He held out a huge, hairy hand, and Mr. Sandham realized that he had received a Western miner's heartfelt thanks for the saving of his life.
The water had now been turned off at the reservoir and, the furious torrent being thus reduced to a mere trickle, all further danger to those in the mine was over. The miner's convulsive grip and the terrific strain of the current left Mr. Sandham with a crushed hand and badly-wrenched shoulder, the effects of which he felt for many months.
Looking back to-day on his adventure Mr. Sandham says that the point most vividly impressed on his memory is the fact that if he had not waited for his friend he would have been caught with the others in the flooding of the mine. Naturally, as the guest of the manager, who had gone on ahead of the party, he would have been close to him at the time of the disaster and would undoubtedly have shared his terrible fate. The rest of the party, being near a manhole, luckily made their escape—all except the foreman, who had pluckily allowed his men to go first. His chivalry nearly cost him his life, for he was too late to save himself and was caught in the flood. It was he whom Mr. Sandham so pluckily rescued.
Among the artists who have contributed to The Wide World, one of the most familiar names is undoubtedly that of Mr. Alfred Pearse, whose well-known signature, "A. P.," appeared in the very first number of the magazine.
Mr. Pearse has met with such an extraordinary number and variety of accidents and adventures during his career that he says, "There is no doubt that by all the laws of chance I ought not to be here, but killing seems to agree with me."
His list of casualties is an extraordinary one. He has been nearly drowned three times, and has had concussion of the brain more than once. He has fallen off the tops of omnibuses—on one occasion through the bus skidding when he was on his way to Cowes to make a sketch of Queen Alexandra's pet dogs. This resulted in his being paralyzed in the legs for six months, and one of his most cherished possessions is a kindly letter of sympathy from Her Majesty, expressing her hopes for his speedy recovery. Mr. Pearse has been drugged, poisoned, and shot, has fallen down Beachy Head, and been knocked down and injured by runaway horses and motor-cars. He has slipped between a moving train and the platform, has been within an ace of falling over a precipice in the Alps, has been chased by wild bulls, been blind for two days (the after-effects of a red spider bite), and had his left shoulder put out of joint. It is perhaps permissible, therefore, to refer to him as the most "accidental" man in the world.
Mr. Pearse's alarming list of mishaps, however, does not appear to have affected him in any way, for he is to-day as full of vigour and spirits as many a man of half his years and considerably less than half his accidents.
But there is one particular experience in his life which Mr. Pearse confesses stands out above all others in sheer intensity of horror and nerve-racking anguish—an occasion when he was absolutely and entirely at the mercy of a raving lunatic. There are, it is safe to say, few men who have been so near death and have survived the ordeal.