*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1355 ***

The Underground City

OR
THE BLACK INDIES

(Sometimes Called The Child of the Cavern)

By Jules Verne

Verne, Jules. _Works of Jules Verne_. Ed. Charles F. Horne.
Vol. 9. New York: F. Tyler Daniels Company, 1911. 277-394.


Contents

 CHAPTER I. CONTRADICTORY LETTERS
 CHAPTER II. ON THE ROAD
 CHAPTER III. THE DOCHART PIT
 CHAPTER IV. THE FORD FAMILY
 CHAPTER V. SOME STRANGE PHENOMENA
 CHAPTER VI. SIMON FORD’S EXPERIMENT
 CHAPTER VII. NEW ABERFOYLE
 CHAPTER VIII. EXPLORING
 CHAPTER IX. THE FIRE-MAIDENS
 CHAPTER X. COAL TOWN
 CHAPTER XI. HANGING BY A THREAD
 CHAPTER XII. NELL ADOPTED
 CHAPTER XIII. ON THE REVOLVING LADDER
 CHAPTER XIV. A SUNRISE
 CHAPTER XV. LOCH LOMOND AND LOCH KATRINE
 CHAPTER XVI. A FINAL THREAT
 CHAPTER XVII. THE “MONK”
 CHAPTER XVIII. NELL’S WEDDING
 CHAPTER XIX. THE LEGEND OF OLD SILFAX




THE UNDERGROUND CITY




CHAPTER I.
CONTRADICTORY LETTERS


To Mr. F. R. Starr, Engineer, 30 Canongate, Edinburgh.

If Mr. James Starr will come to-morrow to the Aberfoyle coal-mines,
Dochart pit, Yarrow shaft, a communication of an interesting nature
will be made to him.

“Mr. James Starr will be awaited for, the whole day, at the Callander
station, by Harry Ford, son of the old overman Simon Ford.”

“He is requested to keep this invitation secret.”

Such was the letter which James Starr received by the first post, on
the 3rd December, 18—, the letter bearing the Aberfoyle postmark,
county of Stirling, Scotland.

The engineer’s curiosity was excited to the highest pitch. It never
occurred to him to doubt whether this letter might not be a hoax. For
many years he had known Simon Ford, one of the former foremen of the
Aberfoyle mines, of which he, James Starr, had for twenty years, been
the manager, or, as he would be termed in English coal-mines, the
viewer. James Starr was a strongly-constituted man, on whom his
fifty-five years weighed no more heavily than if they had been forty.
He belonged to an old Edinburgh family, and was one of its most
distinguished members. His labors did credit to the body of engineers
who are gradually devouring the carboniferous subsoil of the United
Kingdom, as much at Cardiff and Newcastle, as in the southern counties
of Scotland. However, it was more particularly in the depths of the
mysterious mines of Aberfoyle, which border on the Alloa mines and
occupy part of the county of Stirling, that the name of Starr had
acquired the greatest renown. There, the greater part of his existence
had been passed. Besides this, James Starr belonged to the Scottish
Antiquarian Society, of which he had been made president. He was also
included amongst the most active members of the Royal Institution; and
the _Edinburgh Review_ frequently published clever articles signed by
him. He was in fact one of those practical men to whom is due the
prosperity of England. He held a high rank in the old capital of
Scotland, which not only from a physical but also from a moral point of
view, well deserves the name of the Northern Athens.

We know that the English have given to their vast extent of coal-mines
a very significant name. They very justly call them the “Black Indies,”
and these Indies have contributed perhaps even more than the Eastern
Indies to swell the surprising wealth of the United Kingdom.

At this period, the limit of time assigned by professional men for the
exhaustion of coal-mines was far distant and there was no dread of
scarcity. There were still extensive mines to be worked in the two
Americas. The manufactories, appropriated to so many different uses,
locomotives, steamers, gas works, &c., were not likely to fail for want
of the mineral fuel; but the consumption had so increased during the
last few years, that certain beds had been exhausted even to their
smallest veins. Now deserted, these mines perforated the ground with
their useless shafts and forsaken galleries. This was exactly the case
with the pits of Aberfoyle.

Ten years before, the last butty had raised the last ton of coal from
this colliery. The underground working stock, traction engines, trucks
which run on rails along the galleries, subterranean tramways, frames
to support the shaft, pipes—in short, all that constituted the
machinery of a mine had been brought up from its depths. The exhausted
mine was like the body of a huge fantastically-shaped mastodon, from
which all the organs of life have been taken, and only the skeleton
remains.

Nothing was left but long wooden ladders, down the Yarrow shaft—the
only one which now gave access to the lower galleries of the Dochart
pit. Above ground, the sheds, formerly sheltering the outside works,
still marked the spot where the shaft of that pit had been sunk, it
being now abandoned, as were the other pits, of which the whole
constituted the mines of Aberfoyle.

It was a sad day, when for the last time the workmen quitted the mine,
in which they had lived for so many years. The engineer, James Starr,
had collected the hundreds of workmen which composed the active and
courageous population of the mine. Overmen, brakemen, putters,
wastemen, barrowmen, masons, smiths, carpenters, outside and inside
laborers, women, children, and old men, all were collected in the great
yard of the Dochart pit, formerly heaped with coal from the mine.

Many of these families had existed for generations in the mine of old
Aberfoyle; they were now driven to seek the means of subsistence
elsewhere, and they waited sadly to bid farewell to the engineer.

James Starr stood upright, at the door of the vast shed in which he had
for so many years superintended the powerful machines of the shaft.
Simon Ford, the foreman of the Dochart pit, then fifty-five years of
age, and other managers and overseers, surrounded him. James Starr took
off his hat. The miners, cap in hand, kept a profound silence. This
farewell scene was of a touching character, not wanting in grandeur.

“My friends,” said the engineer, “the time has come for us to separate.
The Aberfoyle mines, which for so many years have united us in a common
work, are now exhausted. All our researches have not led to the
discovery of a new vein, and the last block of coal has just been
extracted from the Dochart pit.” And in confirmation of his words,
James Starr pointed to a lump of coal which had been kept at the bottom
of a basket.

“This piece of coal, my friends,” resumed James Starr, “is like the
last drop of blood which has flowed through the veins of the mine! We
shall keep it, as the first fragment of coal is kept, which was
extracted a hundred and fifty years ago from the bearings of Aberfoyle.
Between these two pieces, how many generations of workmen have
succeeded each other in our pits! Now, it is over! The last words which
your engineer will address to you are a farewell. You have lived in
this mine, which your hands have emptied. The work has been hard, but
not without profit for you. Our great family must disperse, and it is
not probable that the future will ever again unite the scattered
members. But do not forget that we have lived together for a long time,
and that it will be the duty of the miners of Aberfoyle to help each
other. Your old masters will not forget you either. When men have
worked together, they must never be stranger to each other again. We
shall keep our eye on you, and wherever you go, our recommendations
shall follow you. Farewell then, my friends, and may Heaven be with
you!”

So saying, James Starr wrung the horny hand of the oldest miner, whose
eyes were dim with tears. Then the overmen of the different pits came
forward to shake hands with him, whilst the miners waved their caps,
shouting, “Farewell, James Starr, our master and our friend!”

This farewell would leave a lasting remembrance in all these honest
hearts. Slowly and sadly the population quitted the yard. The black
soil of the roads leading to the Dochart pit resounded for the last
time to the tread of miners’ feet, and silence succeeded to the
bustling life which had till then filled the Aberfoyle mines.

One man alone remained by James Starr. This was the overman, Simon
Ford. Near him stood a boy, about fifteen years of age, who for some
years already had been employed down below.

James Starr and Simon Ford knew and esteemed each other well. “Good-by,
Simon,” said the engineer.

“Good-by, Mr. Starr,” replied the overman, “let me add, till we meet
again!”

“Yes, till we meet again. Ford!” answered James Starr. “You know that I
shall be always glad to see you, and talk over old times.”

“I know that, Mr. Starr.”

“My house in Edinburgh is always open to you.”

“It’s a long way off, is Edinburgh!” answered the man shaking his head.
“Ay, a long way from the Dochart pit.”

“A long way, Simon? Where do you mean to live?”

“Even here, Mr. Starr! We’re not going to leave the mine, our good old
nurse, just because her milk is dried up! My wife, my boy, and myself,
we mean to remain faithful to her!”

“Good-by then, Simon,” replied the engineer, whose voice, in spite of
himself, betrayed some emotion.

“No, I tell you, it’s _till we meet again_, Mr. Starr, and not Just
‘good-by,’” returned the foreman. “Mark my words, Aberfoyle will see
you again!”

The engineer did not try to dispel the man’s illusion. He patted
Harry’s head, again wrung the father’s hand, and left the mine.

All this had taken place ten years ago; but, notwithstanding the wish
which the overman had expressed to see him again, during that time
Starr had heard nothing of him. It was after ten years of separation
that he got this letter from Simon Ford, requesting him to take without
delay the road to the old Aberfoyle colliery.

A communication of an interesting nature, what could it be? Dochart
pit. Yarrow shaft! What recollections of the past these names brought
back to him! Yes, that was a fine time, that of work, of struggle,—the
best part of the engineer’s life. Starr re-read his letter. He pondered
over it in all its bearings. He much regretted that just a line more
had not been added by Ford. He wished he had not been quite so laconic.

Was it possible that the old foreman had discovered some new vein? No!
Starr remembered with what minute care the mines had been explored
before the definite cessation of the works. He had himself proceeded to
the lowest soundings without finding the least trace in the soil,
burrowed in every direction. They had even attempted to find coal under
strata which are usually below it, such as the Devonian red sandstone,
but without result. James Starr had therefore abandoned the mine with
the absolute conviction that it did not contain another bit of coal.

“No,” he repeated, “no! How is it possible that anything which could
have escaped my researches, should be revealed to those of Simon Ford.
However, the old overman must well know that such a discovery would be
the one thing in the world to interest me, and this invitation, which I
must keep secret, to repair to the Dochart pit!” James Starr always
came back to that.

On the other hand, the engineer knew Ford to be a clever miner,
peculiarly endowed with the instinct of his trade. He had not seen him
since the time when the Aberfoyle colliery was abandoned, and did not
know either what he was doing or where he was living, with his wife and
his son. All that he now knew was, that a rendezvous had been appointed
him at the Yarrow shaft, and that Harry, Simon Ford’s son, was to wait
for him during the whole of the next day at the Callander station.

“I shall go, I shall go!” said Starr, his excitement increasing as the
time drew near.

Our worthy engineer belonged to that class of men whose brain is always
on the boil, like a kettle on a hot fire. In some of these brain
kettles the ideas bubble over, in others they just simmer quietly. Now
on this day, James Starr’s ideas were boiling fast.

But suddenly an unexpected incident occurred. This was the drop of cold
water, which in a moment was to condense all the vapors of the brain.
About six in the evening, by the third post, Starr’s servant brought
him a second letter. This letter was enclosed in a coarse envelope, and
evidently directed by a hand unaccustomed to the use of a pen. James
Starr tore it open. It contained only a scrap of paper, yellowed by
time, and apparently torn out of an old copy book.

On this paper was written a single sentence, thus worded:

“It is useless for the engineer James Starr to trouble himself, Simon
Ford’s letter being now without object.”

No signature.




CHAPTER II.
ON THE ROAD


The course of James Starr’s ideas was abruptly stopped, when he got
this second letter contradicting the first.

“What does this mean?” said he to himself. He took up the torn
envelope, and examined it. Like the other, it bore the Aberfoyle
postmark. It had therefore come from the same part of the county of
Stirling. The old miner had evidently not written it. But, no less
evidently, the author of this second letter knew the overman’s secret,
since it expressly contradicted the invitation to the engineer to go to
the Yarrow shaft.

Was it really true that the first communication was now without object?
Did someone wish to prevent James Starr from troubling himself either
uselessly or otherwise? Might there not be rather a malevolent
intention to thwart Ford’s plans?

This was the conclusion at which James Starr arrived, after mature
reflection. The contradiction which existed between the two letters
only wrought in him a more keen desire to visit the Dochart pit. And
besides, if after all it was a hoax, it was well worth while to prove
it. Starr also thought it wiser to give more credence to the first
letter than to the second; that is to say, to the request of such a man
as Simon Ford, rather than to the warning of his anonymous
contradictor.

“Indeed,” said he, “the fact of anyone endeavoring to influence my
resolution, shows that Ford’s communication must be of great
importance. To-morrow, at the appointed time, I shall be at the
rendezvous.”

In the evening, Starr made his preparations for departure. As it might
happen that his absence would be prolonged for some days, he wrote to
Sir W. Elphiston, President of the Royal Institution, that he should be
unable to be present at the next meeting of the Society. He also wrote
to excuse himself from two or three engagements which he had made for
the week. Then, having ordered his servant to pack a traveling bag, he
went to bed, more excited than the affair perhaps warranted.

The next day, at five o’clock, James Starr jumped out of bed, dressed
himself warmly, for a cold rain was falling, and left his house in the
Canongate, to go to Granton Pier to catch the steamer, which in three
hours would take him up the Forth as far as Stirling.

For the first time in his life, perhaps, in passing along the
Canongate, he did _not turn to look at Holyrood_, the palace of the
former sovereigns of Scotland. He did not notice the sentinels who
stood before its gateways, dressed in the uniform of their Highland
regiment, tartan kilt, plaid and sporran complete. His whole thought
was to reach Callander where Harry Ford was supposedly awaiting him.

The better to understand this narrative, it will be as well to hear a
few words on the origin of coal. During the geological epoch, when the
terrestrial spheroid was still in course of formation, a thick
atmosphere surrounded it, saturated with watery vapors, and copiously
impregnated with carbonic acid. The vapors gradually condensed in
diluvial rains, which fell as if they had leapt from the necks of
thousands of millions of seltzer water bottles. This liquid, loaded
with carbonic acid, rushed in torrents over a deep soft soil, subject
to sudden or slow alterations of form, and maintained in its semi-fluid
state as much by the heat of the sun as by the fires of the interior
mass. The internal heat had not as yet been collected in the center of
the globe. The terrestrial crust, thin and incompletely hardened,
allowed it to spread through its pores. This caused a peculiar form of
vegetation, such as is probably produced on the surface of the inferior
planets, Venus or Mercury, which revolve nearer than our earth around
the radiant sun of our system.

The soil of the continents was covered with immense forests. Carbonic
acid, so suitable for the development of the vegetable kingdom,
abounded. The feet of these trees were drowned in a sort of immense
lagoon, kept continually full by currents of fresh and salt waters.
They eagerly assimilated to themselves the carbon which they, little by
little, extracted from the atmosphere, as yet unfit for the function of
life, and it may be said that they were destined to store it, in the
form of coal, in the very bowels of the earth.

It was the earthquake period, caused by internal convulsions, which
suddenly modified the unsettled features of the terrestrial surface.
Here, an intumescence which was to become a mountain, there, an abyss
which was to be filled with an ocean or a sea. There, whole forests
sunk through the earth’s crust, below the unfixed strata, either until
they found a resting-place, such as the primitive bed of granitic rock,
or, settling together in a heap, they formed a solid mass.

As the waters were contained in no bed, and were spread over every part
of the globe, they rushed where they liked, tearing from the
scarcely-formed rocks material with which to compose schists,
sandstones, and limestones. This the roving waves bore over the
submerged and now peaty forests, and deposited above them the elements
of rocks which were to superpose the coal strata. In course of time,
periods of which include millions of years, these earths hardened in
layers, and enclosed under a thick carapace of pudding-stone, schist,
compact or friable sandstone, gravel and stones, the whole of the
massive forests.

And what went on in this gigantic crucible, where all this vegetable
matter had accumulated, sunk to various depths? A regular chemical
operation, a sort of distillation. All the carbon contained in these
vegetables had agglomerated, and little by little coal was forming
under the double influence of enormous pressure and the high
temperature maintained by the internal fires, at this time so close to
it.

Thus there was one kingdom substituted for another in this slow but
irresistible reaction. The vegetable was transformed into a mineral.
Plants which had lived the vegetative life in all the vigor of first
creation became petrified. Some of the substances enclosed in this vast
herbal left their impression on the other more rapidly mineralized
products, which pressed them as an hydraulic press of incalculable
power would have done.

Thus also shells, zoophytes, star-fish, polypi, spirifores, even fish
and lizards brought by the water, left on the yet soft coal their exact
likeness, “admirably taken off.”

Pressure seems to have played a considerable part in the formation of
carboniferous strata. In fact, it is to its degree of power that are
due the different sorts of coal, of which industry makes use. Thus in
the lowest layers of the coal ground appears the anthracite, which,
being almost destitute of volatile matter, contains the greatest
quantity of carbon. In the higher beds are found, on the contrary,
lignite and fossil wood, substances in which the quantity of carbon is
infinitely less. Between these two beds, according to the degree of
pressure to which they have been subjected, are found veins of graphite
and rich or poor coal. It may be asserted that it is for want of
sufficient pressure that beds of peaty bog have not been completely
changed into coal. So then, the origin of coal mines, in whatever part
of the globe they have been discovered, is this: the absorption through
the terrestrial crust of the great forests of the geological period;
then, the mineralization of the vegetables obtained in the course of
time, under the influence of pressure and heat, and under the action of
carbonic acid.

Now, at the time when the events related in this story took place, some
of the most important mines of the Scottish coal beds had been
exhausted by too rapid working. In the region which extends between
Edinburgh and Glasgow, for a distance of ten or twelve miles, lay the
Aberfoyle colliery, of which the engineer, James Starr, had so long
directed the works. For ten years these mines had been abandoned. No
new seams had been discovered, although the soundings had been carried
to a depth of fifteen hundred or even of two thousand feet, and when
James Starr had retired, it was with the full conviction that even the
smallest vein had been completely exhausted.

Under these circumstances, it was plain that the discovery of a new
seam of coal would be an important event. Could Simon Ford’s
communication relate to a fact of this nature? This question James
Starr could not cease asking himself. Was he called to make conquest of
another corner of these rich treasure fields? Fain would he hope it was
so.

The second letter had for an instant checked his speculations on this
subject, but now he thought of that letter no longer. Besides, the son
of the old overman was there, waiting at the appointed rendezvous. The
anonymous letter was therefore worth nothing.

The moment the engineer set foot on the platform at the end of his
journey, the young man advanced towards him.

“Are you Harry Ford?” asked the engineer quickly.

“Yes, Mr. Starr.”

“I should not have known you, my lad. Of course in ten years you have
become a man!”

“I knew you directly, sir,” replied the young miner, cap in hand. “You
have not changed. You look just as you did when you bade us good-by in
the Dochart pit. I haven’t forgotten that day.”

“Put on your cap, Harry,” said the engineer. “It’s pouring, and
politeness needn’t make you catch cold.”

“Shall we take shelter anywhere, Mr. Starr?” asked young Ford.

“No, Harry. The weather is settled. It will rain all day, and I am in a
hurry. Let us go on.”

“I am at your orders,” replied Harry.

“Tell me, Harry, is your father well?”

“Very well, Mr. Starr.”

“And your mother?”

“She is well, too.”

“Was it your father who wrote telling me to come to the Yarrow shaft?”

“No, it was I.”

“Then did Simon Ford send me a second letter to contradict the first?”
asked the engineer quickly.

“No, Mr. Starr,” answered the young miner.

“Very well,” said Starr, without speaking of the anonymous letter.
Then, continuing, “And can you tell me what you father wants with me?”

“Mr. Starr, my father wishes to tell you himself.”

“But you know what it is?”

“I do, sir.”

“Well, Harry, I will not ask you more. But let us get on, for I’m
anxious to see Simon Ford. By-the-bye, where does he live?”

“In the mine.”

“What! In the Dochart pit?”

“Yes, Mr. Starr,” replied Harry.

“Really! has your family never left the old mine since the cessation of
the works?”

“Not a day, Mr. Starr. You know my father. It is there he was born, it
is there he means to die!”

“I can understand that, Harry. I can understand that! His native mine!
He did not like to abandon it! And are you happy there?”

“Yes, Mr. Starr,” replied the young miner, “for we love one another,
and we have but few wants.”

“Well, Harry,” said the engineer, “lead the way.”

And walking rapidly through the streets of Callander, in a few minutes
they had left the town behind them.




CHAPTER III.
THE DOCHART PIT


Harry Ford was a fine, strapping fellow of five and twenty. His grave
looks, his habitually passive expression, had from childhood been
noticed among his comrades in the mine. His regular features, his deep
blue eyes, his curly hair, rather chestnut than fair, the natural grace
of his person, altogether made him a fine specimen of a lowlander.
Accustomed from his earliest days to the work of the mine, he was
strong and hardy, as well as brave and good. Guided by his father, and
impelled by his own inclinations, he had early begun his education, and
at an age when most lads are little more than apprentices, he had
managed to make himself of some importance, a leader, in fact, among
his fellows, and few are very ignorant in a country which does all it
can to remove ignorance. Though, during the first years of his youth,
the pick was never out of Harry’s hand, nevertheless the young miner
was not long in acquiring sufficient knowledge to raise him into the
upper class of the miners, and he would certainly have succeeded his
father as overman of the Dochart pit, if the colliery had not been
abandoned.

