Cold Is the Dawn

by Charles Egan

  Mrs. Moran showed them to a room. ‘Small enough, I know,’ she said, ‘but the Operator will only be taking a dollar seventy-five a week, I understand.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Luke said. ‘High enough a price too.’

  ‘Nothing much we can do about it. We’re paying two dollars fifty, though as you’ll see, our room is larger, and we all share the kitchen.’

  She turned to Winnie. ‘Now call me Ellen. The cooking we’ll have to share. Scrubbing the floors and washing the dust out of the clothes and the curtains too. A woman’s work is never done. But don’t worry, girl, we’ll work it all out between us.’

  Chapter 18

  Jeffersonian Republican, Pennsylvania. February 1849:

  The total amount of coal sent to market from Pennsylvania, during the last season, was 3,069,473 tons, being an increase of 93,880 tons over the amount exported the year before. This mass of coal, at $4 per ton, produced the sum of $12,277,892. Who does not perceive at half a glance that there is infinitely more wealth in the coal fields of this state, than there is in the gold mines of California?

  Ellen Moran and Winnie got on well together, sharing shopping, cooking, scrubbing and child minding. Winnie had soon gotten used to the scrip system, and the necessity of shopping at the truck store. Still, the Morans resented the system as much as they did.

  ‘The system is designed to screw us,’ Ned Moran told them. ‘Scrip and truck, they’ll get you every way.’

  ‘I’d heard it was worse before,’ Luke said.

  ‘It was,’ Ned replied, ‘and not so long back either.’

  ‘But the Molly Maguires…?’

  Ned looked uncomfortable.

  ‘You shouldn’t mention their name here. There’s a lot of bitterness.’

  ‘But wasn’t it them that forced them to drop the scrip to half?’

  ‘Might well have been, Luke, but there’s no one can prove it either way. But if ever we want to get rid of the accursed scrip, it’s not the Mollys we should be using.’

  ‘Who then?’

  ‘The Union.’

  ‘The Union?’

  Ned laughed. ‘No Luke, not the Poor Law Union. The Trades Union.’

  ‘A Trades Union? I don’t know about that. Not around here, anyways.’

  ‘Not many do. The Bates Union, they call it. John Bates, he started a Union down in St. Clair. An English fellow, but never mind that. Some kind of Chartist, I understand.’

  ‘A Chartist! Weren’t they the fellows that had a revolution in England? Didn’t go far, from all accounts.’

  ‘What would you expect? Sure the English aren’t into revolutions at all.’

  ‘They’re not,’ Luke said. ‘Not their line of country.’

  ‘Wait till you hear Bates, though. He’ll tell you what a revolution is. They’re holding a meeting in Pottsville, Wednesday next, and I’m going. A dozen of the other lads too. Will you come?’

  Luke was thinking quickly, but could not decide.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure I could get away on a Wednesday.’

  ‘It’s our only chance of getting rid of scrip, Luke. Push up the tonnage rates too. We have to organise. It’s the only way forward.’

  Luke found it hard to sleep that night.

  A Trades Union? What would Winnie think of that? Or Farrelly, for that matter.

  Next morning, he discussed it with Farrelly. They both put down their picks and lay on the hard anthracite.

  ‘Yes, I’d heard of it,’ Farrelly said. ‘Didn’t want mentioning any of it to you though. We’d need a day off to get down to Pottsville, and Cantwell, sure as hell, wouldn’t like that. You say there’s others are going?’

  ‘There are.’

  ‘Perhaps they’re in a stronger position. It’d be risky for us though. I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Luke. You go on down with Moran, the rest of us will work an hour longer, make up for your tonnage, and Cantwell won’t see you’re missing.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Luke said.

  *

  They left Lackan in the middle of the night. Winnie and Ellen had made up sandwiches – brown bread and butter with ham.

  They found the coach. It was crowded.

  ‘Mayo men!’ one of the other men exclaimed as they tried to squeeze in.

  ‘Kilduff and Ballina. And yourselves?’

  ‘Belmullet.’

  ‘Belmullet!’ Ned exclaimed. ‘Ye had a hard time there.’

  ‘Hard enough.’

