Germinal - Emile Zola [255]
Another hour went by. The deputy had stopped the men clearing the rubble and set everyone to the task of strengthening the roof. Even Catherine and the two pit-boys had stopped pushing their tubs and instead were getting the props ready and bringing them along. Here at the end of the roadway the team was like a remote outpost at the furthest point of the mine, and it was now completely cut off from the other workings. On three or four occasions they heard strange noises, like the sound of people running, and they looked up from their work. What was happening? It was as if all the roads were emptying, as if the comrades were already returning to the surface, and as fast as they possibly could. But the sounds faded away in the deep silence, and they resumed their task of ramming timber props under the ceiling, dazed by the deafening blows of the sledgehammer. Eventually they returned to clearing away the rocks, and the tubs began moving again.
Catherine returned from her first trip looking very frightened and saying that there was nobody left at the incline.
‘I called out, but there was no reply. Everybody’s cleared off.’
Everyone was so shocked that they downed tools and ran. They were horrified at the thought of being left behind all alone in the pit like this so far from the shaft. They had kept only their lamps and ran along in single file, the men, the boys and Catherine. Even the deputy was panicking and shouting for help, more and more terrified by the silence and the endless series of deserted roadways. What was going on? Why wasn’t there a soul to be seen? What could have happened to make everyone vanish like this? Their terror increased with the uncertainty of the danger facing them, of the threat that they could sense but could not understand.
At length, as they were approaching pit-bottom, they were met by a stream of water blocking their path. At once they found themselves up to their knees; they could no longer run but instead had to wade through the water, all the while thinking that a minute’s delay might cost them their lives.
‘God Almighty! The tubbing’s burst!’ cried Étienne. ‘I told you we’d never see daylight again!’
Ever since the miners had come down, Pierron had been extremely concerned as he watched the water pouring from the shaft in ever-greater quantities. As he helped two other men load tubs into the cages, he kept looking up: his face was splashed with large drops of water, and his ears rang with the roar of the tempest above him. But he became particularly anxious when he noticed that the bougnou, the ten-metre sump, was filling up beneath him; already the water was seeping up through the wooden planks and spilling out on to the cast-iron floor, proof that the pump could no longer keep up with the leaks. He could hear it panting away in exhausted gasps. He then warned Dansaert, who swore angrily and said they would have to wait for the engineer. Twice he mentioned it again, but all he got by way of reply was an exasperated shrug of the shoulders. So the water was rising. What was he supposed to do about it?
Mouque appeared with Battle, leading him to work; and he had to hold on to him with both hands, for the usually sleepy old horse had suddenly reared up, straining his neck towards the shaft and whinnying at the prospect of death.
‘What’s up, my philosopher friend? What’s the matter?…The rain, is it? Come on now, it’s no concern of yours.’
But the animal was quivering all over, and Mouque had to drag him off towards the haulage road.
Almost at the same instant as Mouque and Battle were disappearing down a roadway, there was a loud crack up above, followed by the prolonged clatter of something falling. A piece of tubbing