“My friend Peter Jones, ’e be a trapper ’til ’e be eight. ’E tole me ’twas naw that ’ard. Ya joost sit ’roond an’ wait fur people ta cum wit the coal tubs.”
Frowning, his father stopped. “Joost cuz yur Mum be naw ’ere, ’tis naw reason ta change the way ya talk. If ya think it pleases me, ya be mistaken. Do ya un’erstand me, boy?”
He looked up in surprise, a little hurt. “I—”
“Yur Mum wants only what’s best fur ya, Davee. Dunna ever furget that.”
“I won’t, Dahdee.”
“Ah warn ya,” he said sternly, “sum of the men an’ boys be teasin’ ya reet fierce aboot ’ow ya spek, but ya pay ’em naw mind, Davee. Naw mind! If’n yur Mum be thinkin’ ya be doon thare undoin’ what she’s been teachin’ ya, ya naw be stayin’ on as a trapper. Do ya ’ear me, Son?”
Shocked a little by his father’s intensity, David bobbed his head up and down quickly. “Yes, Dahdee.”
“Gud boy.” John touched his shoulders. “Awl reet, then, let’s git doon thare an’ show ya what ya be doin’ fur a livin’.”
As they approached the cage that would lower them into the mine, David eyed it warily while his father talked briefly to the winder—the man who ran the winding machinery that lifted or lowered the cage. David was looking at the rope that dropped from the winding wheel high above them and hooked to the top of the cage. It was black with grease, polished to a dull sheen, and looked no thicker than his middle finger. And the cage looked like it was very heavy.
“Are you sure this be safe, Dahdee?” he whispered.
Angus McComber, the winder, roared with laughter. “Aye, laddie. Ya be safe as long as ya be gud to me, lek yur Pap always is. Otherwise, Ah let the lever slip through me ’ands, an’ ya be droppin’ lek a rock.” He cackled gleefully, showing one missing tooth.
John ignored him and stepped across the gap into the cage. “Cum on, Son.”
His weight started the cage swinging back and forth, bumping gently against the sides of the shaft. Then David made a mistake. As he stepped across the gap, he looked down. It was straight down for over four hundred feet. Far below he saw tiny pinpricks of light and realized they were lanterns. He gasped and groped blindly for a handhold as a wave of dizziness hit him.
“Dunna look doon, David!” his father barked. “Keep yur eyes straight a’ead. Cum on, in the cage wit ya, boy.”
David’s face flamed hot. He did not want to shame his father in front of the other man. He took a quick breath, looked straight ahead, and stepped into the cage. His father pulled the door shut and banged twice on the steel framework with the palm of his hand. The sound of the steam engine somewhere off to the left deepened as it took the weight of the cage and began to lower it.
Moving to one corner, his father motioned for David to join him. The walls of the shaft were slipping past them now with increasing speed, and the square of light directly above them was shrinking rapidly. The vertigo rose up again and David closed his eyes.
After a moment, the dizziness passed and he opened his eyes again. The darkness was thick now, but he could still discern their passage through solid rock. He relaxed a little. The cage still rocked back and forth slightly, but it was bearable.
David looked up. The square of light high above them was no more than the size of a thimble now. “Dahd? Has the rope on the cage ever broken before?”
There was a long pause, then his father said, “Ya dunna ask questions lek that, Son.”
David’s face went hot as he clamped his lips tightly together. Even at six, he knew that miners were very superstitious. They always stood in the same place in the cage when they went down or came up. They liked to eat in the same spot every day. No one ever started a job or moved on a Friday, because it was a bad luck day. And once a man put away his tools at the end of the shift and started for home, he would never, for any reason, return to his chamber. The mine was too close to Satan’s domain, and one did not tempt the Evil One.
At the bottom, his father opened the door and they stepped off onto a rough-hewn floor. John shut the door, then banged on the steel frame three times with his hammer. Immediately the lift started up the shaft again. “Twice ta go doon,” he explained. “Three times ta go up.”
David turned slowly, looking around. To his surprise, the air was cool, enough that he was glad he had brought his light jacket.
“I thought you said it got hot in the mines, Dahd.”
“Not ’ere. Only in the work chambers.”
