Son Philip Part 2

"There wouldn't be no consekences," said the overman with a grim laugh; "there'd be a inquest, if they had pluck enough to come and hunt out what of us was left."

In spite of himself, Philip could not help a shudder, as he listened to the cynical, callous manner in which his companion spoke of their proximity to a dreadful death. Then, bidding him follow, he went on along the gloomy maze towards where he could hear the rumble of trucks laden with coal, the sound of the ringing picks, the echoing shouts of the men, and the impatient snort of some pony, toiling with its load up an incline.

There was a quick sharp draught of air as they pa.s.sed through a door which was closed behind them by a boy, and, satisfied that the ventilation was good, Philip Hexton and his companion went on.

Meanwhile Ebenezer Parks, the big miner who had been complaining when the young man came up, kept on with his remarks as, in company with his party, he made his way to the four-foot seam, as it was called--a part of the mine where the good coal was but a yard in thickness, and at which they had to work in a stooping, sometimes in a lying, position.

"She sings to-night, lad," said one of the men, as they stripped themselves to their trousers, and then began to use their sharp-pointed picks, their blackened skins soon beginning to glisten with perspiration in the stifling heat.

"Hey, she do," said Ebenezer, giving a careless glance at his sputtering lamp. "There's part gas in pit to-neet."

The dim sputtering lamps, and the warning hiss of the gas were forgotten as the men worked on, showing wondrous skill in the handling of their picks, and fetching out great lumps of coal with the greatest ease, in spite of the awkward position in which they worked.

This went on for a couple of hours, when Ebenezer threw down his pick, seated himself with his back against a pillar of coal, one of those left to support the roof, and took from his trousers pocket a steel tobacco-box, a black short pipe, and a nail.

"Who's going to hev a smoke?" he said.

"I wouldn't let young master ketch you smoking," said one of the men.

"He'd better not say owt to me," said the man fiercely. "I know what I'm 'bout better than he can tell me;" and as he filled his pipe several more laughed and filled theirs; while, looking like some black spirit of mischief, the big miner took the gauze lamp from the roof where it hung.

"Now then, lads, who wants a leet?" he said; and, taking the nail, he proceeded to pick the lock of the Davy-lamp, or rather unfasten it with the improvised key.

There was a click as the little snap flew back; and then, placing his pipe in his mouth, he proceeded to open the lamp.

This was about as wise an act as for a man to strike a match over an open barrel full of glistening grains of gunpowder--perhaps far worse.

CHAPTER THREE.

MAKING AN ENEMY.

Even as the big miner had his hand upon the gauze cover of the Davy-lamp there were tiny little explosions going on within, for in spite of the great current of air that was kept up through the pit, a draught which swept away the dangerous gas, there were places which its purifying influence did not reach, places such as this new gallery in the four-foot seam, where the vapour had been steadily increasing for hours and collecting round the heads of the men.

Familiarity breeds contempt. Often enough we know that the men who work in gunpowder mills have to be searched to keep them from taking matches with them when they enter the mill.

Philip Hexton and his companion went on, the latter ready to grumble as he grew weary of what he looked upon as unnecessary labour. "T'pit was reet enew," he said to himself; and what need was there of "peeking and poking about this how?"

For the young inspector seemed never satisfied. He was always on the look-out for danger; and as they went on and on through the black galleries, where the iridescent tints of the shaley coal flecked with iron pyrites glittered and flashed in the dim light, he kept pausing and listening.

"He won't stop at it long," said the overman to himself; "he's 'bout scarred of it now. I niver see a lad so freckened at every sound."

It was quite true. Philip Hexton was startled at every sound; but it was from fear for others--not for self. So far from feeling the ordinary coward's dread, he would have gone at once into the most dangerous places to save another's life; but he was at times appalled at the reckless ways of the men.

In one gallery the roof, as the light glimmered upon it, was one beautiful fret-work of ancient vegetation, being carved, as it were, into knotted stems full of beautiful flutings. Huge ferny leaves could be seen bending in graceful curves, and here and there, shining like cuttings in jet, traces of the cone-like fruit borne by some of the trees of that far-back age when the coal was deposited in bituminous beds.

These geological remains had a great interest for Philip Hexton, and he promised himself plenty of amus.e.m.e.nt when his time of leisure came. At present it was all work--extremely hard work, for, until he could thoroughly master every technicality in the pit, he felt himself to be at a great disadvantage with the men.

"Yo' weant be so partic'lar when yo've been here a few year, Master Hexton," said the overman, as they were making their way down a wide gallery whose coal had been worked out long enough before, and across which part of the mine they were pa.s.sing to reach a distant portion where the men were at work on the "new four-foot."

