Deep Down, a Tale of the Cornish Mines

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  IN WHICH OLIVER GETS "A FALL," AND SEES SOME OF THE SHADOWS OF THEMINER'S LIFE.

  In crossing a hayfield, Oliver Trembath encountered the tall, blufffigure, and the grave, sedate smile of Mr Cornish, the manager.

  "Good-morning, doctor," said the old gentleman, extending his hand andgiving the youth a grasp worthy of one of the old Cornish giants; "doyou know I was thinking, as I saw you leap over the stile, that youwould make a pretty fair miner?"

  "Thanks, sir, for your good opinion of me," said Oliver, with a smile,"but I would rather work above than below ground. Living the half ofone's life beyond the reach of sunlight is not conducive to health."

  "Nevertheless, the miners keep their health pretty well, considering thenature of their work," replied Mr Cornish; "and you must admit thatmany of them are stout fellows. You would find them so if you got oneof their Cornish hugs."

  "Perhaps," said Oliver, with a modest look, for he had been a notedwrestler at school, "I might give them a pretty fair hug in return, forCornish blood flows in my veins."

  "A fig for blood, doctor; it is of no avail without knowledge andpractice, as well as muscle. _With_ these, however, I do acknowledgethat it makes weight--if by `blood' you mean high spirit."

  "By the way, how comes it, sir," said Oliver, "that Cornishmen are somuch more addicted to wrestling than other Englishmen?"

  "It were hard to tell, doctor, unless it be that they feel themselvesstronger than other Englishmen, and being accustomed to violent exertionmore than others, they take greater pleasure in it. Undoubtedly theGreeks introduced it among us, but whether they practised it as we nowdo cannot be certainly ascertained."

  Here Mr Cornish entered into an enthusiastic account of the art ofwrestling; related many anecdotes of his own prowess in days gone by,and explained the peculiar method of performing the throw by the heel,the toe, and the hip; the heave forward, the back-heave, and the Cornishhug, to all of which the youth listened with deep interest.

  "I should like much to witness one of your wrestling-matches," he said,when the old gentleman concluded; "for I cannot imagine that any of yourpeculiar Cornish hugs or twists can be so potent as to overturn a stoutfellow who is accustomed to wrestle in another fashion. Can you show meone of the particular grips or twists that are said to be so effective?"

  "I think I can," replied the old gentleman, with a smile, and a twinklein his eye; "of course the style of grip and throw will vary accordingto the size of the man one has to deal with. Give me hold of yourwrist, and plant yourself firmly on your legs. Now, you see, you mustturn the arm--so, and use your toe--thus, so as to lift your man, andwith a sudden twist--there! That's the way to do it!" said the oldgentleman, with a chuckle, as he threw Oliver head foremost into themiddle of a haycock that lay opportunely near.

  It is hard to say whether Mr Cornish or Oliver was most surprised atthe result of the effort--the one, that so much of his ancient prowessshould remain, and the other, that he should have been so easilyoverthrown by one who, although fully as large a man as himself, had hisjoints and muscles somewhat stiffened by age.

  Oliver burst into a fit of laughter on rising, and exclaimed, "Welldone, sir! You have effectually convinced me that there is somethingworth knowing in the Cornish mode of wrestling; although, had I knownwhat you were about to do, it might not perhaps have been done soeasily."

  "I doubt it not," said Mr Cornish with a laugh; "but that shows thevalue of `science' in such matters. Good-morning, doctor. Hope you'llfind your patients getting on well."

  He waved his hand as he turned off, while Oliver pursued his way to theminers' cottages.

  The first he entered belonged to a man whose chest was slightly affectedfor the first time. He was a stout man, about thirty-five years of age,and of temperate habits--took a little beer occasionally, but neverexceeded; had a good appetite, but had caught cold frequently inconsequence of having to go a considerable distance from the shaft'smouth to the changing-house while exhausted with hard work undergroundand covered with profuse perspiration. Often he had to do this in wetweather and when bitterly cold winds were blowing--of late he had begunto spit blood.

  It is necessary here to remind the reader that matters in this respect--and in reference to the condition of the miner generally--are now muchimproved. The changing-houses, besides being placed as near to theseveral shafts as is convenient, are now warmed with fires, and suppliedwith water-troughs, so that the men have a comfortable place in which towash themselves on coming "to grass," and find their clothes thoroughlydried when they return in the morning to put them on before goingunderground. This renders them less liable to catch cold, but of coursedoes not protect them from the evil influences of climbing the ladders,and of bad air. Few men have to undergo such severe toil as the Cornishminer, because of the extreme hardness of the rock with which he has todeal. To be bathed in perspiration, and engaged in almost unremittingand violent muscular exertion during at least eight hours of each day,may be said to be his normal condition.

