at the overman’s enthusiasm; “let us cut our trenches under the waters
of the sea! Let us bore the bed of the Atlantic like a strainer; let
us with our picks join our brethren of the United States through
the subsoil of the ocean! let us dig into the center of the globe if
necessary, to tear out the last scrap of coal.”
“Are you joking, Mr. Starr?” asked Ford, with a pleased but slightly
suspicious look.
“I joking, old man? no! but you are so enthusiastic that you carry
me away into the regions of impossibility! Come, let us return to the
reality, which is sufficiently beautiful; leave our picks here, where we
may find them another day, and let’s take the road back to the cottage.”
Nothing more could be done for the time. Later, the engineer,
accompanied by a brigade of miners, supplied with lamps and all
necessary tools, would resume the exploration of New Aberfoyle. It was
now time to return to the Dochart pit. The road was easy, the gallery
running nearly straight through the rock up to the orifice opened by the
dynamite, so there was no fear of their losing themselves.
But as James Starr was proceeding towards the gallery Simon Ford stopped
him.
“Mr. Starr,” said he, “you see this immense cavern, this subterranean
lake, whose waters bathe this strand at our feet? Well! it is to this
place I mean to change my dwelling, here I will build a new cottage,
and if some brave fellows will follow my example, before a year is over
there will be one town more inside old England.”
James Starr, smiling approval of Ford’s plans, pressed his hand, and all
three, preceding Madge, re-entered the gallery, on their way back to
the Dochart pit. For the first mile no incident occurred. Harry walked
first, holding his lamp above his head. He carefully followed the
principal gallery, without ever turning aside into the narrow tunnels
which radiated to the right and left. It seemed as if the returning was
to be accomplished as easily as the going, when an unexpected accident
occurred which rendered the situation of the explorers very serious.
Just at a moment when Harry was raising his lamp there came a rush of
air, as if caused by the flapping of invisible wings. The lamp escaped
from his hands, fell on the rocky ground, and was broken to pieces.
James Starr and his companions were suddenly plunged in absolute
darkness. All the oil of the lamp was spilt, and it was of no further
use. “Well, Harry,” cried his father, “do you want us all to break our
necks on the way back to the cottage?”
Harry did not answer. He wondered if he ought to suspect the hand of a
mysterious being in this last accident? Could there possibly exist
in these depths an enemy whose unaccountable antagonism would one day
create serious difficulties? Had someone an interest in defending the
new coal field against any attempt at working it? In truth that seemed
absurd, yet the facts spoke for themselves, and they accumulated in such
a way as to change simple presumptions into certainties.
In the meantime the explorers’ situation was bad enough. They had now,
in the midst of black darkness, to follow the passage leading to the
Dochart pit for nearly five miles. There they would still have an hour’s
walk before reaching the cottage.
“Come along,” said Simon Ford. “We have no time to lose. We must grope
our way along, like blind men. There’s no fear of losing our way. The
tunnels which open off our road are only just like those in a molehill,
and by following the chief gallery we shall of course reach the opening
we got in at. After that, it is the old mine. We know that, and it won’t
be the first time that Harry and I have found ourselves there in the
dark. Besides, there we shall find the lamps that we left. Forward then!
Harry, go first. Mr. Starr, follow him. Madge, you go next, and I will
bring up the rear. Above everything, don’t let us get separated.”
All complied with the old overman’s instructions. As he said, by groping
carefully, they could not mistake the way. It was only necessary to make
the hands take the place of the eyes, and to trust to their instinct,
which had with Simon Ford and his son become a second nature.
James Starr and his companions walked on in the order agreed. They did
not speak, but it was not for want of thinking. It became evident that
they had an adversary. But what was he, and how were they to defend
themselves against these mysteriously-prepared attacks? These
disquieting ideas crowded into their brains. However, this was not the
moment to get discouraged.
Harry, his arms extended, advanced with a firm step, touching first one
and then the other side of the passage.
If a cleft or side opening presented itself, he felt with his hand
that it was not the main way; either the cleft was too shallow, or the
opening too narrow, and he thus kept in the right road.
In darkness through which the eye could not in the slightest degree
pierce, this difficult return lasted two hours. By reckoning the time
since they started, taking into consideration that the walking had not
been rapid, Starr calculated that he and his companions were near the
opening. In fact, almost immediately, Harry stopped.
“Have we got to the end of the gallery?” asked Simon Ford.
“Yes,” answered the young miner.
“Well! have you not found the hole which connects New Aberfoyle with the
Dochart pit?”
“No,” replied Harry, whose impatient hands met with nothing but a solid
wall.
The old overman stepped forward, and himself felt the schistous rock. A
cry escaped him.
Either the explorers had strayed from the right path on their return,
or the narrow orifice, broken in the rock by the dynamite, had been
recently stopped up. James Starr and his companions were prisoners in
New Aberfoyle.
CHAPTER IX. THE FIRE-MAIDENS
A WEEK after the events just related had taken place, James Starr’s
friends had become very anxious. The engineer had disappeared, and no
reason could be brought forward to explain his absence. They learnt, by
questioning his servant, that he had embarked at Granton Pier. But from
that time there were no traces of James Starr. Simon Ford’s letter had
requested secrecy, and he had said nothing of his departure for the
Aberfoyle mines.
