the underground city.txt

这是我自己写的wince程序

the wooden sleepers which used to support the rails.



They had not gone more than fifty paces, when a huge stone

fell at the feet of James Starr.  "Take care, Mr. Starr!"

cried Harry, seizing the engineer by the arm.



"A stone, Harry!  Ah! these old vaultings are no longer quite secure,

of course, and--"



"Mr. Starr," said Harry Ford, "it seems to me that stone was thrown,

thrown as by the hand of man!"



"Thrown!" exclaimed James Starr.  "What do you mean, lad?"



"Nothing, nothing, Mr. Starr," replied Harry evasively, his anxious

gaze endeavoring to pierce the darkness.  "Let us go on.

Take my arm, sir, and don't be afraid of making a false step."



"Here I am, Harry."  And they both advanced, whilst Harry looked

on every side, throwing the light of his lamp into all the corners

of the gallery.



"Shall we soon be there?" asked the engineer.



"In ten minutes at most."



"Good."



"But," muttered Harry, "that was a most singular thing.

It is the first time such an accident has happened to me.



That stone falling just at the moment we were passing."



"Harry, it was a mere chance."



"Chance," replied the young man, shaking his head.  "Yes, chance."

He stopped and listened.



"What is the matter, Harry?" asked the engineer.



"I thought I heard someone walking behind us," replied the

young miner, listening more attentively.  Then he added,

"No, I must have been mistaken.  Lean harder on my arm,

Mr. Starr.  Use me like a staff."



"A good solid staff, Harry," answered James Starr.  "I could not wish

for a better than a fine fellow like you."



They continued in silence along the dark nave.  Harry was

evidently preoccupied, and frequently turned, trying to catch,

either some distant noise, or remote glimmer of light.



But behind and before, all was silence and darkness.





CHAPTER IV THE FORD FAMILY





TEN minutes afterwards, James Starr and Harry issued from

the principal gallery.  They were now standing in a glade,

if we may use this word to designate a vast and dark excavation.

The place, however, was not entirely deprived of daylight.

A few rays straggled in through the opening of a deserted shaft.

It was by means of this pipe that ventilation was established

in the Dochart pit.  Owing to its lesser density, the warm

air was drawn towards the Yarrow shaft.  Both air and light,

therefore, penetrated in some measure into the glade.



Here Simon Ford had lived with his family ten years,

in a subterranean dwelling, hollowed out in the schistous mass,

where formerly stood the powerful engines which worked

the mechanical traction of the Dochart pit.



Such was the habitation, "his cottage," as he called it, in which resided

the old overman.  As he had some means saved during a long life of toil,

Ford could have afforded to live in the light of day, among trees,

or in any town of the kingdom he chose, but he and his wife and son

preferred remaining in the mine, where they were happy together,

having the same opinions, ideas, and tastes.  Yes, they



were quite fond of their cottage, buried fifteen hundred feet

below Scottish soil.  Among other advantages, there was no

fear that tax gatherers, or rent collectors would ever come

to trouble its inhabitants.



At this period, Simon Ford, the former overman of the Dochart pit,

bore the weight of sixty-five years well.  Tall, robust,

well-built, he would have been regarded as one of the most

conspicuous men in the district which supplies so many fine

fellows to the Highland regiments.



Simon Ford was descended from an old mining family, and his

ancestors had worked the very first carboniferous seams opened

in Scotland.  Without discussing whether or not the Greeks

and Romans made use of coal, whether the Chinese worked coal

mines before the Christian era, whether the French word for coal

(HOUILLE) is really derived from the farrier Houillos, who lived

in Belgium in the twelfth century, we may affirm that the beds

in Great Britain were the first ever regularly worked.

So early as the eleventh century, William the Conqueror divided

the produce of the Newcastle bed among his companions-in-arms.

At the end of the thirteenth century, a license for the mining

of "sea coal" was granted by Henry III.  Lastly, towards the end

of the same century, mention is made of the Scotch and Welsh beds.



It was about this time that Simon Ford's ancestors penetrated

into the bowels of Caledonian earth, and lived there ever after,

from father to son.  They were but plain miners.  They labored

like convicts at the work of extracting the precious combustible.

It is even believed that the coal miners, like the salt-makers

of that period, were actual slaves.



However that might have been, Simon Ford was proud

of belonging to this ancient family of Scotch miners.

He had worked diligently in the same place where his ancestors

had wielded the pick, the crowbar, and the mattock.

At thirty he was overman of the Dochart pit, the most important

in the Aberfoyle colliery.  He was devoted to his trade.

During long years he zealously performed his duty.

His only grief had been to perceive the bed becoming impoverished,

and to see the hour approaching when the seam would be exhausted.



It was then he devoted himself to the search for new veins

in all the Aberfoyle pits, which communicated underground

one with another.  He had had the good luck to

discover several during the last period of the working.

His miner's instinct assisted him marvelously, and the engineer,

James Starr, appreciated him highly.  It might be said that

he divined the course of seams in the depths of the coal mine

as a hydroscope reveals springs in the bowels of the earth.

He was par excellence the type of a miner whose whole

existence is indissolubly connected with that of his mine.

He had lived there from his birth, and now that the works

were abandoned he wished to live there still.  His son Harry

foraged for the subterranean housekeeping; as for himself,

during those ten years he had not been ten times above ground.



