Finder, Coal Mine Dog

by Alison Hart

  The many smells confuse my nose, so I prick my ears to listen. Are those voices? Straining at the rope, I pull Thomas toward the faint sounds.

  “He’s got something,” Thomas says excitedly.

  There is a rustling noise, and a few rats skitter past.

  “Only rats,” Captain Kenney declares.

  “If rats can live, then so can a person,” Castelli exclaims. “Let’s push aside some of these coal cars to make a path.”

  It takes a long time, but finally we are on the move again. When we come to a side tunnel, Mr. Powell calls for everyone to stop.

  As the men discuss which direction to take, I prick my ears and stare into the darkness.

  Because I do hear something more than rats. Is it the shuffle of weary feet? I pull Thomas a little farther into the side tunnel. That is when I smell the sweat of a living man. Lunging forward, I pull the rope from Thomas’s grasp. Over here! Over here! The rescue team follows my barks as I weave around debris.

  Suddenly, a person stumbles toward us from the dark, then another and another until there is a group of them. Stunned, they stare at us, squinting in the glare of our headlamps.

  Then Mr. Castelli cries out, “Quartaroli!” The rescuers rush forward and the survivors fall into their arms. I twirl joyfully. “Praise the Lord!” Father Haney shouts and begins praying.

  “Is it Sunday or Monday?” a survivor asks.

  “We thought no one would find us,” another of the soot-covered men chokes out between cracked lips.

  “It is Saturday,” Captain Kenney says. “You have been underground for seven days.”

  “Seven days?” another exclaims. “We lost track of time.”

  Castelli holds the first miner he had recognized and sobs, “I can’t believe it is you, Antenore Quartaroli.”

  As the men hug and talk, I touch each of them with my nose, then turn to Thomas. I do not find Uncle George.

  “Are there others still alive?” Thomas asks.

  “In nine north,” one replies. “George Eddy, Thomas White, Walter Waite, and others. Most are too weak to walk.”

  “Uncle George is alive!” Thomas gasps.

  “I hope so. Some of them were injured and couldn’t leave the tunnel. Be careful, though. It is a treacherous maze to get back there.”

  “The dog will find them,” Mr. Powell says. “Castelli, make sure these men get to the surface and receive immediate care. Send more help as well. The rest of us will press on. Thomas, you and your dog lead the way.”

  This time I don’t need a command. I know the name Uncle. My excitement rises with the hope in the men’s voices. If there are more survivors, I will find them.

  Leaping forward, I again yank the rope from Thomas’s grasp. It flaps behind me as I dodge the charred ruins of the mine, my nose tracking the scent of the living into a low corridor. Abruptly I’m stopped by suffocating black damp. My head feels as if it is being crushed, but I shake it and force myself to go on.

  In the faint light of the lanterns bobbing behind me, my eyes make out a wall of rock. Several men are lying in front of it. One cries out fearfully at the sight of me, as if I am a ghost.

  I woof, letting him know I am real.

  “Thank the Lord! We have been found!” the man calls as the rescuers’ lights come closer. There is a hole in the rocks behind the survivors. I stick my nose through and sniff. Uncle! Furiously, I start to dig.

  Thomas rushes up beside me and shouts into the hole. “Is anyone alive in there?”

  “Yes,” a faint voice answers. “We are alive…and thirsty.”

  “Hang on.” Before the rescuers can begin hacking at the hole to make it bigger, I squirm through. Uncle is lying on his side. His eyes are closed against the light beaming through the hole. I crawl to him and lay my head beside his.

  “Finder,” he croaks. His tongue is swollen but I know he is saying my name. His hand moves ever so slightly, trying to reach for me, and I nudge my nose under it.

  When the hole is wide enough, Thomas crawls through, followed by Mr. Powell and Father Haney. Tears flow down Thomas’s cheeks. “Uncle George. You’re alive.”

  “Thank goodness you found us,” Uncle whispers. “We wouldn’t have made it much longer.”

  After the rescuers dig out a larger opening, they place Uncle and the others on stretchers and carry them one by one back to the bottom of the air shaft. Castelli has brought Dr. Howe into the mine, and he is checking each survivor.