Therefore in Edinburgh nothing was talked of but the unaccountable
absence of the engineer. Sir W. Elphiston, the President of the Royal
Institution, communicated to his colleagues a letter which James Starr
had sent him, excusing himself from being present at the next meeting
of the society. Two or three others produced similar letters. But though
these documents proved that Starr had left Edinburgh--which was known
before--they threw no light on what had become of him. Now, on the part
of such a man, this prolonged absence, so contrary to his usual habits,
naturally first caused surprise, and then anxiety.
A notice was inserted in the principal newspapers of the United Kingdom
relative to the engineer James Starr, giving a description of him and
the date on which he left Edinburgh; nothing more could be done but to
wait. The time passed in great anxiety. The scientific world of England
was inclined to believe that one of its most distinguished members
had positively disappeared. At the same time, when so many people
were thinking about James Starr, Harry Ford was the subject of no less
anxiety. Only, instead of occupying public attention, the son of the old
overman was the cause of trouble alone to the generally cheerful mind of
Jack Ryan.
It may be remembered that, in their encounter in the Yarrow shaft, Jack
Ryan had invited Harry to come a week afterwards to the festivities at
Irvine. Harry had accepted and promised expressly to be there. Jack Ryan
knew, having had it proved by many circumstances, that his friend was
a man of his word. With him, a thing promised was a thing done. Now, at
the Irvine merry-making, nothing was wanting; neither song, nor dance,
nor fun of any sort--nothing but Harry Ford.
The notice relative to James Starr, published in the papers, had not
yet been seen by Ryan. The honest fellow was therefore only worried by
Harry’s absence, telling himself that something serious could alone have
prevented him from keeping his promise. So, the day after the Irvine
games, Jack Ryan intended to take the railway from Glasgow and go to the
Dochart pit; and this he would have done had he not been detained by an
accident which nearly cost him his life. Something which occurred on the
night of the 12th of December was of a nature to support the opinions of
all partisans of the supernatural, and there were many at Melrose Farm.
Irvine, a little seaport of Renfrew, containing nearly seven thousand
inhabitants, lies in a sharp bend made by the Scottish coast, near the
mouth of the Firth of Clyde. The most ancient and the most famed ruins
on this part of the coast were those of this castle of Robert Stuart,
which bore the name of Dundonald Castle.
At this period Dundonald Castle, a refuge for all the stray goblins
of the country, was completely deserted. It stood on the top of a high
rock, two miles from the town, and was seldom visited. Sometimes a
few strangers took it into their heads to explore these old historical
remains, but then they always went alone. The inhabitants of Irvine
would not have taken them there at any price. Indeed, several legends
were based on the story of certain “fire-maidens,” who haunted the old
castle.
The most superstitious declared they had seen these fantastic creatures
with their own eyes. Jack Ryan was naturally one of them. It was a fact
that from time to time long flames appeared, sometimes on a broken piece
of wall, sometimes on the summit of the tower which was the highest
point of Dundonald Castle.
Did these flames really assume a human shape, as was asserted? Did they
merit the name of fire-maidens, given them by the people of the coast?
It was evidently just an optical delusion, aided by a good deal of
credulity, and science could easily have explained the phenomenon.
However that might be, these fire-maidens had the reputation of
frequenting the ruins of the old castle and there performing wild
strathspeys, especially on dark nights. Jack Ryan, bold fellow though he
was, would never have dared to accompany those dances with the music of
his bagpipes.
“Old Nick is enough for them!” said he. “He doesn’t need me to complete
his infernal orchestra.”
We may well believe that these strange apparitions frequently furnished
a text for the evening stories. Jack Ryan was ending the evening with
one of these. His auditors, transported into the phantom world, were
worked up into a state of mind which would believe anything.
All at once shouts were heard outside. Jack Ryan stopped short in the
middle of his story, and all rushed out of the barn. The night was
pitchy dark. Squalls of wind and rain swept along the beach. Two or
three fishermen, their backs against a rock, the better to resist the
wind, were shouting at the top of their voices.
Jack Ryan and his companions ran up to them. The shouts were, however,
not for the inhabitants of the farm, but to warn men who, without being
aware of it, were going to destruction. A dark, confused mass appeared
some way out at sea. It was a vessel whose position could be seen by
her lights, for she carried a white one on her foremast, a green on
the starboard side, and a red on the outside. She was evidently running
straight on the rocks.
“A ship in distress?” said Ryan.
“Ay,” answered one of the fishermen, “and now they want to tack, but
it’s too late!”
“Do they want to run ashore?” said another.
“It seems so,” responded one of the fishermen, “unless he has been
misled by some--”
The man was interrupted by a yell from Jack. Could the crew have heard
it? At any rate, it was too late for them to beat back from the line of
breakers which gleamed white in the darkness.
But it was not, as might be supposed, a last effort of Ryan’s to warn
the doomed ship. He now had his back to the sea. His companions turned
also, and gazed at a spot situated about half a mile inland. It was
Dundonald Castle. A long flame twisted and bent under the gale, on the
summit of the old tower.
“The Fire-Maiden!” cried the superstitious men in terror.
Clearly, it needed a good strong imagination to find any human likeness
in that flame. Waving in the wind like a luminous flag, it seemed
sometimes to fly round the tower, as if it was just going out, and a
moment after it was seen again dancing on its blue point.
