Derrick Sterling: A Story of the Mines

"Out late o' nights! That's a good one."

"An' yez sint him to bed wid a flea in his ear, an' him just afther doin' the dade should mak' ye the proudest fayther in de place! Did iver I moind de likes of that?"

These and many similar expressions greeted the ear of the astonished miner, and from them he began to comprehend that his son Paul had done something wonderful, and had thereby become a famous character in the village. At length, after much effort, for they would not believe but that he knew the whole story, he learned of his boy's brave deed of the night before. Instead of going down the slope the miner hurried home, where he found Paul, looking very pale and languid, just sitting down to his breakfast.

Picking up the frail boy, and holding him in his strong arms as he used to when he was a baby, the delighted father exclaimed,

"Paul, lad, forgie me this time, and I'll never speak thee rough again. Thee's made me, I think, the proudest man in the state this day. Crippled and all, thee's proved thyself worth a score of straight lads, and to thy fayther thee's worth all the lads in the world. Mither, our Paul's done that any man in t' mine might be proud of, an' he's the talk of the colliery."

Thus was Paul more than repaid for all his suffering of the night before, and as he hobbled to his work in the new breaker that morning he was once more happy and light-hearted.

The evening before, Job Taskar had called Monk Tooley from his house, and as they walked away together he said, in a low but significant tone,

"That Sterling lad's not down in the mine, Monk."

"He must be dere, fer de Sleepers left him where he'd be safe, an' I know he's not come up de slope since."

"He's not there, I tell you; for I just now saw him going into Jones's house, and heard him say he had something important to tell him."

"If yer saw him and heerd him of course he must be up; but I don't see how he did it. If he's told de boss anything it must be a blab on de Sleepers, fer he can't know anything else."

"Whatever it is, he's dangerous to have round, and we must look out for him."

"All right! just leave him to me. I'll have de Sleepers fix him. Dey'll do anything my boy Bill tells 'em; he's got 'em under his thumb."

"Look sharp about it, then."

"Ay, ay, mate, I'll give Bill de word to-night soon as he comes in."

Then the two separated, and Monk Tooley went home, thinking over a plan by which the Young Sleepers, under his son Bill's direction, could effectually drive Derrick Sterling from the mine. As he opened his own door he called out in his loud, rough voice,

"Bill come in yet?"

Stepping into the front room, he stood still in amazement. The wife of a neighbor was holding up a warning finger towards him, and saying, "Sh—h!"

His own wife and two other women were bending over a bed in one corner, and the children, whom he had never before known to be quiet when awake, were standing or sitting silently in various frightened attitudes about the room.

"Who is it?" he asked, hoarsely, with an attempt at a whisper.

"It's Bill," answered one of the women. "He's badly hurted, falling down a shaft in the mine, and is like to die. They say Paul the cripple saved him."

"Bill! my Bill! You're lying!" cried the miner, fiercely. "Bill came out of de mine wid de day shift. I seen him."

Rough and cruel as he was, the man had, hidden somewhere in his being, a deep-seated affection for his son Bill. Although he had never been heard to speak other than harshly to him, Bill was the pride and joy of his hard life. A blow aimed at Bill struck him with redoubled force. His hatred of Derrick Sterling arose from the fact that the lad had thrashed his boy. Now to tell him that his boy Bill was so badly hurt that he was likely to die was like wrenching from him all that he held worth living for.

The women made way for the rough miner as he strode to where his son lay on a heap of soiled bedclothing, tossing and moaning, but unconscious, and in a high fever. One look was enough, and then Monk Tooley left the house, and set forth on a ten-mile walk through the night to fetch the nearest doctor.

By sunrise the doctor had come and gone again, having done what he could. He said the boy would live if he were kept quiet and had careful nursing, but that he was injured in such a way that he might be lame for the rest of his life.

When Monk Tooley went down into the mine that day—for he must now work harder and more steadily than ever to support this added burden—he was a silent, heart-broken man.

It was nearly noon before Derrick Sterling awoke after his first day of bitter experience in the mine. Though he was still sore and lame, hot water and sleep, two of nature's most powerful remedies in cases of his kind, had worked such wonders for him that he felt quite ready to enter the mine again, and face whatever new trials it might have in store for him.

After dinner the mine boss came to see him, and was amazed to find him looking so well and cheerful.

"You seem to come up smiling after every knock down, Derrick," he said. "I shouldn't wonder if you would even be ready to go down into the mine again to-morrow."

"Indeed I think I must, sir," said Derrick, earnestly. "I don't believe any one else can get along with Harry Mule as well as I can."

