Munroe Kirk
Derrick Sterling: A Story of the Mines
"Yes, Polly."
"Here's something for you; and if I don't live to get out, you'll always keep it to remember me by, won't you?"
"I shouldn't need it for that, Polly; but I'll always keep it, whatever it is."
It was Paul's sketch of the underground picnic-party, and Derrick knew what it was when he took it and thrust it into the bosom of his shirt, though days passed before he had a chance to look at it.
Three days after this the same men and boys lay on their log platform, in almost the same positions, but they were haggard, emaciated, faint, and weak. Their last drop of oil had been burned, and they were in total darkness. A light would have shown that they lay like dead men.
Suddenly one of them lifts his head and listens. "Thank God! thank God!" he exclaims, in a husky voice, hardly more than a whisper, "I hear them! they're coming!"
Derrick's quick ear had detected the muffled sound of blows, and his words gave new life to the dying men around him.
CHAPTER XVIII
TO THE RESCUE!—A MESSAGE FROM THE PRISONERS
From the moment the news came that nine men and boys were imprisoned in the flooded mine, preparations for their rescue, or at least of learning their fate, were pushed with all vigor. Although it had stopped raining, the night was dark, and great bonfires were lighted about the mouth of the slope. These were placed in charge of the old breaker boss, Mr. Guffy, and his boys, who fed them with dry timbers, and kept up the brilliant blaze until daylight.
Around these fires the entire population of the village stood and discussed the situation; and by their light the workers were enabled to perform their tasks. The miners were divided into gangs, headed by the mine boss and by Tom Evert, and their work was the fetching of the steam pumps from across the valley and setting them up near the mouth of the slope. They had to be connected, by long lines of iron pipe, with the boilers under the breaker, and from each a double line of hose was carried down the slope until water was reached.
It was nearly daylight when these operations were completed, and a faint cheer went up from the weary watchers as they saw four powerful streams of water added to the torrent that the regular mine pump had kept flowing all night.
"Now, men," said the mine boss, when he saw that all was working to his satisfaction, "I want you to go home and get all the solid rest you can in the next two days, for after that I shall probably call upon you to work night and day."
"We'll be ready boss, whenever you give the word," was the prompt answer from a score of stalwart fellows. Then all turned towards their homes, knowing they could do nothing more until the pumps had prepared a way for them.
During the next day the news of the disaster spread far and wide, and from all sides visitors poured into the little village. Among these were a number of reporters from the metropolitan papers, some of whom, filled with a sense of their own importance, buzzed around like so many bumblebees. They blundered into all sorts of places where they had no business, bored everybody whom they could approach with absurd questions, and made of themselves public nuisances generally.
While some among them acted thus foolishly, there were others who behaved like gentlemen and the sensible fellows they were. Of these the most noticeable was a well-built, pleasant-faced young man, named Allan McClain. He asked few questions, but each one had evidently been well considered and was directly to the point. He was quiet and unobtrusive, never displayed a note-book or pencil, kept his eyes and ears wide open, and, as a result, sent to his paper the best accounts of the situation that were published. How he did it was a mystery to the others, few of whom had even thought of giving to their business the careful study and attention that McClain bestowed upon it.
The mine boss had been particularly annoyed by the conduct of several of these members of the press, and when they applied to him for permission to accompany the first gang of workmen down into the mine, he firmly but courteously said "No."
He explained to them the dangers attending the proposed undertaking, and that there would be no room in the mine for any but those actively engaged in the work of rescue.
Some of the reporters made such an outcry at this, and talked so loudly of their rights and of what they would do in case the mine boss persisted in his refusal, that he finally said if they could not behave better than they had he should be compelled to order them from the colliery altogether.
During this scene Allan McClain listened to all that was said without speaking a word. Shortly afterwards the mine boss, meeting him alone, said, "I am sorry, sir, to be obliged to include you in my apparent discourtesy, but you know that if I made a single exception I could not enforce my rule."
"I know it, Mr. Jones," was the pleasant answer, "and I do not expect any privileges that may not be extended to the rest. Your action will, however, make no difference to me, as I expect to leave the village to-day."