  ‘Ye’ll travel top side so?’

  ‘Topside!’ Luke exclaimed.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We’ll have none of that now,’ one of the others said. ‘We can share the top. And sure if ye wrap up well enough, you won’t feel the cold. Come on Séamus. Yourself and Peadar for the first stage.’

  After the first halt, Luke and Ned went topside. It was well past dawn when they arrived in Pottsville. Already, a large crowd had gathered. Luke was astonished.

  ‘There’s fellows from all over,’ Ned told him. ‘Not so many from Lackan, it’s a fair distance, as you can see. Pottsville, Cass, Port Carbon, St. Clair, Norwegian Township, Minersville, they’re the ones you’ll find. Some down from Schuylkill too, it’s not so far as Lackan.’

  ‘I never heard of the most of them.’

  ‘Why would you? You’ll know all about them when you’re a few years here.’

  The crowd had gathered in front of a platform. Six men came out and sat behind a table on the platform. All were dressed in thick coats and gloves.

  It was still cold. Luke stamped his boots on the ground and blew on his fingers.

  ‘By Christ, this had better be good.’

  He stood with the other men, munching their sandwiches.

  ‘And thank God for this,’ Ned said. ‘I was getting hungry.’

  A St. Clair miner was introducing the main speaker.

  ‘I wish to God he’d hurry up,’ Ned said.

  At length, he sat, and John Bates stood. There was a roar from the gathered miners.

  For some time, he spoke of Chartism, and the failure of the Charter revolution in England. Then the Ballingarry Rebellion in Ireland. Then he was talking of the main Union demands. Scrip to be abolished. There was a roar from the crowd.

  ‘We’ll be lucky if he’ll get that,’ Ned whispered to him.

  ‘Not a hope in hell, I’d say,’ Luke answered.

  The next demand was higher wages and tonnage rates. Another roar of approval.

  ‘Not a hope of that, neither,’ Ned said. ‘The Operators, they’re already complaining about the low price of coal, and how they’re going to have to reduce wages. There’s no chance of them being raised.’

  And then – a demand for lien. That too was approved.

  ‘What in hell is that?’ Luke asked.

  ‘Damned if I know,’ Ned answered. ‘All I know is that we’re all lean enough. I wouldn’t be demanding any more of it though.’

  Bates was still speaking.

  ‘And how do we achieve all these demands, my friends? There is only one way. We must force the Operators to give us what is ours by right. They don’t understand anything else. We’ve seen all the failures of the revolutions and rebellions in England and Ireland. That is not the way to go. There is only one way to make these fools listen. We must organise. Organise and create a Union that is stronger than the Operators. That is the only way to make them understand. But believe me, we have already come a long way. You men are the future of the anthracite business. Here today, we will create a Union, and the Operators will tremble in their boots. Higher wages, lien, an end to scrip, we will achieve them all.’

  He paused.

  ‘Who here will join our Union?’

  Hundreds of hands were raised.

  ‘We might as well,’ Ned said, raising his hand. Luke did the same.

  ‘Thank you, thank you, my friends,’ Bates said. ‘Now we have power. Union power. And now we will use it. How do we use it yo
u might ask? We use the most powerful sword in our armoury. The Strike. Bring the mine owners to their knees. All those in favour…?’

  Again, many hands were raised, and slowly everyone followed, Luke and Ned included.

  ‘I don’t know about this,’ Ned said.

  ‘You voted for it,’ Luke observed.

  ‘So did you. And one way or another, we can’t un-vote now.’

  ‘We can’t,’ Luke said. ‘It’s like he says, though. We’ll break the Operators.’

  Bates was speaking again.

  ‘And now, my friends, one final thing. The Union must be financed. It must pay its way, and it must provide a strike fund. Every one of us will pay ten cents per week and provide for those in hardship. Starting now.’

  ‘Damn it, we’ll all be in hardship,’ Ned said.

  ‘I know,’ Luke said.

  As they streamed out of the field, each dropped a dime into the buckets provided.

  They made their way to the coaches.

  ‘What sort of fools are we?’ Ned asked on the journey back.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ one of the other men said. ‘The Operators will give in soon enough. You just wait and see.’