“The Fire-Maiden! the Fire-Maiden!” cried the terrified fishermen and
peasants.
All was then explained. The ship, having lost her reckoning in the
fog, had taken this flame on the top of Dundonald Castle for the Irvine
light. She thought herself at the entrance of the Firth, ten miles
to the north, when she was really running on a shore which offered no
refuge.
What could be done to save her, if there was still time? It was too
late. A frightful crash was heard above the tumult of the elements. The
vessel had struck. The white line of surf was broken for an instant; she
heeled over on her side and lay among the rocks.
At the same time, by a strange coincidence, the long flame disappeared,
as if it had been swept away by a violent gust. Earth, sea, and sky were
plunged in complete darkness.
“The Fire-Maiden!” shouted Ryan, for the last time, as the apparition,
which he and his companions believed supernatural, disappeared. But then
the courage of these superstitious Scotchmen, which had failed before a
fancied danger, returned in face of a real one, which they were ready to
brave in order to save their fellow-creatures. The tempest did not deter
them. As heroic as they had before been credulous, fastening ropes round
their waists, they rushed into the waves to the aid of those on the
wreck.
Happily, they succeeded in their endeavors, although some--and bold Jack
Ryan was among the number--were severely wounded on the rocks. But the
captain of the vessel and the eight sailors who composed his crew were
hauled up, safe and sound, on the beach.
The ship was the Norwegian brig MOTALA, laden with timber, and bound for
Glasgow. Of the MOTALA herself nothing remained but a few spars, washed
up by the waves, and dashed among the rocks on the beach.
Jack Ryan and three of his companions, wounded like himself, were
carried into a room of Melrose Farm, where every care was lavished on
them. Ryan was the most hurt, for when with the rope round his waist
he had rushed into the sea, the waves had almost immediately dashed him
back against the rocks. He was brought, indeed, very nearly lifeless on
to the beach.
The brave fellow was therefore confined to bed for several days, to his
great disgust. However, as soon as he was given permission to sing as
much as he liked, he bore his trouble patiently, and the farm echoed
all day with his jovial voice. But from this adventure he imbibed a more
lively sentiment of fear with regard to brownies and other goblins who
amuse themselves by plaguing mankind, and he made them responsible
for the catastrophe of the Motala. It would have been vain to try and
convince him that the Fire-Maidens did not exist, and that the flame,
so suddenly appearing among the ruins, was but a natural phenomenon. No
reasoning could make him believe it. His companions were, if possible,
more obstinate than he in their credulity. According to them, one of the
Fire-Maidens had maliciously attracted the MOTALA to the coast. As to
wishing to punish her, as well try to bring the tempest to justice! The
magistrates might order what arrests they pleased, but a flame cannot
be imprisoned, an impalpable being can’t be handcuffed. It must be
acknowledged that the researches which were ultimately made gave ground,
at least in appearance, to this superstitious way of explaining the
facts.
The inquiry was made with great care. Officials came to Dundonald
Castle, and they proceeded to conduct a most vigorous search. The
magistrate wished first to ascertain if the ground bore any footprints,
which could be attributed to other than goblins’ feet. It was impossible
to find the least trace, whether old or new. Moreover, the earth, still
damp from the rain of the day before, would have preserved the least
vestige.
The result of all this was, that the magistrates only got for their
trouble a new legend added to so many others--a legend which would be
perpetuated by the remembrance of the catastrophe of the MOTALA, and
indisputably confirm the truth of the apparition of the Fire-Maidens.
A hearty fellow like Jack Ryan, with so strong a constitution, could not
be long confined to his bed. A few sprains and bruises were not quite
enough to keep him on his back longer than he liked. He had not time to
be ill.
Jack, therefore, soon got well. As soon as he was on his legs again,
before resuming his work on the farm, he wished to go and visit his
friend Harry, and learn why he had not come to the Irvine merry-making.
He could not understand his absence, for Harry was not a man who would
willingly promise and not perform. It was unlikely, too, that the son of
the old overman had not heard of the wreck of the MOTALA, as it was in
all the papers. He must know the part Jack had taken in it, and what had
happened to him, and it was unlike Harry not to hasten to the farm and
see how his old chum was going on.
As Harry had not come, there must have been something to prevent him.
Jack Ryan would as soon deny the existence of the Fire-Maidens as
believe in Harry’s indifference.
Two days after the catastrophe Jack left the farm merily, feeling
nothing of his wounds. Singing in the fullness of his heart, he awoke
the echoes of the cliff, as he walked to the station of the railway,
which VIA Glasgow would take him to Stirling and Callander.
As he was waiting for his train, his attention was attracted by a bill
posted up on the walls, containing the following notice:
“On the 4th of December, the engineer, James Starr, of Edinburgh,
embarked from Granton Pier, on board the Prince of Wales. He disembarked
the same day at Stirling. From that time nothing further has been heard
of him.
“Any information concerning him is requested to be sent to the President
of the Royal Institution, Edinburgh.”
Jack Ryan, stopping before one of these advertisements, read it twice
over, with extreme surprise.
“Mr. Starr!” he exclaimed. “Why, on the 4th of December I met him with
Harry on the ladder of the Dochart pit! That was ten days ago! And he
has not been seen from that time! That explains why my chum didn’t come
to Irvine.”