  Oliver advised this man to give up underground work for some time, and,having prescribed for him and spoken encouragingly to his wife, left thecottage to continue his rounds.

  Several cases, more or less similar to the above, followed each other insuccession; also one or two cases of slight illness among the children,which caused more alarm to the anxious mothers than there was anyoccasion for. These latter were quickly but good-naturedly disposed of,and the young doctor generally left a good impression behind him, for hehad a hearty, though prompt, manner and a sympathetic spirit.

  At one cottage he found a young man in the last stage of consumption.He lay on his lowly bed pale and restless--almost wishing for death torelieve him of his pains. His young wife sat by his bedside wiping theperspiration from his brow, while a ruddy-cheeked little boy rompedabout the room unnoticed--ignorant that the hour was drawing near whichwould render him fatherless, and his young mother a widow.

  This young man had been a daring, high-spirited fellow, whose animalspirits led him into many a reckless deed. His complaint had beenbrought on by racing up the ladders--a blood-vessel had given way, andhe had never rallied after. Just as Oliver was leaving him a Wesleyanminister entered the dwelling.

  "He won't be long with us, doctor, I fear," he said in passing.

  "Not long, sir," replied Oliver.

  "His release will be a happy one," said the minister, "for his soulrests on Jesus; but, alas! for his young wife and child."

  He passed into the sickroom, and the doctor went on.

  The next case was also a bad one, though different from the preceding.The patient was between forty and fifty years of age, and had beenunable to go underground for several years. He was a staid, sober man,and an abstemious liver, but it was evident that his life on earth wasdrawing to a close. He had been employed chiefly in driving levels, andhad worked a great deal in very bad air, where the candles could not bemade to burn unless placed nine or ten feet behind the spot where he wasat work. Indeed, he often got no fresh air except what was blown tohim, and only a puff now and then. When he first went to work in themorning the candle would not keep alight, so that he had to take hiscoat and beat the air about before going into the level, and, after atime, went in when the candles could be got to burn by holding them onone side, and teasing out the wick very much. This used to create agreat deal of smoke, which tended still further to vitiate the air.When he returned "to grass" his saliva used to be as black as ink.About five years before giving up underground work he had hadinflammation of the lungs, followed by blood-spitting, which used tocome on when he was at work in what he called "poor air," or in"cold-damp," and he had never been well since.

  Oliver's last visit that day was to the man John Batten; who hadexploded a blast-hole in his face the day before. This man dwelt in acottage in the small hamlet of Botallack, close to the mine of the samename. The room in which the miner lay was very small, and its furn
iturescanty; nevertheless it was clean and neatly arranged. Everything inand about the place bore evidence of the presence of a thrifty hand.The cotton curtain on the window was thin and worn, but it was welldarned, and pure as the driven snow. The two chairs were old, as wasalso the table, but they were not rickety; it was obvious that they owedtheir stability to a hand skilled in mending and in patching pieces ofthings together. Even the squat little stool in the side of the chimneycorner displayed a leg, the whiteness of which, compared with the othertwo, told of attention to small things. There was a peg for everything,and everything seemed to be on its peg. Nothing littered thewell-scrubbed floor or defiled the well-brushed hearthstone, and it didnot require a second thought on the part of the beholder to ascribe allthis to the tidy little middle-aged woman, who, with an expression ofdeep anxiety on her good-looking countenance, attended to the wants ofher injured husband.

  As Oliver approached the door of this cottage two stout youths, of aboutsixteen and seventeen respectively, opened it and issued forth.

  "Good-morning, lads! Going to work, I suppose?" said Oliver.

  "Iss, sur," replied the elder, a fair-haired ruddy youth, who, like hisbrother, had not yet sacrificed his colour to the evil influence of themines; "we do work in the night corps, brother and me. Father is worseto-day, sur."

  "Sorry to hear that," said the doctor, as he passed them and entered thecottage, while the lads shouldered their tools and walked smartly downthe lane that led to Botallack mine.

  "Your husband is not quite so well to-day, I hear," said the doctor,going to the side of the bed on which the stalwart form of the minerlay.

  "No, sur," replied the poor woman; "he has much pain in his eyes to-day,but his heart is braave, sur; I never do hear a complaint from he."

