Within an Inch of My Life.

Evening Post, Volume LXVI, Issue 152, 24 December 1903, Page 11

Within an Inch of My Life.

The broiling rays of tho equatorial sun were pouring down on the waters of the Bay of Colon, that August afternoon. There was not a perceptible breath of air stirring, and tho serrated foliage of the date palms on the low hills glistened in absolute repose. Glancing along the shore one could dosory tho heab waves rising from tho thatched roofs of the native huts and from tho sands of the long curving beach. It was a day when all humanity sought the shade, and even animal lifo seemed peculiarly hushed. The deck of our good ship, the Minerva, reflected tho heat with the intensity of nn oven, almost blistering our feet through the soles of our shoes. Tho midday meal^ had just boon concluded, and the Jnckles were -lying around in tho Bhade of tho awnings and half-hoistod sails, enjoying their short pipes, their eyes blinking from tho intonsity of tho light* We were nmdo fast to a largo coaling dock, on which wero scores of blacks, resting from their arduous labours of the morning when they had boon employed filling our bunkers. This work they accomplished in tho primitive way, tho negrooß carrying the baskets of coal on thoir hoads up the long gang-plank to tho deck, tho endless procossion passing tho coal hatch above the deop bunkors, each oiio pausing att instanfTto dump Bis load into the gloomy depths of tho yesBel. It would surprise a person familiar only with the modem steam olovatot to appreciate how rapidly a vessel can be coaled by an army of roustabouts; bub tho never-ending chain of liumanjty empties basket after basket in a continuous btream, ns if pouring from a spout. At that time I was serving as first mate of tho Minerva, and us such it was my duty to check off tho baskets of coal dolivered, and keep an accurate account of the amount received. For that purpose I kept a tally in a notebook, sitting near tho bunker liatch, undor the shade of an expansive, green-lined umbrella. Tho day pievious, while on nhoro leave, 1 had iuve»t«d in. one of those incoiu-

pnrablo Ponnma hats, ns light as a feather, and, with the addition of a small palm or cabbage leaf, n, perfect protection ' from the mm. This hut was my great pride, and the envy of tho whole nies-s. As, wlien tallying, I was careful always to plant myself on tho lee side of the hatch I was not troubled with tho coal dust, and did not fear any serious duniage to my now aud cherished head rig. Suddenly the silence was shattered by the shrill blast of tho pony engine whistle, which meant that the nooning was ove^ and "all hands to work." Pipes were reluctautly emptied and the Jackies went about their varied duties, cleaning, sweeping, scouring, spacing, or painting, for all strict masters fiud plenty for their tars to do. The darkies gathered themselves up from the piles of gunny sacks whero they had boon enjoying a. snooze and a sunbath, aud stretching and yawning picked up their basket a and began to form a lino. Tho second niato, -a most wonderful and proficient swearer, sprang into their midst with an oath, a cuff, and a kick, and the immediate acceleration of speed attendant upon his budden advent was not surprising when ono observed his persuusive mothods. I tossed the butt of my execrable Mexican cigarro over the rail, and, very unwillingly, I must admit, arose from, my steamer chair, where I had been daydreaming in the shadow of tho pilothouse, and descended to the main deck. i I eeatod myself on my canvas camp-atobl, j got out my tally book,, and as the proj cession came up tho gang, prepared to check. ' Just as the first roustabout dumped his bosket of coal a quick, litttle squall came Up, from where nobody knew, and lifing my Panama from oir hoad, whirled it be- i | yond my reach. With consternation I saw it gaily sail down into, tho darksome gloom of the coal hole. Would I sacrifice that hat — that beautiful example pf the weavers art — especially when I had worn it loss than a day 1" Never! In an instant my mind was made up. Calling a near-by middy, who had been superintending the coiling of somo cables, I gave him my notebook to hold, and said : -. "I am going below for my hat. Don't let tho niggura throw in any more coal until I return. I'll bo back under fivo minutes." "Ayo, aye, sir," ho responded, touching his forelock, and down below I went on a run. As I passed through the engine room, where Jim Mutch, tho engineer, was touching up his brasses, he exclaimed: "What's up?" "My hat's down," I replied, "and I'm down after it," and away I went down the ladder to the stoke-hole, slipping and tumbling four or five rounds in my nasto. The coal for tho furnaces is shovelled from -the bunkers through small openings left in the bottom of the cage, scarcely large enough for a man to crawl through when the bunker is ompty, and, of course, aa th« coal is filled m these holes are ontiroly covered- And yet the bunker had not had a very largo quantity of coal in it, but that which hnd been thrown in formed a pyramid, none too stable, and much given to unexpected shifting on short notice. The Btokers wore not in the flrehole, as the furnaces were banked, and bo no one except Jim Mutch and tho middy know that. I was bolow, and neither of thorn had any iuw. of my intention to go into the coal bunker. However, in I crawled, and there, exactly on^ tho ponk of tho pile reposed my precious Panama. I had anticipated that it might bo near the coal hole, but ho, it was aa far out of reach as possible. The only light in the pit came from the open hatch far above, but it streamed upon that hat, bringing into tantalising prominence all its peculiar beauties. I was well award that the conl would 'slide more or less if I attempted to climb the pile, but I argued 'that I would not pull down enough to cover the hole and shut off my retreat, or if I did, a very little work would uncover it, and so I finally said to myself : "I'll do it 1 I want that hat, and I'll have it, if it takes a leg." . So I began to climb, my feet sinking in the coal as it rattled down, every effort displacing a bushel or more. I approached nearer and nearer the goal, and with a grunt of profound satisfaction, reached out my hand to seize the prize, when — crash ! on my hand and the hat enme a downpour of coal from above. For an instant I wns stunned by tho noise and nearly smothered by tho dust, but in a moment 1 realised the terrifying fact that, for some reason, tho endless chain of cairiers had begun to heave their loads of coal, sixty to tho minute, down through that liatch upon my devoted head. With n mm earn of mortal tenor 1 thiew myM'lf headlong tow.nd whete I knew the U'ul hole ought to be. Down the steep

