Deep Down, a Tale of the Cornish Mines by R. M. Ballantyne (that summer book .TXT) 📕

effort. The instant he could plant his feet firmly he bounded forwards, and then, before the backward rush of water had gathered strength, fell on his knees, and dug his fingers and toes deep into the sand. Had the grasp been on something firm he could easily have held on, but the treacherous sand crumbled out of his grasp, and a second time he was carried back into the sea.

The next time he was cast on the beach he felt that his strength was failing; he staggered forward as soon as he touched bottom, with all the energy of one who avails himself of his last chance, but the angry water was too strong for him. Feeling that he was being overpowered, he cast his arms up in the air, and gave utterance to a loud cry. It was not like a cry of despair, but sounded more like what one might suppose would be the shout of a brave soldier when compelled to give way—fighting—before the might of overwhelming force. At that moment a hand caught the young man’s wrist, and held it for a few seconds in a powerful grasp. The wave retreated, a staggering effort followed, and the next moment Oliver stood panting on the beach grasping the rough hand of his deliverer.

“Semen to me you was pretty nigh gone, sur,” said the man, who had come thus opportunely to the rescue, as he wrung the sea-water from his garments.

He was a man of middle height, but of extremely powerful frame, and was habited in the garb of a fisherman.

“Truly I had been gone altogether but for your timely assistance; may God reward you for it!” said Oliver earnestly.

“Well, I don’t think you would be so ready to thank me if you did knaw I had half made up my mind to lev ’ee go.”

Oliver looked at the man in some surprise, for he spoke gruffly, almost angrily, and was evidently in earnest.

“You are jesting,” said he incredulously.

“Jestin’; no I ain’t, maister. Do ’ee see the boat out over?” he said, pointing to a small craft full of men which was being rowed swiftly round a point not more than half a mile distant; “the villains are after me. They might as well have tried to kitch a cunger by the tail as nab Jim Cuttance in one of his dens, if he hadn’t bin forced by the softness of his ’art to pull a young fool out o’ the say. You’ll have to help me to fight, lad, as I’ve saved your life. Come, follow me to the cave.”

“But—my clothes—” said Oliver, glancing round him in search of his garments.

“They’re all safe up here; come along, sur, an’ look sharp.”

At any other time, and in other circumstances, Oliver Trembath’s fiery spirit would have resented the tone and manner of this man’s address, but the feeling that he owed his life to him, and that in some way he appeared to be the innocent cause of bringing misfortune on him, induced him to restrain his feelings and obey without question the mandate of his rescuer. Jim Cuttance led the way to a cave in the rugged cliffs, the low entrance to which was concealed by a huge mass of granite. The moment they entered several voices burst forth in abuse of the fisherman for his folly in exposing himself; but the latter only replied with a sarcastic laugh, and advised his comrades to get ready for action, for he had been seen by the enemy, who would be down on them directly. At the same time he pointed to Oliver’s clothes, which lay in a recess in the side of the cavern.

The youth dressed himself rapidly, and, while thus engaged, observed that there were five men in the cavern, besides his guide, with whom they retired into the farthest recess of the place, and entered into animated and apparently angry, though low-toned, conversation. At length their leader, for such he evidently was, swung away from them, exclaiming, with a laugh, “Well, well, he’s a good recruit, and if he should peach on we—us can—”

He concluded the sentence with a significant grunt.

“Now, sur,” he said, advancing with his comrade towards Oliver, who was completing his toilet, “they’ll be here in ten minutes, an’ it is expected that you will lend we a hand. Here’s a weapon for you.”

So saying, he handed a large pistol to Oliver, who received it with some hesitation.

“I trust that your cause is a good one,” he said. “You cannot expect me to fight for you, even though I am indebted to you for my life, without knowing against whom I fight, and why.”

At this a tall thick-set man suddenly cocked his pistol, and uttering a fierce oath swore that if the stranger would not fight, he’d shoot him through the head.

“Silence, Joe Tonkin!” cried Jim Cuttance, in a tone that at once subdued the man.

Oliver, whose eyes had flashed like those of a tiger, drew himself up, and said— “Look at me, lads; I have no desire to boast of what I can or will do, but I assure you it would be as easy to turn back the rising tide as to force me to fight against my will—except, indeed, with yourselves. As I have said, I owe my life to your leader, and apparently have been the innocent means of drawing his enemies upon him. Gratitude tells me to help him if I can, and help him will if the cause be not a bad one.”

“Well spoken, sur,” said the leader, with an approving nod; “see to the weapons, Maggot, and I’ll explain it all to the gentleman.”

So saying, he too Oliver aside, told him hurriedly that the men who ere expected to attack them were fishermen belonging to a neighbouring cove, whose mackerel nets had been accidentally cut by his boat some weeks ago, and who were bent on revenge, not believing that the thing had been done by accident.

