The Wilderness Mine E-Book

Harold Bindloss

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

This is a novel that contains a mixture of romance and adventure. Events taking place in Canada. Readers can watch the life of a simple girl who, without money, went for a better life. A novel about a strong girl who, despite the obstacles, is ready to go to the end.

Leseprobe

Contents

PART I

CREIGHTON'S PATENT

I. Mrs. Creighton's Extravagance

II. The Reckoning

III. The Spirit Tank

IV. Stayward Finds Out

V. Mrs. Creighton Refuses

VI. Ruth Is Moved to Anger

VII. Ruth's Adventure

VIII. Mrs. Creighton's Jealousy

IX. Ruth Gets to Work

X. Geoffrey's New Post

PART II

THE RIDEAU MINE

I. The Bush

II. Geoffrey Engages a Cook

III. Snow

IV. The Mine

V. Geoffrey Trespasses

VI. Carson Experiments

VII. The Dam

VIII. Carson Resumes His Occupation

IX. Geoffrey's Holiday

X. Carson's Advice

XI. Geoffrey's Triumph

XII. Carson's Last Journey

PART III

THE STRUGGLE

I. Geoffrey's Return

II. Geoffrey Meets Miss Creighton

III. The Shieling

IV. The Stack

V. Ruth's Persuasion

VI. The Brown Car

VII. Mrs. Creighton's Weak Moment

VIII. The Brown Car Stops

IX. Ruth Goes to Nethercleugh

X. The Portrait

XI. Ruth Rebels

XII. Mrs. Creighton Retracts

PART I

CREIGHTON'S PATENT

CHAPTER I

MRS. CREIGHTON’S EXTRAVAGANCE

The drawing-room window at Iveghyll was open, and Creighton, lounging on the seat in the thick wall, listened while Mrs. Creighton talked. This was his habit, for Mrs. Creighton talked much, and as a rule expected him to agree. She was resolute and, by concentrating on her object and disregarding consequences, had so far been able to satisfy her rather mean ambitions. Now Creighton saw the consequences must be faced. In fact, it was getting obvious that Janet must pull up, but he doubted if he could persuade her.

Although Iveghyll was not a large country house, Creighton knew it was too large for him. It occupied a green hollow at the bottom of a dark fir-wood that rolled down the hill, and a beck brawled among gray bowlders across the lawn. The lawn was wide and a rhythmic hum mingled with the drowsy splash of water as the gardener’s boy drove a pony mower across the smooth grass. Behind the belt of red and white rhododendrons, a greenhouse glittered in the last beam of sunshine that slanted down the fell. A sweet resinous smell from the fir-wood drifted into the room.

Creighton was fond of Iveghyll. After the smoke and ugliness of the mining village where he spent his days, its quiet beauty was soothing. Moreover, the old house gave its occupants some standing in the rather lonely neighborhood, and Mrs. Creighton valued this. She was the daughter of a small landlord, who had died in debt but had been unable to borrow money on the property her mother had left her. Only her lawyers knew how small the income she derived from her tied-up inheritance really was.

For all that, Creighton might have lived at Iveghyll without much strain, had his wife been content to study economy and had he been firm. The trouble was, Mrs. Creighton was firm and he was weak. In a short-sighted way, she was clever, and her main object was to keep up the traditions of the landowning stock from which she sprang. In order to do so, she had urged on her slack and careless husband, and by and by meant to marry her daughter well. In the meantime, there was no reason why Ruth should not develop her musical talent. The girl had no social ambition and not much beauty, but now-a-days talent brought one recognition.

“You must get me the money,” she declared. “Although I cut short my stay in town, I was forced to borrow from Christine. Then there are many bills, and Ruth’s going to Munich is an expensive business. She must have a proper outfit and allowance. One cannot tell whom she may meet, and my daughter must not be shabby.”

“One understands students are generally poor,” Creighton remarked.

“Ruth must be able to meet the other kind,” Mrs. Creighton rejoined. “She is, of course, a little unconventional, but this is, perhaps, because she is young, and when one has talent, a touch of originality is not a drawback. Ruth will not forget she springs from the Hassals.”

Creighton yawned. He was tired of hearing about the vanished glories of his wife’s family, and after all they had not been people of much importance. Their fame had not gone beyond the secluded North of England dale. The last Hassal’s death was, however, regretted by numerous disappointed creditors.

“Oh, well,” said Creighton. “How much do you want?”

