There were a good many sight-seers going down, besides the large and rather noisy family party occupying the Dolphin room, and which included three or four young ladies. Besides these, there were three or four recruits from the commercial, and as many from the coffee-room—all of whom had been impressed into the service by the eloquence of the glib waiter, who, I rather think, must have received some fee from the head-guide for each visitor to the mine. This guide, like his two subordinates, was a plain, shrewd-faced miner, in a rough suit of unbleached flannel, well provided with torches, lanterns, and other requisites for such an expedition. He assured us, with gruff civility, that there was no sort of danger, if we only kept together, took care of the lights, and minded what he told us; and after this exordium, he led the way to the pit, which was half a mile off. A gin, turned by an old wall-eyed white horse, sufficed to lower the cage which held us, in detachment, and we were soon underground.
A pretty sight was that mine, though I suspect it was not by any means so superior a specimen of its class as the waiter’s interested panegyrics would have led us to believe. But it was pretty and curious withal, to see the stretch of long galleries running away to the dim distance, to see the “halls” and “chambers” into which we suddenly emerged, and whose roofs were propped on columns of salt, and decked with frieze and cornice never carved by earthly chisel. Part of the mine was in full yield; the picks and shovels of the workmen rang against the rocky walls and floor, awakening a thousand sullen echoes from the excavations; and shaggy ponies came clattering and stumbling past, dragging trucks laden with corves of salt, some in block, and some in splinters, along the tramways. There were a good many men and boys busy in the regular routine of the mine, and the sight of this industry seemed the main attraction in the eyes of my fellow-pilgrims. They were all hearty, hale, north-country folks, except myself; the Dolphin party in especial being from Yorkshire, as they told everybody, and who had previously seen no mines but coal-pits. My own experience was still more restricted; but I did not take the same interest in the details of the labour of extracting salt as my temporary companions, most of whom so loudly evinced their interest in “clay-stones” or “jewels.”
Besides, somehow, I felt the loud blithe mirth of the rest, who seemed as frolicsome as school children on a holiday, jar a little with my own highly-wrought and irritable nerves. I was sickly and peevish, I dare say; but at any rate, I shrank instinctively away from the laughter and conversation of the rest of the party, and turned off into one of the lateral galleries of the mine. I had a lantern—we all carried lanterns or torches—and it was wonderful how the light which it gave was reflected back from the pellucid walls, which might have been hewn in rock crystal, so bright and pure was the salt through which the passage had been cut. The rough facets of the great crystalline lumps sparkled like monstrous gems, and the floor was rough with glittering fragments. This passage was intersected by others of varying width, some of which were broad corridors, with grooved floors, where trams had once been laid; while others were mere fissures, in the forming of which spade and pick could have played but a secondary part. I wandered on, and on, and still on, musing as I went, and taking little heed to my course.
Suddenly I stumbled, tripped over some loose masses of salt, and fell on my hands and knees, managing—and only just managing—to save the lantern which I carried from being extinguished in the fall. The floor of the cavern was very uneven in that part, and I had inadvertently walked into a sort of pit or basin of no great depth, and half filled with sand and moist salt, more or less pulverized. I rose and looked about me. Evidently, I had strayed from the direct track, thanks to my old habit of indulging in reverie, and had mechanically taken a wrong turning among some of the many passages. The place where I now found myself was by no means similar to the part of the mine that was in full yield, and from which I had wandered. Instead of being dry, airy, and full of life and bustle, the passage where I stood was damp, and quite silent, not a sound being audible except the drip, drip of the water that oozed through the roof in fifty places, and fell sullenly splashing into the little pools of dark green brine that lay among the stones. The floor was of stones, not of salt; and what salt was left in heaps was mixed with sand and loam, so as to be worthless for marketable purposes. It was plain that I was in some neglected corner of the mine; it was plain, too, that I had lost my way.
