Song of the Spirits (65 page)

“Is anyone there? Is anyone still alive?”

And then a young voice, childlike and full of fear, suddenly answered. “I’m over here! Help! Please! I’m over here.”

The appeal ended in sobbing.

Timothy grew hopeful again. So there were survivors! “Help’s on the way! Just stay calm,” he called into the darkness. Even before the explosion, tunnel nine had not been laid out very clearly. The boy could be anywhere. “Where are you exactly? Are you injured?”

“It’s so dark!” The boy sounded hysterical. Timothy followed the sound of the voice ever farther down a blind tunnel, hoping the boy had not been trapped under rubble. In their haste, he and Joe had not even brought mining tools down with them. The boy’s voice wasn’t muffled, and Timothy could tell he was getting closer.

“Stay where you are, boy, but keep talking,” Timothy called. “I’ll come get you.”

Just then he spotted the wide-eyed boy. Roly O’Brien—Matt had introduced him to the boy a few days before. Only thirteen years old, Roly had just started in the mine as an apprentice. His father had been working there for years. A chill ran down Timothy’s back. Where was Frank O’Brien?

Roly sobbed with relief and almost leaped around Timothy’s neck.

“It cracked,” he reported, trembling. “I was inside here. They sent me in because I was supposed to practice digging a bit more. I’d only hold things up in the main tunnels, Dad said, but in here I could help remove the spoils from the face.”

This tunnel—which was connected to the others but a bit out of the way—was more or less mined out. The men had never liked it. Since it lay deeper than the other tunnels, the air in it was always stale. However, that might have been precisely what saved Roly’s life that day. It seemed that no gas had streamed into that tunnel and that nothing had collapsed there either. Though half-paralyzed with fright, Roly was completely unharmed. When all the lamps had
been extinguished, he had not been able to orient himself, so he had crouched in the corner until he heard Timothy calling.

“It will all be all right, Roly. Calm down.” Timothy did not know whether he was trying to comfort himself or the shivering boy. “But now tell me a little more. Were you the only one here? Where were the others? What caused the explosion? Did you hear anything after that?”

“My dad and the foreman were fighting,” Roly reported. “The new foreman, not Matt. Maybe, maybe that’s why they sent me away. Josh… er… Mr. Kennedy sounded angry. My father too. Mr. Kennedy wanted to extend the tunnel. With explosives. But my father thought there might be a cavity. He thought we shouldn’t just blow it up, because we needed to make a… a…”

“Test drilling.” Timothy sighed. “What happened then?”

Roly sniffled. “Then my father said Mr. Kennedy should do it himself and sent me over here. I think he went into the other tunnel across the way. And… and then I heard something, sir. Clearly. When I was here alone.”

Timothy’s mind worked feverishly. Could somebody else be alive under the rubble? The entrance to that tunnel had collapsed during the explosion. He had seen that as he passed by. But before or after the gas had streamed in there?

“What did you hear, Roly?”

The boy shrugged. “Knocking. Voices?” His voice sounded unsure. He might have imagined it. Nevertheless, Timothy reached for the pickax and the other tools Roly had brought with him into the tunnel. The boy sobbed when he saw the collapsed tunnel entrance.

“My dad’s in there, I know it.”

Timothy cleared some of the rubble to the side experimentally. It was quite loose, so he could dig a bit. Perhaps then he might get a little closer to whatever sounds Roly had heard. However, he didn’t really believe there were any survivors. Though the tunnels were not far apart, solid rock lay in between them. It was unlikely that Roly had been able to hear knocking from the next tunnel over. On the contrary, in this grave-like stillness…

Roly, next to him now, grabbed a pick. He was astoundingly strong for his age and his slight build. Soon he was chipping away more quickly than Timothy, and it started to sound hollow when the pick struck against the rubble. So the tunnel was not completely caved in.