James Starr was still a good walker, yet he could not easily have kept
up with his guide, if the latter had not slackened his pace. The young
man, carrying the engineer’s bag, followed the left bank of the river
for about a mile. Leaving its winding course, they took a road under
tall, dripping trees. Wide fields lay on either side, around isolated
farms. In one field a herd of hornless cows were quietly grazing; in
another sheep with silky wool, like those in a child’s toy sheep fold.

The Yarrow shaft was situated four miles from Callander. Whilst
walking, James Starr could not but be struck with the change in the
country. He had not seen it since the day when the last ton of
Aberfoyle coal had been emptied into railway trucks to be sent to
Glasgow. Agricultural life had now taken the place of the more
stirring, active, industrial life. The contrast was all the greater
because, during winter, field work is at a standstill. But formerly, at
whatever season, the mining population, above and below ground, filled
the scene with animation. Great wagons of coal used to be passing night
and day. The rails, with their rotten sleepers, now disused, were then
constantly ground by the weight of wagons. Now stony roads took the
place of the old mining tramways. James Starr felt as if he was
traversing a desert.

The engineer gazed about him with a saddened eye. He stopped now and
then to take breath. He listened. The air was no longer filled with
distant whistlings and the panting of engines. None of those black
vapors which the manufacturer loves to see, hung in the horizon,
mingling with the clouds. No tall cylindrical or prismatic chimney
vomited out smoke, after being fed from the mine itself; no blast-pipe
was puffing out its white vapor. The ground, formerly black with coal
dust, had a bright look, to which James Starr’s eyes were not
accustomed.

When the engineer stood still, Harry Ford stopped also. The young miner
waited in silence. He felt what was passing in his companion’s mind,
and he shared his feelings; he, a child of the mine, whose whole life
had been passed in its depths.

“Yes, Harry, it is all changed,” said Starr. “But at the rate we
worked, of course the treasures of coal would have been exhausted some
day. Do you regret that time?”

“I do regret it, Mr. Starr,” answered Harry. “The work was hard, but it
was interesting, as are all struggles.”

“No doubt, my lad. A continuous struggle against the dangers of
landslips, fires, inundations, explosions of firedamp, like claps of
thunder. One had to guard against all those perils! You say well! It
was a struggle, and consequently an exciting life.”

“The miners of Alva have been more favored than the miners of
Aberfoyle, Mr. Starr!”

“Ay, Harry, so they have,” replied the engineer.

“Indeed,” cried the young man, “it’s a pity that all the globe was not
made of coal; then there would have been enough to last millions of
years!”

“No doubt there would, Harry; it must be acknowledged, however, that
nature has shown more forethought by forming our sphere principally of
sandstone, limestone, and granite, which fire cannot consume.”

“Do you mean to say, Mr. Starr, that mankind would have ended by
burning their own globe?”

“Yes! The whole of it, my lad,” answered the engineer. “The earth would
have passed to the last bit into the furnaces of engines, machines,
steamers, gas factories; certainly, that would have been the end of our
world one fine day!”

“There is no fear of that now, Mr. Starr. But yet, the mines will be
exhausted, no doubt, and more rapidly than the statistics make out!”

“That will happen, Harry; and in my opinion England is very wrong in
exchanging her fuel for the gold of other nations! I know well,” added
the engineer, “that neither hydraulics nor electricity has yet shown
all they can do, and that some day these two forces will be more
completely utilized. But no matter! Coal is of a very practical use,
and lends itself easily to the various wants of industry. Unfortunately
man cannot produce it at will. Though our external forests grow
incessantly under the influence of heat and water, our subterranean
forests will not be reproduced, and if they were, the globe would never
be in the state necessary to make them into coal.”

James Starr and his guide, whilst talking, had continued their walk at
a rapid pace. An hour after leaving Callander they reached the Dochart
pit.

The most indifferent person would have been touched at the appearance
this deserted spot presented. It was like the skeleton of something
that had formerly lived. A few wretched trees bordered a plain where
the ground was hidden under the black dust of the mineral fuel, but no
cinders nor even fragments of coal were to be seen. All had been
carried away and consumed long ago.

They walked into the shed which covered the opening of the Yarrow
shaft, whence ladders still gave access to the lower galleries of the
pit. The engineer bent over the opening. Formerly from this place could
be heard the powerful whistle of the air inhaled by the ventilators. It
was now a silent abyss. It was like being at the mouth of some extinct
volcano.

When the mine was being worked, ingenious machines were used in certain
shafts of the Aberfoyle colliery, which in this respect was very well
off; frames furnished with automatic lifts, working in wooden slides,
oscillating ladders, called “man-engines,” which, by a simple movement,
permitted the miners to descend without danger.

But all these appliances had been carried away, after the cessation of
the works. In the Yarrow shaft there remained only a long succession of
ladders, separated at every fifty feet by narrow landings. Thirty of
these ladders placed thus end to end led the visitor down into the
lower gallery, a depth of fifteen hundred feet. This was the only way
of communication which existed between the bottom of the Dochart pit
and the open air. As to air, that came in by the Yarrow shaft, from
whence galleries communicated with another shaft whose orifice opened
at a higher level; the warm air naturally escaped by this species of
inverted siphon.

“I will follow you, my lad,” said the engineer, signing to the young
man to precede him.

“As you please, Mr. Starr.”

“Have you your lamp?”

“Yes, and I only wish it was still the safety lamp, which we formerly
had to use!”

“Sure enough,” returned James Starr, “there is no fear of fire-damp
explosions now!”

Harry was provided with a simple oil lamp, the wick of which he
lighted. In the mine, now empty of coal, escapes of light carburetted
hydrogen could not occur. As no explosion need be feared, there was no
necessity for interposing between the flame and the surrounding air
that metallic screen which prevents the gas from catching fire. The
Davy lamp was of no use here. But if the danger did not exist, it was
because the cause of it had disappeared, and with this cause, the
combustible in which formerly consisted the riches of the Dochart pit.

Harry descended the first steps of the upper ladder. Starr followed.
They soon found themselves in a profound obscurity, which was only
relieved by the glimmer of the lamp. The young man held it above his
head, the better to light his companion. A dozen ladders were descended
by the engineer and his guide, with the measured step habitual to the
miner. They were all still in good condition.

James Starr examined, as well as the insufficient light would permit,
the sides of the dark shaft, which were covered by a partly rotten
lining of wood.

Arrived at the fifteenth landing, that is to say, half way down, they
halted for a few minutes.

“Decidedly, I have not your legs, my lad,” said the engineer, panting.

“You are very stout, Mr. Starr,” replied Harry, “and it’s something
too, you see, to live all one’s life in the mine.”

“Right, Harry. Formerly, when I was twenty, I could have gone down all
at a breath. Come, forward!”

But just as the two were about to leave the platform, a voice, as yet
far distant, was heard in the depths of the shaft. It came up like a
sonorous billow, swelling as it advanced, and becoming more and more
distinct.

“Halloo! who comes here?” asked the engineer, stopping Harry.

“I cannot say,” answered the young miner.

“Is it not your father?”

“My father, Mr. Starr? no.”

“Some neighbor, then?”

“We have no neighbors in the bottom of the pit,” replied Harry. “We are
alone, quite alone.”

“Well, we must let this intruder pass,” said James Starr. “Those who
are descending must yield the path to those who are ascending.”

They waited. The voice broke out again with a magnificent burst, as if
it had been carried through a vast speaking trumpet; and soon a few
words of a Scotch song came clearly to the ears of the young miner.

“The Hundred Pipers!” cried Harry. “Well, I shall be much surprised if
that comes from the lungs of any man but Jack Ryan.”

“And who is this Jack Ryan?” asked James Starr.

“An old mining comrade,” replied Harry. Then leaning from the platform,
“Halloo! Jack!” he shouted.

“Is that you, Harry?” was the reply. “Wait a bit, I’m coming.” And the
song broke forth again.

In a few minutes, a tall fellow of five and twenty, with a merry face,
smiling eyes, a laughing mouth, and sandy hair, appeared at the bottom
of the luminous cone which was thrown from his lantern, and set foot on
the landing of the fifteenth ladder. His first act was to vigorously
wring the hand which Harry extended to him.

“Delighted to meet you!” he exclaimed. “If I had only known you were to
be above ground to-day, I would have spared myself going down the
Yarrow shaft!”

“This is Mr. James Starr,” said Harry, turning his lamp towards the
engineer, who was in the shadow.

“Mr. Starr!” cried Jack Ryan. “Ah, sir, I could not see. Since I left
the mine, my eyes have not been accustomed to see in the dark, as they
used to do.”

“Ah, I remember a laddie who was always singing. That was ten years
ago. It was you, no doubt?”

“Ay, Mr. Starr, but in changing my trade, I haven’t changed my
disposition. It’s far better to laugh and sing than to cry and whine!”

“You’re right there, Jack Ryan. And what do you do now, as you have
left the mine?”

“I am working on the Melrose farm, forty miles from here. Ah, it’s not
like our Aberfoyle mines! The pick comes better to my hand than the
spade or hoe. And then, in the old pit, there were vaulted roofs, to
merrily echo one’s songs, while up above ground!—But you are going to
see old Simon, Mr. Starr?”

“Yes, Jack,” answered the engineer.

“Don’t let me keep you then.”

“Tell me, Jack,” said Harry, “what was taking you to our cottage
to-day?”

“I wanted to see you, man,” replied Jack, “and ask you to come to the
Irvine games. You know I am the piper of the place. There will be
dancing and singing.”

“Thank you, Jack, but it’s impossible.”

“Impossible?”

“Yes; Mr. Starr’s visit will last some time, and I must take him back
to Callander.”

“Well, Harry, it won’t be for a week yet. By that time Mr. Starr’s
visit will be over, I should think, and there will be nothing to keep
you at the cottage.”

“Indeed, Harry,” said James Starr, “you must profit by your friend
Jack’s invitation.”

“Well, I accept it, Jack,” said Harry. “In a week we will meet at
Irvine.”

“In a week, that’s settled,” returned Ryan. “Good-by, Harry! Your
servant, Mr. Starr. I am very glad to have seen you again! I can give
news of you to all my friends. No one has forgotten you, sir.”

“And I have forgotten no one,” said Starr.

“Thanks for all, sir,” replied Jack.

“Good-by, Jack,” said Harry, shaking his hand. And Jack Ryan, singing
as he went, soon disappeared in the heights of the shaft, dimly lighted
by his lamp.

A quarter of an hour afterwards James Starr and Harry descended the
last ladder, and set foot on the lowest floor of the pit.

From the bottom of the Yarrow shaft radiated numerous empty galleries.
They ran through the wall of schist and sandstone, some shored up with
great, roughly-hewn beams, others lined with a thick casing of wood. In
every direction embankments supplied the place of the excavated veins.
Artificial pillars were made of stone from neighboring quarries, and
now they supported the ground, that is to say, the double layer of
tertiary and quaternary soil, which formerly rested on the seam itself.
Darkness now filled the galleries, formerly lighted either by the
miner’s lamp or by the electric light, the use of which had been
introduced in the mines.

“Will you not rest a while, Mr. Starr?” asked the young man.

“No, my lad,” replied the engineer, “for I am anxious to be at your
father’s cottage.”

“Follow me then, Mr. Starr. I will guide you, and yet I daresay you
could find your way perfectly well through this dark labyrinth.”

“Yes, indeed! I have the whole plan of the old pit still in my head.”

Harry, followed by the engineer, and holding his lamp high the better
to light their way, walked along a high gallery, like the nave of a
cathedral. Their feet still struck against the wooden sleepers which
used to support the rails.

They had not gone more than fifty paces, when a huge stone fell at the
feet of James Starr. “Take care, Mr. Starr!” cried Harry, seizing the
engineer by the arm.

“A stone, Harry! Ah! these old vaultings are no longer quite secure, of
course, and—”

“Mr. Starr,” said Harry Ford, “it seems to me that stone was thrown,
thrown as by the hand of man!”

“Thrown!” exclaimed James Starr. “What do you mean, lad?”

“Nothing, nothing, Mr. Starr,” replied Harry evasively, his anxious
gaze endeavoring to pierce the darkness. “Let us go on. Take my arm,
sir, and don’t be afraid of making a false step.”

“Here I am, Harry.” And they both advanced, whilst Harry looked on
every side, throwing the light of his lamp into all the corners of the
gallery.

“Shall we soon be there?” asked the engineer.

“In ten minutes at most.”

“Good.”

“But,” muttered Harry, “that was a most singular thing. It is the first
time such an accident has happened to me.

“That stone falling just at the moment we were passing.”

“Harry, it was a mere chance.”

“Chance,” replied the young man, shaking his head. “Yes, chance.” He
stopped and listened.

“What is the matter, Harry?” asked the engineer.

“I thought I heard someone walking behind us,” replied the young miner,
listening more attentively. Then he added, “No, I must have been
mistaken. Lean harder on my arm, Mr. Starr. Use me like a staff.”

“A good solid staff, Harry,” answered James Starr. “I could not wish
for a better than a fine fellow like you.”

They continued in silence along the dark nave. Harry was evidently
preoccupied, and frequently turned, trying to catch, either some
distant noise, or remote glimmer of light.

But behind and before, all was silence and darkness.




CHAPTER IV.
THE FORD FAMILY


Ten minutes afterwards, James Starr and Harry issued from the principal
gallery. They were now standing in a glade, if we may use this word to
designate a vast and dark excavation. The place, however, was not
entirely deprived of daylight. A few rays straggled in through the
opening of a deserted shaft. It was by means of this pipe that
ventilation was established in the Dochart pit. Owing to its lesser
density, the warm air was drawn towards the Yarrow shaft. Both air and
light, therefore, penetrated in some measure into the glade.

Here Simon Ford had lived with his family ten years, in a subterranean
dwelling, hollowed out in the schistous mass, where formerly stood the
powerful engines which worked the mechanical traction of the Dochart
pit.

Such was the habitation, “his cottage,” as he called it, in which
resided the old overman. As he had some means saved during a long life
of toil, Ford could have afforded to live in the light of day, among
trees, or in any town of the kingdom he chose, but he and his wife and
son preferred remaining in the mine, where they were happy together,
having the same opinions, ideas, and tastes. Yes, they were quite fond
of their cottage, buried fifteen hundred feet below Scottish soil.
Among other advantages, there was no fear that tax gatherers, or rent
collectors would ever come to trouble its inhabitants.

At this period, Simon Ford, the former overman of the Dochart pit, bore
the weight of sixty-five years well. Tall, robust, well-built, he would
have been regarded as one of the most conspicuous men in the district
which supplies so many fine fellows to the Highland regiments.

Simon Ford was descended from an old mining family, and his ancestors
had worked the very first carboniferous seams opened in Scotland.
Without discussing whether or not the Greeks and Romans made use of
coal, whether the Chinese worked coal mines before the Christian era,
whether the French word for coal (_houille_) is really derived from the
farrier Houillos, who lived in Belgium in the twelfth century, we may
affirm that the beds in Great Britain were the first ever regularly
worked. So early as the eleventh century, William the Conqueror divided
the produce of the Newcastle bed among his companions-in-arms. At the
end of the thirteenth century, a license for the mining of “sea coal”
was granted by Henry III. Lastly, towards the end of the same century,
mention is made of the Scotch and Welsh beds.

It was about this time that Simon Ford’s ancestors penetrated into the
bowels of Caledonian earth, and lived there ever after, from father to
son. They were but plain miners. They labored like convicts at the work
of extracting the precious combustible. It is even believed that the
coal miners, like the salt-makers of that period, were actual slaves.

However that might have been, Simon Ford was proud of belonging to this
ancient family of Scotch miners. He had worked diligently in the same
place where his ancestors had wielded the pick, the crowbar, and the
mattock. At thirty he was overman of the Dochart pit, the most
important in the Aberfoyle colliery. He was devoted to his trade.
During long years he zealously performed his duty. His only grief had
been to perceive the bed becoming impoverished, and to see the hour
approaching when the seam would be exhausted.

It was then he devoted himself to the search for new veins in all the
Aberfoyle pits, which communicated underground one with another. He had
had the good luck to discover several during the last period of the
working. His miner’s instinct assisted him marvelously, and the
engineer, James Starr, appreciated him highly. It might be said that he
divined the course of seams in the depths of the coal mine as a
hydroscope reveals springs in the bowels of the earth. He was _par
excellence_ the type of a miner whose whole existence is indissolubly
connected with that of his mine. He had lived there from his birth, and
now that the works were abandoned he wished to live there still. His
son Harry foraged for the subterranean housekeeping; as for himself,
during those ten years he had not been ten times above ground.

“Go up there! What is the good?” he would say, and refused to leave his
black domain. The place was remarkably healthy, subject to an equable
temperature; the old overman endured neither the heat of summer nor the
cold of winter. His family enjoyed good health; what more could he
desire?

But at heart he felt depressed. He missed the former animation,
movement, and life in the well-worked pit. He was, however, supported
by one fixed idea. “No, no! the mine is not exhausted!” he repeated.

And that man would have given serious offense who could have ventured
to express before Simon Ford any doubt that old Aberfoyle would one day
revive! He had never given up the hope of discovering some new bed
which would restore the mine to its past splendor. Yes, he would
willingly, had it been necessary, have resumed the miner’s pick, and
with his still stout arms vigorously attacked the rock. He went through
the dark galleries, sometimes alone, sometimes with his son, examining,
searching for signs of coal, only to return each day, wearied, but not
in despair, to the cottage.

Madge, Simon’s faithful companion, his “gude-wife,” to use the Scotch
term, was a tall, strong, comely woman. Madge had no wish to leave the
Dochart pit any more than had her husband. She shared all his hopes and
regrets. She encouraged him, she urged him on, and talked to him in a
way which cheered the heart of the old overman. “Aberfoyle is only
asleep,” she would say. “You are right about that, Simon. This is but a
rest, it is not death!”

Madge, as well as the others, was perfectly satisfied to live
independent of the outer world, and was the center of the happiness
enjoyed by the little family in their dark cottage.

The engineer was eagerly expected. Simon Ford was standing at his door,
and as soon as Harry’s lamp announced the arrival of his former viewer
he advanced to meet him.

“Welcome, Mr. Starr!” he exclaimed, his voice echoing under the roof of
schist. “Welcome to the old overman’s cottage! Though it is buried
fifteen hundred feet under the earth, our house is not the less
hospitable.”

“And how are you, good Simon?” asked James Starr, grasping the hand
which his host held out to him.

“Very well, Mr. Starr. How could I be otherwise here, sheltered from
the inclemencies of the weather? Your ladies who go to Newhaven or
Portobello in the summer time would do much better to pass a few months
in the coal mine of Aberfoyle! They would run no risk here of catching
a heavy cold, as they do in the damp streets of the old capital.”

“I’m not the man to contradict you, Simon,” answered James Starr, glad
to find the old man just as he used to be. “Indeed, I wonder why I do
not change my home in the Canongate for a cottage near you.”

“And why not, Mr. Starr? I know one of your old miners who would be
truly pleased to have only a partition wall between you and him.”

“And how is Madge?” asked the engineer.

“The goodwife is in better health than I am, if that’s possible,”
replied Ford, “and it will be a pleasure to her to see you at her
table. I think she will surpass herself to do you honor.”

“We shall see that, Simon, we shall see that!” said the engineer, to
whom the announcement of a good breakfast could not be indifferent,
after his long walk.

“Are you hungry, Mr. Starr?”

“Ravenously hungry. My journey has given me an appetite. I came through
horrible weather.”

“Ah, it is raining up there,” responded Simon Ford.

“Yes, Simon, and the waters of the Forth are as rough as the sea.”

“Well, Mr. Starr, here it never rains. But I needn’t describe to you
all the advantages, which you know as well as myself. Here we are at
the cottage. That is the chief thing, and I again say you are welcome,
sir.”

Simon Ford, followed by Harry, ushered their guest into the dwelling.
James Starr found himself in a large room lighted by numerous lamps,
one hanging from the colored beams of the roof.

“The soup is ready, wife,” said Ford, “and it mustn’t be kept waiting
any more than Mr. Starr. He is as hungry as a miner, and he shall see
that our boy doesn’t let us want for anything in the cottage!
By-the-bye, Harry,” added the old overman, turning to his son, “Jack
Ryan came here to see you.”

“I know, father. We met him in the Yarrow shaft.”

“He’s an honest and a merry fellow,” said Ford; “but he seems to be
quite happy above ground. He hasn’t the true miner’s blood in his
veins. Sit down, Mr. Starr, and have a good dinner, for we may not sup
till late.”

As the engineer and his hosts were taking their places:

“One moment, Simon,” said James Starr. “Do you want me to eat with a
good appetite?”

“It will be doing us all possible honor, Mr. Starr,” answered Ford.

“Well, in order to eat heartily, I must not be at all anxious. Now I
have two questions to put to you.”

“Go on, sir.”

“Your letter told me of a communication which was to be of an
interesting nature.”

“It is very interesting indeed.”

“To you?”

