My ears hurt. At first I thought only noise had wakened me—an enormous, astonishing boom that still echoed inside my head. But the meat swung and the bowl spun and the floor I lay on vibrated.
A moment of silence, not half-a-blink long, then—
Shrieks from the next room. And from the road, names, instructions, wails overlapped in a single cry of agony.
I bolted up to a sitting position, was immediately crushed back by the fierce pain in my shoulder. I gritted my teeth and used the other arm to push myself up. I sat, then I knelt, then I stood.
A tunic had been made for me from sackcloth, two or three flour bags split open and stitched together to make a loose sleeveless shirt. Beneath it was a dressing on my shoulder, which had soaked through. While I watched, the bottom edge dripped. Instantly all the blood of all the world fell from the heavens. Standing bowed beneath this steaming cataract, I remembered.
Lily was dead.
And Walton was still alive.
Another blast! The ground convulsed: the earth itself shifted, as if the turmoil trapped in my soul had burst free. I staggered out, tripping where the floor had collapsed and dirt and stone had thrust upward. The main room was a tavern, empty now, half-filled mugs and smoking pipes abandoned on the counter. I ran out into the road. People raced by me unseeingly. Men struggled to button trousers or to pull coat sleeves onto their bare arms as they ran by. Women with tear-soaked faces dragged children by one hand, clutched babies with the other.
Down the road at the colliery, a pillar of flame spewed into the air, so huge as to transform night to day. A bell clanged over and over; another bell from the town soon answered.
Someone grabbed me from behind. Thinking it was Walton, I swung round and seized his throat, then recognized the man who had found me on the road. I let him go. He rubbed his neck and winced.
“What did you think? That I was your wife’s murderer?”
“What happened?”
“An explosion in the mine.”
“Hurry, Darby!” someone called.
“What of you?” Darby asked. “You’re up, though I never thought you’d be on your feet so soon. Will you come?”
“You would ask me for help?” I said in wonder.
“I’d ask the Devil himself to go into the mine for us. Maybe I am asking him.”
My chest grew thick with the strange discomfort of putting aside my anger. Nodding, I followed him to the colliery.
The fire was at the rear and issued from the upcast shaft, which was used for ventilation, Darby explained, pointing as we ran toward the site. The furnace on top that created the draft had exploded, followed by another explosion down in the mine.
The winding gear stretched across the main shaft, a massive wooden frame of pulleys and drums powered by an engine to lower the men and pull up the coal, both in an iron cage. The explosion had split the upright timbers and crossbars. Repairs had already begun.
“That’s my shift down there, my friends.” Darby’s eyes met mine, then moved away. “I don’t know whether to curse or thank the luck that had me stop for you.”
The men could not wait till repairs were finished. A rope was attached to the drum of a smaller engine used for sawing wood, then hooked to the cage to lower rescuers. Darby insisted on being the first to go down the shaft. I went with him, although there were quiet arguments whether I would bring bad luck into the mine. After all, it had exploded just hours after I had been found. Darby reminded them I was helping even as I mourned my wife. The others turned away, shamefaced.
I ducked down and squeezed myself into the interior of the cage. It was aptly named, for I felt trapped by the iron bars.
“Now we’ll see if the little engine will hold,” Darby said, grinning.
As soon as we were in place and a safety lamp was handed to each of us, the engine was started. It played out the rope and, with a loudly creaking effort, lowered us into smoky blackness. The silence was uneasy, so I asked, “What do you think caused the explosion?”
“Reynolds will say there are as many reasons as miners.”
“Who is Reynolds?”
“The new mine boss.” Darby spat in disgust. “He refused us more props to support the mine ceilings. Said it was dead work settin’ props, as there’s no profit in’t. Now Reynolds will know about dead work for sure.”
He looked up the shaft, the circle of light at the top slowly waning.
“In the tavern we sing a song about him. I hear it began in the city, but it suits. Here’s the part I like best.”
