Chapter 15 – The Case V

The gloomy tunnel continued fairly level, but had developed a decided tilt to the left, so to remain upright I had to lean to my right, some degrees off vertical. Fist-sized and larger rocks littered the coarse gravel under my feet, so I had to pick my way carefully. I called Frank's name as I walked along but heard only echoes of my own voice in reply.

The tunnel's walls were cracked and seamed with fissures large and small, and the course turned to the right, enough that any dim sunlight behind me was extinguished too soon.

The air was dusty in here, with an undercurrent of wetness and decay, which grew stronger as I went along. No doubt there were underground rivulets from overhead which penetrated the rock here and there, adding to the dankness.

And it was cool and growing cooler. I'd say the temp had dropped to around 12 or 13 degrees* and it was very quiet, and but for my shuffling footsteps and the echoes bouncing off the stone walls, floor and ceiling.

After about a counted one hundred and fifty paces, the tunnel ahead seemed to grow both taller and deeper, based on the intensifying gloom. I approached this change carefully and saw I had reached a slanted shaft drilled into the earth. I peered over the edge into inky blackness but could see it fell away at a sharp slope, over fifty degrees or more. I now stood on the brink of this slanted shaft, which dropped away on a pitched slope, far steeper than the steepest street of Portwenn. Tipping my head back I played my light above, but it was all black up there.

My tiny light was a firefly against the blackness which suddenly was pressing down on me from all sides. A shiver ran up my spine. Dark, it was dark, and I was cold, and it was quiet, and just like that I was back in the cupboard under the stair. Stuffed inside by my mum, who treated me like a dog, not that ever had a dog in the house. Fool that I was I thought such behavior on her part was fit and proper. Being thrashed from time to time by dad was also part of what I considered normal routine. But the dark here was now trying to crawl inside my nose, and mouth, and down into my lungs, and I could not get a decent breath.

I felt half-strangled, but the dark, the dark, I could do something about the blackness!

I switched on Joe's larger torch and by its brighter light the oppressive blackness lifted, and I could catch a full breath. Better now, much, but my face had gone beaded with sweat and my mouth bone dry.

Directing my larger torch upwards I could see what appeared to be a platform of wooden beams up there. The beams did not entirely fill the twenty-foot opening for I could see large boulders and other rocks lying above it.

Puzzled, I shone the larger light downward. Now I could see corroded metal shafts, two by two feet or so in cross section, resting on the rock slope. They were quite long reaching above the tunnel in which I stood and going down as well, to the limit of my lights. These shafts carried small mounted platforms and handgrips. I once read that these old mines would use man-engines, or reciprocating rods which the workers would use in a stepwise fashion to ascend or descend. Rather like an old farm hand water pump the miners would ride these beams down ten or twelve feet, and when the rod reached the end of motion, would step off to a stationary platform. From there they would transfer to the other rod which had reversed motion from going up to then going down. Thusly they could travel down to the next fixed platform. This method of vertical locomotion predated cable-lifted elevators.

I surmised that the vertical shaft I had come down must have been the original mine opening and as the miners followed the vein of ore this slanting tunnel was driven to greater depths. This angled shaft was how they had accessed the mine's lower levels.

"They sealed the shaft above. Why'd they do that?" Perhaps when they closed the mine, this was the way to block the man-engine shaft when they closed the mine.

Looking down, I said, "The little idiot didn't go down there, did he?" He must have for I could see footprints and scuff marks going across slope to one of the beams. "He must have climbed down that metal beam," I mused. "Plenty of handholds, even for a small boy."

I tucked the large light under my arm, cupped my hands to my mouth and called out, "FRANK MARRAK!" as loud as I could.

The echoes of my shout went on and on, for an exceptionally long time, and I gulped, hoping I'd not have to go down very far to find the boy and bring him out safe.

As my shout stopped repeating, I could make out a very faint, "Dockkkk? Dohkkk Mahrrr-tinnnnn!"

My head swiveled back the way I had come. Was that Louisa calling me?

I looked down sloping shaft and yelled again. "FRANK! I CAN HEAR YOU!"

A few seconds after the reverberations ended, a faint reply travelled up to me. "Dokkk! I'mmm hurrrttt!"

"WHAT… IS… HURT?" I said spacing my words so the echoes would hopefully not garble them.

"Arhmmmmm!" The echoing reply told me.

"WHERE… ARE… YOU?"

"Nottt thahhtttt farrrr dowwwnnn!"

"CANNOT… SEE… YOUR… TORCH!"

"Turrnnned ittt offff tooooo savvvvvve powwwweeerrrr!"

"FLASH …YOUR… TORCH!"

I switched off both of mine, and with great caution looked down into the blank abyss.

Nothing at first was visible but then I saw a brief light blinking down there. "I… SEE… IT! I… SEE… YOUR… TORCH!"

Subject located, as Penhale might say. "Oh God," I said as an oath, for it was a ways down; perhaps seventy or eighty feet in an alcove carved out of the shaft wall.

"FRANK! TURN… ON… YOUR… TORCH… AND… LEAVE… IT… ON!"

"Okkkkaaayyy Docccckkkk!"

My path was laid before me. I had to make my way over to that metal beam and use it as a ladder to get down to the boy. And then, Martin Ellingham, not fall off it in the process. Risky.

"ANY… OTHER… INJURIES?"

Then he said what I'd wished not to hear.

"Yesss… Iiii gottt aaaa baadddd cuttttt… onnnn myyyy hannnnddd!"

I had a duty of care. My watch showed I'd been down in the mine over forty-five minutes so help might be arriving up top, or perhaps not. I chewed the inside of cheek. Go back? Or get help? If Frank was bleeding, I had no other choice.

"IS… IT… BLEEDING… A… LOT?"

"Yeaaahhh," came his faint and echoing voice. "Kindddaaaaa."

"I'M… CLIMBING… DOWN… TO… YOU!"

"Beee carrrrefullll!" he advised.

Yes, careful. Right.

Author's notes:

* 12 to 13C = about 53 to 55 F A constant underground temperature is from 50 to 60 F, depending on location and depth.