[Oliver Roberts, The Shrinking Rope, San Francisco Call, December 25, 1895]

 

The Shrinking Rope.

_____

            Fifteen years ago to-day I spent Christmas in Panamint, a little mining settlement situated on the edge of Death Valley, in the lower part of California. On the west of the village stretched the Panamint range of hills, with its treasures of gold and silver scattered along the mountain tops.

            Being of a turn of mind that found recreation and amusement in the study of mineralogy, I strolled over the foothills Christmas morning, and finding a narrow but well-worn path leading up the mountain side, followed it and found myself about noon on the spur of a hill that jutted out into the canyon and fell sheer off into a cliff that seemed to lose itself in the trees below. To my right on a little eminence was located a miner's cabin, behind which was a windlass. Down the side of the hill lay the dump. Moved by curiosity to know of its history, I climbed up the rocky approach and stood in the doorway of the cabin.

            "Well, what's wanted?" came from within, and a middle-aged man thrust his head out from behind a pile of ore sacks. I was struck by his remarkably white hair, but his face possessed all the vigor and general appearance of youth. The eyes, full, piercing and active, were nervous in their movements. After looking at me for a moment he extended his hand, which I took. We exchanged a few words of greeting, but it was impossible for me to refrain from staring at his white hair, which fell over his broad shoulders. I must have forgot his personal presence altogether, for he suddenly startled me by shaking my hand again, which he had held in his own from the time I extended it.

            I recovered myself, but was greatly confused. He noted my consternation and relieved me by saying:

            "My name is Douglass, better known as Snowtop Harry. My hair, it used to be as black as yours. It changed in a few hours. Have you time to lunch with me? Sit down and I will tell you the story."

            I took the seat offered me, while he went to the cupboard and brought forth a cold sage hen and some canned jelly, which tasted very palatable.

            "Six years ago," he began, "I discovered this mine and located it, with three of my friends. From the very surface it panned out well, and we followed the ledge down over 100 feet, taking the ore out in buckets. One day we lost the ledge proper and, after figuring on the formation, concluded that it must have been broken and that by digging we would be able to connect with the other end. As we anticipated, we opened up the lost ledge, and, in order to get out as much as possible before winter set in, we worked night and day.

            "On the23d of September — I will ever remember the day — we concluded to put sixteen hours in getting out the richest rock we had yet struck. Two of us were to go down the shaft, while the other remained on top to hoist ore. Ed Thomas went down in the bucket first with the picks and shovels, and I followed afterward with enough food to last us for two square meals, so as not to lose time coming to the surface. As I stepped in the bucket Bill Bradley, who was at the windlass, looked at me in a sort of sickly way. I asked him if he felt bad. He assured me he would be all right in a little while, but that he was weak at the stomach. I told him not to work unless he could handle the windlass in good shape. 'Oh, never mind me, Harry; I'll be all right in a few moments. Pile in there and let me drop you down.'

            "With some little fear I got in more to satisfy him than myself. Slowly the bucket began to sink, but when I got about half way down the rope stopped and my descent continued in jerks. Before I knew it the jerks became more frequent, and I knew the windlass-handle was getting away from Bradley. I looked up through the mouth of the shaft and to my horror saw the spindle stop short a second and then whirl off the coil of rope like lightning. Down, down, down I went, and the timbers swept up past me with a rush. I tried to warn Thomas of my coming, but my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as though it had been riveted there. Although my flight down the shaft could not have lasted more than two seconds, it seemed an age. My candle went out and the blackness of eternal night enveloped me. I felt the bottom of the bucket crash into something that sounded like the cracking of a human skull, and as a groan struck upon my ears the blackness became heavier and I fell my head being torn from my body. Then I forgot everything.

* * * * *

            "Something was dripping on my face. I tried to lift my bands but could move neither of them. Where was I? I seemed to be lying on something soft and as the cloud of mist left my eyes I could see far above me the light of day. Drip, drip, drip. It continued to fall. In a short time I was able to discern an object hanging over the edge of the shaft. I tried and finally succeeded in collecting my thoughts and then the terrible fall, the crash of bones and the groan all came back to me. Hooked again toward the gaps of daylight over me and made out the head and shoulders of what afterward proved to be the body of Thomas. Then I thought it all out. The windlass handle had escaped him and must have struck the unfortunate man on the head. Drip, drip, drip. It was coming at longer intervals. By this time I was in full possession of my senses. Drip, drip. Ough — it was Thomas' blood. Drip, drip. A long interval again. Drip. Presently it ceased.