  “It’s a miracle that you and these other nineteen men survived—for a whole week,” Dr. Howe says as he checks Uncle’s pulse. I lie down beside his stretcher. Thomas sits beside it, giving Uncle sips of water from a tin cup.

  “How did you manage?” Thomas asks.

  “Everyone took care of each other,” Uncle says weakly. “We found a little water that trickled through a hole. I was so worried about you, Thomas. I am glad to see that you and Finder made it out.”

  “Yes. Dominick and I were two of the last ones rescued from the third vein. Thanks to Finder.”

  Uncle strokes my head.

  “Let’s get you to the surface,” Dr. Howe says to him. “A team of doctors and nurses is waiting.”

  “And a bowl of rabbit stew?” Uncle asks.

  “Perhaps in a few days.”

  Uncle sits up. “I will walk out of this mine on my own two feet,” he declares shakily. He stands with Thomas’s help and climbs onto the platform.

  “It is night now, but the moon is out,” Dr. Howe cautions. “Even that weak light may be too much for your eyes after so many days in the dark.”

  Uncle holds onto Thomas for support as the platform rises. When we break the surface, people press against the barricade around the air shaft, cheering. Two lines of guards have made a pathway to the railroad hospital car. Applause breaks out when the crowd sees us, but the guards quickly hush the people as if the noise will startle the survivors.

  I search for Aunt in the sea of anxious faces. The moment she catches sight of us, she breaks into tears.

  She runs toward us. “Oh, George,” she sobs. “Is it really you?”

  When Uncle sees her, he collapses. Thomas and Aunt flank him. Gently lifting him to his feet, they help him down the path to the hospital car where men in rubber coats are waiting.

  I trot behind the three, slowing as the rush of excitement turns to exhaustion. My burnt paws are raw from digging. My tongue hangs from my parched mouth. The lights hurt my eyes.

  A nurse comes up to guide Aunt and Uncle into the hospital car. Thomas stops at the steps to make sure they get into the car safely. Then he turns to search for me.

  Dropping to his knees, he hauls me into his arms. “You did it. You found Uncle and the others.” Tears glisten on his cheeks. Mr. Williams comes over, his face drawn with weariness.

  “You and Finder saved those men,” he says. “You were right. The dog knew where to look. As head of the Illinois Mine Experiment and Mine Life Saving Station, I can tell you that we are always looking for new methods of mine safety and recovery. I believe there is a job on our team for you and your dog.”

  Thomas’s eyes widen. “You mean to rescue people underground?”

  Mr. Williams nods. “There are many accidents like this. Rarely as traumatic as the fire here in Cherry. But workers often get lost or suffer an injury on the job, and the team could use help to find them. What do you think, young man? You and your dog would be an asset.”

  Thomas stoops. “Finder? What do you think? We’d still be going underground. But no more digging, shoveling, or pulling carts.”

  I woof, not sure of the question, but I hear the excitement in Thomas’s voice. I dance around his legs despite my sore paws, wagging my tail, showing him that I am excited too.

  Thomas laughs, then shakes Mr. William’s hand. “Thank you, sir. We would be honored.”

  As Mr. Williams heads back to the tower, the people on the other side of the barricade begin to point. “That’s Finder. He
’s the coal mine dog who helped rescue the others,” someone calls. “He’s a hero!”

  “Hero! Hero!”

  Confused by the shouts, Thomas and I look around. A reporter pushes past a guard. “Is it true, son? Is your dog a hero?” He holds up a big camera and a flash of light explodes. I press against Thomas’s legs, shrinking from the man and the noise.

  “No. It is not true,” Thomas answers. “He did find the survivors, but he was only doing his job.” There is pride in his voice, and I nuzzle his bandaged hand. “The men who died in the fire trying to save others—like Mr. Norberg, Mr. Dovin, Mr. Bundy, and Ole Freiburg—they are the real heroes.”

  Brushing past the reporter, Thomas hurries back toward the air shaft. “I hope I spoke for you, Finder,” he says to me. “After all, you are a hero. But more importantly, you did your job and saved the trapped miners.”

  He smiles down at me. “I know you’re tired and it is late. But our work is not done tonight. If there are more men below, we need to find them.”

