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KINDNESS PAYS
I am writing about scenes that happened at East Norwegian. My age when I first went to work, was
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about 8 years. In the year 1861, I picked slate a few months in Breaker; then underground as a fan boy; then I helped my step-father to mine coal. This mine was driven down on Slope Way; very gasious; no open lights allowed; lights used were Old Davy safety lamps.
One Sunday evening I stood about 200 feet from the mouth of the Slope. Suddenly I heard a heavy rumbling and the ground shook under my feet. I looked toward the mine and saw heavy timbers being hurled into the air from the entrance of the mine. It being Sunday there was no one in the mine. The mine was wrecked inside. No one could give any explanation as to what caused the explosion. The name of the mine was Old Boreas Slope.
In the year 1862, a change took place in my life. We moved from East Delaware, sometimes called Norwegian. One day my step-father said to me to get ready and go with him and my half-brother Tom who was about five years old, to Pottsville, a distance less than two miles away. After arriving there we met Mrs. GRIFFITHS, a widow. She had three sons with her. Their names were Griff, Edward, and Joseph GRIFFITHS, all under ten years of age. Mrs. GRIFFITHS and my step-father talked in Welsh language. I understood that I was going to a new home and also that I now had a step-mother.
We all left Pottsville and walked up another valley, less than two miles from Pottsville. We stopped at a small house alongside of the road. It was a story and a half high, had three rooms, a frame building. This, I understood was to be my new home. It looked
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better to me than where I had lived. It was on the side of a gently sloping hill with about one acre of ground around it. Here Mrs. GRIFFITHS lived with her three sons.
The house has been burned down. The site is now covered with coal and dirt from the Wadesville Shaft which was near by. Wade, as it is now called, is a small village. In the early sixties, four anthracite mines were in operation. At present, September 15, 1936, none are in operation.
Conditions were much better for me in my new home than they were in my old home as I had no one to discipline me or guide me in my former home. I was naturally wild and getting into trouble by fighting and throwing stones; being left-handed, it was easy for me to throw stones.
The three sons of Mrs. GRIFFITHS, now Mrs. David JAMES, were very good boys. They regularly attended Sunday School and church. I can not remember any of them ever getting into trouble. Their quiet behavior surprised me. At my former home I resented all attacks from the boys. I thought it would be the same wherever I went, although the surrounding towns and villages were strange to me. My age at this time was about nine years.
As there have 74 years elapsed since I left my former home to come to Wadesville, many changes have taken place. All the GRIFFITHS boys married. Their children and grandchildren are living in Wadesville, and nearby towns. Griff, the oldest, was killed in the mines by falling slate and coal. Edward moved to another county. He took sick and died. Joseph, the
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youngest, died a few years ago of heart trouble. My step-father and step-mother have passed away many years ago. My step-father met a horrible death at a coal mine by being drawn into coal crushing rollers and died almost instantly.
My half brother (Tom JAMES) died in California in the year 1926. The cause of his death was heart trouble. His occupation was a mine expert on metals. He was versed in Geology. During the World War I, he was employed by the U. S. Government to search for rare metals in the U. S. and Mexico. In the year 1880, he married an English girl named Carrie GOUGE. The marriage took place in Mahanoy City, Pennsylvania. The three years previous to this he had been with me in Leadville, Colorado, a silver mining town. He returned to Leadville, took his wife with him and they lived there a short while.
Then his wife returned to Mahanoy City, and lived with her relatives for a while. She received help from her husband to pay her expenses. Then it stopped. About this time she gave birth to a son and named Arthur C. JAMES. I lived in Mahanoy City then and her relatives, with whom I was not very well acquainted, came to my home and wanted information about Carrie's husband; where he was and why he quit corresponding, and that she needed assistance. They seemed to be angry and were under the impression that I knew where he was and the reason why he quit sending her money to provide for her. I told them he had not written to me for some time. The last time I had heard from him, he was in Leadville, Colorado, and that I knew of no reason why he neglected writ-
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ing and why he did not provide for his wife. Tom knew that if he kept up his correspondence with me I would have blamed him for not providing for his wife.
After seven years of silence on his part, in the year 1884, I moved from Mahanoy City to Dowlais, Kentucky, a mining town near Jellico, Tennessee. He called on me and he lived in Colorado and was on a visit to Florida. He told me he represented the Rights of Labor in that state and was now on his way to Chicago. For twelve years I heard nothing from him. I was looking over some mining journals from the West and in one advertisement I noticed one name, T. F. JAMES, mine expert. He had no middle letter to his name when he left. I wrote to that address, Los Angeles, California, and received an answer. It was Tom, my step-brother. We corresponded with each other. He wrote that he had married a judge's daughter of Portland, Oregon. After a few years together she died. It was his second marriage. A few years later he married again, but they separated in a few years. Tom had a stroke of paralysis, or heart trouble and died in Los Angeles, California.