And without taking time to inform the President of the Royal Institution
by letter, what he knew relative to James Starr, Jack jumped into the
train, determining to go first of all to the Yarrow shaft. There he
would descend to the depths of the pit, if necessary, to find Harry, and
with him was sure to be the engineer James Starr.
“They haven’t turned up again,” said he to himself. “Why? Has anything
prevented them? Could any work of importance keep them still at the
bottom of the mine? I must find out!” and Ryan, hastening his steps,
arrived in less than an hour at the Yarrow shaft.
Externally nothing was changed. The same silence around. Not a living
creature was moving in that desert region. Jack entered the ruined shed
which covered the opening of the shaft. He gazed down into the dark
abyss--nothing was to be seen. He listened--nothing was to be heard.
“And my lamp!” he exclaimed; “suppose it isn’t in its place!” The lamp
which Ryan used when he visited the pit was usually deposited in a
corner, near the landing of the topmost ladder. It had disappeared.
“Here is a nuisance!” said Jack, beginning to feel rather uneasy. Then,
without hesitating, superstitious though he was, “I will go,” said he,
“though it’s as dark down there as in the lowest depths of the infernal
regions!”
And he began to descend the long flight of ladders, which led down the
gloomy shaft. Jack Ryan had not forgotten his old mining habits, and
he was well acquainted with the Dochart pit, or he would scarcely have
dared to venture thus. He went very carefully, however. His foot tried
each round, as some of them were worm-eaten. A false step would entail a
deadly fall, through this space of fifteen hundred feet. He counted each
landing as he passed it, knowing that he could not reach the bottom of
the shaft until he had left the thirtieth. Once there, he would have no
trouble, so he thought, in finding the cottage, built, as we have said,
at the extremity of the principal passage.
Jack Ryan went on thus until he got to the twenty-sixth landing, and
consequently had two hundred feet between him and the bottom.
Here he put down his leg to feel for the first rung of the
twenty-seventh ladder. But his foot swinging in space found nothing to
rest on. He knelt down and felt about with his hand for the top of the
ladder. It was in vain.
“Old Nick himself must have been down this way!” said Jack, not without
a slight feeling of terror.
He stood considering for some time, with folded arms, and longing to be
able to pierce the impenetrable darkness. Then it occurred to him that
if he could not get down, neither could the inhabitants of the mine get
up. There was now no communication between the depths of the pit and the
upper regions. If the removal of the lower ladders of the Yarrow shaft
had been effected since his last visit to the cottage, what had become
of Simon Ford, his wife, his son, and the engineer?
The prolonged absence of James Starr proved that he had not left the pit
since the day Ryan met with him in the shaft. How had the cottage been
provisioned since then? The food of these unfortunate people, imprisoned
fifteen hundred feet below the surface of the ground, must have been
exhausted by this time.
All this passed through Jack’s mind, as he saw that by himself he could
do nothing to get to the cottage. He had no doubt but that communication
had been interrupted with a malevolent intention. At any rate, the
authorities must be informed, and that as soon as possible. Jack Ryan
bent forward from the landing.
“Harry! Harry!” he shouted with his powerful voice.
Harry’s name echoed and re-echoed among the rocks, and finally died away
in the depths of the shaft.
Ryan rapidly ascended the upper ladders and returned to the light of
day. Without losing a moment he reached the Callander station, just
caught the express to Edinburgh, and by three o’clock was before the
Lord Provost.
There his declaration was received. His account was given so clearly
that it could not be doubted. Sir William Elphiston, President of the
Royal Institution, and not only colleague, but a personal friend of
Starr’s, was also informed, and asked to direct the search which was
to be made without delay in the mine. Several men were placed at his
disposal, supplied with lamps, picks, long rope ladders, not forgetting
provisions and cordials. Then guided by Jack Ryan, the party set out for
the Aberfoyle mines.
The same evening the expedition arrived at the opening of the Yarrow
shaft, and descended to the twenty-seventh landing, at which Jack Ryan
had been stopped a few hours previously. The lamps, fastened to long
ropes, were lowered down the shaft, and it was thus ascertained that the
four last ladders were wanting.
As soon as the lamps had been brought up, the men fixed to the landing a
rope ladder, which unrolled itself down the shaft, and all descended one
after the other. Jack Ryan’s descent was the most difficult, for he went
first down the swinging ladders, and fastened them for the others.
The space at the bottom of the shaft was completely deserted; but Sir
William was much surprised at hearing Jack Ryan exclaim, “Here are bits
of the ladders, and some of them half burnt!”
“Burnt?” repeated Sir William. “Indeed, here sure enough are cinders
which have evidently been cold a long time!”
“Do you think, sir,” asked Ryan, “that Mr. Starr could have had any
reason for burning the ladders, and thus breaking of communication with
the world?”
“Certainly not,” answered Sir William Elphiston, who had become very
thoughtful. “Come, my lad, lead us to the cottage. There we shall
ascertain the truth.”
Jack Ryan shook his head, as if not at all convinced. Then, taking a
lamp from the hands of one of the men, he proceeded with a rapid step
along the principal passage of the Dochart pit. The others all followed
him.
In a quarter of an hour the party arrived at the excavation in which
stood Simon Ford’s cottage. There was no light in the window. Ryan
darted to the door, and threw it open. The house was empty.
They examined all the rooms in the somber habitation. No trace of
violence was to be found. All was in order, as if old Madge had been
still there. There was even an ample supply of provisions, enough to
last the Ford family for several days.
