About this time, in some unaccountable way, all of the candles at once went out. Pitchy darkness prevailed. The miners charged their French friend to stand perfectly still and they would go out and re-light their candles. The poor devil only said:
“Vell, vell, ziz is to me incomprehensible and must be one chance extraordenaire for all zee candaile to become extinguish so very instantaneous. Je suppose it was one accident. Make all zee dispatch vich is possible. Zee heat of zee atmosphere is indescriptible!” Soon after this little scene in the drift, Sam Jones, superintendent of the mine, came along through the level with a lantern in his hand. Much to his surprise, he found several men standing in the dark before a drift, the mouth of which they had carefully closed with “logging” and pieces of boards.
“Hello!” cried he, “what are you all doing here in the dark? And why is the mouth of this drift closed?” No one volunteered a remark, each waiting for the other probably.
“Have you seen a young Frenchman on this level?” asked the superintendent, “the foreman above tells me he sent him down here.”
Now some one had to speak.
“Yes;” said one of the men, “he is here.”
“Here! Where?”
“Back in the end of the drift.”
“What in thunder is he doing there?”
“Waiting for a light, I think.”