home to mother. Itold her, for I had to tell her now, something about David. She was notmuch alarmed, I don't think I was either. We thought it probable thatDavid would come up out of the mine at any moment. I think our worstfears and our strongest suffering was for Owen. We sat together, dearmother and I, very anxious, very expectant, very patient. Hour afterhour we sat together, waiting for David and Owen. Overhead, poor Gwensuffered and moaned; we did not tell her of our anxiety, she was too illto hear it. In the room next to Gwen's, the little baby slept. When myfear and anxiety grew quite unbearable, I used to steal upstairs andlook at David's little lad. Once I took the little icy hand and held itin my own for a long time, and tried to chafe it into life and warmth.I could not do it. No more than I could chase away the fear which wasgrowing, growing in my own hearty From my window I could see the pitbank. It was an ugly sight, and one I seldom gazed at. I hated theappearance of the ugly steam-engines, and the dusty coal-coveredfigures. I hated the harsh noise, the unpleasing commotion; but to-daynothing comforted me so much as to draw the blinds, which were down, andlook towards this same pit bank; the roaring steam, the appearance ofquiet, rapid, regular work soothed my fears, and became a blessed andsoul-sustaining sight. I felt sure as long as these signs of regularwork were going on on the bank, that all must be right in the mine.Still, why did not David return? So much depended on his return, he hadpromised so faithfully not to remain below a moment longer than wasnecessary.
As the day wore on, my heart sank and sank, and my fears rose and rose,and at five o'clock on that April afternoon, the blow came. I wasstanding by my room window, looking toward the pit bank. Suddenly I sawin that familiar scene a change. The greater number of the day crew hadcome up. I waited to see David's figure, taller than the rest. The menstood in groups talking eagerly, a number crowded round the mouth of theshaft; out of the houses around, women came rushing, then on the airthere rose a bitter sharp cry, and one woman leaving the group, whichincreased each moment round the shaft, ran, clasping her hands andweeping, towards our house. I recognised her, even as she ran, as thebearer of former ill tidings, Mrs Jones. I went downstairs to meether. I opened the dining-room door. I called to mother, who wassitting close to the window watching, watching for Owen, thinking littleof David. She must know all now, better learn the worst at once.
"Mother," I said, "Mrs Jones has come, and something dreadful hashappened in the mine."
Then I took the weeping, agitated woman's hand, and mother clasped herother hand, and we both looked hard in her face, and she looked intoours, and in broken words she told her tale.
How few were her words, but how crushing her intelligence! Just as themen were leaving work, the water had burst in like the sea into theworkings; most of the day crew had escaped in time, but fourteen werestill below.
"Which?" we asked breathlessly, "who were the doomed ones?"
"Not my son?" said mother.
"Not my brother?" said I.
"Yes," said the woman, "Squire Morgan is still below--and--and--"bringing out the words with a great gasp, her face, her lips, growingwhite, "My husband--my George."
She was silent then, and we three looked at each other in blank wonderand surprise; each was saying in her heart of hearts, "My sorrow is thegreatest."
At last I started to my feet.
"I will go down to the bank and learn more," I said.
Bonnetless and shawlless the next moment I was mingling with the blackmen, and wild-looking women; _I_ was clasping their hands, looking intotheir faces, and entreating them to tell me all they knew. One or twoturned away from me, one or two muttered that it was the new manager'sfault. Words that made my heart freeze within me, about the blood ofhusbands and sons being on our heads, reached my ears, then a stronghand was laid on my shoulder, and turning, I recognised through all hiscoal dust, and blackened face, little Nan's father, Moses Thomas.
"Come round to my house, dear young lady," he said, in a gentle tone;then turning to the angry men and women, "Shame on you! cowards! has notSquire Morgan sacrificed his life for you to-day?"
The people shrank back; one woman said, "God bless him!" and MosesThomas took my hand in his.
Little Nan was waiting for us. In the midst of all my own agony, Ialmost dreaded seeing Nan's face, but to my surprise it was quiet. WhenI entered the house she came up and kissed me. She had never venturedto kiss me of her own accord before, but on this occasion we wereequals--nay, on this occasion Nan was greater than I.