"Indeed!" said Philip, smiling, "I think you'll find me twice as strict."

"Not yo'," chuckled the man; "I used to think the same when I was young; but, bless thee, lad, a man's life would be a burden to him if he was fancying the pit o' fire at every bit of gas. There'd be no coal-mining at all, for the lads'd be too scarred to come down."

"If I live and have my way," said Philip sternly, "the pit here shall be so safe that work can go on in peace for every one, and every man shall act as guardian of his fellow's safety."

"Sounds very pratty, lad," said the overman, "but it weant wuck. Look here, there's a bit o' gas in this corner."

He held the lamp up close to the roof, and tiny explosions again began inside the gauze.

Then he lowered the lamp, and they ceased, showing how light the explosive gas was, and how it floated about the roof.

"Sithee," continued the overman, holding up the lamp again, so that Philip could make out that there was a rift above their heads, where at some time or other the roof had fallen; "that place has got part gas in it, for the ventilation don't touch here; but that don't mean as the whole mine's dangerous."

"But the whole mine _is_ dangerous," said Philip hastily. "It's made dangerous by the recklessness of the men. Stop, man, what are you going to do?"

He was too late, for, unperceived by him, the overman had unlocked the lamp, and held it up open above their heads, when there was a blinding flash, and an echoing report, and then a rumbling, distant, rushing noise.

"What do you think o' that, lad?" said the overman coolly, relocking his lamp.

"I think it was madness," said Philip excitedly. "You might have fired the mine."

"Nay, lad, there was no fear o' that I knowed well enew what I was doing, and that bit o' gas was just as well away."

The young deputy's heart beat fast, and he was about to speak angrily, but he felt that it would be better to consult with his father to see if a stop could not be put to such reckless ways. For he argued if an overman would run such a risk as this, knowing that the detached portion of gas might possibly communicate with a larger body, was it not likely that the ordinary winners of the coal would, without the overman's knowledge and experience, run even greater risks?

"Yo'll get used to it all by and by," said the man condescendingly; "and if yo'll take my bit of advice, yo'll let the men tak' care o'

theirsens."

Philip Hexton must have walked in and out quite a couple of miles, examining ventilating-doors, seeing that the boys who opened and shut them for the corves to pa.s.s were doing their duty, and the like; and, trifling as it may sound, a great deal depends in a coal-mine upon such a thing as the opening and shutting of a door, for by means of these doors the current of air that is sucked, as it were, through the pa.s.sages of the pit by the great furnace at the bottom of the shaft is altered in its course, and turned down this or that pa.s.sage, sweeping out the foul air or gas, and making safe the pit. Hence, then, the neglect of one boy may alter the whole ventilation of some part of a mine, the purifying draught may be stopped from coursing through some dangerous gallery where the gas comes singing out of the seams, a light be taken inadvertently there, and ruin and death be the result.

The young deputy was going on thinking to himself whether it would not be possible to invent a process by which the dangerous gas of a mine might be collected in great gasholders, and then burned within gauze shades for the lighting up of the pit, when the distant _chip_--_chip_--_chip_ ringing and echoing where the men were at work in the new four-foot grew less persistent, and in place of becoming louder as they drew nearer, gradually began to cease, as if first one man and then another had thrown aside his took.

"Hadn't we better turn down here now, Master Hexton?" said the overman.

"No; I want to inspect the new four-foot," replied Philip.

"My lad, thee needn't go theer to-neet," said the overman. "That's all right, I warrant."

"He has some reason for stopping me from going there," was Philip Hexton's first thought. "The men have ceased working; something must be wrong."

"This is the gainest wayer," said the overman, turning sharply down a pa.s.sage, light in hand, of course thinking that his companion would follow him, for he knew well enough what the stoppage meant, and he did not want the young man to see the miners smoke.

But Philip Hexton was made of different metal to what he expected, and, careless of being left in the gloom of one of those weird pa.s.sages, the young man stood for a moment peering forward into the black darkness, and, making out a faint glimmer of light, stretched out his hands and began to make his way cautiously along by the shaley wall.

It was terribly bad walking, the floor being uneven from the many falls of coal from the roof. Here and there, too, were wooden supports which had to be avoided; but after stumbling along cautiously for about fifty yards, and avoiding the obstacles as if by a miracle, the distant glow of light was sufficient, dim as it was, to show him the supports that intervened, and fifty yards further he could walk quite fast, for there were the Davy-lamps hanging here and there, each forming a faint star, with a dull halo around.

They seemed very near the ground till the young deputy remembered that they were in the four-foot seam, and the next moment he was spared a violent blow by one of his hands coming in contact with the roof.