Up the heading, in single file, they walked swiftly, swinging their safety-lamps in their hands, or holding them against their breasts. They knew that up in the chambers their comrades were lying prostrate and in pain. They knew that the spaces through which they must pass to reach them were filled with poisonous gases, and that in those regions death lurked in every "entrance" and behind every "pillar." But they hurried on, saying little, fearing little, hoping much, as they plunged ahead into the blackness, on their humane but desperate errand.
A half-hour later the bell in the engine-room tinkled softly once, and then rang savagely again and again to "hoist away." The great wheel turned fast and faster; the piston-rods flew in and out; the iron ropes hummed as they cut the air; and the people at the shaft's mouth waited, breathless with suspense, to see what the blackness would yield up to them. The carriage rose swiftly to the surface. On it four men, tottering and exhausted, were supporting an insensible body in their midst. The body was taken into strong arms, and borne hurriedly to the office of the breaker, a little distance away. Then a boy staggered off the carriage and fell fainting into the outstretched arms of Bachelor Billy.
"Ralph!" cried the man, "Ralph, lad! here! brandy for the child! brandy, quick!"
After a little the boy opened his eyes, and gazed wonderingly at the people who were looking down on him. Then he remembered what had happened.
"Mr. Burnham," he whispered, "is—is he alive?"
"Yes, lad; they've took 'im to the office; the doctor's in wi' 'im.
Did ye fin' the air bad?"
The child lay back with a sigh of relief.
"Yes," he said, "very bad. We got to 'em though; we found 'em an' brought 'em out. I carried the things; they couldn't 'a' got along 'ithout me."
The carriage had gone down again and brought up a load of those who had suffered from the fire. They were blackened, burned, disfigured, but living. One of them, in the midst of his agony, cried out:—
"Whaur is he? whaur's Robert Burnham? I'll gi' ma life for his, an' ye'll save his to 'im. Ye mus' na let 'im dee. Mon! he done the brawest thing ye ever kenned. He plungit through the belt o' after-damp ahead o' all o' them, an' draggit us back across it, mon by mon, an' did na fa' till he pullit the last one ayont it. Did ye ever hear the like? He's worth a thousan' o' us. I say ye mus' na let 'im dee!"