by Charles Egan
At every stop, Winnie walked up and down the platform, carrying Liam, Luke following. She compared the engines at the front of each train, commenting on the size of their boilers. Luke was amazed at her interest.
‘How can they pull so many carriages?’ she asked.
‘That’s what boiling water does,’ Luke said, ‘and anthracite to heat it too. But they start slow, only slowly building up speed.’
‘And the tracks here? That was the class of thing you were working on in England?’
‘It was. Much of it too, hundreds of miles. But for the most part, we weren’t laying the tracks, we were digging the cuttings and building the embankments with the clay and rock we’d dug out. Hard work, I can tell you.’
At Philadelphia, they changed for the train to Schuylkill. Luke bought the tickets, and they barely made the train in time.
From time to time, Winnie breastfed Liam, not concerned about anyone else in the carriage. She had given up trying to wean him for now. What surprised Luke though was her silence for most of the journey. For hours, she sat looking out the window, taking in the landscape. Even the frozen swamps of New Jersey fascinated her. She compared the trestle bridges with the iron bridges, and when the train began to climb, she stared ceaselessly at the snow-covered hills and forests, while Luke played endless games of penny pontoon with other passengers.
Sometimes, when she was more talkative, they spoke of Carrigard. Brockagh too. She was concerned about her own parents, whom she had not seen since she had married Luke. In the end, there had been no time.
Luke wanted to get Winnie and Liam settled, and ensure his own employment. He was still nervous of coal mines, having little idea of what it was like to work in one. He was used to working in the open air. In England, he had heard many stories of coal mines – dramatic ones too of firedamp and collapses killing men. How much he should believe?
The forests of Pennsylvania amazed Winnie. She had never seen woodlands so extensive before. The snow and ice were frozen to the hemlock, showing white and green against a blue sky.
The hills all around her excited her too, though she exclaimed joyfully when the train ran across flat farmland. Every time she saw anything of interest, she pointed it out to Liam, though Luke doubted whether the child could make anything of the scenes outside.
Once again, Winnie alighted at every station, hugging Liam closely to her with her shawl wrapped tightly around him. Plainly, neither mother nor child were concerned about the future.
‘You should make sure he’s warm enough,’ he said.
‘Don’t you be worrying,’ Winnie answered. ‘I’m a mother now, you don’t think I’d let him freeze, do you?’
At Schuylkill, it was bitterly cold. Winnie stayed inside the station with Liam, while Luke hunted out the coach to Lackan.
An hour later, they started the journey. There was little room inside the coach.
‘I’ll go out on top,’ Luke said.
‘No, I will,’ one of the men said. ‘You stay here with your wife and child.’
‘But I couldn’t ask…’
‘My coat is thick enough. I’m well used to it.’
Within minutes, both Winnie and Liam were asleep. Luke stared out the window. It was snowing heavily.
They came to Lackan. It was clearly an anthracite town, grey and dirty in the way of all coal patch towns. Even this did not distress Winnie, and she exclaimed at the steep white sides of the culm banks streaked with black. Luke could only think what they might look like when the real thaw came.
The snow had stopped, but it was drizzling sleet. Luke took the packs out. They were heavy enough after the time they had spent in Jersey City. He looked for a cab. There were four waiting but they were quickly taken up by other passengers.
Winnie sat on one of the packs, holding her shawl over Liam.
‘What now?’
‘Let’s get the packs over there and get under shelter anyhow. Then we wait.’
Soon after, another cab arrived. Luke and the cabbie manhandled the packs into it, as Winnie and Liam got in. Luke gave the address.
‘Rough place, that,’ the cabbie commented. ‘Too many Irish, don’t go there often.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Luke said. No point arguing.
They reached the address. The street was deep in frozen mud. At the end of the street was a wooden building, a continuous growling noise coming from it.
‘I wonder what that is.’ Winnie said.
‘God knows,’ Luke said.
Two women stood outside a door, one of them breastfeeding. A pig snuffled at her feet. She spotted Liam, and waved at Winnie. She waved back.