When Mrs. Creighton told him he moved abruptly and tried to brace himself.

“I can’t get you this sum,” he replied. “When I wrote the last check, before you went to town, you declared you wouldn’t bother me again for long. For that matter, I thought you ought not to go at all.”

Mrs. Creighton gave him a cold glance. “Before I married, I spent every season in town, and now you grudge me two or three weeks! I gave up much for your sake, but one cannot be altogether a recluse. Do you expect me to be satisfied with three or four dull neighbors and such amusements as one can get at this bleak, lonely spot?”

Creighton hardly thought she expected an answer and for a few moments he mused and looked about. The drawing-room was expensively furnished, but without much hint of taste; the lawn and garden his view commanded were good. This was his province, although Janet had urged him to build the new greenhouse and get help for the gardener, and he would have been happy at Iveghyll, pottering about his grass and flowers, had she left him alone. Still, keeping things in shape was rather a strain; he ought not to employ a gardener, but Janet encouraged his spending money on the grounds. She liked Iveghyll to grow the finest flowers and earliest fruit in the dale.

He studied her rather critically. She had kept something of her beauty, although her face and hair were getting thin. Her mouth and eyes were good but hard, and on the whole she looked querulous and dissatisfied. Janet was not robust and sometimes used her weak health as a means for extorting concessions Creighton knew he ought not to make. He had a touch of cynical philosophy and admitted his feebleness. Now, however, he must try to be firm.

“We have been spending too much and must stop,” he said. “I can’t give you the money you want. Our account at the bank is very low and it’s lucky Stayward is too occupied to look at the books. I’m rather afraid there’ll be trouble when he finds out how much I’ve drawn.”

“You are Stayward’s partner.”

“That is so. As the law stands, I’m justified in using the house’s money; ethically, I’m not. I invested nothing when Stayward built the coke ovens, and he has spent remarkably little on himself. In fact, John uses Spartan self-denial; I don’t know how the fellow lives.”

“You did invest something. Stayward could not have started the coke ovens but for your invention.”

Creighton agreed. He was slack and careless, but he had a talent for chemistry and had some time since patented an apparatus for refining tar. It was typical that after a few disappointments he had given up his efforts to get the invention used and had done nothing with it until Stayward built the coke ovens. Indeed, it was then owing to Mrs. Creighton’s urging that he talked about his retorts and condensers to Stayward, who saw the invention might be profitable and gave him a share in the business.

“To some extent, I suppose your argument is good,” he said. “The coal in our neighborhood is not adapted for coking; the stuff’s too soft to stand a heavy load and blast-furnace owners pay us some shillings a ton less than they give the Durham makers. If it was not for the by-products we distill, I doubt if we could carry on. But you know something about this–”

“It’s important that Stayward knew.”

“Oh, well,” said Creighton. “Stayward is shrewd and obstinate. If he had not been obstinate, we should have been forced to stop some time since. Our experiments were expensive; we had no money behind us, and couldn’t borrow, because Stayward had mortgaged the ovens. He has worked early and late, and spent nothing except on the new plant. You see, the interest on the mortgage was a steady drain. Now our stuff is getting known, and although money is very short, it begins to look as if we would soon turn the corner. All the same we have got to use stern economy. There’s the trouble, because if we could spend a sum on better retorts, it would help our progress.”

“In the meantime, I must pay our debts and Ruth must go to Munich. Christine needs the money she lent me and our creditors cannot be put off.”

Creighton’s smile was ironically resigned. “I have preached retrenchment, but I suppose there is no use in talking about this. We have got the things you wanted and must try to meet the bill, although whether they were worth the price or not is another matter. We have outshone our neighbors when we gave a dinner; you and Ruth have gone to London when Harrogate satisfied your friends, and our name has been pretty near the top of local subscription lists. I don’t know if it was charity, but we gave more than we ought. Now Ruth is to go to Munich with an allowance that will no doubt excite the other students’ envy. Well, I grudge this least, but all the same I’m bankrupt and the bill has come in.”

There was a new note in Creighton’s voice and Mrs. Creighton looked at him rather hard. He was a handsome man, but one remarked a hint of indulgence that had not been there when he married. Then Tom had begun to look old; there were lines on his forehead and wrinkles about his eyes. For all that, Mrs. Creighton did not mean to be disturbed. Tom had long talked economy, but he had left her to pinch.