The light from the two lamps here was softer, more subdued, and David realized that the air was filled with a fine mist of coal dust. There was also the heavy smell of mule dung coming from a side chamber. No surprise. Once the big cars were loaded from the smaller coal tubs or trolleys, mules would pull them back to the cage for transport to the top.
“Cum,” his father said, “our monkey head be this way.”
David nodded. You didn’t grow up as the son of a miner and not know the language. The main tunnels that brought the cars to the cage and from there up to the surface were called gangways. Going off in both directions from the gangways were the chutes—tunnels big enough to carry full-sized coal cars. Smaller passages, which generally ran parallel to the gangway, connected the chutes into one vast latticework. These were the monkey heads. They connected the chutes with the work chambers where the coal was actually dug.
Lamps were hung at about twenty-five-yard intervals, providing only a dim light, but David found his eyes adjusting quickly. They moved into the gangway, passed three chutes, then turned right, where his father stopped. He stood in front of a tunnel no more than four feet square. This was a monkey head. A set of narrow rails ran into it.
Removing the cloth pack from his shoulder, his father hung it around his neck. He swung the pouch that held his water and ale so that it hung from his belt in front of him. He dropped to his hands and knees and started into the tunnel. “Watch yur ’ead,” he grunted, and he disappeared.
Knowing that a monkey head was a tunnel had not prepared David for actually entering one. He didn’t have a pack, only the cloth sack his mother had filled with his snap, two candles, and a water flask. Tying it to his belt, he quickly dropped on all fours and followed after his father. Instantly the darkness closed in around him. He stopped, gripping the rails to fight off a wave of panic. He moved forward again. The floor was rough. “Ow!”
“Try ta keep yur knees on the ties b’tween the rails,” came his father’s muffled voice, “or ya be bangin’ up yur legs real bad.”
The ties helped, but in moments, David’s knees felt raw and the palms of his hands were burning. David had never been afraid of the dark, but now, with only a faint glimmer ahead from his father’s lamp, it felt like the tunnel walls were closing in on him. A suffocating wave of panic swept over him. “Dahd! Are you there?”
“Ah be joost ahead of ya, Son,” came the faint reply. “Keep ’old of the rails. ’Nuther ’undred yards an’ we be thare.”
Sure enough, a minute or two later the glimmer of light around the round shape of his father’s rump widened. Another minute and his view to the tunnel was clear. He scrambled the last ten feet and leaped up, hungrily drawing in deep breaths. This chamber was maybe fifty feet square. The roof, rough and undulating, was higher than the chute. It felt wonderful to be in the open again. Four lamps hung from spikes driven into the side walls at twenty-foot intervals. The increased light was as welcome as the open space.
He looked around. The narrow tracks they had followed through the monkey head split and ran off in three directions. Four empty coal tubs sat on the rails. These were not the big cars that carried coal to the cage, but smaller trolleys made of wood, set on iron wheels.
“It is warm here, Dahd.”
“When ya be workin’ a coal seam, the compressed heat is released. Meks things toasty.”
As David turned back to his father, his eyes widened a little. His father’s back was to David, but he had al
ready stripped off his pack and pouch and placed them on a narrow shelf that had been cut into the coal face, and now he was removing his clothes. First came the boots and socks, then off came the light jacket followed by his shirt, then the heavy kegs, or trousers.
David looked away. He had never seen his father undressed before. But his curiosity drew him back. His father stood there, bare-legged and bare-chested, with nothing on but a thin pair of grey cotton smalls. He took down a fold of cloth and shook it out, and David saw it was another pair of kegs, but these were made of light cotton, and were as black as if they had been dyed in India ink. John buttoned them at the waist, then pulled the suspenders over his shoulders.
Seeing his son’s expression, John smiled. “These be me workin’ kegs, Son. As ya can tell, it be too ’ot in ’ere ta work in me regular clothes.”
“Do you not even wear a shirt, then? Or shoes? What about in winter?”
A short laugh. “Thare be naw winter in the mines. Or summer or spring, fur that matter.”
His father turned back to the shelf, struck a match, lit his Davy lamp, and strapped it on his head. He took down what looked like a folded blanket. Finally, he grabbed one of the several picks leaning up against the wall. “Ah be workin’ a monkey ’ole today. It be this way.”