‘Friendly enough, anyhow,’ Winnie said.
Most of the houses were small, but well built. The cab went past them all until they came to a building made from rough-cut timber.
‘This is the address.’
Across the road there was a row of small houses. There was a line of women outside one. From the smell, Luke knew at once that it was a butcher’s.
A frozen stream ran along from where they had stopped. It went under a stone bridge and out by the side of the butcher’s shop. A man wearing a bloodied apron carried out a tray of offal, and threw it in the stream. A pig ran onto the ice, then another, and both started fighting for the offal.
Luke helped Winnie down as the bags were taken off. He paid the cabbie and tried the door of the building. It was open. They went inside. Two blackened men sat at a table.
‘Who are you?’ one of them asked, speaking in Irish.
‘Since you ask, Luke Ryan is my name. We’re over looking for the Farrelly gang.’
‘All out working. Are you coming to stay?’
‘I hope so,’ Luke said. ‘We’re joining Farrelly.’
‘Him and the rest of the gang are staying up on the second floor. There’s a few bunks to spare I know. Come on, let’s show it to you.’
One of them took two of the packs, and brought them upstairs. He opened a door.
‘This is where them lads bunk down’ he said.
The room was a long one, bunks three high running each side along the walls and even across the windows. Forty or fifty Luke reckoned without even counting. The floor was covered with coal dust, wet in places. There were packs under the lower bunks, covered in coal dust too. The blankets on the bunks were black. Blackened shirts, jackets and trousers hung off nails hammered into the ends of the bunks.
‘I know these ones down here are empty. Come on.’
They followed him to three bunks at the far end, one above the other. There were no blankets, and the mattresses were black with coal dust. Luke put his packs in underneath.
‘Well, this is it, my love.’
‘Are there many women here?’ Winnie asked the other man.
‘Sure there’s none at all. This is only for the lads on their own. There’s another building for the women and children, but you’ll have to talk to Farrelly about that. Crowded, I understand, and they don’t allow us men in neither. It’s the next street over.’
Luke looked out the window.
‘What’s that building down there?’
‘That’s the breaker.’
The man left.
Winnie was close to tears.
‘Don’t worry, my love,’ Luke said, ‘we’ll work it out somehow. I’m sure there’s a way of getting into the better houses along the street. And anyhow, Farrelly says there’s many Kilduff people around, so we’ll feel at home soon enough. This is a mining town, remember. I’ve seen many of them around England, though I must say this is a pretty rough looking one.’
It was late when Farrelly and the rest of the gang arrived back. Luke had found a candle, and some matches.
‘By God, there’s a woman down the end!’ one of the men said.
Farrelly walked down. ‘Who the devil…? By God, it’s Luke.’
He clapped his hand on Luke’s shoulder. ‘You’re most welcome, boy. And this must be your wi
fe?’
‘Winnie,’ Luke said, ‘and little Liam over there.’
Mick and Jack shook Luke’s hand, and greeted Winnie. Then Luke recognised Mikey Jordan and Bernie McDonnell from his days on the English railways.
Mikey greeted him warmly. ‘Luke. A friend from the past. ’Tis great to see you again.’
Bernie thrust out his hand, and grasped Winnie’s. ‘By God, I haven’t seen as decent looking a woman this long time!’ he exclaimed, hugging Winnie tightly. ‘Begging your pardon girl, but ’tis a long time since I had a chance to do that.’
Winnie glanced at the wet coal dust on her dress. ‘I’m glad you’d think me a decent woman, but maybe you should talk to Luke first about that.’
‘Arra, what.’
There were a few other men whom Luke had not met since he had left working the railways in England. Dover? How long ago was that? Damned near three years, just as the hunger was getting brutal at home in Ireland.
‘How many of you are here now?’ Luke asked.
‘A round dozen,’ Farrelly said. ‘All Kilduff men. Matt here only came out six months back.’
