Chapter 21

"My dear friends, trust in this merciful loving Jesus," he exclaimed. "He has completed the work of saving you, it is perfect in every way. All you have to do is to repent and trust to Him, and to go and sin no more, intentionally, wilfully that is to say. Oh, my dear friends, think of the love and mercy of God, through Christ Jesus. He never refuses to hear any who come to Him. His love surpasses that of any human being; His ears are ever open to our prayers."

"I should like to have a talk with you, sir," said Kempson, when the stranger, having finished speaking, was giving his tracts to the people around. "There are some things which you said, sir, which I haven't heard for a long time, or thought about, but I know that they are true."

"Gladly, my friend," was the answer.

The stranger had a long talk with Joseph, and promised to come again before long to see him.

STORY SIX, CHAPTER 3.

Several days passed by. Dick did not seem exactly ill, but he prayed and begged so hard that he might not go back to the pit, that when the doctor came and said also it might do him harm, his father consented not to take him. Still Joseph did not like losing his boy's wages. David had promised, on the next Saturday, as soon as he came back from the pit, to come and read to Dick. When the evening arrived, however, David did not appear. Dick was beginning to complain very much of David, when Mrs Adams came to ask if he was there, as he had never come home. When Joseph came in, he said that he had not seen him all day. He thought that he had not gone down into the pit. Mrs Adams began to get into a great fright. David had left home in the morning to go to his work in the pit, and she was sure that he would not have gone elsewhere. When Joseph came in, he undertook to go to the pit's mouth and learn if David had gone down. He came back, saying that there was no doubt about his having gone down, but no one remembered for certain that he had come up again.

"Oh father, let's you and I go down and look for him!" exclaimed Dick; "I feel quite strong and able for it."

"Why I thought you'd be afraid of going down the pit again, boy," remarked Joseph.

"No, father," answered Dick, "I remember what that missionary gentleman said the other day, if we are doing our duty we shouldn't fear, for God will take care of us; and I am sure that I should be doing my duty looking after David, who has been so kind to me."

Joseph could say nothing against it; so as soon as he had had some supper, he, with Dick and Mrs Adams, set out to find the "doggy" of the pit, to learn if he knew for certain that David had come up, and if not, to get his and the "butty's" leave to go down and search for him. [Note 1.] On their way three or four other men offered to go with them.

The doggy could not say that David had come up, and the whole party, therefore, were lowered down the pit, except Mrs Adams; she sat down near the mouth, waiting anxiously for their return.

While she sat there, a lad dressed as a sailor drew near. He stood still near the mouth of the pit, looking about him. The ground was high; and he could have seen a long way had it not been for the smoke from hundreds of tall chimneys which every now and then sent out thick wreaths, which hung like a black cloud over the scene.

In the far distance was the large town of Newcastle, also full of tall chimneys, with a cloud of smoke over it. Close to it flows the river Tyne. All around were tall engine-houses, out of which came all sorts of curious, dreadful sounds,--groans, and hissings, and whistlings, and clankings of iron; while high up in the air, stretching out from them, were huge beams like the arms of great giants working up and down in all sorts of ways; some pumping water out of the mines from the underground streams which run into them, others lifting the baskets of coal out of the shafts, or bringing up or lowering down the miners and other men engaged in the works. The noises proceeded chiefly from the gins, and pulleys, and wheels, and railways; all busy in lifting the coal out of the pit and sending it off towards the river. The whole country looked black and covered with railway lines, each starting away from one of these great engine-houses which are close to the mouths of the pits. There were rows of small wagons or trucks on them, and as the huge arms lifted up a corve, or basket, it was emptied into the wagon till they were filled, and then away they started, some of them without engines, down an inclined plane towards the river. Away they went at a rapid rate, and it seemed as if they would be carried furiously over the cliff, or rather the end of a long, high stage into the river. On a sudden, however, they began to go slower; then they stopped, and one wagon went off by itself from the rest till it got to the end of the pier; then two great iron arms got hold of it, and gently, as if it was a baby, lifted it off the pier and lowered it down till it reached the deck of a vessel lying underneath. When there, the bottom opened and the coals slipped out into the hold of the vessel. Then up the wagon went again, and another came down in the same way, till the whole train was emptied; then off the wagons set, rolling away to be filled again.

The sailor lad observed poor Mrs Adams's anxious, eager looks.

"What is the matter now, mother?" he asked, going up to her, and speaking in a kind tone. "You seem down-hearted at something."

"Yes; well I may be, my lad, when my little son, as good and bright a child as ever lived, has been and got lost down in the pit. He went down at daybreak this morning, and no one has ever seen him since. Such a dreadful place, too, full of dark passages and pits and worked-out panels; and then there is the bad gas, which kills so many; and then there are the rolleys, and many a poor lad has got run over with them. Oh dear, oh dear!"

