Sam Donovan was about thirty years of age, and was an unfortunate mixture of his father and his mother, having the fine points of neither. His blue eyes were weak and watery, and the stubble of beard on his chin concealed a loose, flabby mouth. He had a way of smiling sideways and looking down at his feet, scratching his ear as he did so.
"Good-day, Sam," said John Brodrick curtly. "Should you want to know why I entered your father's house, you had best go inside and ask him, while the memory of my visit is still fresh in his mind."
"If it's Tom Moore's fence that has brought you here, I wasn't at home when the cows intruded there, I was down in Doonhaven," said Sam Donovan, glancing from Copper John back to the agent. "The fact of the matter is that fence of his is too far to the north, it encroaches on our land, and anyone else would tell you the same. Tom Moore had no business to put up the fence at all."
"The matter of that fence was brought up for arbitration six months ago, and you know it perfectly well, Sam Donovan," broke in the agent, at once in his element, and desirous of showing his authority.
"Didn't I come over myself and measure the ground, and have two unbiased parties here to witness the fairness of what was agreed, and you remember you said yourself at the time…"
"That will do, Ned," said John Brodrick impatiently. "The matter is of no importance, and Sam knows that if his father's cattle broke down the fence his father must pay for the damage done, and there is no more to be said. Let us get home before we are both drenched to the skin."
He turned abruptly away, without bidding Sam Donovan good-bye, and his agent was obliged to follow him, regretting the break in the argument, which might have lasted some considerable time and would have resulted in going once more into the house and continuing the discussion over a glass of whisky, had he been on his own and not in company with his brother and employer.
The weather had changed, as it so often did in the country, to clammy mist and drizzle, and the rain swept now over the moors as though the sun had never shone for the day. One thing was certain, thought Copper John as he strode along beside the bog, always five yards or so ahead of his agent, the time had arrived to make the Donovans understand, finally and for ever, that their influence on the people of Doonhaven must finish. The ridiculous family feud belonged to a past that was dead and buried. If the Donovans had come down in the world it was from their own idleness and feckless way of living; the prosperity of the Brodricks had nothing to do with it. Any fortune that he, John Brodrick, was making came from his own energies and his fortunate ability to march with the times. If the Donovans did not understand this, and continued their policy of obstruction, then the Donovans would be broken. And the sooner they were broken the better it would be for Doonhaven. There were too many families like them in the country, proud, idle, and good-for-nothing, ever ready to raise a protest against the law, a continual menace to the Government and to loyal landlords like himself. Until these people were brought to heel and made to fit in with progress and the general scheme of things, the country would never prosper.
So Copper John decided, coming out on to the road and leaving the wet bog and the brown moors behind him, the rain streaming from his coat. And as he reached his own gate-house, at the entrance to the park, and, dismissing his agent, proceeded to walk down the carriage road, the sky cleared, as suddenly as it had clouded, the grassland shone and glistened under the sun, and down in the wood by the water's edge the herons rose from their nests in the tall trees, and with heavy flapping wings flew slowly down the creek.
He turned up from the drive, and stood on the bank of smooth grass before the castle, looking with pride and affection at the strong grey walls of his house, the tower at the end, the mass of trees climbing the hill behind, and thought how he would build on additions to the house, making it stronger still, with bigger windows, other towers, not for his own sake, but for Henry's, and for Henry's children, and in days to come this castle of Clonmere would be a landmark far and wide, and people travelling the road from Mundy to Doonhaven would stop below Hungry Hill and point westward across the water, saying, "There is Clonmere, the home of the Brodricks." And beside it would be the tall chimneys of the mines.
Henry and John arrived from London at the end of the week. Meanwhile, there had been no further incident at the mine, and Captain Nicholson gave it as his opinion that the return of the Director of the Company had frightened the pilferers, and possibly brought them to some sense of honesty.
This opinion was short-lived, however, for on the day following the young men's arrival, one of the trolleys, which had been fully loaded at the close of the preceding day's work, and which was stationed in the customary track outside the cleansing-shed, where the copper was washed and separated, was found in the morning, when wheeled to the dressing-station, filled not with copper but with iron residue. The men who had been in charge of this particular trolley were summoned at once by Captain Nicholson and closely questioned, but both appeared stupefied at what had happened. Captain Nicholson went down the mine, and, crawling along the narrow gallery, came to the load that had been worked the day before. Gunpowder had been used frequently during the week, and the bitter, pungent smell still clung about the rock-face of the mine, and the rubble had not all been cleared away. The men who were working the seam and had filled the buckets were Doonhaven men, not Captain Nicholson's own Cornish-men, but, like the surface men, they professed themselves ignorant as to how the iron residue came to fill the trolley, and in proof of their innocence reminded the Captain how he himself had been present the evening before when their shift came off duty, and had supervised the now customary nightly search, and not a trace of any mineral had been found on their persons.
"Do you think we swallow the stuff?" asked one of them, in high indignation. "And will you be cutting open our stomachs to look for it?"
"It's my belief," said his companion solemnly, "that the spirits in the old hill make away with it, and put a charm on us in the doing of it, so that we cannot see them crouching beside us with their little barrows."
