Blood in the Dust Page 17

  Five shovelfuls of dirt filled the bucket and he yelled again. ‘Pull away, lad.’ Paddy gave two hand claps and the bucket rose towards the square of sky sixty feet above him. Frank watched it go, standing to one side to avoid being hit by any dirt that fell out of the brimming bucket. It developed a swing as it ascended and bumped the side of the shaft twice before Paddy grabbed it and pulled it out of Frank’s sight.

  He spent a few moments scraping the rest of the wash-dirt into a pile, then three handclaps warned him the bucket was on its way back down. He filled the bucket with the remaining dirt and waited until it was on its way to the surface again, then attacked the ground at his feet with the pick. The quartz-rich gravel was hard-packed and the point of the pick hardly penetrated more than an inch at each strike.

  Something hit Frank’s back and he glanced up to see the bucket had developed that swing again and had struck the shoring, either dislodging a stone from between the boards or losing part of its load. He pressed himself against the far side of the shaft and waited until Paddy retrieved the bucket before returning to digging.

  Four more buckets of dirt made the ascent and then Paddy gave four handclaps to signal he was taking the loaded barrow down to the creek where their washing cradle sat ready to sluice the dirt and separate out any gold it contained.

  ‘Right you are, lad,’ Frank called up at Paddy’s silhouette. The boy disappeared from sight and Frank turned his attention back to digging. Over the past weeks he had developed a technique of creating a small hole about a foot square and then using the pick to lever out the sides of this hole, expanding it until it covered the entire floor of the shaft and became the new bottom, a foot deeper than where he had started, stockpiling the wash-dirt in one corner until the bucket came back down to him.

  As he levered at the sides of the hole, a large lump of quartz came free. The rock was striated with bands of colour and Frank felt his pulse quicken. He snatched it up and held it to the lantern, rubbing at it with his thumbs to scrub away the dirt. The lines glittered in the feeble glow, and Frank scrubbed harder, spitting on the rock to try and get enough moisture to wash it clean. The narrow seam glittered more brightly in the lantern light and he twisted the rock to examine it.

  The striations were angular and looked like tiny cubes encased in quartz. The flat edges had an almost mirror-like shine to them and Frank felt his excitement ebb. He had seen enough iron pyrite over the past weeks to know that was what he held in his hand.

  ‘Fool’s gold!’ He flicked the rock away in disgust, took up the pick and went back to digging.

  He worked methodically, alternating between pick and shovel until three claps from overhead told him that Paddy had returned from the creek and the bucket was on its way back down. He waited until it settled on the bottom then filled it from the pile of dirt he had dug away. Filling the bucket was easier than digging and, while the bucket was in transit, Frank used this time to have a rest of sorts. He piled the last of the dirt into the bucket and discovered the lump of quartz containing the fool’s gold. He placed the rock on top of the pile.

  ‘Haul away, lad.’

  The bucket rose out of the cylinder of lantern light.

  Frank took up the pick and adjusted his hands on the handle. He raised the pick in a backswing, but a loud bump from above warned him that the bucket had struck the side of the shaft. He looked up to see a small, black dot against the sky, growing rapidly in size. With only a fraction of a second to spare, Frank stepped aside and the quartz rock from the bucket thudded into the dirt at his feet.

  ‘Bloody hell! That was close.’

  Frank kicked the rock into a corner, but there were more bumping noises from above. He looked up to see the bucket crash against the side of the shaft and catch its rim under the edge of one of the boards forming the shoring. The rope creaked as Paddy added more tension at the windlass. The bucket tilted to one side and emptied a little of its contents into the shaft, forcing Frank to stand back and shield his eyes. Something let out a snapping noise from above him and he risked looking up, holding his hand in front of his eyes and peering through parted fingers.

  The bucket was now free and continued its ascent, but the board it had caught on had pulled partly loose. A trickle of gravel ran from the gap and rattled down the mineshaft. Frank put a hand to the ladder, ready to climb from the shaft, but the trickle slowed until only one or two stones landed at his feet. He stood motionless, watching the loose board, but no more dirt poured through the gap. He lowered his gaze and studied the bottom of the shaft, judging that he had reached a point ten feet below the lowest shoring.