Still looking upward, his face as earnest as a penitent’s, he started to sing.
And may the odd knife his great carcase dissect,
Lay open his vitals for men to inspect
A heart full as black as the infernal gulph
In that greedy, bloodsucking, bone-scraping wolf.
Poetry was different for the miners, just a hard song about their hard boss, sung by lips so grimy after their shift that they drank coal dust with each sip of ale. Darby broke off the song and laughed, at himself it seemed. He extended his hand awkwardly.
“Tell me who you are.”
“I’m Victor Hartmann.” How easily my lips now spoke the name, how easily I took his hand. “I know you are Darby.”
“John Darby, yes. You are good to put yourself in danger for us, bein’ a new father as well as mournin’ your wife, and I thank you.”
Mourning. Twice now he had said the word. My fingers found the bracelet Lily had made for me.
“It’s nothing you yourself are not doing,” I answered.
“But I’m a miner and you’re not. You have a dozen good reasons to stay above. I wouldn’t have begrudged you, even though I’d asked. Besides, I still don’t believe that you’re up. I saw what the bullet did to your shoulder. I know how much blood you lost.”
I looked away.
“Most of it was hers,” I said, my voice rough. I remembered telling him to get rid of the worm. “Where is … ?”
“I brought it to the baker’s wife. She’s a wet nurse.” Darby patted my arm. “’Tis common to hate the child that killed the mother. But a son is a son, cripple or no. You’ll feel differently in a month.”
In a month, Lily would still be dead.
Our descent stuttered to a halt, then the cage dropped in free fall. A jerky stop sent my head crashing against the cold iron bars. The cage itself banged against the sides of the shaft as round and round it twisted on its cable. Long dizzying moments passed, then once more we slowly, fitfully descended.
Darby looked up at the pinprick of light that was the shaft’s opening. “I do hope she holds,” he said. “This is only the first trip. ’Twould take too long to lower the cage by hand.”
From below I heard a rushing noise.
“What’s that?”
“There’s a sump at the bottom. An engine pumps the water to the top. See this?” He held up his lamp to illuminate the wall of the shaft. A pipe appeared to run its length. “The explosion must have cracked it,” he said as the noise grew louder.
“What does that mean?”
“The mine will flood without repairs, but not so fast you need worry. Worry about fixed air chokin’ you, firedamp explodin’ in your face, cave-ins buryin’ you alive.”
He laughed grimly.
Just before we passed the break in the pipe, he had us turn our backs to protect the lamps from the water. Deeper and deeper we dropped, like bait on a hook dangling in the darkest ocean. The air grew thicker with smoke. Darby coughed for several minutes, then suddenly yanked a scarf from his pocket and tied it over his mouth and nose.
“I should have put this on up top. I hope that’s the last mistake I make this night. You’ll need something too.” He started to unbutton his shirt, meaning to rip off some of the cloth. I closed my hand over his and shook my head. It would not bother me.
We hit bottom with a thump. Darby did not notice how I sucked in my breath with pain, or else he woul
d have sent me back up. Stepping out of the cage, he shook a hand bell that was tied to one of its bars. The rope ceased to fall.
“Will! Will Cobb! Pete?”
No one answered. Darby motioned me out, then rang the bell again. The cage began to return to the surface.
We were in a large, low-ceilinged chamber that had been carved out of the rock. Although our lamps were dim, my uncanny eyes saw far beyond their small circle of light. Several tunnels led into the chamber. Within each tunnel was a set of wooden railroad tracks leading straight back into the darkness. A stub switch had been built in this main chamber so that a straight line of tracks was able to curve around, cross the other tracks from the other tunnels, and then merge with them to make a single line. In this manner the coal carts could run from each tunnel to the cage and then be brought to the surface.
Narrow spikes had been nailed into the walls as hooks. On the ground lay all sorts of tools: spades, hammers, wedges, and drills. There were long-handled picks, short-handled picks, and some with no handles at all, just double-pointed heads. Each had its use, depending on whether the miner had room enough to stand or had to crouch low or had to wriggle on his belly into a space so narrow all he could do was chip away at the rock.
