“Did I not tell you, no longer ago than yesterday, that you was not shaping your shaft properly?” demanded the inspector, sharply.

“I know that you did, but we thought that we could save a few pounds, and run a little risk,” replied the miner, in a humble tone.

“And a pretty mess you have made of it with your meanness.  I have a great mind to let you do your own work, and save the lives of your comrades as best you can,” and Mr. Brown looked cross.

“Don’t say that, sir, when two poor human beings are probably dying.  Hadn’t you better help them first and scold them afterwards, if alive?” I inquired.

“Your advice is too good to go unheeded,” returned Mr. Brown; “Bill, I will go with you at once, and do all in my power to assist you to rescue your comrades.”

The miner led the way towards his claim at a brisk trot, and while we followed at his heel’s, Mr. Brown explained what we afterwards found often happened at Ballarat.  Through neglect to buy staves, or heavy pieces of timber to keep the sides of the shaft from caving in, the poor fellows had been suddenly buried, and it was a question whether they could exist long enough to allow of a force to remove the earth which blocked up the entrance of the shaft.

When we reached the scene of the disaster not more than a dozen people were present, and they did not display any intense affliction at the catastrophe.  Five or six were smoking and lounging about, discussing the probabilities of the miners being alive, yet showing no great inclination to commence work and put all doubts to rest.

One miner—­an aged man who had worked in the coal mines of Newcastle, England—­expressed a decided opinion that both Sam and Jack were alive, and proceeded to demonstrate it by saying that the mine had been worked for some time, and it was probable that the men were at some distance from the shaft when the earth caved in; and when I asked how they could exist without air, he pointed out a large shaft that had fallen in such a manner that it prevented the dirt from filling up a large space, although it appeared to me as though hardly a ray of light could penetrate the crevice.

“If you think the men alive, why do you not commence working for their rescue?” I asked, indignantly.

“Hoot, man, who’s to pay me for the time I’d be losing, while helping other folks.  It’s me own bread and butter I hiv to earn widout running after strange kinds of jobs,” answered the old miner, a Scotchman; he was determined to be paid for his labor, and did not believe in charitable deeds unless one of his countrymen was concerned.

“Why, you don’t mean to say that you require payment for helping dig out the men buried?” I demanded.

“Hoot, and why not, man?  It’s mickle a man gets here for his work, that he should be after throwing it awa.”

“Is this a fair sample of the charity miners exhibit towards each other?” Fred asked of the inspector.