Cold Is the Dawn

by Charles Egan

  ‘They want to support the Operators,’ Ned told them. ‘It’s only for five days.’

  ‘Five days!’ Luke echoed.

  ‘Five days too long,’ Winnie said. ‘What in the hell are they trying now? What’s this about supporting the Operators?’

  ‘They’re agreeing with them,’ Ned said. ‘The Union, they’re trying to support the market. They reckon the less anthracite going to New York and Philadelphia, the more the price goes up.’

  ‘That’s mad,’ Winnie exclaimed. ‘All they’re doing is dragging out the Operators’ Lockout. Can’t they see that?’

  ‘They can see it right enough,’ Luke said, ‘but they don’t give a damn, do they? They’re on the side of the Operators. All they want is to screw us into the ground.’

  As the lockout was coming to an end, stories filtered back to Lackan about a miners’ march.

  ‘They’re making damned sure the Union strike is obeyed,’ Luke said. They’re beating the hell out of any miners who’ve gone back to work, that’s what we’re hearing.’

  ‘But who are these people?’ Winnie asked. ‘Why in the name of God are miners starving their own?’

  ‘I don’t know the answer to that.’

  *

  This time, the mines did not re-open when the Operators’ suspension ended. Once again, the enforcers appeared in front of the mines and the breakers.

  ‘It’ll never stop,’ Winnie said.

  Luke went to the truck store to buy food. He was stunned to be told he had no further credit. Neither had Ned.

  Winnie stared open-eyed at him, when she heard the news.

  ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s a good thing we’re not increasing our credit.’

  Luke shook his head.

  ‘The baby is starving,’ she said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘What can we do, Winnie? Wait out the strike, it’s all we can do.’

  ‘Yes,’ Winnie said, scornfully, ‘and then I suppose the Operators will declare another Lockout, isn’t that it?’

  Luke shook his head.

  ‘There’s no word of it, let’s not worry about what hasn’t happened.’

  But the strike did end. A few days later, the tents disappeared again.

  ‘And thank God for that,’ Winnie said. ‘Bad cess to the whole bloody lot of them.’

  But the hunger went on. They had to work another week, before they were paid. Luke was weak with hunger, and knew the others were too. They sent fewer wagons to the weigh station, as their tonnage dropped.

  At last they lined up to be paid. Two dollars.

  ‘What’s this?’ Luke gasped.

  ‘Lower output,’ the clerk answered.

  ‘I know that, but not this much lower.’

  ‘Your credit is bad,’ the clerk said. ‘We’re starting your repayments.’

  Farrelly took him by the arm.

  ‘Come on Luke.’

  ‘Damn it,’ he said as he walked away, ‘They get us every way. There’ll be interest on that too.’

  Winnie stared at the coins, when he returned.

  ‘We knew it would be lower,’ Luke told her. ‘We weren’t making the tonnage with the hunger, and they’re taking repayment for the truck shop too.’

  Ellen put her arm around Winnie.

  ‘Come on, dear,’ she said.

  Winnie broke away from her, and ran over to Luke.

  ‘What kind of country is this?’ she cried. ‘The Operators starve us; our own Union starves us. Will there be no end to it?’

  She beat his chest, sobbing.

  ‘Once this is over, we will not starve. Never, Luke. Do you hear me? We will never, never, never starve again.’

  *

  Walking to the mine one morning, they discussed it all.

  ‘They’ve declared a victory,’ Farrelly told them. ‘The Union say we’ve won.’

  ‘Won!’ Mick gasped. ‘What in the name of God have we won? Starvation, that’s all we’ve won.’

  ‘This fellow Bates though, what class of man is he?’ McGlinn asked.

  ‘Sure he told you himself what he is,’ Mick said. ‘He said the Union has the same interests as the Operators.’

  ‘Damned right it has,’ Luke said. ‘Famine, that’s the only thing he wants. And does he care? Fifteen dollars a week, that’s what he pays himself. And all these payments for the Union, where did that go? We saw none of it, did we? What’s happening to all these Strike Funds they told us about?’

  ‘Bates took his money out of it,’ McGlinn said.

  ‘Sure he did,’ Mick said, ‘but even fifteen dollars a week, wouldn’t go through that amount of money.’