“I’m glad the lamps didn’t go out,” Darby said. “I couldn’t risk striking a flint.” He showed me the screen encircling the wick. “Don’t ever let the flame pass beyond the mesh. There are more gases down here than names for them. Blackdamp and chokedamp and afterdamp. If the flame dwindles, get back where you can breathe. If it flares, drop to the ground. There’s firedamp at the ceiling. It can explode, though sometimes it’ll just burn up. Coal dust can explode, too, when there’s enough of it and it has a mind to. Doesn’t need a spark, doesn’t give you warnin’. It’s like a hotheaded woman with a toothache.”
I nodded. Lily had taught me at least one thing I could share with other men.
“By now you’re wondering if there’s anything down here that can’t kill you.” Darby grinned. “The answer is no.”
“What should I be looking for?” I asked.
“Follow the main track so you don’t get lost. Call out, see if anyone answers. Ignore the pit ponies for now, but remember, each has a driver somewhere close.”
The ground vibrated beneath us and a low rumble thundered from far away.
“Sounds like a cave-in,” Darby said, swearing vehemently. “Reynolds has been scantin’ the props in the waste rooms as well: those are the rooms where the coal’s been worked out. Or maybe she bumped in one of the back tunnels.”
“Bumped?”
“That’s when the ground shifts and the floor bumps up to meet the ceiling. It’s like a mouth clampin’ shut, but no miner wants to find himself between those lips. Go on now. Keep as low as you can, though I see you’re already bent over. At least hold the lamp down. There’s more gas for sure with this last bit of business.”
He strode away into the darkness.
I waited, watching his light fade, listening to the gurgle from the sump and the faint noise of the lift at the top of the shaft. From within the darkness here, Darby called out to any who could hear him.
I entered the tunnel opposite the one he had taken. Holding the lamp low, I walked past rough-hewn walls and timbers of supporting wood. Up ahead, part of the track curved away toward a wood-and-canvas door, fit snugly into an earthen archway. I opened it and called out. My words echoed, hinting at the depths within. No one answered.
From behind me I heard voices and realized the lift had returned with more men. I had been dreaming, struck by all I saw, and now hastened my step. There was no time for delay.
For a while I stayed to the track, but there were doors beyond the main ones. I grew frustrated, imagining miners trapped behind each. When I opened perhaps the fifth or sixth, I stepped inside. Another closed door stood at the back.
Without thinking, I lifted my lamp to better see the supports. Too late I remembered Darby’s caution. At once the flame of the lamp swelled as if oil had been spilled on it, and with a sharp crack the ceiling ignited. I dropped to the ground. In an instant the whole ceiling burned with a roiling pool of flames. I stayed a moment, held by the awful beauty, then crawled out backward. The effort set my shoulder aching, and blood soon flowed steadily from beneath the bandage.
Quickly I returned to the main tunnel. Fireflies of light pricked the darkness, marking more men from above. Knowing the others could better search the warren of rooms behind the doors I had passed, I continued down the main track. Smoke gathered at the top of the tunnel and I bent even lower to find the sweeter air.
The next door had been torn off its frame with tremendous force, and its boards scattered across the tunnel, one driven into the wall itself. Stepping into the room, I found an empty coal cart knocked off the tracks. Just beyond that was a pit pony slumped against the wall. Between the two, head and arms resting on the pony’s back, was a boy no older than twelve. Both boy and animal looked to be asleep. They were not.
Though expected, the sight of this first body stunned me. Sweat crept across my skin as I lifted the boy up and laid him in the righted cart. I did not know if the force of one of the explosions had killed him or the smoke that clouded my eyes. It was only after a few moments had passed that I realized his presence here must indicate a work site.
“Can anyone hear me?” I called out. “Is anyone there?”
Silence.
I followed this branch set of rails till I came to another door, also torn off. There I found the body of a younger boy on the ground beside it.