The absence of the tenants of the cottage was quite unaccountable. But
was it not possible to find out the exact time they had quitted it? Yes,
for in this region, where there was no difference of day or night, Madge
was accustomed to mark with a cross each day in her almanac.
The almanac was pinned up on the wall, and there the last cross had been
made at the 6th of December; that is to say, a day after the arrival of
James Starr, to which Ryan could positively swear. It was clear that on
the 6th of December, ten days ago, Simon Ford, his wife, son, and
guest, had quitted the cottage. Could a fresh exploration of the mine,
undertaken by the engineer, account for such a long absence? Certainly
not.
It was intensely dark all round. The lamps held by the men gave light
only just where they were standing. Suddenly Jack Ryan uttered a cry.
“Look there, there!”
His finger was pointing to a tolerably bright light, which was moving
about in the distance. “After that light, my men!” exclaimed Sir
William.
“It’s a goblin light!” said Ryan. “So what’s the use? We shall never
catch it.”
The president and his men, little given to superstition, darted off in
the direction of the moving light. Jack Ryan, bravely following their
example, quickly overtook the head-most of the party.
It was a long and fatiguing chase. The lantern seemed to be carried by a
being of small size, but singular agility.
Every now and then it disappeared behind some pillar, then was seen
again at the end of a cross gallery. A sharp turn would place it out of
sight, and it seemed to have completely disappeared, when all at once
there would be the light as bright as ever. However, they gained very
little on it, and Ryan’s belief that they could never catch it seemed
far from groundless.
After an hour of this vain pursuit Sir William Elphiston and his
companions had gone a long way in the southwest direction of the pit,
and began to think they really had to do with an impalpable being. Just
then it seemed as if the distance between the goblin and those who
were pursuing it was becoming less. Could it be fatigued, or did this
invisible being wish to entice Sir William and his companions to the
place where the inhabitants of the cottage had perhaps themselves been
enticed. It was hard to say.
The men, seeing that the distance lessened, redoubled their efforts. The
light which had before burnt at a distance of more than two hundred
feet before them was now seen at less than fifty. The space continued
to diminish. The bearer of the lamp became partially visible. Sometimes,
when it turned its head, the indistinct profile of a human face could be
made out, and unless a sprite could assume bodily shape, Jack Ryan was
obliged to confess that here was no supernatural being. Then, springing
forward,--
“Courage, comrades!” he exclaimed; “it is getting tired! We shall soon
catch it up now, and if it can talk as well as it can run we shall hear
a fine story.”
But the pursuit had suddenly become more difficult. They were in
unknown regions of the mine; narrow passages crossed each other like
the windings of a labyrinth. The bearer of the lamp might escape them as
easily as possible, by just extinguishing the light and retreating into
some dark refuge.
“And indeed,” thought Sir William, “if it wishes to avoid us, why does
it not do so?”
Hitherto there had evidently been no intention to avoid them, but
just as the thought crossed Sir William’s mind the light suddenly
disappeared, and the party, continuing the pursuit, found themselves
before an extremely narrow natural opening in the schistous rocks.
To trim their lamps, spring forward, and dart through the opening, was
for Sir William and his party but the work of an instant. But before
they had gone a hundred paces along this new gallery, much wider and
loftier than the former, they all stopped short. There, near the wall,
lay four bodies, stretched on the ground--four corpses, perhaps!
“James Starr!” exclaimed Sir William Elphiston.
“Harry! Harry!” cried Ryan, throwing himself down beside his friend.
It was indeed the engineer, Madge, Simon, and Harry Ford who were lying
there motionless. But one of the bodies moved slightly, and Madge’s
voice was heard faintly murmuring, “See to the others! help them first!”
Sir William, Jack, and their companions endeavored to reanimate the
engineer and his friends by getting them to swallow a few drops of
brandy. They very soon succeeded. The unfortunate people, shut up in
that dark cavern for ten days, were dying of starvation. They must have
perished had they not on three occasions found a loaf of bread and a jug
of water set near them. No doubt the charitable being to whom they owed
their lives was unable to do more for them.
Sir William wondered whether this might not have been the work of the
strange sprite who had allured them to the very spot where James Starr
and his companions lay.
However that might be, the engineer, Madge, Simon, and Harry Ford were
saved. They were assisted to the cottage, passing through the narrow
opening which the bearer of the strange light had apparently wished to
point out to Sir William. This was a natural opening. The passage which
James Starr and his companions had made for themselves with dynamite had
been completely blocked up with rocks laid one upon another.
So, then, whilst they had been exploring the vast cavern, the way back
had been purposely closed against them by a hostile hand.
CHAPTER X. COAL TOWN
THREE years after the events which have just been related, the
guide-books recommended as a “great attraction,” to the numerous
tourists who roam over the county of Stirling, a visit of a few hours to
the mines of New Aberfoyle.
No mine in any country, either in the Old or New World, could present a
more curious aspect.
To begin with, the visitor was transported without danger or fatigue to
a level with the workings, at fifteen hundred feet below the surface of
the ground. Seven miles to the southwest of Callander opened a slanting
tunnel, adorned with a castellated entrance, turrets and battlements.
This lofty tunnel gently sloped straight to the stupendous crypt,
hollowed out so strangely in the bowels of the earth.
