Pit Pony (6 page)

Nellie screamed.

“It wasn't me!” cried Willie.

There was a wild scramble. Grandma crawled up on the couch, and Nellie stood on a chair, holding tight to her skirts. The little girls laughed hysterically. Ned was laughing, too. John managed to stun the rat with one of his crutches, and then Ned caught it and threw it out the back door.

“Now who would play a trick like that on you, Willie?” he asked.

Willie and John exchanged glances. They knew very well who had done it, but John said, “I guess it's a joke that's often played on new boys.”

Willie knew that as long as Simon remained at the trap, his life would be made miserable. But he didn't want to say anything to any of the miners. John warned him not to get the name of being a whiner and a complainer.

But Willie no longer whistled as he worked. Gem noticed the difference in her young master and often turned her head to look at him

She, too, worked less willingly now.

And that was the way things were on the day of the explosion.

Chapter 9

Wee Willie Maclean had worked as a driver in the Ocean Deeps Mine for nearly a month before the day of the explosion on Level Five. By this time, many of the colliers knew about the small boy and the Sable Island horse. It was said the two worked so well together they could get out as much coal in a day as a full-sized team.

A story was told about another driver, Fibber Foster, who had tried to make Gem work an extra shift one night when his own pit pony went lame. The little mare balked and kicked and refused to enter the tunnel. When Fibber brought Gem back, sweating and bleeding from the cut of a whip, Stubby, the stableman, refused to let him have another horse. Fibber had to go home and lose a night's work.

The next day, Gem worked as willingly as ever for Wee Willie. By now the two were used to working in the mine. With Gem as his companion, Willie often forgot his fears and worries. The only unhappy time was when he went through the trap. Simon was sure to say something hateful or play some small, mean trick. It got so bad that when Willie said his prayers at night he prayed for something to happen so Simon would no longer be working at his trap.

But he hadn't meant anything as bad as an explosion.

On the afternoon of November 28, 1902, Willie was whistling cheerfully as he and Gem headed into the tunnel for the last load of coal for that shift. They were partway to the coal face when Gem suddenly stopped.

“Hey! What's up?” said Willie.

A deep grumble seemed to come from the ground. Then came a great blast of air. Rocks and dust and pieces of wood flew past. Something hit him, and he was knocked to the ground.

By the time he struggled to his feet, he heard the sound of pounding feet. Men came running.

“C'mon, lad! Leave the horse. Get out of here!”

Stunned and bewildered, Willie hesitated.

He couldn't leave Gem!

She was helpless, caught between the shafts of the box. She was headed in the wrong direction. There was no room to turn her around. She tried to rear up on her hind legs, and screamed with terror.

“Easy, girl, easy!” coaxed Willie, as he put out his light.

The air was so filled with debris he hadn't been able to see much. Now it was pitch dark. He felt as if he was choking to death. Was the air filled with poisonous gas as well?

He had to get out ... but he couldn't leave Gem.

Could he make her back up, all the way back to the landing?

A weird silence had followed the explosion. As he struggled to make the terrified horse back up, a faint cry came from far back in the tunnel.

“Help! Help!”

Willie froze.

Simon.

He must be dreaming.

But no one else could be back there, still. The men at the coal face had run for their lives.

The cry came again, desperate, pitiful.

“Help!”

For one terrible moment, Willie thought he would not … could not … go back. All the pit props, and walls, and ceilings in the tunnel must have been loosened by the explosion. At any moment there might be a rock fall somewhere which would cut off all hope of escape. If he could make Gem back up now, all the way back to the landing, they both could live. Why should they die trying to rescue Simon?

But then, Willie knew he had to go back, Words echoed in his mind.
In the mine every man's life depends on the othe
r
.

He choked out, “Whoa, Gem. Wait. I'll be back.”

But even as he said it he thought he never would.

Gem trusted him. He felt her body trembling under his hand, but she had stopped squealing. Maybe she would wait. Maybe she would be all right.

On his hands and knees in the black dark, he felt for one of the steel rails. He began to crawl back farther into the tunnel. His breath came in painful gasps. He tried to yell, “I'm coming!” but his mouth and nose were so full of dust his voice came out as a low croak.

He could no longer hear Simon calling.