Tom's first wife and son are living near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Mrs. JAMES, number 1, (Carrie GOUGE JAMES) married a grocer. Her son, Arthur C. JAMES, is a Methodist preacher. Let me relate an incident that caused trouble between Tom and Carrie, his first wife. In the year 1878 I left Mahanoy City. Tom was living there also. I went to Leadville, Colorado. While there my partner was killed in a shaft. I sent for Tom to come to Leadville, Colorado. Tom came, as the mines were not working steady in Mahanoy City. One day Tom received a letter stating that Carrie had walked home
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From a picnic with a man named PARSEL. Tom and PARSEL had been enemies forsome time and this information made Tom furious as he was engaged to her. He was awfully jealous about her and said he would not go back nor marry her. It was some time before I could reason with him. When I was ready to leave Leadville, I persuaded him to leave with me. When we arrived at Mahanoy City, Tom got married.
Shortly after this Tom took Carrie to Leadville, Colorado. They lived there nearly one year together. Carrie came back to her relatives and lived with them. Tom never returned, nor saw his wife again in the many years they both lived. Although Tom's son was born in Mahanoy City, his son Arthur, never saw his father for nearly forty years after. His mother kept all knowledge from her son about his father. When her son would ask for information about his father she would leave the information with him with impression that his father was dead.
On one of my visits to Philadelphia, I called him up and told him to come to a certain hotel. When he came I told him all I knew about his father and he was greatly surprised. Shortly after this he went to Los Angeles, California and saw his father for the first time. Then he visited Los Angeles for the second time at his father's sudden death. He there met his stepbrother from his father's second wife. He was then living in Los Angeles, California. Nearly five years have passed since I have seen Arthur C. JAMES. I met him at Pottsville, Pennsylvania. He is now living near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania at this writing. I do not know whether his mother is living or not.
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I will return to Wadesville, where I spent seven years of my life as a young boy. From the age of nine to sixteen, the first nine years I lived at East Delaware, then moved from there to Wadesville. In the latter place the conditions were much better for me. I received less than three months schooling as I had to go to work in the mines with my stepfather. My stepfather could not read or write. He was a native of Wales and followed coal mining for his living. During my stay with him I never knew him to enter any church. He spent a great deal of his time in saloons drinking always after receiving his pay. While there he would meet others like himself, making bets on dog fighting or selecting their sons to wrestle for a gallon of beer or kegs of beer.
Often on Saturday afternoon I would have to go with him to other places or towns and wrestle with others of my age who were strangers to me, knowing he would be cross with me if I should not come out the victor. I always did my very best. It was more like a fight and suited the rough crowd of miners standing around in a circle and cheering one or the other and betting on which lad would win. In those days miners were paid monthly in cash. Other boys would receive from their fathers a dime or sometimes a quarter. They would ask me, "What did your daddy give you, Phil?" I would answer, "Nothing."
A feeling would come over me that my stepfather was not treating me like the other boys were being treated. I had worked hard for him, loading coal under ground into cars that took all my strength to lift; lifting lumps of coal into cars that were high and
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large. Often have I been so tired and weak that it was difficult for me to walk from the mines to my home, two miles. My back ached and my head troubled me from bad air and I would lie down to rest. My stepfather seemed to be indifferent to my condition. I could not call him father. A feeling came over me that those conditions could not continue much longer. I was obedient to both of my stepparents. They always told me that I was bound to them until I was 21 years old. They always received my monthly pay envelope from the mines. Never did I receive a dime. Other boys received small coins from their parents. This aggravated me and caused trouble between me and other boys. Twice I had fights with other boys coming out of Sunday School, and in other places. There was a tough boy whose nick-name was Rhodesy, much heavier and older than I was. I had several arguments with him before we could walk together peaceably.
I had a very strong friendship with some other boys. This I kept until two years ago when the last one, Henry THOMAS, passed away with a heart attack, aged 81 years. His wife died 12 years before him. Henry lived a clean life and never got into trouble; neither did he drink or swear. He was a member of the Methodist Church. In September, 1936, I visited his daughter, Mrs. RAYBOLD, at Pottsville, Pennsylvania, with whom he lived.
In the year of 1865, in Wadesville, the time when Abraham LINCOLN was assassinated, I was in Sunday School when the word came and when the news was read. Many sobbed and tears flowed. They could not
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continue the services. We all walked to our homes with sad faces. This continued for several days in our young minds; not knowing what would happen next.