  ‘I wish I could believe that,’ said Luke.

  When they returned to the house, Luke and Ned quickly explained the outcome of the meeting. Winnie turned pale.

  Over dinner Ellen asked the occasional question, Ned replying as best he could, then they lapsed into silence. After the dishes were washed, they retired to the bedroom. Luke was grateful. He was desperately tired from the travel.

  Winnie was in tears. ‘For God’s sake, Luke, we’ve no money.’

  ‘Little enough, my pet, but sure we’ll survive a week yet.’

  ‘And your wages this week so far. Will they be paid?’

  ‘Not a chance. But at least we won’t have to pay the rent out of them neither.’

  ‘We’ll starve.’

  ‘I doubt it will come to that. It can’t last long. Not if everyone is like us, and I doubt there’s many with money for food. No, the men will back down, and do it soon enough.’

  ‘Then what is it all about?’ she asked.

  ‘God only knows,’ he said.

  He could not sleep that night, as his thoughts raced around and around, trying to work out a future. He thought of the hundreds of men voting for strike. Did they all have money he didn’t know about? Very few, he reckoned. Were they such fools that they had just gone along with the passions of the moment? Very likely. How many now were facing a tongue-lashing from their wives for bringing their families to the edge of starvation?

  Starvation, he thought. They had left Ireland to get away from it. So had the most of those other fools. And now they were facing a famine of their own making. And the night of the dance. The sketch of the coffin. They were desperate men who would do desperate things. Down in the mine, he knew why. Terror? Was that an answer? He remembered what Costello had said about all the gangs of New York, the Molly Maguires too. Violent men. Violence against the Operators. Not like a strike, violence against themselves too, and only brought on by themselves. No answer either way.

  *

  But the Hibernians. They were different.

  Next day, as the strike began, he opened his trunk and ruffled through until he found the address from Costello.

  ‘What are you doing Luke?’ Winnie asked.

  ‘I’m going to see the Hibernians tonight.’

  ‘The Hibernians?’

  ‘John Costello, he said I should join as soon as I got to Lackan, so I’m going to join.’

  ‘What good will that do?’

  ‘Self-help. Isn’t that what the Hibernians are all about? Sure you know it yourself from all the food deliveries you’ve done in New York.’

  ‘But what use would that be here? We’re a long way from New York. And the Lackan Hibernians, sure the most of them will be on strike.’

  ‘I don’t know. But I’ve got to find out.’

  They spent an idle day, sitting around the table with the Morans, mostly silent. That evening, Luke left the house. Ned did not come. He asked his way to the address Costello had given him. It was in a bar in a part of Lackan he did not know. It was not crowded. A barman came to him.

  ‘I’m looking for Eddie McDonagh,’ Luke said.

  ‘Who wants him?’

  ‘Luke Ryan is the name. John Costello from New York, he sent me.’

  ‘Hold on here a moment.’

  Within minutes, he was sitting in the snug off the back of the bar.

  ‘Luke Ryan, is it?’ a man said.

  ‘It is.’

  The man put his hand out, ‘Eddie McDonagh,’ he said. ‘And these gentlemen here, Tim Heneghan and Gus Madden. Galway men all. You’re most welcome. You’re Catholic, are you?’

  ‘I am,’ Luke answered.

  ‘And Irish too, by the sound of it.’

  ‘Mayo.’

  ‘You’ve pledged your loyalty?’

  ‘I have.’

  A beer was placed in front of him.

  ‘So how’s Costello doing these days?’

  ‘Well, I’d say. As you know, his bar is in Five Points, and God knows, that’s one of the roughest places on God’s earth. Still, he runs a good business and keeps up with his faith. His bar is close to St. James’ Church, right where the Hibernians were founded, I understand. But he’s had his own tragedy too, lately.’

  ‘How’s that?’ Gus asked.

  ‘Through his brother. That was the way I got to know John in the first place. I met Conaire on the crossing from Liverpool to Quebec, and we worked in Quebec together, and then out to the forests for the winter. They split us up, put us working in different timber patches, and after the winter, he had disappeared. He’d told me his brother had a bar in Five Points, so I was able to trace John quick enough when I got to New York. But he’d heard nothing about Conaire either, and still hasn’t. We’re sure he would’ve had someone write a letter for him by now, if he was still alive. One way or another though, it was me who found John Costello while his brother never did. And I reckon Conaire is dead.’