  This was true. The man lay perfectly still, the compressed lip and theperspiration that moistened his face alone giving evidence of the agonyhe endured.

  "Do you suffer much?" inquired the doctor, as he undid the bandageswhich covered the upper part of the man's face.

  "Iss, sur, I do," was the reply.

  No more was said, but a low groan escaped the miner when the bandage wasremoved, and the frightful effects of the accident were exposed to view.With intense anxiety Mrs Batten watched the doctor's countenance, butfound no comfort there. A very brief examination was sufficient toconvince Oliver that the eyes were utterly destroyed, for the miner hadbeen so close to the hole when it exploded that the orbs were singed bythe flame, and portions of unburnt powder had been blown right intothem.

  "Will he see--a _little_, sur?" whispered Mrs Batten.

  Oliver shook his head. "I fear not," he said in a low tone.

  "Speak out, doctor," said the miner in firm tones, "I ain't afeard toknaw it."

  "It would be unkind to deceive you," replied Oliver sadly; "your eyesare destroyed."

  No word was spoken for a few minutes, but the poor woman knelt by herhusband's side, and nestled close to him. Batten raised his large brownhand, which bore the marks and scars of many a year of manly toil, andlaid it gently on his wife's head.

  "I'll never see thee again, Annie," he murmured in a low deep tone; "butI see thee face now, lass, as I _last_ saw it, wi' the smile of an angelon't--an' I'll see it so till the day I die; bless the Lord for that."

  Mrs Batten rose and went softly but quickly out of the room that shemight relieve her bursting heart without distressing her husband, but heknew her too well to doubt the reason of her sudden movement, and afaint smile was on his lips for a moment as he said to Oliver,--"She'sgone to weep a bit, sur, and pray. It will do her good, dear lass."

  "Your loss is a heavy one--very heavy," said Oliver, with hesitation inhis tone, for he felt some difficulty in attempting to comfort one in sohopeless a condition.

  "True, sur, true," replied the man in a tone of cheerful resignationthat surprised the doctor, "but it might have been worse; `the Lordgave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord!'"

  Mrs Batten returned in a few minutes, and Oliver left them, afteradministering as much comfort as he could in the circumstances, but tosay truth, although well skilled in alleviating bodily pains, he wasincapable of doing much in the way of ministering to the mind diseased.Oliver Trembath was not a medical missionary. His mother, though agood, amiable woman, had been a weak, easy-going creature--one of thosegood-tempered, listless ladies who may be regarded as human vegetables,who float through life as comfortably as they can, giving as littletrouble as possible, and doing as little good as is compatible with thepresence of even nominal Christianity. She performed the duties of lifein the smallest possible circle, the centre of which was herself, andthe extremity of the radii extending to the walls of her garden. Shewent to church at the regulation hours; "said her prayers" in theregulation tone of voice; gave her charities in the stated way, atstated periods, with a hazy perception as to the objects for which theywere given, and an easy indifference as to the success of theseobjects--the whole end and aim of her wishes being attained in, and herconscience satisfied by, the act of giving. Hence her son Oliver wasnot much impressed in youth with the power or value of religion, andhence he found himself rather put out when his common sense told him, asit not unfrequently did, that it was his duty sometimes to administer adose to the mind as well as to the body.

  But Oliver was not like his mother in any respect. His fire, hisenergy, his intellectual activity, and his impulsive generosity heinherited from his father. Amiability alone descended to him from hismother--an inheritance, by the way, not to be lightly esteemed, for byit all his other qualities were immeasurably enhanced in value. Hisheart had beat in sympathy with the mourners he had just left, and hismanly disposition made him feel ashamed that the lips which could giveadvice glibly enough in regard to bandages and physic, and which couldspeak in cheery, comforting tones when there was hope for his patient,were sealed and absolutely incapable of utterance when death approachedor hopeless despair took possession of the sufferer.

  Oliver had felt something of this even in his student life, when thesolemnities of sickness and death were new to him; but it was pressedhome upon him with peculiar power, and his manhood was often put to theblush when he was brought into contact with the Wesleyan Methodism ofWest Cornwall, where multitudes of men and women of all grades drewcomfort from the Scriptures as readily and as earnestly as they drewwater from their wells--where religion was mingled with everyday andhousehold duties--and where many of the miners and fishermen preachedand prayed, and comforted one another with God's Word, as vigorously, assimply, and as naturally as they hewed a livelihood from the rocks ordrew sustenance from the sea.