Facing Death; Or, The Hero of the Vaughan Pit: A Tale of the Coal Mines

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  BULLDOG FINDS A FRIEND.]

  FACING DEATH OR, THE HERO OF THE VAUGHAN PIT.

  A TALE OF THE COAL MINES.

  BY G. A. HENTY,

  Author of "With Clive in India;" "In Freedom's Cause;" "By Sheer Pluck;" "Under Drake's Flag;" &c.

  _WITH EIGHT FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY GORDON BROWNE._

  LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, LIMITED;

  NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, 743 AND 745 BROADWAY

  CONTENTS.

  CHAP. PAGE I. EVIL TIDINGS, 9 II. BULL-DOG, 16 III. THE RESOLUTION, 31 IV. THE VAUGHAN PIT, 39 V. SETTING TO WORK, 49 VI. "THE OLD SHAFT," 54 VII. FRIENDSHIP, 64 VIII. PROGRESS, 74 IX. THE GREAT STRIKE, 80 X. HARD TIMES, 96 XI. THE ATTACK ON THE ENGINE-HOUSE, 105 XII. AFTER THE STRIKE, 117 XIII. A HEAVY LOSS, 124 XIV. THE NIGHT-SCHOOL, 134 XV. THE SEWING-CLASS, 146 XVI. A NEW LIFE, 156 XVII. THE DOG FIGHT, 166 XVIII. STOKEBRIDGE FEAST, 173 XIX. THE GREAT RIOT, 183 XX. THE ARM OF THE LAW, 193 XXI. A KNOTTY QUESTION, 201 XXII. THE SOLUTION, 209 XXIII. THE EXPLOSION AT THE VAUGHAN, 222 XXIV. IN DEADLY PERIL, 235 XXV. THE IMPRISONED MINERS, 239 XXVI. A CRITICAL MOMENT, 253 XXVII. RESCUED, 259 XXVIII. CHANGES, 274 XXIX. THE NEW MANAGER, 283 XXX. RISEN, 289 XXXI. CONCLUSION, 298

  ILLUSTRATIONS.

  PAGE BULLDOG FINDS A FRIEND, _Frontispiece_. IN THE OLD SHAFT--CAN HE BE SAVED? 58 NELLY'S FIRST LESSON, 70 A LIFE OR DEATH STRUGGLE, 113 JACK IS VICTORIOUS, 170 THE NEW SCHOOLMISTRESS, 217 AFTER THE FIRST EXPLOSION--THE SEARCH PARTY, 237 SAVED! 270

  FACING DEATH:

  OR, HOW STOKEBRIDGE WAS CIVILIZED.

  CHAPTER I.

  EVIL TIDINGS.

  A row of brick-built houses with slate roofs, at the edge of a largemining village in Staffordshire. The houses are dingy and colourless,and without relief of any kind. So are those in the next row, so in thestreet beyond, and throughout the whole village. There is a drearymonotony about the place; and if some giant could come and pick up allthe rows of houses, and change their places one with another, it is aquestion whether the men, now away at work, would notice any differencewhatever until they entered the houses standing in the place of thosewhich they had left in the morning. There is a church, and a vicaragehalf hidden away in the trees in its pretty old-fashioned garden; thereare two or three small red-bricked dissenting chapels, and the doctor'shouse, with a bright brass knocker and plate on the door. There are noother buildings above the common average of mining villages; and itneeds not the high chimneys, and engine-houses with winding gear,dotting the surrounding country, to notify the fact that Stokebridge isa mining village.

  It is a little past noon, and many of the women come to their doors andlook curiously after a miner, who, in his working clothes, and blackwith coal-dust, walks rapidly towards his house, with his head bentdown, and his thick felt hat slouched over his eyes.

  "It's Bill Haden; he works at the 'Vaughan.'"

  "What brings he up at this hour?"

  "Summat wrong, I'll be bound."

  Bill Haden stopped at the door of his house in the row first spoken of,lifted the latch, and went in. He walked along a narrow passage into theback-room. His wife, who was standing at the washing-tub, turned roundwith a surprised exclamation, and a bull-dog with half-a-dozen roundtumbling puppies scrambled out of a basket by the fire, and rushed togreet him.

  "What is it, Bill? what's brought thee home before time?"

  For a moment Bill Haden did not answer, but stooped, and, as it weremechanically, lifted the dog and stroked its head.

  "There's blood on thy hands, Bill. What be wrong with 'ee?"

  "It bain't none of mine, lass," the man said in an unsteady voice. "Itbe Jack's. He be gone."

  "Not Jack Simpson?"

  "Ay, Jack Simpson; the mate I ha' worked with ever since we were buttiestogether. A fall just came as we worked side by side in the stall, andit broke his neck, and he's dead."

  The woman dropped into a chair, threw her apron over her head, and criedaloud, partly at the loss of her husband's mate, partly at the thoughtof the narrow escape he had himself had.

  "Now, lass," her husband said, "there be no time to lose. It be for theeto go and break it to his wife. I ha' come straight on, a purpose. Ithawt to do it, but I feel like a gal myself, and it had best be toldher by another woman."

  Jane Haden took her apron from her face.

  "Oh, Bill, how can I do it, and she ill, and with a two-month baby? Imisdoubt me it will kill her."

