Calling the Piper's Tune

Thomas reached the chamber. He stared in at a miner, way back in the breast at the coal face. The man inched upwards, rung by rung, on a makeshift, swaying ladder. How could he climb while still holding onto that long, heavy hand-drill?

The miner's helper, boots crunching in the loose rubble, was next to the ladder. He was ready to take the hand-drill when its work was done, and then pass up the tamping iron.

The miner was at the seam. It pitched so high in this wall facing that the man's helmet, with its carbide lamp glowing, almost touched the ceiling. Thomas became worried. The smell of methane was very strong here. He didn't like this at all! That stuff always hung at ceiling level. D**mit to hell!

The explosion bowled him over!! Completely!! He was on his back at the chamber's entrance, looking up at the flames racing along the roof line toward the gangway.

He was dazed for a moment! When he finally lifted his head, he couldn't even tell what became of the two men in the chamber. Where they had been was now crackling fire and a thick, choking cloud of smoke. But he could pretty well guess what happened to them.

He watched the sheets of flame roar like a whirlwind down the roof of the gangway, setting fire to timber supports, coal, whatever was in its path. God**mn firedamp!

All along the tunnel, men and boys flung away their tools. They fell to their knees, then sprawled flat. Thomas did the same, nuzzling his face in the damp grit. Must try to keep your eyes, nose, and mouth from being scorched. If only the burning gas would stay at roof level. Like all the others, he prayed for that!

After the blaze passed them by, workers jumped to their feet and began running like wild men. A few shouted the warnings, "Afterdamp! Whitedamp!" Good god! Those gases better not be around! They'd get you before you knew what was happening!

Most of the workers headed in the direction of the elevator shaft. Fine! As long as the flames didn't reach there. Otherwise you'd get a chimney for the fire to leap up. Well, the nearest safety access hole was way too far in another direction, so there really wasn't much choice. So Thomas ran after the others. Jesus, wasn't mining jolly!

The mule-driver Thomas watched earlier streaked past him, running for all he was worth. Suddenly the boy tripped over one of the mine car tracks. He tried so hard to catch himself, windmilling with his arms. No use. He fell, hitting his forehead against one of the iron rails.

Thomas heard the dull, sickening thud, even over all of the noise around him. He rushed over and lifted the stunned lad to his feet.

Luckily, the boy was able to stagger down the tunnel, as long as he leaned heavily on Thomas's shoulder. Luckily, because Thomas knew he couldn't possibly carry him. Now certainly The Bear could have. But, of course, even as he was stooping over the boy, Thomas saw Rick already at the far end of the tunnel, shoving and jabbing his way past many of the terrified workers. Good old reliable Rick!

So Thomas shuffled slowly down the gangway, his arm firmly around the mule-driver's waist. The boy's legs kept buckling, and it was hard, hard going. There was an eerie silence in this section now, as the others were long gone. Thomas heard only a faint echo of voices, coming from the area around the elevator shaft. He could imagine the large mob of frightened workers, waiting to be taken in batches up to the surface. Up to safety!

The mule-driver groaned in pain, even though he bit hard into his lower lip all the while. Oh yes, the lad has to prove he's not a child, that he's a man! And men don't cry, don't scream! The boy's forehead dripped blood. Little bright drops splattered along the floor of the tunnel. The drops quickly left only darkened little blobs when they hit dust, but they made a clear trail as they dried on the slate and rock litter.

The heavy smoke made Thomas gasp for breath. His eyes stung. He smelled sulfur and burning wood. Jesus.

The lad looked up at Thomas. His eyes glistened now with tears he had tried so hard to hold back. "I let Mama down. I promised I'd take care of Jimmy. I promised!"

The words echoed in the empty gangway. Thomas was puzzled. "Jimmy?"

"My brother. The youngest. So proud he left the breaker. So proud he's doorboy down here. With us men! He loves to sing in the dark, waiting for the mine cars to come to his door. Feels so important! Showed me a pet rat he called Sam. Gives him bread from his lunchpail and everything."

Thomas glanced at the boy's forehead. The bleeding seemed to be slowing down, thank goodness.

"Mama won't forgive me if Jimmy isn't all right. I won't forgive me!" He blubbered. "Do you think he's all right, Mister Hasting?"

"I'm sure he's fine. Just fine." Thomas tried to smile. Yes, try was the best he could do. He suddenly felt so weak, his mouth so dry. His heart pounded. A familiar, nasty acid taste worked its way up his throat. He trembled.

Things can't keep going this way. They just can't, d**mit!