Us and Them

by Hugh R. MacDonald

  JW pushed down thoughts of the cage and decided now was the time to finally start reading the book he’d gotten months earlier, The Bitter Cry of the Children. Once he began reading it, he realized the title suited it well. The material was heart-rending. JW could hardly believe some of the accounts of what children had had to endure. He was horrified by the harrowing working conditions that children as young as four, five, six – mere babies – had suffered, all so that the wealthy owners could get richer.

  Reading about how poverty and the lack of proper food for children would have lasting negative effects throughout their lifetime was eye-opening too. One section about a boy whose parents had signed papers saying he was older than his age struck a chord, and JW remembered his own parents had been forced by difficult times to do that very thing three years earlier, so that he could work as a trapper boy. Donnie’s mother was forced to do the same.

  As JW got further along in the book, he better understood JB McLachlan’s indignation about working conditions. Without the men fighting for their rights, the owners of the mines, and any other businesses, would continue to treat workers as their property, with little or no regard for their well-being. JW realized too that the struggle couldn’t be left only to the men.

  He knew that he and Mickey, Patty and Donnie, and all the other boys had to become part of it. He understood that many people with power used it to keep others down. He saw it in the way some miners mistreated the trapper boys, making an already miserable job even worse. Although he and Mickey were no longer working the trap door, he felt it important to make sure all the people working underground were treated fairly.

  JW felt sleep overtake him as he tried to read some more in bed that night. The book fell from his hands, hitting his chest, before dropping to the floor with a soft thud. The faces of Gerry and Artie filled his dreams as he slept fitfully.

  Chapter 31

  JW climbed the few steps to the front porch of the house and knocked on the door.

  “Good afternoon, JW.”

  “Afternoon, Mrs. McLachlan. Is JB ... Mr. McLachlan home?”

  “Who is it, Kate?” JW heard from inside.

  “It’s JW Donaldson. Go right in,” Kate said, and smiled as he removed his shoes once he crossed the threshold.

  “Bring him in, dear,” JB said, a moment before JW entered the room.

  “Afternoon, JB,” JW said. They had dispensed with formalities years before.

  “What brings you here, son?”

  JW held out the book, The Bitter Cry of the Children. He waited while JB opened it and skimmed some of the pages. He watched JB nod his head in some places and grunt in others. JW said, “Much of what you’ve told me over the years is in this book. I thought maybe you were exaggerating, but I can see now you weren’t.”

  “No, JW. And I was trying not to tell the worst of it. But man’s quest for money puts it first, and all else second.”

  JW told JB what one of the mine managers had said just as he and Mickey and the other men arrived on the surface after the cage cable had broken. Barking orders about cleaning up the mess because there were orders to fill, with no regard for the dead or injured.

  A look of rage crossed JB’s face, quickly replaced with a forced calm expression. “I was going to rant and roar about the mistreatment, but I can see you’ve got a good grasp of what’s going on,” he said.

  “Starting to, JB. I was thinking that things would just get better with time. I didn’t realize all the hard work that was done to get the owners to part with a few more cents for the men. Now I know that unless you stand up and fight, things could get as bad or worse than when Roy the Wolf was running things.”

  “Yes, Roy Wolvin didn’t care back when he was company president, and I’m not convinced these new guys do either. Have to keep on top of things all the time. The Union needs some young blood, like you. You should think about being more active in it.”

  “Maybe,” JW said.

  “The thing to know is that real change can be dangerous, because you have to challenge those in power.”

  JW realized that JB was probably referring to the time he’d spent in jail years earlier, which had cost him more than just time away from his family. JW’s father had told him that the charges had been trumped up to get JB out of the way, to weaken the men’s fight. His attempts to get elected to government had been, so far, unsuccessful. JW thought JB would make a good teacher, because he kept driving home a point until he was sure the person or people he was talking to understood.

