Daphne du Maurier - Hungry Hill

At once John saw what he was about, and his heart went cold.

"Good God, Henry," he whispered, "it's murder."

His brother did not answer, but kept his eyes fixed on his father and Captain Nicholson. The miners were too intent on their work of destruction to notice the two figures that advanced so steadily and so quietly to the rear of the cleansing-sheds, and, bending for a moment, were busy at the ledge of wall.

The figures waited a moment, and then retreated rapidly, returning to the counting-house where John and Henry waited, and, like them, they threw themselves to the floor.

"Now we have them," said Copper John, and his second son, glancing at him, saw the look of triumph in his eyes, and the hard line of his mouth.

For a minute there was silence, then a shattering explosion rent the air, followed by the crashing sound of falling rubble, of flying sticks and stones, and the screams of men.

Copper John rose to his feet, and looked at Captain Nicholson without a word. Then he led the way out of the counting-house, and stood for a few moments watching the scene in front of him.

The cleansing-shed, fired so swiftly by the train of gunpowder, was nothing more than a heap of rubble and stones, with only the far end of it still standing, and this, ignited in some fashion, was now burning fiercely, while staggering from the ruins came the sole survivor of the team of six who not three minutes previously had been calling and shouting in triumph from within the shed.

A great cry of fear and distress had gone up from the crowd of watchers, and fearing that the explosion was but the first of a series, which would destroy them all, they began to run in panic, screaming and yelling, falling over one another in their haste to get away, and in a moment the broad track to the mine was a mass of struggling, fighting figures, the scene weirdly and horribly lit by the crackling flames of the burning shed.

"After them," shouted Copper John, "let none of them escape, "Hid thrusting his way amongst the crowd, he hit out to left and right with his great nobbled stick, followed by Captain Nicholson and others of his party, while John, standing sick and suddenly exhausted on the steps of the counting-house, with the bitter smell of the gunpowder in his nostrils, could see nothing but this square figure of his father, his stick beating down on the heads of the frightened miners, who scattered before him, bewildered and desperate, all fight in them vanquished by the terrible death of their leaders. And now came the screams of the women and children, for some of them were being trampled upon by the miners in their panic, and the flames of the cottages, lessening in strength because they had spent their full force, were now quenched by the sudden burst of rain from the black sky, rain which fell in torrents, drenching all who were present. In this darkness and sudden downpour the confusion became worse, friend hitting friend, enemy clutching enemy, and above it all the strong voice of Copper John, giving orders, calling directions, shouting advice to Captain Nicholson and the rest of his friends, calling to Henry for assistance, and still John stood on the steps of the counting-house staring at the heap of rubble that had been the cleansing-shed…

It was nearly half-past two in the morning by the time order had been restored to the mine. Some dozen men had been put into custody and locked in the counting-house, the rest had taken to their heels and fled, either to hide in the hills, or else to return to their homes in Doonhaven, trusting that in the darkness they had been unrecognised. The rain, which had now turned to a thin, steady drizzle, with a lessening wind, had put out the last of the fires, and only the wet, smouldering embers showed traces of the Cornishmen's dwellings. The families had been gathered, for the remainder of the night, into the mine buildings themselves, until provision could be made for them in the morning.

Nothing more could be done until daylight, but already, seated at the table in the counting-house, with a glass of hot rum at his elbow, Copper John was dictating his orders to Captain Nicholson.

"I think I can say with a reasonable amount of confidence that we shall have no more trouble with the men from Doonhaven. They will return to work, those who have not taken to the hills, and it is even possible that we shall have new men coming up, asking for employment. The tunnel, incidentally, that leads from the mine into the hill we will deal with in somewhat the same fashion as we dealt to-night with the cleansing-shed. Remember, Captain Nicholson, to have the rubble of the shed cleared as early as possible within the next forty-eight hours, to enable us to get forward with the construction of the new building to take its place. Also the fellows lying there must have burial-that is, what remains of them, which will be considerably little… Well, gentlemen, I must thank you one and all for your assistance in this night's work. You will not find me ungrateful. Will those of you who are not too exhausted care to return with me and my sons to Clonmere, where my daughter will be very pleased to offer you refreshment?"

One by one the members of the party, wet and haggard, and drooping from fatigue, made their excuses, and so, in the falling rain, in the heavy, intense darkness that comes before the day, Copper John mounted his horse and rode through the silent streets of Doonhaven back to Clonmere, followed by his sons. Jane and Martha and the other servants, tense and anxious, were awaiting them in the hall, and at the sight of them safely returned old Martha burst into tears, shaking her head and reproving her master, clicking her tongue in distress at John's swollen face.

"That will do, Martha, that will do," said Copper John, dismissing the servants with a wave of his hand.

"None of us has come to harm and we have no bones broken. Master John will survive his cut, I have little doubt. What we need now is food and drink, and a warm by the fire, and very shortly to bed for what remains of the night, for we all of us have work to do in the morning."

They stood in the library, the four of them-the father with a glass in one hand and the other behind his back, his stern features relaxed for the moment while he smiled at his daughter, who tried to smile back at him, but was still so pale, so anxious, that the smile was a ghostly thing, a shadow of no substance; John leaning against the fireplace, his head resting in his hands, his face swollen and discoloured; while Henry, soaked to the skin, his clothes clinging to his slim body, his teeth chattering, lifted his glass and clinked it against his father's.

"Anyway," he said, "whatever happens, we have beaten them, haven't we, father?"

"Yes," said Copper John, "we have beaten them, Henry."

They drank together, watching one another over the rim of their glasses, and smiling.

The mine, thought Jane, has not been destroyed, the mine will continue to be worked on Hungry Hill, and Morty Donovan has lost. Her father and her brothers were safe. John had a swollen face, but that was all. It was a picture she remembered always, the father and son pledging one another across the table, and she remembered too how John, looking up from the fire at the shivering, white-faced Henry, said suddenly, in anger: "For God's sake go and change, Henry; you'll catch your death from this night's work."

She remembered how the rain pattered against the windows, and the wind sighed softly, and how, although they were safe, she was still afraid.

They slept deeply that night, the young Brodricks, and only once did their father, Copper John, stir in his sleep and frown and mutter as though at some passing dream. The wind moaned a little, and was silent. The rain whispered, and pattered, and ceased. And away on the heather, five miles distant, a small donkey stood shivering beside an overturned cart, with Morty Donovan lying beneath it, his neck broken, clutching in his dead hands the stones and moss of Hungry Hill.