CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
INTRODUCES A STRANGER, DESCRIBES A PICNIC, AND REVEALS SOME SECRETS OFMINING.
Somewhere in the vicinity of that magnificent piece of coast scenery inWest Cornwall, known by the name of Gurnard's Head, there sauntered, onefine afternoon, a gentleman of tall, commanding aspect. All the partsof this gentleman were, if we may so speak, _prononce_. Everythingabout him savoured of the superlative degree. His head and face werehandsome and large, but their size was not apparent because of thecapacity of his broad shoulders and wide chest. His waist was slender,hair curly and very black, only to be excelled by the intense blacknessof his eyes. His nose was prominent; mouth large and well shaped;forehead high and broad; whiskers enormous; and nostrils so large as toappear dilated. He was a bony man, a powerful man--also tall andstraight, and a little beyond forty. He was to all appearance a hero ofromance, and his mind seemed to be filled with romantic thoughts, for hesmiled frequently as he gazed around him from the top of the cliffs onthe beautiful landscape which lay spread out at his feet.
Above him there were wild undulating slopes covered with rich greengorse; below were the cliffs of Gurnard's Cove, with rocky projectionsthat resemble the castellated work of man's hand, and intermingledtherewith much of the _materiel_ connected with the pilchard fishery,with masses of masonry so heavy and picturesque as to resemble Nature'shandiwork. Beyond lay the blue waters of the Atlantic, which at thattime were calm almost as a mill-pond, studded with a hundred sails, andglittering in sunshine.
The spot appeared a beautiful solitude, for no living thing was visiblesave the romantic gentleman and a few seagulls and sheep. The pilchardfishery had not yet commenced, and the three or four fishermen whopitched and repaired their boats on the one little spot of sand thatcould be seen far below on that rugged coast appeared like mice, andwere too far distant to break the feeling of solitude--a feeling whichwas not a little enhanced by the appearance, on a spot not far distant,of the ruined engine-house of a deserted mine.
It was indeed a lovely afternoon, and a beautiful scene--a verymisanthrope would have gazed on it with an approach at least tobenignity. No wonder that George Augustus Clearemout smiled on it sojoyously, and whisked his walking-cane vigorously in the exuberance ofhis delight.
But, strange to say, his smile was always brightest, and the caneflourished most energetically, when he turned his eyes on the ruinedmine! He even laughed once or twice, and muttered to himself as helooked at the picturesque object; yet there seemed nothing in itsappearance calculated to produce laughter. On the contrary, there werethose alive whom the sight of it might have reduced to tears, for, inits brief existence, it had raised uncommonly little tin or copper,although it had succeeded in sinking an immense amount of gold!Nevertheless Mr Clearemout chuckled every time he looked at the ruin,and appeared very much tickled with the thoughts to which it gave rise.
"Yes! the very thing! capital!" he muttered to himself, turning againand again to the object of his admiration, "couldn't be better--ha! ha!most suitable; yes, it will do for 'em, probably it will _do_ 'em--do'em," (he repeated the phrase two or three times with a greater displayof white teeth at each utterance of it), "a most superb name--WhealDo-em--ha! ha! Spell it with two o's to make it look more natural, andensure correct pronunciation--Wheal Dooem--nothing could be finer, quitecandid and above-board--no one can call it a swindle."
This last idea caused Mr Clearemout to break into the loudest laugh inwhich he had hitherto indulged, and he was about to repeat it, when theappearance of a phaeton at a turn of the carriage road reduced him togravity.
The vehicle contained a party of ladies and gentlemen from St. Just,among whom were Rose Ellis, Mrs Donnithorne and her husband, OliverTrembath, and Mr William Grenfell, a gentleman of property in theneighbourhood.
As it approached the spot where Mr Clearemout stood, the horse swervedat a sheep which started out from behind a furze bush, and then backedso rapidly that the hind-wheels were on the point of passing over theedge of the road, when the tall stranger sprang to its head, and led itgently forward.
The danger was not great, for the road at the place was elevated littleabove the sward, but it was sufficiently so to warrant a profusion ofthanks from the occupants of the vehicle, and a pressing invitation toMr Clearemout to join the picnic party then and there assembling.
"You see, we're not all here," said Mr Donnithorne, bustling aboutenergetically, as he pulled baskets and bottles from the body of thevehicle, while Oliver assisted the ladies to alight; "there's anothermachineful coming, but we have lots of grub for all, and will only betoo glad of your company, Mr--Mr--what did you say?"
"Clearemout," interposed that gentleman, with a bow and a bland smilethat quite took Mr Donnithorne by storm.
