Pit Pony (3 page)

Chapter 5

That night Willie's dreams were not of school or wild horses, but of broken bodies and blood on the coal. Before dawn, Nellie awakened him, bringing a lighted candle.

“Come down and get dressed where it's warm, by the kitchen stove. I've got some of John's pit clothes ready for you.”

Willie moved as if he was still dreaming. John's sweater, like old Charley's, was much too big for him. Nellie pinned it together at the neck with safety pins. Willie rolled up the legs of the overalls.

He ate as much as he could of the hot oatmeal porridge, while Nellie filled a container with water. She added half a handful of raw oatmeal and a few drops of molasses. This would help with the dry taste of coal dust in his mouth. He was too young to chew tobacco, as the adult miners did.

It was time to go. Willie hesitated. “I wish't I had a buddy. I wish't I didn't have to go alone.”

Nellie's eyes were full of pity. “I'd like to walk over with you, Willie. But you know how superstitious miners are. If they meet a woman when they're going to work in the mornin', they think it's terrible bad luck. Most of them would turn back. Anyway, you're sure of a job. The doctor spoke for you.”

Willie picked up his two cans. “I know. Goodbye, Nellie.”

It was very dark outside at that hour of the morning. After Willie left the Row, there was not even the comfort of a dimly lighted window. He could hear the crunch, crunch of feet and the low voices of the other men on the road, all walking toward the pithead.

Willie began to whistle softly to himself to keep up his courage. A shadowy shape came up beside him.

“Is that you, Wee Willie?”

“Yes.”

“I heard you was goin' down. I heard your father was hurt bad.”

“Yes, he was hurt. John, too.”

Willie recognized the voice of an older boy, Simon Ross, who had been in his class at school. Simon was a bully. Willie had been afraid of him. He was glad when Simon had left school to work in the mine.

Now, in the dark and the loneliness he sounded different, almost friendly.

“If I'd known you was goin' down I would've called for you. Are you sure you'll get a job?”

“Yes. The doctor spoke for me. I'll be a trapper.”

“Oh. That's what I am, a trapper. You know how to do the work, Willie? You know what a trapper boy does?”

“Yes. He opens and shuts a door to let horses and people go through.”

“Well, them doors are called traps because they trap air,” said Simon, importantly. “They're part of the ventilation system in the mine. Good air has to be pumped in all the time and bad air has to be pumped out. It's a 'portant job, Willie, bein' a trapper. If you leave one of them traps open, poison gas could collect. A lot of men could die. You could die, too, Willie.”

Simon hadn't changed much, after all. He was still trying to scare.

“Yeah, I know all about that, Si,” said Willie.

“You have to trap all alone, Willie. It's black dark down there. It's a 'portant job, Willie. Every man's life depends on the life of another in the pits. If the pipe fitters don't fit the pipes right, the mines could be flooded with water. You could drown, Willie. If the pit-prop men don't brace up the ceiling right, you could get killed by a rock fall.”

Willie smiled to himself in the dark. Simon had been a stupid boy in school and often had to wear a dunce cap. Behind his back, the kids called him “Simple Simon.” But he tormented little kids. He called Willie “teacher's pet” just because Willie always knew his lessons and was at the head of his class. Now Simon wanted to show off how much he had learned about coal mining.

As they neared the pithead, the noise of locomotives which carried the coal to Louisbourg became deafening. Whistles shrieked, bells clanged, cars shunted, wheels rattled, jets of escaping steam hissed, and men shouted. All this noisy action was dimly lit by lanterns hung on posts. The polluted air stung Willie's nose and eyes.

It was a relief to step inside the lamp house. Here, men exchanged their metal tags for the “clanny lamps” which would be their only light once they were underground. Dozens of men were milling about. The big room was filled with the hum of their loud conversations. Willie felt dazed and bewildered.

Simon took him by the shoulder. “Come on. We'll find One-Arm Joe. He'll give you a tag and lamp.”

Simon was full of confidence. He was eager to show Willie around.

“That tag is very 'portant. It's got your number on it, see? When it's on the hook here, it tells the manager you're down in the mine.”

“Yes,” said Willie. “That's in case of an explosion or a fire or a cave-in.”

“Yeah. When you get back from work, you give Joe your lantern and he'll give you your tag. Tomorrow, you trade again.”

It was time to go. The boys walked together down a slope until they came to the deputy's cabin, a small underground building. Here, each miner was told if his workplace was safe on that day. It had to be free from a dangerous level of firedamp, the poisonous and explosive gas which seeped out from the displaced coal.

An overseer checked daily to see if it was safe. Sometimes, he took a live canary in a cage. If the bird got sick and toppled from its perch, that shaft was closed until it checked safe. Sometimes the overseer took his safety lamp and held it high over his head. He could tell if the level of the gas was dangerous by the colour of the halo of light which formed above the flame.

Today, both boys were told their workplaces were safe.

“Now, we'll get on the next rake. You know — the string of cars that run on rails. It'll take us down the slope. When we get to your landing, I'll tell ya. You'll have to walk from there,” said Simon.

Willie jumped into a box car when the rake ground to a stop. He crouched down between men who were jammed together so tightly, Willie could hardly breathe.
Grind. Rattle. Roar.
The noise was deafening in the confined space. Willie made himself as small as he could and shut his eyes.

Several times the rake ground to a halt, and men got off. Finally, it was Willie's turn.

“Jump off! Level Five!” Simon shouted in his ear.

Willie jumped, and then looked about him in the semi-darkness. Several lanterns hung on nails driven into wooden posts. Behind them, walls of black coal glittered.

“Come on,” said Simon. “I'll take ya, but we gotta hurry. The other boys have to wait till we get there for our shifts.”