"Well, mother, I hope the lad will be found," said the young stranger. "I didn't think the place was like that; may be you'll tell me something more about it."

The poor widow was too glad to have some one to talk to, so she told the lad all about the mine, the number of hours the boys worked, and the wages they got, and the way they were treated generally. The young sailor thanked her heartily. "I thought as how I'd been forced to lead something like a dog's life at sea, and I had a mind to come and have a turn at mining; for thinks I to myself, I'll have a dry jacket and plenty of grub, and a turn in to a quiet bed every night, but now I hear what sort of work it is, I'll go back to the old brig; we've daylight and fresh air and change of scene, and though we are dirty enough at times, I'll own we haven't to lie on our backs and peck away at coal in a hole three feet high, with the chance of being blown to pieces any moment."

"I can't say that you are wrong, my lad," said the poor widow, looking up at the sailor. "It has been a fatal calling to those belonging to me, and I would advise no one to enter it who has any other means of living."

"Thank ye, mother, thank ye," answered the stranger, "I'll take your advice, but I should like to know if they find that poor boy of yours; I hope they will, that I do." The sailor could not stop any longer, as it was getting late; but he asked the widow where she lived, that he might come back and learn if her son was found. Then off he set, running as hard as he could go, to get back to the high-road, by which he might reach the river before it was dark.

Meantime Dick and his father and the other men went down the pit with their lamps, to look for David. "It's like hunting for a needle in a rick of hay, I'm thinking," said one of the men. "If we could learn what way the little fellow was going when he was last seen; you know there are more than sixty miles of road, taking all into account, and it will be a pretty long business to walk over them."

"Right, mate, but the poor boy won't have got very far," observed Joseph Kempson. "Come along now."

The men hurried on along the dark, low galleries. Dick every now and then shouting out with his young, shrill voice, "David, David Adams!"

But there was no answer. It was a work of danger too; for they had to pass along several passages in which the air felt very heavy, and they knew well that if it had not been for their Davy lamps they would all have been blown to pieces. They called and called, and looked into every dark corner, still David was not to be found. The men began to talk of giving up the search as a bad job. "Oh don't let us give up, father," exclaimed Dick, "David must be somewhere." Joseph liked little David, but still he was tired, and he thought, with the other men, that they might hunt on for a week and yet not find him. However, they all agreed to take another long round.

The poor widow sat and sat, anxiously waiting the return of her friends.

The banksman at the mouth of the pit received the signal from those below that they were ready to be drawn up. It was now quite dark. "Stay quiet, dame, stay quiet," he said, as the poor widow was about to lean over the mouth of the pit to watch for her boy. "May be, after all, the lad isn't there. I've known boys lost for many a day down the pits, and yet found at last."

Little Dick with his father and the other men were soon at the top. As they one after the other got out of the basket, the poor widow eagerly advanced with out-stretched arms to clasp her son. "Oh my boy, my boy, where are you? Come, David, come!" she exclaimed.

"Very sorry, Mrs Adams, very sorry; but we couldn't find the little chap," said Samuel Kempson, in a tone which showed that he felt what he said. The other men echoed his words. "Still it's better to come without him than to bring him up as many have been brought up, as you well know, without life in him. Don't give way now, we'll try again, and more than likely that he'll find his way back to where people are at work."

The widow heard some deep sobs. They came from Dick. "You're a kind, good lad; you loved my boy," she cried, pressing him to her, and giving way to bitter tears.

"And I will go down and look for him again, that I will, Mrs Adams; so don't take on so, now," answered Dick, stopping his own sobs.

Samuel insisted on the widow coming to his house. She, after some pressing, consented, and the men assisted her along in the dark towards the village. They may have been rough in looks and rough in language, but the widow's grief softened their hearts and made them kind and gentle in their manner. Mrs Kempson received the poor widow with much kindness, and did her best to comfort her.

They did little else all the evening but talk of little David and what had become of him. Mrs Kempson recollecting what her own son had done, observed that perhaps he had come up after all, and had gone away to Newcastle, or Shields, to get on board ship.

"Oh no, no, my David would never have gone away from me," exclaimed Mrs Adams; yet, as she said this, hope came back to her heart, for he might perhaps have thought that he was going off to make his fortune, and that if he came to her first she might prevent him. "Alack, alack, there's little wisdom in young heads. Maybe he's gone that way, Mrs Kempson," she said at last, and the thought seemed to bring some comfort to her.

All appeared to agree with her except Dick. He was sure that David would not have gone away without, at all events, hinting his intention to him.