In the year 1866 I worked at The St. Clair Shaft, under ground as a coal pusher with several other boys. An incident happened that almost caused me to change my mind about being a coal miner which I had always wanted to be. One morning I was told to go to a certain chute to push coal down to a man who was loading it into a mine car. As I started to go there through a small door, another boy named PRICE, older than I was, pushed me aside, cursing and said that was his place. I protested but gave way to him. I went to another chute, close by and commenced to work. I only worked a few minutes when another boy by the name of ROGERS came running to me and called out, 'PRICE is killed.' I ran to the place with the man that was loading the car. I saw a large flat lump of coal weighing several tons, which had fallen on the chute, covering PRICE. I could only see part of his hand protruding from under the lump. It had crushed him flat. Soon several men came with levers and wedges and slowly raised the lump so that they could pull his body out. It was crushed so that it was carried out of the mine in a canvas sack. During the excitement, I stood close by thinking what a narrow escape I had. It was known by others that it was my place to have been where PRICE met his death. As this was my first close escape from death, it troubled me a great deal.
On my way over the hill to Wadesville, where I stayed, I came very near deciding that it would be best for me to quit the mines. It was customary in those
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days that the mine would suspend operations three days when a miner was killed. After those days were over my stepfather ordered me to go back to work. It was some time before I could forget the scene of PRICE's death, with his loud swearing a few minutes before his death. I never swore in all my long life, nor would I work with one who had the habit of swearing.
In the year, 1867, I worked at Beechwood Colliery, Mt. Laffee, loading coal with my step-father. On one occasion, by only a few minutes, I missed a trip of cars being hoisted up a very steep slope and killing all that was riding on it. My step-father and I arrived just as the crash occurred. After the coal dust settled, I noticed one body lying near by. His name was COX, a one-legged man. Only a wide leather belt was around his body. He worked near me. As he passed me he called out, "Come on home, it's quitting time." Some of his relatives were killed with him.
I have been in this mine when several explosions occurred. Certain parts of the mine were worked with safety lamps. Explosions would often take place and burn miners. I have been tossed around several times with its force. I would lie down close to the bottom, as I could keep timbers or other loose materials from hitting me. Then all that could would rush to the bottom of the slope, anxious to get outside of the mine and know who was burned or injured.
In the year 1868, an incident happened which made a change in my life and caused me to leave Wadesville one autumn evening. Several of my boyhood friends were whistling and calling me to come out with them.
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As I stepped out of the doorway, my stepfather placed a water bucket at my feet without saying a word to me. I understood that it meant for me to go to the spring, some distance away for a bucket of drinking water. This would prevent me from going out with the boys. I knew also that there was sufficient water in the bucket for the next day's use. His only purpose was to prevent me from going out. Up to this time I had always obeyed him, but this time I could not, regardless of the consequences. My temper got the best of me. I gave the bucket a kick on my way out. Suddenly I felt a hard kick which came from him. As he wore heavy boots, it lifted me off my feet. I turned and looked at him for a moment. I felt no pain only that I was being humiliated before my companions. No tears came to give me any relief.
It was several hours afterward before my boy friends came. They gathered around me. I told them to keep away from me as I wanted to be alone. As the shades of night were coming on, I went up the side of the hill to find a place to be alone and to think what to do. One thing was sure. I would not stay in that home nor would I stay in Wadesville. I looked for a place to sleep under some bushes. While waiting for sleep to come over me I heard my stepmother's voice calling me. It was some time before I would answer her. I did not want anyone to know where I was going to stay that night. As we met she wanted me to come into the house, but I answered her, "No", every time she asked me. She then left me. From where I stayed I could see the house. I had made up
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my mind I would watch the house for a chance to get in for some clothes that I wanted. I had also a little over two dollars in change there. I had earned this by picking up loose pieces of iron, bone and rags and selling them to the rag man who came around once a month. In those days this was a common way to get a few pennies.
As I looked toward the house the next morning, I saw my stepfather leaving. Then shortly after that my stepmother went out. I came from my hiding place and went into the house. I gathered up my clothes, tied them into a bundle, then walked over the hill, then to St. Clair, then up another hill called Mt. Hope, then I came onto a road that would take me to Mahanoy City, a mining town.
It was a strange way to leave Wadesville and my boy companions whom I thought so much of. I was now on a strange mountain, on a strange road, and going to a strange town and not knowing how far it was away. And when I got there where I would sleep tonight? These thoughts troubled me. But I had slight information that I had an aunt there whom I had never seen; also that I had cousins living there.
After walking 18 miles I came to the top of a mountain, and looking down into the valley, I noticed a town. I walked down to it and found it was Mahanoy City. It was a new mining town. The streets had very little pavements to walk on. The shades of night were falling fast. I must hurry and find my relatives. At last I found that they lived on the upper end of Center Street. It was now getting dark. I went into
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the house and asked for James THOMAS, whom I had met in Wadesville, about four years before. He told me he was my cousin as his mother and mine were sisters. He also told me he had three brothers and four stepbrothers and one sister. I explained to him the reason why I left Wadesville. It was now getting bedtime. I noticed the house was not very large. There was already eleven in the house and not many rooms. My aunt said she would make room for me, some way. So she crowded nine of us boys into two beds.
