When our hero found himself in a hole, pitch dark and barely large enough to permit of his creeping on hands and knees, he felt a sudden sensation of fear—of undefinable dread—come over him, such as one might be supposed to experience on awaking to the discovery that he had been buried alive. His first impulse was to shout for deliverance, but his manhood returned to him, and he restrained himself.
Groping his way cautiously along the passage or tunnel, which descended1 at first steeply, he came to a part which he could feel was regularly built over with an arch of brickwork or masonry2, and the sound of running water overhead told him that this was a tunnel under the rivulet3. As he advanced the tunnel widened a little, and began to ascend4. After creeping what he judged to be a hundred yards or so, he thought he could see a glimmer5 of light like a faint star in front of him. It was the opening to which Betty had referred. He soon reached it and emerged into the fresh air.
As he raised himself, and drew a long breath of relief, the words of his deliverer seemed to start up before him in letters of fire—
“Use your freedom to escape from death—but much more, to escape from sin.”
“I will, so help me God!” he exclaimed, clasping his hands convulsively and looking upward. In the strength of the new-born resolution thus induced by the Spirit of God, he fell on his knees and tried to pray. Then he rose and sat down to think, strangely forgetful of the urgent need there was for flight.
Meanwhile Gashford and his men proceeded to question Paul Bevan and his daughter. The party included, among others, Fred Westly, Paddy Flinders, and Crossby. Gashford more than suspected the motives6 of the first two in accompanying him, but did not quite see his way to decline their services, even if he had possessed7 the power to do so. He consoled himself, however, with the reflection that he could keep a sharp eye on their movements.
“No, no, Bevan,” he said, when the man brought out a case-bottle of rum and invited him to drink, “we have other work on hand just now. We have traced that young thief Brixton to this hut, and we want to get hold of him.”
“A thief, is he?” returned Bevan, with a look of feigned9 surprise. “Well, now, that is strange news. Tom Brixton don’t look much like a thief, do he?” (appealing to the by-standers). “There must be some mistake, surely.”
“There’s no mistake,” said Gashford, with an oath. “He stole a bag o’ gold from my tent. To be sure he dropped it in his flight so I’ve got it back again, but that don’t affect his guilt10.”
“But surely, Mister Gashford,” said Bevan slowly, for, having been hurriedly told in a whisper by Betty what she had done for Tom, he was anxious to give his friend as much time as possible to escape, “surely as you’ve come by no loss, ye can afford to let the poor young feller off this time.”
“No, we can’t,” shouted Gashford, fiercely. “These mean pilferers have become a perfect pest at the diggin’s, an’ we intend to stop their little game, we do, by stoppin’ their windpipes when we catch them. Come, don’t shilly-shally any longer, Paul Bevan. He’s here, and no mistake, so you’d better hand him over. Besides, you owe us something, you know, for coming to your help agin the redskins in the nick of time.”
“Well, as to that I am much obliged, though, after all, it wasn’t to help me you came.”
“No matter,” exclaimed the other impatiently, “you know he is here, an’ you’re bound to give him up.”
“But I don’t know that he’s here, an’ I can’t give him up, cause why? he’s escaped.”
“Escaped! impossible, there is only one bridge to this mound11, and he has not crossed that since we arrived, I’ll be bound. There’s a sentry12 on it now.”
“But an active young feller can jump, you know.”
“No, he couldn’t jump over the creek13, unless he was a human flea14 or a Rocky Mountain goat. Come, since you won’t show us where he is, we’ll take the liberty of sarchin’ your premises15. But stay, your daughter’s got the name o’ bein’ a religious gal16. If there’s any truth in that she’d be above tellin’ a lie. Come now, Betty, tell us, like a good gal, is Tom Brixton here?”
“No, he is not here,” replied the girl.
“Where is he, then?”
“I do not know.”
“That’s false, you do know. But come, lads, we’ll sarch, and here’s a cellar to begin with.”
He laid hold of the iron ring of the trap-door, opened it, and seizing a light descended, followed by Bevan, Crossby, Flinders, and one or two others. Tossing the lumber17 about he finally rolled aside the barrels ranged beside the wall, until the entrance to the subterranean18 way was discovered.
“Ho! ho!” he cried, lowering the light and gazing into it. “Here’s something, anyhow.”
After peering into the dark hole for some time he felt with his hand as far as his arm could reach.
“Mind he don’t bite!” suggested Paddy Flinders, in a tone that drew a laugh from the by-standers.
“Hand me that stick, Paddy,” said Gashford, “and keep your jokes to a more convenient season.”
“Ah! then ’tis always a convanient season wid me, sor,” replied Paddy, with a wink19 at his companions as he handed the stick.