Allan McClain did take the afternoon train away from Raven Brook, after bidding his companions good-by; but none of them knew where he had gone or the reasons for his departure.
The pumping of the mine was so successful that two days later the water in it was lowered a few feet below the roof of the great chamber at the bottom of the slope. The mine boss had watched it closely, going down almost every hour to note the change of its level, and he now decided that the time had come to begin more active operations.
The day before, a sturdy young man, much begrimed with coal-dust, and wearing a rough suit of mine clothes that had evidently seen long service, had presented himself at the mouth of the slope, and asked leave to take part in the rescue, in case there was any way in which he could be made useful. He said that he came from the neighboring colliery of Black Run, where the Raven Brook men had once rendered good service during a time of disaster, and that his name was Jack Hobson. The mine boss had thanked him for his offer of assistance, and said he would gladly accept it if he found an opportunity. The young man remained near the scene of operations, making himself so generally useful, and performing with such promptness and intelligence any little task given him, that the mine boss took a decided fancy to him before the day was over.
Now that Mr. Jones wanted three reliable men to go down with him and make an exploration, he selected Tom Evert, Jack Hobson, and another young miner who had a brother among the victims of the flood.
The departure of this little party was watched by a great crowd of people, who realized that if work could not be begun at once there would be little chance of finding any of the imprisoned men alive. Among the spectators were many reporters, any one of whom would gladly have paid a round sum to be taken along, and thus gain an opportunity of describing the appearance of the drowned mine.
At the foot of the slope the exploring party found a rude but strong flat-boat that the mine boss had caused to be built and sent down for this very purpose. Sitting in it with bent bodies, for there was but little space beneath the roof of the chamber, they pushed off across the black waters and began a voyage so weird and mysterious that at first their thoughts found no expression in words.
All about them floated traces of the disaster; here the body of a drowned mule, and there a bale of hay, or a quantity of timbers that, wrenched and broken, told of the awful force of the waters. These and many like tokens of destruction came slowly within the narrow circle of light from their lamps, and vanished again behind them.
After a careful search along the opposite side of the chamber, they located gangway No. 1, in which the water was still within two inches of the roof.
"It'll be some time afore we can get in there, sir," said Tom Evert.
"Yes, Tom, three days at least, perhaps more."
"T' big breast lies in here on this side t' gangway."
"I know it, Tom; and if you'll pick out the spot that promises easiest working, we'll open a heading into it. We may find them there. If we don't we can work our way through it, above the water level, to the wall that divides it from the next one. Some of them are almost sure to be there if they're still alive."
"That's what I think, sir; and if you say so, we'll start in right here. Can you tell just how far in t' breast lies?"
"If that's all, we'll soon knock a hole through that, and then, please God, I'll find my crippled lad, an' t' brave one that went back after him. If we find 'em dead, old Tom Evert don't never want to come out alive. He couldn't."
"Never fear, Tom, we'll find them alive," said the mine boss, cheerily. "I have full faith that we shall. If they're only in the big breast we'll have them out in three days more. Now, men, drive those staples into the wall, make the boat fast to them, and pitch in. As soon as you've cut a shelf to work on, I'll go back for fresh hands. This job's going to be done with half-hour reliefs."
Jack Hobson held the staples in position while Tom Evert, lying on his side, drove them into the wall of solid coal with a dozen blows from his heavy hammer.
These were the blows heard faintly by Derrick Sterling on the farther side of that massive wall; and the welcome sound carried with it new life and hope to him and his fainting comrades.
Dropping the hammer, and seizing his pick, the burly miner struck a mighty blow at the wall, and followed it up with others so fast and furious that the coal fell rattling into the boat, or splashing into the water in glistening showers. The work of rescue was begun.
As he sat there, Jack Hobson's eye lighted on a long, dark object floating near them, and calling attention to it, he said,
"Don't you think, sir, that water trough might be bailed out and used as a sort of boat to establish communication between this point and the foot of the slope? I have been used to canoes, and believe I could manage it."
The mine boss said it was a good idea, and he could try if he wanted to.