A double line of railway, the wagons being moved by hydraulic power,
plied from hour to hour to and from the village thus buried in the
subsoil of the county, and which bore the rather ambitious title of Coal
Town.
Arrived in Coal Town, the visitor found himself in a place where
electricity played a principal part as an agent of heat and light.
Although the ventilation shafts were numerous, they were not sufficient
to admit much daylight into New Aberfoyle, yet it had abundance of
light. This was shed from numbers of electric discs; some suspended from
the vaulted roofs, others hanging on the natural pillars--all, whether
suns or stars in size, were fed by continuous currents produced from
electro-magnetic machines. When the hour of rest arrived, an artificial
night was easily produced all over the mine by disconnecting the wires.
Below the dome lay a lake of an extent to be compared to the Dead Sea
of the Mammoth caves--a deep lake whose transparent waters swarmed with
eyeless fish, and to which the engineer gave the name of Loch Malcolm.
There, in this immense natural excavation, Simon Ford built his new
cottage, which he would not have exchanged for the finest house in
Prince’s Street, Edinburgh. This dwelling was situated on the shores
of the loch, and its five windows looked out on the dark waters, which
extended further than the eye could see. Two months later a second
habitation was erected in the neighborhood of Simon Ford’s cottage: this
was for James Starr. The engineer had given himself body and soul to New
Aberfoyle, and nothing but the most imperative necessity ever caused
him to leave the pit. There, then, he lived in the midst of his mining
world.
On the discovery of the new field, all the old colliers had hastened to
leave the plow and harrow, and resume the pick and mattock. Attracted
by the certainty that work would never fail, allured by the high wages
which the prosperity of the mine enabled the company to offer for labor,
they deserted the open air for an underground life, and took up their
abode in the mines.
The miners’ houses, built of brick, soon grew up in a picturesque
fashion; some on the banks of Loch Malcolm, others under the arches
which seemed made to resist the weight that pressed upon them, like the
piers of a bridge. So was founded Coal Town, situated under the eastern
point of Loch Katrine, to the north of the county of Stirling. It was a
regular settlement on the banks of Loch Malcolm. A chapel, dedicated
to St. Giles, overlooked it from the top of a huge rock, whose foot was
laved by the waters of the subterranean sea.
When this underground town was lighted up by the bright rays thrown from
the discs, hung from the pillars and arches, its aspect was so strange,
so fantastic, that it justified the praise of the guide-books, and
visitors flocked to see it.
It is needless to say that the inhabitants of Coal Town were proud of
their place. They rarely left their laboring village--in that imitating
Simon Ford, who never wished to go out again. The old overman maintained
that it always rained “up there,” and, considering the climate of the
United Kingdom, it must be acknowledged that he was not far wrong. All
the families in New Aberfoyle prospered well, having in three years
obtained a certain competency which they could never have hoped to
attain on the surface of the county. Dozens of babies, who were born at
the time when the works were resumed, had never yet breathed the outer
air.
This made Jack Ryan remark, “It’s eighteen months since they were
weaned, and they have not yet seen daylight!”
It may be mentioned here, that one of the first to run at the engineer’s
call was Jack Ryan. The merry fellow had thought it his duty to return
to his old trade. But though Melrose farm had lost singer and piper it
must not be thought that Jack Ryan sung no more. On the contrary, the
sonorous echoes of New Aberfoyle exerted their strong lungs to answer
him.
Jack Ryan took up his abode in Simon Ford’s new cottage. They offered
him a room, which he accepted without ceremony, in his frank and hearty
way. Old Madge loved him for his fine character and good nature. She in
some degree shared his ideas on the subject of the fantastic beings
who were supposed to haunt the mine, and the two, when alone, told each
other stories wild enough to make one shudder--stories well worthy of
enriching the hyperborean mythology.
Jack thus became the life of the cottage. He was, besides being a jovial
companion, a good workman. Six months after the works had begun, he was
made head of a gang of hewers.
“That was a good work done, Mr. Ford,” said he, a few days after his
appointment. “You discovered a new field, and though you narrowly
escaped paying for the discovery with your life--well, it was not too
dearly bought.”
“No, Jack, it was a good bargain we made that time!” answered the old
overman. “But neither Mr. Starr nor I have forgotten that to you we owe
our lives.”
“Not at all,” returned Jack. “You owe them to your son Harry, when he
had the good sense to accept my invitation to Irvine.”
“And not to go, isn’t that it?” interrupted Harry, grasping his
comrade’s hand. “No, Jack, it is to you, scarcely healed of your
wounds--to you, who did not delay a day, no, nor an hour, that we owe
our being found still alive in the mine!”
“Rubbish, no!” broke in the obstinate fellow. “I won’t have that said,
when it’s no such thing. I hurried to find out what had become of you,
Harry, that’s all. But to give everyone his due, I will add that without
that unapproachable goblin--”
“Ah, there we are!” cried Ford. “A goblin!”
“A goblin, a brownie, a fairy’s child,” repeated Jack Ryan, “a cousin of
the Fire-Maidens, an Urisk, whatever you like! It’s not the less certain
that without it we should never have found our way into the gallery,
from which you could not get out.”
“No doubt, Jack,” answered Harry. “It remains to be seen whether this
being was as supernatural as you choose to believe.”