“I don’t think I have been extravagant,” she replied. “It has been a struggle to keep up our position with insufficient means. But I must have the money–”

She stopped, for a small car rolled up the drive and vanished behind the shrubs. A few moments afterwards a girl carrying a violin case opened the glass door on to the terrace and came into the room. Ruth Creighton was tall, with a slim, well-balanced figure and graceful pose. Her look was frank and her gray eyes were steady; her mouth was rather large and her skin was colorless. As a rule, strangers did not think her attractive, but her friends declared Ruth had a charm that gradually got stronger for people who knew her well. Perhaps the characteristics one noted first were her frankness and honesty.

“Had you a pleasant afternoon at Carrock?” Mrs. Creighton asked.

Ruth sat down and smiled. “Yes; at least, I know the performers had, although it’s possible our friends were bored. We took ourselves rather seriously and gave them the best music we could play. Jack Fawcett’s friend from town is, of course, one of our famous amateurs.”

“He is well known,” Mrs. Creighton agreed. “What did he think about your playing?”

Ruth hesitated for a moment, as if half disturbed, and then looked up frankly.

“He talked about it–I expect he knew why I was asked to play. Perhaps I imagined something, but while he encouraged me I don’t think he was enthusiastic.”

“You can play,” Creighton declared. “Some of these fellows feel they ought to be critical.”

Ruth smiled. “I imagine he felt he ought to be kind, and this was perhaps the worst. An artist’s admiration is, so to speak, spontaneous when he meets real talent. Of course, serious music demands all one can give and I haven’t studied hard very long. He talked most about my technique and I liked that. One can get the mechanical training at a good school and I ought to make rapid progress with the Munich masters.” She paused and resumed, rather anxiously: “You do mean to let me go?”

“I understand your mother promised,” Creighton replied. “The fellow hinted you needed training in technique?”

“Yes,” said Ruth, thoughtfully. “At least, I imagine so, and in a way, it was encouraging. One can get control of wrist and fingers and develop the proper muscles. If this is all I need, I oughtn’t to be afraid; but it means close study and proper teaching.”

Creighton nodded. “You won’t shirk the study. I suppose it wouldn’t carry you very far by itself?”

“Not without clever teaching,” said Ruth. “One needs good masters, and I want so much to go.” She stopped for a moment and resumed in an apologetic voice: “If I have any talent, it’s for music, and since I was a very little girl I’ve meant to be a player. Sometimes I think it’s possible and sometimes I doubt, but I feel if I want to make my mark it’s the best chance I’ve got. I’m not very pretty, I’m not a clever talker, and I know no useful work. But this is not important; I love music and think I could play.”

Creighton was moved. He knew Ruth felt keenly. Moreover, she was tenacious; it was not a romantic ambition she had indulged. The girl was very dear to him and he could not refuse her.

“You must get your chance,” he said. “Besides, your mother promised. We will let you go.”

Ruth gave him a grateful glance, and he went out on the terrace and lighted his pipe. The sun had left the hillside, the woods down the dale were getting dim, and the dew had begun to fall. A thin streak of mist touched the highest trees, which rose from the vapor in blurred, dark spires, and the crying of lambs came down from the moor. Except for the splash of the beck, all was very calm, but Creighton felt moody.

He was glad he had agreed to let Ruth go; hers was a clean ambition and she must follow her bent. For all that, the extra expense would be an awkward strain just now; Janet had been horribly extravagant, and since he had no money, he had used his partner’s. To some extent, perhaps, he was justified; the invention that enabled them to start the business was his, but the works had hardly begun to pay and their capital was nearly exhausted. In fact, he sometimes doubted if they could hold out until the tar-refining plant worked properly. The alterations they were forced to make cost much.

Creighton, however, banished his disturbing thoughts. His habit was to put things off and he began to muse about his life since he married. He did not think the Hassal family approved him, but Janet was not often baffled, even when she was young. Creighton remembered with ironical amusement that he was then rather a handsome, romantic fellow, and believed in his ability to make a career. He had taken a degree in science and occupied a post in the laboratory of a famous works. Moreover, he had some money; not as much as the Hassals thought needful, but enough to relieve him from the necessity to work.

He saw the money had been a drawback, although his carelessness and lazy good-humor to some extent accounted for his not making progress. Janet had persuaded him to give up his post, and he had rather amused himself by than labored at private chemical research, until he realized with a shock that his fortune was nearly gone. After this he abandoned his experiments, and left things to Janet, who took firm control. Janet was clever; Creighton did not know how she had satisfied their creditors and kept the foremost place she loved, but for a time she had done so without much help from him. Creighton owned that he had loafed and got the habit of indulging while his talent rusted.

