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Devon Boys: A Tale of the North Shore, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 16. Our Silver Mine |
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_ CHAPTER SIXTEEN. OUR SILVER MINE School life has been so often narrated, that I am going to skip over mine, and make one stride from our return after Midsummer to Christmas, when we all went back home in a very different frame of mind. The country looked very different to when we saw it last, but it was a mild balmy winter, with primroses and cuckoo-pints pushing in the valleys, and here and there a celandine pretending that spring had come. The roads were dirty, but we thought little about them, for we knew that the sea-shore was always the same, and, if anything, more interesting in winter than in summer. I was all eagerness to get home and see what had been done in the Gap, for my father in his rare letters had said very little about it. Bigley was equally eager too. Six months had made a good deal of difference in him, for, young as he was, he seemed to be more manly and firm-looking, though to talk to he was just as boyish as ever, and never happier than when he was playing at some game. He, too, was ready enough to talk about the Gap, and wonder what had been done. "I hope your father has made friends with mine," he kept on saying as we drew nearer home. "It will be so awkward if they are out when you and I want to be in. Because we do, don't we?" "Why, of course," I cried. "And it will be so awkward, won't it?" "No," I said stoutly, "it won't make any difference; you and I are not going to fall out, so why should we worry about it? I say, look at Bob Chowne!" Bigley turned, and there he was once more seated upon his box, right up on the big knot of the cord, just as if he liked to make himself uncomfortable. Then his elbows were on his knees and his chin was in his hands, as he stared straight before him from out of the tilt of the big cart. "Why, what's the matter, Bob?" I said. "Nothing." "Why, there must be something or you wouldn't look like that. What is it?" "Oh, I don't know; only that we're going home." "Well, aren't you glad?" "Glad? No, not I. What is there to be glad about? I haven't forgotten last holidays." "What do you mean?" said Bigley and I in a breath. "Oh, wasn't I always getting in rows, because you two fellows took me out and got me in trouble. I haven't forgotten about that old suit of clothes." "But I say, Bob," I cried, "didn't you do your part of getting into trouble?" "Oh, I don't know. Don't bother, I'm sick of it. I'm tired of being a boy. I wish I was a man." "Nay, don't wish that," cried the old carrier, who had been hearing everything, though he had not spoken before. "Man, indeed! Why, aren't you all boys with everything you can wish for? How would you like to be a man and have to do nothing else every day but sit in this here cart, and go to and fro, to and fro, from year's end to year's end, and never no change?" As we drew near the Bay Bob Chowne grew more fidgety and despondent, but we tried to cheer him up by making appointments to go fishing and exploring the shore; but my first intent was to run over to the Gap, and see what was going on there. As the carrier's cart descended the hill and we came in sight of the cottage, I saw some one at the gate, and leaning out on one side I saw that it was my father and the doctor, but before I could say so there was a jerk which nearly threw me off, and I heard a familiar voice cry: "There you are, then. Out with your box, lad. Here's Binnacle Bill come to carry it. How do, young gentlemen! Well, young doctor, I've got that rope's-ending saved up for you whenever you like to come." Old Jonas did not offer to shake hands with either of us, but Bigley did after handing out his box. "You'll come on to-morrow," he said quickly. "Yes, we'll come," I said, answering for both; and I observed that old Jonas smiled grimly, though he did not speak. Then Bob and I were alone and jogging down the zigzag road, traversing another five hundred yards before we reached our gate, where my father and the doctor were waiting for us. "Brought the lads home quite safe, captain," said old Teggley Grey. "Shall I take Mars Robert's box on to the town, doctor?" The old carrier remained unanswered, for we were both being heartily shaken by the hand, while old Sam came up smiling to carry in my box. "Yes, take on the other box, Grey," cried the doctor. "We shall walk home, Bob." "After a good tea," put in my father; and I found that meal awaiting us all, and very hearty and cosy it looked after the formal repasts at school. "Why, you've both grown," said the doctor, as we sat down in the snug old room, where every object around seemed to be welcoming me. "Yes, that they have," said my father. "Your Bob has the best of it too." "Trifle," said the doctor, "trifle. Well, sir, how many suits of clothes shall you want this time? I've never heard any more of the ones you lost." I saw Bob turn red and take a vicious bite out of a piece of bread and butter. "They're nearly six months older now," said my father smiling, as he performed the feminine task of pouring out the tea, "and they'll be more careful." "Will they?" said the doctor emphatically. "You see if the young varlets are not in trouble before the week's out, sir." "Let's hope not," said my father. "Come, boys, help yourselves to the ham and eggs." "Come, boys, help yourselves to the ham and eggs!" said Bob Chowne to me, as soon as we were alone. "Who's to help himself to ham and eggs when he's having the suit of clothes he lost banged about his unfortunate head? It regularly spoiled my tea." "Why, Bob," I cried, "you had three big cups, six pieces of bread and butter, two slices of ham, three eggs, a piece of cake, and some cream." "There's a sneak--there's a way to treat a fellow!" he cried, growing spiky all over, and snorting with annoyance. "Ask a poor chap to tea, and then count his mouthfuls. Well, that is mean." "Why, I only said so because you declared you had had a bad tea." "So I did--miserable," he retorted. "I seemed to see myself again sitting at home in those old worn-out clothes, and afraid to go out at any