  ‘I’ll square off the bottom of the hole,’ he said aloud to himself, his voice sounding hollow in the bottom of the mine. ‘Then we’ll need to do some more shoring. And fix that loose bit halfway up.’

  Four handclaps echoed down from above, signalling that the last bucketful of dirt had filled the barrow.

  ‘Take it down to the creek, lad. I’ll do a little bit of squaring off down here, then we’d better get on with the shoring before we dig any deeper.’

  Frank heard two handclaps of acknowledgement and then took up the pick. He only had a small amount of digging left to finish the level he was working on. The ground here was a little easier, and he was able to break out large chunks, using the shovel to scrape them to the side.

  He became aware of a sound, something like hailstones hitting a slate roof. Looking up, he could see that gravel was pouring through the gap in the shoring and he paused his work, waiting for it to stop as it had before, but the gravel continued to pour through, coming faster and faster. Frank stood and lifted the lantern, holding it as high as he could to better illuminate the gap in the shoring.

  His heart raced as he realised a whole ten-foot section of the shoring now hung loose, like an open gate. Dirt and rocks came through the gap and rattled down the shaft, bouncing off the rungs of the ladder. Even as he watched, the dirt came faster and he dropped the lantern and raced to the ladder. He got one hand to the rung when there was a crack like a gunshot and the whole section of loose shoring broke free and plummeted towards him. Frank jumped back, his movements hampered by the growing pile of dirt around his feet. The section of shoring, dropping like a guillotine blade, hit the ladder and twisted at the last moment, catching Frank across the chest and knocking him on his backside against the far wall of the shaft. It landed across his legs and he tried to push it off and get to the ladder, but gravel now thundered down into the shaft like a waterfall. He only managed to shift the heavy boards an inch or two before the gravel piled up over his legs, pressing against the shoring and making the task impossible.

  The thundering sound continued and the hole went dark as the gravel slide buried the lantern. Through the gaps between the boards he could see the square of sky, sixty feet above him. He managed to squeeze his right arm through the gap at the side and grasped for the light, as if he could reach its safety simply by pulling it towards him. He tried to yell, to scream for help. Paddy was at the creek, but maybe some miners at a neighbouring claim would hear him and come to help. He drew a breath, but the dust was thick and sent him into a spasm of coughing. The weight on his legs increased and he could feel the boards pressing against him as dirt built up on the far side of the piece of shoring. Far above, the square of sky vanished.

  Annie picked her way carefully down the gully holding a steaming billy of tea in one hand and two tin pannikins in the other. In her apron pocket she carried two thick slices of damper, hot from the camp oven and layered with a thick coating of plum jam.

  Toby and Betty had not yet returned with Moonlight from their trip to Blacky Pete’s. Normally, she would send her sister down to the creek to fetch Paddy if he wasn’t at the mine, but this morning her father would just have to yell for him from the top of the mullock heap.

  Rounding the final twist in the narrow path, she discovered the claim was deserted. The bucket sat at the side of the hole, a loop of slack rope co
nnecting it to the windlass, a shovel lying on the ground beside it. Paddy was nowhere in sight and she guessed he was down at the creek, putting a barrowload of wash-dirt through the cradle. She placed the billy and pannikins on the ground and then stepped carefully to the edge of the shaft.

  ‘Papa? I’ve brought morning tea.’

  There was no answer, so she leaned over the pit.

  ‘Papa?’

  The shaft was filled with a smoky haze and the bottom was barely visible. It was empty except for a few boards that seemed to be poking out of the dirt. She gathered her skirts in her hands and climbed the mullock heap, her feet slipping on loose gravel. From the top, Annie could see all the way down to the creek, about two hundred yards away. Paddy was on the bank, working the handle of the cradle as he sluiced the wash-dirt, but her father was nowhere in sight. She did a slow pirouette on the summit, looking for him among the other miners on surrounding claims, maybe sharing a smoke. When she didn’t find him, she slipped carefully down the side of the mullock heap and walked back to the mineshaft.