  "Thou'st got to do it," Bill said doggedly, "and thou'd best be quickabout it; it won't be many minutes afore they bring him in."

  When Bill spoke in that way his wife knew, as he said, that she'd got todo it, and without a word she rose and went out, while her husband stoodstaring into the fire, and still patting the bull-dog in his arms. Atear falling on his hand startled him. He dropped the dog and gave it akick, passed his sleeve across his eyes, and said angrily:

  "Blest if I bain't a crying like a gal. Who'd a thawt it? Well, well,poor old Jack! he was a good mate too"--and Bill Haden proceeded tolight his pipe.

  Slowly and reluctantly Mrs. Haden passed along the row. The sad errandon which she was going was one that has often to be discharged in alarge colliery village. The women who had seen Bill go in were still attheir doors, and had been joined by others. The news that he had come inat this unusual hour had passed about quickly, and there was a generalfeeling of uneasiness among the women, all of whom had husbands orrelatives below ground. When, therefore, Jane Haden came out with signsof tears on her cheeks, her neighbours on either side at once assailedher with questions.

  "Jack Simpson's killed by a fall," she said, "and I ha' got to break itto his wife."

  Rapidly the news spread along the row, from door to door, and from groupto group. The first feeling was everywhere one of relief that it was nottheir turn this time; then there was a chorus of pity for the widow. "Itwill go hard with her," was the general verdict. Then the little groupsbroke up, and went back to their work of getting ready for the return oftheir husbands from the pit at two o'clock. One or two only, of thosemost intimate with the Simpsons, followed Jane Haden slowly down thestreet to the door of their house, and took up a position a shortdistance off, talking quietly together, in case they might be wanted,and with the intention of going in after the news was br
oken, to helpcomfort the widow, and to make what preparations were needed for thelast incoming of the late master of the house. It was but a minute ortwo that they had to pause, for the door opened again, and Jane Hadenbeckoned them to come in.

  It had, as the gossips had predicted, gone hard with the young widow.She was sitting before the fire when Jane entered, working, and rockingthe cradle beside with her foot. At the sight of her visitor's paleface, and tear-stained cheeks, and quivering lips, she had dropped herwork and stood up, with a terrible presentiment of evil--with that dreadwhich is never altogether absent from the mind of a collier's wife. Shedid not speak, but stood with wide-open eyes staring at her visitor.

  "Mary, my poor girl," Mrs. Haden began.

  That was enough, the whole truth burst upon her.

  "He is killed?" she gasped.

  Mrs. Haden gave no answer in words, but her face was sufficient as shemade a step forward towards the slight figure which swayed unsteadilybefore her. Mary Simpson made no sound save a gasping sob, her hand wentto her heart, and then she fell in a heap on the ground, before Mrs.Haden, prepared as she was, had time to clasp her.

  "Thank God," Jane Haden said, as she went to the front door and beckonedthe others in, "she has fainted."

  "Ay, I thawt as much," one of the women said, "and a good job too. It'salways best so till he is brought home, and things are straightened up."

  Between them Mary Simpson was tenderly lifted, and carried upstairs andlaid on the bed of a lodger's room there. The cradle was brought up andput beside it, and then Jane Haden took her seat by the bed, one womanwent for the doctor, while the others prepared the room below. In ashort time all that remained of Jack Simpson was borne home on astretcher, on the shoulders of six of his fellow-workmen, and laid inthe darkened room. The doctor came and went for the next two days, andthen his visits ceased.

  It had gone hard with Mary Simpson. She had passed from one longfainting fit into another, until at last she lay as quiet as did Jackbelow; and the doctor, murmuring "A weak heart, poor little woman; theshock was too much for her," took his departure for the last time fromthe house. Then Jane Haden, who had not left her friend's side eversince she was carried upstairs, wrapped the baby in a shawl and wenthome, a neighbour carrying the cradle.

  When Bill Haden returned from work he found the room done up, the tablelaid for tea, and the kettle on the fire. His wife was sitting by itwith the baby on her lap.

  "Well, lass," he said, as he entered the room, "so the poor gal's gone.I heard it as I came along. Thou'st's had a hard two days on't. Hulloa!what's that?"

  "It's the baby, Bill," his wife said.

  "What hast brought un here for?" he asked roughly.

  Jane Haden did not answer directly, but standing in front of herhusband, removed the handkerchief which covered the baby's face as helay on her arm.

  "Look at him, Bill; he's something like Jack, don't thou see it?"

  "Not a bit of it," he said gruffly. "Kids don't take after their father,as pups do."

  "I can see the likeness quite plain, Bill. Now," she went on, laying herhand on his shoulder, "I want to keep him. We ain't got none of our own,Bill, and I can't abear the thought of his going to the House."

  Bill Haden stood irresolute.

  "I shouldn't like to think of Jack's kid in the House; still he'll be aheap of trouble--worse nor a dozen pups, and no chance of winning aprize with him nohow, or of selling him, or swopping him if his pointsdon't turn out right. Still, lass, the trouble will be thine, and by thetime he's ten he'll begin to earn his grub in the pit; so if thy mind beset on't, there's 'n end o' the matter. Now let's have tea; I ain't hada meal fit for a dog for the last two days, and Juno ain't got her milkregular."

  So little Jack Simpson became a member of the Haden family, and hisfather and mother were laid to rest in the burying-ground on thehillside above the village.