If there was any one who could stay the strike and bring about a settlement it was he; and it is probable he would have stayed it, had it not been for a collision between a government official and a miners’ leader.  Things had grown worse, until the day of catastrophe, when Byng had been sent for by the leaders of both parties to the quarrel.  He had laboured hours after hour in the midst of grave unrest and threats of violence, for some of the men had taken to drinking heavily—­but without success.  Still he had stayed on, going here and there, mostly among the men themselves, talking to them in little groups, arguing simply with them, patiently dealing with facts and figures, quietly showing them the economic injustice which lay behind their full demands, and suggesting compromises.

He was received with good feeling, but in the workers’ view it was “class against class—­labour against capital, the man against the master.”  In their view Byng represented class, capital and master, not man; his interests were not identical with theirs; and though some were disposed to cheer him, the majority said he was “as good a sort as that sort can be,” but shrugged their shoulders and remained obstinate.  The most that he did during the long afternoon and evening was to prevent the worst; until, as he sat eating a slice of ham in a miner’s kitchen, there came the explosion:  the accident or crime—­which, like the lances in an angry tumour, let out the fury, enmity, and rebellion, and gave human nature its chance again.  The shock of the explosion had been heard at Glencader, but nothing was thought of it, as there had been much blasting in the district for days.

“There’s twenty men below,” said the grimy manager who had brought the news to Byng.  Together they sped towards the mine, little groups running beside them, muttering those dark sayings which, either as curses or laments, are painful comments on the relations of life on the lower levels with life on the higher plateaux.

Among the volunteers to go below, Byng was of the first, and against the appeal of the mine-manager, and of others who tried to dissuade him, he took his place with two miners with the words: 

“I know this pit better than most; and I’d rather be down there knowing the worst, than waiting to learn it up here.  I’m going; so lower away, lads.”

He had disappeared, and for a long time there was no sign; but at last there came to the surface three of the imprisoned miners and two dead bodies, and these were followed by others still alive; but Byng did not come up.  He remained below, leading the search, the first in the places of danger and exploration, the last to retreat from any peril of falling timbers or from fresh explosion.  Twelve of the twenty men were rescued.  Six were dead, and their bodies were brought to the surface and to the arms of women whose breadwinners were gone; whose husbands or sons or brothers had been struck out into darkness without