Then Stayward built the coke ovens and when he was offered a partnership Creighton pulled himself together. At the beginning, he was happy, but Janet soon gave up the economy she had been forced to use and their debts got burdensome. Creighton, in a sense, had staked all upon the success of Stayward’s venture, enjoying his share of the profit they hoped for, before it was earned, and now he wondered whether his rashness had not made success impossible. Stayward had been absorbed by the struggle with mechanical difficulties, and although he was sternly parsimonious, had not studied their accounts. Yet Creighton knew he must do so soon. It was, however, not his habit to meet trouble until he was forced, and getting up, he went back to the house.

CHAPTER II

THE RECKONING

A week or two after his talk with his wife, Creighton and Ruth one morning left Iveghyll in the small car. A quantity of heavy luggage was strapped on the back, and when Mrs. Creighton kissed her daughter at the steps, she felt she had in an important sense done her duty to the girl. Smart clothes meant much to Mrs. Creighton; they were a sign of the rank that she rightfully enjoyed. Yet she would not go with her husband to put Ruth in the train. Excitement and emotion were not good for her, since her heart was weak, and Creighton smiled with bitter humor when she stated why she could not come. Janet’s weak heart was a convenience now and then.

His feelings were rather mixed as he drove down the dale. He noted that Ruth’s hands trembled as she pulled up the rug, although she had some color and her eyes sparkled. She was young and had never gone away alone; after all, to leave her quiet home for a foreign city was something of an adventure for a girl. Yet Ruth had pluck, and he knew that in spite of some natural shrinking she meant to seize the chance he had given her.

Creighton was glad he had done so, although he would miss Ruth much. She was kind and staunch, and he turned to her for comfort when his wife jarred on him. Ruth was not a fool; he saw she knew his slackness but hid her disapproval. Well, he had arranged that she should study at Munich for a year, and now, while he sympathized with her high hopes, he wondered rather gloomily whether he had been rash. In a sense, it had not cost him much, but he was embarrassed by Janet’s extravagance and the expense might, so to speak, be enough to turn the scale. So far, he had somehow kept the balance even; now the beam was obviously tilting.

By and by the car ran out of the dale and in front brown moorland and thin pasture rolled down to the sea. The landscape was stern and bleak. Ragged stone walls marked off the gray squares of fields, since the starved grass was never really green. The small farmsteads were, for the most part, tarred to keep out the rain, and bitter winds had bent the ash-trees that grew about the walls. In the distance were villages, surrounded by chimney stacks and colliery winding-towers, and long trails of smoke from the furnaces blew along the shore.

“The low country’s charm is not very obvious, and I doubt if its look is deceptive,” Creighton remarked. “One wonders why men were allowed to build villages like these. Ugliness is not needful, as some people think; I don’t know if it’s always cheap. If I were a free-agent, I think I’d stay in the dale, where all’s green and quiet and one is out of the wind.”

Ruth smiled. She knew her father, but she loved, and made allowances for him.

“You don’t like ugliness,” she said. “Yet men do useful work, and money’s earned, at the furnaces and in the coal pits.”

“Sometimes money’s lost,” Creighton rejoined. “Anyhow, it’s horribly hard to earn and one gets tired.”

Ruth gave him a sympathetic nod. She had seen the lines on his forehead get deeper recently.

“I know! It is not the work, but the wondering. Things would be easier if one knew one would make good. But you and Stayward are near success.”

“Stayward believes this. John is never despondent and tired. He’s indomitable–I think it’s the proper word–like your mother. I don’t know if it’s unlucky we’re not all like that.”

“Pluck is a great thing,” Ruth said thoughtfully. “One can remove many obstacles when one is not afraid.”

“But not all, I think,” Creighton remarked.

Ruth knitted her straight brows. “You mustn’t daunt me, father. I need encouraging. You have been very generous, and, for your sake and mine, I feel the venture I’m making must be justified. The trouble is, I really have not much pluck, and now when I try to be confident, I doubt. One can get mechanical skill, if one works hard enough; but suppose I haven’t the vital spark of genius? If there is a spark, one can help it to burn by study, but one cannot light it. Unless it springs up spontaneously, your art is dead and cold.”

“You have the spark,” Creighton declared. “I knew long since, when we heard the boys sing in the cathedral. You were very young, but I do not think you moved and I saw your eyes shine, as if the treble voices called and you meant to follow. I wondered where.”