Next morning, cousin James and myself looked over the town and got acquainted with other boys. As we returned to his home I received word that my stepmother from Wadesville had come to take me back to Wadesville. I was bound to them until I was 21 years old. She had papers to that effect. Not knowing whether they had any paper binding me to them, I kept out of the way for three days and nights among large rocks just behind the P. R. Railroad Depot. The two dollars which I had saved in Wadesville came in handy now. My cousin, James, brought bread and sausage up to me. After the third day I got word that my stepmother had left. I was informed that she could not produce the papers. I returned to my aunt's home and made arrangements with her to board with her. There was no more attempt made to take me back to Wadesville. It also cleared the situation as to whether I was bound to them or not, until I reached the age of 21.
As there were many mines around Mahanoy City, and two railroads, P. and R., and the Lehigh Valley
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Railroad, I realized soon that I must find work, as my board bill must be paid. My cousin James (THOMAS) was about my age. He had worked, driving a mule in a coal mine. I had inquired at several mines before I found work driving a mule underground at a mine named Meyersville Mine, three miles from Mahanoy City.
It was difficult for a boy to get work as a miner. Coal seams pitched in many mines as high as 65 degrees, making mining dangerous. Only skilled miners were needed for that class of work. In two years I was able to take up mining in pitching seams of coal. This class of mining was by contract, either by yardage or by tonnage. So much per yard or so much per ton. I have always preferred to mine by contract.
My step-uncle decided to move from Mahanoy City to Meyersville. I still boarded with them although we were crowded together. Mines worked irregular for two years, then closed down owing me $140.00. Two years later I received $70.00 as a compromise. In the years 1872 and 1873, business was fast going into bankruptcy. In the year 1873, it affected the coalmines. I could not find work elsewhere and had to go into debt for my board, $122.00. This disturbed me a great deal. At last I found work at a mine called Primrose. The mine was a level seam of coal. I worked extra at nights and paid my board bill in two months time, and this was the last time I ever went in debt. While living in Meyersville, I made the acquaintance of George HUNES. He was about my age, badly pitted with small-
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pox marks. We were constant companions. We worked together in the mine. One day in the mine he and another miner named SHANKLIN were having a friendly wrestling match. He could throw my partner. I was called upon to try and throw SHANKLIN, who was larger and heavier than I and somewhat of a bully. I threw him. He got angry and struck my companion full in the face. Then, I struck him in the face as my companion would not return the blow, as he was of a quiet disposition. I took it up for him. I stood in position, expecting SHANKLIN to come on and get even with me, but he did not. He swore a great deal and then quieted down. I had to watch him closely. He had no right to strike my companion. I was the one he should have struck.
There was a state law against striking a man under the ground; a fine of $50.00 was the penalty and then he got his discharge. The next morning, as I arrived at the mine, quite a crowd of the miners were still around preparing to enter the mine. My companion and SHANKLIN were among them. I could see that both of them had a black eye. I expected to be called to the Company office, but no call came nor was I fined or discharged. I never knew why the law was not enforced. I was only too glad to keep quiet, if that would keep me from having to pay a fine.
As the mines were not working regularly many young men of my age were leaving the coal mines to work in the Lehigh Valley railroad shops, at Delano, a small town close by the mines. My companion, George HUNES, quit the mines and got a job as brake-
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man on a freight train. There was a wreck and George was killed.
My step-uncle decided to move back to Mahanoy City where he formerly lived. He opened a liquor store on Main Street, but in less than a year he abandoned the business. It had left its effect on him, however, and as long as he lived it stayed with him. Not many years afterward, he died from its use at Shenandoah, Pennsylvania.
By nature he was kind and generous. When he moved to Mahanoy City, I went with him and boarded there for a few months until an incident happened that changed my whole life. Once a year Lanier's troup and brass band from California would play at Mahanoy City. The character of the play this night was East Lynn. I was not in the habit of going to shows or plays, but I decided to go one night. When I arrived at my boarding house, I found the door locked. After a few minutes of thinking, I came to the conclusion that I would change my boarding place. As the night air was chilly, I went up to the Lawton coal mine. I sat near the steam boilers until the early morning. Then I went to the boarding house and got ready to go to work. In the mine, I spoke to a companion of mine, Walter LEWIS. I knew that his father kept a few boarders. I told Walter what happened to me the last night and asked him to see his father about taking another boarder. Next morning Walter told me that there was room for me. I was glad to make the change, but I did not know who I would meet there.