  ‘Maybe he’s giving it to the Operators?’ Luke said. ‘After all, he’s told us he has the same interests.’

  ‘Doubt that,’ McGlinn said. ‘Even Bates wouldn’t go that far.’

  As they soon discovered, Bates could go further. A long way further. The news came through from Pottsville and St. Clair.

  ‘Bates has disappeared,’ Farrelly told them. ‘Vanished off the face of the earth.’

  There was a shocked silence.

  ‘And the Union funds?’ Jack asked. ‘Are they to be returned to us?’

  ‘Now what do you think?’ Farrelly said. ‘Why do you think he’s disappeared?’

  ‘But…but how could he do that?’ Luke asked.

  ‘Oh, it’s done easy enough,’ Farrelly said.

  ‘Have they a warrant for his arrest then?’ McGlinn asked.

  ‘Sure what good would that do,’ Farrelly said. ‘All he has to do is disappear out west, out to one of the Territories, and he’ll never be found.’

  ‘Like where,’ McGlinn asked.

  ‘Minnesota perhaps. Oregon Territory if he can get that far.’

  ‘So there’s no union now.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And there’s the English for you,’ Mick said. ‘Never trust an Englishman, they’ll always betray you.’

  That evening, Luke joined the other men in the Miners’ House. Farrelly produced a bottle of poitín. ‘And that’s the end of the Unions in the coal mines,’ he said. ‘We’ll never see them again.’

  ‘Not true,’ Jack said. ‘The next time we have a Union; it’ll be headed up by an Irish man.’

  Mick shook his head.

  ‘Arra, you’re wasting your time,’ he said. ‘Unions have no power. It’s real men you want when you’re taking on the Operators. Fellows like Bates too. There’s only one way to deal with the likes of them.’

  He met Luke’s eyes. Yes, Luke thought, I know what that means. Is he right or is he wrong? There’s the question.

  When he returned to Morans’ that night, Winnie told him that she was expecting another baby.

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ he said, not really believing that it was.

  ‘I don’t know if wonderful is the right word,’ Winnie said. ‘We’ll have to feed him, and how are we going to be able to do that? Would they declare another lockout, or a strike?’

  ‘At least they won’t declare a strike,’ Luke said. ‘The Union is gone.’

  ‘Gone!’

  ‘Bates is gone too. Took all the money with him.’

  She stared at him in shock.

  ‘And what do we owe at the truck store? Half your wages will be going on that.’

  ‘I know,’ Luke said as he put his arms around her. ‘We can only do the best we can.’

  ‘Yes,’ Winnie said, ‘go back to Ireland. Starve with our own people, isn’t that it?’

  Luke shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I just don’t know.’

  *

  The following day was Sunday, and they went to Mass. The doors were shut, militia outside. Luke spotted Farrelly.

  ‘What in the name of God is going on, Martin?’ he asked.

  ‘Cholera,’ Farrelly told him. ‘They’ve forbidden public meetings.’

  As they left the c
hurch, a cart passed by. It was drawn by two horses, and was creaking heavily. It carried a load of long, rough-built crates.

  ‘Coffins,’ Farrelly exclaimed. ‘There must be a dozen of them.’

  They watched, as it went past the church and on past the cemetery.

  ‘Where are they going?’ Luke asked.

  ‘Damned if I know,’ Farrelly replied. ‘Wherever they’re going, there’s a lot of them.’

  Winnie said little, until they parted from Farrelly.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you it was coming,’ she said. ‘So much for your cholera line in the mountains.’

  ‘How do you know it’s cholera?’

  ‘How do you know it’s not?’

  That afternoon, Luke walked to the Hibernians. He was surprised to see it was still open. Perhaps it did not rate as a public meeting. Mick O’Brien was there with two other men who Luke had never met. He bought a beer and joined them.

  ‘Always delighted to see you here,’ he said to O’Brien.

  ‘Well, why not? It’s a fraternal organisation, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is,’ Luke said, sipping his beer. ‘And that’s your reason for joining, I’d guess.’

  ‘Of course. What else could it be?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  O’Brien was angry. ‘Some of us have the courage, you know,’ he said.