“Oh!” said Ruth, “they carried me to a world where nobody ever fails and there is nothing ugly and mean. I often think about that evensong–the light fading behind the pillars, the glimmer of the big red and green window, and the voices echoing along the high roof. You taught me the beauty of music then, and now you have given me another gift; the chance I’ll always remember, if I succeed or not–”

She paused and resumed with some emotion: “I’m frank because you always understand. I mean to be a musician, if it’s possible, and you have helped me to find out if it is. That is very much. You see, dear, it would be dreadful to look back afterwards and feel one might have been a great player and was not because one had never been allowed to try one’s powers. Now, if I do fail, I’ll know I could not have gone far along the path I love, and I hope I’ll have the pluck to take another.”

“You have pluck,” said Creighton quietly. “It’s your mother’s gift. Mine was less desirable; I taught you to feel–”

He broke off, for they ran through a mining village, where children whose clogs rattled on the stones were going to school, and soon afterwards he stopped the car at a bleak, smoke-stained station by the sea. They had not long to wait and when the train rolled in Ruth put her arms round Creighton’s neck and kissed him.

“I shall miss you and perhaps you will miss me. I’d rather like you to, but you mustn’t bother at all; I’m going to be absorbed in work,” she said. “When you write, tell me about the invention and the retorts. I expect they will make you and Stayward famous before I come back.”

The whistle blew and Creighton jumped down from the step. Ruth waved her hand, he saw her face at the window for a moment or two, and then the train rolled through an arch and she was gone. Creighton walked back to his car, feeling strangely flat. He had sent her off, found her the longed-for opportunity to try her powers, and now, when he was lonely, he must meet the bill. The bill was not large. Indeed, it was strange he could help Ruth at so small a cost, but as he drove to the bank he thought bitterly about his wife’s shabby ambitions and extravagance.

The bank was small and dingy. Soot grimed the windows that shook with the measured throb of a big mining pump. While Creighton waited at the counter there was a harsh rattle as a loaded cage came up a neighboring coal pit. Putting down the check he had given his wife, he said to the clerk:

“Enter this sum to Mrs. Creighton’s account, and then she can draw the money when she likes.”

“Certainly,” said the clerk, who took the check and went behind a partition, where Creighton heard him put a heavy book on a desk. Then a door opened quietly and Creighton frowned, because he thought he knew what this meant.

“Mr. Evans would like to see you,” the clerk stated when he came back.

Creighton followed him to an adjoining room, and did not feel much comforted when the bank manager, sitting in front of his big desk, looked up with a friendly smile. He knew Evans, who was urbane but firm.

“A fine morning, Mr. Creighton, although the wind is cold,” he remarked. “Well, about this little check; we will, of course, meet Mrs. Creighton’s demands to the full amount; but I expect you’ll need the usual sum for wages and the payment you generally make the builders at the end of the month?”

“That is so,” Creighton replied. “In fact, since we have been forced to use an extra lot of fire-bricks, we’ll need a larger sum.”

“Oh, well,” said the manager, smiling, “I expect you will soon get your money back. To keep one’s plant up to date is an excellent plan. Still, you see, in the meantime–”

His pause was significant and Creighton tried to brace himself. Stayward left him to look after their accounts and he had known money was very short, but he had for some time neglected to find out exactly where they stood. This was not altogether carelessness; he had been half afraid to study the books. Now, however, it looked as if the reckoning he had weakly put off had come.

“I suppose you mean we will be in the bank’s debt when the wages and the builders are paid?” he suggested.

“A little on the wrong side,” the manager agreed urbanely. “The improvements you are making are, no doubt, a sound investment. All the same, you will need a good sum at the end of the month and the balance is against you.”

“How much?” Creighton asked anxiously.

When Evans told him he made an abrupt movement. From the beginning Stayward and he had not had enough capital and his invention had not worked well at first. They had been forced to alter the ovens and distilling plant as they went on; spending on improvements money they got for their coke. Although it had been a struggle, they had kept going, and but for Mrs. Creighton’s demands Creighton imagined they might have continued to do so. Things, however, were worse than he had thought, and the last check, so to speak, had tipped the beam.

“Well,” he said as coolly as possible, “we are pretty good customers and expect to get two or three large sums before very long. Our accounts with the blast-furnace owners are sent in quarterly.”

