"Four lads o' mine is down!"
"Three o' mine!"
"My little un's theer—th' youngest—nobbut ten year owd—nobbut ten year owd, poor little chap! an' ony been at work a week!"
"Ay, wenches, God ha' mercy on us aw'—God ha' mercy!" And then more shrieks and wails, in which the terror-stricken children joined.
It was a fearful sight. How many lay dead and dying in the noisome darkness below, God only knew! How many lay mangled and crushed, waiting for their death, Heaven only could tell!
In five minutes after the explosion occurred, a slight figure in clerical garb made its way through the crowd with an air of excited determination.
"Th' parson's feart," was the general comment.
"My men," he said, raising his voice so that all could hear, "can any of you tell me who last saw Fergus Derrick?"
There was a brief pause, and then came a reply from a collier who stood near.
"I coom up out o' th' pit an hour ago," he said, "I wur th' last as coom up, an' it wur on'y chance as browt me. Derrick wur wi' his men i' th' new part o' th' mine. I seed him as I passed through."