“Supernatural!” exclaimed Ryan. “But it was as supernatural as a
Will-o’-the-Wisp, who may be seen skipping along with his lantern in
his hand; you may try to catch him, but he escapes like a fairy, and
vanishes like a shadow! Don’t be uneasy, Harry, we shall see it again
some day or other!”
“Well, Jack,” said Simon Ford, “Will-o’-the-Wisp or not, we shall try to
find it, and you must help us.”
“You’ll get into a scrap if you don’t take care, Mr. Ford!” responded
Jack Ryan.
“We’ll see about that, Jack!”
We may easily imagine how soon this domain of New Aberfoyle became
familiar to all the members of the Ford family, but more particularly to
Harry. He learnt to know all its most secret ins and outs. He could even
say what point of the surface corresponded with what point of the mine.
He knew that above this seam lay the Firth of Clyde, that there extended
Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine. Those columns supported a spur of the
Grampian mountains. This vault served as a basement to Dumbarton. Above
this large pond passed the Balloch railway. Here ended the Scottish
coast. There began the sea, the tumult of which could be distinctly
heard during the equinoctial gales. Harry would have been a first-rate
guide to these natural catacombs, and all that Alpine guides do on
their snowy peaks in daylight he could have done in the dark mine by the
wonderful power of instinct.
He loved New Aberfoyle. Many times, with his lamp stuck in his hat,
did he penetrate its furthest depths. He explored its ponds in a
skillfully-managed canoe. He even went shooting, for numerous birds had
been introduced into the crypt--pintails, snipes, ducks, who fed on the
fish which swarmed in the deep waters. Harry’s eyes seemed made for
the dark, just as a sailor’s are made for distances. But all this while
Harry felt irresistibly animated by the hope of finding the mysterious
being whose intervention, strictly speaking, had saved himself and his
friends. Would he succeed? He certainly would, if presentiments were to
be trusted; but certainly not, if he judged by the success which had as
yet attended his researches.
The attacks directed against the family of the old overman, before the
discovery of New Aberfoyle, had not been renewed.
CHAPTER XI. HANGING BY A THREAD
ALTHOUGH in this way the Ford family led a happy and contented life, yet
it was easy to see that Harry, naturally of a grave disposition, became
more and more quiet and reserved. Even Jack Ryan, with all his good
humor and usually infectious merriment, failed to rouse him to gayety of
manner.
One Sunday--it was in the month of June--the two friends were walking
together on the shores of Loch Malcolm. Coal Town rested from labor. In
the world above, stormy weather prevailed. Violent rains fell, and
dull sultry vapors brooded over the earth; the atmosphere was most
oppressive.
Down in Coal Town there was perfect calm; no wind, no rain. A soft and
pleasant temperature existed instead of the strife of the elements which
raged without. What wonder then, that excursionists from Stirling came
in considerable numbers to enjoy the calm fresh air in the recesses of
the mine?
The electric discs shed a brilliancy of light which the British sun,
oftener obscured by fogs than it ought to be, might well envy. Jack Ryan
kept talking of these visitors, who passed them in noisy crowds, but
Harry paid very little attention to what he said.
“I say, do look, Harry!” cried Jack. “See what numbers of people come
to visit us! Cheer up, old fellow! Do the honors of the place a little
better. If you look so glum, you’ll make all these outside folks think
you envy their life above-ground.”
“Never mind me, Jack,” answered Harry. “You are jolly enough for two,
I’m sure; that’s enough.”
“I’ll be hanged if I don’t feel your melancholy creeping over me
though!” exclaimed Jack. “I declare my eyes are getting quite dull, my
lips are drawn together, my laugh sticks in my throat; I’m forgetting
all my songs. Come, man, what’s the matter with you?”
“You know well enough, Jack.”
“What? the old story?”
“Yes, the same thoughts haunt me.”
“Ah, poor fellow!” said Jack, shrugging his shoulders. “If you would
only do like me, and set all the queer things down to the account of the
goblins of the mine, you would be easier in your mind.”
“But, Jack, you know very well that these goblins exist only in your
imagination, and that, since the works here have been reopened, not a
single one has been seen.”
“That’s true, Harry; but if no spirits have been seen, neither has
anyone else to whom you could attribute the extraordinary doings we want
to account for.”
“I shall discover them.”
“Ah, Harry! Harry! it’s not so easy to catch the spirits of New
Aberfoyle!”
“I shall find out the spirits as you call them,” said Harry, in a tone
of firm conviction.
“Do you expect to be able to punish them?”
“Both punish and reward. Remember, if one hand shut us up in that
passage, another hand delivered us! I shall not soon forget that.”
“But, Harry, how can we be sure that these two hands do not belong to
the same body?”
“What can put such a notion in your head, Jack?” asked Harry.
“Well, I don’t know. Creatures that live in these holes, Harry, don’t
you see? they can’t be made like us, eh?”
“But they ARE just like us, Jack.”
“Oh, no! don’t say that, Harry! Perhaps some madman managed to get in
for a time.”
“A madman! No madman would have formed such connected plans, or done
such continued mischief as befell us after the breaking of the ladders.”
“Well, but anyhow he has done no harm for the last three years, either
to you, Harry, or any of your people.”
“No matter, Jack,” replied Harry; “I am persuaded that this malignant
being, whoever he is, has by no means given up his evil intentions. I
can hardly say on what I found my convictions. But at any rate, for
the sake of the new works, I must and will know who he is and whence he
comes.”