“This leaves you on the wrong side for some time. Besides, I expect you find one’s debtors don’t always pay when they ought.”

“That is so,” Creighton agreed. “However, the people who use our stuff are honest and generally punctual. The time is not long, and as soon as we get paid I’ll send the checks across.”

Evans shook his head, regretfully. “The trouble is our directors don’t allow a manager much discretion; head-office rules are strict, you know. Then one can’t tell when a traveling auditor may arrive.”

“You mean, if you are to cash our checks, you must have a guarantee for the over-draft?”

“Something like that,” said Evans, in an apologetic voice. “A matter of form! We won’t be very particular about the security; anything we can show an auditor will meet the bill.”

Creighton’s forehead got wet. He had no security to offer and doubted if Stayward had. Yet it was obvious they must find something to pledge, or the works must stop. One could not put off the payment of wages, and he could not give the bank a bond on the buildings and ovens, because they were already mortgaged. But this was not all. Stayward, concentrating on another side of the business, had left the books to him, and he had let things go until the house was threatened by bankruptcy. Stayward had staked his all on the venture and was very hard. Creighton shrank when he thought about his anger. Yet, if they could hold out for a few weeks, things might improve and Stayward need not know.

“Then, I suppose you really cannot wait until we get some money from our customers?” he said with a carelessness that cost him an effort.

“I’m sorry,” the manager replied. “I’d have liked to help, but rules are rules, you know. Bring me something we can use to satisfy the auditor and we’ll meet your demands.”

Creighton nodded, although he was not deceived. He knew the security he brought Evans must be sound.

“Very well! I must talk to Stayward and see what we can do.”

He thought Evans looked rather hard at him, but he remarked that this was the best plan and Creighton went out. When he reached the works he found some spirit they distilled from the tar would not stand the proper tests and for two or three hours he was occupied in his laboratory. Then Stayward joined him at the plain lunch that was brought to the office, and went off a few minutes afterwards. Stayward was not given to talk. When he had gone, Creighton returned to the laboratory and puzzled about the impurities in the spirit. To account for them was an awkward problem, but Creighton knew something about chemistry. The trouble was, he had forgotten much in the years when he loafed, and indulgence had blunted his skill. It was sometimes obvious he had once been a better man.

All the same, his work engrossed him and concentration was something of a relief. When evening came he had solved the problem and began to grapple with another that was worse. Stayward had gone off with a colliery manager. They did not keep a clerk, and Creighton was alone in the small office when he opened the safe.

For a time he studied books and documents, made calculations, and tore up the papers; and then pushed back his chair and wiped his face. His skin was wet with sweat and his brows were knit, but for some minutes he sat still, absorbed by gloomy thought. The day laborers had gone and the works were nearly quiet. A plume of steam went up outside the window and big drops fell on the iron roof. Now and then a shovel clinked and he heard the rattle of a truck.

Creighton pulled himself together. Although there was nothing he could lawfully pledge, he must not be fastidious. Money must be got, and he thought he saw a plan. He had long been rash and now must run another risk. It was the worst he had run, but if things went well, he would be on safe ground again when payment for the coke arrived.

They had stock on hand, coking coal that Evans would, no doubt, take as guarantee for a loan. Since the coal was not paid for, Creighton admitted that it did not really belong to them, but Evans did not know this and before long he would be able to redeem the stock. He would have to give Evans some kind of a formal transfer and must see him about this in the morning. In the meantime, he was tired after a disturbing day, and locking the office, he went for his car.

CHAPTER III

THE SPIRIT TANK

Bright sunshine and speeding shadow touched the bleak moorland. A boisterous wind blew in from sea, but the morning was warm and Creighton’s mood was tranquil while his car ran down hill. For one thing, Ruth was happy at Munich and declared she made good progress. The letter Creighton had got before he started related some compliments her masters had made her. Then Janet had not bothered him about bills, and the coke ovens were going well. In a few weeks, he could pay off the banker’s loan and Stayward would know nothing about the transaction.

Creighton was careless; things did not bother him long, and when he had put off a trouble he forgot about it. Moreover, he had put a generous dose of brandy in the coffee he had drunk while he smoked a cigarette after breakfast. He did not know if Janet knew about this or not, but he had got the habit when he drove to the works on bitter winter mornings. When the condensers were not turning out good stuff and he expected a hard day at the laboratory, he took a larger dose.

