Read The Smugglers' Mine Online
Authors: Chris Mould
The Smugglers' Mine (8 page)
“What?” asked Stanley.
“That we'd head the wrong way.”
“It's not the wrong way,” insisted Berkeley. “It's just ⦠it's just that there isn't a hole at the end to get out.”
“Oh, well, that's all right then,” muttered MacDowell, holding his head in his hands.
Just then a trickle of water ran along the passage and circled around them as they sat hunched in the hole.
“It's here!” cried Berkeley. “Now what?”
There was a stir of panic. Until now they'd had a feeling that Berkeley knew where he was going. But the water was quick to swell around them, and in moments it already had an uncomfortable depth to it.
Swiftly they tried retracing their steps, but the route back was already filled with water.
This was it. The very last moment of their lives. MacDowell began to cry, and the children comforted him.
“Sufferin' sea shells, I never thought I'd live me last moments under the drink,” he whimpered.
But Stanley looked at Daisy, and through the last fading moments of candlelight their eyes met. Without even speaking, they had agreed not to give up the fight.
Stanley still had the hammer and chisel in his hands. It was worth a try. He raised them above him and started to take small chunks
of rock out of the ceiling of the tunnel. To start with, it was a losing battle. As Stanley chipped away, loose pieces dropped into the water, raising its levelâbut, bit by bit, the space above them grew bigger.
of rock out of the ceiling of the tunnel. To start with, it was a losing battle. As Stanley chipped away, loose pieces dropped into the water, raising its levelâbut, bit by bit, the space above them grew bigger.
“And what if we're still a mile below the surface?” panicked MacDowell. “The water's getting higher.”
It was up to Berkeley's neck, and he was standing on his tiptoes.
“Hurry up, Stanley Buggles,” he cried, and a tear ran down his cheek. “I don't like the water.”
Daisy hugged him tightly. “Hang in there, Berkeley Darkling.” She too had a tear rolling down her cheek.
Stanley said nothing, concentrating all his efforts on the task at hand. He was sure he had heard the gulls harking above him.
Perhaps they were closer to the surface than MacDowell had thought.
Perhaps they were closer to the surface than MacDowell had thought.
More clumps of rock fell down into the water. Stanley's arms ached.
“'Ere, lad, give us a try,” said MacDowell, but he was so long and wiry he couldn't lever his arms back to hit the hammer inside the small space.
Then Daisy tried. Chink, chink, chink. Little taps brought more small pieces down, but it seemed a hopeless task. MacDowell used the bits of rock to try and build up a dam against the water, but it poured through the tiniest gap.
Berkeley was still crying, with his head tilted back so that the water didn't run into his mouth.
“Stop blubbering,” said MacDowell. “You're making more water.”
Stanley thought that was the most ridiculous and unhelpful thing anyone had ever said, but he ignored it and held on to Berkeley to reassure him.
Just then, a breakthrough.
“Look!” Stanley yelped.
“What is it?” they all cried in unison.
He pointed to a tiny thread of something hanging from the ceiling.
“Stop, Daisy, stop,” he urged.
He yanked it free and held it up to them.
“It's a root, the end of a root, from a plant! Here, Daisy, take a rest,” he insisted, and began to bang away with renewed vigor.
“Hurry,” gasped Berkeley. “Go faster.”
MacDowell was hoisting him up above the level of the water, but he couldn't do that for long.
“Nearly there, little man,” said Stanley. A smile broke over his face as what he now knew was soil began to drop into the water. He could smell the fresh, earthy smell of grass and plant life on the black mud that swam around him.
Now, instead of using the hammer and chisel, he was pulling away at clods of earth with his hands. They all joined in, and Stanley's hand was the first to spear through the soil into the open air. He forced the space wider, then
shoved Berkeley up and out into freedom.
shoved Berkeley up and out into freedom.
MacDowell grabbed Daisy and did the same for her, then Stanley. They forced the hole wider as they emerged and eventually the long bony shape of MacDowell grew out from the hole, popping his pudgy belly through the opening.
“Sufferin' sea shells, Stanley. Yer sure know how to have an adventure, young lad, I'll give yer that one,” puffed MacDowell.
They sat a moment and got their bearings. They were out on the moor, in one of the lower-lying troughs. It was pitch black, and there were no more candles.
