father’s views and opinions, and keeping their own thoughts in abeyance, that to be appealed to in this way was something of a novelty.
Henry’s travels in France and Germany had given him plenty of confidence, however, which his brother still lacked, and he was the lucky possessor too of great natural charm and grace of manner, in addition to a good brain, and, glancing across at Captain Nicholson with a smile, he asked for permission to descend the mine.
“By all means, sir,” said the Captain, “and I will come with you myself.”
“No, don’t trouble to do that,” said Henry. “I think it might be better if I went alone, and possibly my brother could come with me. We may strike upon something that will give a clue to the business and solve your troubles.”
“I wish you success,” said his father, with a short laugh, “but take care not to lose yourselves. John is quite capable of tumbling down the shaft and breaking his neck.”
The brothers left the small counting-house and walked past the dressing-sheds and the trolleys to the ladder, close to the shaft head.
“Well,” said John, “what’s in your mind?”
“Just something,” smiled his brother, “but I shan’t tell you yet. I Want your help, all the same. When we get down to the level where Nicholson told us the men were working yesterday, you must somehow get the fellow there in conversation, while I look about the place without interference. When you see me blow my nose, that will be your signal.”
“What am I to talk to the man about?” objected John.
“Anything you please. Tell him about your new greyhound. But keep his attention distracted.”
“What a tom-fool business it is!” said John. “If I were my father I should let matters alone, and leave the fellows to take the copper. There must be enough to go round. Confound it, Henry, look at the mess they are making of Hungry Hill.”
He pointed at the tall, lean chimney, the long row of sheds, the clustered huts where the miners lived.
“And all,” laughed his brother, “so that I can amuse myself in Paris and Brussels, and you can race your greyhounds.”
They put on mining hats and overalls, and were soon descending the long, steep ladder into the mine.
The atmosphere was a curious mixture of chill and oppression, and the candles stuck in brackets at intervals gave a gloomy, fitful light.
They reached the first level, where they could see the figures of two of the miners beside the shaft, engaged in steadying the buckets en the chains before they were raised to the surface by a windlass. Henry enquired where the blasting operations were in progress, and the two brothers were directed to a lower level.
“It’s the narrowest level in the whole of the mine,” said one of the men. “You will have to go single file, and crawl part of the way.”
Henry was obviously enjoying himself, and looked about him the whole time with keen interest, now and again tapping the rock-face, and whistling under his breath, a habit of his when thinking very hard, while John, who with his superior height found the low ceiling highly uncomfortable, followed his elder brother in silence, aware that with every step he took farther into the bowels of the mine he became more and more depressed. He longed to be up and out of it, away in the fresh air on the top of Hungry Hill, and to him there was something degrading, almost evil, in burrowing like this into the depths, breaking the age-old rock with gunpowder to extract the hidden mineral.
A low rumble and muffled explosion not very far distant warned them that they were nearly within reach of the work, and through the gloom and smoke they edged their way along the gallery close to the miners.
The men’s faces looked grey and haggard in the dim light, and once again John was filled with a sense of oppression. If any harm came to these fellows through their grim work, it would be the fault of his father and himself.
Henry was amongst
Henry’s travels in France and Germany had given him plenty of confidence, however, which his brother still lacked, and he was the lucky possessor too of great natural charm and grace of manner, in addition to a good brain, and, glancing across at Captain Nicholson with a smile, he asked for permission to descend the mine.
“By all means, sir,” said the Captain, “and I will come with you myself.”
“No, don’t trouble to do that,” said Henry. “I think it might be better if I went alone, and possibly my brother could come with me. We may strike upon something that will give a clue to the business and solve your troubles.”
“I wish you success,” said his father, with a short laugh, “but take care not to lose yourselves. John is quite capable of tumbling down the shaft and breaking his neck.”
The brothers left the small counting-house and walked past the dressing-sheds and the trolleys to the ladder, close to the shaft head.
“Well,” said John, “what’s in your mind?”
“Just something,” smiled his brother, “but I shan’t tell you yet. I Want your help, all the same. When we get down to the level where Nicholson told us the men were working yesterday, you must somehow get the fellow there in conversation, while I look about the place without interference. When you see me blow my nose, that will be your signal.”
“What am I to talk to the man about?” objected John.
“Anything you please. Tell him about your new greyhound. But keep his attention distracted.”
“What a tom-fool business it is!” said John. “If I were my father I should let matters alone, and leave the fellows to take the copper. There must be enough to go round. Confound it, Henry, look at the mess they are making of Hungry Hill.”
He pointed at the tall, lean chimney, the long row of sheds, the clustered huts where the miners lived.
“And all,” laughed his brother, “so that I can amuse myself in Paris and Brussels, and you can race your greyhounds.”
They put on mining hats and overalls, and were soon descending the long, steep ladder into the mine.
The atmosphere was a curious mixture of chill and oppression, and the candles stuck in brackets at intervals gave a gloomy, fitful light.
They reached the first level, where they could see the figures of two of the miners beside the shaft, engaged in steadying the buckets en the chains before they were raised to the surface by a windlass. Henry enquired where the blasting operations were in progress, and the two brothers were directed to a lower level.
“It’s the narrowest level in the whole of the mine,” said one of the men. “You will have to go single file, and crawl part of the way.”
Henry was obviously enjoying himself, and looked about him the whole time with keen interest, now and again tapping the rock-face, and whistling under his breath, a habit of his when thinking very hard, while John, who with his superior height found the low ceiling highly uncomfortable, followed his elder brother in silence, aware that with every step he took farther into the bowels of the mine he became more and more depressed. He longed to be up and out of it, away in the fresh air on the top of Hungry Hill, and to him there was something degrading, almost evil, in burrowing like this into the depths, breaking the age-old rock with gunpowder to extract the hidden mineral.
A low rumble and muffled explosion not very far distant warned them that they were nearly within reach of the work, and through the gloom and smoke they edged their way along the gallery close to the miners.
The men’s faces looked grey and haggard in the dim light, and once again John was filled with a sense of oppression. If any harm came to these fellows through their grim work, it would be the fault of his father and himself.
Henry was amongst
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