  ‘You’re saying I don’t.’

  ‘I thought you had. But you still won’t join us.’

  ‘The Molly Maguire gang, is it?’

  He saw the other two men flinch.

  ‘Whatever,’ O’Brien said. ‘The fellows in Mauch Chunk have the guts to fight. But what about Lackan. Not a stir out of anyone.’

  ‘Look, Mick, I’m just not interested in violence.’

  ‘It’s not violence, it’s resistance.’

  ‘That’s what they tried in Ireland last year, and look at where it got them.’

  ‘The Rebellion, is it? The Young Irelanders, sure they didn’t have it in them. Too soft, hadn’t the least idea how to run a rebellion.’

  ‘Who does?’

  ‘We do. The Irish American fighters. The Brotherhood. Next time there’s a rebellion it’ll be run from here. Right here.’

  ‘In the coal fields?’

  ‘Yes. But in Ireland too. We’ll show them the way. Show the English the price of the Famine.’

  ‘We’ll be a long time waiting for that,’ Luke said.

  Farrelly and Jack had come in, and were drinking at the bar. Luke went to join them, leaving Mick with the other two men. Neither had said anything.

  Farrelly greeted him.

  ‘We were just talking about those coffins we saw this morning.’

  ‘What about them?’ asked Luke.

  ‘Jack says they’re digging a trench out the Scranton Road.’

  ‘A trench?’ Luke exclaimed. He remembered well the stink of the trench at the back of Knockanure Workhouse. Could it be as bad as that?

  ‘I saw it myself,’ Jack said. ‘They’re digging it six or eight feet deep and there’s coffins three and four high.’

  ‘Would they have call for that?’ Luke asked.

  ‘From what I saw, they had,’ Jack replied. ‘Cholera, they told me. There were carts coming from all directions at the crossroads. There must be cholera in all the patches, up the hills and everywhere else. Scranton too.’

  *

  Luke thought no more about Mick and his talk of resistance. He was certain the Hibernians were not involved in violence, though as Costello had said, it was impossible to be certain that all members thought the same. For a while, he considered reporting Mick to the Hibernian board, but knew well that he could not do that.

  A few weeks later, Mick told him that he was going to Mauch Chunk.

  ‘For a picnic,’ Luke asked him, scathingly.

  ‘No,’ Mick said, ‘more like a convention. Would you like to join us?’

  ‘Not enough money, Mick,’ Luke said. ‘I’ve still got to feed Winnie and the child, and another coming too. I couldn’t possibly make it.’

  When Mick returned a few days later, he said nothing about his visit and Luke dismissed it from his mind. When he came home that evening, Ned was at his dinner.

  ‘Did you hear the news from Mauch Chunk?’

  ‘Some kind of convention?’ Luke asked.

  ‘A convention is right. Half the town has been burnt down.’

  ‘Burnt down?’

  ‘Yes. Arson they’re calling it.’

  That night he lay awake in his bed, thinking of it. Were the convention and the fire linked? What kind of convention was it anyhow?

  He decided at length that he was becoming too suspicious. He turned over and went asleep.

  *

  The price of the Famine became clearer, when a letter arrived from Carrigard.

  ‘What does it say?’ Winnie asked.

  ‘Well, there’s two letters really. The straight one is from father. The family are all well, love and best wishes from mother, Brigid and Pat. Your mother’s written to them to say that she is well too, and the last she heard from your father was the same. His work in England is hard, but he’s sending some money back.’

  ‘He’s in England?’

  ‘That’s what he says.’

  ‘Harvesting or railways?’

  ‘He doesn’t say.’

  Luke could see she was downcast. It was frustrating being weeks away from Ireland. News was sporadic, and partial.

  ‘So what else?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, whatever about our own families, the hunger’s worse. He’s talking about hundreds dying, all around Kilduff and Carrigard. Brockagh is in a terrible way. The mountains too.’

  ‘I don’t know what to make of it all,’ Winnie said. ‘Happy that our people are fine. I feel guilty about that though. Mayo is in a terrible way. You know it and I know it. Do you think he’s telling the truth about themselves and my mother though?’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry, alanna. If they were hungry we’d know all about it. Father’s not one for holding that back, your mother neither, I think. There’s cholera in the county though. Kilduff is in a bad way with it, though there’s none in Carrigard yet. And from all they say, Pat is having a hard time, travelling around Mayo and giving reports back to the County. Father says he won’t even talk about it. Whatever though, he’s earning money still, and they’re living off that.’