  The haze had cleared somewhat, and the sun was now high enough in the sky to chase back the shadows. About halfway down she noticed some boards missing from the shoring and guessed they were the ones she could see at the bottom. Perhaps her father had gone off to find more timber to add to the bracing.

  As she looked, she wondered if her eyes were playing tricks on her. The boards seemed to move slightly. The movement happened again, and she squinted into the gloom. There was other movement down there beside the boards. Something clawed its way upwards out of the dirt and she screamed in horror as a hand grasped the rough-sawn edges of the shoring.

  Without thinking, Annie swung onto the head of the ladder and descended as quickly as she could. The heel of her boot caught on her petticoats, but she ignored the ripping noise and kept going, hand over hand until she stepped off at the bottom. She sank to her ankles in loose gravel and half walked, half waded to where the hand gripped the broken shoring.

  ‘Papa? My God, Papa?’

  Annie touched the hand and it let go of the boards and gripped her fingers, squeezing so hard it hurt.

  ‘I’ll get you out, Papa. I’ll get you out.’ The words came as a sob. She didn’t let go of her father’s hand, not wanting to break that one tenuous bond. Frantically, she pulled at the gravel, scraping it towards the far corner. More gravel slid back into the hole she had made, but Annie could see she was making headway. The hole deepened, and she could see her father’s wrist and then his elbow where it curved around the edge of the shoring. Annie leaned in to the gap behind the boards.

  ‘Papa? Can you hear me? Hold on, Papa. I’ll get you out.’

  ‘Can’t breathe.’ Frank’s voice was little more than a whisper.

  ‘Hold on, Papa. Please hold on.’

  ‘Are you all right, miss? What’s going on? We heard a scream.’

  Annie looked up to see several heads silhouetted against the sky.

  ‘There’s been a collapse,’ she shouted up the shaft. ‘My father is trapped. Please, help me.’

  ‘I’m bloody well not going down there,’ a different voice said. ‘A death trap if ever I saw one.’

  ‘I suppose it’s not your sorry arse that’s trapped down there, Tomkins. Hang on, miss. I’m coming down.’

  Annie heard boots on the ladder, but didn’t dare stop her one-handed digging. She managed to open the gap behind the boards a little more, but it was too dark to see her father’s face.

  ‘Hold on, Papa,’ she told the sliver of darkness. ‘Help is coming.’

  The sound of gravel crunching at the bottom of the ladder told her that the miner had arrived. ‘Can you see him, miss?’

  ‘I’ve got his hand. He’s trapped behind the loose shoring. I think it’s the only thing that saved him, but he can’t breathe. We need to get the weight off him. Quickly.’

  ‘Tomkins?’ The miner yelled upwards. ‘As many men with ropes and buckets as you can get. Quickly, now! The gravel is loose. We can shovel it in by hand.’

  ‘Right you are,’ a voice echoed down.

  ‘I’ll take over, miss. You get yourself to safety.’

  Annie shook her head. ‘I’m not leaving him.’

  The miner didn’t argue with her. He dropped to his knees and began pulling dirt away from the boards as fast as he could manage. Annie used her one free hand to help as best she could. The pile in the far corner was almost two feet high when they heard a voice from above.

  ‘Two buckets coming down, Jack. More men on their way. Do you need any help down there?’

  ‘Nah, Davo. Not much room anyway. Just keep them buckets coming.’

  Something thudded into the ground beside Annie and she glanced over to see a bucket tied to a rope. The miner, Jack, snatched it up and used it to scoop up a pile of dirt.

  ‘Pull away!’ he shouted, and the bucket of dirt rocketed skywards as another landed in the bottom.

  Jack worked quickly, filling buckets with loose gravel and sending them skywards. Annie kept up her one-handed scraping, adding her efforts to the pile until she heard a series of frantic claps from overhead. A familiar shape was visible on the skyline.

  ‘Paddy? There’s been a collapse. Papa is buried under some boards and dirt.’

  Paddy immediately climbed onto the ladder and descended towards her, dropping six or seven rungs at a time.

  ‘Careful, young fella,’ Jack warned. ‘Don’t bring more dirt down on us.’

