LEFT IN THE PIT.

Otago Witness, Issue 1847, 15 April 1887, Page 30

LEFT IN THE PIT.

. » It was pasb noon when I started for the' home of my betrothed. But my horse was good and I rode hard. I might be at ' Trevesy by nightfall. There • was a sprinkle o£ snow on the ground, and a feathery shower fell lightly around me, of which I thought nothing till sunset. The short, dark day was over at 5 o'clock, and at that hour a sharp wind sprang up and the snow began falling thickly. I felt somewhat blinded by the big flakes, ever flying downward and onward and around me, like a cold, patient army, onslaught could never he stayed or driven back. Still I pushed on, though the beast I rode shook and trembled and strove, in his dumb way, to -reason against my headstrong* will. And now, with . some dismay, I suddenly perceived by the sinKing of my horse even to his flanks in heaped snow, that, be- j wildered by the whiteness, he and I had lost the road. It was but a rough one at the best, for I was in a wild country, where mines were many and men few. Extricating my poor steed from the drifted snow wherein lie had floundered, I rested him a moment and shouted for help. Again and again my cry came back to me, following on the wings of the cold wind, but no other sound broke the deathly stillness of the night. Oh, for the saving light in some charitable window 1 But there was none — only snow and darkness, darkness and snow, all around. I thought it terrible, and yet in a little span of time from this I would have deemed it paradise to be lying lonely in the heaped snow upon this drear moor. I put my horse to a sharp canter, and he went about a furlong blindly, then stood still, snorting with terror. I strove to urge him on, but he refused to obey either whip or spur. Seeing no reason for my horses fright or stubbornness, I spurred him sharply, and urged him with angry voice to obedience. His wonderful obstinacy compelled me at length to dismount, and, with drawn sword in my hand, prepared for highwayman or footpad, I dragged him onward by the bridle.- Upon this he made one hasty pluuge forward, then stopped, and at the same instant the earth went from beneath my feet and I fell— fell I knew not whither, down, down into deep darkness unfathomable, terrible as the great pit. I can scarcely say whether I thought as I fell, yet I knew, I was going to death— knew I was descending one of those unused shafts that lie on many a Cornish moor— knew that my.bories ' would be unthought of in its dismal depths for ever. But even at that instant my flight was arrested, and I hung in mid airj clinging by my hands, to what I knew not. It was my sword, which I had forgotten that I held. By a miracle it had thrust itself, as I fell between the earth and the rocks, in the side of the shaft, and, jambed fast, it held me up. I cannot, explain how this occurred. I only know that it was so. As the cry for mercy escaped ray lips the mercy came. My sword caught in Ihe interstices of the rock and I was held up, my feet dangling over the abyss, my hands clinging to the hilt of my' good blade. It was as firm as a wedge ; I could feel that in spite of my trembling,yet my position was horrible. • To remain thus, to hold on, was torture unutterable, bub to yield, even for a moment, was death. There was no hope for relief even for hours ; there was no possibility of relief of posture ; there was nothing but strong endurance and courage to carry me through. I waited, r suffered, I prayed. It was a night to me of fire. The winds blew and the snow fell, but the cold touched me not. I had fallen two deeply in the shaftfor that, even if my tortured blood could have • felt it. Morning broke at last, and hope grew with it. At intervals I had called aloud through the night, but now, with scarcely an intermission, 1 raised by voice in cries for help. I did this till weariness stopped me, and I rested in agonised hope of a voice in reply. There was none. No sound reached me. 1 was in my grave alone. I called again, again, again. I husbanded my voice. I drew in my breath and shouted with the strength of despair. There was no answer. The sun travelled upward, and I knew it was high noon, though to me the stars were visible likewise ; yet the midday rays shone somewhat into the shaft and showed me how I hung. The pit here was quite perpen.dicular; it sloped slightly from my feet upward, and I had found rest'for one foot on, the ledge of the rock. 0, the ease to my anguish from this merciful rest ! Tears sprang to my eyes as I thanked God for it. The sun had shown me that to climb outf, of the pit unaided was impossible, so I called, for help : again, and called 'till mjr voice failed me. I ceased to cry, and night fell down again. As Ufa' hours crept on a kind of madness 'seized me; phantoms sprang up trdm the pit and tempted me to plunge ,below';' riorrible'oyes glared at me.' But worst of* all was the sound of water^a purling rill flowing gently in ropery ears, trickling drop t by drop in sweetesfc viiusic^ horribly; distant/ Water I To reach water I would willingly