“For the sake of the new works did you say?” asked Jack, considerably
surprised.
“I said so, Jack,” returned Harry. “I may be mistaken, but, to me, all
that has happened proves the existence of an interest in this mine in
strong opposition to ours. Many a time have I considered the matter; I
feel almost sure of it. Just consider the whole series of inexplicable
circumstances, so singularly linked together. To begin with, the
anonymous letter, contradictory to that of my father, at once proves
that some man had become aware of our projects, and wished to prevent
their accomplishment. Mr. Starr comes to see us at the Dochart pit. No
sooner does he enter it with me than an immense stone is cast upon us,
and communication is interrupted by the breaking of the ladders in
the Yarrow shaft. We commence exploring. An experiment, by which the
existence of a new vein would be proved, is rendered impossible by
stoppage of fissures. Notwithstanding this, the examination is carried
out, the vein discovered. We return as we came, a prodigious gust of air
meets us, our lamp is broken, utter darkness surrounds us. Nevertheless,
we make our way along the gloomy passage until, on reaching the
entrance, we find it blocked up. There we were--imprisoned. Now, Jack,
don’t you see in all these things a malicious intention? Ah, yes,
believe me, some being hitherto invisible, but not supernatural, as you
will persist in thinking, was concealed in the mine. For some reason,
known only to himself, he strove to keep us out of it. WAS there, did
I say? I feel an inward conviction that he IS there still, and probably
prepares some terrible disaster for us. Even at the risk of my life,
Jack, I am resolved to discover him.”
Harry spoke with an earnestness which strongly impressed his companion.
“Well, Harry,” said he, “if I am forced to agree with you in certain
points, won’t you admit that some kind fairy or brownie, by bringing
bread and water to you, was the means of--”
“Jack, my friend,” interrupted Harry, “it is my belief that the friendly
person, whom you will persist in calling a spirit, exists in the mine as
certainly as the criminal we speak of, and I mean to seek them both in
the most distant recesses of the mine.”
“But,” inquired Jack, “have you any possible clew to guide your search?”
“Perhaps I have. Listen to me! Five miles west of New Aberfoyle, under
the solid rock which supports Ben Lomond, there exists a natural shaft
which descends perpendicularly into the vein beneath. A week ago I went
to ascertain the depth of this shaft. While sounding it, and bending
over the opening as my plumb-line went down, it seemed to me that the
air within was agitated, as though beaten by huge wings.”
“Some bird must have got lost among the lower galleries,” replied Jack.
“But that is not all, Jack. This very morning I went back to the place,
and, listening attentively, I thought I could detect a sound like a sort
of groaning.”
“Groaning!” cried Jack, “that must be nonsense; it was a current of
air--unless indeed some ghost--”
“I shall know to-morrow what it was,” said Harry.
“To-morrow?” answered Jack, looking at his friend.
“Yes; to-morrow I am going down into that abyss.”
“Harry! that will be a tempting of Providence.”
“No, Jack, Providence will aid me in the attempt. Tomorrow, you and some
of our comrades will go with me to that shaft. I will fasten myself to
a long rope, by which you can let me down, and draw me up at a given
signal. I may depend upon you, Jack?”
“Well, Harry,” said Jack, shaking his head, “I will do as you wish me;
but I tell you all the same, you are very wrong.”
“Nothing venture nothing win,” said Harry, in a tone of decision.
“To-morrow morning, then, at six o’clock. Be silent, and farewell!”
It must be admitted that Jack Ryan’s fears were far from groundless.
Harry would expose himself to very great danger, supposing the enemy
he sought for lay concealed at the bottom of the pit into which he
was going to descend. It did not seem likely that such was the case,
however.
“Why in the world,” repeated Jack Ryan, “should he take all this trouble
to account for a set of facts so very easily and simply explained by the
supernatural intervention of the spirits of the mine?”
But, notwithstanding his objections to the scheme, Jack Ryan and three
miners of his gang arrived next morning with Harry at the mouth of the
opening of the suspicious shaft. Harry had not mentioned his intentions
either to James Starr or to the old overman. Jack had been discreet
enough to say nothing.
Harry had provided himself with a rope about 200 feet long. It was not
particularly thick, but very strong--sufficiently so to sustain his
weight. His friends were to let him down into the gulf, and his pulling
the cord was to be the signal to withdraw him.
The opening into this shaft or well was twelve feet wide. A beam was
thrown across like a bridge, so that the cord passing over it should
hang down the center of the opening, and save Harry from striking
against the sides in his descent.
He was ready.
“Are you still determined to explore this abyss?” whispered Jack Ryan.
“Yes, I am, Jack.”
The cord was fastened round Harry’s thighs and under his arms, to keep
him from rocking. Thus supported, he was free to use both his hands. A
safety-lamp hung at his belt, also a large, strong knife in a leather
sheath.
Harry advanced to the middle of the beam, around which the cord was
passed. Then his friends began to let him down, and he slowly sank into
the pit. As the rope caused him to swing gently round and round, the
light of his lamp fell in turns on all points of the side walls, so
that he was able to examine them carefully. These walls consisted of pit
coal, and so smooth that it would be impossible to ascend them.
Harry calculated that he was going down at the rate of about a foot
per second, so that he had time to look about him, and be ready for any
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