“What’s a monkey hole, Dahd? Is that the same as a monkey head?”
“No. Cum an’ see.”
They walked fifty or more feet before his father stopped. At first David saw nothing, only the black roughness of the coal face. But when his father laid down the pick, removed the Davy lamp from his head, and knelt down, David drew in a sharp breath. Where the wall and the floor met, a niche had been cut horizontally into the coal face. It was about six feet long, two feet high, and cut maybe three feet into the face of the wall. It looked like it had been made for a corpse. A shiver ran down David’s back.
“This be a monkey ’ole, Davee,” his father said, unfolding the blanket. “This be the one thing miners hate above all others.”
He spread out the blanket and pushed it into the hole. Then he placed the Davy lamp at one end of the niche so it illuminated the inside. Finally, he lay on his back and scooted himself onto the blanket. One hand came back, groped for a moment, then found his pick.
David was aghast. “You work in there?” His father’s nose was just inches from the ceiling.
But even as he spoke, his father’s upper body began to move rhythmically. There was the sharp clang of steel on stone. Puffs of black dust immediately filled the space. Chunks of coal were falling now, bouncing off his father’s arms and body.
It continued for several seconds, then stopped. His father slid out again, leaving the pick in place but retrieving the lamp. He stood up beside his son.
“When ya undercut the coal face, it makes it easier ta bring the ’ole thing down.” Seeing the look on his son’s face, he smiled. “It be pure hell, but it do speed up the work.”
He waved his hand. “We need ta tek ya ta yur post an’ show ya ’ow ta be a trapper, Son.”
David fell into step beside his father, trotting to keep up with his long strides. He said nothing more. The awfulness of what he had just seen lay heavy on him. Then came a sudden thought: That’s why Mama hates the mines so.3
Notes
^1. Fire damp was the name given at this time to a number of flammable gases produced in coal mines, the most common of which was methane. The name probably comes from the German word dampf, meaning “vapor,” and came into use in England when German miners were brought over to help the British learn deep-mining techniques.
^2. Before the invention of the Davy lamp in 1815 (named for its inventor), candles or lanterns were used in the mines for illumination. This often caused the methane and other gasses to ignite and explode. The Davy lamp consisted of a glass cylinder, within which the flame was further encased in wire gauze so as to permit air to enter but prevent the flame escaping to ignite any gasses in the air.
^3. The endnotes in chapter 4 will discuss in more detail the conditions in the coal mines and the life of a coal miner as described in the novel.
Chapter 4
Monday, June 16, 1862
“As ya can see,” his father said, pointing as they walked deeper into the mine, “the coal seam still be runnin’ purty mooch level ’long ’ere, though it naw be thick e’nuff ta justify a full chamber.” Just ahead of them the area suddenly reduced in width by half and became a tunnel, with the ceiling only about five feet high. His father had to bend at the waist to enter; David only had to duck his head.
“How do the mules come in here, Dahd?”
“They dunna. Naw here. Do ya r’member what a ’urrier is? An’ a thruster?”
“Yes, Dahd. Hurriers get their name because they pull the coal tubs through the tunnels and hurry them along. Thrusters help the hurriers by pushing the tubs from behind. And the trapper opens the doors, which are called traps, for the hurriers, the thrusters, and the mule drivers.”
“Do it awl mek sense ta ya, Davee boy?”
“It does, Dahd.”
“So in monkey heads lek this one, the tunnel be naw large e’nuff fur mules, so the ’urriers become the mules.” He turned his head and his lamp shone directly into David’s eyes, causing him to squint. “Yur furst station be quite narrow an’ confined, cuz the mine bosses, they dunna be trustin’ the bigger doors ta a new trapper. But do yur job well, an’ they be movin’ ya ta one of the chutes in a month or two.”
Following close behind his father to take advantage of the light from his lamp, David was peering around him. Just as he saw the outline of a door ahead of him, a terrible stench assaulted his nostrils. “Ew!” he exclaimed. “What is that awful smell, Dahd?”
John ignored that. “This be yur station, Davee. This be whare ya be servin’ as trapper.”