He started off at a half-trot, stooping slightly to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling with its protruding, jagged pieces of rock. Willie followed. Being small, he didn't have to duck under low-hanging girders. Underfoot, it was rough going. Thick dust choked his throat in some places. In others, he had to wade through puddles of black water. It was like walking along a narrow railway track. The rails were for boxes of coal, hauled by horses. Every once in a while, Willie could see a moving light in the distance. Then Simon would stop and press his body against the wall to make way for a horse and driver bringing out a load of coal. Finally, they came to a thick wooden door.

“You're late,” said a boy's voice.

Simon said, “This here is Willie Maclean.”

“Right 'nough. You git here earlier tomorrow,” said the other boy, as he picked up his piece-can and left.

Simon kept on giving instructions. “You sit on the headway, see? On the high side of the trap. See that rope? It's a pulley and there's a weight on the end. Pull on the rope to open the door. Hang on, and when the team's safe through, let go. It'll shut itself. Think you can remember that?”

Willie was tired of Simon's silly directions. “I know all that,” he said, impatiently.

Simon's voice changed. “Oh, you know everything, don't you? You stuck-up know-it-all,” he sneered.

“Well, anyway, thanks for bringing me here,” said Willie.

Simon picked up a handful of dirt and flung it in Willie's face. By the time Willie had rubbed the dirt out of his eyes, Simon was gone. He was alone in the eerie dark, lighted only by the tiny flame from his lamp. He wished he hadn't said anything to make Simon mad.

Somewhere, he could hear water dripping. He knew all mines would flood if water wasn't constantly pumped out. He remembered he was actually sitting under the Atlantic Ocean. This was called the “Ocean Deeps” colliery. How could the layers of rock and earth above him support an ocean of water?

Very shortly, he heard the distant clop, clop of horses' hooves and then the creaking wheels of an approaching box. How soon should he open the door? Better open it now, and be sure.

At first, all he could see was a tiny, bobbing light and then, gradually, the shape of a white horse. Over its head it wore a cap and a sort of mask of heavy, decorated leather which fitted between its ears and down over its nose. Around its neck was a heavy, double horse collar, and to this were attached chains which fitted over the short, wooden shafts of the cart. Perched on top of the load of coal, feet astride and braced on the shafts, sat the driver, face smudged with coal dust. He gave Willie a big grin, his teeth shining white in his dirty face.

“Hello, young 'un. How's it goin'?” he greeted.

Willie smiled back. “I just started,” he said.

“What's your name?”

“Willie Maclean.”

“Oh, you're Rory Maclean's boy.”

“Yes,” said Willie.

“I'm sorry, real sorry, about the accident.”

The driver passed through the trap door and was gone. Willie listened until the sound of the horses' hooves faded into the distance.

It was the longest day of his life. Occasionally he heard men approaching on foot, some carrying lumber, poles, and beams which were used as pit props. These braced the ceilings against a rock fall such as the one that had hurt his father and John, and killed his father's buddy. Once a man came through alone carrying a tool box. He was a pipe fitter, come to check on the pipes along which the water flowed as it was pumped out of the mine.

But mostly Willie was alone, waiting, waiting, with nothing to do in the lonely dark. Sometimes, he thought he heard soft scratchings and rustlings which reminded him of the cat in Charley's haymow. Sometimes he whistled softly to himself, tunes his grandmother had taught him, sad Gaelic songs of people drowned at sea, of unfaithful lovers, of people longing for Scotland, the homeland they would never see again. And sometimes he recited lessons to himself. Then he thought of his mother, and of how she had said he could be anything he wanted to be, if only he studied hard. But she didn't know the day would come when he couldn't go to school. She didn't know he wouldn't have a choice, after all.

He tried not to think about his father lying in the infirmary. He tried not to think about how long he might have to work in the mine. But he couldn't help thinking about Gem. He wondered if the little mare was already down in the mine. She would be more frightened than he was. She wouldn't be able to understand where she was or what was expected of her. He thought how different she was from the big, white horse called Sparky.

The driver was friendly, and that helped. Each time he passed through he would say a few words. Willie learned his name was Ned Hall.

Time dragged. It seemed to Willie he must have been at the trap for many hours when he asked Ned, “What time is it?”

The driver pulled out a watch on a chain. “It's goin' on for ten o'clock.”

Only ten! “Oh, I thought it must be noon ... I'm hungry.”

Ned grinned. “You can eat whenever you want, Willie. But mind the rats.”

“The rats?”

“Yeah. There's hundreds of 'em down here. Very tame. When you eat a piece of bread or cheese, hold onto it by one corner. Your hands are black with coal dust, see, and it don't taste so good. Hold your food by one corner and eat all but that. Give the black pieces to the rats. Giddap, Sparky.”

Willie had forgotten about the rats. That accounted for some of the scratchings and rustlings he had heard. Sure enough, as soon as he opened his lunch the rats appeared, maybe a dozen of them. Their eyes glinted yellow and red as they waited.

He didn't mind them. His father had told him rats in a mine served a useful purpose. They fed on bits of hay and spilled grain. Rats could detect the smell of methane gas or firedamp, long before a miner could. So if the men saw a number of rats scurrying through a tunnel they would grab their tools and leave.

Every once in a while, Willie could hear a distant bang followed by a rumble. Another shot of dynamite had been fired to loosen the coal. Each time a shot was fired, there was the danger that a pocket of poisonous gas might escape — the same gas that caused many fatal explosions.

No one was allowed to carry a match into the mine. Nearly all the colliers chewed tobacco since they were not allowed to smoke. Tobacco kept their saliva flowing so their mouths wouldn't become unbearably dry from coal dust. Willie took little sips every now and then from his water can. When he ate his apple, he saved the core.