“To you and to me, Mr. Starr. But I do not want to tell it you until
after dinner, and on the very spot itself. Without that you would not
believe me.”

“Simon,” resumed the engineer, “look me straight in the face. An
interesting communication? Yes. Good! I will not ask more,” he added,
as if he had read the reply in the old overman’s eyes.

“And the second question?” asked the latter.

“Do you know, Simon, who the person is who can have written this?”
answered the engineer, handing him the anonymous letter.

Ford took the letter and read it attentively. Then giving it to his
son, “Do you know the writing?” he asked.

“No, father,” replied Harry.

“And had this letter the Aberfoyle postmark?” inquired Simon Ford.

“Yes, like yours,” replied James Starr.

“What do you think of that, Harry?” said his father, his brow
darkening.

“I think, father,” returned Harry, “that someone has had some interest
in trying to prevent Mr. Starr from coming to the place where you
invited him.”

“But who,” exclaimed the old miner, “who could have possibly guessed
enough of my secret?” And Simon fell into a reverie, from which he was
aroused by his wife.

“Let us begin, Mr. Starr,” she said. “The soup is already getting cold.
Don’t think any more of that letter just now.”

On the old woman’s invitation, each drew in his chair, James Starr
opposite to Madge—to do him honor—the father and son opposite to each
other. It was a good Scotch dinner. First they ate “hotchpotch,” soup
with the meat swimming in capital broth. As old Simon said, his wife
knew no rival in the art of preparing hotchpotch. It was the same with
the “cockyleeky,” a cock stewed with leeks, which merited high praise.
The whole was washed down with excellent ale, obtained from the best
brewery in Edinburgh.

But the principal dish consisted of a “haggis,” the national pudding,
made of meat and barley meal. This remarkable dish, which inspired the
poet Burns with one of his best odes, shared the fate of all the good
things in this world—it passed away like a dream.

Madge received the sincere compliments of her guest. The dinner ended
with cheese and oatcake, accompanied by a few small glasses of
“usquebaugh,” capital whisky, five and twenty years old—just Harry’s
age. The repast lasted a good hour. James Starr and Simon Ford had not
only eaten much, but talked much too, chiefly of their past life in the
old Aberfoyle mine.

Harry had been rather silent. Twice he had left the table, and even the
house. He evidently felt uneasy since the incident of the stone, and
wished to examine the environs of the cottage. The anonymous letter had
not contributed to reassure him.

Whilst he was absent, the engineer observed to Ford and his wife,
“That’s a fine lad you have there, my friends.”

“Yes, Mr. Starr, he is a good and affectionate son,” replied the old
overman earnestly.

“Is he happy with you in the cottage?”

“He would not wish to leave us.”

“Don’t you think of finding him a wife, some day?”

“A wife for Harry,” exclaimed Ford. “And who would it be? A girl from
up yonder, who would love merry-makings and dancing, who would prefer
her clan to our mine! Harry wouldn’t do it!”

“Simon,” said Madge, “you would not forbid that Harry should take a
wife.”

“I would forbid nothing,” returned the old miner, “but there’s no hurry
about that. Who knows but we may find one for him—”

Harry re-entered at that moment, and Simon Ford was silent.

When Madge rose from the table, all followed her example, and seated
themselves at the door of the cottage. “Well, Simon,” said the
engineer, “I am ready to hear you.”

“Mr. Starr,” responded Ford, “I do not need your ears, but your legs.
Are you quite rested?”

“Quite rested and quite refreshed, Simon. I am ready to go with you
wherever you like.”

“Harry,” said Simon Ford, turning to his son, “light our safety lamps.”

“Are you going to take safety lamps!” exclaimed James Starr, in
amazement, knowing that there was no fear of explosions of fire-damp in
a pit quite empty of coal.

“Yes, Mr. Starr, it will be prudent.”

“My good Simon, won’t you propose next to put me in a miner’s dress?”

“Not just yet, sir, not just yet!” returned the old overman, his
deep-set eyes gleaming strangely.

Harry soon reappeared, carrying three safety lamps. He handed one of
these to the engineer, the other to his father, and kept the third
hanging from his left hand, whilst his right was armed with a long
stick.

“Forward!” said Simon Ford, taking up a strong pick, which was leaning
against the wall of the cottage.

“Forward!” echoed the engineer. “Good-by, Madge.”

“_God_ speed you!” responded the good woman.

“A good supper, wife, do you hear?” exclaimed Ford. “We shall be hungry
when we come back, and will do it justice!”




CHAPTER V.
SOME STRANGE PHENOMENA


Many superstitious beliefs exist both in the Highlands and Lowlands of
Scotland. Of course the mining population must furnish its contingent
of legends and fables to this mythological repertory. If the fields are
peopled with imaginary beings, either good or bad, with much more
reason must the dark mines be haunted to their lowest depths. Who
shakes the seam during tempestuous nights? who puts the miners on the
track of an as yet unworked vein? who lights the fire-damp, and
presides over the terrible explosions? who but some spirit of the mine?
This, at least, was the opinion commonly spread among the superstitious
Scotch.

In the first rank of the believers in the supernatural in the Dochart
pit figured Jack Ryan, Harry’s friend. He was the great partisan of all
these superstitions. All these wild stories were turned by him into
songs, which earned him great applause in the winter evenings.

But Jack Ryan was not alone in his belief. His comrades affirmed, no
less strongly, that the Aberfoyle pits were haunted, and that certain
strange beings were seen there frequently, just as in the Highlands. To
hear them talk, it would have been more extraordinary if nothing of the
kind appeared. Could there indeed be a better place than a dark and
deep coal mine for the freaks of fairies, elves, goblins, and other
actors in the fantastical dramas? The scenery was all ready, why should
not the supernatural personages come there to play their parts?

So reasoned Jack Ryan and his comrades in the Aberfoyle mines. We have
said that the different pits communicated with each other by means of
long subterranean galleries. Thus there existed beneath the county of
Stirling a vast tract, full of burrows, tunnels, bored with caves, and
perforated with shafts, a subterranean labyrinth, which might be
compared to an enormous ant-hill.

Miners, though belonging to different pits, often met, when going to or
returning from their work. Consequently there was a constant
opportunity of exchanging talk, and circulating the stories which had
their origin in the mine, from one pit to another. These accounts were
transmitted with marvelous rapidity, passing from mouth to mouth, and
gaining in wonder as they went.

Two men, however, better educated and with more practical minds than
the rest, had always resisted this temptation. They in no degree
believed in the intervention of spirits, elves, or goblins. These two
were Simon Ford and his son. And they proved it by continuing to
inhabit the dismal crypt, after the desertion of the Dochart pit.
Perhaps good Madge, like every Highland woman, had some leaning towards
the supernatural. But she had to repeat all these stories to herself,
and so she did, most conscientiously, so as not to let the old
traditions be lost.

Even had Simon and Harry Ford been as credulous as their companions,
they would not have abandoned the mine to the imps and fairies. For ten
years, without missing a single day, obstinate and immovable in their
convictions, the father and son took their picks, their sticks, and
their lamps. They went about searching, sounding the rock with a sharp
blow, listening if it would return a favor-able sound. So long as the
soundings had not been pushed to the granite of the primary formation,
the Fords were agreed that the search, unsuccessful to-day, might
succeed to-morrow, and that it ought to be resumed. They spent their
whole life in endeavoring to bring Aberfoyle back to its former
prosperity. If the father died before the hour of success, the son was
to go on with the task alone.

It was during these excursions that Harry was more particularly struck
by certain phenomena, which he vainly sought to explain. Several times,
while walking along some narrow cross-alley, he seemed to hear sounds
similar to those which would be produced by violent blows of a pickax
against the wall.

Harry hastened to seek the cause of this mysterious work. The tunnel
was empty. The light from the young miner’s lamp, thrown on the wall,
revealed no trace of any recent work with pick or crowbar. Harry would
then ask himself if it was not the effect of some acoustic illusion, or
some strange and fantastic echo. At other times, on suddenly throwing a
bright light into a suspicious-looking cleft in the rock, he thought he
saw a shadow. He rushed forward. Nothing, and there was no opening to
permit a human being to evade his pursuit!

Twice in one month, Harry, whilst visiting the west end of the pit,
distinctly heard distant reports, as if some miner had exploded a
charge of dynamite. The second time, after many careful researches, he
found that a pillar had just been blown up.

By the light of his lamp, Harry carefully examined the place attacked
by the explosion. It had not been made in a simple embankment of
stones, but in a mass of schist, which had penetrated to this depth in
the coal stratum. Had the object of the explosion been to discover a
new vein? Or had someone wished simply to destroy this portion of the
mine? Thus he questioned, and when he made known this occurrence to his
father, neither could the old overman nor he himself answer the
question in a satisfactory way.

“It is very queer,” Harry often repeated. “The presence of an unknown
being in the mine seems impossible, and yet there can be no doubt about
it. Does someone besides ourselves wish to find out if a seam yet
exists? Or, rather, has he attempted to destroy what remains of the
Aberfoyle mines? But for what reason? I will find that out, if it
should cost me my life!”

A fortnight before the day on which Harry Ford guided the engineer
through the labyrinth of the Dochart pit, he had been on the point of
attaining the object of his search. He was going over the southwest end
of the mine, with a large lantern in his hand. All at once, it seemed
to him that a light was suddenly extinguished, some hundred feet before
him, at the end of a narrow passage cut obliquely through the rock. He
darted forward.

His search was in vain. As Harry would not admit a supernatural
explanation for a physical occurrence, he concluded that certainly some
strange being prowled about in the pit. But whatever he could do,
searching with the greatest care, scrutinizing every crevice in the
gallery, he found nothing for his trouble.

If Jack Ryan and the other superstitious fellows in the mine had seen
these lights, they would, without fail, have called them supernatural,
but Harry did not dream of doing so, nor did his father. And when they
talked over these phenomena, evidently due to a physical cause, “My
lad,” the old man would say, “we must wait. It will all be explained
some day.”

However, it must be observed that, hitherto, neither Harry nor his
father had ever been exposed to any act of violence. If the stone which
had fallen at the feet of James Starr had been thrown by the hand of
some ill-disposed person, it was the first criminal act of that
description.

James Starr was of opinion that the stone had become detached from the
roof of the gallery; but Harry would not admit of such a simple
explanation. According to him, the stone had not fallen, it had been
thrown; for otherwise, without rebounding, it could never have
described a trajectory as it did.

Harry saw in it a direct attempt against himself and his father, or
even against the engineer.




CHAPTER VI.
SIMON FORD’S EXPERIMENT


The old clock in the cottage struck one as James Starr and his two
companions went out. A dim light penetrated through the ventilating
shaft into the glade. Harry’s lamp was not necessary here, but it would
very soon be of use, for the old overman was about to conduct the
engineer to the very end of the Dochart pit.

After following the principal gallery for a distance of two miles, the
three explorers—for, as will be seen, this was a regular
exploration—arrived at the entrance of a narrow tunnel. It was like a
nave, the roof of which rested on woodwork, covered with white moss. It
followed very nearly the line traced by the course of the river Forth,
fifteen hundred feet above.

“So we are going to the end of the last vein?” said James Starr.

“Ay! You know the mine well still.”

“Well, Simon,” returned the engineer, “it will be difficult to go
further than that, if I don’t mistake.”

“Yes, indeed, Mr. Starr. That was where our picks tore out the last bit
of coal in the seam. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I myself
gave that last blow, and it re-echoed in my heart more dismally than on
the rock. Only sandstone and schist were round us after that, and when
the truck rolled towards the shaft, I followed, with my heart as full
as though it were a funeral. It seemed to me that the soul of the mine
was going with it.”

The gravity with which the old man uttered these words impressed the
engineer, who was not far from sharing his sentiments. They were those
of the sailor who leaves his disabled vessel—of the proprietor who sees
the house of his ancestors pulled down. He pressed Ford’s hand; but now
the latter seized that of the engineer, and, wringing it:

“That day we were all of us mistaken,” he exclaimed. “No! The old mine
was not dead. It was not a corpse that the miners abandoned; and I dare
to assert, Mr. Starr, that its heart beats still.”

“Speak, Ford! Have you discovered a new vein?” cried the engineer,
unable to contain himself. “I know you have! Your letter could mean
nothing else.”

“Mr. Starr,” said Simon Ford, “I did not wish to tell any man but
yourself.”

“And you did quite right, Ford. But tell me how, by what signs, are you
sure?”

“Listen, sir!” resumed Simon. “It is not a seam that I have found.”

“What is it, then?”

“Only positive proof that such a seam exists.”

“And the proof?”

“Could fire-damp issue from the bowels of the earth if coal was not
there to produce it?”

“No, certainly not!” replied the engineer. “No coal, no fire-damp. No
effects without a cause.”

“Just as no smoke without fire.”

“And have you recognized the presence of light carburetted hydrogen?”

“An old miner could not be deceived,” answered Ford. “I have met with
our old enemy, the fire-damp!”

“But suppose it was another gas,” said Starr. “Firedamp is almost
without smell, and colorless. It only really betrays its presence by an
explosion.”

“Mr. Starr,” said Simon Ford, “will you let me tell you what I have
done? Harry had once or twice observed something remarkable in his
excursions to the west end of the mine. Fire, which suddenly went out,
sometimes appeared along the face of the rock or on the embankment of
the further galleries. How those flames were lighted, I could not and
cannot say. But they were evidently owing to the presence of fire-damp,
and to me fire-damp means a vein of coal.”

“Did not these fires cause any explosion?” asked the engineer quickly.

“Yes, little partial explosions,” replied Ford, “such as I used to
cause myself when I wished to ascertain the presence of fire-damp. Do
you remember how formerly it was the custom to try to prevent
explosions before our good genius, Humphry Davy, invented his
safety-lamp?”

“Yes,” replied James Starr. “You mean what the ‘monk,’ as the men
called him, used to do. But I have never seen him in the exercise of
his duty.”

“Indeed, Mr. Starr, you are too young, in spite of your five-and-fifty
years, to have seen that. But I, ten years older, often saw the last
‘monk’ working in the mine. He was called so because he wore a long
robe like a monk. His proper name was the ‘fireman.’ At that time there
was no other means of destroying the bad gas but by dispersing it in
little explosions, before its buoyancy had collected it in too great
quantities in the heights of the galleries. The monk, as we called him,
with his face masked, his head muffled up, all his body tightly wrapped
in a thick felt cloak, crawled along the ground. He could breathe down
there, when the air was pure; and with his right hand he waved above
his head a blazing torch. When the firedamp had accumulated in the air,
so as to form a detonating mixture, the explosion occurred without
being fatal, and, by often renewing this operation, catastrophes were
prevented. Sometimes the ‘monk’ was injured or killed in his work, then
another took his place. This was done in all mines until the Davy lamp
was universally adopted. But I knew the plan, and by its means I
discovered the presence of firedamp and consequently that of a new seam
of coal in the Dochart pit.”

All that the old overman had related of the so-called “monk” or
“fireman” was perfectly true. The air in the galleries of mines was
formerly always purified in the way described.

Fire-damp, marsh-gas, or carburetted hydrogen, is colorless, almost
scentless; it burns with a blue flame, and makes respiration
impossible. The miner could not live in a place filled with this
injurious gas, any more than one could live in a gasometer full of
common gas. Moreover, fire-damp, as well as the latter, a mixture of
inflammable gases, forms a detonating mixture as soon as the air unites
with it in a proportion of eight, and perhaps even five to the hundred.
When this mixture is lighted by any cause, there is an explosion,
almost always followed by a frightful catastrophe.

As they walked on, Simon Ford told the engineer all that he had done to
attain his object; how he was sure that the escape of fire-damp took
place at the very end of the farthest gallery in its western part,
because he had provoked small and partial explosions, or rather little
flames, enough to show the nature of the gas, which escaped in a small
jet, but with a continuous flow.

An hour after leaving the cottage, James Starr and his two companions
had gone a distance of four miles. The engineer, urged by anxiety and
hope, walked on without noticing the length of the way. He pondered
over all that the old miner had told him, and mentally weighed all the
arguments which the latter had given in support of his belief. He
agreed with him in thinking that the continued emission of carburetted
hydrogen certainly showed the existence of a new coal-seam. If it had
been merely a sort of pocket, full of gas, as it is sometimes found
amongst the rock, it would soon have been empty, and the phenomenon
have ceased. But far from that. According to Simon Ford, the fire-damp
escaped incessantly, and from that fact the existence of an important
vein might be considered certain. Consequently, the riches of the
Dochart pit were not entirely exhausted. The chief question now was,
whether this was merely a vein which would yield comparatively little,
or a bed occupying a large extent.

Harry, who preceded his father and the engineer, stopped.

“Here we are!” exclaimed the old miner. “At last, thank Heaven! you are
here, Mr. Starr, and we shall soon know.” The old overman’s voice
trembled slightly.

“Be calm, my man!” said the engineer. “I am as excited as you are, but
we must not lose time.”

The gallery at this end of the pit widened into a sort of dark cave. No
shaft had been pierced in this part, and the gallery, bored into the
bowels of the earth, had no direct communication with the surface of
the earth.

James Starr, with intense interest, examined the place in which they
were standing. On the walls of the cavern the marks of the pick could
still be seen, and even holes in which the rock had been blasted, near
the termination of the working. The schist was excessively hard, and it
had not been necessary to bank up the end of the tunnel where the works
had come to an end. There the vein had failed, between the schist and
the tertiary sandstone. From this very place had been extracted the
last piece of coal from the Dochart pit.

“We must attack the dyke,” said Ford, raising his pick; “for at the
other side of the break, at more or less depth, we shall assuredly find
the vein, the existence of which I assert.”

“And was it on the surface of these rocks that you found out the
fire-damp?” asked James Starr.

“Just there, sir,” returned Ford, “and I was able to light it only by
bringing my lamp near to the cracks in the rock. Harry has done it as
well as I.”

“At what height?” asked Starr.

“Ten feet from the ground,” replied Harry.

James Starr had seated himself on a rock. After critically inhaling the
air of the cavern, he gazed at the two miners, almost as if doubting
their words, decided as they were. In fact, carburetted hydrogen is not
completely scentless, and the engineer, whose sense of smell was very
keen, was astonished that it had not revealed the presence of the
explosive gas. At any rate, if the gas had mingled at all with the
surrounding air, it could only be in a very small stream. There was no
danger of an explosion, and they might without fear open the safety
lamp to try the experiment, just as the old miner had done before.

What troubled James Starr was, not lest too much gas mingled with the
air, but lest there should be little or none.

“Could they have been mistaken?” he murmured. “No: these men know what
they are about. And yet—”

He waited, not without some anxiety, until Simon Ford’s phenomenon
should have taken place. But just then it seemed that Harry, like
himself, had remarked the absence of the characteristic odor of
fire-damp; for he exclaimed in an altered voice, “Father, I should say
the gas was no longer escaping through the cracks!”

“No longer!” cried the old miner—and, pressing his lips tight together,
he snuffed the air several times.

Then, all at once, with a sudden movement, “Hand me your lamp, Harry,”
he said.

Ford took the lamp with a trembling hand. He drew off the wire gauze
case which surrounded the wick, and the flame burned in the open air.

As they had expected, there was no explosion, but, what was more
serious, there was not even the slight crackling which indicates the
presence of a small quantity of firedamp. Simon took the stick which
Harry was holding, fixed his lamp to the end of it, and raised it high
above his head, up to where the gas, by reason of its buoyancy, would
naturally accumulate. The flame of the lamp, burning straight and
clear, revealed no trace of the carburetted hydrogen.

“Close to the wall,” said the engineer.

“Yes,” responded Ford, carrying the lamp to that part of the wall at
which he and his son had, the evening before, proved the escape of gas.

The old miner’s arm trembled whilst he tried to hoist the lamp up.
“Take my place, Harry,” said he.

Harry took the stick, and successively presented the lamp to the
different fissures in the rock; but he shook his head, for of that
slight crackling peculiar to escaping fire-damp he heard nothing. There
was no flame. Evidently not a particle of gas was escaping through the
rock.

“Nothing!” cried Ford, clenching his fist with a gesture rather of
anger than disappointment.

A cry escaped Harry.

“What’s the matter?” asked Starr quickly.

“Someone has stopped up the cracks in the schist!”

“Is that true?” exclaimed the old miner.

“Look, father!” Harry was not mistaken. The obstruction of the fissures
was clearly visible by the light of the lamp. It had been recently done
with lime, leaving on the rock a long whitish mark, badly concealed
with coal dust.

“It’s he!” exclaimed Harry. “It can only be he!”

“He?” repeated James Starr in amazement.

“Yes!” returned the young man, “that mysterious being who haunts our
domain, for whom I have watched a hundred times without being able to
get at him—the author, we may now be certain, of that letter which was
intended to hinder you from coming to see my father, Mr. Starr, and who
finally threw that stone at us in the gallery of the Yarrow shaft! Ah!
there’s no doubt about it; there is a man’s hand in all that!”

Harry spoke with such energy that conviction came instantly and fully
to the engineer’s mind. As to the old overman, he was already
convinced. Besides, there they were in the presence of an undeniable
fact—the stopping-up of cracks through which gas had escaped freely the
night before.

