"And how is Madge?" asked the engineer.
"The goodwife is in better health than I am, if that's possible,"
replied Ford, "and it will be a pleasure to her to see you at her table.
I think she will
surpass herself to do you honor."
"We shall see that, Simon, we shall see that!" said the engineer,
to whom the
announcement of a good breakfast could not be indifferent,
after his long walk.
"Are you hungry, Mr. Starr?"
"Ravenously hungry. My journey has given me an appetite.
I came through
horrible weather."
"Ah, it is raining up there," responded Simon Ford.
"Yes, Simon, and the waters of the Forth are as rough as the sea."
"Well, Mr. Starr, here it never rains. But I needn't describe
to you all the advantages, which you know as well as myself.
Here we are at the
cottage. That is the chief thing, and I
again say you are
welcome, sir."
Simon Ford, followed by Harry, ushered their guest into the dwelling.
James Starr found himself in a large room lighted by numerous lamps,
one
hanging from the colored beams of the roof.
"The soup is ready, wife," said Ford, "and it mustn't be kept waiting
any more than Mr. Starr. He is as hungry as a miner, and he shall
see that our boy doesn't let us want for anything in the
cottage!
By-the-bye, Harry," added the old overman, turning to his son,
"Jack Ryan came here to see you."
"I know, father. We met him in the Yarrow shaft."
"He's an honest and a merry fellow," said Ford; "but he seems to be quite
happy above ground. He hasn't the true miner's blood in his veins.
Sit down, Mr. Starr, and have a good dinner, for we may not
sup till late."
As the engineer and his hosts were
taking their places:
"One moment, Simon," said James Starr. "Do you want me to eat
with a good appetite?"
"It will be doing us all possible honor, Mr. Starr," answered Ford.
"Well, in order to eat
heartily, I must not be at all anxious.
Now I have two questions to put to you."
"Go on, sir."
"Your letter told me of a
communication which was to be of
an interesting nature."
"It is very interesting indeed."
"To you?"
"To you and to me, Mr. Starr. But I do not want to tell
it you until after dinner, and on the very spot itself.
Without that you would not believe me."
"Simon," resumed the engineer, "look me straight in the face.
An interesting
communication? Yes. Good! I will not ask more,"
he added, as if he had read the reply in the old overman's eyes.
"And the second question?" asked the latter.
"Do you know, Simon, who the person is who can have written this?"
answered the engineer, handing him the
anonymous letter.
Ford took the letter and read it attentively. Then giving it to his son,
"Do you know the writing?" he asked.
"No, father," replied Harry.
"And had this letter the Aberfoyle postmark?" inquired Simon Ford.
"Yes, like yours," replied James Starr.
"What do you think of that, Harry?" said his father, his brow darkening.
"I think, father," returned Harry, "that someone has had some
interest in
trying to prevent Mr. Starr from coming to the place
where you invited him."
"But who," exclaimed the old miner, "who could have possibly
guessed enough of my secret?" And Simon fell into a reverie,
from which he was aroused by his wife.
"Let us begin, Mr. Starr," she said. "The soup is already getting cold.
Don't think any more of that letter just now."
On the old woman's
invitation, each drew in his chair,
James Starr opposite to Madge--to do him honor--the father
and son opposite to each other. It was a good Scotch dinner.
First they ate "hotchpotch," soup with the meat swimming
in capital broth. As old Simon said, his wife knew no rival
in the art of preparing hotchpotch. It was the same with the
"cockyleeky," a cock stewed with leeks, which merited high praise.
The whole was washed down with excellent ale, obtained from
the best brewery in Edinburgh.
But the
principal dish consisted of a "haggis," the national pudding,
made of meat and
barley meal. This
remarkable dish, which inspired
the poet Burns with one of his best odes, shared the fate of all
the good things in this world--it passed away like a dream.
Madge received the
sincere compliments of her guest.
The dinner ended with
cheese and oatcake, accompanied by a few
small glasses of "usquebaugh," capital whisky, five and twenty
years old--just Harry's age. The
repast lasted a good hour.
James Starr and Simon Ford had not only eaten much, but talked
much too,
chiefly of their past life in the old Aberfoyle mine.
Harry had been rather silent. Twice he had left the table,
and even the house. He
evidently felt
uneasy since the incident
of the stone, and wished to examine the environs
of the
cottage. The
anonymous letter had not contributed
to
reassure him.
Whilst he was
absent, the engineer observed to Ford and his wife,
"That's a fine lad you have there, my friends."
"Yes, Mr. Starr, he is a good and
affectionate son,"
replied the old overman earnestly.
"Is he happy with you in the
cottage?"
"He would not wish to leave us."
"Don't you think of
finding him a wife, some day?"
"A wife for Harry," exclaimed Ford. "And who would it be?
A girl from up yonder, who would love merry-makings and dancing,
who would prefer her clan to our mine! Harry wouldn't do it!"
"Simon," said Madge, "you would not
forbid that Harry should
take a wife."
"I would
forbid nothing," returned the old miner, "but there's
no hurry about that. Who knows but we may find one for him--"
Harry re-entered at that moment, and Simon Ford was silent.
