.

But stout David Trevarrow did not think his lot peculiarly hard. His workshop was a low narrow tunnel deep down under the surface of the earth--ay, and deep under the bottom of the sea! His daily sun was a tallow candle, which rose regularly at seven in the morning and set at three in the afternoon. His atmosphere was sadly deficient in life-giving oxygen, and much vitiated by gunpowder smoke. His working costume consisted only of a pair of linen trousers; his colour from top to toe was red as brick-dust, owing to the iron ore around him; his food was a slice of bread, with, perchance, when he was unusually luxurious, the addition of a Cornish pasty; and his drink was water. To an inexperienced eye the man's work would have appeared not only hard but hopeless, for although his hammer was heavy, his arm strong, and his chisel sharp and tempered well, each blow produced an apparently insignificant effect on the flinty rock. Frequently a spark of fire was all that resulted from a blow, and seldom did more than a series of little chips fly off, although the man was of herculean mould, and worked "with a will," as was evident from the kind of gasp or stern expulsion of the breath with which each blow was accompanied. Unaided human strength he knew could not achieve much in such a process, so he directed his energies chiefly to the boring of blast-holes, and left it to the mighty power of gunpowder to do the hard work of rending the rich ore from the bowels of the unwilling earth. Yes, the work was very hard, probably the hardest that human muscles are ever called on to perform in this toiling world; but again we say that David Trevarrow did not think so, for he had been born to the work and bred to it, and was blissfully ignorant of work of a lighter kind, so that, although his brows frowned at the obstinate rock, his compressed lips smiled, for his thoughts were pleasant and far away. The unfettered mind was above ground roaming in fields of light, basking in sunshine, and holding converse with the birds, as he sat there chip, chip, chipping, down in the dusky mine.

Stopping at last, the miner wiped his brow, and, rising, stood for a few moments silently regarding the result of his day's work.

"Now, David," said he to himself, "the question is, what shall us do-- shall us keep on, or shall us knack?"

He paused, as if unable to answer the question. After a time he muttered, "Keep on; it don't look promisin', sure 'nuff, an' it's poor pay; but it won't do to give in yet."

Poor pay it was indeed, for the man's earnings during the past month had been barely ten shillings. But David Trevarrow had neither wife, child, nor mother to support, so he could afford to toil for poor pay, and, being of a remarkably hopeful and cheery disposition, he returned home that afternoon resolved to persevere in his unproductive toil, in the hope that at last he should discover a good "bunch of copper," or a "keenly lode of tin."

David was what his friends and the world styled unfortunate. In early manhood he had been a somewhat wild and reckless fellow--a noted wrestler, and an adept in all manly sports and games. But a disappointment in love had taught him very bitterly that life is not all sunshine; and this, coupled with a physical injury which was the result of his own folly, crushed his spirit so much that his comrades believed him to be a "lost man."

The injury referred to was the bursting of a blood-vessel in the lungs.

It was, and still is, the custom of the youthful miners of Cornwall to test their strength by racing up the almost interminable ladders by which the mines are reached. This tremendous exertion after a day of severe toil affected them of course very severely, and in some cases seriously. Many an able-bodied man has by this means brought himself to a premature end. Among others, David Trevarrow excelled and suffered.

No one could beat him in running up the ladders; but one day, on reaching the surface, blood issued from his mouth, and thenceforth his racing and wrestling days were ended, and his spirit was broken. A long illness succeeded. Then he began to mend. Slowly and by degrees his strength returned, but not his joyous spirit. Still it was some comfort to feel able for work again, and he "went underground" with some degree of his old vigour, though not with the light heart or light step of former days; but bad fortune seemed to follow him everywhere. When others among his comrades were fortunate in finding copper or tin, David was most unaccountably unsuccessful. Accidents, too, from falls and explosions, laid him up more than once, and he not only acquired the character of an unlucky man from his friends, but despite a naturally sanguine temperament, he began himself to believe that he was one of the unluckiest fellows in the world.

About this time the followers of that n.o.ble Christian, John Wesley, began to make an impression on Cornwall, and to exert an influence which created a mighty change in the hearts and manners of the people, and the blessed effects of which are abundantly evident at the present day--to the rejoicing of every Christian soul. One of those ministers of our Lord happened to meet with David Trevarrow, and was the means of opening his eyes to many great and previously unknown truths. Among others, he convinced him that "G.o.d's ways are not as man's ways;" that He often, though not always, leads His people by th.o.r.n.y paths that they know not of, but does it in love and with His own glory in their happiness as the end in view; that the Lord Jesus Christ must be to a man "the chiefest among ten thousand, and altogether lovely," else He is to him nothing at all, and that he could be convinced of all these truths only by the Holy Spirit.

It were vain to attempt to tell all that this good man said to the unhappy miner, but certain it is that from that time forth David became himself again--and yet not himself. The desire to wrestle and fight and race returned in a new form. He began to wrestle with princ.i.p.alities and powers, to fight the good fight of faith, and to run the race set before him in the gospel. The old hearty smile and laugh and cheery disposition also returned, and the hopeful spirit, and so much of the old robust health and strength, that it seemed as if none of the evil effects of the ruptured blood-vessel remained. So David Trevarrow went, as of old, daily to the mine. It is true that riches did not flow in upon him any faster than before, but he did not mind that much, for he had discovered another mine, in which he toiled at nights after the day's toil was over, and whence he extracted treasure of greater value than copper or tin, or even gold--treasure which he scattered in a Sabbath school with liberal hand, and found himself all the richer for his prodigality.

Occasionally, after prolonged labour in confined and bad air, a faint trace of the old complaint showed itself when he reached the top of the ladders, but he was not now depressed by that circ.u.mstance as he used to be. He was past his prime at the period of which we write, and a confirmed bachelor.

To return from this digression: David Trevarrow made up his mind, as we have said, to "go on," and, being a man of resolute purpose, he went on; seized his hammer and chisel, and continued perseveringly to smite the flinty rock, surrounded by thick darkness, which was not dispelled but only rendered visible by the feeble light of the tallow candle that flared at his side.

Over his head rolled the billows of the Atlantic; the whistling wind howled among the wild cliffs of the Cornish coast, but they did not break the deep silence of the miner's place of midnight toil. Heaven's artillery was rending the sky, and causing the hearts of men to beat slow with awe. The great boulders ground the pebbles into sand as they crashed to and fro above him, but he heard them not--or if he did, the sound reached him as a deep-toned mysterious murmur, for, being in one of the low levels, with many fathoms of solid rock between him and the bottom of the superinc.u.mbent sea, he was beyond the reach of such disturbing influences, tremendous though they were.

The miner was making a final effort at his unproductive piece of rock, and had prolonged his toil far into the night.

Hour after hour he wrought almost without a moment's respite, save for the purpose, now and then, of tr.i.m.m.i.n.g his candle. When his right arm grew tired, he pa.s.sed the hammer swiftly to his left hand, and, turning the borer with his right, continued to work with renewed vigour.