“Take your pick, Harry,” cried Ford; “mount on my shoulders, my lad! I
am still strong enough to bear you!” The young man understood in an
instant. His father propped himself up against the rock. Harry got upon
his shoulders, so that with his pick he could reach the line of the
fissure. Then with quick sharp blows he attacked it. Almost directly
afterwards a slight sound was heard, like champagne escaping from a
bottle—a sound commonly expressed by the word “puff.”

Harry again seized his lamp, and held it to the opening. There was a
slight report; and a little red flame, rather blue at its outline,
flickered over the rock like a Will-o’-the-Wisp.

Harry leaped to the ground, and the old overman, unable to contain his
joy, grasped the engineer’s hands, exclaiming, “Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Mr. Starr. The fire-damp burns! the vein is there!”




CHAPTER VII.
NEW ABERFOYLE


The old overman’s experiment had succeeded. Firedamp, it is well known,
is only generated in coal seams; therefore the existence of a vein of
precious combustible could no longer be doubted. As to its size and
quality, that must be determined later.

“Yes,” thought James Starr, “behind that wall lies a carboniferous bed,
undiscovered by our soundings. It is vexatious that all the apparatus
of the mine, deserted for ten years, must be set up anew. Never mind.
We have found the vein which was thought to be exhausted, and this time
it shall be worked to the end!”

“Well, Mr. Starr,” asked Ford, “what do you think of our discovery? Was
I wrong to trouble you? Are you sorry to have paid this visit to the
Dochart pit?”

“No, no, my old friend!” answered Starr. “We have not lost our time;
but we shall be losing it now, if we do not return immediately to the
cottage. To-morrow we will come back here. We will blast this wall with
dynamite. We will lay open the new vein, and after a series of
soundings, if the seam appears to be large, I will form a new Aberfoyle
Company, to the great satisfaction of the old shareholders. Before
three months have passed, the first corves full of coal will have been
taken from the new vein.”

“Well said, sir!” cried Simon Ford. “The old mine will grow young
again, like a widow who remarries! The bustle of the old days will soon
begin with the blows of the pick, and mattock, blasts of powder,
rumbling of wagons, neighing of horses, creaking of machines! I shall
see it all again! I hope, Mr. Starr, that you will not think me too old
to resume my duties of overman?”

“No, Simon, no indeed! You wear better than I do, my old friend!”

“And, sir, you shall be our viewer again. May the new working last for
many years, and pray Heaven I shall have the consolation of dying
without seeing the end of it!”

The old miner was overflowing with joy. James Starr fully entered into
it; but he let Ford rave for them both. Harry alone remained
thoughtful. To his memory recurred the succession of singular,
inexplicable circumstances attending the discovery of the new bed. It
made him uneasy about the future.

An hour afterwards, James Starr and his two companions were back in the
cottage. The engineer supped with good appetite, listening with
satisfaction to all the plans unfolded by the old overman; and had it
not been for his excitement about the next day’s work, he would never
have slept better than in the perfect stillness of the cottage.

The following day, after a substantial breakfast, James Starr, Simon
Ford, Harry, and even Madge herself, took the road already traversed
the day before. All looked like regular miners. They carried different
tools, and some dynamite with which to blast the rock. Harry, besides a
large lantern, took a safety lamp, which would burn for twelve hours.
It was more than was necessary for the journey there and back,
including the time for the working—supposing a working was possible.

“To work! to work!” shouted Ford, when the party reached the further
end of the passage; and he grasped a heavy crowbar and brandished it.

“Stop one instant,” said Starr. “Let us see if any change has taken
place, and if the fire-damp still escapes through the crevices.”

“You are right, Mr. Starr,” said Harry. “Whoever stopped it up
yesterday may have done it again to-day!”

Madge, seated on a rock, carefully observed the excavation, and the
wall which was to be blasted.

It was found that everything was just as they left it. The crevices had
undergone no alteration; the carburetted hydrogen still filtered
through, though in a small stream, which was no doubt because it had
had a free passage since the day before. As the quantity was so small,
it could not have formed an explosive mixture with the air inside.
James Starr and his companions could therefore proceed in security.
Besides, the air grew purer by rising to the heights of the Dochart
pit; and the fire-damp, spreading through the atmosphere, would not be
strong enough to make any explosion.

“To work, then!” repeated Ford; and soon the rock flew in splinters
under his skillful blows. The break was chiefly composed of
pudding-stone, interspersed with sandstone and schist, such as is most
often met with between the coal veins. James Starr picked up some of
the pieces, and examined them carefully, hoping to discover some trace
of coal.

Starr having chosen the place where the holes were to be drilled, they
were rapidly bored by Harry. Some cartridges of dynamite were put into
them. As soon as the long, tarred safety match was laid, it was lighted
on a level with the ground. James Starr and his companions then went
off to some distance.

“Oh! Mr. Starr,” said Simon Ford, a prey to agitation, which he did not
attempt to conceal, “never, no, never has my old heart beaten so quick
before! I am longing to get at the vein!”

“Patience, Simon!” responded the engineer. “You don’t mean to say that
you think you are going to find a passage all ready open behind that
dyke?”

“Excuse me, sir,” answered the old overman; “but of course I think so!
If there was good luck in the way Harry and I discovered this place,
why shouldn’t the good luck go on?”

As he spoke, came the explosion. A sound as of thunder rolled through
the labyrinth of subterranean galleries. Starr, Madge, Harry, and Simon
Ford hastened towards the spot.

“Mr. Starr! Mr. Starr!” shouted the overman. “Look! the door is broken
open!”

Ford’s comparison was justified by the appearance of an excavation, the
depth of which could not be calculated. Harry was about to spring
through the opening; but the engineer, though excessively surprised to
find this cavity, held him back. “Allow time for the air in there to
get pure,” said he.

“Yes! beware of the foul air!” said Simon.

A quarter of an hour was passed in anxious waiting. The lantern was
then fastened to the end of a stick, and introduced into the cave,
where it continued to burn with unaltered brilliancy. “Now then, Harry,
go,” said Starr, “and we will follow you.”

The opening made by the dynamite was sufficiently large to allow a man
to pass through. Harry, lamp in hand, entered unhesitatingly, and
disappeared in the darkness. His father, mother, and James Starr waited
in silence. A minute—which seemed to them much longer—passed. Harry did
not reappear, did not call. Gazing into the opening, James Starr could
not even see the light of his lamp, which ought to have illuminated the
dark cavern.

Had the ground suddenly given way under Harry’s feet? Had the young
miner fallen into some crevice? Could his voice no longer reach his
companions?

The old overman, dead to their remonstrances, was about to enter the
opening, when a light appeared, dim at first, but gradually growing
brighter, and Harry’s voice was heard shouting, “Come, Mr. Starr! come,
father! The road to New Aberfoyle is open!”

If, by some superhuman power, engineers could have raised in a block, a
thousand feet thick, all that portion of the terrestrial crust which
supports the lakes, rivers, gulfs, and territories of the counties of
Stirling, Dumbarton, and Renfrew, they would have found, under that
enormous lid, an immense excavation, to which but one other in the
world can be compared—the celebrated Mammoth caves of Kentucky. This
excavation was composed of several hundred divisions of all sizes and
shapes. It might be called a hive with numberless ranges of cells,
capriciously arranged, but a hive on a vast scale, and which, instead
of bees, might have lodged all the ichthyosauri, megatheriums, and
pterodactyles of the geological epoch.

A labyrinth of galleries, some higher than the most lofty cathedrals,
others like cloisters, narrow and winding—these following a horizontal
line, those on an incline or running obliquely in all
directions—connected the caverns and allowed free communication between
them.

The pillars sustaining the vaulted roofs, whose curves allowed of every
style, the massive walls between the passages, the naves themselves in
this layer of secondary formation, were composed of sandstone and
schistous rocks. But tightly packed between these useless strata ran
valuable veins of coal, as if the black blood of this strange mine had
circulated through their tangled network. These fields extended forty
miles north and south, and stretched even under the Caledonian Canal.
The importance of this bed could not be calculated until after
soundings, but it would certainly surpass those of Cardiff and
Newcastle.

We may add that the working of this mine would be singularly
facilitated by the fantastic dispositions of the secondary earths; for
by an unaccountable retreat of the mineral matter at the geological
epoch, when the mass was solidifying, nature had already multiplied the
galleries and tunnels of New Aberfoyle.

Yes, nature alone! It might at first have been supposed that some works
abandoned for centuries had been discovered afresh. Nothing of the
sort. No one would have deserted such riches. Human termites had never
gnawed away this part of the Scottish subsoil; nature herself had done
it all. But, we repeat, it could be compared to nothing but the
celebrated Mammoth caves, which, in an extent of more than twenty
miles, contain two hundred and twenty-six avenues, eleven lakes, seven
rivers, eight cataracts, thirty-two unfathomable wells, and fifty-seven
domes, some of which are more than four hundred and fifty feet in
height. Like these caves, New Aberfoyle was not the work of men, but
the work of the Creator.

Such was this new domain, of matchless wealth, the discovery of which
belonged entirely to the old overman. Ten years’ sojourn in the
deserted mine, an uncommon pertinacity in research, perfect faith,
sustained by a marvelous mining instinct—all these qualities together
led him to succeed where so many others had failed. Why had the
soundings made under the direction of James Starr during the last years
of the working stopped just at that limit, on the very frontier of the
new mine? That was all chance, which takes great part in researches of
this kind.

However that might be, there was, under the Scottish subsoil, what
might be called a subterranean county, which, to be habitable, needed
only the rays of the sun, or, for want of that, the light of a special
planet.

Water had collected in various hollows, forming vast ponds, or rather
lakes larger than Loch Katrine, lying just above them. Of course the
waters of these lakes had no movement of currents or tides; no old
castle was reflected there; no birch or oak trees waved on their banks.
And yet these deep lakes, whose mirror-like surface was never ruffled
by a breeze, would not be without charm by the light of some electric
star, and, connected by a string of canals, would well complete the
geography of this strange domain.

Although unfit for any vegetable production, the place could be
inhabited by a whole population. And who knows but that in this steady
temperature, in the depths of the mines of Aberfoyle, as well as in
those of Newcastle, Alloa, or Cardiff—when their contents shall have
been exhausted—who knows but that the poorer classes of Great Britain
will some day find a refuge?




CHAPTER VIII.
EXPLORING


At Harry’s call, James Starr, Madge, and Simon Ford entered through the
narrow orifice which put the Dochart pit in communication with the new
mine. They found themselves at the beginning of a tolerably wide
gallery. One might well believe that it had been pierced by the hand of
man, that the pick and mattock had emptied it in the working of a new
vein. The explorers question whether, by a strange chance, they had not
been transported into some ancient mine, of the existence of which even
the oldest miners in the county had ever known.

No! It was merely that the geological layers had left this passage when
the secondary earths were in course of formation. Perhaps some torrent
had formerly dashed through it; but now it was as dry as if it had been
cut some thousand feet lower, through granite rocks. At the same time,
the air circulated freely, which showed that certain natural vents
placed it in communication with the exterior atmosphere.

This observation, made by the engineer, was correct, and it was evident
that the ventilation of the new mine would be easily managed. As to the
fire-damp which had lately filtered through the schist, it seemed to
have been contained in a pocket now empty, and it was certain that the
atmosphere of the gallery was quite free from it. However, Harry
prudently carried only the safety lamp, which would insure light for
twelve hours.

James Starr and his companions now felt perfectly happy. All their
wishes were satisfied. There was nothing but coal around them. A sort
of emotion kept them silent; even Simon Ford restrained himself. His
joy overflowed, not in long phrases, but in short ejaculations.

It was perhaps imprudent to venture so far into the crypt. Pooh! they
never thought of how they were to get back.

The gallery was practicable, not very winding. They met with no noxious
exhalations, nor did any chasm bar the path. There was no reason for
stopping for a whole hour; James Starr, Madge, Harry, and Simon Ford
walked on, though there was nothing to show them what was the exact
direction of this unknown tunnel.

And they would no doubt have gone farther still, if they had not
suddenly come to the end of the wide road which they had followed since
their entrance into the mine.

The gallery ended in an enormous cavern, neither the height nor depth
of which could be calculated. At what altitude arched the roof of this
excavation—at what distance was its opposite wall—the darkness totally
concealed; but by the light of the lamp the explorers could discover
that its dome covered a vast extent of still water—pond or lake—whose
picturesque rocky banks were lost in obscurity.

“Halt!” exclaimed Ford, stopping suddenly. “Another step, and perhaps
we shall fall into some fathomless pit.”

“Let us rest awhile, then, my friends,” returned the engineer.
“Besides, we ought to be thinking of returning to the cottage.”

“Our lamp will give light for another ten hours, sir,” said Harry.

“Well, let us make a halt,” replied Starr; “I confess my legs have need
of a rest. And you, Madge, don’t you feel tired after so long a walk?”

“Not over much, Mr. Starr,” replied the sturdy Scotchwoman; “we have
been accustomed to explore the old Aberfoyle mine for whole days
together.”

“Tired? nonsense!” interrupted Simon Ford; “Madge could go ten times as
far, if necessary. But once more, Mr. Starr, wasn’t my communication
worth your trouble in coming to hear it? Just dare to say no, Mr.
Starr, dare to say no!”

“Well, my old friend, I haven’t felt so happy for a long while!”
replied the engineer; “the small part of this marvelous mine that we
have explored seems to show that its extent is very considerable, at
least in length.”

“In width and in depth, too, Mr. Starr!” returned Simon Ford.

“That we shall know later.”

“And I can answer for it! Trust to the instinct of an old miner! It has
never deceived me!”

“I wish to believe you, Simon,” replied the engineer, smiling. “As far
as I can judge from this short exploration, we possess the elements of
a working which will last for centuries!”

“Centuries!” exclaimed Simon Ford; “I believe you, sir! A thousand
years and more will pass before the last bit of coal is taken out of
our new mine!”

“Heaven grant it!” returned Starr. “As to the quality of the coal which
crops out of these walls?”

“Superb! Mr. Starr, superb!” answered Ford; “just look at it yourself!”

And so saying, with his pick he struck off a fragment of the black
rock.

“Look! look!” he repeated, holding it close to his lamp; “the surface
of this piece of coal is shining! We have here fat coal, rich in
bituminous matter; and see how it comes in pieces, almost without dust!
Ah, Mr. Starr! twenty years ago this seam would have entered into a
strong competition with Swansea and Cardiff! Well, stokers will quarrel
for it still, and if it costs little to extract it from the mine, it
will not sell at a less price outside.”

“Indeed,” said Madge, who had taken the fragment of coal and was
examining it with the air of a connoisseur; “that’s good quality of
coal. Carry it home, Simon, carry it back to the cottage! I want this
first piece of coal to burn under our kettle.”

“Well said, wife!” answered the old overman, “and you shall see that I
am not mistaken.”

“Mr. Starr,” asked Harry, “have you any idea of the probable direction
of this long passage which we have been following since our entrance
into the new mine?”

“No, my lad,” replied the engineer; “with a compass I could perhaps
find out its general bearing; but without a compass I am here like a
sailor in open sea, in the midst of fogs, when there is no sun by which
to calculate his position.”

“No doubt, Mr. Starr,” replied Ford; “but pray don’t compare our
position with that of the sailor, who has everywhere and always an
abyss under his feet! We are on firm ground here, and need never be
afraid of foundering.”

“I won’t tease you, then, old Simon,” answered James Starr. “Far be it
from me even in jest to depreciate the New Aberfoyle mine by an unjust
comparison! I only meant to say one thing, and that is that we don’t
know where we are.”

“We are in the subsoil of the county of Stirling, Mr. Starr,” replied
Simon Ford; “and that I assert as if—”

“Listen!” said Harry, interrupting the old man. All listened, as the
young miner was doing. His ears, which were very sharp, had caught a
dull sound, like a distant murmur. His companions were not long in
hearing it themselves. It was above their heads, a sort of rolling
sound, in which though it was so feeble, the successive _crescendo_ and
_diminuendo_ could be distinctly heard.

All four stood for some minutes, their ears on the stretch, without
uttering a word. All at once Simon Ford exclaimed, “Well, I declare!
Are trucks already running on the rails of New Aberfoyle?”

“Father,” replied Harry, “it sounds to me just like the noise made by
waves rolling on the sea shore.”

“We can’t be under the sea though!” cried the old overman.

“No,” said the engineer, “but it is not impossible that we should be
under Loch Katrine.”

“The roof cannot have much thickness just here, if the noise of the
water is perceptible.”

“Very little indeed,” answered James Starr, “and that is the reason
this cavern is so huge.”

“You must be right, Mr. Starr,” said Harry.

“Besides, the weather is so bad outside,” resumed Starr, “that the
waters of the loch must be as rough as those of the Firth of Forth.”

“Well! what does it matter after all?” returned Simon Ford; “the seam
won’t be any the worse because it is under a loch. It would not be the
first time that coal has been looked for under the very bed of the
ocean! When we have to work under the bottom of the Caledonian Canal,
where will be the harm?”

“Well said, Simon,” cried the engineer, who could not restrain a smile
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
event.

During two minutes—that is to say, to the depth of about 120 feet, the
descent continued without any incident.

No lateral gallery opened from the side walls of the pit, which was
gradually narrowing into the shape of a funnel. But Harry began to feel
a fresher air rising from beneath, whence he concluded that the bottom
of the pit communicated with a gallery of some description in the
lowest part of the mine.

The cord continued to unwind. Darkness and silence were complete. If
any living being whatever had sought refuge in the deep and mysterious
abyss, he had either left it, or, if there, by no movement did he in
the slightest way betray his presence.

Harry, becoming more suspicious the lower he got, now drew his knife
and held it in his right hand. At a depth of 180 feet, his feet touched
the lower point and the cord slackened and unwound no further.

Harry breathed more freely for a moment. One of the fears he
entertained had been that, during his descent, the cord might be cut
above him, but he had seen no projection from the walls behind which
anyone could have been concealed.

The bottom of the abyss was quite dry. Harry, taking the lamp from his
belt, walked round the place, and perceived he had been right in his
conjectures.

An extremely narrow passage led aside out of the pit. He had to stoop
to look into it, and only by creeping could it be followed; but as he
wanted to see in which direction it led, and whether another abyss
opened from it, he lay down on the ground and began to enter it on
hands and knees.

An obstacle speedily arrested his progress. He fancied he could
perceive by touching it, that a human body lay across the passage. A
sudden thrill of horror and surprise made him hastily draw back, but he
again advanced and felt more carefully.

His senses had not deceived him; a body did indeed lie there; and he
soon ascertained that, although icy cold at the extremities, there was
some vital heat remaining. In less time than it takes to tell it, Harry
had drawn the body from the recess to the bottom of the shaft, and,
seizing his lamp, he cast its lights on what he had found, exclaiming
immediately, “Why, it is a child!”

The child still breathed, but so very feebly that Harry expected it to
cease every instant. Not a moment was to be lost; he must carry this
poor little creature out of the pit, and take it home to his mother as
quickly as he could. He eagerly fastened the cord round his waist,
stuck on his lamp, clasped the child to his breast with his left arm,
and, keeping his right hand free to hold the knife, he gave the signal
agreed on, to have the rope pulled up.

It tightened at once; he began the ascent. Harry looked around him with
redoubled care, for more than his own life was now in danger.

For a few minutes all went well, no accident seemed to threaten him,
when suddenly he heard the sound of a great rush of air from beneath;
and, looking down, he could dimly perceive through the gloom a broad
mass arising until it passed him, striking him as it went by.

It was an enormous bird—of what sort he could not see; it flew upwards
on mighty wings, then paused, hovered, and dashed fiercely down upon
Harry, who could only wield his knife in one hand. He defended himself
and the child as well as he could, but the ferocious bird seemed to aim
all its blows at him alone. Afraid of cutting the cord, he could not
strike it as he wished, and the struggle was prolonged, while Harry
shouted with all his might in hopes of making his comrades hear.

He soon knew they did, for they pulled the rope up faster; a distance
of about eighty feet remained to be got over. The bird ceased its
direct attack, but increased the horror and danger of his situation by
rushing at the cord, clinging to it just out of his reach, and
endeavoring, by pecking furiously, to cut it.

Harry felt overcome with terrible dread. One strand of the rope gave
way, and it made them sink a little.

A shriek of despair escaped his lips.

A second strand was divided, and the double burden now hung suspended
by only half the cord.

Harry dropped his knife, and by a superhuman effort succeeded, at the
moment the rope was giving way, in catching hold of it with his right
hand above the cut made by the beak of the bird. But, powerfully as he
held it in his iron grasp, he could feel it gradually slipping through
his fingers.

He might have caught it, and held on with both hands by sacrificing the
life of the child he supported in his left arm. The idea crossed him,
but was banished in an instant, although he believed himself quite
unable to hold out until drawn to the surface. For a second he closed
his eyes, believing they were about to plunge back into the abyss.

He looked up once more; the huge bird had disappeared; his hand was at
the very extremity of the broken rope—when, just as his convulsive
grasp was failing, he was seized by the men, and with the child was
placed on the level ground.