The door was set in a framework of beams and closed the tunnel off completely. The door itself was made of planks and had a hole about half the size of David’s fist on one side. A thick, knotted rope came through it so it could be pulled from either side of the door.
Stepping to one side, his father placed his lamp on a small shelf cut into the wall. The light revealed a mound of old candle wax on the ledge. Turning, David looked around. Immediately he saw the source of the awful smell. Near the hinges of the door, a short, three-legged stool was set in a niche hollowed out of the coal face. Beneath it, in about an inch of coal and rock dust, was a thick, dark paste bearing deep impressions of a child’s bare feet. The smell of urine and feces was overpowering. The area was littered with garbage—bits of paper, splinters of bones, wood shavings, a twisted spike from the rails. He jumped as a dark shape moved across his peripheral vision. “Dahd!”
“Joost a rat,” his father said. “An’ a small one at that. Won’t ’urt ya. Joost keep yur snap on the shelf where they can’t git at it.” He was still looking around, his nose wrinkled. “Rats be good luck, did ya know that? Thare ears be so sensitive, they can ’ear a cave-in b’fur it ’appens.”
He walked over to the stool and cursed softly under his breath. “’Ad no idee it be this bad,” he muttered. “Stupid nippers. Cahrnt thare mums teach ’em nothin’? May as well put ’em in a pigsty. Goin’ ta the loo reet ’ere whare they ’ave ta sit awl day.”
Turning back, he said, “Shudda brung a shuvel. Ah be comin’ back ta ’ave lunch wit ya aboot midday. Ah’ll bring one then.”
“Really?” David was instantly embarrassed by the raw eagerness in his voice.
“Joost today. On yur own after that. But we’ll cover up that muck wit sum dirt and gravel.” He pointed toward the door. “When ya need ta use the loo, Son, thare’s a wide spot up the tunnel a way.” He half turned. “Gimme one of yur candles.”
David untied his sack from his belt and handed it to his father. John retrieved one of the thick, stubby candles and lit it off the Davy lamp. He held the flame to the hardened candle wax on the shelf until it began to soften, then stuck the c
andle upright into it.
“Each candle be burnin’ aboot three, maybe four ’ours. Two candles canna git ya through a ’ole shift. Naw whare close. So once ya git used ta the lay of things, yoo’ll want ta blow it oot fur a while. Save it fur when ya canna stand the darkness anymore.”
“I’m not afraid of the dark, Dahd.”
“Ah know, Son, and that be good. But ya ain’t never saw darkness lek this b’fur. Joost wait. It’s so thick ya can almost taste it.”
“If I blow the candle out, how will I light it again? Do you have a match?”
“Aye, but Ah canna be sparin’ it, Son. Each match costs a ha’penny an’ we dunna know when we be needin’ one at the coal face.”
David looked away, feeling the first stirring of panic.
“Yoo’ll be awl reet, Son. The ’urriers ’ave candles. Ya can light yurs off’n thares if ya need ta.” Sensing David’s misgivings, John stepped to the door, grasped the rope, and pulled on it. It creaked and groaned until he had it fully opened. Pointing through the door, he continued, “This be whare the coal be cumin’ frum. The crews be workin’ a new chamber doon thare.”
David saw that the tunnel was descending away from him on a slight angle.
“They be cumin’ this direction, widenin’ the tunnel, layin’ rail, bringin’ the first of the coal oot. Once that’s done, this tunnel be wide e’nuff fur mules an’ cars. No more boys draggin’ thare guts oot pullin’ the tubs.”
Then there was a soft sound of disgust. “Crate-eggede mine owners. They be daft as a dead mule, nowt but spit an’ glue.f Easy e’nuff fur ’em ta sit in thare grahnd mansions, smokin’ thare pipes an’ sippin’ champagne, sayin’, ‘G’wan, ya stupid Tykes. Joost follow Ole Lady Coal whare e’er she leads ya. Pay naw mind ta cuttin’ yur way through three ’undred feet of solid rock. Joost cut it on through an’ stop yur bellyachin’.’”
David was smiling in the darkness. His father was not talking to him anymore, and listening to him rant like this was a new experience. He suspected that if he hadn’t been here, the soliloquy would have been much more colorful.
The Undaunted : The Miracle of the Hole-In-The-Rock Pioneers Page 4