When Madge rose from the table, all followed her example,
and seated themselves at the door of the
cottage. "Well, Simon,"
said the engineer, "I am ready to hear you."
"Mr. Starr," responded Ford, "I do not need your ears, but your legs.
Are you quite rested?"
"Quite rested and quite refreshed, Simon. I am ready to go with you
wherever you like."
"Harry," said Simon Ford, turning to his son, "light our safety lamps."
"Are you going to take safety lamps!" exclaimed James Starr,
in
amazement,
knowing that there was no fear of explosions
of fire-damp in a pit quite empty of coal.
"Yes, Mr. Starr, it will be prudent."
"My good Simon, won't you propose next to put me in a miner's dress?"
"Not just yet, sir, not just yet!" returned the old overman,
his deep-set eyes gleaming strangely.
Harry soon reappeared, carrying three safety lamps.
He handed one of these to the engineer, the other to his father,
and kept the third
hanging from his left hand,
whilst his right
was armed with a long stick.
"Forward!" said Simon Ford,
taking up a strong pick, which was leaning
against the wall of the
cottage.
"Forward!" echoed the engineer. "Good-by, Madge."
"GOD speed you!" responded the good woman.
"A good supper, wife, do you hear?" exclaimed Ford. "We shall
be hungry when we come back, and will do it justice!"
CHAPTER V SOME STRANGE PHENOMENA
MANY
superstitiousbeliefs exist both in the Highlands and Lowlands
of Scotland. Of course the
mining population must furnish its
contingent of legends and fables to this mythological repertory.
If the fields are peopled with
imaginary beings, either good
or bad, with much more reason must the dark mines be haunted
to their lowest depths. Who shakes the seam during tempestuous
nights? who puts the miners on the track of an as yet unworked
vein? who lights the fire-damp, and presides over the terrible
explosions? who but some spirit of the mine? This, at least,
was the opinion
commonly spread among the
superstitious Scotch.
In the first rank of the believers in the supernatural
in the Dochart pit figured Jack Ryan, Harry's friend.
He was the great
partisan of all these superstitions.
All these wild stories were turned by him into songs,
which earned him great
applause in the winter evenings.
But Jack Ryan was not alone in his
belief. His comrades affirmed,
no less
strongly, that the Aberfoyle pits were haunted,
and that certain strange beings were seen there frequently,
just as in the Highlands. To hear them talk, it would have
been more
extraordinary if nothing of the kind appeared.
Could there indeed be a better place than a dark and deep coal
mine for the freaks of fairies, elves, goblins, and other
actors in the
fantastical dramas? The
scenery was all ready,
why should not the supernatural personages come there to
play their parts?
So reasoned Jack Ryan and his comrades in the Aberfoyle mines.
We have said that the different pits communicated with
each other by means of long subterranean galleries.
Thus there existed beneath the county of Stirling
a vast tract, full of burrows,
tunnels, bored with caves,
and perforated with shafts, a subterranean labyrinth,
which might be compared to an
enormous ant-hill.
Miners, though belonging to different pits, often met, when going
to or returning from their work. Consequently there was a constant
opportunity of exc
hanging talk, and circulating the stories
which had their
origin in the mine, from one pit to another.
These accounts were transmitted with
marvelous rapidity,
passing from mouth to mouth, and gaining in wonder as they went.
Two men, however, better educated and with more practical
minds than the rest, had always resisted this temptation.
They in no degree believed in the
intervention of spirits,
elves, or goblins. These two were Simon Ford and his son.
And they proved it by continuing to
inhabit the
dismal crypt,
after the
desertion of the Dochart pit. Perhaps good Madge,
like every Highland woman, had some leaning towards the supernatural.
But she had to repeat all these stories to herself, and so she did,
most conscientiously, so as not to let the old traditions be lost.
Even had Simon and Harry Ford been as
credulous as their companions,
they would not have
abandoned the mine to the imps and fairies.
For ten years, without
missing a single day,
obstinate and immovable
in their convictions, the father and son took their picks, their sticks,
and their lamps. They went about searching, sounding the rock
with a sharp blow, listening if it would return a favor-able sound.
So long as the soundings had not been pushed to the
granite of the
primary
formation, the Fords were agreed that the search, unsuccessful
to-day, might succeed to-morrow, and that it ought to be resumed.
They spent their whole life in endeavoring to bring Aberfoyle back
to its former
prosperity. If the father died before the hour of success,
the son was to go on with the task alone.
It was during these excursions that Harry was more particularly
struck by certain
phenomena, which he
vainly sought to explain.
Several times, while walking along some narrow cross-alley,
he seemed to hear sounds similar to those which would be produced
by
violent blows of a pickax against the wall.
Harry hastened to seek the cause of this
mysterious work.
The
tunnel was empty. The light from the young miner's
lamp, thrown on the wall, revealed no trace of any recent work with pick
or crowbar. Harry would then ask himself if it was not the effect
of some acoustic
illusion, or some strange and
fantastic echo.
At other times, on suddenly throwing a bright light into a
suspicious-looking cleft in the rock, he thought he saw a shadow.
He rushed forward. Nothing, and there was no
opening to permit
a human being to evade his pursuit!