The next day was Sunday, when no mines are worked. Dick, in spite of his fears of bogies, had made up his mind to go and search for his friend alone if he could get no one to go with him. He thought perhaps the butty would let him go down with his Davy lamp. He would fill his pockets with bits of paper and drop them as he went along, so as to find his way back, and to know where he had been over before. He had got several old newspapers to tear up, and he would take a stick with him, and a basket of food, and a bottle of beer, and he would go into every nook and passage of the mine till he had found his friend. Dick's were brave thoughts. He fancied that he should have foes of all sorts to fight with, but for the sake of his friend he made up his mind to meet them.

Note 1. The "butty" is the head man over all the works, and indeed everything about the pit; the "doggy" has charge of the underground works, and looks after all the men and boys in the pit.

STORY SIX, CHAPTER 4.

The next day was Sunday, when the missionary again came to the village, and did not fail to visit Samuel Kempson's cottage. He heard of the disappearance of David Adams. He pointed out the only source from which the sorrowing mother could obtain comfort, and besought all those present to turn at once to the Lord. He reminded them that any moment they might all be hurried into eternity. He asked each man present to say how many friends of his had been cut off on a sudden--how many had died unprepared--and then begged them to tell him if they were ready to leave the world; and if they were not ready, when would they be ready? "Do not delay, do not delay, my friends," he said, in a voice which went to the hearts of many of his hearers.

Among them was Samuel Kempson. From that day he became a serious-minded man, while he did his best to show by his life that his heart was changed. Others again listened, but went away and continued in the same bad habits in which they had before indulged.

Dick was eager for Monday morning, when the pit would be again at work, that he might go and look for David. Long before daybreak he was on foot on his way to the pit's mouth. He had to wait, however, till the under-viewers and deputy over-men had gone down to see the condition of the pit, whether it was fit for people to work in, or whether any stream of bad air had burst out likely to kill or injure any one. At last the mine was reported safe, and Dick, and the other boys, and several of the men were allowed to descend. Dick eagerly inquired of the deputy over-men if they had seen anything of David. No; they did not even think that he was in the pit, was their reply. Dick remembered that the missionary had said "that those who trust in God and do right need fear no evil."

"That's what I am doing," he said to himself, as he took his Davy's lamp from the lamp room, and grasped his stick. "I don't fear the black bogies or any other creatures such as Bill Hagger is so fond of talking about. May be, as the missionary says, there are no such things, and David thinks that it was Bill Hagger himself who frightened me." With such thoughts, brave little Dick strengthened his mind, and braced up his heart as he walked on.

From the gate-road, or chief gallery, roads opened off on either side. Dick made up his mind to go to the farthest end, and then to work down one side, shouting as he went along, and then the other, dropping his bits of paper. He walked as fast as he could, but to move along with a mass of rock and earth and coal a thousand feet thick overhead, is not like walking across the green fields with the blue sky above one, and the fresh air blowing, and the sun shining, and the birds singing. Dick had only walls of coal on either side, or pillars of coal, or caves out of which the coal had been hewn, or the mouths of other long passages, some leading upwards, some downwards to other levels. He had a black roof of rock above him, and black ground under his feet. "Anybody seen anything of David Adams?" he asked of the different gangs of pushers, hoisters, or thrusters he met with their trucks of coal as they came out of the passages and holes on all sides, some so low that they had to stoop down till their heads were no higher than the trucks.

"No; what, is he not found yet?" was the answer he got generally.

It took him nearly half an hour to get to the end of the gate-road. When he reached thus far, he took the first opening to the right, and began dropping his paper, and calling out his friend's name. He went on and on, expecting to get into another gate-road, and in time to reach the main shaft. How long he had been walking he could not tell, when he found himself in a deserted part of the mine. It was like a large, low hall, the roof supported by stout pieces of timber, called "sprags," in some places, and in others by "cogs," or lumps of coal, or by pillars of coal. It was necessary here to be more careful than ever in strewing the paper, or it might be long indeed before he could find his way out again. He thought of poor David; how, if he had got here, he might have wandered about round and round, like a person lost in a wood, and sunk down overcome at last, and not able to rise up again. He could not altogether get over either fears for himself. His lamp shed a very dim light, and that only to a short distance, and he thought he saw dark forms moving about here and there, sometimes stopping and looking at him, and then going on again. He, like a true hero, had braced up his nerves to brave everything he might meet, or he would have shrieked out, and tried to run away. He, however, stoutly kept on his way, uttering a prayer that if they were evil spirits, they might do him no harm. Still he, as before, cried out David's name; but there was no answer.