So the trough, which was simply a long, flat-bottomed box, was brought alongside, bailed out, and placed in charge of the young man from Black Run. He made a rude paddle, and during the next two days did capital service in ferrying miners and tools back and forth between the opposite sides of the chamber. By this addition to the underground fleet the large boat could be left at the entrance to the heading, where it proved most useful as a landing-stage.
The work was pushed with all possible speed, a dozen of the strongest and most skilful miners, who handled their picks with desperate energy, taking half-hourly turns each at driving the heading. Behind the miner who was thus at work, other men passed out the loosened material from hand to hand, and thus kept the opening clear. Whenever there was no demand for his services as ferry-man, Jack Hobson took his place among these workers, and by his cheering words and tireless energy kept up their spirits and spurred them on to greater efforts.
When they had got about half-way through it was thought best to close the outer end of the heading with an air-tight door, and place another ten feet behind it, thus forming an airlock. Fresh air was forced into and compressed in the heading by means of an air-pump operated from the flat-boat at the outer end. These precautions were taken for fear lest when they broke through into the breast the air in it, compressed by the flood, should rush out with destructive force. It was also feared that, relieved from its air pressure, the water in the breast would rise and cut off the escape of any persons who might be in there.
The position of those engaged in the work of rescue was by no means free from peril. The pumps, running at fullest speed, were barely able to keep the water from rising and flooding the new heading, so great and continuous was the flow into the mine from the soaked earth above it. They did not know but that any moment some fresh and unsuspected accumulation in the old workings might break forth and send a second flood pouring in upon them. Above all there was an ever-present danger from foul gases, which formed so rapidly that at times work had to be entirely suspended until they could be cleared away. Thus every time the relief men went down to their self-imposed labor their departure was watched by anxious women with tearful eyes and heavy hearts.
For a day and a night these stout-hearted men worked without knowing whether they sought the living or the dead. On the afternoon of the second day, during a momentary pause in the steady rattle of the picks, Jack Hobson, who was at the inner end of the heading, thought he heard a knocking. Calling for perfect silence, he listened. Yes, it was! Faint, but unmistakable, it came again.
"Tap, tap, tap; tap, tap, tap; tap, tap, tap," and a pause. Then it was repeated, and its meaning could not be doubted. As plain as human speech, it said,
"Here we are, still alive, but in great distress. We know you are coming, but you must hurry."
From mouth to mouth the joyful news was carried out from the heading, across the sullen waters, up the slope to the anxious waiting throngs, and on throbbing wires throughout the length and breadth of the land.
Mrs. Sterling heard it and lifted her tear-stained face in earnest thankfulness to Heaven. The Halfords heard it in Philadelphia, and Mr. Halford said he could stand it no longer, but must go to Raven Brook and be on hand when the men were rescued. Before another sun rose that faint tapping made in the recesses of the drowned mine by Derrick Sterling with a bit of rock had been heard around the world.
Now the brave fellows in the heading knew what they were working for, and the blows of their picks fell faster and harder than ever on the glistening wall that still opposed its black front to them.
The excitement at the mouth of the mine was now intense, and every man who came up from it was besieged by anxious inquiries for the very latest news. What was the meaning of the three taps three times repeated? Did it signify that there were nine persons in the breast, or only three? If only three, where were the others? Who were the three? How many were alive? Were any dead? These and a thousand like questions were asked and discussed, but nobody could answer them certainly.
The reports brought up were only regarding the progress of the work. So many feet in an hour, so many yards a day. Now there are only six feet more to cut through; now five, four, three, and now but eighteen inches. The suspense is terrible. To the mothers and wives waiting for the end up in the little village it is almost too great to be borne. To the haggard men behind those eighteen inches of black rock it seems as though the breath of fresh air for want of which they are dying would come too late.
They press eagerly against the wall, and in their feebleness pick vainly at it with their fingers. It will not yield. Even Monk Tooley, who was so fierce and strong five days before, can make no impression on it.
Now but one foot of wall remains, and Tom Evert pauses in his task to dash the sweat-drops from his eyes, and to call, as he has already a dozen times,
"Holloa! Holloa in there!"
