Philip: The Story of a Boy Violinist

by Virginia C. Young; Mary C. Hungerford

“I can answer for her,” said her husband. “Grace is a surgeon’s daughter and a surgeon’s wife, and, delicate as she looks, has nerve enough to be a surgeon herself.”

Half an hour later, Mrs. Norton joined her husband and his uncle at the scene of the disaster. There had been an explosion of fire-damp, and eight or ten more or less severely injured men had been brought up. Others were buried under the fallen wall of the gallery in which the accident occurred, and all the workmen were doing their best to dig them out. The distress of those who feared the worst for their friends was terrible, and Mrs. Norton turned pale as she went through the crowd to her husband’s side. Her arrival was most opportune, and for hours she was actively engaged in assisting him and trying to give some consolation to the women. The overseer was not, as they feared, one of the missing, nor was he even hurt, but was directing the work of rescue below.

At last, after eight hours of digging, word was sent up that they had hopes of speedily reaching those who were buried. Their shouts had been feebly answered, so some at least were still living. It grew dark and late into the night before they were reached, but not one of the party from the rectory would leave the vicinity of the mine.

Old Peter, who had been travelling back and forth all day, brought over a basket of provisions and spread supper for them in one of the miners’ huts. They were all so thoroughly exhausted that they found it a most welcome repast, and it was fortunate they had taken it, for almost before it was finished Dr. Norton was summoned again to the shaft.

They had brought up five men,—two of whom were dead and the others nearly unconscious—a woman, and a boy. Mrs. Norton, already overcome with the labor and excitement of the day, felt for a moment that she could not endure the sight of more suffering, but hearing that a woman was among the victims, she hesitated no longer, and ran quickly to the shaft. She found her husband bending over a woman who had been laid upon a plank covered with quilts, preparations for carrying the sufferers having been made hours before. She was so motionless that they were all sure she was dead, but as the doctor raised his head he said:

“She is alive. Take her to her house and I will follow you instantly. Leave her on the board till I come there.”

Then he turned to examine the others by the light of the lanterns, but Mrs. Norton followed the men who were carrying the woman. They took her into a little hut, no different from all the other houses about, and there they waited as the doctor had asked them to do, keeping her still on the plank. She groaned slightly then, and Mrs. Norton moistened her lips with something she carried in a bottle, but the woman did not seem to be conscious.

Her back was broken, the doctor said upon examination, and she was not conscious of suffering, and probably never would be again. So they laid her upon the bed, and Dr. Norton asked his wife to leave her to his care, with the assistance of some women who had come in with him, and go to the house where they had taken the boy. He had not been working in the mine, it seemed, but had gone down to carry a message before the explosion occurred; he was not injured in any way, but was prostrated by partial suffocation. Mrs. Norton was quite equal to the simple treatment necessary in his case, and after beef tea and stimulants had been administered, a little color began to creep into his face, and he asked feebly for his mother.

The woman on whose bed he was lying shook her head warningly, and Mrs. Norton understood from her gesture that the woman who lay dying in the house near by was his mother. Her heart ached for the poor boy, and, putting her soft cheek close to his, she petted and soothed him as if he had been a child of her own, whispering to him that he must be very still and not ask to see his mother till morning. He was still very weak and seemed to forget that he had asked for any one, and soon dropped asleep with his hand so tightly clasping hers that she feared to withdraw it.

And there she was, sitting silently by his side and studying the pale face, from which she had washed the grimy dust it was covered with at first, and brushed back the thick, fair, waving hair, when the rector came in, and, after looking attentively at the boy for a moment, took a seat by her side.