‘Peter!’ he said. ‘Come here! Look at this!’
Peter was just pushing the barrow away, but the urgency of Sam’s voice made him set it down and come back. He stared.
‘God and his angels!’ he said.
While they watched the rill had doubled in size.
‘You’d best go back. Go back warn those others. Get out of here!’
‘Yeh, but d’ye think—’
‘Go on. Hurry! Get ’em up to grass!’
Water was coming now as if out of the spout of a thin drain pipe and shooting three feet from the rock. Every second the aperture was enlarging. It looked as if they had found Wheal Maiden, and it wasn’t dry after all.
They were at forty fathoms and must have struck the lowest tunnels of Maiden. If these excavations had not drained away, a great quantity of water might have built up in this part of the old mine, through the shafts and tunnels, almost up to surface level. And now at last it had been granted an outlet.
Not stopping to grab his shirt or his tools, Sam ran back after the others, shadows lurching as he ran, with the water pursuing him and gurgling about his ankles. Less than a hundred yards from where they’d been working a winze, or underground shaft, had been driven to the level below, where both the valuable lodes of tin were being worked. Fifty yards beyond that was the first air adit with a wooden ladder as far up as the 20-fathom level and a tunnel beyond.
Sam caught them up in the cavern where they had had their croust. ‘Go up!’ he shouted. ‘Warn ’em up there!’
He began to climb down to the lower level, shouting as he went. Before he was half down a wall of water fell on him knocking him against the side of the ladder. Half drowned, half stunned, he fought for the next rung and the next and found himself at the bottom. The water was already roaring in its fall, like thunder. Because the winze had been driven three fathoms deeper than the next levels he was able to jump out of its way and gain a brief lead. But at the rate the water was falling it would fill the bottom of the winze in two or three minutes.
He began to grope and run along the tunnel, which was narrow here and dark. He had lost his hat and therefore his candle and it seemed minutes before he stumbled over a barrow and broke into a cobbly gunnis and thence into a vaulted chamber where tiny points of flickering light showed where the miners were working. The lights were like glowworms, but yellow instead of green. As he came in there was a brief explosion and a wafted pungent smell of dynamite, where men had set off a charge.
He began to shout, to shout at the top of a voice trained for prayer meetings; but no revival in the great Wesleyan amphitheatres had brought him to such a vehemence as this. Work stopped; the men nearest to him downed tools and came back to him.
However reluctant some of them might have been to receive his Message above ground, they took in this one very quickly indeed; miners live in constant danger: fire, falls and floods are their greatest fears, and Sam spoke of the last. In seconds they had dropped everything and were pushing and filing back the way he had come, into the narrow tunnel which was their only way of escape. He went on, shouting his warning to the furthest away. But they came quickly too; no need to convince them, only to say the word; he passed them by, every one, warning them of the flood they’d have to face, of the danger of the deep well that by now would have been created by the sump of the winze: that to try to climb the way he had come down would be suicide: they must swim across the winze to the north tunnel on the other side, where the ground rose slightly, and fight their way up it till they reached the main shaft. If they reached that they were probably safe – though one of them must warn the workers on the northern hole.
Soon the cavern was empty and dark: Sam cast his eyes around it – no one remaining – then he followed in the wake of the last candle. He had gone no distance before he was in swirling water up to his waist, then to his armpits; the struggling men ahead of him made the water rise higher by the displacement of their bodies in the confined space. Air was short as water rose – pockets of it seemed to explode in his ears. The danger was the winze: men could not swim across more than perhaps two at a time: as he reached it he bumped against the man in front of him: there were more than a dozen waiting to take their turn, and the water pouring down from above was now carrying with it stones and planks of wood and any rubbish that it could sweep along. To swim into and through that waterfall, with only a half confidence that the tunnel at the other side would offer them any real escape, needed nerve and determination. One man funked it and decided to try the ladder up the winze. He got about twenty feet and then fell with a great explosion into the water, just missing one of the swimmers, and was lost to sight.