The fearful strain of anxiety removed, a reaction took place, and Harry
fell fainting into the arms of his friends.




CHAPTER XII.
NELL ADOPTED


A couple of hours later, Harry still unconscious, and the child in a
very feeble state, were brought to the cottage by Jack Ryan and his
companions. The old overman listened to the account of their
adventures, while Madge attended with the utmost care to the wants of
her son, and of the poor creature whom he had rescued from the pit.

Harry imagined her a mere child, but she was a maiden of the age of
fifteen or sixteen years.

She gazed at them with vague and wondering eyes; and the thin face,
drawn by suffering, the pallid complexion, which light could never have
tinged, and the fragile, slender figure, gave her an appearance at once
singular and attractive. Jack Ryan declared that she seemed to him to
be an uncommonly interesting kind of ghost.

It must have been due to the strange and peculiar circumstances under
which her life hitherto had been led, that she scarcely seemed to
belong to the human race. Her countenance was of a very uncommon cast,
and her eyes, hardly able to bear the lamp-light in the cottage,
glanced around in a confused and puzzled way, as if all were new to
them.

As this singular being reclined on Madge’s bed and awoke to
consciousness, as from a long sleep, the old Scotchwoman began to
question her a little.

“What do they call you, my dear?” said she.

“Nell,” replied the girl.

“Do you feel anything the matter with you, Nell?”

“I am hungry. I have eaten nothing since—since—”

Nell uttered these few words like one unused to speak much. They were
in the Gaelic language, which was often spoken by Simon and his family.
Madge immediately brought her some food; she was evidently famished. It
was impossible to say how long she might have been in that pit.

“How many days had you been down there, dearie?” inquired Madge.

Nell made no answer; she seemed not to understand the question.

“How many days, do you think?”

“Days?” repeated Nell, as though the word had no meaning for her, and
she shook her head to signify entire want of comprehension.

Madge took her hand, and stroked it caressingly. “How old are you, my
lassie?” she asked, smiling kindly at her.

Nell shook her head again.

“Yes, yes,” continued Madge, “how many years old?”

“Years?” replied Nell. She seemed to understand that word no better
than days! Simon, Harry, Jack, and the rest, looked on with an air of
mingled compassion, wonder, and sympathy. The state of this poor thing,
clothed in a miserable garment of coarse woolen stuff, seemed to
impress them painfully.

Harry, more than all the rest, seemed attracted by the very peculiarity
of this poor stranger. He drew near, took Nell’s hand from his mother,
and looked directly at her, while something like a smile curved her
lip. “Nell,” he said, “Nell, away down there—in the mine—were you all
alone?”

“Alone! alone!” cried the girl, raising herself hastily. Her features
expressed terror; her eyes, which had appeared to soften as Harry
looked at her, became quite wild again. “Alone!” repeated she,
“alone!”—and she fell back on the bed, as though deprived of all
strength.

“The poor bairn is too weak to speak to us,” said Madge, when she had
adjusted the pillows. “After a good rest, and a little more food, she
will be stronger. Come away, Simon and Harry, and all the rest of you,
and let her go to sleep.” So Nell was left alone, and in a very few
minutes slept profoundly.

This event caused a great sensation, not only in the coal mines, but in
Stirlingshire, and ultimately throughout the kingdom. The strangeness
of the story was exaggerated; the affair could not have made more
commotion had they found the girl enclosed in the solid rock, like one
of those antediluvian creatures who have occasionally been released by
a stroke of the pickax from their stony prison. Nell became a
fashionable wonder without knowing it. Superstitious folks made her
story a new subject for legendary marvels, and were inclined to think,
as Jack Ryan told Harry, that Nell was the spirit of the mines.

“Be it so, Jack,” said the young man; “but at any rate she is the good
spirit. It can have been none but she who brought us bread and water
when we were shut up down there; and as to the bad spirit, who must
still be in the mine, we’ll catch him some day.”

Of course James Starr had been at once informed of all this, and came,
as soon as the young girl had sufficiently recovered her strength, to
see her, and endeavor to question her carefully.

She appeared ignorant of nearly everything relating to life, and,
although evidently intelligent, was wanting in many elementary ideas,
such as time, for instance. She had never been used to its division,
and the words signifying hours, days, months, and years were unknown to
her.

Her eyes, accustomed to the night, were pained by the glare of the
electric discs; but in the dark her sight was wonderfully keen, the
pupil dilated in a remarkable manner, and she could see where to others
there appeared profound obscurity. It was certain that her brain had
never received any impression of the outer world, that her eyes had
never looked beyond the mine, and that these somber depths had been all
the world to her.

The poor girl probably knew not that there were a sun and stars, towns
and counties, a mighty universe composed of myriads of worlds. But
until she comprehended the significance of words at present conveying
no precise meaning to her, it was impossible to ascertain what she
knew.

As to whether or not Nell had lived alone in the recesses of New
Aberfoyle, James Starr was obliged to remain uncertain; indeed, any
allusion to the subject excited evident alarm in the mind of this
strange girl. Either Nell could not or would not reply to questions,
but that some secret existed in connection with the place, which she
could have explained, was manifest.

“Should you like to stay with us? Should you like to go back to where
we found you?” asked James Starr.

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed the maiden, in answer to his first question; but a
cry of terror was all she seemed able to say to the second.

James Starr, as well as Simon and Harry Ford, could not help feeling a
certain amount of uneasiness with regard to this persistent silence.
They found it impossible to forget all that had appeared so
inexplicable at the time they made the discovery of the coal mine; and
although that was three years ago, and nothing new had happened, they
always expected some fresh attack on the part of the invisible enemy.

They resolved to explore the mysterious well, and did so, well armed
and in considerable numbers. But nothing suspicious was to be seen; the
shaft communicated with lower stages of the crypt, hollowed out in the
carboniferous bed.

Many a time did James Starr, Simon, and Harry talk over these things.
If one or more malevolent beings were concealed in the coal-pit, and
there concocted mischief, Nell surely could have warned them of it, yet
she said nothing. The slightest allusion to her past life brought on
such fits of violent emotion, that it was judged best to avoid the
subject for the present. Her secret would certainly escape her
by-and-by.

By the time Nell had been a fortnight in the cottage, she had become a
most intelligent and zealous assistant to old Madge. It was clear that
she instinctively felt she should remain in the dwelling where she had
been so charitably received, and perhaps never dreamt of quitting it.
This family was all in all to her, and to the good folks themselves
Nell had seemed an adopted child from the moment when she first came
beneath their roof. Nell was in truth a charming creature; her new mode
of existence added to her beauty, for these were no doubt the first
happy days of her life, and her heart was full of gratitude towards
those to whom she owed them. Madge felt towards her as a mother would;
the old woman doted upon her; in short, she was beloved by everybody.
Jack Ryan only regretted one thing, which was that he had not saved her
himself. Friend Jack often came to the cottage. He sang, and Nell, who
had never heard singing before, admired it greatly; but anyone might
see that she preferred to Jack’s songs the graver conversation of
Harry, from whom by degrees she learnt truths concerning the outer
world, of which hitherto she had known nothing.

It must be said that, since Nell had appeared in her own person, Jack
Ryan had been obliged to admit that his belief in hobgoblins was in a
measure weakened. A couple of months later his credulity experienced a
further shock. About that time Harry unexpectedly made a discovery
which, in part at least, accounted for the apparition of the
fire-maidens among the ruins of Dundonald Castle at Irvine.

During several days he had been engaged in exploring the remote
galleries of the prodigious excavation towards the south. At last he
scrambled with difficulty up a narrow passage which branched off
through the upper rock. To his great astonishment, he suddenly found
himself in the open air. The passage, after ascending obliquely to the
surface of the ground, led out directly among the ruins of Dundonald
Castle.

There was, therefore, a communication between New Aberfoyle and the
hills crowned by this ancient castle. The upper entrance to this
gallery, being completely concealed by stones and brushwood, was
invisible from without; at the time of their search, therefore, the
magistrates had been able to discover nothing.

A few days afterwards, James Starr, guided by Harry, came himself to
inspect this curious natural opening into the coal mine. “Well,” said
he, “here is enough to convince the most superstitious among us.
Farewell to all their brownies, goblins, and fire-maidens now!”

“I hardly think, Mr. Starr, we ought to congratulate ourselves,”
replied Harry. “Whatever it is we have instead of these things, it
can’t be better, and may be worse than they are.”

“That’s true, Harry,” said the engineer; “but what’s to be done? It is
plain that, whatever the beings are who hide in the mine, they reach
the surface of the earth by this passage. No doubt it was the light of
torches waved by them during that dark and stormy night which attracted
the _Motala_ towards the rocky coast, and like the wreckers of former
days, they would have plundered the unfortunate vessel, had it not been
for Jack Ryan and his friends. Anyhow, so far it is evident, and here
is the mouth of the den. As to its occupants, the question is—Are they
here still?”

“I say yes; because Nell trembles when we mention them—yes, because
Nell will not, or dare not, speak about them,” answered Harry in a tone
of decision.

Harry was surely in the right. Had these mysterious denizens of the pit
abandoned it, or ceased to visit the spot, what reason could the girl
have had for keeping silence?

James Starr could not rest till he had penetrated this mystery. He
foresaw that the whole future of the new excavations must depend upon
it. Renewed and strict precautions were therefore taken. The
authorities were informed of the discovery of the entrance. Watchers
were placed among the ruins of the castle. Harry himself lay hid for
several nights in the thickets of brushwood which clothed the
hill-side.

Nothing was discovered—no human being emerged from the opening. So most
people came to the conclusion that the villains had been finally
dislodged from the mine, and that, as to Nell, they must suppose her to
be dead at the bottom of the shaft where they had left her.

While it remained unworked, the mine had been a safe enough place of
refuge, secure from all search or pursuit. But now, circumstances being
altered, it became difficult to conceal this lurking-place, and it
might reasonably be hoped they were gone, and that nothing for the
future was to be dreaded from them.

James Starr, however, could not feel sure about it; neither could Harry
be satisfied on the subject, often repeating, “Nell has clearly been
mixed up with all this secret business. If she had nothing more to
fear, why should she keep silence? It cannot be doubted that she is
happy with us. She likes us all—she adores my mother. Her absolute
silence as to her former life, when by speaking out she might benefit
us, proves to me that some awful secret, which she dares not reveal,
weighs on her mind. It may also be that she believes it better for us,
as well as for herself, that she should remain mute in a way otherwise
so unaccountable.”

In consequence of these opinions, it was agreed by common consent to
avoid all allusion to the maiden’s former mode of life. One day,
however, Harry was led to make known to Nell what James Starr, his
father, mother, and himself believed they owed to her interference.

It was a fête-day. The miners made holiday on the surface of the county
of Stirling as well as in its subterraneous domains. Parties of
holiday-makers were moving about in all directions. Songs resounded in
many places beneath the sonorous vaults of New Aberfoyle. Harry and
Nell left the cottage, and slowly walked along the left bank of Loch
Malcolm.

Then the electric brilliance darted less vividly, and the rays were
interrupted with fantastic effect by the sharp angles of the
picturesque rocks which supported the dome. This imperfect light suited
Nell, to whose eyes a glare was very unpleasant.

“Nell,” said Harry, “your eyes are not fit for daylight yet, and could
not bear the brightness of the sun.”

“Indeed they could not,” replied the girl; “if the sun is such as you
describe it to me, Harry.”

“I cannot by any words, Nell, give you an idea either of his splendor
or of the beauty of that universe which your eyes have never beheld.
But tell me, is it really possible that, since the day when you were
born in the depths of the coal mine, you never once have been up to the
surface of the earth?”

“Never once, Harry,” said she; “I do not believe that, even as an
infant, my father or mother ever carried me thither. I am sure I should
have retained some impression of the open air if they had.”

“I believe you would,” answered Harry. “Long ago, Nell, many children
used to live altogether in the mine; communication was then difficult,
and I have met with more than one young person, quite as ignorant as
you are of things above-ground. But now the railway through our great
tunnel takes us in a few minutes to the upper regions of our country. I
long, Nell, to hear you say, ‘Come, Harry, my eyes can bear daylight,
and I want to see the sun! I want to look upon the works of the
Almighty.’”

“I shall soon say so, Harry, I hope,” replied the girl; “I shall soon
go with you to the world above; and yet—”

“What are you going to say, Nell?” hastily cried Harry; “can you
possibly regret having quitted that gloomy abyss in which you spent
your early years, and whence we drew you half dead?”

“No, Harry,” answered Nell; “I was only thinking that darkness is
beautiful as well as light. If you but knew what eyes accustomed to its
depth can see! Shades flit by, which one longs to follow; circles
mingle and intertwine, and one could gaze on them forever; black
hollows, full of indefinite gleams of radiance, lie deep at the bottom
of the mine. And then the voice-like sounds! Ah, Harry! one must have
lived down there to understand what I feel, what I can never express.”

“And were you not afraid, Nell, all alone there?”

“It was just when I was alone that I was not afraid.”

Nell’s voice altered slightly as she said these words; however, Harry
thought he might press the subject a little further, so he said, “But
one might be easily lost in these great galleries, Nell. Were you not
afraid of losing your way?”

“Oh, no, Harry; for a long time I had known every turn of the new
mine.”

“Did you never leave it?”

“Yes, now and then,” answered the girl with a little hesitation;
“sometimes I have been as far as the old mine of Aberfoyle.”

“So you knew our old cottage?”

“The cottage! oh, yes; but the people who lived there I only saw at a
great distance.”

“They were my father and mother,” said Harry; “and I was there too; we
have always lived there—we never would give up the old dwelling.”

“Perhaps it would have been better for you if you had,” murmured the
maiden.

“Why so, Nell? Was it not just because we were obstinately resolved to
remain that we ended by discovering the new vein of coal? And did not
that discovery lead to the happy result of providing work for a large
population, and restoring them to ease and comfort? and did it not
enable us to find you, Nell, to save your life, and give you the love
of all our hearts?”

“Ah, yes, for me indeed it is well, whatever may happen,” replied Nell
earnestly; “for others—who can tell?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing—nothing. But it used to be very dangerous at that time to
go into the new cutting—yes, very dangerous indeed, Harry! Once some
rash people made their way into these chasms. They got a long, long
way; they were lost!”

“They were lost?” said Harry, looking at her.

“Yes, lost!” repeated Nell in a trembling voice. “They could not find
their way out.”

“And there,” cried Harry, “they were imprisoned during eight long days!
They were at the point of death, Nell; and, but for a kind and
charitable being—an angel perhaps—sent by God to help them, who
secretly brought them a little food; but for a mysterious guide, who
afterwards led to them their deliverers, they never would have escaped
from that living tomb!”

“And how do you know about that?” demanded the girl.

“Because those men were James Starr, my father, and myself, Nell!”

Nell looked up hastily, seized the young man’s hand, and gazed so
fixedly into his eyes that his feelings were stirred to their depths.
“You were there?” at last she uttered.

“I was indeed,” said Harry, after a pause, “and she to whom we owe our
lives can have been none other than yourself, Nell!”

Nell hid her face in her hands without speaking. Harry had never seen
her so much affected.

“Those who saved your life, Nell,” added he in a voice tremulous with
emotion, “already owed theirs to you; do you think they will ever
forget it?”




CHAPTER XIII.
ON THE REVOLVING LADDER


The mining operations at New Aberfoyle continued to be carried on very
successfully. As a matter of course, the engineer, James Starr, as well
as Simon Ford, the discoverers of this rich carboniferous region,
shared largely in the profits.

In time Harry became a partner. But he never thought of quitting the
cottage. He took his father’s place as overman, and diligently
superintended the works of this colony of miners. Jack Ryan was proud
and delighted at the good fortune which had befallen his comrade. He
himself was getting on very well also.

They frequently met, either at the cottage or at the works in the pit.
Jack did not fail to remark the sentiments entertained by Harry towards
Nell. Harry would not confess to them; but Jack only laughed at him
when he shook his head and tried to deny any special interest in her.

It must be noted that Jack Ryan had the greatest possible wish to be of
the party when Nell should pay her first visit to the upper surface of
the county of Stirling. He wished to see her wonder and admiration on
first beholding the yet unknown face of Nature. He very much hoped that
Harry would take him with them when the excursion was made. As yet,
however, the latter had made no proposal of the kind to him, which
caused him to feel a little uneasy as to his intentions.

One morning Jack Ryan was descending through a shaft which led from the
surface to the lower regions of the pit. He did so by means of one of
those ladders which, continually revolving by machinery, enabled
persons to ascend and descend without fatigue. This apparatus had
lowered him about a hundred and fifty feet, when at a narrow
landing-place he perceived Harry, who was coming up to his labors for
the day.

“Well met, my friend!” cried Jack, recognizing his comrade by the light
of the electric lamps.

“Ah, Jack!” replied Harry, “I am glad to see you. I’ve got something to
propose.”

“I can listen to nothing till you tell me how Nell is,” interrupted
Jack Ryan.

“Nell is all right, Jack—so much so, in fact, that I hope in a month or
six weeks—”

“To marry her, Harry?”

“Jack, you don’t know what you are talking about!”

“Ah, that’s very likely; but I know quite well what I shall do.”

“What will you do?”

“Marry her myself, if you don’t; so look sharp,” laughed Jack. “By
Saint Mungo! I think an immense deal of bonny Nell! A fine young
creature like that, who has been brought up in the mine, is just the
very wife for a miner. She is an orphan—so am I; and if you don’t care
much for her, and if she will have me—”

Harry looked gravely at Jack, and let him talk on without trying to
stop him. “Don’t you begin to feel jealous, Harry?” asked Jack in a
more serious tone.

“Not at all,” answered Harry quietly.

“But if you don’t marry Nell yourself, you surely can’t expect her to
remain a spinster?”

“I expect nothing,” said Harry.

A movement of the ladder machinery now gave the two friends the
opportunity—one to go up, the other down the shaft. However, they
remained where they were.

“Harry,” quoth Jack, “do you think I spoke in earnest just now about
Nell?”

“No, that I don’t, Jack.”

“Well, but now I will!”

“You? speak in earnest?”

“My good fellow, I can tell you I am quite capable of giving a friend a
bit of advice.”

“Let’s hear, then, Jack!”

“Well, look here! You love Nell as heartily as she deserves. Old Simon,
your father, and old Madge, your mother, both love her as if she were
their daughter. Why don’t you make her so in reality? Why don’t you
marry her?”

“Come, Jack,” said Harry, “you are running on as if you knew how Nell
felt on the subject.”

“Everybody knows that,” replied Jack, “and therefore it is impossible
to make you jealous of any of us. But here goes the ladder again—I’m
off!”

“Stop a minute, Jack!” cried Harry, detaining his companion, who was
stepping onto the moving staircase.

“I say! you seem to mean me to take up my quarters here altogether!”

“Do be serious and listen, Jack! I want to speak in earnest myself
now.”

“Well, I’ll listen till the ladder moves again, not a minute longer.”

“Jack,” resumed Harry, “I need not pretend that I do not love Nell; I
wish above all things to make her my wife.”

“That’s all right!”

“But for the present I have scruples of conscience as to asking her to
make me a promise which would be irrevocable.”

“What can you mean, Harry?”

“I mean just this—that, it being certain Nell has never been outside
this coal mine in the very depths of which she was born, it stands to
reason that she knows nothing, and can comprehend nothing of what
exists beyond it. Her eyes—yes, and perhaps also her heart—have
everything yet to learn. Who can tell what her thoughts will be, when
perfectly new impressions shall be made upon her mind? As yet she knows
nothing of the world, and to me it would seem like deceiving her, if I
led her to decide in ignorance, upon choosing to remain all her life in
the coal mine. Do you understand me, Jack?”

“Hem!—yes—pretty well. What I understand best is that you are going to
make me miss another turn of the ladder.”

“Jack,” replied Harry gravely, “if this machinery were to stop
altogether, if this landing-place were to fall beneath our feet, you
must and shall hear what I have to say.”

“Well done, Harry! that’s how I like to be spoken to! Let’s settle,
then, that, before you marry Nell, she shall go to school in Auld
Reekie.”

“No indeed, Jack; I am perfectly able myself to educate the person who
is to be my wife.”

“Sure that will be a great deal better, Harry!”

“But, first of all,” resumed Harry, “I wish that Nell should gain a
real knowledge of the upper world. To illustrate my meaning, Jack,
suppose you were in love with a blind girl, and someone said to you,
‘In a month’s time her sight will be restored,’ would you not wait till
after she was cured, to marry her?”

“Faith, to be sure I would!” exclaimed Jack.

“Well, Jack, Nell is at present blind; and before she marries me, I
wish her to see what I am, and what the life really is to which she
would bind herself. In short, she must have daylight let in upon the
subject!”

“Well said, Harry! Very well said indeed!” cried Jack. “Now I see what
you are driving at. And when may we expect the operation to come off?”

“In a month, Jack,” replied Harry. “Nell is getting used to the light
of our reflectors. That is some preparation. In a month she will, I
hope, have seen the earth and its wonders—the sky and its splendors.
She will perceive that the limits of the universe are boundless.”

But while Harry was thus giving the rein to his imagination, Jack Ryan,
quitting the platform, had leaped on the step of the moving machinery.

