Part 43 (1/2)

”Is there no more to see than this?” I said in a disappointed tone.

”There is another gallery below here, and two above, but they are just the same. Shall we go and see them?”

”If Bigley likes,” I said rather gruffly.

”No, I don't think I want to see any more,” he replied.

My father laughed, and went on in front with one candle while I followed with the other, till we reached the foot of the shaft.

”Silver mine sounds better than it looks, eh, my lads!” he said.

We neither of us answered, for it seemed like damping his enterprise.

But he did not heed our silence, for he began to climb slowly up the ladders, and as he reached the first platform, we followed, and then on and on with the water splas.h.i.+ng and the pump going, and now and then the creaking sound of the windla.s.s coming down to us as the men over the bucket shaft wound up each heavy load of ore.

”There, I'm going back into my office,” said my father. ”You, lads, have had enough mining for to-day. I shall not want you, Sep.”

”Don't the open air look clear and fresh?” I said as soon as we were alone, and I gazed round at the patches of green upon the hills, and the bright sea out at the end of the Gap.

”Yes,” said Bigley, with a s.h.i.+ver. ”I shouldn't like to work in a mine.

I say, I suppose your father's getting very rich now, isn't he?”

”I suppose so,” I said.

”That's what the people say. Binnacle Bill says he has got heaps of silver locked up in the strong place below the office under iron doors.

Have you seen it?”

”No,” I said; ”and I shouldn't think it's true. Hallo! Look yonder.

Why, there's Bob Chowne!”

Bob it was, and the mine, the coming of the French, and everything else was forgotten, as we went down to the beach, ready enough for a ramble beneath the rocks, after six months' absence from home.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

FRIENDS AND ENEMIES.

At seventeen one's ideas are very different to what they are at fourteen, and matters that seemed of no account in the earlier period looked important at the more mature. For it used to seem to us quite a matter of course that Bigley's father should have a lugger, and if the people said he went over to France or the Low Countries with the men who came over from Dodcombe, and engaged in smuggling, why, he did. It was nothing to us.

We never troubled about it, for Bigley was our school-fellow, and old Jonas was very civil, though he never would let us have the boat again.

But now that we were getting of an age to think and take notice of what was said about us, Bob Chowne began to suggest that he and I ought to make a change.

”You see it don't seem respectable for me, the son of the doctor, and you of the captain, who is our mine owner, to be such friends with one whose father is a regular smuggler.”

”How do you know he is?” I said.

”How do I know? Oh, everybody says so. Let's drop him.”