When the drill had gone in up-to the hilt, I sent him down to stop the compressor. In the sudden silence he called up to me. 'The water's rising,' he said. 'It's over two feet deep.'
I said, 'Bring the charges up.' I wanted to get it over.
'No,' he said. 'No. I ain't stayin' any longer. You stay if yer like. But I've 'ad enough. I'm going back up the shaft.'
'Come back, Friar,' I shouted.
'No,' he shouted. 'No. I ain't never comin' back da'n 'ere.' His voice faded away down the gallery.
I climbed down. The charges were lying on the carriage alongside the compressor. I picked them up. Then I hesitated. The place was deathly quiet save for the sound of the water. There was no light but my own. Far away down the half-flooded gallery Friar's lamp flickered in the water. The stillness and the sense of being deserted was overwhelming. I put the charges down and climbed on to one of the ledges. When I dropped off the ledge on the other side of the pit the water came in over the top of my gum boots. I pulled back the rock and wound the handle of the field telephone. There was no answer. I tried again and again. No answer. And all about me the water trickled and dripped. I glanced up at the dark hole of the shaft. Should I go up there again and fix the charges? I thought I could feel the rock splintering under the strain. My nerves sensed the weight of the water on that thin shield of rock. I was sweating and I wanted to start running down the gallery.
I got a grip on myself. It had held for two hours. And all that time we'd been drilling. If it held then, it'd hold now. I was being a fool. It was just that fear was catching. If only Slim had answered the phone. But probably they hadn't had time to get back to the main shaft.
I literally forced myself to go back along the ledge, get the charges and climb into the shaft. Twice I paused. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to go back. But each time I made myself go on. At last I was up there with the thin sheet of rock pouring water over my face and hands. I started tamping the charges home. They were double charges this time. The work quietened my nerves. I concentrated all my mind on the task of fixing those charges.
Suddenly a new sound invaded the dripping stillness. I stopped my work and listened. There it was again. It was like a bell ringing. Had the air pressure suddenly increased, making my ears sing? Suppose the gallery leading up to Come Lucky had given way? The old man had been drilling into the face of it, Friar had said. He might have weakened it. If the water from Come Lucky was flooding into the Mermaid gallery the air pressure would rise, making my ear drums sing. My hands trembled at the thought. I could feel the sweat forcing its way out through the pores of my skin. I listened for the distant roar of water pouring down the gallery. But everything was quiet, only the drip of water and the insistent sound of that bell. Some trick of the rock perhaps. I flashed my lamp on the roof of the shaft. The fissures gaped wide. Water hissed on the flame of my lamp. I licked my lips. They were wet and salt from the water that fell on my face. And still that bell kept ringing in my ears. It was so indistinct that it was scarcely audible above the sound of the water. Imagination perhaps… And yet… I thought of all the cases I'd heard of miners being warned of disaster. Often it was a noise that warned them. Some sixth sense. Some change of the air pressure making their heads sing. The sound was still there, insistent, urgent, as though it had a message for me.
And then suddenly I remembered the telephone. I dropped the charge I was holding and scrambled down the ladder. I fell the last few feet, splashing into the water below me. I staggered to my feet. There at the end of the gallery a red light glowed just above the place where the telephone was concealed. I laughed out loud so that the sound of my own voice startled me. The relief made me feel light headed. I waded to one of the ledges, my gum boots heavy with water. I climbed along it to the telephone.