“Does this hole go far in?” he asked, after a fruitless poking20 about with the stick.
“Ay, a long way. More’n a hundred yards,” returned Bevan.
“Well, I’ll have a look at it.”
Saying which Gashford pushed the light as far in as he could reach, and then, taking a bowie-knife between his teeth, attempted to follow.
We say attempted, because he was successful only in a partial degree. It must be remembered that Gashford was an unusually large man, and that Tom Brixton had been obliged to use a little force in order to gain an entrance. When, therefore, the huge bully21 had thrust himself in about as far as his waist he stuck hard and fast, so that he could neither advance nor retreat! He struggled violently, and a muffled22 sound of shouting was heard inside the hole, but no one could make out what was said.
“Och! the poor cratur,” exclaimed Paddy Flinders, with a look of overdone23 commiseration24, “what’ll we do for ’im at all at all?”
“Let’s try to pull him out,” suggested Crossby.
They tried and failed, although as many as could manage it laid hold of him.
“Sure he minds me of a stiff cork25 in a bottle,” said Flinders, wiping the perspiration26 from his forehead, “an’ what a most awful crack he’ll make whin he does come out! Let’s give another heave, boys.”
They gave another heave, but only caused the muffled shouting inside to increase. “Och! the poor cratur’s stritchin’ out like a injin-rubber man; sure he’s a fut longer than he used to be—him that was a sight too long already,” said Flinders.
“Let’s try to shove him through,” suggested the baffled Crossby.
Failure again followed their united efforts—except as regards the muffled shouting within, which increased in vigour27 and was accompanied by no small amount of kicking by what of Gashford remained in the cellar.
“I’m afeared his legs’ll come off altogether if we try to pull harder than we’ve done,” said Crossby, contemplating28 the huge and helpless limbs of the victim with a perplexed29 air.
“What a chance, boys,” suddenly exclaimed Flinders, “to pay off old scores with a tree-mendous wallopin’! We could do it aisy in five or six minutes, an’ then lave ’im to think over it for the rest of his life.”
As no one approved of Paddy’s proposal, it was finally resolved to dig the big man out and a pick and shovel30 were procured31 for the purpose.
Contrary to all expectations, Gashford was calm, almost subdued33, when his friends at last set him free. Instead of storming and abusing every one, he said quietly but quickly, “Let us search the bush now. He can’t be far off yet, and there’s moonlight enough.”
Leading the way, he sprang up the cellar stair, out at the hut-door, and across the bridge, followed closely by his party.
“Hooroo!” yelled Paddy Flinders, as if in the irrepressible ardour of the chase, but in reality to give Brixton intimation of the pursuit, if he should chance to be within earshot.
The well-meant signal did indeed take effect, but it came too late. It found Tom still seated in absorbed meditation34. Rudely awakened35 to the consciousness of his danger and his stupidity, he leaped up and ran along the path that Betty had described to him. At the same moment it chanced that Crossby came upon the same path at its river-side extremity36, and in a few moments each ran violently into the other’s arms, and both rolled upon the ground.
The embrace that Crossby gave the youth would have been creditable even to a black bear, but Tom was a match for him in his then condition of savage37 despair. He rolled the rough digger over on his back, half strangled him, and bumped his shaggy head against the conveniently-situated root of a tree. But Crossby held on with the tenacity38 of sticking-plaster, shouting wildly all the time, and before either could subdue32 the other, Gashford and his men coming up stopped the combat.
It were vain attempting to describe the conflict of Brixton’s feelings as they once more bound his arms securely behind him and led him back to Paul Bevan’s hut. The thought of death while fighting with man or beast had never given him much concern, but to be done to death by the rope as a petty thief was dreadful to contemplate39, while to appear before the girl he loved, humiliated40 and bound, was in itself a sort of preliminary death. Afterwards, when confined securely in the cellar and left to himself for the night, with a few pine branches as a bed, the thought of home and mother came to him with overwhelming power, and finally mingled41 with his dreams. But those dreams, however pleasant they might be at first and in some respects, invariably ended with the branch of a tree and a rope with a noose42 dangling43 at the end thereof, and he awoke again and again with a choking sensation, under the impression that the noose was already tightening44 on his throat.
The agony endured that night while alone in the dark cellar was terrible, for Tom knew the temper of the diggers too well to doubt his fate. Still hope, blessed hope, did not utterly45 desert him. More than once he struggled to his knees and cried to God for mercy in the Saviour’s name.
By daybreak next morning he was awakened out of the first dreamless sleep that he had enjoyed, and bid get up. A slight breakfast of bread and water was handed to him, which he ate by the light of a homemade candle stuck in the neck of a quart bottle. Soon afterwards Crossby descended, and bade him ascend the wooden stair or ladder. He did so, and found the party of miners assembled under arms, and ready for the road.