die j but I knew it was -madness, so I re : sisted the "fiery thirst ; "that- would have me 'my ; hold.and perish.' Water ! ,'Yes, '.there was water at'th'e bottom of the shaft, fathoms 'deep 'below' my feet, but I could only' reach that jtp^die ; J( and. there was the water on the fair T earth!fatKoms above me — water I should never" see again. t I grewdizzy.— -sick — blind. I should have fainted^fcaye-'fallen. — died ; but as I leaned myViead against , a\ rock,' I felt as though a colcj, refreshing^ hand were laid upon it suddenly. ''\ ' ■ * • «: It/was'water. I . It was no madness — it was water, - A\tinystream taickling through the bate -wall. of rock, like dew from heaven. I hejfd forth my parched tongue and caught the drops as, they fell"; and as I drank my strength was 'renewed; and' hope and the . dejsiire ff f or life grew warm within me again. ■ Arid yefe 'p.n this,' the. second night of my imprisonment, I~cared-.not so passionately — I look not so eagerly for succour. My limbs were numbed,* my brain deadened ; life Was ebbing- toward death^ a shadow, at times fell over my eyes/.and if I held still to the hilt' of my sword, if my feet sought still the ledge that -rested them, .'they did it mechanically from habit and not from hope. ' Lthink sometimes J was not in my right mind. I was amohggreen fields and woods; I was gathering' 'flowers ; I was climbing mountains ; - and from these .visions I invariably awoke to darkness — darkness above, t around — darkness" below, hiding the abyss .that hungered greedily for my life. -And no friendly face, no voice, no footfall near: Not even a step, through all these slow, slow hours, If passing peasant through the day had heard th^ lonely cry rising from the depths, he hadset it down to ghost or pixy, and had passed on his frightened way regardless. And now that night was wearing on, and no rescue. I could not live until morning — I knew that. My mind wandered again. My mother waited forme; I must hurry home ; but > I was bound ,by a chain, in outer darkness, and I was going to die. There was no Christian in the lafid to succour me — I was forgotten and forsaken, left, in the pit — and I would unclasp.my hands* and fall and die. No, I -.would call again once more. " Help 1 helpf Mercy! helpl" As my fainting voice died in the dark depths and quivered up to the glimmering sky, I- felt hope die with it, and I gave up all thought of life. ' I turned my eyes towards my grave below,- and murmured with parched lips : ' " Ont of the depths have I cried unto thee, OLofd!" .-. . ■ The little rill that had saved my life hitherto still trickled on, and its silvery murmur as it dropped on the rocks below, was the soul sound that broke the deathly silence around' me. My prayer was over, and I had .not relinquished my hold. I was stronger than I had deemed myself. I would cry out again, " Help ! help ! help 1" I stopped. I listened. A sound was floating on the wind. Coming, going, joining the drip, drip, drip of the rill— then dying, then returning. Listening with my whole being, I recognised the sound. Bells — church bells— chimes ringing in the New Year. "0, God, have mercy on me ! have mercy on me !" Bells ringing in the New Year — bells chiming in the ears of friends, telling of sadness and of hope, — bells clashing in at merry intervals between music and laughter, loving greetings, kisses and joy. Will no one in my father's house take pity on me 1 Am I niissed nowhere ? The bells chime a- feasting and gladness, and I am here hanging between life and death. The jaws of the grave 'are beneath me, my joints are joints are broken", and the bells chime on. NVould