"Let me see. How many years have you been driving him?" asked Mr. Jones, gravely.

"Only one day, sir," replied Derrick laughing, "but I think he's very fond of me, and I know I am of him."

"All right; if you insist upon it, you shall go down again to-morrow to your bumping-mule. Now I want to talk to you seriously."

The conversation that followed was long and earnest, and it was ended by Mr. Jones saying, just before he left, "I must manage somehow or other to be there on the 27th, and I want you to go with me, for I don't know anybody else whom I dare trust. It only remains for us to discover a way."

CHAPTER VIII

DERRICK STERLING'S SPLENDID REVENGE

The new breaker, in which Paul Evert now worked as a slate-picker, was in general appearance very much like the old one, but its interior arrangement was different, and of such a nature as to make life much easier for those who worked in it. The greatest improvement was the introduction of a set of machines called "jigs." The coal from the mine, after being drawn to the very top of the breaker, first passed between great spiked rollers, or "crushers;" then through a series of "screens," provided with holes of different sizes, that separated it into several grades of egg, stove, nut, pea, buckwheat, etc. From the screens it was led into the jigs. These are perforated iron cylinders set in tubs of water, and fitted with movable iron bottoms placed at a slight angle. A small steam-engine attached to each machine raises and lowers or "jigs" this iron bottom a few inches each way very rapidly. The contents of the cylinders are thus constantly shaken in water, and as the slate is heavier than the coal, most of it settles to the bottom, and is carried off through a waste chute. The wet coal runs out through other chutes placed a little higher than that for slate, and extending down through the length of the breaker to the storage bins at its bottom. Along these chutes in the new breaker, as in the old one, sat rows of boys picking out the bits of slate that had escaped the jigs, and among them was Paul Evert.

When Derrick Sterling entered the new breaker on the afternoon of the day following that which had brought such memorable adventures, he was surprised at the comparative absence of coal-dust. It still rose in clouds from the crushers and screens, but there was none above the chutes. He understood the theory of jigs, but had never seen them at work, and now he was so greatly interested in watching them as almost to forget the errand on which he had come. It was only when Mr. Guffy spoke to him that he thought of it, and handed the breaker boss the note he had come to give him.

"All right," said the boss reading it. "I'm sorry to lose him, for he is a quiet, steady lad, and, could in time be made very useful as a picker. I doubt, though, if his back would hold out long at the work. Yes, you may take him along now if you want to."

Stepping over to where his friend sat, Derrick said, "Come, Paul, you're not to work any more to-day; I want to have a talk with you outside."

When they had left the breaker, Derrick said, "How would you like to go down into the mine, Paul, and be a door-tender, very near where I work, and get twice as much money as you can make in the breaker?"

"Of course I should like it," answered Paul, gravely; "but I don't think they want a cripple like me down there."

"Yes, they do want just exactly such a fellow as you are; they found out last night what you could do in a mine. Mr. Jones says that if you want to you can go down with me to-morrow morning, and begin at once without waiting for the end of the month. You are to go with me to the store this evening for your mine cap, lamp, and boots. See, here's the order for them."

Paul stared at the order for a moment as though he could not believe it was real. Then exclaiming, "Oh goody, Derrick! I'm so glad to get out of that hateful, back-aching breaker," he gave a funny little twirl of his body around his crutch, which was his way of expressing great joy.

Derrick shared this joy equally with Paul, and to see them one would have supposed they had just come into fortunes at least. To a stranger such rejoicings over an offer of monotonous work down in the blackness of a coal mine would have seemed absurd, but if he had ever been a breaker boy he could have fully sympathized with them.

The two boys were standing beside the check-board, near the mouth of the slope, and after their rejoicings had somewhat subsided Derrick said, "Let's see who's sent up the most to-day."

The check-board was something like the small black-board that hangs behind the teacher's desk in a school-room. It was provided with several rows of pegs, on which hung a number of wooden tags. Each of these tags, or checks, had cut into it the initials or private mark of the miner to whom it belonged. When a miner working in the underground breasts or chambers filled a car with coal and started it on its way to the slope, he hung on it one of his checks. When the same car reached the top of the slope the "check boss" stationed there took the check from it and hung it in its proper place on the check-board. At the end of working-hours the number of checks thus hung up for each miner was counted, and the same number of car-loads of coal credited to him.

Acting on Derrick's suggestion, the boys turned to the check-board, and quickly saw that there were more checks marked M. T. than anything else.

"Why, Monk Tooley has got the most by three loads!" exclaimed Derrick, counting them.

"He must have worked all through lunch-hour, and like a mule at that. I wonder what's got into him?"