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That evening I packed my trunk, threw it on my shoulder and carried it half a mile, to Pine Street. It was not so crowded. I had better conditions there. I got better acquainted with the LEWIS family. There were the father and mother and three sons. After the evening meal, my attention was attracted to a young woman who came in after we all had eaten supper to help Mrs. LEWIS wash the dishes. After we all had eaten we would retire to the second floor. I had no opportunity to see who the young lady was. One day I caught a glimpse of her as she was leaving for her home, only a few doors above. I recognized her as the young singer who sang with another young lady of the same age, at a Welsh Baptist Sunday School exhibition. The title of the song was "Old House at Home Where My Forefathers Dwelt." It was a great surprise to me as I had never forgotten her or the song.
I thought of many ways to get acquainted with her and decided to speak to her when she was leaving the boarding house. As she came out the low floor door I spoke to her and asked her if she would sit on the porch and talk a while. After some hesitation, she said quietly, "If you want to speak, you can come up on my porch." I gladly accepted the invitation. We sat together for about one hour and talked about things that were going on around us and made an engagement to meet again.
As I returned to my boarding house and thought over our conversation, I felt that I had met a real woman and I looked forward to another meeting. Little did I think that that first meeting in the year 1873
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would continue, unbroken on to the year, 1933. It was broken then by death.
On November 19, 1936, a beautiful day, I walked to Lynnhurst Cemetery in Knoxville where she now rests. My memory goes back to those happy days. As I stood alone by the mausoleum, my memory went back and I thought of an old song, "We have roamed and we have loved amid the bowers when the downy cheeks were in their bloom; now I stand alone mid the flowers while they mingle their perfume o'er thy tomb." Oh! The hours grow sad while I ponder near the silent spots where thou art laid and my heart bows down when I wander by the streams and the meadows where we strayed.
For nearly two years we kept meetings, thrice a week. One winter evening, January 9, 1875, we decided to go to the pastor, Rev. Thomas, of the Welsh Baptist Church. I can remember right well, some snow was on the ground when we reached his home. We were not sure that we would find him at home as it was then only eight o'clock p.m. We were fortunate in finding the pastor and his wife at home. The pastor's wife was the only witness to our marriage. As we had no arrangements made for our home and knowing that empty houses were hard to find, I went to my boarding house and my wife to her father's.
In about one week, we found two rooms with a private family on the second floor, not a very convenient home to begin a new life in. To reach our rooms we had to go down the front steps leading into a dark alley under the house, to the backyard, and then go
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up two flights of stairs to our rooms. We had trouble in getting what little furniture we had up those narrow stairs. Annie and I did not let those little inconveniences worry us. We had to put up with the odor of sauerkraut cooking underneath our rooms. They were a German family with several children and used kraut with every meal. We would both smile when the odor would be unusually strong. We lived here only a few months, then found a better location in the same part of town.
We moved into six different houses in nine years before we were settled. Owners of empty houses would call on Annie, wanting her to rent, as they knew their rent was sure. Our seventh move was to Jellico, Tennessee, in 1884. Our home was in Kentucky, less than a mile from Jellico, a border line town, from the years 1865 to 1875.
There were troublesome times in Schuylkill County, Pennsylvania, in the anthracite coal fields caused by Mollies, a secret organization who murdered all that interfered with their plans, causing a reign of terror. I knew many of the Mollies. I knew also several of those they murdered.
May I relate one incident that happened to me. I was standing on the sidewalk in Mahanoy City one day. From the valley below two thousand miners came up the street. Two of them came from the rank over to me and asked me if I wasn't a miner and did I belong to the union. I told them that I did. Get in line, they said. I knew it was useless not to. They gathered all miners standing around and made them
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march in line. First, we marched to the jail to get some miners out who were in jail for being too rough in the city. The police and eighteen citizens were there all armed to defend it. It was then and there that I first saw Jack KEHOE, a leading Mollie, with his pistol in hand, arguing with the police at the jail door. At times they would place their pistols at each other's breast. Just as it got to a critical point an old man with very white hair rushed up. His name was Squire GROODY. He said he would go on the three miners' bonds. The Squire's action saved lives as I found out that many miners, who were strangers to me, had their guns in their hands to shoot the police and the squad of citizens.
We all got orders to form in line, marched a short distance to a small mine called a drift mine; there we gathered around the opening of the mine. Now our number was five thousand. Orders were sent into the mine for all to cease work and come on out. Suddenly a voice called out, "Here comes Sheriff WARREN" of Pottsville, a town eighteen miles away.
With a posse of eighteen and two uniformed police on each side of him, the sheriff ordered the crowd to disperse. No one moved. He then drew out a long document and began reading it. There was so much shouting and cursing, I could not hear his voice although I was only a few feet from him. A pistol cracked and the crowd, paused from its noise, forced those in front on towards the sheriff and police. Suddenly I saw several hands reach over and heckle the police. ELLISON, standing by the side of the sheriff, was picked up bodily and passed back over their heads.