“Easy, Roly,” Timothy warned as the boy worked feverishly. “If someone is buried in there, you might hurt him. Besides…” Timothy still felt a nagging doubt. What if they released a gas bubble here? They needed to proceed carefully: it was better to leave the mine, fetch more help, and carry out a test drilling. Damn it, maybe they could even borrow some gas masks from some less penny-pinching mine in the area.

Just as he was about to tell Roly to stop digging, the boy let out a cry.

“A man, there’s someone here, a man!”

With trembling fingers, the boy cleared the earth and stone away. Timothy saw there was no hope. If the man had not died immediately when the tunnel collapsed, he must have suffocated under all that rock. But Roly was frantically digging the man out. He uncovered the man’s shoulder, took him by the arm, and pulled with all his might. The tugging set the rubble covering the body in motion.

“Run, boy—it’s collapsing!”

Timothy tried to pull the boy away, at first worrying only that they might be struck by falling rock. But then he noticed that it was getting more difficult to breathe.

“Roly…” Timothy had only just managed to turn his back to the newly exposed cavity when he heard the explosion and felt himself being hurled through the air. He fell to the hard ground and worked his way onto his knees. Roly was wheezing beside him. Timothy pulled him to his feet.

“Quickly—the gas!”

It was a repetition of the earlier nightmare, but this time Timothy was caught in the middle of it. This time the rumbling of collapsing rocks was not coming from a safe distance aboveground but from all
around. Flames began blazing behind him, and he fled just as desperately as the men whose corpses they had discovered earlier must have done.

They would not reach the hoisting cage in time. The gas was now escaping through the main shafts. He hoped it wouldn’t catch Joe Patterson. Timothy silently prayed that Joe was already aboveground again.

As Timothy pulled Roly through the tunnels, he kept an eye out for a side tunnel, one like where he had found the boy. But there were none. The new air shaft was their best bet. It was in a spot where Matt and Timothy had been planning to expand the mine. If they were lucky, and Timothy’s calculations were correct, there would be fresh air there.

Roly stumbled, but Timothy was now running with single-minded focus. Behind them, he could hear further explosions. Roly wanted to run straight toward the hoisting cage, but Timothy pulled him into the new tunnel. He saw the air shaft, stumbled toward it, took a breath of fresh air, and felt immediate relief.

And then the world collapsed.

T
he news of the explosion in the Lambert Mine spread at lightning speed. Matt Gawain heard about it in Greymouth and began to organize rescue provisions at once. They would need a doctor, a rescue party, and the other mine owners’ help. At times like this, there was no competition. Everyone would send people and material to dig out those who had been buried. Matt was under no illusions about the scope of the catastrophe. He knew that it wasn’t just one shaft that had collapsed. If explosions could be heard all the way at the surface, there would be casualties—possibly even dozens. Matt informed the doctor in Greymouth and arranged for messengers to be sent to the Biller and Blackburn mines. He also had the wood trader informed. Support material might be needed, no matter what the price.

When he finally reached the mine, it was already swarming with men. However, they looked confused and leaderless.

“Tim Lambert and Joe Patterson went below about an hour ago,” the old miner responsible for the hoisting cage explained. “And ten minutes ago, we had another explosion. So I wouldn’t send anyone down if I were you, Matt. Of course, that’s up to you. Or Mr. Lambert, but he’s no good to anyone at the moment, raving around about what madness it was for his son to go down below. He doesn’t sound like he’s capable of giving any orders whatsoever.”

Matt nodded. “First we’re going to check the air shafts to see whether they’re still open and if there’s been a gas leak. Then we’ll see. I hope Blackburn has a few gas masks. That’s a big mine, so they ought to have modern equipment, even if we don’t. I know they have the new mining lamps that don’t set off any gas and warn you of methane leaks. Biller has those too, Caleb told me recently. When
they get here, I’m going in. Gather up some volunteers and equip the men accordingly. The people up here should make themselves useful and clear out some sheds. We’ll need them for the casualties. And we need blankets and beds of some kind. Someone should ride over and inform the pastor. He’ll be needed too. And the women’s association. And the girls at Madame Clarisse’s. Oh God, Tim is down there. What will Lainie say? Has anyone notified his mother?”