Probably he was dead. Still Willie crawled on.

He heard again, “Help!” but the call was weaker now.

“Hold on! I'm coming!” Willie croaked.

At last the rail under his hand ended. He had come to a great pile of rubble.

“Simon! Where are you?”

“I'm caught. I'm buried under the rocks.” The sobbing voice was almost in his ear.

“I'll get you out,” said Willie.

He felt around with his hands until he touched something soft and furry. It was Simon's head.

He found rocks piled on Simon's left leg and arm which were pinning him down.

“Ow! Ow!” Simon kept howling as Willie pulled and lifted blindly.

“I think you're free. Can you crawl?” Willie asked.

He felt so tired and weak, he wondered if he could crawl back himself.

“I can't ... I can't do anything. I think my arm ... my shoulder ... is broke.”

“You've gotta crawl,” said Willie. Somehow Simon's moans made him feel stronger. “We gotta get out of here. There might be a cave-in any minute. Keep your good hand on the rail.”

“O.K., I'll try,” sobbed Simon.

It seemed to Willie they had been crawling forever when Simon suddenly whimpered, “I can't go no further.”

“You've got to,” croaked Willie, desperately.

No answer.

He felt around in the dark. Simon was lying flat on the ground. His body was limp.

He must have passed out.

Willie gave way to despair. He lay beside Simon on the ground. He couldn't get up. He thought he would never move again.

Then he heard a sound. He lifted his head. It came again — a long, shrill whinny.

“Gem!” cried Willie.

In answer, he heard the creaking of harness and the sound of wheels moving along the rail.

The little mare was coming to him.

“Gem!” He sobbed aloud with love and hope as he managed to get on his feet.

He had an idea. If Gem came close, maybe he could get Simon into the empty box ... somehow ... and maybe Gem would back up ... and keep on backing....

She was close to him now.

Oh, if only Simon would wake up.

“Come on, Si! Come on!”

“Ow!” moaned Simon.

“Si, if you can get into the box, Gem can take us out of here.”

“O.K.,” said Simon. He was getting to his feet.

Willie felt a stab of anger. He thought Simon had been pretending to be unconscious. But somehow, in the dark and narrow space, he managed to help get him into the box.

He felt his way back along Gem's body and found her bridle.

With a great surge of hope he gave the command. “Now back up, girl. Back!”

At that moment another deep rumble came from far back in the tunnel. Again came the sound of falling rocks — this time much nearer. Another rockfall….

Something hit Willie on the head. He heard and felt no more.

Chapter 10

Many hours passed before Willie became fully conscious. He found himself on the couch beside the warm kitchen stove. A strand of Nellie's long hair tickled his face. He looked up into her anxious blue eyes.

“Where's Gem?” he whispered.

“Shhh! Be still. Don't worry.”

“How did I get home?”

“Ned found you. You're a hero, Willie. They say you saved Simon Ross's life.”

“Is he hurt bad?”

“He has a bruised shoulder and a broken arm. But they got Simon out first. He didn't breathe as much afterdamp as you did, Willie. And you had a concussion. Now rest.”

Nellie left him but Maggie and Sara came, in their white flour-bag nightgowns, their long hair flowing loose.

“Mrs. Ross sent you some cookies,” said Maggie.

Sara screwed up her little face. “Yuck! They taste awful,” she said.

“Now, now,” said Grandma from her rocking chair.

John hobbled over. “What's it feel like to be a hero, Willie?”

“It feels awful,” he said.

They all laughed.

“Say good night now, girls,” said Nellie. “You should have been in bed long ago.”

The next morning, after the children had left for school, Willie and John and Nellie sat at the kitchen table for a late breakfast. Outside the window, big snowflakes drifted down.

Willie was feeling much better. He was telling all he could remember about what had happened at the time of the explosion, when a knock came at the door.

It was Simon.

His round face was pale, and his arm was in a sling. He stamped snow from his boots on the hooked rug at the door before he shuffled over to Willie.

“I come to say thank ya for savin' me,” he said.

Willie grinned. Simon sounded as if he was reciting a lesson at school.

“That's all right, Si. Anyone would've done the same,” he said.

But in his mind, he remembered how close he had come to not going back for the boy who had bullied him.