“I’m sorry I can’t help ’ee,” said Paul Bevan, drawing the unhappy youth aside, and speaking in a low voice. “I would if I could, for I owe my life to you, but they won’t listen to reason. I sent Betty out o’ the way, lad, a-purpose. Thought it better she shouldn’t see you, but—”
“Come, come, old man, time’s up,” interrupted Gashford, roughly; “we must be off. Now, march, my young slippery-heels. I needn’t tell you not to try to bolt again. You’ll find it difficult to do that.”
As they moved off and began their march through the forest on foot, Tom Brixton felt that escape was indeed out of the question, for, while three men marched in front of him, four marched on either side, each with rifle on shoulder, and the rest of the band brought up the rear. But even if his chances had not been so hopeless, he would not have made any further effort to save himself, for he had given himself thoroughly46 up to despair. In the midst of this a slight sense of relief, mingled with the bitterness of disappointment, when he found that Betty had been sent out of the way, and that he would see her no more, for he could not bear the thought of her seeing him thus led away.
“May I speak with the prisoner for a few minutes?” said Fred Westly to Gashford, as they plodded47 through the woods. “He has been my comrade for several years, and I promised his poor mother never to forsake48 him. May I, Gashford?”
“No,” was the sharp reply, and then, as if relenting, “Well, yes, you may; but be brief, and no underhand dealing49, mind, for if you attempt to help him you shall be a dead man the next moment, as sure as I’m a living one. An’ you needn’t be too soft, Westly,” he added, with a cynical50 smile. “Your chum has— Well, it’s no business o’ mine. You can go to him.”
Poor Tom Brixton started as his old friend went up to him, and then hung his head.
“Dear Tom,” said Fred, in a low voice, “don’t give way to despair. With God all things are possible, and even if your life is to be forfeited51, it is not too late to save the soul, for Jesus is able and willing to save to the uttermost. But I want to comfort you with the assurance that I will spare no effort to save you. Many of the diggers are not very anxious that you should bear the extreme punishment of the law, and I think Gashford may be bought over. If so, I need not tell you that my little private store hidden away under the pine-tree—”
“There is no such store, Fred,” interrupted Tom, with a haggard look of shame.
“What do you mean, Tom?”
“I mean that I gambled it all away unknown to you. Oh! Fred, you do not—you cannot know what a fearful temptation gambling52 is when given way to, especially when backed by drink. No, it’s of no use your trying to comfort me. I do believe, now, that I deserve to die.”
“Whatever you deserve, Tom, it is my business to save you, if I can—both body and soul; and what you now tell me does not alter my intentions or my hopes. By the way, does Gashford know about this?”
“Yes, he knows that I have taken your money.”
“And that’s the reason,” said Gashford himself, coming up at the moment, “that I advised you not to be too soft on your chum, for he’s a bad lot altogether.”
“Is the man who knows of a crime, and connives53 at it, and does not reveal it, a much better ‘lot’?” demanded Fred, with some indignation.
“Perhaps not,” replied Gashford, with a short laugh; “but as I never set up for a good lot, you see, there’s no need to discuss the subject. Now, fall to the rear, my young blade. Remember that I’m in command of this party, and you know, or ought to know, that I suffer no insolence54 in those under me.”
Poor Fred fell back at once, bitterly regretting that he had spoken out, and thus injured to some extent his influence with the only man who had the power to aid his condemned55 friend.
It was near sunset when they reached Pine Tree Diggings. Tom Brixton was thrust into a strong blockhouse, used chiefly as a powder magazine, but sometimes as a prison, the key of which was kept on that occasion in Gashford’s pocket, while a trusty sentinel paced before the door.
That night Fred Westly sat in his tent, the personification of despair. True, he had not failed all along to lay his friend’s case before God, and, up to this point, strong hope had sustained him; but now, the only means by which he had trusted to accomplish his end were gone. The hidden hoard56, on which he had counted too much, had been taken and lost by the very man he wished to save, and the weakness of his own faith was revealed by the disappearance57 of the gold—for he had almost forgotten that the Almighty58 can provide means at any time and in all circumstances.
Fred would not allow himself for a moment to think that Tom had stolen his gold. He only took it for a time, with the full intention of refunding59 it when better times should come. On this point Fred’s style of reasoning was in exact accord with that of his unhappy friend. Tom never for a moment regarded the misappropriation of the gold as a theft. Oh no! it was merely an appropriated loan—a temporary accommodation. It would be interesting, perhaps appalling60, to know how many thousands of criminal careers have been begun in this way!