  JW wasn’t entirely sure exactly why he’d come to visit JB. Maybe it was to tell him that, because of the book, he now believed much of what JB had told him over the years. Or maybe it was to listen to JB talk about us and them, a rallying cry to stand against the mine owners. But it was also to get JB’s advice about something.

  “JB, I’ve been thinking about how some of the men pick on the boys that have to work below. Shouldn’t they treat them better?”

  “In a perfect world, son. They should be kinder to them, but a mean man on the surface doesn’t turn kinder by going into the mine. No, some of them get even meaner.”

  “Doesn’t that make it harder to stand together when we’re fighting for our rights?”

  “I guess that’s something we have to work on too.”

  —

  JW sat in his room thinking about the hour he’d spent talking with JB. The stories the older man told of the previous generation’s fight for rights made sense to him now, how the incremental steps forward were often followed by management pushing two or three steps backward. Profit above people was the owners’ position, or at least it seemed that way to JW. The more he read the book about the plight of working children and their parents, the more he realized the owners wouldn’t change unless they were forced to.

  JW looked out the window at the barn and thought of the boat coming to life behind its walls. He just wanted to be a kid for a while longer, but his mind filled with thoughts of work, misery and money. The worries of the adult world seemed to be crashing in,

  JW saw the need for the JB McLachlans of the world to move workers’ rights forward, but he knew that sometimes the passionate message got lost and JB instead appeared pompous. JW believed that sometimes what was needed was a book like The Bitter Cry of the Children to state the facts and let the message pull at the heartstrings. The adults were so beaten down by the owners that they spent their time trying to get better pay for themselves. No one was left to speak for the children. JW hoped he could become a voice for his friends at least.

  —

  JW looked out over the water. Although the ocean was a mile off in the distance, he could see it clearly from the top of the Sydney Mines post office. He’d never dreamed he’d ever get to see the ocean from this vantage point. When he’d mentioned to Beth that he wished he could stand on the top of the building, she’d told him she would ask her uncle, who was the postmaster, if he’d be allowed. Months had passed since they’d spoken of it, and JW was surprised and excited to learn that his wish had been granted.

  As a boy, he’d imagined the post office as a castle, centrally located, archers poised and ready to protect the town from foreign invaders. He still looked up at it in awe from street level, but being on the roof, seeing the town spread out before him, gave him a glimpse of what it must have been like for the kings and knights of old, gazing upon their lands.

  From where he stood, the poverty of the community was no longer hidden but highlighted. He saw the houses lined in rows, smoke billowing from chimneys, heaps of coal ash and garbage piled high in the tiny backyards. He remembered when he’d studied Britain’s Industrial Revolution and hand-drawn pictures detailing the poverty of those times. The similarity was chilling. He spotted Mickey’s house and remembered the small garden Mickey’s mother and sisters had planted in the little patch of dirt behind their house. T
he stunted harvest would have been laughable if it hadn’t been so pitiful.

  Pushing the sobering thoughts from his mind, he looked out again over the water, taking in the breathtaking view. A light breeze was blowing across the ocean’s surface, causing a small spray of water to dance high into the air. Seagulls hovered, perhaps following a school of mackerel, hoping for smaller ones to come closer to the surface to provide an early morning meal. JW saw a few fishing boats, perhaps after those very mackerel or some cod. The official arrival of winter wasn’t far off, and the dreaded ice and cold would soon force the fishermen to tie up their boats until spring.

  JW hoped his boat would be ready come spring, or maybe summer. He thrilled at the idea of his lightweight boat skimming the surface of the ocean on a voyage to somewhere exciting but knew a voyage on the Bras d’Or Lake was the best he could hope for. He breathed deeply, inhaling the salt air that somehow carried inland to where he stood. Leaning forward, JW closed his hand over the brick wall and quickly realized that his fingers were not yet fully healed. His shoulder felt fine, but it would be another little while before he would be ready to load coal.

