CHAPTER XXIV
England knows these scenes too well!
When Tressady, out of breath with running, reached the top of the bank, and threw a hurried look in front of him, his feeling was that he had seen everything before—the wintry dawn, the crowds of pale men and weeping women ranged on either hand, the police keeping the ground round the shafts clear for the mine officials—even the set white face of his manager, who, with Macgregor the fireman and two hewers, had just emerged from the cage that was waiting at the mouth of the downcast shaft.
As soon as Madan saw Tressady rounding the corner of the engine-house he hurried towards his employer.
"Have you been down yet?" Tressady cried to him.
"Just come up, sir. We got about fifty yards—air fairly good—then we found falls along the main intake. We got over three or four, till the damp rose on us too bad—we had a rough bit getting back. I thought you'd be here by now. Macgregor thinks from the direction in which things were lying that the blast had come from Holford's Heading or thereabouts."
And the manager hastily opened a map of the colliery he was carrying in his hand against the wall of the engine-house, and pointed to the spot.
"How many men there?"
"About thirty-two in the workings round about—as near as I can reckon it."
"Any sign of the rest? How many went down?"