Matt? Matt McGlinn. Luke recognised him at once. He went to greet him, but McGlinn had turned away. Luke remembered the time he had had to refuse McGlinn on the Famine Relief Works in Carrigard. All according to regulations – they had only been taking on men with four children or more. Still, McGlinn had never forgiven him, nor ever would.
Could he never escape from it?
A bottle of whiskey was produced and cups were taken out from a wooden chest beneath one of the bunks, all well chipped. Winnie was handed one, and sipped slowly.
‘Now the next question is – where are Winnie and the child going to go? You know they won’t be allowed to sleep here.’
‘I know,’ Luke said, ‘we’d heard. But we’ll manage something for the night.’
A line of blankets was hung on a rope running from one window to another.
‘That’ll protect your modesty for the night at least, girl,’ Farrelly said. ‘And sure no one need know you’re here tonight. We’ll have you in the Women’s House tomorrow night.
‘The Women’s House?’ Winnie asked, uncertainly.
‘Women and children only. But don’t worry, we’ll organise something more for you soon.’
Farrelly left them. Luke saw Winnie examining her blackened dress. It might be difficult to wash that in a room full of men. There was no sign of clean sheets, nor blankets either.
Winnie sat on the dirty mattress. ‘It’ll have to do,’ she said, ‘isn’t that the way of it?’
‘It is, my love.’
*
Next morning, Farrelly took Luke to the store, while the other men went to the mine. Luke was in his roughest clothes.
‘I hope this wasn’t all too much of a shock to you,’ Farrelly said. ‘I must confess, I never even thought of the question of bringing your wife and baby along. We’ll have them in the Women’s House tonight. It’s a hell of a lot cleaner, I can tell you. We’ll see then what we can do about getting you a house, though it won’t be easy, I warn you.’
‘Like where?’ Luke asked.
‘There’s family lodgings. We can arrange that when you get paid. Operator owned houses, of course, and the rent deducted from your wages. You’ll be moved in with another family, mind you, but there’s no harm in that.’
‘I’d never thought of a Women’s House,’ Luke said. ‘Are there so many single women?’
‘Single is right,’ Farrelly responded. ‘Widows more like. That’s what black lung does. Once a man goes down the mines, his days are numbered. Ten years, fifteen years, who knows? So the women spend half their lives as widows, bringing up starving children.’
‘God, it’s tough on them. How do they even live?’
‘The lucky ones might marry again, but that’s rare. No, they just have to get work as best they can. Some do stitching for the shirt-man when he comes through, but that’s difficult enough with the dirt of the coal dust everywhere. So many of them take in laundry for the single miners, do cooking and suchlike, and provide other services.’
‘I won’t ask about that,’ Luke said.
‘Better not.’
‘It’s tough.’
‘Very tough, I’d say,’ Farrelly said. ‘When the rail building ended at Harrisburg, we’d heard stories about good wages in the mines, what with working on loading wagons, and sure isn’t that what we were well used to from all the English railways. Remember those times Luke?’
‘By God, I do. We were one of the highest paid gangs on the rails then.’
‘We were. Hard work, but we could do it. What never dawned on us coming here though was that the wagon loading is the best job in the mines, for us at least. We’re used to it. The only trouble is trying to get onto the wagon-loading.’
‘Not easy?’
‘Not yet. We’ve had to start out as the lowest of the low, working down the mine. They’ll all tell you the mining is a skilled job, and so it is for the Kilkenny fellows. The Welsh too. They’ve been working in mines, long before they come to America. They reckon the rest of us Irish have no skills, and are paid less. But it’s worse than that too. The Welsh take the best drifts, where they can work standing. The Kilkenny lads get to work standing too, but the tunnels are longer, and it takes more walking to reach the coalface. But us, we get the worst of all. Our drifts are low, and it’s impossible to swing a pick standing. Not like what you’d be used to on the railways. It’s harder work for less coal, so less pay.’
‘So how do we get the better drifts?’