"Ah, yes, glad to have you, Mr Clearemout; why, our necks might allhave been broken but for you. Rose, my dear, do look after this basket.There--thanks--how hot it is, to be sure! Mr Clearemout--MrGrenfell; no introduction--only to let you know his name--my wife--niece, Rose--Oliver Trembath, and all the rest; there, dispense withceremony on a picnic always. That's the chief fun of it."
While the lively old gentleman ran on thus, and collected the basketstogether, Mr Grenfell, who was a tall, gentlemanly man of about sixty,with a grave, aristocratic countenance and polite manner, assured MrClearemout that he was happy to make the acquaintance of a man who hadrendered them such opportune service, whereupon Mr Clearemout declaredhimself to be fortunate in being present at such a juncture, andprotested that his service was a trifle in itself, although it had ledto an introduction which was most gratifying. Then, turning with muchurbanity of manner to the ladies, he entered into conversation withthem.
"Here they come!" shouted old Mr Donnithorne, as another carriage droveup.
"The rest of our party," said Mr Grenfell, turning to Mr Clearemout;"friends from St. Just."
The carriage stopped as he spoke, and a number of ladies and gentlemendescended therefrom, and mingled their congratulations at the narrowescape which had just been made, with thanks to the dark stranger, andwith orders, questions, counter-orders, and explanations innumerable,about baskets to be carried and places to be selected.
The picnic, we need scarcely say, very much resembled picnics ingeneral. All were in good spirits--elated with the splendour of theday, the beauty of the views, and the freshness of the sea-breeze thatsprang up soon after their arrival. The only one whose feelings werenot absolutely unruffled was Oliver Trembath. That youth was afflictedwith an unaccountable dislike to the dark stranger which rendered himsomewhat uncomfortable. As for the stranger, he made himself extremelyagreeable--told anecdotes, sang songs, and became an immaculate waiteron the whole company, handing about plates, glasses, knives, etcetera,etcetera, as deftly as if he were dealing a pack of cards. Above all,he was a good listener, and not only heard other people's stories out tothe end, but commented on them as one who had been interested. With allthis, he was particularly attentive to Rose Ellis, but so guarded was hethat no one noticed the attentions as being peculiar except Roseherself, and Oliver Trembath, who, for the first time in his life, tohis great surprise and displeasure, felt the demon of jealousytormenting his breast.
But in the midst of all this, Mr George Augustus Clearemout displayedan insatiable curiosity in regard to mines and miners. Whatever mightbe the subject of conversation for the time, he invariably took thefirst opportunity of returning to his favourite theme with one oranother of the party, as occasion served.
Ashamed of the feelings which troubled him, Oliver Trembath resolved totake the bold and manly step of stifling them, by making himselfagreeable to the object of his dislike. Accordingly, he availed himselfof an opportunity when the party broke up into groups to saunter aboutthe cliffs, and entered into converse with the stranger on the subjectof mines.
"You appear to take much interest in mining, I think," said he, as theywalked out on the promontory together.
"I do indeed,"
replied Clearemout; "the mines of Cornwall have ever beena subject of deep interest to me, and the miners I regard as a race ofmen singularly endowed with courage and perseverance."
"Your opinion of them is correct," said Oliver. "Have you ever seenthem at work?"
"No, I have only just arrived in the county, but I hope to visit themines ere long."
"When you do," said Oliver with enthusiasm, "your opinion of them willbe strengthened, for their endurance underground, and their perseverancein a species of labour which taxes their muscular power as well as theirpatience to the uttermost, surpasses anything I have either seen orheard of. England does not fully appreciate, because she is notminutely acquainted with, the endurance and courage of her Cornishminers. The rocks through which they have to cut are so hard andunyielding that men who had not been trained from childhood to subduethem would lose heart altogether at the weight of toil and the smallreturn for it. Sometimes, indeed, miners are fortunate, and here, aselsewhere, lucky hits are made, but for the most part their gains arebarely sufficient for their wants; and whether they are lucky or unluckyin that respect, the toil is always hard--so hard that few of themretain health or strength sufficient to go underground beyond the age offorty-five, while hundreds of them find an early grave, owing to diseaseresulting from their peculiar work, or to accidents. These last areusually occasioned by the bursting out of collections of water whichflood the mines, or the fall of masses of timber, or the prematureexplosion of blast-holes. At other times the men lose hold of theladders--`fall away' from them, as they express it--or stumble into awinze, which is a small shaft connecting level with level, in whichlatter case death is almost certain to ensue, many of the winzes beingsixty feet deep. In St. Just you will see many poor fellows who havebeen blinded or maimed in the mines. Nevertheless Cornish miners are acontented, uncomplaining race of men, and Cornwall is justly proud ofthem."