            "Things were becoming clearer to me. I gained a little strength, and finally released one of my hands from a weight that rested upon it. I felt around and my fingers came in contact with something clammy. I was able in a few seconds to define a face. What a shudder ran through me. It was Bradley and he was dead. I reluctantly felt for his head. The skull was crushed in and fearfully mangled. I foolishly thought he could be roused, but he was gone. Dead. Dead.

            "Quaking with fear and half crazed with the prospect of dying of starvation I began to look around me for some means of escape. Everything I touched seemed to be a dead man's body. I succeeded in getting my other hand loose and felt around in the darkness. I raised my arms above me and my fingers touched a hairy substance. I felt again. It was the broken end of the rope that hung from the windlass. At last I had found some means of escape if I could extricate myself from the wreckage. My only salvation was calmness and I managed to get into my shirt pocket and secure the matches I always carried underground. I struck a light and found the candle half imbedded in the soft mud. As the tiny flame crept up the wick I turned fearfully to look at Bradley. My God! His head was mashed beyond recognition. The blood was oozing out over his face and I never put my eyes upon him again. Several attempts to reach the shredded end of the windlass rope failed and, finding I was too weak to exert myself violently, I thought it well to revive myself with food, and got into the lunch basket, with very gratifying results. After eating as much as my condition would permit I lay back quietly to rest before making another attempt. The afternoon wore away and a dark wing of the night crept across the entrance of the shaft and left me with but the glimmer of my half-wasted candle to keep me and my dead companion company.

            "Soon the stars appeared, but they seemed so far away I tired of looking at the twinkling lights and turned again to the rope, my only hope, my only means of reaching the upper levels — the sweet, longed-for surface of the earth. Could it be possible I was mistaken in what I saw. No.

            "It was drawn up nearly three inches.

            "I tried to touch it, but failed. What ghost of the mine was playing with me? After a time I tried again. It was some five inches above my fingers.  I struggled frantically to grasp it, but fell back exhausted. Inside of an hour the precious thing was a foot further. Was the devil haunting me? The chilled perspiration; began to ooze from every pore. I gnashed my teeth and foamed at the mouth. My only chance for life was leaving me like the last heart pulsations of a dying man. There was no hope. I was to die of starvation. Cursing and struggling to free myself once more I lost my head and swooned again. But only for a moment. When I came to it seemed that the rope had disappeared altogether; the stars went out, my heart almost burst from my breast and I became utterly unconscious.

            "When my senses returned it was about noon the next day, and to my amazement and delight I found that the precious rope was dropping back within my grasp. I watched it like a madman waiting for a victim to come within his clutches, and by four in the afternoon it was in reach. I uttered a fervent prayer, and after knotting the end as best I could I seized it with all my strength and by a superhuman effort drew my body up until I stood upon my feet. I was weak and trembling, but found no bones broken. With the strength of desperation I tried to climb. It was useless. My body was unable to stand the strain, and realizing the necessity of some strengthening force I turned to and ate heartily,

            "I felt my wasted energies returning, but did not for a moment release my hold on the rope for fear that it would escape me again. When I thought my strength would permit it I began the ascent to the surface. It was a difficult job, but by placing my feet against the timbers and knotting the rope at intervals I finally succeeded in getting my head above the ground. Once I felt myself growing dizzy, but mustering all my strength I made a final effort and fell exhausted on the ground. Beside me lay Thomas, with his forehead stove in. I dragged myself to this cabin we are now occupying and dropped on the where I went to sleep. The next day I got around, cleaned myself and looked in the glass. I was spellbound, for my hair had turned white while I lay in the bottom of the shaft and watched the rope shrink away from me—simply because it had been wet with the evening's dew that had condensed on the smooth surface of the windlass spindle and run down the rope.

            "Do you see that little mound over by the pine tree? My companions are buried there."