The men hurried on along the dark, low galleries. Dick every now and then shouting out with his young, shrill voice, “David, David Adams!”
But there was no answer. It was a work of danger too; for they had to pass along several passages in which the air felt very heavy, and they knew well that if it had not been for their Davy lamps they would all have been blown to pieces. They called and called, and looked into every dark corner, still David was not to be found. The men began to talk of giving up the search as a bad job. “Oh don’t let us give up, father,” exclaimed Dick, “David must be somewhere.” Joseph liked little David, but still he was tired, and he thought, with the other men, that they might hunt on for a week and yet not find him. However, they all agreed to take another long round.
The poor widow sat and sat, anxiously waiting the return of her friends.
The banksman at the mouth of the pit received the signal from those below that they were ready to be drawn up. It was now quite dark. “Stay quiet, dame, stay quiet,” he said, as the poor widow was about to lean over the mouth of the pit to watch for her boy. “May be, after all, the lad isn’t there. I’ve known boys lost for many a day down the pits, and yet found at last.”
Little Dick with his father and the other men were soon at the top. As they one after the other got out of the basket, the poor widow eagerly advanced with out-stretched arms to clasp her son. “Oh my boy, my boy, where are you? Come, David, come!” she exclaimed.
“Very sorry, Mrs Adams, very sorry; but we couldn’t find the little chap,” said Samuel Kempson, in a tone which showed that he felt what he said. The other men echoed his words. “Still it’s better to come without him than to bring him up as many have been brought up, as you well know, without life in him. Don’t give way now, we’ll try again, and more than likely that he’ll find his way back to where people are at work.”
The widow heard some deep sobs. They came from Dick. “You’re a kind, good lad; you loved my boy,” she cried, pressing him to her, and giving way to bitter tears.
“And I will go down and look for him again, that I will, Mrs Adams; so don’t take on so, now,” answered Dick, stopping his own sobs.
Samuel insisted on the widow coming to his house. She, after some pressing, consented, and the men assisted her along in the dark towards the village. They may have been rough in looks and rough in language, but the widow’s grief softened their hearts and made them kind and gentle in their manner. Mrs Kempson received the poor widow with much kindness, and did her best to comfort her.
They did little else all the evening but talk of little David and what had become of him. Mrs Kempson recollecting what her own son had done, observed that perhaps he had come up after all, and had gone away to Newcastle, or Shields, to get on board ship.