"The only spirits that come into this mine you bring yourself in a bottle from Murphy's shop in Doonhaven," said Captain Nicholson. "Go on, get to work, and remember to hold yourselves in readiness for further questions from Mr. Brodrick when he arrives. It's my belief he will have every one of you arrested by the police and taken into Mundy."
The new setback meant a great loss of face for Captain Nicholson, who had been congratulating himself that the trouble was over, and it was with extreme reluctance that he sent a lad over to Clonmere with a note to the Director, explaining what had occurred.
Copper John came within the hour, in company with his two sons, and listened to Nicholson's story in silence, his face hard and expressionless.
"Well, Henry," he said at the conclusion, "your brains are young, and you arrive here fresh to the business. What do you make of it?"
Henry looked thoughtful. He did not reply immediately. Although he was now twenty-five, and his brother a year younger, they were so used to deferring to their father's views and opinions, and keeping their own thoughts in abeyance, that to be appealed to in this way was something of a novelty.
Henry's travels in France and Germany had given him plenty of confidence, however, which his brother still lacked, and he was the lucky possessor too of great natural charm and grace of manner, in addition to a good brain, and, glancing across at Captain Nicholson with a smile, he asked for permission to descend the mine.
"By all means, sir," said the Captain, "and I will come with you myself."
"No, don't trouble to do that," said Henry. "I think it might be better if I went alone, and possibly my brother could come with me. We may strike upon something that will give a clue to the business and solve your troubles."
"I wish you success," said his father, with a short laugh, "but take care not to lose yourselves. John is quite capable of tumbling down the shaft and breaking his neck."
The brothers
left the small counting-house and walked past the dressing-sheds and the trolleys to the ladder, close to the shaft head.
"Well," said John, "what's in your mind?"
"Just something," smiled his brother, "but I shan't tell you yet. I Want your help, all the same. When we get down to the level where Nicholson told us the men were working yesterday, you must somehow get the fellow there in conversation, while I look about the place without interference. When you see me blow my nose, that will be your signal."
"What am I to talk to the man about?" objected John.
"Anything you please. Tell him about your new greyhound. But keep his attention distracted."
"What a tom-fool business it is!" said John. "If I were my father I should let matters alone, and leave the fellows to take the copper. There must be enough to go round. Confound it, Henry, look at the mess they are making of Hungry Hill."
He pointed at the tall, lean chimney, the long row of sheds, the clustered huts where the miners lived.
"And all," laughed his brother, "so that I can amuse myself in Paris and Brussels, and you can race your greyhounds."
They put on mining hats and overalls, and were soon descending the long, steep ladder into the mine.
The atmosphere was a curious mixture of chill and oppression, and the candles stuck in brackets at intervals gave a gloomy, fitful light.
They reached the first level, where they could see the figures of two of the miners beside the shaft, engaged in steadying the buckets en the chains before they were raised to the surface by a windlass. Henry enquired where the blasting operations were in progress, and the two brothers were directed to a lower level.
"It's the narrowest level in the whole of the mine," said one of the men. "You will have to go single file, and crawl part of the way."
Henry was obviously enjoying himself, and looked about him the whole time with keen interest, now and again tapping the rock-face, and whistling under his breath, a habit of his when thinking very hard, while John, who with his superior height found the low ceiling highly uncomfortable, followed his elder brother in silence, aware that with every step he took farther into the bowels of the mine he became more and more depressed. He longed to be up and out of it, away in the fresh air on the top of Hungry Hill, and to him there was something degrading, almost evil, in burrowing like this into the depths, breaking the age-old rock with gunpowder to extract the hidden mineral.
A low rumble and muffled explosion not very far distant warned them that they were nearly within reach of the work, and through the gloom and smoke they edged their way along the gallery close to the miners.
The men's faces looked grey and haggard in the dim light, and once again John was filled with a sense of oppression. If any harm came to these fellows through their grim work, it would be the fault of his father and himself.
Henry was amongst them immediately, chatting easily, asking questions, while John stood aloof, looking at the dripping walls and the rubble caused by the last explosion, which the men were now clearing with their picks and shovels. He heard his brother enquire how far the gallery ran, and where they had been blasting during the previous weeks, and one of the men, a Cornishman, whose work it was actually to ignite the train, pointed to the far end of the gallery, where a mass of rubble appeared to be uncleared and the height of the ceiling little more than four foot.
"We wasted our time there," he said. "The rock goes chalky, and there is no mineral deposit. You could blast away for weeks, and you would only find chalk. It's my belief the hill slopes suddenly here, above ground, forming a wide hollow, and we are not so very far from the surface."
"Yes," said Henry, "I have often come upon those hollows while walking about the hill-almost like natural quarries. I should say there were earthworks here in days gone by."
"Yes, sir," said the Cornishman, uncertain what was meant by an earthwork, and then John suddenly perceived that his brother was very vigorously blowing his nose. He at once moved into the group of men.
"Do you ever have accidents during these explosions?" he asked.