it not be a good deed on this New Year's Day to save me? Oh, feasters and revellers, hear me 1 "Help! help-! It is Christmas time Help, for Christ's sake, good people ! " The bells float nearer, and drown the drip of the trickling water, and I cry " Help ! help ! " saying," now, will I' call till I die." A, film grows over rpy eyes, but. my voice is strong and desperate as I shout, " Christmastide! For Christ's sake, help, good Christians ! " A great light -a flash of fire! For a ra.oment I deem ifc deat h ; gazing upward I see, amid a glare of torches, faces— o they were angels to me— eager faces peering downward. And close to me swings n torch, let down into the dii]>* - . • - i; cc r '>t falls on my haggard face— a/great i-hout rends the night sky. '' '-'He is here ! he is safe ! — he -lives 1" I cannot sip'enk. th'i!ij:h ray lips move, and my;heart stands Htiil ;i?- I see one, two, three daring men- swing- themselves over the abyss — miners, used to danger— and in a moment stout arms are'around me and I am borne upward,- carried. gently like a child, placed an instant on my feet, arid then laid tenderly , down on the earth. I am. so weary, and faint ' and worn, that I lie with closed eyes, never striving to say -a word of thanks. "Go not so" near the brink, madam, I entreat ! " I hear a voice cry sharply. Then I open my achinig lidg,\and between me and the shaft kneels a white, figure, between me and the sky .there; bends a- white face, and tears fall down upon my brow fast and warm. It was my-'-betrpthed, Florian. But even, when 'she stole .her little, hand in mme — mine so cramped and^ numbed that' it gave no ";to her tenderness — and even when she stoojseft and "pressed her lips to my cheek, I coilldrnpt breathe'a word to thank her. - ' " : is _ Yet FloYiafr, clear wife}- let me tell thee novf that' frbnV the. depths of my happy heart there rose a'hyrffn of joy, and I understood from that tfipß(i|ptjbhat thoti wert mine, and 1 ow,"e my iife\^thy love. . . . \] 'Then thy "eftfgqb ,|ips^breathed words that feiliUpqn my gojil like manna — words of tendgrnesK and^pity that -roade -the torture of ; !tho?e slow'jbours in the pit fade away, so mighty. di^tb^ reward seem 'for my suffer- i ings. __ ' .-„£ - -'<; ;'■'-■ ' ; * Jrwas -carriectsto-Trevesy, af^d as the men sorem.e_along t^pu' walking by my side, I heard 'them tel|;.tlVe3a)e of my servant's fright when horse, retuxifed h'pnie alone, and how they c£.m'e-to ym^f4kher-for-tidingfroEme: Then they whisperediof the painful search throtigh. the. day'an'd c^ht, the tracking of my horse's

hoofs upon the show, and the story 6* the scared peasant) who all night long hadheard thecry'of tortured ghostsissuingfrotn .the earth. And .the sad, story seized? upon my Florian with deadly 1 fear, arid turning - back upon the black moor she tracked the hoof marks until they stopped upon the brink of the forgotten shaft, the shaft of -the., worked-out mine, well named the Grekfc Wheal Mercy. There I was found and saved by her I had loved so long. And, dearest, as £, slowly . came back to life that New Year's.morning and faintly whispered to you of my pent-up sorrow, you, in your great pity, thinking of my suffering in the shaft, poured-- out all your maiden heart. And your loving words,my Florian, were sweeter to me than ever the , trilling spring had been in the Great' Wheal Mercy. So in a month you were my wife, and now I sit by a happy hearth, and looking down on the happy faces of wife and child,. l thank God for that crowning mercy — thy love, dear - one — which saved me on New Year's Day from a dreadful death in the shaft of the Great Wheal Mercy.