“But surely you don’t mean to use fire-arms against them in such a quarrel?” said Oliver.

A sort of humorous smile crossed the swarthy countenance of the man as he replied—

“They will use pistols against we.”

“Be that as it may,” said Oliver; “I will never consent to risk taking the life of a countryman in such a cause.”

“But you can’t fight without a weapon,” said the man; “and sure, if ’ee don’t shut them they’ll shut you.”

“No matter, I’ll take my chance,” said Oliver; “my good cudgel would have served me well enough, but it seems to have been swept away by the sea. Here, however, is a weapon that will suit me admirably,” he added, picking up a heavy piece of driftwood that lay at his feet.

“Well, if you scat their heads with that, they won’t want powder and lead,” observed the other with a grin, as he rose and returned to the entrance of the cave, where he warned his comrades to keep as quiet as mice.

The boat which had caused so much angry discussion among the men of the cave had by this time neared the beach, and one of the crew stood up in the bow to guide her into the narrow cove, which formed but a slight protection, even in calm weather, against the violence of that surf which never ceases to grind at the hard rocks of West Cornwall. At length they effected a landing, and the crew, consisting of nine men armed with pistols and cutlasses, hurried up to the cliffs and searched for the entrance to the cavern.

While the events which have been related were taking place, the shades of evening had been gradually creeping over land and sea, and the light was at that time scarcely sufficient to permit of things being distinguished clearly beyond a few yards. The men in the cavern hid themselves in the dark recesses on each side of the entrance, ready for the approaching struggle.

Oliver crouched beside his rescuer with the piece of driftwood by his side. Turning suddenly to his companion, he said, in an almost inaudible whisper—

“Friend, it did not occur to me before, but the men we are about to fight with will recognise me again if we should ever chance to meet; could I not manage to disguise myself in some way?”

“If you get shut,” replied his companion in the same low tone, “it won’t matter much; but see here—shut your eyes.”

Without further remark the man took a handful of wet earth and smeared it over Oliver’s face, then, clapping his own “sou’-wester” on his head, he said, with a soft chuckle, “There, your own mother wouldn’t knaw ’ee!”

Just then footsteps were heard approaching, and the shadow of a man was seen to rest for a moment on the gravel without. The mouth of the cave was so well hidden, however, that he failed to observe it, and passed on, followed by several of his comrades. Suddenly one of them stopped and said—

“Hold on, lads, it can’t be far off, I’m sartin’ sure; I seed ’em disappear hereabouts.”

“You’re right,” cried Jim Cuttance, with a fierce roar, as he rushed from the cavern and fired full at the man who had spoken. The others followed, and a volley of shots succeeded, while shouts of defiance and anger burst forth on all sides. Oliver sprang out at the same moment with the leader, and rushed on one of the boat’s crew with such violence that his foot slipped on a piece of seaweed and precipitated him to the ground at the man’s feet; the other, having sprung forward to meet him was unable to check himself, tripped over his shoulders, and fell on the top of him. The man named Maggot, having been in full career close behind Oliver, tumbled over both, followed by another man named John Cock. The others, observing them down, rushed with a shout to the rescue, just as Oliver, making a superhuman effort, flung the two men off his back and leaped to his feet. Maggot and the boatman also sprang up, and the latter turned and made for the boat at full speed, seeing that his comrades, overcome by the suddenness of the onset, were in retreat, fighting as they went.

All of them succeeded in getting into the boat unharmed, and were in the act of pushing off, when Jim Cuttance, burning with indignation, leaped into the water, grasped the bow of the boat, and was about to plunge his cutlass into the back of the man nearest him, when he was seized by a strong hand from behind and held back. Next moment the boat was beyond his reach.

Turning round fiercely, the man saw that it was Oliver Trembath who had interfered. He uttered a terrible oath, and sprang on him like a tiger; Oliver stood firm, parried with the piece of driftwood the savage cut which was made at his head, and with his clenched left hand hit his opponent such a blow on the chest as laid him flat on the sand. The man sprang up in an instant, but instead of renewing the attack, to Oliver’s surprise he came forward and held out his hand, which the youth was not unwilling to grasp.

“Thank ’ee, sur,” he said, somewhat sternly, “you’ve done me a sarvice; you’ve prevented me committin’ two murders, an’ taught me a lesson I never knaw’d afore—that Jim Cuttance an’t invulnerable. I don’t mind the blow, sur—not I. It wor gov’n in feer fight, an’ I was wrang.”

“I’m glad to find that you view the matter in that light,” said Oliver with a smile, “and, truly, the blow was given in self-defence by one who will never forget that he owes you his life.”

A groan here turned the attention of the party to one of their number who had seated himself on a rock during the foregoing dialogue.

“What! not hurt, are ’ee, Dan?” said his leader, going towards him.

To this Dan replied with another