  ‘How are you finding it here, Luke?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘Damned tough, I’d say, and getting tougher. I’m well used to hard work, breaking stones, shovelling, and even working up in the forests, but I’ll tell you, nothing prepared me for this. I can swing a pick right enough, but I never thought I’d have to do it lying down. And now, the strike.’

  Ah, yes,’ Tim Heneghan said. ‘Bates and his damned strike.’

  ‘Yes,’ Luke said. ‘I’d thought the hell of the mines was bad enough, but I never thought I’d regret not having to do it at all.’

  ‘Don’t we know it,’ Eddie said. ‘This fellow Bates, he’s an idiot.’

  ‘An English idiot,’ Gus Madden added.

  ‘It doesn’t matter a damn where he’s from,’ Eddie said. ‘He’s a fool to call a strike before the Union even has a strike fund.’

  ‘I know,’ Luke said. ‘They’re looking for ten cents a week subscription – five dollars a year – to run the Union. They never told us how much running the Union would cost, nor how much would be left for a strike fund. The only thing I’m certain of is that there’s damned little in the fund right now, and if this strike goes on, there’ll be starvation in all the mining towns.’

  ‘Bates reckons he doesn’t need one,’ Tim said. ‘He’s putting it all back on us. The Welsh will have their own arrangements, but he’s reckoning the Irish can live off the Hibernians. He’s got a gun to our heads, Luke. Most of the Irish are members already, and they’ve been paying their dues to the Order for long enough. No, Bates knows the Order is going to have to pay; he knows we’ve no choice in the matter.’

  ‘But how? Who will pay?’

  ‘We will. All the other branches here. You know how we support our own.’

  ‘I do,’ Luke said. ‘I’ve done it myself – food deliveries, and the like in New York.
But can we do it here? Food deliveries in Lackan? Christ, it’s as bad as Soup Kitchens in Mayo.’

  ‘There’s only one problem,’ Gus said. ‘We’ve got damned little money.’

  ‘And still the Union wants its dues,’ Tim said.

  ‘Little enough dues they’ll get during the strike,’ Gus said. ‘But it’s not that that worries me. If Bates is only interested in bringing the money in, and has no interest in having enough to pay anything out, what kind of man is he? Has he no sense of money at all? Does it mean nothing to him?’

  ‘Oh, I think it means something right enough,’ Eddie said. ‘I don’t know if what you said about English men is true, they’re not all the same. But this fellow Bates, I wouldn’t trust him as far as I’d throw him. Organising a Union is one thing. We’ve all got to hang together, we all know that. But with this Bates, we’ll all hang separately, and devil a damn he’ll give about it. We need money for them back home. We need money for ourselves and our children. How long, in the name of God, do you think this damned strike will last?’

  ‘I know one thing,’ Gus said. ‘The owners here are tough bastards. They’re not going to give in. They’ll never give in. This strike will go on until they’ve starved every one of us into surrender.’

  He walked back to the Morans’ house, deeply depressed. He had brought Winnie and the baby from one famine straight into another.

  *

  As he walked up the street, he was surprised to hear singing. When he got to Morans’, he saw three candles burning in the window. Puzzled, he walked in. Winnie threw her arms around him.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful, Luke?’

  ‘Wonderful! What?’

  ‘It’s over. It’s all over. And we won.’

  ‘We won?’

  Ned had poured out a whiskey, and handed it to him. He raised his own.

  ‘Here’s to the Union.’

  Luke sat down, puzzled. ‘But…we didn’t give in?’

  ‘Give in! Not us. It was the Operators. They were the ones that gave in.’

  Luke sipped at the harsh spirit. Ellen offered him water, but he brushed it away.

  ‘The Operators gave in? After one day. I don’t believe that.’

  ‘It’s true right enough,’ Ned said. ‘We’re to have no more scrip. It’s gone. No question of that. They’re raising our tonnage payments by a fifth.’