They stood up and brushed themselves off. Berkeley was shivering from head to toe and Daisy and Stanley hugged him tight to warm him.
Before they went anywhere, the four pushed and heaved a huge boulder over the hole they had just emerged from. No one would move that in a hurry.
And then something came across the air that reminded them just where they were. The distant howl of the wolf echoed over the Rock. With a good walk between themselves and home, and no weapon to beat the deadly threat that hung over the island, they set off into the night.
The Lupine Link
“Don't worry, Violet,” said Victor to Mrs. Carelli, who was sitting in tears by the fireside. “I'm sure they're safe. Old MacDowell is with them.”
“Oh, that clumsy old lummox. He can't even walk up the stairs without losing a leg through the balustrade. I've got more faith in the lad than I do in the brave pirate, that's for sure.”
Meanwhile, as the four escapees walked gingerly out across the moor, Stanley and Daisy explained to Berkeley that no gold must ever leave the smugglers' mines. It would put the whole island in danger. Buccaneers would pull down the Darkling house just to get in there, and then they would destroy the Rock.
That was too much for Berkeley's pointy little ears. He burst into tears again as he held tightly onto Daisy's hand.
“I promise I'll never take another piece. I'll never go down there, not ever,” he insisted. “Just as long as you promise you'll play with me.”
“Don't worry, Berkeley, when we've all had a good night's sleep we'll play with you,” agreed Stanley.
But he was barely listening. He had been in this situation before, out here on the moor in the dead of night, with the howl of the wolf echoing around him. At any moment it could spring on them, and he had no way of dealing with it.
Berkeley was completely at ease out on the dark moor. He skipped and trotted and ran among the rocks, disappearing here and there and jumping out on them with his eyes all aglow.
MacDowell was at their side, and he cowered every time he heard a howl.
“Can yer tell the little wolf boy to stop his antics, Stanley? I'm worryin' meself 'alf to death âere.”
“Berkeley, please will youâ” But no, he had gone again. Skipping off somewhere, only to jump out at them in a moment's time.
Stanley could hear him treading over dry leaves up ahead, and he thought he'd surprise
him
this time, before Berkeley had the chance to surprise
them
.
Stanley could hear him treading over dry leaves up ahead, and he thought he'd surprise
him
this time, before Berkeley had the chance to surprise
them
.
But as he leaped around the corner, what stood before him wasn't Berkeley.
It was the formidable shape of the most fearsome creature on the Rock.
He stepped back toward Daisy and old MacDowell. They stood huddled together, staring in shock, not able to move but wanting so desperately to run for their lives.
It all came back to Stanley: the filthy black shape, the coarse, hard coat that lay upon the huge arched back and the glowing eyes that seemed to hold them fixed right where they stood.
The grumbling low growl was meant for them, and Stanley was reminded that this
horrible creature had already taken his good friend Phinn.
horrible creature had already taken his good friend Phinn.
Saliva dribbled from its open mouth, and it circled them warily.
Just then, the familiar shape of young Berkeley trotted around the corner. He had his eyes to the ground, not realizing that in the short moments that he had been off skipping around the rocks the others had put themselves in great danger.
Berkeley stopped and looked up. At first he could see only his three friends huddled together and motionless. And then in front of them, something else became clear.
What at first he had thought was the shape of a bush or tree was, on closer inspection, the pure black silhouette of the wolf.
Berkeley rushed forward, running in front of his three rescuers, desperate to protect them. He put himself between them and the hulking great black shape.
To everyone's great surprise, the wolf stepped back a touch as Berkeley moved in.
It looked hard into Berkeley's eyes, and he stared hard back at it.
“Go,” he said quietly.
In a quick twist and turn, the wolf moved around and was off into the night. It let out a pained howl of a cry as it thundered over the sweeping lows and highs of the Rock.
The group stared in astonishment at Berkeley. What power did he possess, to have such influence over this creature?
“How on earth did you
do
that, Berkeley?” begged Stanley.
do
that, Berkeley?” begged Stanley.
“Do what?” Berkeley quizzed.
“You made it go away. That crazed beast was about to rip us to shreds, and you told it go, and it did. How on earth did you do that?” he persisted.
“I did nothing, Stanley. It was my father.”
Berkeley walked on with his head down as the cry of the wolf echoed over the moor.
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