  JW looked at Main Street below and saw Davey Brown carrying a small suitcase and walking toward the train station with his father. They stopped, and Davey and Mr. Brown shook hands. JW thought it an awkward exchange between father and son. He moved back from the wall, hoping he’d not been seen, as he didn’t want to intrude on their parting. He assumed Davey was off to spend part of his Christmas break with other family before heading back to Cambridge. A feeling of envy washed over JW when he thought of the opportunities available to Davey: the places he would visit and the things he’d get to see. But he quickly took stock and understood that Davey envied him a little, perhaps a whole lot, because of Beth. He moved closer to the edge and saw that Davey had continued on his own toward the train station. JW watched as he turned to where his father had been standing, to wave, but his father had already left, hurrying down the sidewalk. A new feeling washed over JW, one of sadness, as he watched Davey, shoulders slumped, turn back toward the train station.

  —

  It was mid-December, and the boat continued to take shape. JW and his parents convinced Alfred to move into the house for the nights. They were worried that he would be cold, as the temperature had dropped below freezing. Alfred had only protested slightly, claiming he didn’t want to be a burden.

  JW had gone to Beth’s house for supper, because she had the day off.

  “Show me your hand,” Beth said.

  JW held out his hand and tried not to wince as Beth moved his fingers back and forth. “See, all better,” he said.

  “Be sure they are, because I imagine once you go back to work, it will be hard on your fingers.”

  “Da said he’s gonna start me out on a trap door for a week or so, so it should be no problem. And thank you, Nurse Beth.”

  Beth blushed. “You’re welcome, Miner Boy. I wish you never had to go back in the mines.”

  “Me too, but there’s not much else around. I’m as careful as can be, and hopefully the new cable means the cage will be safe for a long time.”

  “Have you seen Mickey this week?”

  “No, he’s back to work in tunnel twelve. But last week he told me that it was pretty scary when he had to step into the cage on his first shift back, and that he closed his eyes as the cage dropped.”

  Beth shuddered. “Sally said he’s quieter since the accident. For a while, I thought she was going to quit the nursing program. I was worried the two of them would hurry up and get married. I’m glad she didn’t quit.”

  “Yeah, it makes more sense for them to wait until they can afford to get a place of their own.” JW wondered when he would have enough money for him and Beth to get married. “Could be some time before either of us can afford it.”

  “When the time is right, JW. When the time is right.”

  Chapter 32

  Patty and Donnie looked at JW like he was speaking a new language. Mickey and a few of the older boys were listening too, but Mickey was grinning. He’d been hearing what JW thought for quite some time.

  “We can’t just keep letting them talk down to us, or they’ll never stop,” JW said, referring to the miners who shouted at the trapper boys. “We have to stick together. If we take a stand, maybe the mine owners will treat us better too.”

  The meeting lasted only a short while, but JW believed it was important to share what he knew with the others. He wanted them to stand up for their rights, and said that he’d arrange another meeting soon.

  “What do you think?” JW asked Mickey as the other boys left.

  “JB’ll never be dead long as you’re around,” Mickey answered. “Little Donnie didn’t seem to know what to think. He kept looking from you, to Patty, and then to me.” Mickey laughed. “A little while ago Da was saying how you were saucin’ him in front of one of the trapper boys. He was mad enough to blow his top. His face got so red when he was tellin’ Ma and us, that I had to leave the room before I started laughin’. He woulda killed me.”

  “Yeah, I don’t look forward to the next time we’re in the same room. He was mad enough to hit me with his shovel, just like he was gonna the last time I talked back to him,” JW said.

  “Oh, and he can be quick with his mitts,” Mickey said. He recalled the slap he’d gotten at the beginning of the summer, when he’d asked to use the horse to haul coal with JW. That had been the last one. If it happened again, he would go and live with his grandfather.

  —

  Alfred looked out the shed’s window at the snow blanketing the fields and thought he should check his rabbit snares. He appreciated the kindness the Donaldson family showed him, but he wanted to help out in any way he could. He turned the damper on the coal stove to a closed position. No sense wasting the fire when I’m not here, he thought. Beauty had full run of the barn now; she’d be warm in there. Alfred liked that she followed him around whenever he was in the shed or barn. He wondered how she and Tennyson would get along once she realized that mice and rats were possible meals for her.