  Paddy landed in the bottom of the mine and moved to Annie’s side. His hand came up and closed over hers and her father’s. She felt his fingers tighten their grip, a show of reassurance. Then he stood and caught the next bucket out of mid-air and set to filling it.

  Paddy and the Samaritan, Jack, worked hard and fast. In moments, they developed a rhythm of catching buckets and filling them, sending them upwards again.

  Annie kept her grip on her father’s hand and felt herself getting lower and lower as the gravel resettled at a new level. When about five feet of the loose shoring showed, the men paused.

  ‘How far below the top of the gravel is his face, miss?’

  Annie reached in behind the shoring and felt her father’s head. The gravel was up to his chin here, but on her side it was six inches higher.

  ‘We’re level with the top of his head.’ She rubbed the back of her hand on Frank’s cheek. ‘Hold on, Papa. We’re getting you out.’ There was no response from her father and Annie felt the bite of despair in her stomach. ‘Please, hurry,’ she said to Jack and Paddy.

  They kept on digging for three minutes, maybe four, maybe ten. Annie wasn’t sure. Every few moments she was forced to adjust her position as the gravel shifted beneath her, settling lower and lower.

  ‘What about now, miss?’

  Annie reached in and checked the depth of gravel. ‘You’ve got it down level with his chest. Both sides of the boards.’

  ‘What do you say we try and lift the shoring off him, young fella?’

  Paddy nodded and they grasped the top of the boards and pulled with all their strength. The shoring moved a quarter of an inch, but wouldn’t budge further.

  ‘It’s no use,’ Jack said. ‘We’ll have to keep digging.’

  Paddy slapped the miner’s shoulder and shook his head. He mimed tying a rope around the shoring and then winding a windlass handle.

  ‘Good thinking,’ Jack said. He lifted his face to the square of sky. ‘Davo? Are any of the buckets still attached to the windlass?’

  ‘Yeah, this one.’ One of the buckets jiggled as Davo jerked the rope. ‘But we haven’t been using the windlass. Too slow. Hand over hand is much quicker.’

  ‘This bloke’s got part of the shoring lying on him. We think we can get it off with the windlass. Give us a minute to get the rope tied on.’

  ‘Righto, Jack.’

  Paddy untied the bucket and then moved in beside Annie, passing the loose end of rope behind the shoring where Jack took
it and tied it back on itself. He gave the running end a couple of jerks to test his knot and then looked down at Annie.

  ‘I think you should get out of the way for this, miss. If that rope snaps, it could be dangerous.’

  Annie opened her mouth to protest, but Paddy knelt beside her and unfolded her fingers from her father’s hand. She was horrified to see her father’s arm flop lifelessly to the ground. Paddy led her to the far corner of the shaft and pressed her into it, placing his protective bulk in front of her. Then he gave Jack a nod.

  ‘Haul away,’ Jack yelled.

  The rope went tight and let out a creak that reminded Annie of her time on the Charlotte Elizabeth. From high above, she could hear men grunting as they put all their strength to the windlass handle. The shoring shifted, raising to the vertical and her father groaned, causing Annie a mixture of elation and dread.

  ‘Stop it. You’re hurting him.’ She tried to push past Paddy, but he barred her way, as solid as a granite boulder.

  ‘He’s nearly free. We can’t stop now.’

  The rope groaned and thrummed like a plucked guitar string. High above, she heard the squeak of the windlass as it turned. Then the section of shoring pulled free from the gravel and swung towards the anxious watchers until Paddy put a hand out to steady it.

  ‘It’s loose,’ Jack yelled, but he kept them against the side until the heavy timbers had been hauled to the top and swung clear of the opening.

  Annie and Paddy rushed to Frank, who sat with his back to the wall, buried in gravel to his midriff. His head had lolled forward and he looked dead.

  ‘We’re too late,’ Annie sobbed and bit down on a dirty fist as tears welled into her eyes.

  ‘He was groaning only a few moments ago. Let’s get him out of the gravel,’ Jack said. He and Paddy took hold of an arm each and pulled Frank to his feet so that he hung between them. Annie clasped her father’s face in her hands and rubbed his cheeks. They felt cold and waxen.

  ‘Papa? Please, wake up. Please, Papa.’