Deep Down, a Tale of the Cornish Mines

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

  SHOWS THE MINER IN HIS SUNDAY GARB, AND ASTONISHES CLEAREMOUT, BESIDESRELATING SOME INCIDENTS OF AN ACCIDENT.

  The sun rose bright and hot on Sunday morning, but the little birds wereup before the great luminary, singing their morning hymn with noisydelight. It was a peaceful day. The wind was at rest and the sea wascalm. In the ancient town of St. Just it was peculiarly peaceful, forthe numerous and untiring "stamps"--which all the week had continuedtheir clang and clatter, morning, noon, and night, withoutintermission--found rest on that hallowed day, and the great enginesceased to bow their massive heads, with the exception of those thatworked the pumps. Even these, however, were required to do as littlework as was compatible with the due drainage of the mines, and as theirhuge pulsations were intermittent--few and far between--they did notsucceed in disturbing the universal serenity of the morning.

  If there are in this country men who, more than any other, need repose,we should say they are the miners of Cornwall, for their week's work isexhausting far beyond that of most other labourers in the kingdom.Perhaps the herculean men employed in malleable-iron works toil asseverely, but, besides the cheering consciousness of being well paid fortheir labour, these men exert their powers in the midst of sunlight andfresh air, while the miners toil in bad air, and get little pay in hardtimes. Sunday is indeed to them the Sabbath-day--it is literally whatthat word signifies, a day of much-required rest for body, soul, andspirit.

  Pity that the good old word which God gave us is not more universallyused among Christians! Would it not have been better that thetranslation Rest-day had been adopted, so that even ignorant men mighthave understood its true signification, than that we should have saddledit with a heathen name, to be an apple of discord in all generations?However, Sunday it is, so Sunday it will stand, we suppose, as long asthe world lasts. After all, despite its faulty origin, that word isinvested with old and hallowed associations in the minds of many, so weenter our protest against the folly of our forefathers very humbly,beseeching those who are prone to become nettled on this subject toexcuse our audacity!

  Well, as we have said, the Sunday morning to which we refer waspeaceful; so would have been Maggot's household had Maggot's youngestbaby never been born; but, having been born, that robust cherub assertedhis right to freedom of action more violently than ever did the mostrabid Radical or tyrannical Tory. He "swarmed" about the house, andkicked and yelled his uttermost, to the great distress of poor littleGrace, whose anxiety to get him ready for chapel was gradually becomingfeverish. But baby Maggot had as much objection to go to chapel as hiswicked father, who was at that time enjoying a pipe on the cliffs, andintended to leave his family to the escort of David Trevarrow.Fortunately, baby gave in about half-past nine, so that little Grace hadhim washed and dressed, and on his way to chapel in pretty good time,all things considered.

  No one who entered the Wesleyan Chapel of St. Just that morning for thefirst time could have imagined that a large proportion of thewell-dressed people who filled the pews were miners and balmaidens.Some of the latter were elegantly, we might almost say gorgeously,attired, insomuch that, but for their hands and speech, they mightalmost have passed for ladies of fashion. The very latest thing inbonnets, and the newest mantles, were to be seen on their pretty headsand shapely shoulders.

  As we have said before, and now repeat, this circumstance arose from thefrequency of the visits of the individual styled "Johnny Fortnight,"whose great aim and end in life is to supply miners, chiefly the femalesamong them, with the necessaries, and unnecessaries, of wearing apparel.

  When the managing director entered Mr Donnithorne's pew and sat downbeside his buxom hostess, he felt, but of course was much too well bredto express astonishment; for his host had told him that a large numberof the people who attended the chapel were miners, and for a time hefailed to see any of the class whom he had hitherto been accustomed toassociate with rusty-red and torn garbs, and dirty hands and faces. Buthe soon observed that many of the stalwart, serious-looking men withblack coats and white linen, had strong, muscular hands, withhard-looking knuckles, which, in some instances, exhibited old or recentcuts and bruises.

  It was a new sight for the managing director to behold the large andapparently well-off families filing into the pews, for, to say truth,Mr Clearemout was not much in the habit of attending church, and he hadnever before entered a Methodist chapel. He watched with much curiositythe gradual filling of the seats, and the grave, quiet demeanour of thepeople. Especially interesting was it when Maggot's family came in andsat down, with the baby Maggot in charge of little Grace. MrClearemout had met Maggot, and had seen his family; but interest gaveplace to astonishment when Mrs Penrose walked into the church, backedby her sixteen children, the eldest males among whom were miners, andthe eldest females tin-dressers, while the little males and femalesaspired to be miners and tin-dressers in the course of time.