Like an echo comes the answer, faint but distinct,
"Holloa! Hurry!"
He only stops to call louder than before, but with a tremble in his voice,
"Is—Paul—Evert—alive?" and with ear held against the wet wall he breathlessly awaits the answer.
"Yes."
The word is enough, and with the fury and strength of a giant he again attacks the wall. He pays no attention to the relief who is ready to take his place. He knows nothing, cares for nothing, save that his boy is waiting for him beyond those few inches of crumbling coal.
At last his pick strikes through. A few more desperate strokes and the barrier is broken away. He springs into the breast. Another instant and his crippled lad, whom he had thought never to see again, is strained to his heart, and the burly miner is sobbing like a child.
CHAPTER XIX
RESTORED TO DAYLIGHT
In the overwhelming joy of the moment, Tom Evert had no thought save for the son whom he had snatched from the very gates of death. He was absolutely unconscious of the presence of another human being in the breast, nor did the broken words of blessing and gratitude uttered by the faint-voiced miners find their way to his ear. His instinct was to get his lad out from that stifling, foul-aired place, and, still holding him in his arms, he crawled back through the heading, was borne swiftly across the waters from which he had snatched their prey, and drawn up the slope.
As he stepped from the car at its mouth, and they saw what it was he bore so tenderly and proudly, a mighty cheer went up from the assembled throng. Another and another. They were wild with joy. The long suspense was over, the terrible strain was relaxed, and they gave way to their feelings.
Suddenly they noticed that the drooping head of the lad was not lifted from the broad shoulder on which it rested. His arms hung limp and lifeless. A great silence came over the multitude. They stood awe-stricken, as in the presence of death, and pressing aside in front of the advancing miner, they made way for him to pass.
Still bearing his burden, unconscious of all besides, and looking neither to the right nor to the left, Tom Evert passed through the human lane thus formed, and went home—home to the rude, unpainted house in which Paul was born, and which, during the darkness and despair of the past five days, had been a constant picture before his mind's eye—home to the mother whose tenderest love has ever been for her crippled boy. Home!
Although Tom Evert, with eyes and ears only for his own, had no thought of the others for whom he had broken open the prison door, there was no lack of warm hearts and willing hands to help them.
Following close after the miner Warren Jones entered the breast, and directly behind him was Jack Hobson. The light from their lamps dazzled the eyes that for three days had lived in a darkness as absolute as though no light existed in the universe. Turning them away from the light, the prisoners listened eagerly for the voices of their deliverers. The first words they heard were from the mine boss, the man on whom they had depended, and who they knew had planned and carried out their rescue.
"Are you all here, men?"
"There's nine of us."
"And all alive?"
"All alive yet, thank God; though Boodle, poor lad, is wellnigh gone."
"Where is Derrick Sterling?"
"Here I am, sir," came a weak but well-known voice from back in the darkness.
Before Mr. Jones could locate it, the young man who had followed him so closely into the breast sprang to the side of the lad, and seizing his hand, exclaimed,
"Derrick Sterling, you are a splendid fellow, and this is one of the very happiest moments of my life!"
"Who are you?" asked Derrick, faintly.
"My name is Allan McClain," was the answer, "and if you will give me your friendship I shall consider it an honor to be proud of."
Trying weakly to return the hand-pressure of the young stranger, Derrick answered,
"He who has come to our rescue at the risk of his own life must indeed be my friend!"
Then the mine boss found them, and saying, "Drink this, my poor, brave lad," gave him a cup of rich warm soup, that had been made nearly an hour before, and kept warm over a spirit-lamp in the boat, just outside the heading.
It filled the boy with new life, and when he and the others had drank of it all that was allowed them, they felt strong enough to crawl out through the heading.
Derrick was the first to go and the first to be drawn up the slope, supported in the car by the young man to whom he had just given his friendship. As they approached the blessed sunlight, and the weary lad caught its first gleam, still far above him, he pressed the hand of his companion, and could do nothing but gaze at it. Could it be the very light of day that he had longed for and prayed for and despaired of ever seeing again? He knew it must be, but it seemed almost too glorious to be real.
