Part 30 (1/2)

And he hurried toward the gate, bareheaded, just as a gray-haired lady in black entered the garden.

”Mother,” cried Mary, in amazement.

Catharine Elsmere paused--one moment; she looked from her daughter to Meynell. Then she hurried to the Rector.

”You are wanted!” she said, struggling to get her breath. ”A terrible thing has happened. They think four lives have been lost--some accident to the cage--and people blame the man in charge. They've got him shut up in the colliery office--and declare they'll kill him. The crowd looks dangerous--and there are very few police. I heard you were here--some one, the postman, saw you come in--you must stop it. The people will listen to you.”

Her fine, pale face, framed in her widow's veil, did not so much ask as command. He replied by a gesture--then by two or three rapid inquiries.

Mary--bewildered--saw them for an instant as allies and equals, each recognizing the other. Then Meynell ran to the gate, and was at once swallowed up in the moving groups which had gathered there, and seemed to carry him back with them toward the colliery.

Catharine Elsmere turned to follow--Mary at her side. Mary looked at her in anxiety, dreading the physical strain for one, of late, so frail.

”Mother darling!--ought you?”

Catharine took no heed whatever of the question.

”It is the women who are so terrible,” she said in a low voice, as they hurried on; ”their faces were like wild beasts. They have telephoned to Cradock for police. If Mr. Meynell can keep them in check for half an hour, there may be hope.”

They ran on, swept along by the fringe of the crowd till they reached the top of a gentle descent at the farther end of the village. At the bottom of this hill lay the colliery, with its two huge chimneys, its shed and engine houses, its winding machinery, and its heaps of refuse. Within the enclosure, from the height where they stood, could be seen a thin line of police surrounding a small shed--the pay-office. On the steps of it stood the manager, and the Rector, to be recognized by his long coat and his bare head, had just joined him. Opposite to the police, and separated from the shed by about ten yards and a wooden paling, was a threatening and vociferating mob, which stretched densely across the road and up the hill on either side; a mob largely composed of women--dishevelled, furious women--their white faces gleaming amid the coal-blackened forms of the miners.

”They'll have 'im out,” said a woman in front of Mary Elsmere. ”Oh, my G.o.d!--they'll have 'im out! It was he caused the death of the boy--yo mind 'im--young Jimmy Ragg--a month sen; though the crowner's jury did let 'im off, more shame to them! An' now they say as how he signalled for 'em to bring up the men from the Albert pit afore he'd made sure as the cage in the Victory pit was clear!”

”Explain to me, please,” said Mary, touching the woman's arm.

Half a dozen turned eagerly upon her.

”Why, you see, miss, as the two cages is like buckets in a well--the yan goes down, as the other cooms up. An' there's catches as yo mun knock away to let 'un go down--an' this banksman--ee's a devil!--he niver so much as walked across to the other shaft to see--an' theer was the catches fast--an' instead o' goin' down, theer was the cage stuck, an'

the rope uncoilin' itsel', and fallin' off the drum--an' foulin' the other rope--An' then all of a suddent, just as them poor fellows wor nearin' top--the drum began to work t'other way--run backards, you unnerstan?--an' the engineman lost 'is head an' niver thowt to put on t'breaks--an'--oh! Lord save us!--whether they was drownt at t'bottom i' the sump, or killt afore they got theer--theer's no one knows yet--They're getten of 'em up now.”

And as she spoke, a great shout which became a groan ran through the crowd. Men climbed up the railings at the side of the road that they might see better. Women stood on tiptoe. A confused clamour came from below, and in the colliery yard there could be seen a gruesome sight; four stretchers, borne by colliers, their burdens covered from view.

Beside them were groups of women and children and in front of them the crowd made way. Up the hill they came, a great wail preceding and surrounding them; behind them the murmurs of an ungovernable indignation.

As the procession neared them Mary saw a gray-haired woman throw up her arm, and heard her cry out in a voice harsh and hideous with excitement:

”Let 'im as murdered them pay for't! What's t' good o' crowner's juries?--Let's settle it oursel's!”

Deep murmurs answered her.

”And it's this same Jenkins,” said another fierce voice, ”as had a sight to do wi' bringin' them blacklegs down here, in the strike, last autumn.

He's been a great man sense, has Jenkins, wi' the masters; but he sha'n't murder our husbinds and sons for us, while he's loafin' round an' playin'

the lord--not he! Have they got 'un safe?”

”Aye, he's in the pay-house safe enough,” shouted another--a man. ”An' if them as is defendin' of 'un won't give 'un up, there's ways o' makin'

them.”

The procession of the dead approached--all the men baring their heads, and the women wailing. In front came a piteous group--a young half-fainting wife, supported by an older woman, with children clinging to her skirts. Catharine went forward, and lifted a baby or two that was being dragged along the ground. Mary took up another child, and they both joined the procession.

As they did so, there was a shout from below.