  "That's Penrose's family," whispered Mr Donnithorne to his guest.

  "What! the local's family?"

  Mr Donnithorne nodded.

  Soon after, a tall, gentlemanly man ascended the pulpit.

  The managing director was disappointed. He had come there to hear aminer preach, and behold, a clergyman!

  "Who is he?" inquired Clearemout.

  But Mr Donnithorne did not answer. He was looking up the hymn for MrsD, who, being short-sighted, claimed exemption from the duty of "lookingup" anything. Besides, he was a kind, good man at heart--though ratherfond of smuggling and given to the bottle, according to OliverTrembath's account of him--and liked to pay his wife little attentions.

  But there were still greater novelties in store for the London man thatmorning. It was new to him to hear John Wesley's beautiful hymns sungto equally beautiful tunes, which were not, however, unfamiliar to hisear, and sung with a degree of fervour that quite drowned his own voice,powerful and deep though it was. It was a new and impressive thing tohear the thrilling, earnest tones of the preacher as he offered up aneloquent extempore prayer--to the petitions in which many of the peoplein the congregation gave utterance at times to startlingly fervent andloud responses--not in set phraseology, but in words that were calledforth by the nature of each petition, such as "Glory to God," "Amen,""Thanks be to Him"--showing that the worshippers followed andsympathised with their spokesman, thus making his prayer their own. Butthe newest thing of all was to hear the preacher deliver an eloquent,earnest, able, and well-digested sermon, without book or note, in thesame natural tone of voice with which a man might address his fellow inthe street--a style of address which riveted the attention of thehearers, induced them to expect that he had really something importantto say to them, and that he thoroughly believed in the truth of what hesaid.

  "A powerful man," observed the managing director as they went out; "yourclergyman, I suppose?"

  "No, sir," replied Mr Donnithorne with a chuckle, "our minister ispreaching elsewhere to-day. That was James Penrose."

  "What! the miner?" exclaimed Clearemout in astonishment.

  "Ay, the local preacher too."

  "Why, the man spoke like Demosthenes, and quoted Bacon, Locke, Milton,and I know not whom all--you amaze me," said Mr Clearemout. "Surelyall your local preachers are not equal to this one."

  "Alas, no! some of the young ones are indeed able enough to spout poetryand quote old authors, and too fond they are of doing so; nevertheless,as I have said to you before, most of the local preachers aresober-minded, sterling Christian men, and a few of them have eminentcapabilities. Had Penrose been a younger man, he would probably haveentered the ministry, but being above forty, with an uncommonly largefamily, he thinks it his duty to remain as he is, and do as much good ashe can."

  "But surely he might find employment better suited to his talents?" saidClearemout.

  "There is not much scope in St. Just," replied Mr Donnithorne, with asmile, "and it is a serious thing for a man in his circumstances tochange his abode and voca
tion. No, no, I think he is right to remain aminer."

  "Well, I confess that I admire his talents," returned Clearemout, "but Istill think that an ordinary miner would suit me better."

  "Well, I know of one who will suit you admirably. He is common enoughto look at, and if you will accompany me into the mine to-morrow I'llintroduce you to him. I'm not fond of descending the ladders nowadays,though I could do it very well when a youth, but as the man I speak ofworks in one of the levels near the surface, I'll be glad to go downwith you, and Captain Dan shall lead us."

  True to his word, the old gentleman met Mr Clearemout the followingmorning at nine o'clock, and accompanied him down into the mine.

  Their descent was unmarked by anything particular at first. They worethe usual suit of underground clothing, and each carried a lightedcandle attached to his hat. After descending about thirty fathoms theyleft the main shaft and traversed the windings of a level until theycame to a place where the sound of voices and hammers indicated that theminers were working. In a few seconds they reached the end of thelevel.

  Here two men were "driving" the level, and another--a very tall,powerful man--was standing in a hole driven up slanting-ways into theroof, and cutting the rock above his head. His attitude and aspect wereextremely picturesque, standing as he did on a raised platform with hislegs firmly planted, his muscular arms raised above him to cut the rockoverhead, and the candle so placed as to cause his figure to appearalmost black and unnaturally gigantic.