I am not, I think, more timid at heart than other Englishmen of my age and habits, but I must own that the first sensation I experienced was one of actual alarm. I remembered the words of the guide, when he told us that there was no danger so long as we kept together and near him. I had smiled when I heard this gruff caution, regarding it as a mere common-place speech, or perhaps a phrase designed to enhance the value of our conductor’s services; but now the warning came back to me with unwelcome emphasis, and as I breathed with difficulty the clammy and heavy air of the vault, a shudder ran through my whole frame. In the next instant, I rallied my courage, laughed contemptuously at my own fears, and stepped out manfully along the passage. The abandoned salt pit, the moist and sticky brine of which adhered to my clothes, showed me at least what to avoid, and I knew that I must have entered the passage from the right. But, alas! On emerging from the passage into a sort of square chamber, in which some rude benches, carved out of the rock-salt for the miners’ use in bygone times, were cut in the gleaming walls, I found that no less than six openings gave access to different parts of the mine, and I was fairly at fault.
How I had strayed so far without paying any attention to the bearings of my heedless course, is what, perhaps, none but an absent man can understand; and I, unluckily, was an absent man. It was not the first time, by many, that I had lost my way; but my former escapades had all occurred under the free sky, in the blessed summer sunlight, and the worst that had ever come of them was the temporary inconvenience of losing my dinner. But it is one thing to range about a mazy wood, or to roam in circles among the great purple moors, and another to be lost underground, in the dank air and darkness of a living tomb. I remarked, too, that the candle in my lantern would not last very long—from one to two hours perhaps, but certainly not longer. It was annoying, very annoying, to be left thus alone. I did not like to own to myself that it was dangerous.
How strange it was, I thought, that I did not hear the very faintest sound from the scene of all those busy labours in the mine. I listened—listened intently. Not a sound; not so much as the faint click of a distant pickaxe, or the crash of a falling block of salt; not the welcome sound of a human voice; not the tramp of one of those shaggy ponies that drew the corves. I had never before realised what the weight of solitude—enforced solitude—could be. I listened; I waited. Not the faintest indication that any other mortal but myself was below ground, reached my ears. Angry with my own fears, vexed with my own carelessness, that had brought me to this pass, I selected at hazard one of the passages opening into the chamber, and entered it, walking fast, but holding the lantern well in front, to avoid any fresh pitfalls which might lie in wait for the unwary foot. The passage was but some ten yards long, and then it branched off into two narrower corridors, the widest of which led me to a wide but low-browed cave of mixed salt and stone. I entered it stooping, but soon found that I should be obliged to proceed on hands and knees, if at all, so I retraced my steps: and, tracing the other corridor to its extremity, found myself once more in the square chamber which I had left a few minutes before.
And now I began to own to myself that I felt anything but hopeful of a speedy deliverance. My best chance was, that I might be missed, and sought for, since it was evident that I might wander aimlessly, as in a labyrinth, until my candle was spent, and then I should be indeed in sorry case. But should I be missed? I had no friend among the party of blithe sight-seers. If they remembered the existence of the pale, taciturn stranger who had seemed to shrink from their companionship, no doubt they would think that he had ma
de his way back to the shaft, and got some of the miners to draw him up “to bank,” and the guides were only too likely to think so too. I should be inquired for at the inn, of course, but not till dinner-time, and my absence might very probably be misinterpreted. The people knew nothing of me; my luggage was of the lightest; I might be thought of merely as a bilking scamp, who had levanted without paying his bill. And even a night spent in that cheerless place would, to one in my failing health, be no trifling misfortune. Already my feet were cold and wet with the tenacious brine; the cold moist air had brought back my cough, and I shivered in the chill atmosphere of the vault where I stood. Yet perhaps there were people near me, within earshot all the time, for I could not believe that the mine had been suddenly deserted. I shouted, and shouted again, the many crevices and passages giving back the sound of my voice with strange and sullen dissonance.