Simon brought his good hand out from behind his back. He held out John's piece-can.

“I found this in ... er ... the cemetery. Looked like it might be yours.”

“Oh, good!” exclaimed Willie. “Did you look inside? Was there any money?”

Simon's face turned red. “Naw. I didn't find no money,” he mumbled.

Willie knew Simon had spent it. “Well, thanks for the can,” he said.

Nellie was always kind. “Won't you sit down?” she invited.

“Naw. I better go home. I jus' wanted ya to know, Willie.”

“That's all right, Si,” said Willie, again.

When Simon had gone, John said, “I suppose you and Simon will be great friends, now.”

Willie laughed. “You s'pose wrong, But you won't have to beat him up now, John. He won't bother me no more.”

“I bet he won't,” said John.

Willie pushed his porridge bowl away. “I wish't I could see Gem,” he said.

“You couldn't go down, even if you were well. The mine is always closed for at least three days after an explosion. They have to make sure it's safe,” said John.

Willie stood up. He still felt dizzy and weak. He went over to the couch to lie down, just as another knock came on the door.

This time it was Ned Hall. He shook snow from his cap and hung it on a peg. He gave Nellie his wide smile. Then he drew up a chair beside Willie.

“How're you feelin', b'y?”

“Fine,” said Willie.

“I've got some big news for you, Willie. Think you can stand it?”

“What is it?”

“Some of it is good — and some of it is very bad.”

“Is it about Gem?”

Ned's face was sad. “Yes, b'y.”

Willie thought his heart would stop beating. “Is she dead?”

Ned nodded. “She didn't survive the accident, Willie. She was crushed in the rock fall. But she was a great horse. I think she saved your life, and Simon's, too.”

Willie gave a great cry. “She's dead! Why couldn't I die, too? I want to be dead!”

“No,” said Ned. With one big, hard hand he pushed Willie back on the couch. “Listen to me, b'y. Listen, Willie. I have some good news.”

Willie put his hands over his ears. Tears streamed down his face. “Nothin' is good! I don't want to hear it!”

Ned pulled one of Willie's hands away. “Yes, you do, Willie. Because, in a way, Gem ain't dead. Somethin' wonderful happened last night. Somethin' that never happened in the Ocean Deeps Mine before.”

Willie shut his eyes and lay back, sobbing. Ned kept on talking.

“Remember how Stubby teased you about Gem's fat belly? He feels some foolish now! He never guessed, but Gem really was pregnant. She lived long enough to give birth, after we dug her out.”

Nellie came over to the couch to comfort Willie. She lifted his head against her shoulder. “Do you mean Gem had a baby? Honest?” she asked.

“Yes. There's a wee, live foal. He looks all the world like his mother. Same colour. Same blaze on his nose.”

Willie said, “I don't b'lieve you.”

“It's true, Willie, In a few days you'll see the foal for yourself.”

Willie stared at him. His body still shuddered with the last of his sobs. He couldn't sort out his thoughts.

After a while he said, “Gem's baby.... What will happen to the foal?”

Ned patted Willie's shoulder. “Well ... that I don't know. It belongs to the Company, a'course. You get better fast, and we'll go down to see him in a few days.”

Nellie said, “You go to sleep now, Willie. Doctor's orders.”

Ned pushed back his chair, and Nellie covered her brother with an old afghan.

“Try not to grieve, Willie,” she said. “Try not to think about Gem. Think about the little foal, instead.”

“I don't want that foal to grow up to be a pit pony,” Willie murmured.

He closed his eyes.

From her rocking chair, his grandmother began to sing an old Gaelic lullaby. Nellie put her flatirons on the stove to heat and began to sort and fold clean laundry. John and Ned sat at the table and sorted dry beans for baking. They talked together in low voices. The room was warm and safe and comfortable. Willie fell asleep.

When he awakened, the little girls had come home from school. They were talking about Gem's foal.

“It has to have a name. I think Gem's baby should be called ‘Jewel,'” said Maggie.

“No. That would be a funny name for a boy horse,” protested Sara.

“Gem came from Sable Island,” said Ned. “Maybe you could call it ‘Sable.'”