  He picked up his walking stick and went outside. The air was crisp but invigorating as he made his way into the woods. He saw the tracks of many rabbits and those of some birds. The accumulated snowfall was less than two inches, but for the birds it covered some of their precious food. Several of his traps had captured rabbits.

  He heard a chuffing growl as he neared one of the snares. He had surprised a lynx that was eating one of the trapped rabbits. The lynx raised its head and growled at him. Alfred moved quickly to his left, lost his footing and fell to the ground. He held tightly to his walking stick, keeping it between him and the lynx that was moving menacingly toward him. Alfred knew that lynx were not known for being aggressive to humans, so this lynx was either starving, sick or had young in the area.

  Alfred considered his options: lie there or attempt to get up. Neither seemed great. If he remained on the ground, the lynx might see it as weakness and attack. If he tried to rise up, he would leave himself open for attack.

  The growling got a little louder, and Alfred feared it was a signal that an attack was imminent. He gripped the stick tighter, hoping that one good strike would make the lynx reconsider. He felt the coldness from the snow beginning to seep into his joints, and he knew that if he was going to try to get up he’d have to do it pretty quick because his aging joints would soon start to seize up, making it even more difficult to rise. His beloved Jenean came to mind as the lynx edged ever closer. The prayer he sent up was not one of fear but of thanksgiving for what he thought of as a life well-lived. But Alfred was not giving up, he was just thinking of possible outcomes.

  Suddenly, what appeared as a blur struck the lynx side on, sending it head over heels. A loud pain-filled squeal pierced the eerie quiet that had, to now, been punctuated only with the occasional growl from the lynx.
Alfred watched as Gulliver dove forward, his teeth snapping at the stunned lynx. The lynx tried to stand its ground, but this time Gulliver was ready for battle. He moved from side to side as the lynx swung its claws at him. When the lynx swiped at him again, just missing him, Gulliver grabbed one of its back legs. A loud howl escaped the lynx’s throat as it struggled free from Gulliver’s grasp. It sprang to the side, making a dash for freedom with Gulliver in pursuit. Once Gulliver was convinced the lynx had no plans to stop, he hurried back to where Alfred lay.

  “Good boy, good, good boy. Thank you, Gullie. You saved me,” Alfred said, petting Gulliver’s head.

  Gulliver wagged his tail, quite proud that he was on the winning end of this most recent encounter with a lynx. The scar on his snout from his previous run-in had taught him a lesson, and he’d been prepared this time. The only blood on the ground was from the lynx and the rabbit it had been eating. Gulliver stood next to Alfred as he struggled to his feet.

  Although he was in pain, Alfred collected the four rabbits from the snares and reset the wires. He checked on the other half dozen snares to make sure they hadn’t been moved out of place. He leaned heavily on the walking stick and carried the rabbits in his free hand. Alfred’s limp was more pronounced for the first few hundred feet, but as his muscles loosened up, he went back to his usual gait. Gulliver stayed at his side and kept watch. Alfred doubted the lynx would return anytime soon, but he’d learned a lesson today. From now on he would carry a weapon.

  Chapter 33

  JW and Beth spent the day looking at the new stock the Co-operative had brought in for the Christmas season. JW thought he’d seen some of the same goods last year. Perhaps any seasonal stock not sold was packed away from year to year. He was glad he’d already picked up his mother’s and Beth’s gifts. He hoped his mother would like the scarf he’d gotten her, and he was glad she had helped him pick out the locket for Beth. His father had told him not to waste his money on anything for him, but JW planned to get something for both him and Alfred. The little money he’d saved was quickly depleting, and he still wanted to get Beth’s mother a gift. He could see a little frustration on Beth’s face as she picked up the various items.