Presently, though no answering call was returned, I saw a light, far off and dim, but rapidly advancing towards me along the gallery that lay on my left, and which was one of the six I have mentioned. Nearer and nearer it came; no flare of torches, but the steady gleam of a small lamp; and then, to my surprise, I saw that the human figure that soon became visible was not that of a miner. The light of the lantern fell faintly on the pale face, colourless as marble, but delicate and pretty enough, of a young and slender girl—a lady, evidently, by her dress, and whom I instantly conjectured to have been one of the party of explorers. But how came she there, and alone? Was she lost, like me? Or—“Did you not call a minute ago? I can show you the way, if you like.”
Common-place words these; but they were spoken with a peculiar quiet intonation, that impressed me in spite of myself. The voice was sweet and low, but almost solemn in its calm. There was something strange, too, in the composure and the unsmiling gravity of one so young, while her very presence in that out-of-the-way part of the mine perplexed me. My first idea was, that the young lady, like myself, had lost her way in the intricacies of the pit; but this supposition her confidence of bearing seemed to contradict. No doubt she knew the mine well, or she would scarcely have offered to guide me to safety. This was an additional proof that she could not have been one of the merry, rosy-cheeked Yorkshire girls who had made part of the explorers that morning. Most likely, some fresh party had descended to see the mine, and this young lady—some resident in the neighbourhood—had accompanied her friends to a place which she knew well. And yet, why alone?
Then I snapped the thread of my thoughts rather abruptly, as I remembered that I had not uttered a single syllable of thanks or explanation to my fair rescuer, who had, no doubt, been the only member of the party to which she belonged who had happened to hear the cries for aid, of which I was beginning to be heartily ashamed. A man’s self-love is easily piqued, and I felt a hot flush of shame rise to my cheek as I thought in how pitiful a light I probably appeared to the sole spectator of what must seem my poltroonery in shouting for help. I therefore put on a bold front, and made a few remarks in as sprightly a tone as I could adopt upon the absurdity of my position, and went so far as to express my regret for any trouble or inconvenience I might have occasioned the fair damsel on behalf of so insignificant a person as myself. At the same time, I thanked her for her kindness, and admitted that I should not be sorry to regain the upper air.
She bowed her head slightly, and in the same grave, unsmiling manner as before, and turned towards the passage whence she had come, merely replying in answer to my speech: “This is the way we must take.”
I followed her as she swiftly and steadily glided forward, traversing the long and narrow passage lamp in hand. At the end of the passage was a sort of hexagonal vault, full of openings in its dull, white walls, where the salt was much corroded by the moisture that dripped from the roof. The floor was covered with white incrustations, and several of the entrances were more or less choked with earth and rocks. My guide selected one of the narrowest of the galleries, without a moment’s hesitation, and entered it with the same quick but light step. It was a mere fissure of irregular width, so very narrow in parts that it seemed as if the rocks were closing their stony jaws to bar our egress, while the height was considerable. Once I fancied, as I looked up, that I could see a faint glimmer of daylight filtered down through the overlying rocks, but it may have been mere fancy. For some moments, not a word was spoken. I was the first to break the silence.