Matt tried to keep a clear head, and it wasn’t long before he had transformed the confusion in front of the mine into an organized workforce. The first helpers from other mines began to arrive, Caleb Biller leading the way with entire wagons full of miners who had brought mining lamps, rope, and stretchers. Matt’s esteem for Caleb rose considerably. He might not have a knack for mining, but he had his men’s interest at heart. Or was old man Biller more reasonable than his competitor in that respect too?

Matt would have been happy to share the leadership over the rescue effort, but Caleb waved the idea off with horror at the very mention of it.

“I know nothing about mining, Mr. Gawain. And to be honest, I don’t even want to know what transpired down below. I certainly won’t go down there. I’m claustrophobic in mines under the best of circumstances. Perhaps I could make myself useful in another capacity?”

We don’t need a piano player, Matt thought. But that was not constructive—he couldn’t change Caleb Biller. And maybe the young man could do some good aboveground.

“Then see to the emergency hospital until the doctor gets here,” Matt suggested. “Figure out what building would be suitable for that.”

“The offices,” Caleb said, without thinking long. “The sheds lack heating, so we could only bring… I mean, there will be dead, won’t there?”

Matt nodded wearily. “I’m afraid so. All right, good. I’ll talk with old man Lambert. I’ll give him an earful while I’m at it. It’ll be a pleasure to throw him out of his office.

Marvin Lambert was pacing back and forth aimlessly in his office, evidently numbing himself with whiskey. When Matt entered, Marvin looked as though he were about to leap on him.

“You! If you had been here, my son wouldn’t have gotten involved in this madness. But you just had to go messing around, leaving the mine of your own volition. You… I’m… letting you go!”

Matt sighed. “You can let me go tomorrow,” he replied. “But right now I’m going to try to save your son. And any others who might still be alive down there. You, meanwhile, should get outside where the people can see you. The men have all come to help their pals, even the ones who are sick. They need a few words of encouragement—at the very least, you could show your gratitude.”

“Gratitude?” Marvin Lambert swayed. “That lazy bunch left me in the lurch this morning and—”

“You should be thankful for every man who didn’t enter the mine this morning, Mr. Lambert,” Matt said angrily. “Myself included. It doesn’t even bear thinking about what it would be like if there was no one here who knew his way around down there. If you don’t want to give a speech, fine. Just stop guzzling whiskey! Besides, the younger Biller wants to turn your offices into a hospital. So…”

Matt did not listen as Marvin began to lament that Caleb Biller surely only wanted to use the opportunity to get a look at his business’s books. Someone must have informed Nellie Lambert by now. Perhaps Timothy’s mother would rise to the occasion.

Caleb was just stepping into the office as Matt exited. Two strong-looking men followed him. Caleb glanced around with a look of authority.

“I’m having beds brought in, but before we do that, let’s make some space here. This facility isn’t very large.”

Matt nodded. Caleb could sort out the details with Marvin Lambert himself. As for the number of sickbeds they would require, if the gas leak had been as big as he feared, they would probably not need many.

The doctor pulled up in front of the office building with a wagon full of blankets, bandages, and medicines. Matt greeted him, greatly relieved. Dr. Leroy was a veteran of the Crimean War, so an improvised hospital was not likely to scare him. Moreover, he had brought his wife, who had likewise been tested by war. Berta Leroy had been trained as a nurse by the legendary Florence Nightingale and had met her husband while working on the front. On a quest for peaceful surroundings, they had emigrated to New Zealand and managed their practice together in Greymouth for years. The women in the town maintained that Berta Leroy was at least as knowledgeable as her husband. And she was not afraid to get her hands dirty. She had brought Madame Clarisse and three of her girls along. Charlene burrowed into Matt’s arms at once.