16
Not Understood
That the very time it fell on,—
Rogers rescued Sampson Bray.
How it happen’d! Mate, you wonder?
When I think on it, I know,
We have heroes still, by thunder!
They were working down below;
They had charged four holes,—All ready
Safe are all the fuses placed;
Up they’re haul’d so firm and steady,
Yet there’s little time to waste;
Twenty-five feet up,—when slipping
From his hold, poor Sampson Bray,
Fell where deep the dark was dipping,
Down the shaft, and there he lay.
Quick as lightning, Rogers thundered—
‘Let me down! Oh, down again!’
Though the engine-driver wonder’d,
Still he turned the engine then;
Down went Rogers, quickly leaping
From the bucket, on he flew
To the spot where death was creeping
Through the fuses; then he drew
Three of them away. Thank Heaven!
Ah! but there’s a fourth—too late—
He cannot find it, and is driven
Now to rest on God and fate:
Down beside his mate he crouches
Down beside his mate to die;
Soft as down are stony couches,
When upon them brave men lie:
Loud reports—the hole exploded—
Showers of stone and debris fell,
And the drive with smoke was loaded,
Loaded like a pit of hell.
‘Are they dead?’ ‘No! boys, they’re living,
Haul them quickly to the plat!
Let us thanks to Heaven be giving—’
That’s my tale, mate; on this Flat
Rogers rescued Sampson Bray.
How it happen’d! Mate, you wonder?
When I think on it, I know,
We have heroes still, by thunder!
They were working down below;
They had charged four holes,—All ready
Safe are all the fuses placed;
Up they’re haul’d so firm and steady,
Yet there’s little time to waste;
Twenty-five feet up,—when slipping
From his hold, poor Sampson Bray,
Fell where deep the dark was dipping,
Down the shaft, and there he lay.
Quick as lightning, Rogers thundered—
‘Let me down! Oh, down again!’
Though the engine-driver wonder’d,
Still he turned the engine then;
Down went Rogers, quickly leaping
From the bucket, on he flew
To the spot where death was creeping
Through the fuses; then he drew
Three of them away. Thank Heaven!
Ah! but there’s a fourth—too late—
He cannot find it, and is driven
Now to rest on God and fate:
Down beside his mate he crouches
Down beside his mate to die;
Soft as down are stony couches,
When upon them brave men lie:
Loud reports—the hole exploded—
Showers of stone and debris fell,
And the drive with smoke was loaded,
Loaded like a pit of hell.
‘Are they dead?’ ‘No! boys, they’re living,
Haul them quickly to the plat!
Let us thanks to Heaven be giving—’
That’s my tale, mate; on this Flat