“Hullo, Jack! Where are you?”

“Far beneath you,” laughed the merry fellow. “While you soar to the
heights, I plunge into the depths.”

“Fare ye well. Jack!” returned Harry, himself laying hold of the rising
ladder; “mind you say nothing about what I have been telling you.”

“Not a word,” shouted Jack, “but I make one condition.”

“What is that?”

“That I may be one of the party when Nell’s first excursion to the face
of the earth comes off!”

“So you shall, Jack, I promise you!”

A fresh throb of the machinery placed a yet more considerable distance
between the friends. Their voices sounded faintly to each other. Harry,
however, could still hear Jack shouting:

“I say! do you know what Nell will like better than either sun, moon,
or stars, after she’s seen the whole of them?”

“No, Jack!”

“Why, you yourself, old fellow! still you! always you!” And Jack’s
voice died away in a prolonged “Hurrah!”

Harry, after this, applied himself diligently, during all his spare
time, to the work of Nell’s education. He taught her to read and to
write, and such rapid progress did she make, it might have been said
that she learnt by instinct. Never did keen intelligence more quickly
triumph over utter ignorance. It was the wonder of all beholders.

Simon and Madge became every day more and more attached to their
adopted child, whose former history continued to puzzle them a good
deal. They plainly saw the nature of Harry’s feelings towards her, and
were far from displeased thereat. They recollected that Simon had said
to the engineer on his first visit to the old cottage, “How can our son
ever think of marrying? Where could a wife possibly be found suitable
for a lad whose whole life must be passed in the depths of a coal
mine?”

Well! now it seemed as if the most desirable companion in the world had
been led to him by Providence. Was not this like a blessing direct from
Heaven? So the old man made up his mind that, if the wedding did take
place, the miners of New Aberfoyle should have a merry-making at Coal
Town, which they would never during their lives forget. Simon Ford
little knew what he was saying!

It must be remarked that another person wished for this union of Harry
and Nell as much as Simon did—and that was James Starr, the engineer.
Of course he was really interested in the happiness of the two young
people. But another motive, connected with wider interests, influenced
him to desire it.

It has been said that James Starr continued to entertain a certain
amount of apprehension, although for the present nothing appeared to
justify it. Yet that which had been might again be. This mystery about
the new cutting—Nell was evidently the only person acquainted with it.
Now, if fresh dangers were in store for the miners of Aberfoyle, how
were they possibly to be guarded against, without so much as knowing
the cause of them?

“Nell has persisted in keeping silence,” said James Starr very often,
“but what she has concealed from others, she will not long hide from
her husband. Any danger would be danger to Harry as well as to the rest
of us. Therefore, a marriage which brings happiness to the lovers, and
safety to their friends, will be a good marriage, if ever there is such
a thing here below.”

Thus, not illogically, reasoned James Starr. He communicated his ideas
to old Simon, who decidedly appreciated them. Nothing, then, appeared
to stand in the way of the match. What, in fact, was there to prevent
it? They loved each other; the parents desired nothing better for their
son. Harry’s comrades envied his good fortune, but freely acknowledged
that he deserved it. The maiden depended on no one else, and had but to
give the consent of her own heart.

Why, then, if there were none to place obstacles in the way of this
union—why, as night came on, and, the labors of the day being over, the
electric lights in the mine were extinguished, and all the inhabitants
of Coal Town at rest within their dwellings—why did a mysterious form
always emerge from the gloomier recesses of New Aberfoyle, and silently
glide through the darkness?

What instinct guided this phantom with ease through passages so narrow
as to appear to be impracticable?

Why should the strange being, with eyes flashing through the deepest
darkness, come cautiously creeping along the shores of Lake Malcolm?
Why so directly make his way towards Simon’s cottage, yet so carefully
as hitherto to avoid notice? Why, bending towards the windows, did he
strive to catch, by listening, some fragment of the conversation within
the closed shutters?

And, on catching a few words, why did he shake his fist with a menacing
gesture towards the calm abode, while from between his set teeth issued
these words in muttered fury, “She and he? Never! never!”




CHAPTER XIV.
A SUNRISE


A month after this, on the evening of the 20th of August, Simon Ford
and Madge took leave, with all manner of good wishes, of four tourists,
who were setting forth from the cottage.

James Starr, Harry, and Jack Ryan were about to lead Nell’s steps over
yet untrodden paths, and to show her the glories of nature by a light
to which she was as yet a stranger. The excursion was to last for two
days. James Starr, as well as Harry, considered that during these eight
and forty hours spent above ground, the maiden would be able to see
everything of which she must have remained ignorant in the gloomy pit;
all the varied aspects of the globe, towns, plains, mountains, rivers,
lakes, gulfs, and seas would pass, panorama-like, before her eyes.

In that part of Scotland lying between Edinburgh and Glasgow, nature
would seem to have collected and set forth specimens of every one of
these terrestrial beauties. As to the heavens, they would be spread
abroad as over the whole earth, with their changeful clouds, serene or
veiled moon, their radiant sun, and clustering stars. The expedition
had been planned so as to combine a view of all these things.

Simon and Madge would have been glad to go with Nell; but they never
left their cottage willingly, and could not make up their minds to quit
their subterranean home for a single day.

James Starr went as an observer and philosopher, curious to note, from
a psychological point of view, the novel impressions made upon Nell;
perhaps also with some hope of detecting a clue to the mysterious
events connected with her childhood. Harry, with a little trepidation,
asked himself whether it was not possible that this rapid initiation
into the things of the exterior world would change the maiden he had
known and loved hitherto into quite a different girl. As for Jack Ryan,
he was as joyous as a lark rising in the first beams of the sun. He
only trusted that his gayety would prove contagious, and enliven his
traveling companions, thus rewarding them for letting him join them.
Nell was pensive and silent.

James Starr had decided, very sensibly, to set off in the evening. It
would be very much better for the girl to pass gradually from the
darkness of night to the full light of day; and that would in this way
be managed, since between midnight and noon she would experience the
successive phases of shade and sunshine, to which her sight had to get
accustomed.

Just as they left the cottage, Nell took Harry’s hand saying, “Harry,
is it really necessary for me to leave the mine at all, even for these
few days?”

“Yes, it is, Nell,” replied the young man. “It is needful for both of
us.”

“But, Harry,” resumed Nell, “ever since you found me, I have been as
happy as I can possibly be. You have been teaching me. Why is that not
enough? What am I going up there for?”

Harry looked at her in silence. Nell was giving utterance to nearly his
own thoughts.

“My child,” said James Starr, “I can well understand the hesitation you
feel; but it will be good for you to go with us. Those who love you are
taking you, and they will bring you back again. Afterwards you will be
free, if you wish it, to continue your life in the coal mine, like old
Simon, and Madge, and Harry. But at least you ought to be able to
compare what you give up with what you choose, then decide freely.
Come!”

“Come, dear Nell!” cried Harry.

“Harry, I am willing to follow you,” replied the maiden. At nine
o’clock the last train through the tunnel started to convey Nell and
her companions to the surface of the earth. Twenty minutes later they
alighted on the platform where the branch line to New Aberfoyle joins
the railway from Dumbarton to Stirling.

The night was already dark. From the horizon to the zenith, light
vapory clouds hurried through the upper air, driven by a refreshing
northwesterly breeze. The day had been lovely; the night promised to be
so likewise.

On reaching Stirling, Nell and her friends, quitting the train, left
the station immediately. Just before them, between high trees, they
could see a road which led to the banks of the river Forth.

The first physical impression on the girl was the purity of the air
inhaled eagerly by her lungs.

“Breathe it freely, Nell,” said James Starr; “it is fragrant with all
the scents of the open country.”

“What is all that smoke passing over our heads?” inquired Nell.

“Those are clouds,” answered Harry, “blown along by the westerly wind.”

“Ah!” said Nell, “how I should like to feel myself carried along in
that silent whirl! And what are those shining sparks which glance here
and there between rents in the clouds?”

“Those are the stars I have told you about, Nell. So many suns they
are, so many centers of worlds like our own, most likely.”

The constellations became more clearly visible as the wind cleared the
clouds from the deep blue of the firmament. Nell gazed upon the myriad
stars which sparkled overhead. “But how is it,” she said at length,
“that if these are suns, my eyes can endure their brightness?”

“My child,” replied James Starr, “they are indeed suns, but suns at an
enormous distance. The nearest of these millions of stars, whose rays
can reach us, is Vega, that star in Lyra which you observe near the
zenith, and that is fifty thousand millions of leagues distant. Its
brightness, therefore, cannot affect your vision. But our own sun,
which will rise to-morrow, is only distant thirty-eight millions of
leagues, and no human eye can gaze fixedly upon that, for it is
brighter than the blaze of any furnace. But come, Nell, come!”

They pursued their way, James Starr leading the maiden, Harry walking
by her side, while Jack Ryan roamed about like a young dog, impatient
of the slow pace of his masters. The road was lonely. Nell kept looking
at the great trees, whose branches, waving in the wind, made them seem
to her like giants gesticulating wildly. The sound of the breeze in the
tree-tops, the deep silence during a lull, the distant line of the
horizon, which could be discerned when the road passed over open
levels—all these things filled her with new sensations, and left
lasting impressions on her mind.

After some time she ceased to ask questions, and her companions
respected her silence, not wishing to influence by any words of theirs
the girl’s highly sensitive imagination, but preferring to allow ideas
to arise spontaneously in her soul.

At about half past eleven o’clock, they gained the banks of the river
Forth. There a boat, chartered by James Starr, awaited them. In a few
hours it would convey them all to Granton. Nell looked at the clear
water which flowed up to her feet, as the waves broke gently on the
beach, reflecting the starlight. “Is this a lake?” said she.

“No,” replied Harry, “it is a great river flowing towards the sea, and
soon opening so widely as to resemble a gulf. Taste a little of the
water in the hollow of your hand, Nell, and you will perceive that it
is not sweet like the waters of Lake Malcolm.”

The maiden bent towards the stream, and, raising a little water to her
lips, “This is quite salt,” said she.

“Yes, the tide is full; the sea water flows up the river as far as
this,” answered Harry.

“Oh, Harry! Harry!” exclaimed the maiden, “what can that red glow on
the horizon be? Is it a forest on fire?”

“No, it is the rising moon, Nell.”

“To be sure, that’s the moon,” cried Jack Ryan, “a fine big silver
plate, which the spirits of air hand round and round the sky to collect
the stars in, like money.”

“Why, Jack,” said the engineer, laughing, “I had no idea you could
strike out such bold comparisons!”

“Well, but, Mr. Starr, it is a just comparison. Don’t you see the stars
disappear as the moon passes on? so I suppose they drop into it.”

“What you mean to say, Jack, is that the superior brilliancy of the
moon eclipses that of stars of the sixth magnitude, therefore they
vanish as she approaches.”

“How beautiful all this is!” repeated Nell again and again, with her
whole soul in her eyes. “But I thought the moon was round?”

“So she is, when ‘full,’” said James Starr; “that means when she is
just opposite to the sun. But to-night the moon is in the last quarter,
shorn of her just proportions, and friend Jack’s grand silver plate
looks more like a barber’s basin.”

“Oh, Mr. Starr, what a base comparison!” he exclaimed, “I was just
going to begin a sonnet to the moon, but your barber’s basin has
destroyed all chance of an inspiration.”

Gradually the moon ascended the heavens. Before her light the lingering
clouds fled away, while stars still sparkled in the west, beyond the
influence of her radiance. Nell gazed in silence on the glorious
spectacle. The soft silvery light was pleasant to her eyes, and her
little trembling hand expressed to Harry, who clasped it, how deeply
she was affected by the scene.

“Let us embark now,” said James Starr. “We have to get to the top of
Arthur’s Seat before sunrise.”

The boat was moored to a post on the bank. A boatman awaited them. Nell
and her friends took their seats; the sail was spread; it quickly
filled before the northwesterly breeze, and they sped on their way.

What a new sensation was this for the maiden! She had been rowed on the
waters of Lake Malcolm; but the oar, handled ever so lightly by Harry,
always betrayed effort on the part of the oarsman. Now, for the first
time, Nell felt herself borne along with a gliding movement, like that
of a balloon through the air. The water was smooth as a lake, and Nell
reclined in the stern of the boat, enjoying its gentle rocking.
Occasionally the effect of the moonlight on the waters was as though
the boat sailed across a glittering silver field. Little wavelets
rippled along the banks. It was enchanting.

At length Nell was overcome with drowsiness, her eyelids drooped, her
head sank on Harry’s shoulder—she slept. Harry, sorry that she should
miss any of the beauties of this magnificent night, would have aroused
her.

“Let her sleep!” said the engineer. “She will better enjoy the
novelties of the day after a couple of hours’ rest.”

At two o’clock in the morning the boat reached Granton pier. Nell
awoke. “Have I been asleep?” inquired she.

“No, my child,” said James Starr. “You have been dreaming that you
slept, that’s all.”

The night continued clear. The moon, riding in mid-heaven, diffused her
rays on all sides. In the little port of Granton lay two or three
fishing boats; they rocked gently on the waters of the Firth. The wind
fell as the dawn approached. The atmosphere, clear of mists, promised
one of those fine autumn days so delicious on the sea coast.

A soft, transparent film of vapor lay along the horizon; the first
sunbeam would dissipate it; to the maiden it exhibited that aspect of
the sea which seems to blend it with the sky. Her view was now
enlarged, without producing the impression of the boundless infinity of
ocean.

Harry taking Nell’s hand, they followed James Starr and Jack Ryan as
they traversed the deserted streets. To Nell, this suburb of the
capital appeared only a collection of gloomy dark houses, just like
Coal Town, only that the roof was higher, and gleamed with small
lights.

She stepped lightly forward, and easily kept pace with Harry. “Are you
not tired, Nell?” asked he, after half an hour’s walking.

“No! my feet seem scarcely to touch the earth,” returned she. “This sky
above us seems so high up, I feel as if I could take wing and fly!”

“I say! keep hold of her!” cried Jack Ryan. “Our little Nell is too
good to lose. I feel just as you describe though, myself, when I have
not left the pit for a long time.”

“It is when we no longer experience the oppressive effect of the
vaulted rocky roof above Coal Town,” said James Starr, “that the
spacious firmament appears to us like a profound abyss into which we
have, as it were, a desire to plunge. Is that what you feel, Nell?”

“Yes, Mr. Starr, it is exactly like that,” said Nell. “It makes me feel
giddy.”

“Ah! you will soon get over that, Nell,” said Harry. “You will get used
to the outer world, and most likely forget all about our dark coal
pit.”

“No, Harry, never!” said Nell, and she put her hand over her eyes, as
though she would recall the remembrance of everything she had lately
quitted.

Between the silent dwellings of the city, the party passed along Leith
Walk, and went round the Calton Hill, where stood, in the light of the
gray dawn, the buildings of the Observatory and Nelson’s Monument. By
Regent’s Bridge and the North Bridge they at last reached the lower
extremity of the Canongate. The town still lay wrapt in slumber.

Nell pointed to a large building in the center of an open space,
asking, “What great confused mass is that?”

“That confused mass, Nell, is the palace of the ancient kings of
Scotland; that is Holyrood, where many a sad scene has been enacted!
The historian can here invoke many a royal shade; from those of the
early Scottish kings to that of the unhappy Mary Stuart, and the French
king, Charles X. When day breaks, however, Nell, this palace will not
look so very gloomy. Holyrood, with its four embattled towers, is not
unlike some handsome country house. But let us pursue our way. There,
just above the ancient Abbey of Holyrood, are the superb cliffs called
Salisbury Crags. Arthur’s Seat rises above them, and that is where we
are going. From the summit of Arthur’s Seat, Nell, your eyes shall
behold the sun appear above the horizon seaward.”

They entered the King’s Park, then, gradually ascending they passed
across the Queen’s Drive, a splendid carriageway encircling the hill,
which we owe to a few lines in one of Sir Walter Scott’s romances.

Arthur’s Seat is in truth only a hill, seven hundred and fifty feet
high, which stands alone amid surrounding heights. In less than half an
hour, by an easy winding path, James Starr and his party reached the
crest of the crouching lion, which, seen from the west, Arthur’s Seat
so much resembles. There, all four seated themselves; and James Starr,
ever ready with quotations from the great Scottish novelist, simply
said, “Listen to what is written by Sir Walter Scott in the eighth
chapter of the _Heart of Mid-Lothian_. ‘If I were to choose a spot from
which the rising or setting sun could be seen to the greatest possible
advantage, it would be from this neighborhood.’ Now watch, Nell! the
sun will soon appear, and for the first time you will contemplate its
splendor.”

The maiden turned her eyes eastward. Harry, keeping close beside her,
observed her with anxious interest. Would the first beams of day
overpower her feelings? All remained quiet, even Jack Ryan. A faint
streak of pale rose tinted the light vapors of the horizon. It was the
first ray of light attacking the laggards of the night. Beneath the
hill lay the silent city, massed confusedly in the twilight of dawn.
Here and there lights twinkled among the houses of the old town.
Westward rose many hill-tops, soon to be illuminated by tips of fire.

Now the distant horizon of the sea became more plainly visible. The
scale of colors fell into the order of the solar. Every instant they
increased in intensity, rose color became red, red became fiery,
daylight dawned. Nell now glanced towards the city, of which the
outlines became more distinct. Lofty monuments, slender steeples
emerged from the gloom; a kind of ashy light was spread abroad. At
length one solitary ray struck on the maiden’s sight. It was that ray
of green which, morning or evening, is reflected upwards from the sea
when the horizon is clear.

An instant afterwards, Nell turned, and pointing towards a bright
prominent point in the New Town, “Fire!” cried she.

“No, Nell, that is no fire,” said Harry. “The sun has touched with gold
the top of Sir Walter Scott’s monument”—and, indeed, the extreme point
of the monument blazed like the light of a pharos.

It was day—the sun arose—his disc seemed to glitter as though he indeed
emerged from the waters of the sea. Appearing at first very large from
the effects of refraction, he contracted as he rose and assumed the
perfectly circular form. Soon no eye could endure the dazzling
splendor; it was as though the mouth of a furnace was opened through
the sky.

Nell closed her eyes, but her eyelids could not exclude the glare, and
she pressed her fingers over them. Harry advised her to turn in the
opposite direction. “Oh, no,” said she, “my eyes must get used to look
at what yours can bear to see!”

Even through her hands Nell perceived a rosy light, which became more
white as the sun rose above the horizon. As her sight became accustomed
to it, her eyelids were raised, and at length her eyes drank in the
light of day.

The good child knelt down, exclaiming, “Oh Lord God! how beautiful is
Thy creation!” Then she rose and looked around. At her feet extended
the panorama of Edinburgh—the clear, distinct lines of streets in the
New Town, and the irregular mass of houses, with their confused network
of streets and lanes, which constitutes Auld Reekie, properly so
called. Two heights commanded the entire city; Edinburgh Castle,
crowning its huge basaltic rock, and the Calton Hill, bearing on its
rounded summit, among other monuments, ruins built to represent those
of the Parthenon at Athens.

Fine roadways led in all directions from the capital. To the north, the
coast of the noble Firth of Forth was indented by a deep bay, in which
could be seen the seaport town of Leith, between which and this Modern
Athens of the north ran a street, straight as that leading to the
Piraeus.

Beyond the wide Firth could be seen the soft outlines of the county of
Fife, while beneath the spectator stretched the yellow sands of
Portobello and Newhaven.

Nell could not speak. Her lips murmured a word or two indistinctly; she
trembled, became giddy, her strength failed her; overcome by the purity
of the air and the sublimity of the scene, she sank fainting into
Harry’s arms, who, watching her closely, was ready to support her.

The youthful maiden, hitherto entombed in the massive depths of the
earth, had now obtained an idea of the universe—of the works both of
God and of man. She had looked upon town and country, and beyond these,
into the immensity of the sea, the infinity of the heavens.




CHAPTER XV.
LOCH LOMOND AND LOCH KATRINE


Harry bore Nell carefully down the steeps of Arthur’s Seat, and,
accompanied by James Starr and Jack Ryan, they reached Lambert’s Hotel.
There a good breakfast restored their strength, and they began to make
further plans for an excursion to the Highland lakes.

Nell was now refreshed, and able to look boldly forth into the
sunshine, while her lungs with ease inhaled the free and healthful air.
Her eyes learned gladly to know the harmonious varieties of color as
they rested on the green trees, the azure skies, and all the endless
shades of lovely flowers and plants.

The railway train, which they entered at the Waverley Station, conveyed
Nell and her friends to Glasgow. There, from the new bridge across the
Clyde, they watched the curious sea-like movement of the river. After a
night’s rest at Comrie’s Royal Hotel, they betook themselves to the
terminus of the Edinburgh and Glasgow Railway, from whence a train
would rapidly carry them, by way of Dumbarton and Balloch, to the
southern extremity of Loch Lomond.

“Now for the land of Rob Roy and Fergus MacIvor!—the scenery
immortalized by the poetical descriptions of Walter Scott,” exclaimed
James Starr. “You don’t know this country, Jack?”

