by Kirk Munroe
CHAPTER VI
A MILE BENEATH THE SURFACE
"Swallow, lad!"
Mark Trefethen uttered the words, and Peveril, dimly comprehendinghim, instinctively obeyed. The effect of that simple muscular actionwas marvellous. His brain was instantly cleared of its weight, theringing in his ears ceased, and his hearing was restored to its normalkeenness. At the same time he was happily conscious that his stomachhad been restored to its proper position.
"This is plat of bottom level, and we're a mile underground,"continued Mark. "They put us down in one-thirty this time, but oftenthey do it ten seconds better."
"I wonder how much longer it would take to drop from a balloon onemile above the earth?" reflected Peveril, at the same time gazingabout him with a lively interest.
The place in which he stood was a spacious room, hewn from solid rock.Lighted by several lanterns and little, flaring mine-lamps, it wasalso smoothly floored with iron plates, and from it a narrow-gaugerailway led away into the blackness. Articles of clothing anddinner-pails were hung about the walls, and on the side opposite theshaft was a bench of rude workmanship.
Every few minutes an iron car holding several tons of copper rock wasrun into the plat with a tremendous clatter from the little railwaythat penetrated to every "drift" and "stope" of the level. Each ofthese cars was pushed by a team of three wild-looking men, who werestripped naked to the waist. Their haggard faces and naked bodies werebegrimed with powder-smoke, stained red with ore-dust, and gleamed inthe fitful lamp-light with trickling rivulets of perspiration. Thecar-pushers were all foreigners--Italians, Bohemians, Hungarians, orPoles--and the uncouth jargon of their shouts intensified the wildnessof their appearance. Theirs was the very lowest form of mine drudgery,and but few of them were possessed of intelligence or ambitionsufficient to raise them above it.
One, who was accounted somewhat brighter than his fellows, by whom hewas regarded as a leader, had indeed been promoted on trial by thetimber boss to a position in his own gang. He was a perfect brute forstrength, but so densely ignorant and of such sullen disposition thatwhen a better man was offered, in the person of Dick Peveril, the bosswas only too glad to return him to his hated task of car-pushing andaccept the new-comer in his place. His sentence of degradation,pronounced only the day before, had been received as a personalaffront by every wild-eyed car-pusher of the mine. All knew that someone must fill the place from which their leader had been ousted, andall were prepared to hate him the moment his identity should bedisclosed.
Thus, as Peveril stumbled awkwardly out of the cage in which he hadjust made that breathless, mile-deep descent, he was instantly spottedas being a new man, and a team of car-pushers, slaking their thirst ata water-barrel in one corner of the plat, gazed at him with scowlingintentness, that they might minutely describe his appearance to theirfellows. As he knew nothing of the circumstances through which a placehad been made for him, he paid no attention to these men, other thanto note their savage appearance as a feature of his novelsurroundings.
In fact, he had barely time to take a single comprehensive glancearound the plat before a man who had been one of his fellow-passengersin the cage remarked, sneeringly:
"Pretty well scared, wasn't you, young feller?"
"Yes, I was," replied Peveril, turning and facing his questioner. "Buthow did you know it?"
"By the way you grabbed my arm. If you'd done it again I'd havepunched your head; for I don't 'low no man to catch holt on me thatway."
Peveril had already recognized the speaker's face; but, withoutdeigning a further reply, he turned to Mark Trefethen and said:
"Will you kindly give me the name of this unpleasant person, as I wishto file it away in my memory for future reference?"
"Person be blowed!" exclaimed the man, stepping forward with amenacing gesture. "What do you mean by calling me names, you damned--"
"Shut up, Mike Connell, and go about your business," commanded thetimber boss. "Come, lad, he's not worth noticing," and, thus saying,Mark Trefethen led Peveril away.
Although the car-pushers had not caught the words of this briefconversation, they had readily understood Mike Connell's threateninggesture towards the new-comer, and several times during that day oneor more of them might have been seen in low-voiced consultation withthe scowling-faced Irishman.
"Here, lad, fill lamp wi' sunlight," said the timber boss, as he andhis protege were leaving the plat. "First rule of mine is always havelamp in trim, and carry candle, besides plenty of matches in pocket."
With this Mark scooped up in his hand a small quantity of a stiff,whitish substance from an open box beside them, and stuffed it intohis lamp. The box was indeed marked "Sunlight," but when Peverilfollowed his companion's example he found its contents to be merelysolidified paraffine.
With their lamps well filled and flaring brightly, the two walked forhalf a mile through a dry and well-ventilated gallery, which had beendriven by drill and blast through solid rock, and from which thousandsof tons of copper had been taken. Now Peveril learned for the firsttime what "timbering" a mine meant, and realized the necessity for thehuge piles of great logs that he had seen above ground in closeproximity to the shaft. Not only had it been incased on all four sidesby logs mortised together and laid up like the walls of a house, butthe drift through which he now walked was timbered from end to end.Its roof was upheld by huge tree-trunks standing from ten to twentyfeet apart, and occasionally in groups of three or four together.Supported by them, and pressing against the roof or "hanging," wereother great timbers known as "wall plates," and behind these was acompactly laid sheathing of split timber spoken of as "lagging."