Finally I understood that most of the work would not be a rescue.
I went back for the coal cart and pushed it along the track to this second door. I laid the younger boy alongside the first and pushed the cart into the next room.
In here shovels and picks were scattered about, as well as empty wooden tubs with curved bottoms like the runners on a sleigh. Among the tools lay two men in loose-limbed positions. I put them at the bottom of the cart and repositioned the smaller bodies on top.
Off this room ran several smaller tunnels, just now being worked, each only a few feet high. Getting down on my knees, I held my light to the first tunnel and caught the shining gleam of a thin seam of coal and the sight of a man’s booted foot. I grabbed onto it and tugged. Rocks spilled out: the tunnel had caved in. I cleared away chunks of coal and loose dirt. The body came free and I laid the man in the cart.
In the next tunnel, the lamp revealed a girl of about six, her little face blackened with coal dust. I took her under her arms, expecting to pull her out easily, but could not. This tunnel had also caved in. I dug around her body. Straps and chains around her waist led to a heavy object, and it was this that had been buried. The narrowness of the tunnel prevented my undoing the straps, so I just gripped the chains and dragged the weight from the earth that covered it. When I pulled the child clear, I saw she had been harnessed to one of the curved tubs like a pit pony.
This body seemed the heaviest of all. I laid it atop the others. A tear glittered on the girl’s cheek. My blood raced, then I realized the tear was not hers.
This is what it meant to be human—to die.
And I, who had been made of death, still had no part in humanity.
I leaned against the cart and gripped its sides for support. Compared to what I had just seen, my own existence, which I had always deemed miserable, was a riotous celebration of freedom. I had counted myself unfortunate without knowing what the word might mean to some.
The tightness in my chest squeezed my heart and I gasped. The room had grown darker; the lamp was nearly extinguished. The air in here was bad, but I had not noticed the dimming flame. I pushed the cart along its rails back toward the main tunnel. Suddenly the ground beneath me shook more violently than before.
At the movement came a low moan.
“Hello?” Perhaps the vibration had stirred someone to waking. “Where are you?” I asked. I had too li
ttle breath to speak more loudly than a whisper. I extended the lamp and hoped its flame held for a moment longer.
“Here … here …”
It was a boy, along the track just beyond the next shattered door, thrown back against the wall behind a cart. The cart must have shielded him somewhat from the explosion, though he was dazed and his face was bloody from a gash that ran the width of his forehead.
“Shut the door,” he said weakly as I carried him through the archway. The doors throughout the tunnels directed the path of ventilation, Darby had told me, and were open and shut by children who sat in the dark, waiting for a cart to pass. The boy panted out his words: “Benny said I’m never … to leave it open.… Shut the door.”
I whispered to him that I had.
Though I hated to put the living among the dead, there was no place for the boy other than the cart. Fortunately his eyes were closed, and he did not realize who his companions were.
At that moment the light failed.
Using the rails as my guide, I pushed the cart through the darkness. The load was heavy with bodies, and though the burden was made lighter by the one who yet lived, the effort proved a terrible strain. The foul air that had extinguished the light made my lungs burn and sapped my strength. By the time the air had grown sweeter and I had pushed the cart into the first room, my legs felt rubbery and boneless, and I was slumped over it in exhaustion.
Faraway voices floated toward me. I realized I did not have to do this alone. I gathered up the child, felt my way down the rest of the line till I passed the final archway into the main tunnel. With what was surely my last breath I called out, “Down here … a boy … alive.”
I rested against the wall. Circles of light danced as two men hurried toward me. One would have taken the boy, but I would not give him up.
“I can walk,” I said. “But there’s a cart with bodies just beyond the door. That’s as far as I could push it.”
They set one of the lamps on the ground by my feet, then brought out the cart. It took both men; they were amazed that I alone had pushed it as far as I did, especially with the bad air and my bleeding wound. They did not look into the cart, only at the boy.
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