Sappers and Miners - The Flood beneath the Sea

George Manville Fenn

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• Publié par: estlu
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 23
• Langue: English

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sappers and Miners, by George Manville Fenn
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Title: Sappers and Miners
The Flood beneath the Sea
Author: George Manville Fenn
Illustrator: Hal Hurst
Release Date: May 8, 2007 [EBook #21367]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAPPERS AND MINERS ***
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
George Manville Fenn
"Sappers and Miners"
Chapter One.
Bass for Breakfast.
“Have some more bass, Gwyn?”
“Please, father.”
“You should not speak with your mouth full, my dear,” said Mrs Pendarve,
quietly.
“No, mother; but I didn’t like to keep father waiting.”
“And between the two stools you came to the ground, eh?” said Colonel
Pendarve, smiling. “Never mind; hold your plate. Lucky for us, my dear, that we
have only one boy. This fellow eats enough for three.”
“Well, but, father, we were down by the boat at daybreak, and the sea air makes
one so hungry.”“Say ravenous or wolfish, my boy. But go on. It certainly is a delicious fish, and
Dolly has cooked it to a turn. They were rising fairly, then?”
“Yes, father; we rowed right out to the race, off the point, and for ever so long
we didn’t see a fish and sat there with our rods ready.”
Gwyn talked away, but with his mouth rather full of fried bass and freshly-baked
bread all the same.
“And of course it was of no use to try till a shoal began to feed.”
“Not a bit, father,—and Joe said we might as well come back; but when the sun
rose they were breaking all round us, and for half-an-hour we kept hooking them
at nearly every throw. Come and see the rest of my catch; they’re such beauties,
as bright as salmon.”
“That’s right, but don’t let any of them be wasted. Keep what you want, mamma,
dear, and give the others away. What did you use—a big fly?”
“No, father, those tiny spoon-baits. They come at them with a rush. Then they
left off biting all at once, and—some more coffee, please, mother—and we
rowed back home, and met Captain Hardock on the pier.”
“Ah, did you?”
“Yes, father; and we gave him two pairs of fine ones, and he said they looked as
bright as newly-run tin.”
“Humph! Yes, that man thinks of nothing else but tin.”
“And he began about it again this morning, father,” said Gwyn, eagerly.
“Indeed!” said Colonel Pendarve; and Gwyn’s mother looked up inquiringly from
behind the silver coffee-urn.
“Yes, father,” said Gwyn, helping himself to more fresh, yellow Cornish butter
and honey. “He said what a pity it was that you did not adventure over the old
Ydoll mine and make yourself a rich man, instead of letting it lie wasting on your
estate.”
“My estate!” said the Colonel, smiling at his wife—“a few score acres of
moorland and rock on the Cornish coast!”
“But he says, father, he is sure that the old mine is very rich.”
“And that I am very poor, Gwyn, and that it would be nice for me to make a
place for a mining captain out of work.”
“But you will not attempt anything of the kind, my dear,” said Mrs Pendarve,
anxiously.
“I don’t think, so, my dear. We have no money to spare for speculating, and I
don’t think an old Indian cavalry officer on half-pay is quite the man to attempt
such a thing.”
“But old Hardock said you were, father, and that you and Major Jollivet ought to
form a little company of your own, and that he knows he could make the mine
pay wonderfully.”
“Yes,” said the Colonel, drily, “that’s exactly what he would say, but I don’t thinkmuch of his judgment. I should be bad enough, but Jollivet, with his wound
breaking out when he is not down with touches of his old jungle fever, would be
ten times worse. All the same, though, I have no doubt that the old mine is rich.”
“But Arthur, my dear,” protested Mrs Pendarve, “think of how much money has
been—”