The man turned to him civilly. "No, sir," he said; "it's only a matter of being careful. Of course it's specialised work."
The Cornishman showed John where holes had been bored in the side of the rock, for the charge to be inserted. John asked many questions, showing a keen interest most foreign to his nature, while the other three men, glad of a respite, leant on their tools and entered into the discussion, which worked round to when and where gunpowder had. first been employed for mining purposes.
No one noticed or cared that Henry did not join in the conversation, and had disappeared in the gloom to the end of the gallery. When he finally returned-John having meanwhile re-told the story of the Gunpowder Plot with great eloquence, professing himself firmly on the side of Guy Fawkes, and thus earning for himself a certain amount of respect from two of the men, who came from Doonhaven-ten minutes or a quarter-of-an-hour had passed by, and John, glancing at his brother, perceived that his clothes were covered in chalk and that there was a look of intense excitement in his eyes.
"Well, John," he said, "if you've had enough of it, we'll leave these fellows to their work and get up to the surface," andwitha brief word of thanks to the men he began to edge his way back along the level to the ladder.
They climbed to the surface in silence, John asking no questions, but as soon as they were above ground, and Henry had dusted the chalk from his clothes, he turned to his brother in triumph.
"My instinct was right," he said. "I know how these devils take the stuff away. Wait until we get to the counting-house, and you shall hear the whole story."
Their father, who was beginning to show signs of impatience, was walking up and down the room, his hands behind his back.
"Well," he said, as his sons entered, "no bones broken?"
"Not yet," said Henry, "but there may be before this business is finished. Captain Nicholson, can we be overheard here?"
"No, sir. The clerk has gone to her dinner, and not a soul but ourselves is within earshot."
"Very well then," said Henry. "I am able to tell you that your stuff is being stolen below ground, before it is ever brought to the surface."
"What the devil do you mean, Henry?" asked his father sharply.
"Only this, sir. I have always understood that in prehistoric days Hungry Hill was inhabited by cave-dwellers, who burrowed passages and tunnels underground, a few traces of which remain to this day. I have come across caves and hollows myself, when walking the hill, but never bothered to explore them to any depth. It was only when I heard about the disappearance of material that I remembered them."
"Well?" said his father.
"Just now, down on the second level, I left John to talk to the men who were blasting, and I went to the end of the gallery, where work has ceased, because chalk was struck. I cleared away some of the rubble, and moved one large piece of rock that looked as though it had been placed there with deliberate intention. I crawled in behind it, and found what I suspected. A narrow tunnel, just wide enough for a man to crawl on his hands and knees, sloping upwards, away from the mine.
It was worn quite smooth with recent use. I did not explore more than a few yards, for fear of discovery, but I can pretty well guess that it leads out into one of those old hollows in the side of the hill. It would be the simplest thing in the world to have a man crawl along that tunnel and dump the stuff at the end of it, and for someone else to come by night on to the hill by the hollow and load up his donkey and cart.
It's easy to see how they work it, too. Two Doon-haven fellows in the business arrange to work the same shift below ground, and one of them goes up the tunnel, while his partner keeps watch. Your Cornishmen are entirely innocent, Captain Nicholson. I'm sure of that. The fellow who was blasting today had no more idea there was a tunnel behind the chalk than my brother John had, but if he had a little more curiosity he would soon find out. So there you have it, father. And make what yo
u like of the discovery."
He smiled at the two older men, and winked at his brother. His achievement was, after all, something of a triumph.
"Well, Nicholson," said Copper John, "my son seems to have accomplished more in half-an-hour than you have done in weeks. Nor do I seek to make any excuses for myself. Now, my plan is as follows. When the men come off shift this evening, you and my son Henry will go down the mine and explore the tunnel to its outlet in the hillside.
We will then post a watch every night until we catch the fellows at work. If there is a scrap, so much the better. John, you are the lawyer of the family.
What do you say?"
John, whose dislike of the law was intense, and who had not the moral courage to say so, glanced appealingly at his brother, who took no notice.
"I don't know, sir," he havered. "Would you not perhaps consider telling the men that their game has been discovered, and block up the tunnel, and so end the business? Then there will be no bad blood spilt on either side."
"If that's what they teach you in Lincoln's Inn no wonder nobody briefs you for Counsel," said his father scornfully. "I fear my second son knows more about his dogs than he does about his profession, Captain Nicholson. Very well, John, you can stay at home and mind Jane. We don't want any faint-hearts amongst us. I suppose we can depend upon your Cornishmen, Nicholson? Meanwhile, I will find one or two neighbours to give us some assistance. I don't want to appeal to the military in this affair. Simon Flower from Andriff might be prevailed upon to help us; he is hefty enough, whatever else he lacks."
John Brodrick returned to Clonmere in high good-humour. They would soon have the whip-hand of the pilferers, and give them such a lesson that no one would try to interfere with his mine again in a hurry. The whole story was related to Jane, whose pleasure at Henry's cleverness was only tempered by the sight of John's gloomy face, which she knew at once to be caused by his own sense of inferiority.
Hungry Hill Page 5