His heart at length began to sink within him; a faintness came over him. He had got a long, long way from the shaft, and he had hoped before this to find his friend. His legs ached, too, for he had been for a long time wandering about. He sat down at last on a block of coal and thought over what he should do. Nothing should make him give up the search; that he was determined on. Then he remembered that his lamp would not last much longer; so he got up, and pushed on. He had need of all his courage, for when he stopped he thought that he heard sighs and groans and distant cries. He had often before trembled at hearing such sounds, thinking that they were made by the evil spirits or hobgoblins of whom Bill Hagger had told him. Now, after a moment's thought, he knew that they were caused by the wind passing through a trap either not well closed or with a slit in it. He could not open his lamp to see how much oil remained in it, and as he could only guess how long he had been walking, he could not tell what moment he might find the light go out.

He hurried on; he thought that he was in the right way. He was getting near a gate-road, when a moaning sound reached his ear. He stopped that he might be sure whence it came. Then he walked on cautiously towards the place, stopping every now and then to be sure that he was going in the right way. Again he heard the moaning sound. It was like that uttered by a person in pain. He followed it till he got to the mouth of a narrow passage, which had been begun, but did not seem to run far. Suddenly the idea came on him that these sounds were made by one of the much-dreaded bogies. "If it is one of them creatures, he can't do me any harm, for I'm doing what is right," he said to himself, and boldly went in, holding his lamp before him. He had not gone far, when he saw stretched out before him on the ground the form of his young friend. He had his arms extended, as if he had fallen groping his way.

"O David, David, come to life: do now!" cried Dick, kneeling down by his side.

David uttered a low groan; that was better than if he had been silent. So, encouraged by this, Dick lifted him up, and poured a few drops of beer down his throat. The liquid revived him; not from its strength, however.

"Come out of this place, David, do now; the air is very bad and close, you'll never get well while you stay here."

David at last came round enough to know what was said to him, and with Dick's help was able to crawl into the gate-road, which was not far off. Here the fresher air, for fresh it was not, brought him still more round, and he sat up and eat some of the food which Dick had brought. David kept staring at Dick all the time he was eating without saying a word, as if he did not know what had happened.

"Come along now, David," said Dick, at last; "there is no time to lose, for the lamp may be going out, and it won't do to have to find our way to the shaft in the dark."

"Oh no, no. How did you find me, Dick?" asked David.

"Come to look for you," answered Dick.

"And how is poor mother? She must have been in a sad way all these days, thinking what had become of me."

"Mrs Adams bears up pretty well," said Dick.

"But how long do you think I have been down here? A week, or is it longer?" said David.

He could scarcely believe that it had been from the Saturday morning till the Monday evening since he was lost.

"I thought that I must have been down very many days," he remarked. "I had my day's dinner with me, so I just took a little nibble of food for breakfast, and another for dinner, and a little more for supper. It seemed to me that I stopped five or six hours between each meal, and then I lay down and went to sleep, and when I awoke I thought it was morning, and that the people would be coming down to work; so I got up and walked on, thinking that they would hear me; but I waited and waited, there was not the sound of a pick anywhere near, and I knew that there would be no use shouting. Once I found the air much cooler, and as I looked up I saw the stars shining right overhead, and then I knew that I must be under an air shaft. Now, I thought, I shall find the road to the pit's mouth, but I turned the wrong way, I suppose, and at last, when I could go on no longer, I went right into the hole where you found me. I couldn't have been long there. I tried to cry out as loud as I could, but I had no strength; and if you hadn't come, Dick, I should have died before many minutes."

David gave this account of himself by fits and starts, as he and Dick were trying to find their way into the chief gate-road. Dick had to support his friend, who was very weak, and scarcely able to get along. He himself, too, was ready to faint, for he had been walking some hours, and that in a hot mine was very trying. For what they could tell they might still have a long distance to go. They went on for some way, then again they had to sit down and rest.

"Now, David, we must go on again," exclaimed Dick, rousing himself; "we shall soon be where the hewers are at work."

"Oh, I cannot, I cannot move another step, I fear," answered David, in a voice which showed how weak he had become.

Dick made him take a little more food, and then, putting his arm round him, helped him along. Thus they went on for some distance.

"Hark!" exclaimed Dick, joyfully, "I hear the sound of a pick. Yes, I'm sure of it. There is some one singing, too. It's a putter. He's coming this way."

As he spoke, the dull sound of the pick, "thud, thud, thud," reached their ears. With their spirits raised they were again going on, when out went Dick's lamp. They were in complete darkness. Not a glimmer of light came from where the other men were at work. Dick shouted as loudly as he could to draw attention. As to David, his voice could not help much. No one attended to them. They stumbled on for some time farther.

"I know that voice. It's Bill Hagger, I'm sure," said Dick. "I've often heard him sing that song; I would rather it had been any one else, but I don't think he would ill-treat us now."

Dick shouted to Bill to come with his light. Just at that moment while they were waiting for Bill's answer, there was a loud, thundering crash, with a fearful shriek and cries for help.

"The roof has fallen in, and Bill is buried under it. Oh, let us push on, and see if we cannot help him out," cried Dick.