Part 14 (1/2)
With this Peveril returned to the pile over which he had stumbled, and to his amazement found it to be composed of hammers and hatchets, chisels, knives, and other tools that he was unable to name, all of quaint shape, and all made of tempered copper. In an instant the nature of his prison became clear. He was in a prehistoric copper-mine, opened and worked thousands of years ago by a people so ancient that even tradition has nought to say concerning them.
The knowledge thus thrust upon him filled the young man with awe, and he glanced nervously about him, as though expecting to see the ghosts of long-ago delvers advancing from the inner gloom. The thought that he was probably the first human being to set foot on that rocky platform since the prehistoric workmen had flung down their tools on it for the last time was overpowering.
At the same time, if this were indeed a mine, it must also be a tomb, for it was not likely to have any exit save the unscalable shaft glimmering hopelessly above him. Here, then, was the end of all his hopes, for of what use were strength and courage in a place where neither could be made available?
But hold! Where had the rats come from? Certainly not from the water, nor was it probable that they had come down the shaft, for its rocky sides appeared as straight and smooth as those of a well. Why should they have come at all to a place that could not contain a crumb of food, except the scanty supply that he had brought? If that alone had attracted them, why had they not found it hours before, while he was asleep? Might it not be possible that they had come from a distance in search of water after a night of feasting elsewhere? They had, at any rate, run back into the gallery; and by following the lead thus presented he might find some place of exit from that terrible subterranean prison. Even if it were only a rat-hole, he might be able to enlarge it, now that he had tools with which to work.
At this moment how he blessed the dear old friend at whose insistence he had provided himself with the matches and candle that now rendered it possible for him to explore the dark depths of that prehistoric drift! Before starting on the trip that he was now determined to make, he ate the portion of biscuit left by the rats. He also so far overcame his repugnance as to skin and clean the dead rat, which he placed on a ledge of rock for future use in case he should be driven to it. Then he lighted his candle and set forth.
For a considerable distance the gallery was open and fairly s.p.a.cious, while everywhere the young explorer found scattered on its floor the ancient and quaintly shaped tools that told of the great number of workmen employed in its excavation. After a while his way began to be enc.u.mbered by piles of loose rock that seemed to have been collected for the purpose of removal.
Now his way grew narrower and rougher, until in several places it was nearly blocked by ma.s.ses of material that had fallen from the roof or caved in from the sides. Over some of these he was forced to creep on hands and knees, flattening himself into the smallest possible compa.s.s.
At length the gallery came to an end, though from it a small ”winze,”
or pa.s.sage, barely wide enough to crawl through, led upward at a sharp angle. At the bottom of this Peveril hesitated. His precious candle was half burned out, and would not much more than serve to carry him back to the place from which he had started. Besides this, the pa.s.sage before him was so small that a person entering it could by no possibility turn around if he should desire to retrace his course. It was even doubtful if he could back out after having penetrated a short distance into the winze.
”I don't know why I should care, though,” said Peveril, bitterly, ”for, even if I should get stuck in there, it would only be exchanging a tomb for a grave. At the same time, one does like to have room even to die in, and I don't believe the risk is worth taking. There isn't the slightest chance of a hole like that leading anywhere, and, so long as I can draw a breath at all, I am going to draw it in the open.”
So, with the last spark of hope extinguished, and with a heart like lead, the poor fellow turned to retrace his steps to the place in which he proposed to spend his few remaining hours of life, and then to yield it up as bravely as might be. As he did so a little gusty draught of air blew the flame from his candle and plunged him into absolute darkness.
[Ill.u.s.tration: PEVERIL SAT BESIDE THE FIRE IN FORLORN MEDITATION]
Peveril was so startled by this occurrence that for some time he plunged blindly with outstretched hands back over the way he had come, forgetting in his bewilderment that he still had matches with which to relight his candle. Ere this was suggested to him he had retraced about half the distance, guided solely by the sense of feeling, though not without innumerable bruises and abrasions.
When he at length reached the end of the gallery and stood once more beside the black pool into which he had been flung, what little of daylight found its way into those dim depths was rapidly fading. It only served while he gathered every stick of drift that some former high stage of water had deposited on the rocky platform, and then another night of almost arctic length was begun.
To escape the awful gloom, Peveril lighted a fire and sat beside it in forlorn meditation, carefully feeding it one stick at a time, and longing for some sound to break the oppressive silence. Finally, faint with hunger, he recalled the bit of game that he had stored away ready for cooking. Fetching this, he quickly had it spitted on a sliver of wood and broiling with appetizing odor over a tiny bed of coals. It smelled so good as it sizzled and browned that all his repugnance vanished, and he was only impatient for it to be cooked. The moment it was so he began to devour it ravenously, regretting at the same time that he had not half a dozen rats to eat instead of one.
He felt better after his meal, and a new courage crept into his heavy heart as he again sat in meditation beside his flickering blaze. Why he should feel more hopeful he could not imagine, for no glimmer of a plan for escape had presented itself.
It was not until he had once more stretched himself on his flinty bed, with a block of wood for a pillow, and was trying to forget his wretchedness in sleep, that he knew. Then he sprang up with a shout.
”What an idiot I am! What an absolute idiot! Where did the draught that blew out my light come from? From up that sloping pa.s.sage, of course, and a draught can only be caused by an opening of some kind to the outer air. If I can only find it, I believe I shall also find a way out of here. So, old man, cheer up and never say die! You'll live to stand on top of the world again, yet--see if you don't!”
CHAPTER XVIII
FROM ONE TRAP INTO ANOTHER
The light of another day was dimly penetrating those underground depths before our prisoner was prepared to make his last effort for liberty. For all the aid he would receive from the pitiful amount allotted to him he might as well have started hours earlier; but while he longed to make the trial he also dreaded it. The thought of that box-like pa.s.sage, through which he would be obliged to force his way without a chance of retreat, was so terrible that he shrank from it as we all shrink from anything dangerous or painful. Then, too, if he should escape, he would want daylight by which to guide his future movements. So, after tossing for hours on his hard bed and considering every aspect of his situation, he finally fell into a troubled sleep that lasted until morning.
For breakfast he had only water, but of this he drank as much as he could, for he knew not when he would find another supply. Then he selected such of the copper tools as he thought might prove useful.
Into one of them, which was a sort of a pick, he fitted a rude wooden handle, while the others, which had cutting edges and were in the nature of knives, he thrust into his pockets. Having thus completed his simple preparations, he took a long look, that he well knew might be his last, on the daylight that was now so doubly precious, and then resolutely faced the inner gloom of the ancient mine.
Determined to save his candle for use in the unknown winze, he slowly groped his way through utter darkness, and finally reached what he believed to be the end of the drift. Now he lighted his candle, and for a moment his unaccustomed eyes ached from the glare of its flame.
He was, as he had thought, at the lower opening of the narrow pa.s.sage, and, as he noted its steep upward slope, he was agitated by conflicting hopes and fears. It might lead to liberty, but there was an equal chance that in it he should miserably perish.
At the very outset he was confronted by a condition that was not only disappointing, but exerted a most depressing influence. There was no draught, such as he had believed would issue from the winze. In vain did he hold up a wetted finger, in vain watch for the slightest flicker in the flame of his candle. The air was as stagnant as that of a dungeon. And yet there certainly had been a decided current at that very place only a few hours before. Puzzled and disheartened, he was still determined to press forward, and, stooping low, he entered the pa.s.sage.