“Now, Mister Westly,” said Flinders, entering the tent in haste, “what’s to be done? It’s quite clear that Mister Tom’s not to be hanged, for there’s two or three of us’ll commit murder before that happens; but I’ve bin61 soundin’ the boys, an’ I’m afeared there’s a lot o’ the worst wans62 that’ll be glad to see him scragged, an’ there’s a lot as won’t risk their own necks to save him, an’ what betune the wan8 an’ the other, them that’ll fight for him are a small minority—so, again I say, what’s to be done?”
Patrick Flinders’s usually jovial63 face had by that time become almost as long and lugubrious64 as that of Westly.
“I don’t know,” returned Fred, shaking his head.
“My one plan, on which I had been founding much hope, is upset. Listen. It was this. I have been saving a good deal of my gold for a long time past and hiding it away secretly, so as to have something to fall back upon when poor Tom had gambled away all his means. This hoard of mine amounted, I should think, to something like five hundred pounds. I meant to have offered it to Gashford for the key of the prison, and for his silence, while we enabled Tom once more to escape. But this money has, without my knowledge, been taken away and—”
“Stolen, you mean!” exclaimed Flinders, in surprise.
“No, not stolen—taken! I can’t explain just now. It’s enough to know that it is gone, and that my plan is thus overturned.”
“D’ee think Gashford would let him out for that?” asked the Irishman, anxiously.
“I think so; but, after all, I’m almost glad that the money’s gone, for I can’t help feeling that this way of enticing65 Gashford to do a thing, as it were slily, is underhand. It is a kind of bribery66.”
“Faix, then, it’s not c’ruption anyhow, for the baste67 is as c’rupt as he can be already. An’, sure, wouldn’t it just be bribin’ a blackguard not to commit murther?”
“I don’t know, Pat. It is a horrible position to be placed in. Poor, poor Tom!”
“Have ye had supper?” asked Flinders, quickly.
“No—I cannot eat.”
“Cook it then, an’ don’t be selfish. Other people can ait, though ye can’t. It’ll kape yer mind employed—an I’ll want somethin’ to cheer me up whin I come back.”
Pat Flinders left the tent abruptly68, and poor Fred went about the preparation of supper in a half mechanical way, wondering what his comrade meant by his strange conduct.
Pat’s meaning was soon made plain, that night, to a dozen or so of his friends, whom he visited personally and induced to accompany him to a sequestered69 dell in an out-of-the-way thicket70 where the moonbeams struggled through the branches and drew a lovely pale-blue pattern on the green-sward.
“My frinds,” he said, in a low, mysterious voice, “I know that ivery mother’s son of ye is ready to fight for poor Tom Brixton to-morrow, if the wust comes to the wust. Now, it has occurred to my chum Westly an’ me, that it would be better, safer, and surer to buy him up, than to fight for him, an’ as I know some o’ you fellers has dug up more goold than you knows well what to do wid, an’ you’ve all got liberal hearts—lastewise ye should have, if ye haven’t—I propose, an’ second the resolootion, that we make up some five hundred pounds betune us, an’ presint it to Bully Gashford as a mark of our estaim—if he’ll on’y give us up the kay o’ the prison, put Patrick Flinders, Esquire, sintry over it, an’ then go to slape till breakfast-time tomorry mornin’.”
This plan was at once agreed to, for five hundred pounds was not a large sum to be made up by men who—some of them at least—had nearly made “their pile”—by which they meant their fortune, while the liberality of heart with which they had been credited was not wanting. Having settled a few details, this singular meeting broke up, and Patrick Flinders—acting as the secretary, treasurer71, and executive committee—went off, with a bag of golden nuggets and unbounded self-confidence, to transact72 the business.
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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feigned
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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flea
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| n.跳蚤 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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subterranean
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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overdone
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| v.做得过分( overdo的过去分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
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commiseration
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cork
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perspiration
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vigour
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contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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perplexed
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shovel
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procured
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subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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subdued
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meditation
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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extremity
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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connives
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| v.密谋 ( connive的第三人称单数 )；搞阴谋；默许；纵容 | |
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54
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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hoard
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| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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refunding
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| n.借新债还旧债；再融资；债务延展；发行新债券取代旧债券v.归还，退还( refund的现在分词 ) | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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wans
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| vt.& vi.（使）变苍白，（使）呈病态（wan的第三人称单数形式） | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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enticing
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| adj.迷人的；诱人的 | |
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bribery
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| n.贿络行为，行贿，受贿 | |
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baste
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| v.殴打，公开责骂 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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treasurer
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| n.司库，财务主管 | |
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transact
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| v.处理；做交易；谈判 | |
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