Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE RESCUE, by EDWARD DYSON


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE RESCUE, by                    
First Line: There's a sudden, fierce clang of the knocker, then the sound of a voice in the
Last Line: Fast.
Alternate Author Name(s): Dyson, E.
Subject(s): Gold Mines & Miners; Mothers & Sons


THERE'S a sudden, fierce clang of the knocker, then the sound of a voice in the
shaft,
Shrieking words that drum hard on the centres, and the braceman goes suddenly
daft:
"Set the whistle a-blowing like blazes! Billy, run, give old Mackie a call—
Run, you fool! Number Two's gone to pieces, and Fred Baker is caught in the
fall!
Say, hullo! there below—any hope, boys, any chances of saving his life?"
"Heave away!" says the knocker. "They've started. God be praised, he's no
youngsters or wife!"

Screams the whistle in fearful entreaty, and the wild echo raves on the spur,
And the night, that was still as a sleeper in soft, charmèd sleep, is astir
With the fluttering of wings in the wattles, and the vague, frightened murmur of
birds,
With far cooees that carry the warning, running feet, inarticulate words.
From the black belt of bush come the miners, and they gather by Mack on the
brace,
Out of breath, barely clad, and half-wakened, with a question in every face.

"Who's below?" "Where's the fall?" "Didn't I tell you?—Didn't I say that
them sets wasn't sound?"
"Is it Fred? He was reckless was Baker; now he's seen his last shift
underground."
"And his mate? Where is Sandy McFadyn?" "Sandy's snoring at home on his bunk."
"Not at work! Name o' God! a foreboding?" "A foreboding be hanged! He is drunk!"
"Take it steady there, lads!" the boss orders. He is white to the roots of his
hair.
"We may get him alive before daybreak if he's close to the face and has air."

In the dim drive with ardour heroic two facemen are pegging away.
Long and Coots in the rise heard her thunder, and they fled without word or
delay
Down the drive, and they rushed for the ladders, and they went up the shaft with
a run,
For they knew the weak spot in the workings, and they guessed there was graft to
be done.
Number Two was pitch dark, and they scrambled to the plat and they made for the
face,
But the roof had come down fifty yards in, and the reef was all over the place.

Fresher men from the surface replace them, and they're hauled up on top for a
blow;
When a life-and-death job is in doing there's room only for workers below.
Bare-armed and bare-chested and brawny, with a grim, meaning set of the jaw,
The relay hurries off to the rescue, caring not for the danger a straw;
'Tis not toil but a battle they're called to, and like Trojans the miners
respond,
For a dead man lies crushed 'neath the timbers, or a live man is choking beyond.

By the faint yellow glow of the candles, where the dank drive is hot with their
breath,
On the verge of the Land of the Shadow, waging war breast to bosom with Death,
How they struggle, these giants! and slowly, as the trucks rattle into the
gloom,
Inch by inch they advance to the conquest of a prison—or is it a tomb?
And the workings re-echo a volley as the timbers are driven in place;
Then a whisper is borne to the toilers: "Boys, his mother is there on the
brace!"

Like veterans late into action, fierce with longing to hew and to hack,
Riordan's shift rushes in to relieve them, and the toil-stricken men stagger
back.
"Stow the stuff, mates, wherever there's stowage! Run the man on the brace till
he drops!
There's no time to think on this billet! Bark the heels of the trucker who
stops!
Keep the props well in front, and be careful. He's in there, and alive, never
fret."
But the grey dawn is softening the ridges, and the word has not come to us yet.

Still the knocker rings out, and the engine shrieks and strains like a creature
in pain
As the cage rushes up to the surface and drops back into darkness again.
By the capstan a woman is crouching. In her eyes neither hope nor despair;
But a yearning that glowers like frenzy bids those who'd speak pity forbear.
Like a figure in stone she is seated till the labour of rescue be done.
For the father was killed in the Phœnix, and the son—Lord of pity! the
son?

"Hullo! there on top!" they are calling. "They are through! He is seen in the
drive!"
"They have got him—thank Heaven! they've got him, and oh, blessed be God,
he's alive!"
"Man on! heave away!" "Step aside, lads; let his mother be first when he lands."
She was silent and strong in her anguish; now she babbles and weeps where she
stands,
And the stern men, grown gentle, support her at the mouth of the shaft, till at
last
With a rush the cage springs to the landing, and her son's arms encircle her
fast.





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