"Why was he let to go down at all, being a stranger?" resumed the first
speaker. "Why didn't somebody show him the way?"
"Because nobody knowed it," answered one of the four miners whose
services Richard had retained, and who justly imagined that the
fisherman's remark had been a reflection on his own profession. "I'd ha'
gone down Dunloppel with him at midnight, or any other mine as can be
called such; but this is different."
"Ay, ay, that's so," said a second miner. "We know no more of this place
than you fishermen. There may be as much water in it as in the sea, for
aught we can tell."
"It's my belief they're more afraid of the Dead Hand than the water,"
observed a voice from the crowd, the great majority of which was
composed of fisher folk.
No reply was given to this; perhaps because the speaker, an old cripple,
the Thersites of the village, was beneath notice, perhaps because the
remark was unanswerable. The miners were bold enough against material
enemies, but they were superstitious to a man.
"If Solomon Coe were alive," continued the same voice, "he wouldn't ha'
feared nothin'."
"That's the first word, old man, as ever I heard you speak in his
favor," said a miner, contemptuously; "and you've waited for that till
he's dead."
"Still, he would ha' gone, and you durstn't," observed the old fellow,
cunningly, "and that's the p'int.
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