‘We don’t. Or at least it’s not my intention that we should. It’s like I told you earlier. Working the mines is a fool’s game. Ten, fifteen years is the most they’ll last. The anthracosis gets them in the end.’
‘Anthra…what?’
‘Anthracosis. A big word for black lung. The more of the dust you breathe in, the less you’re able to breathe. When you die, your son takes over.’
‘My…son?’
How else can your widow live if she doesn’t have someone working? By God, I pity them too. The Operator sure as hell doesn’t. But I’ll tell you this, Luke, it’s not down the mines we’ll be staying. One way or another, we’re going to get on to wagon loading. They say it’s the lowest paid job on the mines, but we’re all fit, the whole lot of us. We’re well able to work fast. No, I reckon we don’t have to worry about the wages, we’ll make as much as the best of them, and we’ll live three times longer.’
They had arrived at the store, a long wooden shed, with walls constructed from thick wood, rough sawn from long timber trunks.
‘Have you cash with ye?’ Farrelly asked.
‘Left it all with Winnie,’ Luke said.
‘What kind of fool are you? Here you are so, ten cents for a cap, fifty cents for the lamp and candles. That’s sixty cents you owe me at the end of the week.’
He handed over the amount, and Luke took his cap and lamp.
They walked towards the mine.
‘You’ve got to understand one thing, Luke. We’re running our own gang, on contract to the Operators. Stanley Cantwell, he’s the supervisor, a Kilkenny fellow. But we work our own way, don’t have to meet him until we get paid. It’s not like the railways though, we don’t get paid by the wagon, only by the ton. They’ve their own ways of weighing it, mind. Got to watch them all the time. Three tons per miner is what they expect, not that we can make that much yet, but still it’s good for eighty to ninety cents a day.’
They were walking across a bridge over a small stream. Farrelly grasped Luke by the arm.
‘There’s one other thing I must tell ye, and it’s most important. That store up there, we just came out of, that’s a truck store, run by the Operator. We’ve got to go there to buy our supplies. Not just caps and lamps, but all the other supplies we use – kerosene, copper, oil and the like. Blasting powder for when we’ve the chance to use it. We could buy them far c
heaper elsewhere, but if we did, we’d be fired at once. When we first came here though, we were paid in scrip. That’s Operator dockets, not cash, only to be used in the truck store. They weren’t paying us real money at all.’
‘No money?’
‘No dollars. Only scrip. All our supplies – food, clothes and everything – had to be bought in the truck store, since nowhere else accepted their scrip. When we griped about it, we were told we weren’t able enough and lucky to be getting what we did. We objected again though, said we were more skilled, and the Operators gave in half-ways – half our wages in scrip and half in cash. There was some question some of the Operators had been threatened, though I’m damned if I know about that. Anyhow, they paid us half in dollars from then on but still insisted we buy in the truck store. It’s another of the tricks they use, you see. The truck store is half as expensive again as any store in Lackan. Funny enough, that stopped after a few weeks too, though they kept paying half in scrip. They told us we could shop wherever we liked with the rest of our wages. There were reports again about threats…’
‘Threats from who?’ Luke asked.
‘The Molly Maguires, they say, though everyone keeps saying there’s no such group. Still…’
‘Yes,’ Luke said, ‘I’d heard about them in Ireland.’
They went on again.
‘So that’s the truck store,’ Farrelly said, ‘and there’s one other thing about it. Don’t ever, ever, ever, take credit from them. Make sure Winnie knows that too. If you ever see hear of her taking credit, just beat her within an inch of her life.’
‘That’s a bit strong.’
‘Not when you see what goes on around here. There’s many families are in hock to the Operator, and they’ll never get out of it. It’s a class of debt slavery. Once they give you credit, you’ll be charged interest like you’ve never expected. They deduct the interest every pay day, and leave you with less and less wages. That way, you need more and more credit, and you can never get out of it. Would you believe, they even pass the credit on to the son as soon as the father is invalided out by black lung? Once they’ve got their claws into you that way, they’ve got you forever.’