Willie sat up. “‘Sable' is the French word for ‘sand,'” he said. “I like that. We could call it ‘Sandy.'” Then he flopped back on his pillow, and added, angrily, “What's the sense of talkin' about a name? The foal will live all its life in the pits. You girls will never see it.”

Into his mind's eye came the picture of the newborn foals he had seen in the Green Bay stables. He could see them struggling up to balance themselves on their wobbly new legs, nudging their mothers, looking for milk.

“Gem is dead! How can the foal live without any milk from its mother?” he cried.

“They'll use a baby's nursing bottle. Didn't you know that?” said Sara.

“Right,” said Ned. “The foal will be all right, don't you worry. And maybe it won't stay in the mine. Some say, now, that machinery can do the work of horses. Some day, there won't be no horses in mines.”

Willie sat up again. “Is that true?” he demanded.

John answered, “Yes. I've heard a lot of talk about electric power and new kinds of machinery.”

Willie tried to imagine what a mine would be like without horses. “Won't they need people, neither?”

Both men laughed. “Ya hafta have people to run the machinery, b'y. There'll always be colliers. But the work will be different, that's for sure.”

Nellie said, “Anyway, it hasn't happened yet.”

She folded the last flour-bag pillowcase.

“It's time for supper. Think you can come to the table for some fried potatoes, Willie?”

“Oh, we forgot to tell you,” said John. “Ned's goin' to stay here. I mean — he's going to be our boarder. That's if you don't mind sleepin' on a straw mat on the hall floor.”

Willie's face brightened. “A boarder? He's gonna stay here? A'course I don't mind!”

And he discovered, in spite of his grief, he was able to eat two helpings of fried potatoes.

Late in the afternoon of the next day, Ned moved in. Along with his few belongings he brought two codfish heads. Nellie made
ceann groppaig
for supper, to celebrate.

Maggie and Sara had just finished washing the dishes, and John had turned down the lamp wick to save kerosene when there was a sudden great commotion outside in the street. Bells jangled and people shouted. Then came a loud, horrible, rattling sound.

Maggie and Sara rushed to the window. Grandma got up from her rocking chair.

“It sounds like
Oidhche Na Calluinn
,*” she exclaimed.

*eye' yuh nuh cal' lin

“You're right!” said John, peering over the heads of the little girls.

“I wonder who it's for?” said Willie, coming from behind and trying to see.

Maggie was first to guess. “I think it's for us,” she said.

Even little Sara knew about the old Scottish custom of bringing food and a blessing to a household in trouble. She listened in solemn wonder with the others, as the parade circled their house three times. The horrible rattling sounds were made by people beating on dried sheepskins. The leader, who had a woolly skin pulled over his head for a disguise, stopped at the door and shouted out the words of the
Duan Na Calluinn
.* When he came to the last lines, John opened the door.

* dan' nuh cal' lin

Friends and neighbours shouted greetings and jostled each other as they entered the house. Each one brought a gift of food — potatoes and onions, turnips, mutton, and beef. All went into a big canvas bag held open by the leader, whose face was still covered.

When the last gift had been donated, the leader was unmasked.

It was old Charley, with his long, white beard and twinkling blue eyes.

“Charley! How did you get here?” cried Willie.

“A brownie told me about the
Calluinn
,” said Charley. He winked at Ned, and Willie knew who the brownie was.

Already, Freddie the Fiddler was getting out his violin. In a moment, a space was cleared in the middle of the kitchen floor for the dancers and singers and storytellers.

Willie had been at many ceilidhs before. He always wondered how so many people could get into such a small room and still have space to dance more than one couple at a time. He loved music and soon his toes were tapping. He joined in the singing until someone called out, “Whistle us a tune, Wee Willie Maclean!”

“What shall I whistle, then?”

“Give us a Nova Scotia tune!”

“What shall it be?”

“Give us ‘The Braes of Margaree.'”

Willie stood with his hands in his ragged pants pockets, and whistled the lilting tune. Soon voices joined in, singing in Gaelic of the beauties of the Cape Breton countryside in summer, of green meadows and grazing cattle, of birds singing, of men fishing for salmon in the broad rivers. They sang of the companionship of joyful milling-frolics, of parties and of weddings ... and when it came to that part, at the end of the song, Willie saw that Ned had his arm around Nellie. He held her close and kissed her.