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ELLISON was a very large man and was fully able to put up a strong fight. Why he allowed himself to be handled in that way I never could understand nor find out unless he was in sympathy with the miners. No harm was done to him. The other policeman stood his ground and told them not to crowd him. His name was LIGHTENBERGER, a German. He had served four years in the Civil War. But the crowd in the rear kept pushing us on. It was impossible for me to get out of line of the shoving which I knew would soon commence. I could see LIGHTENBERGER's eyes and his firm chin. He backed away about twenty feet, placed both elbows to his side and began shooting rapidly. There was no need to aim. We stood so close together. Every shot found its mark. After every shot we could hear cries of "Oh! Oh!". A large man on my left cried out in pain, "I'm shot", and fell over on me in a faint. I got my shoulder under his arm pit and pushed him and partly carried him to the side of the hill out of the range of the shooting. He wore a heavy flannel shirt. I tore this from his neck where I saw much blood where the bullet entered, smashing his shoulder and part of his neck. When he could, he called on the blessed Mary to save him. After examination I told him that the bullet did not enter his body. I thought he would get all right. I asked him his name and he told me his name was Shean and he lived down the valley close by us. Some miners were lying behind rocks shooting with carbines. The miners were leaving hurriedly, fearing state troopers would arrive. As a miner, I never was in sympathy with others in violating the
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laws. It was rumored that several were killed. When I looked over the ground, I expected to see several bodies lying around. They must have been carried off with the wounded man, Shean. Not much was said about the shooting as it might cause future trouble for them.
It was after the panic of 1873 that times were very hard. Strikes occurred often. In the years 1874 and 1875 I had been idle; at one time, seven months. House rent and provisions were getting me down too close. Feeling uneasy over these conditions, I decided to leave this coal field after a strike of seven months.
Primrose mine commenced operation, where I worked under a 33% reduction. I was very eager to work and wanted to work every hour that I could as I was getting down close to my last dollar. The few months the mine worked that year, 1875, I worked with four different buddies or partners. Ventilation was very bad. We had to use much powder in blast mining a Buck Mountain seam. My first partner to fall down near me was Johnny BEVAN. It kept him from worrying (I think he meant "working") again for six months. Then came, next, Dave RICHARDS, then, a John EVANS. Then my half-brother, Thomas JAMES. All these were my sick men. Not once did I fall, but kept on my feet and was able to carry out my men to where they could get better ventilation until they recovered. It was quite amusing to hear them say their first words, "How did I get here?" I would explain to them what had happened. It affected me with a very severe headache and burning in my eyes, causing me to see rings of different colors around a light. I was anxious to work so I kept
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on working, doing my best to get ahead again and knowing more strikes would take place again or that slack work would come again soon.
In the year 1876, Mr. Jack JEFFRIES, a coal miner, told me he was going to Knoxville, Tennessee, to work in the mines there that his brother-in-law operated. I at once decided to go with him. On January 1, 1876, we left Mahanoy City for Knoxville. My first impression of Knoxville was agreeable to me. We left for the mines, nearly 40 miles away, on the Southern Road and came to a small town called Caryville. We worked in a drift mine and batched together in a private home and rented an upstairs room. We could earn three dollars a day each. We could live on less than twenty dollars for both each month.
The Coal Creek mines were only seven miles
away. One mine, the Fraterville Mine, came out on a strike.
State convicts were brought in to take the places of the strikers and it
caused trouble, crowding the mine where JEFFRIES and I worked. JEFFRIES
left with many others. I remained a month longer. As the mines
in Pennsylvania commenced to work
again, I decided to go back to Mahanoy City again which I left four
months before. There were six Welsh miners at Caryville and four
of them were from Mahanoy City. The last one died more than twenty-five
years ago, before 1900. Jack JEFFRIES got killed in a Missouri mine
by falling slate.
Another one of our party who was a fine looking man, died by poisoning. He was too fond of whiskey and women. He had a wife in Mahanoy City, but
39
neglected to write her. She came to Tennessee to hunt him up. His Tennessee woman heard that Jack WILLIAMS' wife from Pennsylvania had come to hunt him up. So she put poison in his whiskey and gave it to him to drink. He walked a short distance from her cabin and laid down and died. She said if she could not have him no other woman should. As far as I know nothing was done to the woman. It was a sad Mrs. WILLIAMS who returned to Pennsylvania. I went back to Pennsylvania and worked in the mines until the fall of 1878. Work was not steady enough for me, so I decided to try the West. Railroads had many posters put up in their depots advertising the West. Reading them I decided to go West. So I went to Denver, Colorado.
