Son Philip | Page 3

firmly; "would it not be a
good and a useful life, to devote one's self to the better management of
our mines--to studying nature's forces, and the best way of fighting
them for the saving of life?"
"But, my boy, my boy, think of the risks!"
"I didn't spend hundreds on your education to have you take to a pit
life," growled Mr Hexton.
"Oh, my boy, it is such a dangerous life. The hours of misery we pass
no one knows," cried Mrs Hexton, wringing her hands.
"Mother," said the young man, "it is to endeavour to save mothers and
wives and children from suffering all these pains; for I would strive to
make our mines so safe that the men could win the coal almost without
risk. And as for education, father," he said proudly, as he turned to the
stern, grey, disappointed man, "is it not by knowledge that we are able
to battle with ignorance and prejudice? Don't regret what you have
given me, father."
"But it seems all thrown away if you are going to be nothing better than
overseer of a mine."
"Oh, no," said the young man smiling, "it will give me the means for
better understanding the task I have in hand; and if, mother, I can only
save four or five families from the terrible sufferings we know of, I
shall not have worked all in vain."
"No, my boy, no," said Mrs Hexton mournfully.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "knowing what I have of pit life, it has made me
wretched scores of times to read some terrible account of the long roll
of unfortunates burned, suffocated, or entombed, to die in agonies of
starvation and dread. Don't be disappointed, father, but let me make my
effort, and work with you."
The elder seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then held out his hand.
"No, Phil," he said, "I won't stand in your way. I'm disappointed
because I wanted you to be something better, but--"
"Better, father! Could you find a better man than Davy, whom we bless
for his lamp?"
"Which the reckless donkeys will open in a dangerous gallery," cried
Mr Hexton angrily. "No, my boy; Humphry Davy was a man indeed,
and if you turned out half as good, or a quarter, I should be proud of
you."
"That I shall never be, father," said the young man; "but I mean to try."
CHAPTER TWO.
DOWN IN THE PIT.
"Don't tell me, lad; I hevn't worked in t'pit twenty year for nowt. Think
I don't know? Him and his newfangled ways are wuth that!"
The great swarthy pitman snapped his fingers as he stood in the centre
of a group waiting for the return of the cage from the bowels of the
earth.
All about them was dark and weird-looking, with the lights casting
strange shadows where the machinery stood around. There was a
hissing noise and a ruddy light from the engine-house, with the panting
clank of machinery; pistons worked up, and wheels spun round; while
where the group of miners stood there was a square, black-looking pit,
surrounded by a massive frame-work, supporting one big wheel, from

which depended a thin-looking wire-rope, which was rapidly running
down.
A few minutes after, and there was the ringing of a bell, the clink-clank
of machinery; the wheel spun round in the other direction, and in due
time the cage, as it was called, came to the surface; the group of men
stepped in, and the signal for descent was about to be given, when one
of the men exclaimed:
"Here he cooms!"
Philip Hexton strode up the next moment, nodded shortly to the men,
stepped into the crowded cage, and giving the signal, the stout
iron-framed contrivance began rapidly to descend, and the fresh comer,
who was still very new at these descents, felt that strange sensation as
the cage rushed down, just as if the whole of the internal organs had
burst out laughing at the fun they were going to have of trying to
frighten their owner's head.
It is not a pleasant sensation, that of a descent into a coal-pit. There is
the rushing noise of the cage, the whirring of wheels, the constant
dripping and plashing sound of falling water, the thudding of the pump,
the stifling feeling of dank heat, the stuffy mist, and joined to all the
knowledge that if that slender thread of wire-rope should happen to
break, the cage would fall perhaps hundreds of feet, and its occupants
be killed. Then, he who descends knows that he is going into a series of
subterranean caves where the gas escapes, that the slightest contact
with a light will explode, burning, slaying, and destroying, and leaving
behind the choke-damp, which is even more deadly