  Giving him a toothy smile, I dance beside him even though we are heading back to the air shaft. The moon is bright and I can see branches reaching for the sky. I can hear the whisper of critters in the brush. I can smell the fresh, rain-spattered earth.

  But I must go below again with Thomas because I have a new job now. I will not be searching for coal in the black, twisty tunnels. I will be searching for survivors.

  And when I come back to the surface, I will strut proudly. Not because I am a hero, but because I am a mine rescue dog.

  The History Behind Finder

  The Cherry Mine Disaster

  The St. Paul Coal Mine located in Cherry, Illinois, also known as the Cherry Mine, was considered one of the safest and most modern in the United States. It was also the scene of one of the worst disasters. On November 13, 1909, a fire started in a coal car that was used to transport hay for the mules. Instead of warning the miners, workers and officials tried to put it out. Despite their efforts, the flames quickly grew larger. Most of the miners did not know about the fire until the end of the day. When they came to the shaft to be hoisted to the surface, the flames had spread to the cage and it was burning too. For most, it was too late to escape.

  Miraculously, twenty of the men who were trapped underground survived for eight days.

  In August 1910, a state mine inspector reported 256 men dead or lost in the Cherry Mine fire. This included twelve of the rescuers and several victims who were listed as seventeen years old.

  Finder and Thomas are fictional characters. But George Eddy, Alex Norberg, Walter Waite, and other men in the story—many who died in the disaster while trying to save others—were real.

  Coal Mining and Miners

  During the Civil War, the coal mining industry boomed as rail transport expanded and the need for fuel increased. Mine companies used a process called “room and pillar” mining. Men would dig a “room,” hauling out the coal. They’d leave behind a floor-to-ceiling “pillar” of rock, earth, and stones large enough to support the tunnel roof. Timbers were used for support as needed.

  To loosen the coal from the rock, miners drilled holes in the rich seams, which were then filled with explosives. Once the coal and rock had been blasted into smaller chunks, an assistant called a “butty” or “buddy” like Thomas would shovel it into the cars. He worked until he’d filled five to six cars, reaching “full coal.” It was grueling and dangerous work.

  Blasting the seams released poisonous gases into the air. All miners feared “black damp,” a mix of nitrogen and carbon dioxide that killed miners who were exposed to it. Sometimes, blasting also caused cave-ins. “I got caught under a big rock, and I couldn’t get out. My leg was broken. There I was all alone. No light. Complete darkness,” one buddy said after a roof collapsed (Bartoletti, Growing Up in Coal Country, page 61). Other miners like Mr. McKinny died of black lung, a disease caused by inhaling coal dust.

  Miners ran the risk of being burned, drowned, suffocated, or crushed. Even today, mining is a dangerous job. On April 5, 2010, almost one hundred years after the Cherry Mine disaster, twenty-nine miners were killed at the Upper Big Branch Mine in West Virginia.

  Young Mine Workers

  Boys as young as seven were often employed in the mines. In 1900 the state of Illinois outlawed the hiring of children under the age of fourteen to work for wages. However, hard times drove many parents to lie about their sons’ ages. A father would obtain a work certificate and fill in the required age. No proof was needed. Mine employers looked the other way since wages for children were cheaper than for adults, and children could work a variety of jobs.

  A year before Finder’s story begins, the National Child Labor Committee hired Lewis Hine as an “investigative reporter.” Hine traveled across the country photographing children at work, many in the mines. In 1908, NCLC reported that “one out of every four mine workers was a boy, age seven to sixteen” (Bartoletti, Growing Up in Coal Country, page 120).

  Many child workers were “breaker boys” in the coal mines. They sorted slate and rock from the coal. In the early 1900s, their pay was about 70 cents a day. From dawn until dusk the breaker boys sat hunched on wood benches as the coal rumbled past. They weren’t allowed to wear gloves because they could pick out the coal better with bare hands. The work caused their fingers to swell and the skin to crack. Though they covered their mouths with rags, their lungs filled with soot and smoke. And they were almost always in danger of accidents.

  Lewis Hine reported that “two breaker boys fell or were carried into the coal chute, where they were smothered to death” (Freedman, Kids at Work: Lewis Hine and the Crusade Against Child Labor, page 48).