When they reached the surface, the light that had roused such a tumult of feeling within him revealed two great tears coursing slowly down through the grime of his hollow cheeks.
The excitement over Paul Evert's appearance was as nothing compared with that aroused by the sight of Derrick Sterling. Had not his name been a household word throughout the land for days? Was he not a brave fellow whom they all loved? Could they cheer loud enough or long enough to do him honor, and testify their joy at his deliverance? It did not seem as though they could; and poor Derrick stood before them, trembling with strong emotion, without knowing which way to turn or look.
The reporters, who were taking mental notes of his appearance, also gazed curiously at the young man who had come up from the mine with him, and on whom he now leaned. He was a miner, of course, for he was dressed in mine clothes, and was as begrimed as the sootiest delver of them all, but who was he? He had somewhere lost his miner's cap, and the yellow, close-cropped curls of his uncovered head had a strangely familiar look.
He noticed their stares, knew what was passing in their minds, and laughingly said:
"Yes, fellows; I'm McClain of the Explorer, and I guess I've got a beat on you all this time." Then to Derrick he said, "Come, Sterling, we must get out of this; there's a mother waiting for you over there."
Just then another car-load of rescued men was drawn up, and again the excited spectators broke forth in a tumult of cheers. Under cover of this diversion, Derrick, half supported by Allan McClain, walked slowly away towards the little vine-covered cottage at the end of the village street. Here his mother awaited him, for she felt that their meeting was something too sacred to be witnessed by stranger eyes.
At the mouth of the slope similar meetings were taking place between others who had less self-control or less delicacy, but who, in their way, showed equal affection and deep feeling. Wives greeted husbands who appeared to them as risen from the dead, and mothers wept over sons whom they had deemed lost to them forever.
As Monk Tooley stepped from the car, the first to hold out a hand to him was his son Bill, leaning on a crutch, and still bearing traces of his illness. His greeting was,
"Well, feyther, we've missed yer sad! Thought maybe yer wouldn't get back no more."
"I'm not dat easy got rid of, lad. Had a plenty ter eat, hain't yer?"
"Plenty, feyther, sich as it was."
"Dat's more'n I have, an' I hope yer've saved a bite fer yer dad. Starvin's hungry work."
Nothing else was overheard; but the tones of the rough man and his equally rough son held an unwonted accent of tenderness. As they grasped each other's hand, one gazed curiously at his father's haggard face, and the other cast a pitying glance at his son's rude crutch.
Not the least interested spectator of these touching scenes was Mr. Halford, who had arrived that morning from Philadelphia. When, after all the rest had been sent safely to the surface the mine boss was drawn up the slope, and was in turn greeted with a rousing cheer, that gentlemen slipped an arm through his, and led him away, saying,
"You have done nobly, Warren, and I am proud to call you brother."
"I could have done nothing, Harold, if these brave fellows had not stood by me as they have."
"And they could have done nothing without your level head to direct them and your splendid example to stimulate them."
So the great colliery disaster was happily ended, and in Raven Brook village great sorrow was turned to great joy.
As the two gentlemen sat talking together in the room that the mine boss called his den, that evening, Mr. Halford said,
"By-the-way, Warren, I did not take this trip wholly out of curiosity to witness your rescue of the miners. I want to learn something of this young Sterling. Did you know his father?"
"Yes, he was one of my warmest friends."
"Was his name Gilbert?"
"Yes."
"Do you know whether he ever lived in Crawford County?"
"That is where he came from; he was born and raised there."
"Did you ever hear him speak of owning any property there?"
"I have heard him mention a little old rocky farm that was left to him; but he always spoke of it as being too poor to have any value. In fact he once told me that it was not worth the taxes he paid on it."
"I declare, I believe it is the very place! If these Sterlings turn out to be the people you lead me to think they are, Warren, there's a small fortune awaiting them."
"What! a fortune awaiting the widow Sterling and Derrick? It can't be! Why, they haven't a relative in the world."