As the two men advanced deeper into the drift, an occasional ore-car,pushed by its panting human team, rumbled heavily past, while everynow and then came dull, tremulous shocks like those of an earthquake.These were blasts on other levels, or in other parts of the one onwhich they were.
At sound of a confused shouting from somewhere ahead of them, theystood still until, with a crashing roar that bellowed and echoedthrough the galleries like a peal of loudest thunder, one of theseblasts was fired close at hand. A minute later they were enveloped ina pungent smoke, through which twinkled dimly a score of lights.Brawny, half-naked forms were already wielding pick and shovel amidthe masses of rock just loosened, a powerful air-drill was beingplaced in position for another attack upon the wall of tough rock, anda small timber gang was struggling to hoist a huge log that theycalled a "stull" into position.
"Here's the place, lad. Take hold and give a lift. Now, boys,altogether"! shouted Mark Trefethen, and in another moment DickPeveril found himself hard at work.
Within a few minutes the new hand was as begrimed and dripping withperspiration as any member of the gang, all of whom exchangedsignificant glances as they noted the willingness with which heexerted his great strength. Never had the heavy timbers been set inplace so quickly, and never in their remembrance had a green hand"caught on" so readily.
"He won't last long, though, at that pace," remarked one of the oldermen to Trefethen, as he paused to wipe the sweat-drops from his eyes,"he's too fresh."
"Perhaps not," replied the timber boss. "We'll give him a bit of atry, though, before dropping him," and then he walked away to inspectthe operations of another gang in a distant part of the mine.
Late that day, as Peveril's first shift of work drew towards itsclose, he ached in every part of his body, but was learning his newtrade so rapidly that his fellows were already beginning to regard himas one of the best men in their gang. He had made several trips to andfrom the foot of the timber-shaft in company with others, and so,when, shortly before quitting time, the foreman of his gang sang out:
"Oh, Peril! Just run back to the stack and bring us one of them smallsprags. Hurry, now!" the new man started without a moment'shesitation.
He found his way without difficulty to the timber pile, and began asearch for such a piece as he had been told to fetch. The better tosee what he was doin
g, he removed the lamp from his hat and held itlow in front of him, in which position his own face was clearlyrevealed by its light. While he was thus engaged, a miner, who, withhis day's work finished, was walking towards the plat, paused toregard him. The man's face bore a malicious expression, and he seemedto meditate some mischief towards the unsuspecting youth, for heclinched his fists and took a step in Peveril's direction. Just thenthe rumble of an approaching car caused him to pause and wait until itshould pass. As it came abreast of him he recognized one of itspushers, and drew him aside, while the car, still propelled by twomembers of its team, moved on out of sight.
Without a word the miner directed his companion's attention to thefigure still bending over the log pile, and made several significantgestures. The brutish face of the pusher lighted with an ugly leer,expressive of understanding, and he began to move cautiously towardsthe man who had that day displaced him from the timber gang. As he hadleft his light on the car, there was nothing to warn Peveril of hisapproach until he was close at hand and about to deliver a cowardlyblow.
At that instant the mysterious premonition that always gives warningof human presence caused the young man to turn his head. Although hewas too late to avoid the impending blow, it was deflected by hismovement, and instead of stunning him it merely caused him to staggerand drop his lamp. He also partially warded off a closely followingsecond blow, and then his own terrible fist was planted with crashingforce full on his assailant's jaw.
THE CAR-PUSHERS MADE A FURIOUS ATTACK ON PEVERIL]
The man uttered a scream of agony, covered his face with his hands,and started to run. At this moment the other two car-pushers appearedon the scene, and with fierce cries began a furious attack upon theyoung man whom they had sworn either to kill or drive from the mine.At this time the battleground was only dimly illumined by theflickering light of the miner who was thus far sole spectator of thecontest. Peveril fought in dogged silence, but his assailants utteredshrill cries in an unknown tongue. Attracted by these, other lightsbegan to appear from both directions, and all at once Mark Trefethen'sgruff tones were heard demanding to know what was going on.
At this sound Peveril uttered a joyful shout, while at the same momentthe light in Mike Connell's hat was extinguished.
Recognizing his protege's voice, the timber boss sprang to his side,and within another minute the two car-pushers would have beenannihilated had not the coming of a second car given them areinforcement of three more half-naked savages.
Thus beset and outnumbered by more than two to one, Trefethen thoughtit no shame to call for aid, and, uplifting his mighty voice, he sentrolling and echoing through the rock-bound galleries the rallying cryof the Cornishmen:
"One and all for Cornwall! One and all!"