My family had now increased. Two children were born:
Margaret and Louis. Margaret was born December 18, 1875 and Louis
was born July 31, 1878. After carefully thinking over my plans, I
purchased a ticket at the Lehigh Valley Railroad Station for Denver, Colorado.
My first change was at Buffalo, New York, at nighttime. My only baggage
was a valise and a blanket rolled up. I had a few hours to wait there
before I took the next train to Detroit.
I felt I could pass the time better by taking a short walk up
the street near the depot in Buffalo. The streets were lighted in
some places. There had been a heavy fall of snow. The snow
was piled high on either side of the pavements. Walking slowly along
I turned quickly around and noticed three men near a street light, looking
toward me. It seemed to me they had been whispering together.
They were not there
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when I passed a few minutes before. I walked fast for a block and then turned on a side street, making my way back to the depot. I felt that they were still following me. Looking back as if I was indifferent as to what was going on, I could see them skulking in the shadows and still trying to head me off. Every step brought me nearer to the depot. They disappeared when they got near the station.
I had read a great many books on "sharpers" and "bunco men" and I had confidence that I could take care of myself, but new traps were laid. Many posters, placed in stations, stated to look out for "sharps" and stay in the station. Trains were slow in those days with long waits. I had purchased a low rate emigrant ticket, forty dollars to Denver. At last there was a train call for Detroit, and we started for Detroit. I boarded a very common looking car and I noticed that the train was a long one. I found a seat and the conductor came along and looked my ticket over. He said for me to back in another car. I picked up my baggage and took my seat in another car thinking I am right now. Along comes the conductor and calls for my ticket again. I handed it to him. Again he gave orders for me to go to another coach. Picking up my baggage once more, I walked back and came to a car that looked like a box car. As I opened the door, I could see it was crowded with Italians, emigrants going West with their wives and children. I had never before seen so many of them. They were in strange costumes. Men with heavy red sashes tied around their waists and with daggers stuck in their waists. They had a common heating stove chained to
41
the floor and doing their cooking on it. One young woman was their guide. They had all just come over from Italy. It was a show for me to ride with them to Detroit.
I had to make another change at Detroit and had to wait over three hours for the next train to Cheyenne, Wyoming. I sat in the station observing the things around me. I got into a conversation with an old Irishman, who had been to Ireland and was now on his way back to Nebraska.
While we sat talking, a man about thirty years of age sat down near me. He asked me if I had the time. I gave him the time. Then he asked if that was Buffalo time. I told him it was. He then started up a conversation with me. He wanted to know where I came from and where I was headed for. I told him that my work was mining. He then told me he had an uncle who was a foreman of a silver mine in Colorado and would help me to get work in his mine. When he told me he could assist me in getting work, his words sounded good to me for that was my purpose in going West. It put me off guard.
He said his wife and mother-in-law were here in Detroit and he was now waiting for them to come to the station as they had planned to take the train to Denver. He was uneasy about them not being there. He then said to me, "I am going to the place where I left them", and asked me if I would go with him; that he had left some packages of silk at a wholesale house; had left them there to be shipped, but now
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if I would go with him we could bring the packages to the station. I went with him.
As we walked along, he kept up a regular conversation. I asked him his name. He said his name was THOMPSON. We kept on walking. I asked him how much further did we have to go. Only a short distance, he said. I noticed that we were getting too far from the station. Nobody was in sight. Then we heard a voice, "Hello, THOMPSON." Looking back to the corner of the street we had just passed, I saw a short, heavy built man with a very long black overcoat on. He walked hurriedly up to where we were standing. I noticed that he kept both of his hands in his overcoat pockets. It was not very cold. THOMPSON introduced us. I did not like his face. I noticed the sign of coal dust in the corners of each of his eyes. I could not see his hands. He kept them in his pockets.
My suspicions were aroused and I kept both in front of me. THOMPSON asked him if his wife had paid him for the goods he bought from him. THOMPSON had introduced him as a merchant and I had a feeling he was trying to act like one. THOMPSON reached into his inside coat pocket and took out a large check book and commenced to write. He then handed the check to the merchant, but the merchant refused to take it, stating that the banks were closed at this hour and he wanted the cash. Then THOMPSON said, "I'm sorry that I haven't got the cash with me. I intended to take the next train to Denver with my
43
friend here." The merchant said, "I will have to detain you." Then looking at me, he said, "Has your friend got the money to lend you?" While they talked, I had a feeling that something was going wrong.