‘The Lord is my light and my salvation,’ shouted Sam, his voice carrying above the uproar. ‘Whom then shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom then shall I be afraid?’
Five were left – then four, then three, then two, each one submerging and beginning the swim under water to minimize the weight of the waterfall from above. Then it was his turn.
‘The Lord is my light!’ he said to himself, took a deep breath and sank his head into water that was already up to his shoulders. The thump on his back told him he was under the waterfall. The distance was nothing – ten strokes, but at the other side he came on legs, flailing in his face; was the other tunnel blocked with men or was it in fact lower in the water to begin? Were they just kicking and drowning? His blood was pounding and his lungs heaving. A foot caught him in the chest and kicked him further off. He stroked his way cautiously back, surfaced now, taking a grateful breath, for the waterfall was at the other side of the winze. A man was floating face down; he caught his hair and pulled him towards the place where the beginning of the next tunnel ought to be. But it was pitch dark and he was no longer sure.
Then a voice, echoing in the dark. He made for it. ‘Sam – is that Sam? Where’s Bill?’
His groping foot caught on the edge of the tunnel, a hand grasped his and pulled; behind him he held on to the hair. Men were shouting now further up. He came to his feet, banged his head against the roof of the tunnel, water floated into and out of his mouth; his nostrils were just above the water. He held on to the hand.
The hand began to pull. They’d formed a chain. The ground must be rising gently. But as the tunnel rose, so did the water, so that step by step they were no better off. Someone in front must have stumbled, for he heard a choked cry and a splash and commotion; but presently they moved ahead again.
The ground rose abruptly by about a foot and mercifully the roof rose as well, so that Sam was head and shoulders clear. Distant from them, the way they were going, was a faint glimmer in the utter blindness of the dark: someone from the north lode, maybe, had come to help.
Sam shouted at the man in front of him: ‘Can ye give me a hand. Bill – I think tis Bill – is in a bad way.’
They heaved the unconscious man over on his back and supported his head above water. It was probably Bill Thomas, but you couldn’t be sure. Sam didn’t even know who was helping him. They got the man on to Sam’s back and proceeded again, step by step. Here and there the water deepened or the tunnel roof was lower, and Sam had to put his face into the water so as not to scalp the unconscious man on the rock roof above him.
The light grew nearer. It might not mean everything in the way of safety but it meant eyesight.
Sam had forgotten that a longish excavation had been stoped just near the main shaft, but now he saw candles bobbing on the other side and realized there was another swim ahead. He and his helper – it was Jim Thomas, Bill’s brother – launched themselves together and began to ferry their burden across. At the other side was Zacky Martin, who had come down at the alarm, and a half dozen others, up to their waists, crowding the narrow tunnel ahead. Sam and Jim were hauled out of the water and Bill taken from them.
Now it was better – now they were through the worst -words and news exchanged – who was missing? – how deep was it in the south
lode? – the north was four feet or more but everyone was coming safe out of that. There’d only been two men prospecting still deeper – one of them had got up, somehow, clinging like a monkey, the other had been swept away; but there was a chance he might come up through one of the old winzes still further north. Who was left behind in the south? None, said Sam. Or if there is they’ll not come out alive. Then we’ll best go up, said Zacky bitterly. There’s naught more to do down here.
So another tunnel, but now water only waist high, and men to help. Sam was feeling all in now and he realized he was knocked about and bruised all over. But light was showing that was not yellow. It was a very diffused light, for it did not fall direct; it came down a slanted shaft that took a dozen different angles on its way up and was further broken by a dozen platforms. But it was daylight and safety for those who could see it. Now all that remained was climbing two hundred-odd feet up the ladders to find it.
II
Ross was at home when one of the Martin children came sputtering to tell him of the catastrophe. He dropped his pen and ran out of the house and up the hill towards the mine. Demelza, with two children to consider, questioned the boy more closely and then, leaving Jeremy and Clowance in Jane Gimlett’s care with strict instructions that they were not to be allowed to follow her, she ran in Ross’s wake.