"I am much interested in what you tell me," said Clearemout; "in fact Ihave come here for the purpose of making inquiry into mines and miningconcerns."
"Then you will find this to be the very place for you," said Oliver."My uncle, Mr Donnithorne, and Mr Grenfell, and Mr Cornish areintimately acquainted with mining in all its phases, and will, I amcertain, be happy to give you all the information in their power. As tothe people of St. Just and its neighbourhood, you will find them mostagreeable and hospitable. I can speak from personal experience,although I have only been a short time among them."
"I doubt it not," replied Mr Clearemout with a bland smile; "my ownlimited experience goes far to corroborate what you say, and I hope tohave the pleasure of still further testing the truth of yourobservations."
And Mr George Augustus Clearemout did test their truth for severalweeks after the picnic. He was received with kindness and hospitalityeverywhere; he was taken down into the mines by obliging agents, and wasinvited to several of the periodical business dinners, called"account-dinners," at which he met shareholders in the mines, and had anopportunity of conversing with men of note and wealth from various partsof the county. He dwelt, during his stay, with old Mr Donnithorne,and, much to the surprise if not pleasure of Rose, proved himself to bea proficient on the guitar and a good musician.
At length the dark gentleman took his departure for London, whither weshall follow him, and watch his proceedings for a very short time,before returning to the principal scene of our tale.
Almost immediately on his arrival in the great city, he betook himselfto the West End, and there, in a fashionable square, solicited aninterview with an old lady, whose principal noteworthy points were thatshe had much gold and not much brains. She was a confiding old lady,and had, on a previous occasion, been quite won by the insinuatingaddress of the "charming Mr Clearemout," who had been introduced to herby a noble lord.
To this confiding old lady George Augustus painted Cornish mines andmining in the most glowing colours, and recommended her to invest in amine a portion of her surplus funds. The confiding old lady had notaste for speculation, and was rather partial to the three per centconsols, but George Augustus was so charmingly persuasive that she couldnot help giving in--so George proposed little plans, and opened uplittle prospects, and the confiding old lady agreed to all the littleplans without paying much regard to the little prospects.
After this Mr Clearemout paid another visit in another West Endsquare--this time to a gentleman. The gentleman was young and noble,for Clearemout styled him "My lord." Strange to say he also was of aconfiding nature--very much so indeed--and appeared to be even morecompletely under the influence of George Augustus than the confiding oldlady herself.
For the benefit of this young gentleman Mr Clearemout painted the samepicture in the same glowing colours, which colours seemed to grow warmeras the sun of success rose upon it. He added something about the valueof a name, and referred to money as being a matter of small consequencein comparison. The young lord, like the old lady, agreed to everythingthat was proposed to him, except the proposal to advance money. On thatpoint he was resolute, but Clearemout did not care much about obtainingmoney from the confiding young gentleman. His name was as good as gold,and would enable him to screw money out of others.
After this the dark man paid a visit to several other friends at theWest End, all of whom were more or less confiding--some with selfish,others with unselfish, dispositions--but all, without exception, alittle weak intellectually. These had the same glowing pictures of aCornish mine laid before them, and most of them swallowed the baitwhole, only one or two being content to nibble.
When afternoon began to merge into evening Mr Clearemout paid a lastvisit for the day--but not in the West End, rather nearer to the City--to a gentleman somewhat like himself, though less prepossessing, forwhose benefit he painted no glowing picture of a mine, but to whom hesaid, "Come, Jack, I've made a pretty good job of it; let's go and havea chop. If your luck has equalled mine the thing is done, and WhealDooem, as I have named the sweet little thing, will be going full swingin a couple of weeks--costing, perhaps, a few hundreds to put it inworking order, with a trifle thereafter in the shape of wages to a manand a boy to coal the fire, and keep the thing moving with as much noiseas possible to make a show, and leaving a pretty little balance of sometwenty or thirty thousand at the credit of the Company, for you and meto enjoy in the meantime--_minus_ a small sum for rent of office,clerk's salary, gas and coal, etcetera, as long as the bubble lasts."
Thus did this polite scoundrel go about from house to house getting up aCornish Mining Company on false pretences (as other polite scoundrelshave done before, and doubtless as others will do again), bringing intounmerited disrepute those genuine and grand old mines of Cornwall whichhave yielded stores of tin and copper, to the enriching of the Englishnation, ever since those old-world days when the Phoenicians sailedtheir adventurous barks to the "Cassiterides" in quest of tin.
While these things were being done in London, a terrible catastrophehappened in Botallack mine, which threw a dark cloud for some time overmore than one lowly cottage in St. Just.
Deep Down, a Tale of the Cornish Mines Page 15