"Go up there!  What is the good?" he would say, and refused

to leave his black domain.  The place was remarkably healthy,

subject to an equable temperature; the old overman endured

neither the heat of summer nor the cold of winter.

His family enjoyed good health; what more could he desire?



But at heart he felt depressed.  He missed the former

animation, movement, and life in the well-worked pit.

He was, however, supported by one fixed idea.  "No, no! the mine

is not exhausted!" he repeated.



And that man would have given serious offense who could have ventured

to express before Simon Ford any doubt that old Aberfoyle would

one day revive!  He had never given up the hope of discovering

some new bed which would restore the mine to its past splendor.

Yes, he would willingly, had it been necessary, have resumed

the miner's pick, and with his still stout arms vigorously attacked

the rock.  He went through the dark galleries, sometimes alone,

sometimes with his son, examining, searching for signs of coal,

only to return each day, wearied, but not in despair, to the cottage.



Madge, Simon's faithful companion, his "gude-wife," to use

the Scotch term, was a tall, strong, comely woman.  Madge had no

wish to leave the Dochart pit any more than had her husband.

She shared all his hopes and regrets.  She encouraged him,

she urged him on, and talked to him in a way which cheered the heart

of the old overman.  "Aberfoyle is only asleep," she would say.

"You are right about that, Simon.  This is but a rest,

it is not death!"





Madge, as well as the others, was perfectly satisfied to live

independent of the outer world, and was the center of the happiness

enjoyed by the little family in their dark cottage.



The engineer was eagerly expected.  Simon Ford was standing at his door,

and as soon as Harry's lamp announced the arrival of his former viewer

he advanced to meet him.





"Welcome, Mr. Starr!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing under

the roof of schist.  "Welcome to the old overman's cottage!

Though it is buried fifteen hundred feet under the earth,

our house is not the less hospitable."



"And how are you, good Simon?" asked James Starr, grasping the hand

which his host held out to him.



"Very well, Mr. Starr.  How could I be otherwise here,

sheltered from the inclemencies of the weather?

Your ladies who go to Newhaven or Portobello in the summer time

would do much better to pass a few months in the coal mine

of Aberfoyle!  They would run no risk here of catching a heavy cold,

as they do in the damp streets of the old capital."



"I'm not the man to contradict you, Simon," answered James Starr,

glad to find the old man just as he used to be.  "Indeed, I wonder why

I do not change my home in the Canongate for a cottage near you."



"And why not, Mr. Starr?  I know one of your old miners who would

be truly pleased to have only a partition wall between you and him."



"And how is Madge?" asked the engineer.



"The goodwife is in better health than I am, if that's possible,"

replied Ford, "and it will be a pleasure to her to see you at her table.

I think she will surpass herself to do you honor."



"We shall see that, Simon, we shall see that!" said the engineer,

to whom the announcement of a good breakfast could not be indifferent,

after his long walk.



"Are you hungry, Mr. Starr?"



"Ravenously hungry.  My journey has given me an appetite.

I came through horrible weather."



"Ah, it is raining up there," responded Simon Ford.



"Yes, Simon, and the waters of the Forth are as rough as the sea."





"Well, Mr. Starr, here it never rains.  But I needn't describe

to you all the advantages, which you know as well as myself.

Here we are at the cottage.  That is the chief thing, and I

again say you are welcome, sir."



Simon Ford, followed by Harry, ushered their guest into the dwelling.

James Starr found himself in a large room lighted by numerous lamps,

one hanging from the colored beams of the roof.



"The soup is ready, wife," said Ford, "and it mustn't be kept waiting

any more than Mr. Starr.  He is as hungry as a miner, and he shall

see that our boy doesn't let us want for anything in the cottage!

By-the-bye, Harry," added the old overman, turning to his son,

"Jack Ryan came here to see you."



"I know, father.  We met him in the Yarrow shaft."



"He's an honest and a merry fellow," said Ford; "but he seems to be quite

happy above ground.  He hasn't the true miner's blood in his veins.

Sit down, Mr. Starr, and have a good dinner, for we may not

sup till late."



As the engineer and his hosts were taking their places:



"One moment, Simon," said James Starr.  "Do you want me to eat

with a good appetite?"



"It will be doing us all possible honor, Mr. Starr," answered Ford.



"Well, in order to eat heartily, I must not be at all anxious.

Now I have two questions to put to you."



"Go on, sir."



"Your letter told me of a communication which was to be of

an interesting nature."



"It is very interesting indeed."



"To you?"



"To you and to me, Mr. Starr.  But I do not want to tell

it you until after dinner, and on the very spot itself.

Without that you would not believe me."



"Simon," resumed the engineer, "look me straight in the face.

An interesting communication?  Yes.  Good!  I will not ask more,"

he added, as if he had read the reply in the old overman's eyes.



"And the second question?" asked the latter.



"Do you know, Simon, who the person is who can have written this?"

answered the engineer, handing him the anonymous letter.





Ford took the letter and read it attentively.  Then giving it to his son,

"Do you know the writing?" he asked.



"No, father," replied Harry.



"And had this letter the Aberfoyle postmark?" inquired Simon Ford.



"Yes, like yours," replied James Starr.