  "Stay a minute, Captain Dan," said Mr Donnithorne. "That, MrClearemout, is the man I spoke of--what think you of his personalappearance?"

  Clearemout did not reply for a few minutes, but stood silently watchingthe man as he continued to wield his heavy hammer with powerfulstrokes--delivering each with a species of gasp which indicated notexhaustion, but the stern vigour with which it was given.

  "He'll do," said Clearemout in a decided tone.

  "Hallo! James," shouted Mr Donnithorne.

  "Hallo! sir," answered the man looking back over his shoulder.

  "There's a gentleman here who wants to speak to you."

  The miner flung down his tools, which clattered loudly on the hard rock,as he leaped from his perch with the agility of one whose muscles areall in full and constant exercise.

  "What! not the local--"

  Before the managing director could finish his sentence Mr Donnithorneintroduced him to James Penrose, and left the two for a time to talktogether.

  It need scarcely be added that Clearemout was quite willing to availhimself of the services of the "local," but the local did not meet hisproposals so readily as he would have wished. Penrose was a cautiousman, and said he would call on Mr Clearemout in the evening after hehad had time to consider the matter.

  With this reply the other was fain to rest satisfied, and shortly afterhe returned to the bottom of the shaft with his friends, leaving thehardy miner to pursue his work.

  At the bottom of the shaft they were accosted by a sturdy little man,who told them that a large piece of timber was being sent down theshaft, and it would be advisable to wait until it reached the bottom.

  "Is it on the way, Spankey?" asked Captain Dan.

  "Iss, sur, if it haven't walked into the thirty-fathom level inpassin'."

  Spankey was a humorous individual addicted to joking.

  "Are you married, Spankey?" asked Clearemout, looking down with a grinat the dirty little fellow beside him.

  "Iss, sur. Had, two wives, an' the third wan is waitin' for me,'spose."

  "Any children, Spankey?"

  "Iss, six, countin' the wan that died before it could spaik."

  At this point the beam was heard coming down. In a few seconds it madeits appearance, and was hauled a little to one side by Spankey, whoproceeded to unwind the chain that had supported it.

  "I'll give 'em the signal, Captain Dan, to haul up the chain before theedo go on the ladders."

  The signal was given accordingly, and the engine immediately began todraw up the chain by which the beam had been lowered.

  This chain had a hook at one end of it, and, as ill-luck would have it,the hook caught Spankey by the right leg of his trousers, and whiskedhim off his feet. Almost before those beside him could conceive whathad happened, the unfortunate man went up the shaft feet foremost, witha succession of dreadful yells, in the midst of which could be heard afearful rending of strong linen.

  Fortunately for Spankey, his nether garments were not only strong, butnew, so that when the rend came to the seam at the foot, it held on,else had that facetious miner come down the shaft much faster than hewent up, and left his brains at the bottom as a memorial of the shockingevent!

  With palpitating hearts, Captain Dan, Clearemout, and old Donnithorneran up the ladders as fast as they could. In a few minutes they reachedthe thirty-fathom level, and here, to their great relief, they foundSpankey supported in the arms of stout Joe Tonkin.

  That worthy, true to his promise to Oliver Trembath, had gone to work inBotallack Mine, and had that very day commenced operations in thethirty-fathom level referred to. Hearing the terrible screams ofSpankey, he rushed to the end of the level just as the unfortunate manwas passing it. The risk was great, but Tonkin was accustomed to risks,and prompt to act. He flung his arms round Spankey, drew him forciblyinto the level, and held on for life. There was a terrible rend; theleg of the trousers gave way at the hip, and went flapping up to grass,leaving the horrified miner behind.

  "Not gone dead yet, sur, but goin' fast," was Spankey's pathetic replyto Captain Dan's anxious inquiries.

  It was found, however, that, beyond the fright, the man had received nodamage whatever.

  The only other noteworthy fact in reference to this incident is, thatwhen Captain Dan and his companions reached the surface, they were metby the lander, who, with a face as pale as a ghost, held up the torngarment. Great was this man's relief, and loud the fit of laughter withwhich he expressed it, when Spankey, issuing from the mouth of theshaft, presented his naked limb, and claimed the leg of his trousers!