incljno I slid on my face, oruising, Boratching, and tearing the flesh. Already tho ooal had piled up alarmingly, and that wlucl I carried with mo in my mad flight, tegcther with the constant showor from above, had already covoreo" tho exit to a harrowing extent. I screamed, I howled, I cursed, as with my bare hands I tore wildly at the coal in a desperate effort to clear it away frouir tho hole. No ono heard mo, no one could hear my feeble shouts in the thunder of that avalanche of darkness. Every moment the clouds of dust became thicker and thicker, nnd I realised that evcu it 1 could, by superhuman efforts, keep on top of tho coal, I would with absolute certainty be smothered. And more horrible still, to think that no one knew where I was, and not until the bunker had been emptied at the' end of the cruise would any one discover what had become of me. Any death is horrible enough to me, but to bo buried alive under a mountain of coal 1 It seemed to my crazed imagination that the roar of the coal was filled with the voices of demonical shriokings for my heart's blood —the rattle, the crash, the boom of the downpour, confined as it was between iron walls, seemed to deafen me almost to insensibility, yet with the despair of a man who seed sure death staring him in the face, 1 scratched and clawed at the coal like a veritable maniac. As I half lay, half, knelt against the wall over the spot where 1 thought the Btokers' hole to be, the coal gradually covered my feet and legs. It was slowly but surely working up toward my waist } tho pressure wan something awful; in ono and the same breiitn 1 prayed and cursed as I desperately dug up the coa. with my bruised »nd bleeding hands. ' A.t last it seemed as if L could feel th» upper edge of the hole —that liole —tfc« opening. of which meant life to me. My strength was fast waning, but this fact nerved me up to renewed efforts, and with the desperation of hope I worked a-way, Boom 1 came the coal from above. Yen. yes, it was tho hole I Oh, if they would but stop a moment, give me one chance, just one little chance for my life i Why do they continue to pour down the coa) with their infernal, 'soul-rending regularity? Ah, there is a, gleam of light. A breath qf fresh air. Help 1 Help! One moment, just ono moment 1 Groat God I bo near to life —and yet, and yet—can I not have one moment of time? I will give five years of my future lift —ten years —aye, twenty years for one moment of time now 1 Will that coal never cease ftlling? A man, a shovel, and I would be sate —safe 1 No ono conics —and still that coal— that ever-falling coal i One more trial, one more effort; I cannot give up my life —no, not while I have breath and strength to move and struggle. Thero, tho coul is sliding! My arm is out! Still no ono comes. '1 am buried nearly to my shoulders. What a horrible pressure ! I am being crushed l My thoughts turn, as do a drowning man's, to,odd and strange fancies. 1 imagine I flm under the wheels of tht> chariot of Juggernaut; that I am being crushed by an immense hydraulic machine; but still I work on, desperately, j well-nigh hopelessly. Now the coal shifts again. A quantity rolls out of the hole. With a final struggle 1 turce my head and shoulders through the opening. Oh, the blessed air! fresh and pure. Yet 1 am still fast, my body unaer a terrible weight of coal. I glance up and see the stoker, who has just stopped off tho ladder, looking «t me with horrified gazo. Of course; I cannot realise what a fear-inspiring objtct I must be, with my blackened face, my shreds of .clothing) and tho blood streaming from my many wounds. "George," I gasp, "help " but instead of coming to my assistance he lets out a yell of fear, and climbs tho laddei i with the agility of a monkey. Now all nope is gone. After all, lan deserted, and must die—must die n, sight of life, for this weight of coal i& , i slowly but Surely "paralysing me. ] | But harkl what do I hear? the ] sound <of a voice coming«to my' dim- | ming senses as if from a great distance': A shout in the well-known tones of brave , , Jim Mutch: • • ( "Courage, mate, I'm coming 1" ( With a last effort. I turn my head and | look up. I see Jim sliding down the iron ladder, not stopping to use the « rounds —and then ah grows black. , —C. H. Kldridgc in Short Stories. 1 ] 1 1 t