“Only by its songs, Mr. Starr,” replied Jack; “and judging by those, it
must be grand.”

“So it is, so it is!” cried the engineer, “and our dear Nell shall see
it to the best advantage.”

A steamboat, the _Sinclair_ by name, awaited tourists about to make the
excursion to the lakes. Nell and her companions went on board. The day
had begun in brilliant sunshine, free from the British fogs which so
often veil the skies.

The passengers were determined to lose none of the beauties of nature
to be displayed during the thirty miles’ voyage. Nell, seated between
James Starr and Harry, drank in with every faculty the magnificent
poetry with which lovely Scottish scenery is fraught. Numerous small
isles and islets soon appeared, as though thickly sown on the bosom of
the lake. The _Sinclair_ steamed her way among them, while between them
glimpses could be had of quiet valleys, or wild rocky gorges on the
mainland.

“Nell,” said James Starr, “every island here has its legend, perhaps
its song, as well as the mountains which overshadow the lake. One may,
without much exaggeration, say that the history of this country is
written in gigantic characters of mountains and islands.”

Nell listened, but these fighting stories made her sad. Why all that
bloodshed on plains which to her seemed enormous, and where surely
there must have been room for everybody?

The shores of the lake form a little harbor at Luss. Nell could for a
moment catch sight of the old tower of its ancient castle. Then, the
_Sinclair_ turning northward, the tourists gazed upon Ben Lomond,
towering nearly 3,000 feet above the level of the lake.

“Oh, what a noble mountain!” cried Nell; “what a view there must be
from the top!”

“Yes, Nell,” answered James Starr; “see how haughtily its peak rises
from amidst the thicket of oaks, birches, and heather, which clothe the
lower portion of the mountain! From thence one may see two-thirds of
old Caledonia. This eastern side of the lake was the special abode of
the clan McGregor. At no great distance, the struggles of the Jacobites
and Hanoverians repeatedly dyed with blood these lonely glens. Over
these scenes shines the pale moon, called in old ballads ‘Macfarlane’s
lantern.’ Among these rocks still echo the immortal names of Rob Roy
and McGregor Campbell.”

As the _Sinclair_ advanced along the base of the mountain, the country
became more and more abrupt in character. Trees were only scattered
here and there; among them were the willows, slender wands of which
were formerly used for hanging persons of low degree.

“To economize hemp,” remarked James Starr.

The lake narrowed very much as it stretched northwards.

The steamer passed a few more islets, Inveruglas, Eilad-whow, where
stand some ruins of a stronghold of the clan MacFarlane. At length the
head of the loch was reached, and the _Sinclair_ stopped at Inversnaid.

Leaving Loch Arklet on the left, a steep ascent led to the Inn of
Stronachlacar, on the banks of Loch Katrine.

There, at the end of a light pier, floated a small steamboat, named, as
a matter of course, the _Rob Roy_. The travelers immediately went on
board; it was about to start. Loch Katrine is only ten miles in length;
its width never exceeds two miles. The hills nearest it are full of a
character peculiar to themselves.

“Here we are on this famous lake,” said James Starr. “It has been
compared to an eel on account of its length and windings: and justly
so. They say that it never freezes. I know nothing about that, but what
we want to think of is, that here are the scenes of the adventures in
the _Lady of the Lake_. I believe, if friend Jack looked about him
carefully, he might see, still gliding over the surface of the water,
the shade of the slender form of sweet Ellen Douglas.”

“To be sure, Mr. Starr,” replied Jack; “why should I not? I may just as
well see that pretty girl on the waters of Loch Katrine, as those ugly
ghosts on Loch Malcolm in the coal pit.”

It was by this time three o’clock in the afternoon. The less hilly
shores of Loch Katrine westward extended like a picture framed between
Ben An and Ben Venue. At the distance of half a mile was the entrance
to the narrow bay, where was the landing-place for our tourists, who
meant to return to Stirling by Callander.

Nell appeared completely worn out by the continued excitement of the
day. A faint ejaculation was all she was able to utter in token of
admiration as new objects of wonder or beauty met her gaze. She
required some hours of rest, were it but to impress lastingly the
recollection of all she had seen.

Her hand rested in Harry’s, and, looking earnestly at her, he said,
“Nell, dear Nell, we shall soon be home again in the gloomy region of
the coal mine. Shall you not pine for what you have seen during these
few hours spent in the glorious light of day?”

“No, Harry,” replied the girl; “I shall like to think about it, but I
am glad to go back with you to our dear old home.”

“Nell!” said Harry, vainly attempting to steady his voice, “are you
willing to be bound to me by the most sacred tie? Could you marry me,
Nell?”

“Yes, Harry, I could, if you are sure that I am able to make you
happy,” answered the maiden, raising her innocent eyes to his.

Scarcely had she pronounced these words when an unaccountable
phenomenon took place. The _Rob Roy_, still half a mile from land,
experienced a violent shock. She suddenly grounded. No efforts of the
engine could move her.

The cause of this accident was simply that Loch Katrine was all at once
emptied, as though an enormous fissure had opened in its bed. In a few
seconds it had the appearance of a sea beach at low water. Nearly the
whole of its contents had vanished into the bosom of the earth.

“My friends!” exclaimed James Starr, as the cause of this marvel became
suddenly clear to him, “God help New Aberfoyle!”




CHAPTER XVI.
A FINAL THREAT


On that day, in the colliery of New Aberfoyle, work was going on in the
usual regular way. In the distance could be heard the crash of great
charges of dynamite, by which the carboniferous rocks were blasted.
Here masses of coal were loosened by pick-ax and crowbar; there the
perforating machines, with their harsh grating, bored through the
masses of sandstone and schist.

Hollow, cavernous noises resounded on all sides. Draughts of air rushed
along the ventilating galleries, and the wooden swing-doors slammed
beneath their violent gusts. In the lower tunnels, trains of trucks
kept passing along at the rate of fifteen miles an hour, while at their
approach electric bells warned the workmen to cower down in the refuge
places. Lifts went incessantly up and down, worked by powerful engines
on the surface of the soil. Coal Town was throughout brilliantly
lighted by the electric lamps at full power.

Mining operations were being carried on with the greatest activity;
coal was being piled incessantly into the trucks, which went in
hundreds to empty themselves into the corves at the bottom of the
shaft. While parties of miners who had labored during the night were
taking needful rest, the others worked without wasting an hour.

Old Simon Ford and Madge, having finished their dinner, were resting at
the door of their cottage. Simon smoked a good pipe of tobacco, and
from time to time the old couple spoke of Nell, of their boy, of Mr.
Starr, and wondered how they liked their trip to the surface of the
earth. Where would they be now? What would they be doing? How could
they stay so long away from the mine without feeling homesick?

Just then a terrific roaring noise was heard. It was like the sound of
a mighty cataract rushing down into the mine. The old people rose
hastily. They perceived at once that the waters of Loch Malcolm were
rising. A great wave, unfurling like a billow, swept up the bank and
broke against the walls of the cottage. Simon caught his wife in his
arms, and carried her to the upper part of their dwelling.

At the same moment, cries arose from all parts of Coal Town, which was
threatened by a sudden inundation. The inhabitants fled for safety to
the top of the schist rocks bordering the lake; terror spread in all
directions; whole families in frantic haste rushed towards the tunnel
in order to reach the upper regions of the pit.

It was feared that the sea had burst into the colliery, for its
galleries and passages penetrated as far as the Caledonian Canal. In
that case the entire excavation, vast as it was, would be completely
flooded. Not a single inhabitant of New Aberfoyle would escape death.

But when the foremost fugitives reached the entrance to the tunnel,
they encountered Simon Ford, who had quitted his cottage. “Stop, my
friends, stop!” shouted the old man; “if our town is to be overwhelmed,
the floods will rush faster than you can; no one can possibly escape.
But see! the waters are rising no further! it appears to me the danger
is over.”

“And our comrades at the far end of the works—what about them?” cried
some of the miners.

“There is nothing to fear for them,” replied Simon; “they are working
on a higher level than the bed of the loch.”

It was soon evident that the old man was in the right. The sudden
influx of water had rushed to the very lowest bed of the vast mine, and
its only ultimate effect was to raise the level of Loch Malcolm a few
feet. Coal Town was uninjured, and it was reasonable to hope that no
one had perished in the flood of water which had descended to the
depths of the mine never yet penetrated by the workmen.

Simon and his men could not decide whether this inundation was owing to
the overflow of a subterranean sheet of water penetrating fissures in
the solid rock, or to some underground torrent breaking through its
worn bed, and precipitating itself to the lowest level of the mine. But
that very same evening they knew what to think about it, for the local
papers published an account of the marvelous phenomenon which Loch
Katrine had exhibited.

The surprising news was soon after confirmed by the four travelers,
who, returning with all possible speed to the cottage, learned with
extreme satisfaction that no serious damage was done in New Aberfoyle.

The bed of Loch Katrine had fairly given way. The waters had suddenly
broken through by an enormous fissure into the mine beneath. Of Sir
Walter Scott’s favorite loch there was not left enough to wet the
pretty foot of the Lady of the Lake; all that remained was a pond of a
few acres at the further extremity.

This singular event made a profound sensation in the country. It was a
thing unheard of that a lake should in the space of a few minutes empty
itself, and disappear into the bowels of the earth. There was nothing
for it but to erase Loch Katrine from the map of Scotland until (by
public subscription) it could be refilled, care being of course taken,
in the first place, to stop the rent up tight. This catastrophe would
have been the death of Sir Walter Scott, had he still been in the
world.

The accident was explicable when it was ascertained that, between the
bed of the lake and the vast cavity beneath, the geological strata had
become reduced to a thin layer, incapable of longer sustaining the
weight of water.

Now, although to most people this event seemed plainly due to natural
causes, yet to James Starr and his friends, Simon and Harry Ford, the
question constantly recurred, was it not rather to be attributed to
malevolence? Uneasy suspicions continually harassed their minds. Was
their evil genius about to renew his persecution of those who ventured
to work this rich mine?

At the cottage, some days later, James Starr thus discussed the matter
with the old man and his son: “Well, Simon,” said he, “to my thinking
we must class this circumstance with the others for which we still seek
elucidation, although it is no doubt possible to explain it by natural
causes.”

“I am quite of your mind, Mr. James,” replied Simon, “but take my
advice, and say nothing about it; let us make all researches
ourselves.”

“Oh, I know the result of such research beforehand!” cried the
engineer.

“And what will it be, then?”

“We shall find proofs of malevolence, but not the malefactor.”

“But he exists! he is there! Where can he lie concealed? Is it possible
to conceive that the most depraved human being could, single-handed,
carry out an idea so infernal as that of bursting through the bed of a
lake? I believe I shall end by thinking, like Jack Ryan, that the evil
demon of the mine revenges himself on us for having invaded his
domain.”

Nell was allowed to hear as little as possible of these discussions.
Indeed, she showed no desire to enter into them, although it was very
evident that she shared in the anxieties of her adopted parents. The
melancholy in her countenance bore witness to much mental agitation.

It was at length resolved that James Starr, together with Simon and
Harry, should return to the scene of the disaster, and endeavor to
satisfy themselves as to the cause of it. They mentioned their project
to no one. To those unacquainted with the group of facts on which it
was based, the opinion of Starr and his friends could not fail to
appear wholly inadmissible.

A few days later, the three friends proceeded in a small boat to
examine the natural pillars on which had rested the solid earth forming
the basin of Loch Katrine. They discovered that they had been right in
suspecting that the massive columns had been undermined by blasting.
The blackened traces of explosion were to be seen, the waters having
subsided below the level of these mysterious operations Thus the fall
of a portion of the vast vaulted dome was proved to have been
premeditated by man, and by man’s hand had it been effected.

“It is impossible to doubt it,” said James Starr; “and who can say what
might not have happened had the sea, instead of a little loch, been let
in upon us?”

“You may well say that,” cried the old overman, with a feeling of pride
in his beloved mine; “for nothing less than a sea would have drowned
our Aberfoyle. But, once more, what possible interest could any human
being have in the destruction of our works?”

“It is quite incomprehensible,” replied James Starr. “This case is
something perfectly unlike that of a band of common criminals, who,
concealing themselves in dens and caves, go forth to rob and pillage
the surrounding country. The evil deeds of such men would certainly, in
the course of three years have betrayed their existence and
lurking-places. Neither can it be, as I sometimes used to think, that
smugglers or coiners carried on their illegal practices in some distant
and unknown corner of these prodigious caverns, and were consequently
anxious to drive us out of them. But no one coins false money or
obtains contraband goods only to conceal them!

“Yet it is clear that an implacable enemy has sworn the ruin of New
Aberfoyle, and that some interest urges him to seek in every possible
way to wreak his hatred upon us. He appears to be too weak to act
openly, and lays his schemes in secret; but displays such intelligence
as to render him a most formidable foe.

“My friends, he must understand better than we do the secrets of our
domain, since he has all this time eluded our vigilance. He must be a
man experienced in mining, skilled beyond the most skillful—that’s
certain, Simon! We have proof enough of that.

“Let me see! Have you never had a personal enemy, to whom your
suspicions might point? Think well! There is such a thing as hatred
which time never softens. Go back to recollections of your earliest
days. What befalls us appears the work of a stern and patient will, and
to explain it demands every effort of thought and memory.”

Simon did not answer immediately—his mind evidently engaged in a close
and candid survey of his past life. Presently, raising his head, “No,”
said he; “no! Heaven be my witness, neither Madge nor I have ever
injured anybody. We cannot believe that we have a single enemy in the
world.”

“Ah! if Nell would only speak!” cried the engineer.

“Mr. Starr—and you, father,” said Harry, “I do beg of you to keep
silence on this matter, and not to question my poor Nell. I know she is
very anxious and uneasy; and I feel positive that some great secret
painfully oppresses her heart. Either she knows nothing it would be of
any use for us to hear, or she considers it her duty to be silent. It
is impossible to doubt her affection for us—for all of us. If at a
future time she informs me of what she has hitherto concealed from us,
you shall know about it immediately.”

“So be it, then, Harry,” answered the engineer; “and yet I must say
Nell’s silence, if she knows anything, is to me perfectly
inexplicable.”

Harry would have continued her defense; but the engineer stopped him,
saying, “All right, Harry; we promise to say no more about it to your
future wife.”

“With my father’s consent she shall be my wife without further delay.”

“My boy,” said old Simon, “your marriage shall take place this very day
month. Mr. Starr, will you undertake the part of Nell’s father?”

“You may reckon upon me for that, Simon,” answered the engineer.

They then returned to the cottage, but said not a word of the result of
their examinations in the mine, so that to the rest of its inhabitants,
the bursting in of the vaulted roof of the caverns continued to be
regarded as a mere accident. There was but a loch the less in Scotland.

Nell gradually resumed her customary duties, and Harry made good use of
her little visit to the upper air, in the instructions he gave her. She
enjoyed the recollections of life above ground, yet without regretting
it. The somber region she had loved as a child, and in which her wedded
life would be spent, was as dear to her as ever.

The approaching marriage created great excitement in New Aberfoyle.
Good wishes poured in on all sides, and foremost among them were Jack
Ryan’s. He was detected busily practicing his best songs in preparation
for the great day, which was to be celebrated by the whole population
of Coal Town.

During the month preceding the wedding-day, there were more accidents
occurring in New Aberfoyle than had ever been known in the place. One
would have thought the approaching union of Harry and Nell actually
provoked one catastrophe after another. These misfortunes happened
chiefly at the further and lowest extremity of the works, and the cause
of them was always in some way mysterious.

Thus, for instance, the wood-work of a distant gallery was discovered
to be in flames, which were extinguished by Harry and his companions at
the risk of their lives, by employing engines filled with water and
carbonic acid, always kept ready in case of necessity. The lamp used by
the incendiary was found; but no clew whatever as to who he could be.

Another time an inundation took place in consequence of the stanchions
of a water-tank giving way; and Mr. Starr ascertained beyond a doubt
that these supports had first of all been partially sawn through.
Harry, who had been overseeing the works near the place at the time,
was buried in the falling rubbish, and narrowly escaped death.

A few days afterwards, on the steam tramway, a train of trucks, which
Harry was passing along, met with an obstacle on the rails, and was
overturned. It was then discovered that a beam had been laid across the
line. In short, events of this description became so numerous that the
miners were seized with a kind of panic, and it required all the
influence of their chiefs to keep them on the works.

“You would think that there was a whole band of these ruffians,” Simon
kept saying, “and we can’t lay hands on a single one of them.”

Search was made in all directions. The county police were on the alert
night and day, yet discovered nothing. The evil intentions seeming
specially designed to injure Harry. Starr forbade him to venture alone
beyond the ordinary limits of the works.

They were equally careful of Nell, although, at Harry’s entreaty, these
malicious attempts to do harm were concealed from her, because they
might remind her painfully of former times. Simon and Madge watched
over her by day and by night with a sort of stern solicitude. The poor
child yielded to their wishes, without a remark or a complaint. Did she
perceive that they acted with a view to her interest? Probably she did.
And on her part, she seemed to watch over others, and was never easy
unless all whom she loved were together in the cottage.

When Harry came home in the evening, she could not restrain expressions
of child-like joy, very unlike her usual manner, which was rather
reserved than demonstrative. As soon as day broke, she was astir before
anyone else, and her constant uneasiness lasted all day until the hour
of return home from work.

Harry became very anxious that their marriage should take place. He
thought that, when the irrevocable step was taken, malevolence would be
disarmed, and that Nell would never feel safe until she was his wife.
James Starr, Simon, and Madge, were all of the same opinion, and
everyone counted the intervening days, for everyone suffered from the
most uncomfortable forebodings.

It was perfectly evident that nothing relating to Nell was indifferent
to this hidden foe, whom it was impossible to meet or to avoid.
Therefore it seemed quite possible that the solemn act of her marriage
with Harry might be the occasion of some new and dreadful outbreak of
his hatred.

One morning, a week before the day appointed for the ceremony, Nell,
rising early, went out of the cottage before anyone else. No sooner had
she crossed the threshold than a cry of indescribable anguish escaped
her lips.

Her voice was heard throughout the dwelling; in a moment, Madge, Harry,
and Simon were at her side. Nell was pale as death, her countenance
agitated, her features expressing the utmost horror. Unable to speak,
her eyes were riveted on the door of the cottage, which she had just
opened.

With rigid fingers she pointed to the following words traced upon it
during the night: “Simon Ford, you have robbed me of the last vein in
our old pit. Harry, your son, has robbed me of Nell. Woe betide you!
Woe betide you all! Woe betide New Aberfoyle!—SILFAX.”

“Silfax!” exclaimed Simon and Madge together.

“Who is this man?” demanded Harry, looking alternately at his father
and at the maiden.

“Silfax!” repeated Nell in tones of despair, “Silfax!”—and, murmuring
this name, her whole frame shuddering with fear and agitation, she was
borne away to her chamber by old Madge.

James Starr, hastening to the spot, read the threatening sentences
again and again.

“The hand which traced these lines,” said he at length, “is the same
which wrote me the letter contradicting yours, Simon. The man calls
himself Silfax. I see by your troubled manner that you know him. Who is
this Silfax?”




CHAPTER XVII.
THE “MONK”


This name revealed everything to the old overman. It was that of the
last “monk” of the Dochart pit.

In former days, before the invention of the safety-lamp, Simon had
known this fierce man, whose business it was to go daily, at the risk
of his life, to produce partial explosions of fire-damp in the
passages. He used to see this strange solitary being, prowling about
the mine, always accompanied by a monstrous owl, which he called
Harfang, who assisted him in his perilous occupation, by soaring with a
lighted match to places Silfax was unable to reach.

One day this old man disappeared, and at the same time also, a little
orphan girl born in the mine, who had no relation but himself, her
great-grandfather. It was perfectly evident now that this child was
Nell. During the fifteen years, up to the time when she was saved by
Harry, they must have lived in some secret abyss of the mine.

The old overman, full of mingled compassion and anger, made known to
the engineer and Harry all that the name of Silfax had revealed to him.
It explained the whole mystery. Silfax was the mysterious being so long
vainly sought for in the depths of New Aberfoyle.

“So you knew him, Simon?” demanded Mr. Starr.

“Yes, that I did,” replied the overman. “The Harfang man, we used to
call him. Why, he was old then! He must be fifteen or twenty years
older than I am. A wild, savage sort of fellow, who held aloof from
everyone and was known to fear nothing—neither fire nor water. It was
his own fancy to follow the trade of ‘monk,’ which few would have
liked. The constant danger of the business had unsettled his brain. He
was prodigiously strong, and he knew the mine as no one else—at any
rate, as well as I did. He lived on a small allowance. In faith, I
believed him dead years ago.”

“But,” resumed James Starr, “what does he mean by those words, ‘You
have robbed me of the last vein of our old mine’?”

“Ah! there it is,” replied Simon; “for a long time it had been a fancy
of his—I told you his mind was deranged—that he had a right to the mine
of Aberfoyle; so he became more and more savage in temper the deeper
the Dochart pit—his pit!—was worked out. It just seemed as if it was
his own body that suffered from every blow of the pickax. You must
remember that, Madge?”