“I had no idea,” said I, in a lively tone that cost me an effort, for I could scarcely keep my teeth from chattering as I spoke, so chilly and moist was the atmosphere of the unsunned caves—“I had no idea that I had wandered so far, or indeed that the mine was so large. I can recognise none of these objects by which we are passing, and yet some of them are worth looking at. How pretty is this, for instance!” And I came to a stop, glancing about me with involuntary admiration, as I found myself in a large natural grotto into which the fissure led. The lofty but broken roof was of rock-salt, but stained of many hues, green and crimson, orange, brown, scarlet, by the infiltration of water, which dripped abundantly from the cracks in the rough ceiling, and which probably contained metallic oxides in greater or less amount. The floor was of stone, wet and furrowed by the trickling of fifty tiny rivulets, which meandered over the honey-combed surface, till they were lost over the smooth lip of a long and narrow chasm that intersected the grotto. But the beauty of the place was in the infinite variety of fantastic columns, some of pure white salt, some of the same salt discoloured and crumbling, that composed the walls. As the feeble light of the lanterns flashed on the pellucid surfaces of these fairy pillars, some simple and rude as the Doric, some slender and frail, some more elaborate in the intricacies of their mouldings than the Corinthian or Byzantine, I could not restrain my exclamations of surprise and delight. For a moment I forgot the cold, the damp, the discomfort, and said, half to myself: “What a wonderful sight! If a human artist had carved those delicate capitals and rich decorations, what a rush would there be to see his handiwork! But I dare say even the county handbook does not condescend to describe this place, which is worthy to be the palace of the king of the gnomes.”
“Few know of this place,” said my conductress, in the same measured, passionless voice as before. She had stopped when I stopped, and she stood motionless as a statue, and as pale as if she had been a figure hewn out of alabaster, rather than a creature of flesh and blood. It was the first word of the nature of a remark which had fallen from her, and I tried to draw her into conversation by descanting on the beauty of the singular grotto, and the spaciousness of the mine. She said very little, but her reticence did not seem to be caused by any poverty of intellect. There was, however, a peculiar want of warmth or enthusiasm, whether the subject were art or nature, in what little my fair guide could be induced to say. Nor was she by any means communicative as to herself. My attempts to discover whether she really lived in the neighbourhood, were quietly baffled, and when I said that “doubtless her friends would begin to be alarmed at her long absence for which I feared that my own stupid blundering was to blame,” she merely bowed, and led the way as before. On we went, through a network of passages, that only seemed to grow more Daedalian every moment, but through which my companion glided along as unswervingly as if she held in her hand an unfailing clue. Many of these galleries were evidently the work of man, hearing traces of pick and spade; while others, heaped with rubbish, and obstructed by rude columns of salt, were as plainly natural caves. In all, however, the air was heavy, chill, and moist, and water dripped from the walls, and fell gurgling down hidden fissures into some unseen depths below. I was confident that I had passed none of these places that day, and began to suspect that my guide was leading me a long round, so as to show me all the lions of the mine, instead of taking a short-cut to the workings. At another time, this desire to impress a stranger with a full notion of local marvels would have amused me; but my cough got worse; I shivered, and longed for the excursion to come to a c
lose. Yet there was an awkwardness in suggesting this. I ventured on a safe remark.
“It is bitterly cold,” said I, with a shudder, for the damp seemed to be piercing to the very marrow of my bones. “Do you not find it so?”
“Very cold!” She said no more; but those two common-place words were spoken in a voice that awed me, somehow, in spite of myself, and seemed to freeze me into silence. On we went, and I trusted that we must be approaching the working-part of the mine, for the candle in my lantern was reduced to a mere morsel, and must soon be burned out. But ill as I felt, and hard as it was for my weak lungs to endure the unwholesome air, I almost forgot this in my perplexity as to my conductress. I could not make her out at all. I had met with romantic young ladies, silly young ladies, sensible young ladies, even haughty and vain young ladies, but never with any one like my guide. Why was she leading me thus, what I felt must be a circuitous course through the mine? Why—
She came to a dead stop, slowly-turned, and confronted me. The hood of her grey cloak, an old-fashioned article of attire, such as I had not seen for many years, was drawn over her head, and it threw her face partly into shadow; but her eyes were bright and clear, though there was something in their cold steady look that made me shiver afresh, as if the air of the mine had grown even more icy and oppressive than before.
“Tell me about yourself. Tell me what you are going to do. What are your plans, I mean,” she said in the same manner as before, like a sleepwalker unconsciously uttering words that volition does not prompt.
The Sixth Ghost Story Megapack: 25 Classic Ghost Stories Page 45