other time but night, when no one was looking." "Now, Bob: where are you?" cried his father. "I'll take him off at once, Duncan, or he'll eat you out of house and home." "Hear that?" cried Bob, "hear that? Pretty way to talk of a fellow, isn't it. I don't wonder everybody hates me. I'm about the most miserable chap that ever was." "Not you, Bob. Come over to-morrow." "What for?" "Oh, I don't know. We'll go rabbiting or something." "Now, Bob!" came from the doctor. "Here, I must go. Good-bye. I'll come if I can. I wish I was you, or old Bigley, or somebody else." "Or back at school," I said laughing. "Yes, or back at school," he said quite seriously; and then his arm was grasped by his father. "Just as if I was a patient," he grumbled to me next day. "Father don't like me. He only thinks I am a nuisance, and he's glad when I'm going back to school. I shall run off to Bristol some day and go to sea, that's what I shall do." But that was the next day. That evening I stood with my father at the gate till Bob and his father were out of sight in the lane, and then we went back into the parlour, where my father lit his pipe and sat smoking and gazing at me. "Well, Sep," he said after a pause, "don't you want to know how the mine is getting on?" "Yes, father," I said; "but I didn't like to ask." "Well, I'll tell you without, my boy. I've not got much profit out of it at present, because the expenses of starting have been so great; but it's a very fine thing, my boy." "Is it going to make you rich, father?" "I hope so, boy, for your sake. There's plenty of lead, and out of the lead we are able to get about four per cent of silver." "Four per cent, father!" I said; "what--interest?" "No, boy, profit. I mean in every hundred pounds of lead there are four pounds of pure silver, but of course it costs a good deal to refine." "And may I go and see it all to-morrow?" I asked. "To be sure; and I hope, after a year or two, you will be of great use to me there." I felt as if I could hardly sleep that night when I went to bed. There had been so much to see about the place, so much talk to have with old Sam and Kicksey, that it hardly needed the thought of seeing the mine next day to keep me awake. I thought I should never go to sleep, I say; but I awoke at half-past seven the next morning, feeling as if I had had a thoroughly good night's rest, and as soon as breakfast was over I started with my father on a dull soft winter's morning to see the mine. Bob and Bigley were to come over; but I felt that it would be twelve o'clock before Bob came, and that I should meet Bigley; so no harm would be done in the way of breaking faith in the appointment. We walked sharply across the hill and descended into the Gap, but before we had gone far we met old Jonas Uggleston. "Morning!" he said pleasantly. "Morning, squire!" to me. "Seen my Bigley yet?" "No." "Ah! He has gone your way. Tell him I want to see him if he comes." We said we would, and old Jonas went his way and we ours. "Why, father," I said, "how civil he has grown!" "Yes," said my father gravely, "he has; but I would almost rather he had kept his distance. Don't tell your school-fellow I said that." "Of course not, father," I said confidently; and we went on to the mine--the silver mine, and I stood and stared at a part of the valley that had been inclosed with a stone wall. There were some rough stone sheds, a stack of oak props, and a rough-looking pump worked by a large water-wheel, which was set in motion by a trough which brought water from the side of the hill, where a tiny stream trickled down. There was one very large heap of rough stone that looked as if barrows full of broken fragments were always being run along it, and turned over at the end, for the pieces to rattle down the side into the valley; there was a small heap close by, and under a shed there was a man breaking up some dirty wet stuff with a hammer. That was all that was to see except some troughs to carry off dirty water, and the rough framework and trap-doors over what seemed to be a well. "Why, Sep," said my father laughing, "how blank you look! Don't you admire the mine?" "Is--is this a silver mine, father?" I faltered. "Yes, my lad, silver-lead. Doesn't look very attractive, does it?" I shook my head. "But is it going to be worth a great deal of money?" "Yes, my boy; only wait and you'll see. But I suppose you expected to see a hole in the earth leading down into quite an enchanted cave--eh?-- a sort of Aladdin's palace, with walls sparkling with native silver?" "Well, not quite so much as that, father," I replied; "but I did expect to find something different to this." "So do most people when they go to see a mine, Sep, and they are horribly disappointed to find that they have not used their common sense. They know that if they dig down into the earth to make a well, in twenty feet or so, perhaps less, they come to water; and it has never occurred to them that if they dig down to form a mine, it must naturally be a wet dark muddy hole just like this one upon which you look with so much disgust. But wait a bit, my boy. We shall soon have furnaces at work and be smelting our ore and converting some of it into silver. There'll be more to see then. You don't care to go down?" he said, leaning his hand upon a windlass over the trap-doors. "Is there anything to see, father?" I said rather dolefully. "To see! Well, there are the sides of a big well-like hole which you can see from here. Look!" He threw open a trap-door, and I gazed into a well-like place with a couple of ropes hanging down it, and I noted that the walls were made of the stone that had been dug and broken out. The place looked dark and damp, and there was the trickling of dripping water. That was all. "Well, Sep, what do you say?--will you go?" "Is it all like this, father?" I said. "Yes, precisely, my lad. Shall I have you let down?" "No, thank you," I said; "I think I'll stop up." He nodded and smiled, and after staying with him for a time while he examined some of the ore that the man was breaking up he set me free, but not till I had asked him how many men he had at work, and been told that at present there were only six. _ |
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