  ‘Does he ask for money though?’

  ‘He doesn’t, and thank God for that. Pat’s still earning, and whatever it is, we’ll just have to assume that they have enough to be living on. God knows, we’ve little enough, and with all we owe up at the truck shop, there’s little we can do.’

  ‘I know,’ Winnie said. ‘So what’s the other letter?’

  Luke smiled.

  ‘Father must have given it to Sabina to post in the village. She’s written another letter across father’s. She says she’s well, and they’re all still meeting every week. Fergus is dead, she doesn’t say how. Kitty’s been evicted, and she’s gone over to England. She’s staying with Murty and Aileen in Bradford, and working in a mill. Would you believe it?’

  ‘That’s some good news, anyhow.’

  *

  Soon, stories of beatings began to circulate in Lackan. At first it was one of the Kilkenny foremen who was beaten with cudgels, but no bones had been broken. A week later though, one of the Welsh foremen was beaten.

  ‘And a hell of a beating it was too,’ Ned told them. ‘He’s in the hospital, one shoulder broken, two ribs cracked, they say his skull is cracked too. It’ll be some time before he works again.’

  Again, Luke was thinking of Mick’s invitation to join ‘the resistance’. What did it really mean? More and more, he began to think that these beatings were associated with O’Brien’s resistance.

  Other stories began to filter in from further afield. A breaker boss attacked in Minersville. Two foremen stabbed in St. Clair, one died. An Irish miner was stabbed
in St. Clair too, in revenge for the other stabbings, it was said. He died too.

  Then a breaker boss was killed in one of the remote mountain patches.

  ‘Knifed in the neck,’ Mick told him. ‘Choked on his own blood. That’s what the story is.’

  Yes, Luke thought. The Molly Maguire gang, who else?

  *

  One morning, Farrelly crawled up to where Luke was working with Jack and Mick.

  ‘Just wanted to let ye all know. I was talking to Cantwell this morning.’

  ‘What did he want?’ Luke asked.

  ‘You know they’re opening the Number Three Breaker in two weeks’ time.’

  ‘They are?’

  ‘Yes, and they want a contract gang for the loading and unloading. And do you know what the best part of it is? The Kilkenny fellows don’t want the job. Reckon it’s unskilled, which it is. So we’re taking it instead. But I’ll tell you, we’re going to be in the open air, and even if we have to work some of the time in the breaker, it’ll be far cleaner than in here. And with all that good fresh air, we’ll live longer too. It’s up to the Kilkenny fellows if they want to die younger.’

  ‘Dead right, it is,’ Jack said. ‘Their decision.’

  ‘Better than that,’ Farrelly said. ‘We can shovel standing up. And sure what does it matter if the Kilkenny men think it’s unskilled? At the rate we work, we’ll be making more money than most of them.’

  ‘More money?’ Mick asked.

  ‘They’re offering a dollar forty-five a wagon.’

  ‘Not bad,’ Jack said.

  ‘Not bad indeed. Shovelling coal, sure it’s no different to shovelling gravel and mud on the railways. My reckoning is, knowing you lads, we should be able to get up to seven dollars per week, per man pretty sharpish.’

  ‘A hell of a lot better than four dollars,’ Jack said.

  ‘Yes, you’ll be able to send more back to Mayo. And God knows, they’ll need it.’

  *

  Luke was intrigued by the breaker – the steam-driven rollers smashing the coal, the screens grading it, and the breaker boys picking out the grey slate and rock.

  The gang’s work varied, sometimes feeding the unbroken anthracite into the rollers, sometimes taking the unwanted slate and rock from the breaker to dump on the ever-growing culm banks, and sometimes taking the sorted anthracite from the bins down to the railcars. They were paid on the basis of each railcar filled, or, further back the operation, each mule cart load of unbroken anthracite or waste loaded onto mule carts. Either way, they worked fast, and, just as Farrelly had anticipated, their earnings soared.