By the time she got there Ross was already on his way down the main shaft. Unlike the other occasion when a whole cavern had subsided and smothered the excavations with dead ground, there had been no sound this time to alert those who were at grass level. First to give the alarm had been young Sid Bottrell, who had leaped up crying the news of disaster. Zacky Martin had been in charge, and his concern was to limit the flooding and the loss of life, so that it was not until the elder of the Curnow brothers sought instructions as to his pumping engine that anyone sent for Ross.
Zacky was on the way up and met Ross at the 20-fathom level.
‘Tes no use going further, Cap’n. They’re coming up. We’ve cleared both main lodes. The few who’re on the thirty level are in no danger.’
‘Loss of life,’ said Ross. ‘Are there some drowned?’
‘Tis hard to be sure, but certain tis little or none. The alarm were given in time.’
‘God rot those Maiden workings!’ said Ross. ‘We should never’ve gone for them.’
‘Who was to know? Mines is strange creatures. She was always known as dry. Your own father was constant in saying so. He used to say to me after Grace failed: pity we can’t start Maiden ’gain – she was always as dry as a virgin. Begging your pardon, sur, twas what he used to say.’
‘Where did it break? Where Sam Carne and Hoskin were working? Are they safe?’
‘Hoskin’s up. Sam’s down but coming up. According to what I d’hear tell, twas him going down through the water to the lower level that gave the main tributers time to get out. They say three minutes more – even one minute – would’ve been too late.’
‘Then who’s lost? Anyone missing?’
‘Two, I think. Sid Bunt in the sixty level, Tom Sparrock tried to climb but was washed away. They’re bringing Bill Thomas up now. He’s unconscious but we know no more. That’s the lot as far as I d’know.’
‘Where’s Henshawe?’
‘He went over to Renfrew’s about some gear. They’ve sent over to his house but he’ll not be back yet.’
Ross stayed on the 20-fathom platform while the men filed up. They were all dripping water for the most part none the worse. One had a gashed head. Another had sprained his foot. Mostly they were barefoot, having kicked off their boots to swim. They would be more in need of new boots than Jud.
Sam came up, tall and clumsy, and gaunt in the flickering light. Ross shook his hand and asked a question or two but did not detain him, for, in spite of the heat, he was shivering and almost blue. Ross stayed on, shaking each man by hand, putting the odd question. As one after another familiar face showed up he began to feel reassured that casualties were as light as Zacky supposed. Work in the mine was abandoned for the day as the half-dozen men prospecting in the upper levels heard the news and downed tools and came up. When the last of them was accounted for, Ross followed.
Dwight had been found at home and was attending to minor injuries in the changing shed beside the engine-house. Demelza was helping him, as were Mrs Zacky and three other women. But there was not so much to do as might have been expected. On the floor in a corner and covered with a blanket was Bill Thomas, part conscious but slowly recovering. Demelza said to Ross: ‘Dwight did the most strangest of things: he put Bill Thomas on his face and squeezed water out of him – so much as you’d hardly believe – then he laid him on his back and put his mouth to his mouth and blew into him. Blew and blew and blew, and then after a long time the – the man’s eyes flickered and he vomited more water, and now look at him. He looks as if he’s going to come brave again. Dwight says he’s going to come brave.’
Ross squeezed her arm but did not speak.
‘The lodes – both lodes . . . they’re flooded?’
‘Totally. But that can be seen to in time. Our old fire-engine will have to work the harder. It will be a loss of weeks – perhaps months. But it’s the lives I care about . . . Where’s Sam?’
‘He had his arm dressed and he went home.’
‘They say we owe a lot to him.’
‘Yes, I heard it up here.’
‘I’ll go thank him tomorrow.’
‘We’ll both go,’ Demelza said.
III
Sam had gone home. There was still an hour or two’s daylight left, but he had no energy to turn to the garden. Nor for the moment could he think whether he had a class tonight. What day was it? Tuesday? No, Monday. He wasn’t certain. Surely yesterday had been church day. So there was a class tonight, at the Meeting House on the hill, a house built of stones from the mine that had caused today’s disaster. Since it was opened it had become known as Maiden Chapel. Monday at seven was Bible reading, and Sam usually had a dozen or more of the converted, who sat and listened and then asked questions and spoke about the effect on themselves of the passages he had read.