I also noticed the way that they looked at each other. THOMPSON said to me, "The amount is only two hundred dollars. I will give it back to you when we get to Denver." I said to him, "I haven't got the money." He said "search" to the merchant with his hands in his overcoat pockets. He kept moving closer trying to get behind me. This I did not let him do. I had a two dollar bill loose in my pocket. I drew this out, quickly folded in my hand and said to them, "That is all the money I've got", although I had sixty dollars in another inside pocket. One of them saying "search" was all the time trying to get behind me. This I would not let them do. Had I known at that time that they intended to rob me by using their billy on me, most likely there would have been trouble. Turning to THOMPSON, I said to him, "I am going to the station", and as I was going into the station, it suddenly occurred to me that they were "bunco sharps".
The old Irishman who sat near me when THOMPSON came up, (I had left my blanket and valise with him to take care of) I told him about the trip. He said to me that the man I went out with was a "sharp". I made a resolve then and there that I never would go out on another such trip with strange men. If they wanted me they would have to carry me. That resolve helped me in less than two years later.
A call came for the train for Omaha and all points
44
West. I got on the day coach. It was an all night's ride. When morning came I noticed we were in a flat country nearing the plains. At one place, several buffaloes were in an enclosure near the railroad track and also near the railroad track there was a prairie dog village that could be seen. Then again the train started ahead and startled a herd of deer that were grazing near the railroad. They scampered away. Some of the passengers lifted up their windows and drew heavy revolvers and commenced shooting at them, but I did not see any of them fall. The deer were soon out of range. I was seeing those things that were new to me.
I thought of the contrast that had taken place in a few days. The Pennsylvania mountains were rough and many of them. The land around me now was level as far as one could see. Those scenes around me caused a feeling of newness to come over me. I was thinking as I rode along what other new things would I see and when and where would I find work. Suddenly a passenger cried out, "Look at the Rocky Mountains." All the passengers looked toward the place he pointed out. With me the sight was wonderful. Peak upon peak kept rising higher and higher, all snow-capped. The more you looked at them, the more you wondered at their grandeur, a sight one can not forget.
The train was now nearing Cheyenne, Wyoming. There, we had to change for Denver, one hundred and ten miles away. Cheyenne is a typical western town. I noticed the people were looking toward mountains called the "black hills", 150 miles away. It was there that CUSTER and his company of soldiers were slain by
45
Indians a few years ago by Chief Sitting Bull. Again came the
call to take the train for Denver.
We reached Denver that evening. While walking around to
find a sleeping place, I noticed a large foundation being laid. I
was told it was TABORS, who struck it rich in Leadville, Colorado.
There was great excitement in Denver over silver found in Leadville.
Miners were crowding in from all the states by the thousand. All
headed for Leadville.
Next morning was Sunday. I met two men from Missouri. They were large and heavy built. They also headed for Leadville. We agreed to go together and walk all the way. We looked toward the mountains which appeared to only be a few miles away. At that time I did not know that rarefied air deceives you. It makes objects seem so much closer than they really are. The real distance from Denver to the foot of the mountain was nearly 23 miles. When the three of us started out that morning we expected that we could be at the foot of the mountain in two hours.
All around, strange and wonderful things could be seen. We traveled through South Park. All Nature's work, but it seemed like the hand of man had helped, but I was told that it was all Nature's work. I could see coyotes running across the park. We were now getting further into the mountains and we came upon a gang of Chinese looking for mineral. They had many red flags out and they said it was to keep the evil one away. My age was now about twenty-five years. These were the first Chinese I ever saw. Their peculiar dress and appearance were strange to me. Their camp
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was close to the trail leading to Leadville by way of Mosquito Pass.
We were told that a storm was raging on the mountain top and that it was unsafe to go that route. My companions and I decided that we would go the south end of the mountain way, many miles further. I noticed that my two companions were slowing up in their walk. They said their legs were giving away and that they would have to stop at the first camp we came to. When we came to one, there they stopped. That was the last I saw of them.
I went on. Kept on the stage road that was the only means of conveyance for passengers from Denver to Leadville at that time. It was very rough riding on them as they were build unusually strong. In some places it was dangerous. Stages were crowded, inside and on top. There were six fast horses to each coach and driven as fast as they could stand it. Many of them dropped dead; I could see many of them lying in the snow. Every ten miles horses were changed at a camp provided for that purpose. In a few minutes fresh horses were in their places. Then off they go again as fast as flesh can stand it. Breathing is difficult in rarefied air. If you go too fast, the heart will stop suddenly.
Many hundred of men were also walking, all with packs on their backs, hurrying on. Some machinery was being hauled in wagons with signs on them reading, "Leadville or bust". At last I reached a camp at the foot of a mountain. A heavy snow was falling, stopping us all from going on. We all had to sleep
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Coordinator - Betty Baker
Asst. State Coordinators:
-- Rebecca Maloney
-- Betty Baker
-- M.D. Monk
Please to not ask for specfic research on your family. I am unable to do your personal research.