"Yes, Miss Morgan," said Thomas, seating himself and beginning his taleat once. "'Tis very like they is drowned, the Squire, and my lad, andJones, and eleven more of 'em; and oh! Lord! some was ready, and someisn't; some was turning to the Lord, and some was just goin' on in evil;and oh! dear Lord! forgive me, and have mercy upon me!" The man coveredhis face with his hands, and Nan went down on her knees.
"Lord, forgive father, and lay not this sin to his charge," she said.
Thomas looked at her from under his shaggy brows, stretched out his handand stroked her cheek, then making an effort to master some strongemotion, continued his tale.
"Yes, my dear young lady, as I say, 'twas mostly my fault; I felt rareand h'angered this morning, when I went down into the mine, to find thatthe little chap, unknownst to me, had brought down the Squire. I spokesharp to the lad, the Lord have mercy on me! The Squire, he had a longtalk with me and the deputy, and he wanted the overman to be sent for,but the overman was ill, and I ranks next, and I was rare and vexed, andI laughed at the thought of danger, and I knew the Squire had noknowledge of mines, and 'twas all the little chap's conceit. So theupshot of it was we went on with the workin' of the new seam, and I hadmy h'eye out sharp, and to prevent all chance of danger, I made the menwork, as I thought, in a new direction, away from Pride's Pit. Well,the Squire stayed down all day, and two or three times he axed me tostop working until Mr Morgan come back; but I never, no, God knows, Inever _thought_ of danger. At last it was evening, and I came to thesurface, but Miles, being trapper, had to stay down to the last; and theSquire, who seemed mighty taken with the lad, said they would come uptogether. Well, I had not been to the surface more'n ten minutes, whenthe news came that the water had burst out of Pride's Pit; most of themen got to the surface in time, but fourteen are below. Oh! Godforgive me, God forgive me. My boy, my brave boy was right; if I hadhearkened to him, all would have been saved."
At these words Nan went down on her knees again, and looked into herfather's face with flushed cheeks and glistening eyes.
"Father, father, _do_ you call Miles brave and noble now?"
"Ay, ay, little lass, brave as a lion, my noble lad; how patient he waswhen I nearly struck him across the face this morning, and how he spokeup so manful, `Father, I'm not afeerd, but I _know_ there's danger.'"
"I'm so glad," said little Nan. "I'm so glad he was brave and noble,and not afeerd; he was follerin' of Jesus. Why, father, if Miles isdrowned, he's only gone to Jesus."
"True enough, Nan, he's crossed the Jordan river, and is safe on theholy hill of the better land. No fear for Miles, little lass."
"But, perhaps--perhaps," I murmured, "they are not all drowned; is thereno place of escape in the mine?"
"Oh! God grant it, lady; yes, there are rises and levels, they may havegot into them, but how are they to be got out? however are they to begot at? Well, if there's a shadow of a chance of this, we miners won'tleave a stone unturned to save 'em, no, _not one_, trust us! I must seewhat can be done!"
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
THE LORD WAS NOT IN THE WIND.
I have said that all England knows the story. Still I will tell it,dwelling most on the part that most touched my own heart and my ownlife.
In doing this I may be selfish, but I can tell this part best.
That night Moses Thomas, with several other brave volunteers, went downthe shaft of the Ffynon mine.
The shaft was ninety-two yards deep.
They went down det
ermined to risk life, to save life; but even with thisdetermination, they had little hope of success.
When they reached the mine, the scene that met their eyes was likely tokill that slight hope.
All the workings within a few hundred yards of the bottom of the shaft,were filled with water to the roof. It seemed utterly impossible that asoul now left in the mine could be alive. The water from the old pithad truly come in like a flood, carrying all before it. This being thecase, the men were about to ascend to the surface, hopeless anddespairing, when suddenly faint knockings were heard on the other sideof the coal, at a distance, it was thought, of about a dozen yards.
These knockings sent a thrill of joy through the