Sappers and Miners Part 79

He climbed on, the others following him; and he called to the dog again, but there was still no reply.

"Are you clear of the water?" he cried.

"Yes, sir, four foot above it," said Hardock, who came last, "but it's rising fast."

"I say," cried Gwyn, wildly, "is there a way out here?"

"Nay, sir, this is only a blind lead. What is it up where you are?"

"Like a flattened-out hole with the rock all covered with tiny crystals.

There must be a way up to the surface here; don't you feel how the wind comes by us?"

"Yes; my light flickers, but it burns dull," said Joe.

"Ay, and it will come sharper yet," said Hardock; "the water's driving it all before it. Don't you feel how hot it is?"

"Yes."

"Maybe it'll suffocate us before the water comes."

"Grip! Grip! Grip!" shouted Gwyn; and then, after waiting, he made his companions' hearts beat by crying back to them loudly, "I don't care, there is a way out here."

"Can't be, sir."

"But Grip has gone through."

"Nay, sir, he's wedged himself up, and he's dead, as we shall soon be."

"Oh, Joe, Joe!" roared Gwyn, pa.s.sionately; "kick out behind at that miserable, croaking old woman. There is a way out, for I can feel the hot air rushing up by me."

"Ah!" groaned Hardock, "it's very well for you young gents up there; but I'm at the bottom, and the water's creeping up after me. To think after all these years o' mining I should live to be drowned in a crack like this!"

Just then a loud rustling and scrambling noise was heard.

"What is it, Ydoll? What are you doing?"

"There's a big stone here, wedged across the slope, or I could get higher. It's loose, and I think I can--hah!"

The lad uttered an exultant shout, for with a loud rattle the flat block gave way, and came rattling and sliding down.

"Got it!" cried Gwyn. "I'm pa.s.sing it under me. Come close, Joe, and catch hold, as it reaches my feet."

Joe climbed a little higher, by forcing his knees against the wall of the crack facing him, and, reaching up, he got hold of the block and lowered it, till, fearing that if he let go, it might injure Hardock, he bade him come higher and pa.s.s it beneath him.

"Nay, nay, let me be," groaned Hardock; "it's all over now. I'm spent."

"Let it fall on him to rouse him up," shouted Gwyn.--"You, Sam, lay hold of that stone."

The man roused himself, and, climbing higher over the ragged, sharp, p.r.i.c.kly crystals, reached up and took hold of the stone, pa.s.sed it under him, and it fell away down for a few feet, and then there was a sullen splash.

The light showed Gwyn plainly enough that they were in a spot where a vein of some mineral, probably soapstone, had in the course of ages dissolved away; and, convinced that the dog had found his way to some higher cavern, and in the hope that he might find room enough to force his way after, he scrambled and climbed upward, foot by foot, pausing every now and then to shout back to his companions to follow.

There was plenty of room to right and left; the difficulty was to find the widest parts of the crack, whose sides were exactly alike, as if the bed-rock had once split apart, and pressure, if applied, would have made them join together exactly again. And this engendered the gruesome thought that if that happened now they would be crushed out flat.

There was plenty of air, too, for it rushed by now in a strong current which made the flame of the candle in the lanthorn he pushed on before him flutter and threaten to go out. For the air was terribly impure, as shown by the dim blue flame of the candles, and so enervating that the perspiration streamed from the lad's face, and a strange, dull, sleepy feeling came over him, which he tried desperately to keep off.

Roughly speaking, the crack ascended at an angle of about fifty degrees, turning and zigzagging after the fashion of a flash of lightning, the greatest difficulty being to pa.s.s the angles.

But Gwyn toiled on, finding that the great thing he dreaded--the closing-in of the sides--did not occur, but trembling in the narrowest parts on account of one who was to follow.

"Joe will easily manage it," he said to himself; "but Sam will stick."

"Time enough to think of that," he muttered, "if he does."

"Can you get higher?" panted Joe, after they had been creeping slowly along for some time.

"Yes, yes; but there's an awkward turn just here. All right, it's wider on my left. Hurrah! I've got into quite a big part. Come on!"

Joe climbed on, pushing his lanthorn before him, till it was suddenly taken and drawn up, when, looking above him with a start, he saw his friend's face looking down upon him, surrounded by a pale, bluish glow of light.

"Want a hand?" cried Gwyn.

"No; I can do it," was the reply, and Joe climbed beyond an angle to find himself in a sloping, flattened cave, whose roof was about four feet above his head; how far it extended the darkness beyond the lanthorn concealed.

"Come on, Sam," cried Gwyn, as he looked down the slope he had ascended expecting to see the man's face just below; but it was not visible, and, saving the hissing of the hot wind and the strange gurgling of rushing water, there was not a sound.

"He's dead!" cried Joe, wildly.

"No, no; don't say that," whispered Gwyn. "It's too horrible just when we are going to escape;" and, without pausing, he lowered himself over the angle of the rock and began to descend.

"Hold the light over," he said. "Ah, mind, or you'll have it out."

For the candle flickered in the steady draught which came rushing up from below, and it had to be drawn partly back for shelter.

"Sam!" cried Gwyn, as he descended; but there was no reply, and the dread grew within the lad's breast as he went on down into the darkness.

"I shall be obliged to come back for the light," he shouted. "I can see nothing down here. How far is he back?"

"I don't know," said Joe, despairingly. "I thought he was close behind me. Shall I come down with the lanthorn?"

"Yes, you must, part of the way--to help me. No, I can just touch his lanthorn with my foot--here he is!"

"All right?" faltered Joe.

"I think so," replied Gwyn, slowly. "Here, Sam Hardock, what's the matter?--why don't you come on?"

"It's of no good," said the man, feebly; "I'm done, I tell you. Why can't you let me die in peace?"