  Other boys, “trappers” like Seth in the story, opened and shut the large doors between tunnels. Workers called “spraggers” jabbed wooden poles (sprags) into the car wheels to control the speed. Other young workers drove mules or oiled machinery. All the jobs were hard, dirty, and dangerous. Still, it wasn’t until 1938 that strict federal laws were enacted to protect child workers.

  Animals in the Mines

  Animals were used extensively in the mines. As early as 1911, British miners carried canaries into the tunnels to detect poisonous gases. If the canary stopped singing or died, the worker knew the tunnel was not safe. Canaries were finally phased out in 1987 when miners began using electronic gas detectors.

  In 1900, more than 84 percent of coal was hauled by mules and horses. Ponies, goats, and dogs sometimes pulled smaller coal cars through narrow tunnels. In McDonough County, Illinois, thirty-one dogs similar to Finder were used to pull “empty and loaded cars of coal to and from the mines, to the bottom of the shaft or to the mouth of the drifts” (Twenty-Second Annual Coal Report).

  Rats did not work in the mine, but they thrived in the dark tunnels. They ate mule feed, stole lunch pails, and begged for crusts. “You had to keep your lunch close by,” said one miner. “They’d take anything—even your clothes if you left them lying around. They’d drag them away and hide them” (Bartoletti, Growing Up in Coal Country, page 50).

  The Cur Dog

  Finder is considered a mountain cur, which was not a recognized breed until 1957. The United Kennel Club did not list the cur as a breed until 1998.

  Curs are often thought of as the original pioneer dog. It is believed that a type of cur came to America with Hernando de Soto in the 1500s. They bred with native dogs to become fast, sturdy, fierce hunters.

  Later, the pioneers relied on their cur dogs for herding, guarding, and supplying food. After World War II, when people migrated to cities, the breed became scarce. Today, the mountain cur is one of about fourteen cur varieties, all considered working dogs.

  A Real Mine Rescue Dog

  In the early 1900s, there were no mine rescue dogs. But today, Ginny, a Dutch shepherd, works as a mine dog in Bristol, Virginia. Ginny uses her superior sense of smell to scent toxic gas from a mile away. She also wears a special beeper that warns of poisonous
gases. As a member of the Alpha Rescue team, she is trained to find humans trapped in the Alpha Coal Mine as well as above ground.

  Bibliography

  Bartoletti, Susan Campbell. Growing up in Coal Country. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1996.

  “Childhood Lost.” Eastern Illinois University. www.eiu.edu/eiutps/childhood.php.

  Crowell, D.L. History of the Local Coal Mining Industry in Ohio: Ohio Division of Geological Survey Bulletin 72: 1995.

  Freedman, Russell. Kids at Work: Lewis Hine and the Crusade Against Child Labor. New York: Clarion Books, 1994.

  History, Genealogy, Coal Mining in Illinois. Twenty-Second Annual Coal Report, 1903, Illinois Bureau of Labor Statistics, Springfield, ILL; Phillips Bros. State Printers, 1904.

  Long, Susan Hill. Whistle in the Dark. New York: Holiday House, 2013.

  Martin, Holly. “Ginny the Rescue Dog Saves Trapped and Injured Coal Miners.” Examiner.com. June 1, 2002. www.examiner.com.article/ginny-the-rescue-dog-saves-trapped-and-injured-coal-miners.

  Sherard, Gerald E. Pennsylvania Mine Accidents. Nov. 2011. www.genealogy.com.

  Tintori, Karen. Trapped: The 1909 Cherry Mine Disaster. New York: Atria Books, 2002.

  White, Thomas and Louis Murphy. “Eight Days in a Burning Mine.” The World Magazine. Oct. 1911. www.msha.gov.

  Websites

  Information on Dogs

  www.greatdogsite.com

  Original Mountain Cur Breeders Association

  www.omcba.homestead.com

  United Kennel Club

  www.ukcdogs.com

  Ginny the Alpha Rescue Dog

  www.alphaminerescuedog.com

  Children and the Law

  www.encyclopedia.chicagohistory.org/pages/279.html

  Coal Mining Photos

  http://hinton-gen.com/coal/photos.html

  Information and Photos on Cherry Mine