As the car ran down hill the stone walks along the road gave place to ragged thorns. Rusty pit-rope spanned the gaps the wind had made, and the bent trees about the farmsteads were blackened by smoke. Clouds of dingy fumes from the blast-furnaces trailed across the sky, and clusters of chimney stacks dotted the green sweep of corn by the coast. The bleak landscape was stained by the grime of industry, but the sun shone and the wind was bracing. Creighton felt cheerful as he smoked his cigar.

When the car rolled into a mean, black village he slowed the engine. Children played about the street, lean whippet dogs ran across, and here and there a broken bottle threatened his tires. Some of the strongly-built men lounging about the doorsteps gave him a nod and some a dull glance. All knew Creighton of the coke ovens, where a number worked, but the North-countryman is not, as a rule, remarkably gracious to his employer, and Stayward was hard. Yet the strange thing was, although the hands disputed with Stayward and his partner was indulgent, they did better work for the man who generally beat them than for Creighton. After all, Stayward sprang from their stock; he was blunt and forceful, and they understood his philosophy. He swore, in their own dialect, when Creighton smiled.

The car turned a corner and Creighton threw away his cigar. A high wall ran along the road, and in one place, a streak of flame leaped up through the smoke from the ovens. The flame ought not to be there; it was near the tank into which spirit was pumped, and a row of small houses fronted the wall. Creighton remembered that they had been puzzled to find a place for the tank, and the spot on which they had fixed did not altogether comply with the rules. He had left the thing to Stayward and did not know how he had satisfied the local council. Stayward’s habit was to carry out his plans.

Creighton drove through a gate and stopped. Not far off, a group of men stood about a jet of fire that shot up and broke into a shower of blazing drops. It burned furiously, without slanting from the wind, as if forced up by strong pressure, and smoke that had a strangely pungent smell eddied about the neighboring tank and blew across the wall. Some of the men had shovels and were throwing sand into the flame, which sprang from a hollow like a crater at the top of the pile. Creighton imagined the stop-valve that controlled the supply of spirit to the tank was beneath the sand. The spirit was obviously burning at the valve and he did not see how they could put it out. To begin with, however, the blaze must not be allowed to excite alarm in the village.

“Shut the gate,” he said, and turned to a man who had wrapped a greasy red handkerchief round his hand and wrist. “Have you stopped the pump? How did the fire start?”

“Pump’s stopped. I reckon spirit’s running back from tank; she’s mair nor half full. When I com’t in, fire was weel alight. Carruthers found valve leaking in t’ dark and when he was looking what was wrang she fired from his lamp.”

Creighton nodded. The vapor the spirit gave off was strongly inflammable, but there was no use in talking about the carelessness of the man who had used an open engineer’s lamp to examine the leaky joint.

“Have you tried to screw down the valve?” he asked.

The other held up his bandaged hand and Creighton saw his skin was blistered above the greasy handkerchief. Moreover, he noted raw red spots on the man’s face.

“Yes; I tried ‘t, but couldn’t get hold with spanner because of flame. Neabody else wad gan near and I’ll no’ try again.”

It looked as if his resolve was justified. The jet of fire broke at its top into a shower of burning liquid; the men had buried the valve, and in order to reach the hole from which the blaze sprang one must stand amidst the shower. Nothing could be done to stop the leak, but while Creighton knitted his brows Stayward and a young man ran across the yard. Creighton imagined the young man was his partner’s nephew and they had just arrived by the office entrance. Stayward did not ask questions; his plan was to deal with essentials first.

“We must empty tank,” he said and pushed one of the men. “Gan to station for benzol car and see you bring her; shunting engine’s in the yard.” Then he turned to the others. “Tak’ your shovels. We’re gan t’ dig.”

They followed him to the tank, and seizing a spade, he marked out a trench. Creighton got a pick, for although he was not given to physical effort the need was urgent and he saw Stayward’s plan. The tank was not large, but it held a quantity of explosive spirit, and Stayward meant to run off some of the liquid. This would lessen the risk, but it was not enough. The tank was thin and sparks rained about its top; the spirit was volatile and the vapor it gave off could hardly be kept in by the caulking at the joints. If the tank bursts, the burning liquid must be turned into the trench before it could flow about the yard and into the street.

They got to work and Creighton noted that Stayward’s nephew, who had thrown off his vest and jacket, used the shovel well. He was an athletic young fellow and looked good-humored and frank. Fresh men came to help, the trench got deeper, and presently a small locomotive snorted up the line that ran into the yard, and pushed a big steel cylinder up to the tank. Black smoke and sparks blew round the engine, and the driver looked out.