“Ay, that I do, Simon,” replied she.

“I can recollect all this,” resumed Simon, “since I have seen the name
of Silfax on the door. But I tell you, I thought the man was dead, and
never imagined that the spiteful being we have so long sought for could
be the old fireman of the Dochart pit.”

“Well, now, then,” said Starr, “it is all quite plain. Chance made
known to Silfax the new vein of coal. With the egotism of madness, he
believed himself the owner of a treasure he must conceal and defend.
Living in the mine, and wandering about day and night, he perceived
that you had discovered the secret, and had written in all haste to beg
me to come. Hence the letter contradicting yours; hence, after my
arrival, all the accidents that occurred, such as the block of stone
thrown at Harry, the broken ladder at the Yarrow shaft, the obstruction
of the openings into the wall of the new cutting; hence, in short, our
imprisonment, and then our deliverance, brought about by the kind
assistance of Nell, who acted of course without the knowledge of this
man Silfax, and contrary to his intentions.”

“You describe everything exactly as it must have happened, Mr. Starr,”
returned old Simon. “The old ‘Monk’ is mad enough now, at any rate!”

“All the better,” quoth Madge.

“I don’t know that,” said Starr, shaking his head; “it is a terrible
sort of madness this.”

“Ah! now I understand that the very thought of him must have terrified
poor little Nell, and also I see that she could not bear to denounce
her grandfather. What a miserable time she must have had of it with the
old man!”

“Miserable with a vengeance,” replied Simon, “between that savage and
his owl, as savage as himself. Depend upon it, that bird isn’t dead.
That was what put our lamp out, and also so nearly cut the rope by
which Harry and Nell were suspended.”

“And then, you see,” said Madge, “this news of the marriage of our son
with his granddaughter added to his rancor and ill-will.”

“To be sure,” said Simon. “To think that his Nell should marry one of
the robbers of his own coal mine would just drive him wild altogether.”

“He will have to make up his mind to it, however,” cried Harry. “Mad as
he is, we shall manage to convince him that Nell is better off with us
here than ever she was in the caverns of the pit. I am sure, Mr. Starr,
if we could only catch him, we should be able to make him listen to
reason.”

“My poor Harry! there is no reasoning with a madman,” replied the
engineer. “Of course it is better to know your enemy than not; but you
must not fancy all is right because we have found out who he is. We
must be on our guard, my friends; and to begin with, Harry, you
positively must question Nell. She will perceive that her silence is no
longer reasonable. Even for her grandfather’s own interest, she ought
to speak now. For his own sake, as well as for ours, these insane plots
must be put a stop to.”

“I feel sure, Mr. Starr,” answered Harry, “that Nell will of herself
propose to tell you what she knows. You see it was from a sense of duty
that she has been silent hitherto. My mother was very right to take her
to her room just now. She much needed time to recover her spirits; but
now I will go for her.”

“You need not do so, Harry,” said the maiden in a clear and firm voice,
as she entered at that moment the room in which they were. Nell was
very pale; traces of tears were in her eyes; but her whole manner
showed that she had nerved herself to act as her loyal heart dictated
as her duty.

“Nell!” cried Harry, springing towards her.

The girl arrested her lover by a gesture, and continued, “Your father
and mother, and you, Harry, must now know all. And you too, Mr. Starr,
must remain ignorant of nothing that concerns the child you have
received, and whom Harry—unfortunately for him, alas!—drew from the
abyss.”

“Oh, Nell! what are you saying?” cried Harry.

“Allow her to speak,” said James Starr in a decided tone.

“I am the granddaughter of old Silfax,” resumed Nell. “I never knew a
mother till the day I came here,” added she, looking at Madge.

“Blessed be that day, my daughter!” said the old woman.

“I knew no father till I saw Simon Ford,” continued Nell; “nor friend
till the day when Harry’s hand touched mine. Alone with my grandfather
I have lived during fifteen years in the remote and most solitary
depths of the mine. I say _with_ my grandfather, but I can scarcely use
the expression, for I seldom saw him. When he disappeared from Old
Aberfoyle, he concealed himself in caverns known only to himself. In
his way he was kind to me, dreadful as he was; he fed me with whatever
he could procure from outside the mine; but I can dimly recollect that
in my earliest years I was the nursling of a goat, the death of which
was a bitter grief to me. My grandfather, seeing my distress, brought
me another animal—a dog he said it was. But, unluckily, this dog was
lively, and barked. Grandfather did not like anything cheerful. He had
a horror of noise, and had taught me to be silent; the dog he could not
teach to be quiet, so the poor animal very soon disappeared. My
grandfather’s companion was a ferocious bird, Harfang, of which, at
first, I had a perfect horror; but this creature, in spite of my
dislike to it, took such a strong affection for me, that I could not
help returning it. It even obeyed me better than its master, which used
to make me quite uneasy, for my grandfather was jealous. Harfang and I
did not dare to let him see us much together; we both knew it would be
dangerous. But I am talking too much about myself: the great thing is
about you.”

“No, my child,” said James Starr, “tell us everything that comes to
your mind.”

“My grandfather,” continued Nell, “always regarded your abode in the
mine with a very evil eye—not that there was any lack of space. His
chosen refuge was far—very far from you. But he could not bear to feel
that you were there. If I asked any questions about the people up above
us, his face grew dark, he gave no answer, and continued quite silent
for a long time afterwards. But when he perceived that, not content
with the old domain, you seemed to think of encroaching upon his, then
indeed his anger burst forth. He swore that, were you to succeed in
reaching the new mine, you should assuredly perish. Notwithstanding his
great age, his strength is astonishing, and his threats used to make me
tremble.”

“Go on, Nell, my child,” said Simon to the girl, who paused as though
to collect her thoughts.

“On the occasion of your first attempt,” resumed Nell, “as soon as my
grandfather saw that you were fairly inside the gallery leading to New
Aberfoyle, he stopped up the opening, and turned it into a prison for
you. I only knew you as shadows dimly seen in the gloom of the pit, but
I could not endure the idea that you would die of hunger in these
horrid places; and so, at the risk of being detected, I succeeded in
obtaining bread and water for you during some days. I should have liked
to help you to escape, but it was so difficult to avoid the vigilance
of my grandfather. You were about to die. Then arrived Jack Ryan and
the others. By the providence of God I met with them, and instantly
guided them to where you were. When my grandfather discovered what I
had done, his rage against me was terrible. I expected death at his
hands. After that my life became insupportable to me. My grandfather
completely lost his senses. He proclaimed himself King of Darkness and
Flame; and when he heard your tools at work on coal-beds which he
considered entirely his own, he became furious and beat me cruelly. I
would have fled from him, but it was impossible, so narrowly did he
watch me. At last, in a fit of ungovernable fury, he threw me down into
the abyss where you found me, and disappeared, vainly calling on
Harfang, which faithfully stayed by me, to follow him. I know not how
long I remained there, but I felt I was at the point of death when you,
my Harry, came and saved me. But now you all see that the grandchild of
old Silfax can never be the wife of Harry Ford, because it would be
certain death to you all!”

“Nell!” cried Harry.

“No,” continued the maiden, “my resolution is taken. By one means only
can your ruin be averted; I must return to my grandfather. He threatens
to destroy the whole of New Aberfoyle. His is a soul incapable of mercy
or forgiveness, and no mortal can say to what horrid deed the spirit of
revenge will lead him. My duty is clear; I should be the most
despicable creature on earth did I hesitate to perform it. Farewell! I
thank you all heartily. You only have taught me what happiness is.
Whatever may befall, believe that my whole heart remains with you.”

At these words, Simon, Madge, and Harry started up in an agony of
grief, exclaiming in tones of despair, “What, Nell! is it possible you
would leave us?”

James Starr put them all aside with an air of authority, and, going
straight up to Nell, he took both her hands in his, saying quietly,
“Very right, my child; you have said exactly what you ought to say; and
now listen to what we have to say in reply. We shall not let you go
away; if necessary, we shall keep you by force. Do you think we could
be so base as to accept of your generous proposal? These threats of
Silfax are formidable—no doubt about it! But, after all, a man is but a
man, and we can take precautions. You will tell us, will you not, even
for his own sake, all you can about his habits and his lurking-places?
All we want to do is to put it out of his power to do harm, and perhaps
bring him to reason.”

“You want to do what is quite impossible,” said Nell. “My grandfather
is everywhere and nowhere. I have never seen his retreats. I have never
seen him sleep. If he meant to conceal himself, he used to leave me
alone, and vanish. When I took my resolution, Mr. Starr, I was aware of
everything you could say against it. Believe me, there is but one way
to render Silfax powerless, and that will be by my return to him.
Invisible himself, he sees everything that goes on. Just think whether
it is likely he could discover your very thoughts and intentions, from
that time when the letter was written to Mr. Starr, up to now that my
marriage with Harry has been arranged, if he did not possess the
extraordinary faculty of knowing everything. As far as I am able to
judge, my grandfather, in his very insanity, is a man of most powerful
mind. He formerly used to talk to me on very lofty subjects. He taught
me the existence of God, and never deceived me but on one point, which
was—that he made me believe that all men were base and perfidious,
because he wished to inspire me with his own hatred of all the human
race. When Harry brought me to the cottage, you thought I was simply
ignorant of mankind, but, far beyond that, I was in mortal fear of you
all. Ah, forgive me! I assure you, for many days I believed myself in
the power of wicked wretches, and I longed to escape. You, Madge, first
led me to perceive the truth, not by anything you said, but by the
sight of your daily life, for I saw that your husband and son loved and
respected you! Then all these good and happy workmen, who so revere and
trust Mr. Starr, I used to think they were slaves; and when, for the
first time, I saw the whole population of Aberfoyle come to church and
kneel down to pray to God, and praise Him for His infinite goodness, I
said to myself, ‘My grandfather has deceived me.’ But now, enlightened
by all you have taught me, I am inclined to think he himself is
deceived. I mean to return to the secret passages I formerly frequented
with him. He is certain to be on the watch. I will call to him; he will
hear me, and who knows but that, by returning to him, I may be able to
bring him to the knowledge of the truth?”

The maiden spoke without interruption, for all felt that it was good
for her to open her whole heart to her friends.

But when, exhausted by emotion, and with eyes full of tears, she ceased
speaking, Harry turned to old Madge and said, “Mother, what should you
think of the man who could forsake the noble girl whose words you have
been listening to?”

“I should think he was a base coward,” said Madge, “and, were he my
son, I should renounce and curse him.”

“Nell, do you hear what our mother says?” resumed Harry. “Wherever you
go I will follow you. If you persist in leaving us, we will go away
together.”

“Harry! Harry!” cried Nell.

Overcome by her feelings, the girl’s lips blanched, and she sank into
the arms of Madge, who begged she might be left alone with her.




CHAPTER XVIII.
NELL’S WEDDING


It was agreed that the inhabitants of the cottage must keep more on
their guard than ever. The threats of old Silfax were too serious to be
disregarded. It was only too possible that he possessed some terrible
means by which the whole of Aberfoyle might be annihilated.

Armed sentinels were posted at the various entrances to the mine, with
orders to keep strict watch day and night. Any stranger entering the
mine was brought before James Starr, that he might give an account of
himself. There being no fear of treason among the inhabitants of Coal
Town, the threatened danger to the subterranean colony was made known
to them. Nell was informed of all the precautions taken, and became
more tranquil, although she was not free from uneasiness. Harry’s
determination to follow her wherever she went compelled her to promise
not to escape from her friends.

During the week preceding the wedding, no accident whatever occurred in
Aberfoyle. The system of watching was carefully maintained, but the
miners began to recover from the panic, which had seriously interrupted
the work of excavation. James Starr continued to look out for Silfax.
The old man having vindictively declared that Nell should never marry
Simon’s son, it was natural to suppose that he would not hesitate to
commit any violent deed which would hinder their union.

The examination of the mine was carried on minutely. Every passage and
gallery was searched, up to those higher ranges which opened out among
the ruins of Dundonald Castle. It was rightly supposed that through
this old building Silfax passed out to obtain what was needful for the
support of his miserable existence (which he must have done, either by
purchasing or thieving).

As to the “fire-maidens,” James Starr began to think that appearance
must have been produced by some jet of fire-damp gas which, issuing
from that part of the pit, could be lighted by Silfax. He was not far
wrong; but all search for proof of this was fruitless, and the
continued strain of anxiety in this perpetual effort to detect a
malignant and invisible being rendered the engineer—outwardly calm—an
unhappy man.

As the wedding-day approached, his dread of some catastrophe increased,
and he could not but speak of it to the old overman, whose uneasiness
soon more than equaled his own. At length the day came. Silfax had
given no token of existence.

By daybreak the entire population of Coal Town was astir. Work was
suspended; overseers and workmen alike desired to do honor to Simon
Ford and his son. They all felt they owed a large debt of gratitude to
these bold and persevering men, by whose means the mine had been
restored to its former prosperity. The ceremony was to take place at
eleven o’clock, in St. Giles’s chapel, which stood on the shores of
Loch Malcolm.

At the appointed time, Harry left the cottage, supporting his mother on
his arm, while Simon led the bride. Following them came Starr, the
engineer, composed in manner, but in reality nerved to expect the
worst, and Jack Ryan, stepping superb in full Highland piper’s costume.
Then came the other mining engineers, the principal people of Coal
Town, the friends and comrades of the old overman—every member of this
great family of miners forming the population of New Aberfoyle.

In the outer world, the day was one of the hottest of the month of
August, peculiarly oppressive in northern countries. The sultry air
penetrated the depths of the coal mine, and elevated the temperature.
The air which entered through the ventilating shafts, and the great
tunnel of Loch Malcolm, was charged with electricity, and the
barometer, it was afterwards remarked, had fallen in a remarkable
manner. There was, indeed, every indication that a storm might burst
forth beneath the rocky vault which formed the roof of the enormous
crypt of the very mine itself.

But the inhabitants were not at that moment troubling themselves about
the chances of atmospheric disturbance above ground. Everybody, as a
matter of course, had put on his best clothes for the occasion. Madge
was dressed in the fashion of days gone by, wearing the “toy” and the
“rokelay,” or Tartan plaid, of matrons of the olden time, old Simon
wore a coat of which Bailie Nicol Jarvie himself would have approved.

Nell had resolved to show nothing of her mental agitation; she forbade
her heart to beat, or her inward terrors to betray themselves, and the
brave girl appeared before all with a calm and collected aspect. She
had declined every ornament of dress, and the very simplicity of her
attire added to the charming elegance of her appearance. Her hair was
bound with the “snood,” the usual head-dress of Scottish maidens.

All proceeded towards St. Giles’s chapel, which had been handsomely
decorated for the occasion.

The electric discs of light which illuminated Coal Town blazed like so
many suns. A luminous atmosphere pervaded New Aberfoyle. In the chapel,
electric lamps shed a glow over the stained-glass windows, which shone
like fiery kaleidoscopes. At the porch of the chapel the minister
awaited the arrival of the wedding party.

It approached, after having passed in stately procession along the
shore of Loch Malcolm. Then the tones of the organ were heard, and,
preceded by the minister, the group advanced into the chapel. The
Divine blessing was first invoked on all present. Then Harry and Nell
remained alone before the minister, who, holding the sacred book in his
hand, proceeded to say, “Harry, will you take Nell to be your wife, and
will you promise to love her always?”

“I promise,” answered the young man in a firm and steady voice.

“And you, Nell,” continued the minister, “will you take Harry to be
your husband, and—”

Before he could finish the sentence, a prodigious noise resounded from
without. One of the enormous rocks, on which was formed the terrace
overhanging the banks of Loch Malcolm, had suddenly given way and
opened without explosion, disclosing a profound abyss, into which the
waters were now wildly plunging.

In another instant, among the shattered rocks and rushing waves
appeared a canoe, which a vigorous arm propelled along the surface of
the lake. In the canoe was seen the figure of an old man standing
upright. He was clothed in a dark mantle, his hair was dishevelled, a
long white beard fell over his breast, and in his hand he bore a
lighted Davy safety lamp, the flame being protected by the metallic
gauze of the apparatus.

In a loud voice this old man shouted, “The fire-damp is upon you!
Woe—woe betide ye all!”

At the same moment the slight smell peculiar to carburetted hydrogen
was perceptibly diffused through the atmosphere. And, in truth, the
fall of the rock had made a passage of escape for an enormous quantity
of explosive gas, accumulated in vast cavities, the openings to which
had hitherto been blocked up.

Jets and streams of the fire-damp now rose upward in the vaulted dome;
and well did that fierce old man know that the consequence of what he
had done would be to render explosive the whole atmosphere of the mine.

James Starr and several others, having hastily quitted the chapel, and
perceived the imminence of the danger, now rushed back, crying out in
accents of the utmost alarm, “Fly from the mine! Fly instantly from the
mine!”

“Now for the fire-damp! Here comes the fire-damp!” yelled the old man,
urging his canoe further along the lake.

Harry with his bride, his father and his mother, left the chapel in
haste and in terror.

“Fly! fly for your lives!” repeated James Starr. Alas! it was too late
to fly! Old Silfax stood there, prepared to fulfill his last dreadful
threat—prepared to stop the marriage of Nell and Harry by overwhelming
the entire population of the place beneath the ruins of the coal mine.

As he stood ready to accomplish this act of vengeance, his enormous
owl, whose white plumage was marked with black spots, was seen hovering
directly above his head.

At that moment a man flung himself into the waters of the lake, and
swam vigorously towards the canoe.

It was Jack Ryan, fully determined to reach the madman before he could
do the dreadful deed of destruction.

Silfax saw him coming. Instantly he smashed the glass of his lamp, and,
snatching out the burning wick, waved it in the air.

Silence like death fell upon the astounded multitude. James Starr, in
the calmness of despair, marvelled that the inevitable explosion was
even for a moment delayed.

Silfax, gazing upwards with wild and contracted features, appeared to
become aware that the gas, lighter than the lower atmosphere, was
accumulating far up under the dome; and at a sign from him the owl,
seizing in its claw the lighted match, soared upwards to the vaulted
roof, towards which the madman pointed with outstretched arm.

Another second and New Aberfoyle would be no more.

Suddenly Nell sprang from Harry’s arms, and, with a bright look of
inspiration, she ran to the very brink of the waters of the lake.
“Harfang! Harfang!” cried she in a clear voice; “here! come to me!”

The faithful bird, surprised, appeared to hesitate in its flight.
Presently, recognizing Nell’s voice, it dropped the burning match into
the water, and, describing a wide circle, flew downwards, alighting at
the maiden’s feet.

Then a terrible cry echoed through the vaulted roofs. It was the last
sound uttered by old Silfax.

Just as Jack Ryan laid his hand on the edge of the canoe, the old man,
foiled in his purpose of revenge, cast himself headlong into the waters
of the lake.

“Save him! oh, save him!” shrieked Nell in a voice of agony.
Immediately Harry plunged into the water, and, swimming towards Jack
Ryan, he dived repeatedly.

But his efforts were useless. The waters of Loch Malcolm yielded not
their prey: they closed forever over Silfax.




CHAPTER XIX.
THE LEGEND OF OLD SILFAX


Six months after these events, the marriage, so strangely interrupted,
was finally celebrated in St. Giles’s chapel, and the young couple, who
still wore mourning garments, returned to the cottage. James Starr and
Simon Ford, henceforth free from the anxieties which had so long
distressed them, joyously presided over the entertainment which
followed the ceremony, and prolonged it to the following day.

On this memorable occasion, Jack Ryan, in his favorite character of
piper, and in all the glory of full dress, blew up his chanter, and
astonished the company by the unheard of achievement of playing,
singing, and dancing all at once.

It is needless to say that Harry and Nell were happy. These loving
hearts, after the trials they had gone through found in their union the
happiness they deserved.

As to Simon Ford, the ex-overman of New Aberfoyle, he began to talk of
celebrating his golden wedding, after fifty years of marriage with good
old Madge, who liked the idea immensely herself.

“And after that, why not golden wedding number two?”

“You would like a couple of fifties, would you, Mr. Simon?” said Jack
Ryan.

“All right, my boy,” replied the overman quietly, “I see nothing
against it in this fine climate of ours, and living far from the luxury
and intemperance of the outer world.”

Will the dwellers in Coal Town ever be called to witness this second
ceremony? Time will show. Certainly the strange bird of old Silfax
seemed destined to attain a wonderful longevity. The Harfang continued
to haunt the gloomy recesses of the cave. After the old man’s death,
Nell had attempted to keep the owl, but in a very few days he flew
away. He evidently disliked human society as much as his master had
done, and, besides that, he appeared to have a particular spite against
Harry. The jealous bird seemed to remember and hate him for having
carried off Nell from the deep abyss, notwithstanding all he could do
to prevent him. Still, at long intervals, Nell would see the creature
hovering above Loch Malcolm.

Could he possibly be watching for his friend of yore? Did he strive to
pierce, with keen eye, the depths which had engulfed his master?

The history of the Harfang became legendary, and furnished Jack Ryan
with many a tale and song. Thanks to him, the story of old Silfax and
his bird will long be preserved, and handed down to future generations
of the Scottish peasantry.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1355 ***