So he must be feeling better by then. Best, no doubt, after he had put on dry things, to make a dish of tea and cut himself a slice – then maybe an hour with his feet up. For once he must indulge himself – take a bit of leisure in the daytime.
He scraped flint and blew a spark until it lit the shavings and bits of driftwood he had in the fireplace, then he tipped some water from his pitcher into a pan and waited for it to boil. A pinch of tea in a cup and a spoonful of sugar. In about ten minutes he poured the water in the cup and stirred it. Scenes from this afternoon were vivid in his mind. He thanked God that so few lives had been lost, and he thanked the Divine Father that He had seen fit to spare His own so that His will might be humbly done on earth, and so that he, Sam Carne, might continue on the great and glorious road of Salvation.
It was an uplifting and a wondrous thought that came upon him every morning when he opened his eyes. Here he was, a humble miner in a desolate corner of England, whom God had chosen as His unworthy instrument to further His divine purposes. Through him more and more sinful souls were finding mercy and entering into the liberty of perfect love. He should not sit here sipping tea and munching bread and jam just because his limbs were aching and bruised and his head a bit swimming and his stomach queasy from the foul water he had swallowed. He must conquer this weakness and soon be on his feet again and about his Father’s business. There would be distress at the mine. There would be widows to be comforted. Tom Sparrock had almost certainly gone; he had seen it with his own eyes; Jane Sparrock was a scold – Tom had always been henpecked – but she would grieve all the same. Sid Bunt was from St Ann’s way and he hardly knew his wife . . .
A knock at the door. A head came round. Beth Daniel, Paul’s wife.
‘Aw, I came to see ’ow you was, my dear. To see if I could bring ee a dish o’ tay. But I see you’ve
been ahead o’ me!’
Beth Daniel, though not a Methodist of the most earnest persuasion, was always wanting to help others. Sam thanked her and said he was fine now, well and fine.
Beth said, fumbling in her apron: ‘I got a drop o’ something stronger if you’ve the mind, you. Put ’n in your tay, my dear, twill flavour it a morsel and give ee extra kick an’ sprawl.’
Sam thanked her again but refused. ‘The tea’ll do me well, Beth. Thank ee, just the same.’
They talked about the disaster and how Dr Enys had brought Bill Thomas back to life by blowing air into his lungs. Then Beth said:
‘Aw, while you was down today, Lobb come – brought the Mercury to Cap’n Poldark. In it it d’say there’ve been a great victory for England. Cap’n Poldark were that excited he give all his servants a rum toddy. Nile, be it? – some place. Admiral Nelson’s destroyed the French ships. Blowed’n out o’ the sea, he did! Twelve out o’ thirteen, Cap’n Poldark say. Twelve out o’ thirteen French battleships. Never known nothin’ like it, Cap’n Poldark say – not since Armada times!’
‘Pray it will end the war,’ said Sam.
‘Aw, my dear, yes. Cap’n Poldark d’say all the bells be ringing London way. I expect they’ll peal at Sawle so soon as they d’know.’
‘When did it happen, Beth?’
‘Aw, weeks gone, I b’lave. August, I think he d’say.’ Beth broke off and clicked her fingers. ‘Now, then. I near forgot what I just come to tell ee. After he’d been Nampara, Lobb come over here and I seen ’im knock on your door, so I come over and say: “Sam be down mine,” I say, “you’ll find no one ’t home, you.” So he say to me, he say, “I got a letter, this here letter, for Sam Carne,” so I say I’ll hold ’n for ee, and this I done and yur tis, thas if I can find ’n in the deeps o’me pocket.’
She proceeded to fish out the small medicine jar which contained the brandy, then a length of string, two clothes clips and a stained rag. After this came the letter. Sam stared at the handwriting: it was poor and ill-formed and spelt his name without an e. His heart began to thump.
The Angry Tide Page 14