G. A. Henty - Tales from the works of G. A. Henty (G. A. Henty) (Literary Thoughts Edition)

At first our hands were pretty full, as you may guess, and it was a good thing it was so, for the men had no time to think or to wonder whose turn was to come next. All hands were on duty during the day, and at night I divided them into two watches, four men in one and three in the other.

I kept on deck all night, and managed to get a sleep in the daytime. Night and morning all hands mustered for prayers; and often, as we went about our work during the day, we could hear Jane Williams singing a hymn, as she sat beside the sick men. The calmness of the two ladies did more even than work to keep up the men's heart and courage; and even the three of the old crew still on their feet picked up and grew hopeful. Neither of the two men last attacked died; and when four days more passed without anyone else sickening, we began to think that the fever had lost its power.

But one morning, just as the dawn was stealing over the sky, Mrs. Williams came out from the little tent on the poop, and hurried up to me as I was pacing up and down by the rail. There was no need for her to speak. It was light enough to see that her face was pale and her lips quivering, and her hands in a sort of restless flutter. I knew at once that Jane Williams was down with the fever. It seemed to me as if her voice sounded from a long way off as she said:

"Will you call my husband, Mr. Thompson? I fear that our Jane is ill."

It was light enough, but I stumbled against things half a dozen times as I made my way forward and sent the parson to his child. All that day the ship seemed under a spell. The men moved about without speaking a word, and I am sure there wasn't one of them who wouldn't have given his life for hers. It was late in the evening when Mr. Williams came forward, and taking my hand said:

"Jane wishes to speak to you."

Her mother came out of the tent as I went in. I moved up to the side of the cot on which Jane was lying, and took her hand, but I couldn't have spoken if my life depended on it. She smiled quietly up at me.

"I wanted to say good-bye, Dick. I know what you have wished for, but you see God has settled it otherwise, and He knows what is best for us. Do not grieve, dear; we shall meet again, you know!"

She died that night. Before morning a strong breeze sprang up and freshened to a gale. I didn't think we should live through it, short-handed as we were, and cared nothing whether we did or not; but I had to do my duty. We had to cut away many of the sails, for we were too weak to handle them. At last we got her under snug canvas. We ran four days before the gale, and when it died out got sail on again, and made our way safely to the Cape.

The gale had blown the last of the fever away, and by the time we reached the Cape the three sick men were all fit for duty again. When we got there we fumigated and whitewashed her, and shipped some fresh hands and brought her home.

Uncle Dick stopped. The story was told. To him it was ended when Jane Williams died. The three girls were crying quietly, and not a word was spoken till the eldest rose from her seat, and putting her hands on his shoulders, stooped and kissed him.

"And that is the reason, Uncle Dick," she said, "why you never married?"

"I suppose so, Bessy. I have waited. You know she said we should meet again!"

FROM "FACING DEATH."

[Jack Simpson was a young collier working at the Vaughan pit in Lancashire. By careful attention to his work, and by private study of the science of mining, he had raised himself to the position of "viewer" or underground foreman. The mine having been found to be badly ventilated and dangerous, steps were being taken to put it right. But, as the events of the following story show, it was too late.]

One day, when Jack came up from his rounds at ten o'clock, to eat his breakfast and write up his journal of the state of the mine, he saw Mr. Brook (the owner of the mine) and the manager drive up to the pit mouth. Jack shrank back from the little window of the office where he was writing, and did not look out again until he knew that they had descended the mine; he did not wish to have any appearance of thrusting himself forward.

For another hour he wrote; and then the window of the office flew in pieces, the chairs danced, and the walls rocked, while a dull heavy roar, like distant thunder, burst upon his ears.

Jack leaped to his feet and rushed to the door. Black smoke was pouring up from the pit's mouth, sticks and pieces of wood and coal were falling in a shower in the yard; and Jack saw that his worst fears had been realized, and that a terrible explosion had taken place in the Vaughan pit.

For a moment he stood stunned. There were, he knew, over three hundred men and boys in the pit, and he turned faint and sick as the thought of their fate came across him. Then he ran towards the top of the shaft.

The bankman lay insensible at a distance of some yards from the pit, where he had been thrown by the force of the explosion. Two or three men came running up with white scared faces. The smoke had nearly ceased already; the damage was done, and a deadly stillness seemed to reign.

Jack ran into the engine-house. The engineman was leaning against a wall, scared and almost fainting.

"Are you hurt, John?"

"No!"

"Pull yourself round, man. The first thing is to see if the lift is all right. I see one of the cages is at bank, and the force of the explosion is in the upcast shaft. Just give a turn or two to the engine and see if the winding gear is all right. Slowly."

The engineman turned on the steam; there was a slight movement, and then the engine stopped.

"A little more steam," Jack said. "The cage has caught, but it may come."

There was a jerk, and then the engine began to work.

"That is all right," Jack said, "whether the lower cage is on or not. Stop now, and wind it back, and get the other cage up again. Does the bell act, I wonder?"

Jack pulled the wire which, when in order, struck a bell at the bottom of the shaft, and then looked at a bell hanging over his head for the answer. None came.

"I expect the wire's broken," he said, and went out to the pit's mouth again.

The surface-men were all gathered round now, the tip-men, and the yard-men, and those from the coke-ovens, all looking wild and pale.

"I am going down," Jack said; "we may find some poor fellows near the bottom, and can't wait till a head-man comes on the ground. Who will go with me? I don't want any married men, for you know, lads, there may be another blow at any moment."

"I will go with you," one of the yard-men said, stepping forward; "there's no one dependent on me."

"I, too," said another; "it doesn't matter to any one but myself whether I come up again or not."

Jack brought three safety-lamps from the lamp-room, and took his place in the cage with the two volunteers.

"Lower away," he shouted, "but go very slowly when we get near the bottom, and look out for our signal."

It was but three minutes from the moment that the cage began to sink to that when it touched the bottom of the shaft, but it seemed an age to those in it. They knew that at any moment a second explosion might come, and that they might be driven far up into the air above the top of the shaft, mere scorched fragments of flesh.

Not a word was spoken during the descent, and there was a general exclamation of "Thank God!" when they felt the cage touch the bottom.

Jack, as an official of the mine, at once took the lead.

"Now," he said, "let us push straight up the main road."

Just as they stepped out, they came across the bodies of two men, and stooped over them with their lamps.

"Both dead," Jack said; "we can do nothing for them."