Ben Burnley suffered the most from this, and the
wretch came to Hope for consolation.
"Where's the sense of biding here," said he, "to be burned to deeth wi'
drought? Let's flood the mine, and drink or be drooned."
"How can I flood the mine?" said Hope.
"Yow know best, maister," said the man. "Why, how many tons of water did
ye draw from yon tank every day?"
"We conduct about five tons into a pit, and we send about five tons up to
the surface daily."
"Then how much water will there be in the tank now?"
Hope looked at his watch and said, "There was a good deal of water in
the tank when you blew up the mine; there must be about thirty tons
in it now."
"Well, then," said Burnley, "you that knows everything, help me brust the
wall o' tank; it's thin enow."
Hope reflected.
"If we let in the whole body of water," said he, "it would shatter us to
pieces, and crush us against the wall of our prison and drown us before
it ran away through the obstructed passages into the new workings.
Fortunately, we have no pickaxe, and can not be tempted to
self-slaughter.
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