"That may all be, but what I tell you is true. If this Gilbert Sterling was a son of Deacon Giles Sterling of Newfields, in Crawford County, his heirs are the owners of one of the most valuable bits of property in the State. Why, man, this little old rocky farm you speak of, if it is the same—and I am inclined to think it must be—lies in the very centre of the richest oil district that has yet been discovered. The best-paying well owned by our company is located on its border. For a clear title to that farm I am authorized to offer twenty-five thousand dollars cash, and a one-fifth interest in whatever oil may be taken from it."
The next morning Mr. Jones called at the Sterlings', and was amazed to find Derrick already showing signs of recovery. A splendid constitution and a determined will, aided by twelve hours of sleep and an abundance of nourishing food, were already beginning to efface the traces of hunger and suffering.
The boy gave his visitor a cheerful greeting, and tried to express something of his gratitude in words, but they failed him utterly.
The other said, "Don't try, Derrick. It's over now, and we all have cause for the most profound gratitude; but each of us understands the other's feelings, and there is no need of words between us."
Mrs. Sterling's eyes were filled with happy tears as, sitting beside her son, she tried to tell something of the pride she felt in him. After a while she said,
"I know it's wrong, but I can't help trying to look ahead a little, and, I confess, with some anxiety. I want my boy to do what is right, and I do not want him to remain idle; but oh! Mr. Jones, I cannot let him go down into that awful mine again. It has nearly killed him; and I am sure I could not survive another such experience."
"I don't blame you for feeling as you do," said the young man, "and I think perhaps some other arrangement can be made. One reason for my calling this morning was to ask if I might bring a gentleman to see you who is greatly interested in Derrick, and desirous of making his acquaintance. Are you willing that I should, and do you think Derrick is strong enough to receive visitors?"
"Certainly I am," said Mrs. Sterling; and Derrick answered for himself that he felt strong enough to see any number of gentlemen who were interested in him.
So Mr. Jones left them, and shortly afterwards returned with Mr. Halford, who soon won his way to the mother's heart by saying pleasant things about her boy, and to Derrick's by thanking him for his kindness to Mrs. Halford and Miss Nellie. He said that he had been especially commissioned by his daughter to inquire concerning the welfare of her bumping-mule, and was glad to hear from Derrick that that knowing animal was rapidly recovering from his injuries.
The conversation was led on from one thing to another, until Mr. Halford was satisfied that he had really found the family of whom he was in search. Then he told them of the good-fortune in store for them, provided they could prove their ownership of the little Bradford County farm.
Trembling with excitement, Mrs. Sterling brought out a box full of her husband's papers, among which was found a deed for the farm, and receipts for taxes paid up to the time of his death.
Having satisfied himself of the correctness of these, Mr. Halford made them the offer of which he had spoken to Mr. Jones the evening before. Then he left them, saying he knew they would want some time to consider his proposition, and that he would call the next day to learn their decision.
After their visitors had gone, Derrick and his mother gazed wonderingly at each other. Could it all be true? Were their days of poverty really over? Was the overworked mother to have a release from the toil and the bitter anxieties that made her look so thin and careworn? Were Derrick's dreams of a college education and a profession about to be realized?
Long and earnestly they talked, but not as to what answer they should give Mr. Halford. They had decided that almost before he left. They talked with grateful and loving hearts of the Heavenly Father who had so ordered their ways as to turn their very darkness into brightest light. As she thought over her mercies, the wonderful promises that had sustained the widowed mother through so many an hour of trial came back to her with their fullest force.
That afternoon Derrick felt strong enough to walk out, and went to the Everts' to see his dear friend and recent companion in suffering. He found Paul able to see and talk to him, but in bed, and very weak and languid.
"If I could only get away, far away from it all, Dare," he said. "The horror of the mine hangs over me all the time, and I'd almost rather never get well than go down into it again."
Then Derrick bent down and whispered something that brought a new light into the crippled lad's eyes and a faint flush to his pale cheeks.
"Oh, Dare!" he exclaimed. "Is it true? Really! Do you mean it?"
Derrick answered that it was true, and he meant every word of it.
