“I heard a groan also,” said the viewer. “There may be several alive, I hope.”
The brave little band moved on, knowing well that each step they advanced the danger was increased.
“Here is a poor fellow,” cried the viewer, who was looking into a hollow cut in the wall. Dick hoped that it might be his father or brother, but it was a man he knew little about. He was alive, but hurt from having been blown into the place where he was found, and appeared to have lost his senses. He was carried to the foot of the shaft and placed in the corve. Two other men crawled up on hearing the shout, but they were very weak, and could only say that they believed all the rest were killed.
The overseer told Dick that he might go up with them, but he begged so hard to remain that he might look for his father, that two men were sent instead.
While the overseer was securing the men in the corve, Dick once more went along the main gallery. He had not gone far when he saw in a hollow, a figure crouching down. It was that of his friend David Adams. Was he alive? He lifted him up and carried him along in his arms towards the shaft. Already he felt the choke-damp in his throat; he was stumbling, too, with the weight of his burden. He felt that he could not move another yard, for his knees were bending under him.
“Run, run to the shaft,” he heard a voice say. “I’ll take him on.” It was the viewer, who, throwing the body of young Adams over his shoulders, seized Dick with the other hand and dragged him on. Their companion had disappeared. In vain they shouted for him, while they anxiously waited for the return of the corve to carry them up. To go back into the passages already full of poisonous air, would have been madness. Dick, notwithstanding, was eager to go back to try and find his father and brother. Had not the viewer prevented him, he would have made the attempt and perished. Even where they were, it was with difficulty they breathed. Dick, as he looked at his friend’s face, calm and quiet, was afraid that he had lost him too. At last the corve came down, and the viewer and Dick lifting in David’s body, were drawn up.
Poor Mrs Adams was among those in the front surrounding the pit. She at once knew her son, and clasping him in her arms, gave way to her grief, calling him to come to life.
“Let the doctor see him, dame,” said several voices. “May be he is not so far gone as you think.”
On this the surgeon stepped forward and had David carried out of the crowd, who prevented him from breathing the fresh air, which, if a person is not dead, is more likely than anything else to restore the power of breathing.
Meantime Mrs Kempson, among the other women, had come up.