the end of the pier; then two great iron arms got hold of it, and gently, as if it was a baby, lifted it off the pier and lowered it down till it reached the deck of a vessel lying underneath. When there, the bottom opened and the coals slipped out into the hold of the vessel. Then up the wagon went again, and another came down in the same way, till the whole train was emptied; then off the wagons set, rolling away to be filled again.
The sailor lad observed poor Mrs Adams’s anxious, eager looks.
“What is the matter now, mother?” he asked, going up to her, and speaking in a kind tone. “You seem down-hearted at something.”
“Yes; well I may be, my lad, when my little son, as good and bright a child as ever lived, has been and got lost down in the pit. He went down at daybreak this morning, and no one has ever seen him since. Such a dreadful place, too, full of dark passages and pits and worked-out panels; and then there is the bad gas, which kills so many; and then there are the rolleys, and many a poor lad has got run over with them. Oh dear, oh dear!”
“Well, mother, I hope the lad will be found,” said the young stranger. “I didn’t think the place was like that; may be you’ll tell me something more about it.”
The poor widow was too glad to have some one to talk to, so she told the lad all about the mine, the number of hours the boys worked, and the wages they got, and the way they were treated generally. The young sailor thanked her heartily. “I thought as how I’d been forced to lead something like a dog’s life at sea, and I had a mind to come and have a turn at mining; for thinks I to myself, I’ll have a dry jacket and plenty of grub, and a turn in to a quiet bed every night, but now I hear what sort of work it is, I’ll go back to the old brig; we’ve daylight and fresh air and change of scene, and though we are dirty enough at times, I’ll own we haven’t to lie on our backs and peck away at coal in a hole three feet high, with the chance of being blown to pieces any moment.”
“I can’t say that you are wrong, my lad,” said the poor widow, looking up at the sailor. “It has been a fatal calling to those belonging to me, and I would advise no one to enter it who has any other means of living.”
“Thank ye, mother, thank ye,” answered the stranger, “I’ll take your advice, but I should like to know if they find that poor boy of yours; I hope they will, that I do.” The sailor could not stop any longer, as it was getting late; but he asked the widow where she lived, that he might come back and learn if her son was found. Then off he set, running as hard as he could go, to get back to the high-road, by which he might reach the river before it was dark.
Meantime Dick and his father and the other men went down the pit with their lamps, to look for David. “It’s like hunting for a needle in a rick of hay, I’m thinking,” said one of the men. “If we could learn what way the little fellow was going when he was last seen; you know there are more than sixty miles of road, taking all into account, and it will be a pretty long business to walk over them.”
“Right, mate, but the poor boy won’t have got very far,” observed Joseph Kempson. “Come along now.”