“It’s nea a varra safe job you’re giving us,” he said. “Hooiver, we’ll try ‘t if you’ll fix your pipe quick.”

“Two’s enough to help him,” Stayward remarked. “The rest of you will dig.”

Creighton, digging and watching the men at the pipe, was conscious of keen suspense. It looked as if the steel cylinder filled very slowly, the blaze had leaped up higher, and one could not tell when a spark might start an explosion. There was some leakage round the joint where the pipe was screwed to the tank. The thing was horribly risky, but the men went on digging and nobody looked disturbed. They were slow North-country folk and hard to move.

At length the engine whistled and rolled away with its load. Some of the dangerous stuff was gone, the pressure was eased, and the flame sank a little. Creighton, with a feeling of keen satisfaction, stopped to get his breath and straighten his aching back. Next moment, however, he dropped his spade, for there was a sharp crack, and he saw the tank split along a joint of the plates. It opened, as if torn apart, a heavy report shook the ovens, and a column of fire leaped up. Then thick smoke rolled about the yard, and Creighton saw a burning flood run across the ground. His face and hands smarted, and he thought he noted dark spots with smoldering edges on his clothes.

The men went back for a few yards, and then stopped when Stayward shouted. Creighton saw him run forward, into the smoke, with his nephew close by; but for the next few minutes he was desperately occupied. Waves of fire overflowed the trench and broke against the bank behind, bent figures loomed in the smoke, and one heard the furious clink of shovels. The men’s job was plain; they must hold back and, if possible, smother the fire. They needed no orders and Stayward gave none. He worked where the fire was hottest and when he ran to meet a fresh wave of burning spirit his nephew followed.

In the meantime, the roar of the explosion had alarmed the village. Clogs rattled on the stones outside and shouts came from behind the gate.

“Keep it shut,” Stayward ordered. “Let nobody in.”

Before long some of the men were burned and some half blinded, for the tank had not been altogether wrecked and the spirit, expanded by the heat, welled up from its lower part. The men not burned were breathless and nearly exhausted, but they labored on, until a few stopped for a moment when a bell clanged noisily in the street and somebody beat on the gate.

“Here’s fire-engine; let her in!” a man outside shouted.

“Water’s nea use,” Stayward replied. “They can play hose on hooses if they’re keen on a job.”

There were fresh shouts, the crowd in the street began an angry clamor, and the gate shook. It looked as if the firemen were resolved to come in, but the gate stood the battering and Stayward’s men worked on. The fire was slowly dying out under the showers of sand and soil, and at length only spasmodic spurts of flame leaped up from the trench. Stayward threw down his shovel and lifted his hand.

“I reckon you have done a good job and I will not forget,” he said. “Noo we must wait until she cools and you’ll gan back to ovens.”

They went off. It was not Stayward’s rule to say too much, and he and Creighton went to the office. Creighton’s hands and face smarted; Stayward’s coat was riddled by holes. The sleeve of the young man’s shirt was burned and his arm was stained by soot. He stopped for a moment by the door, with the light from a window opposite in his eyes, which hurt because he had been in the smoke.

“My nephew, Geoffrey Lisle; he has come down for a short holiday,” Stayward remarked.

Lisle bowed to Creighton, whom he could not see distinctly. The office was small and Creighton sat in the shadow behind the open door.

“You have had bad luck this morning,” said Lisle. “It will cost you something to re-plate the tank and I think a number of windows were broken when the top blew off. However, I must try to get rid of this soot and put on my jacket.”

He went behind a partition where water and towels were kept and the others heard a splash. Then he resumed, speaking across the low partition: “Didn’t you build the thing rather near the street?”

“We were cramped for room. The yard is small,” Creighton replied.

“One doesn’t want a tank of explosive spirit beside one’s office, but there are rules about such things. How did you satisfy the local council?”

“I left that to your uncle. I don’t know the arguments he used, but they seem to have had some weight. The important thing is, he didn’t see a better site for the tank.”

Lisle laughed. “Well, I admit he is rather hard to beat. However, since I’ve burned my arm I’ll go and see if the engineer can give me some olive oil. I know my way about and expect you want to talk.”

He went off by a door behind the partition, and Stayward said, “The lad has been at the works when you were away. He’s employed by a good firm of mining engineers and, for a young man, his judgement’s quick and sound. I expect you saw he spotted the worst trouble we’re going to have?”