“Thrown down mines, my dear?” said the Colonel, smiling. “Yes I do, and I don’t
think our peaceful retired life is going to be disturbed by anything a mining
adventurer may say.”
“But it would be interesting, father,” said Gwyn.
“Very, my boy,” said his father, smiling. “It would give you and Joe Jollivet—”
“Old Joe Jolly-wet,” said Gwyn to himself.
“A fine opportunity for trying to break your necks—”
“Oh, my dear!” cried Mrs Pendarve.
“Getting drowned in some unfathomable hole full of water.”
“Arthur!” protested Mrs Pendarve.
“Losing yourself in some of the mazy recesses of the ancient workings.”
“Really, my dear!” began Mrs Pendarve; but the Colonel went on—
“Or getting crushed to death by some fall of the mine roofing that has been
tottering ready to fall perhaps for hundreds of years.”
“Pray don’t talk like that, my dear,” said Mrs Pendarve, piteously.
“He doesn’t mean it, mother,” said Gwyn, laughing. “Father’s only saying it to
frighten me. But really, father, do you think the mine is so very old?”
“I have no doubt of it, my boy. It is certainly as old as the Roman occupation, and
I should not be surprised if it proved to be as early as the time when the
Phoenicians traded here for tin.”
“But I thought it was only stream tin that they got. I read it somewhere.”
“No doubt, my boy, they searched the surface for tin; but suppose you had been
a sturdy fellow from Tyre or Sidon, instead of a tiresome, idle, mischievous
young nuisance of an English boy—”
“Not quite so bad as that, am I, mother?” said Gwyn, laughing.
“That you are not, my dear,” said Mrs Pendarve, “though I must own that you do
worry me a great deal sometimes by being so daring with your boating, climbing
and swimming.”
“Oh, but I do take care—I do, really,” said Gwyn, reaching out to lay his hand
upon his mother’s arm.
“Yes, just as much as any other thoughtless, reckless young dog would,”
grumbled the Colonel. “I’m always expecting to have one of the fishermen or
miners come here with a head or an arm or a leg, and say he picked it up
somewhere, and does it belong to my son?”“Really, Arthur, you are too bad,” began Mrs Pendarve.
“He’s only teasing you, ma, dear,” cried Gwyn, laughing. “But I say, father, what
were you going to say about my being a Tyre and Sidonian?”
“Eh? Oh! That if you found tin in some gully on the surface, wouldn’t you dig
down to find it where it was richer?”
“Can’t dig through granite,” said Gwyn.
“Well, chip out the stone, and by degrees form a deep mine.”
“Yes, I suppose I should, father.”
“Of course it’s impossible to prove how old the mine is, but it is in all probability
very ancient.”
“But it’s only a deep hole, is it, father?”
“I cannot say. I never heard of its being explored; but there it is.”
“I’ve explored it sometimes by sending a big stone down, so as to hear it rumble
and echo.”
“Yes, and I daresay hundreds of mischievous boys before you have done the
same.”
“Why was it called the Ydoll mine, father?”
“I cannot say, Gwyn. Some old Celtic name, or a corruption. It has always been
called so, as far as I could trace when I bought the land; and there it is, and there
let it remain in peace.”
“If you please, my dear,” said Mrs Pendarve. “Will you have some more coffee
and bread and butter, Gwyn?”
The boy shook his head, for there are limits even to a seaside appetite.
“Wonderful!” said the Colonel.
“What is, my dear?” said Mrs Pendarve.
“Gwyn has had enough for once. Oh, and, by the way, I have had quite enough of
that dog. If ever I find him scratching and tearing my garden about again, I’ll
pepper him with shot.”
The boy smiled and looked at his mother.
“Oh, you may laugh, sir, at your foolish, indulgent father. I don’t know what I
could have been about to let you keep him. What do you want with a great
collie?”
“He’s such a companion, father; and see how clever he is after rabbits!”
“Matter of opinion,” said the Colonel. “I don’t suppose the rabbits think so. Well,
mind this: I will not have him tearing about among my young fruit trees.”
Chapter Two.A Deep Investigation.<