Davy Taggart, the blacksmith who made the miners’ tools, fitted an iron collar like Jimmy Lee’s around Mack’s neck. It was the ultimate humiliation: a sign for all the world to see, saying he was another man’s property. He was less than a man, subhuman; he was livestock.
They untied his bonds and threw some clothes at him: a pair of breeches, a threadbare flannel shirt and a ripped waistcoat. He put them on hastily and still felt cold. The keepers tied his hands again and put him on a pony.
They rode to the pit.
The Wednesday shift would begin in a few minutes’ time, at midnight. The ostler was putting a fresh horse in harness to drive the bucket chain. Mack realized they were going to make him go the round.
He groaned aloud. It was a crushing, humiliating torture. He would have given his life for a bowl of hot porridge and a few minutes in front of a blazing fire. Instead he was doomed to spend the night in the open air. He wanted to fall on his knees and beg for mercy; but the thought of how that would please the Jamissons stiffened his pride, and instead he roared: “You’ve no right to do this! No right!” The keepers laughed at him.
They stood him in the muddy circular track around which the pithead horses trotted day and night. He squared his shoulders and held his head high, although he felt like bursting into tears. They tied him to the harness, facing the horse, so that he could not get out of its way. Then the ostler whipped the horse into a trot.
Mack began to run backward.
He stumbled almost immediately, and the horse drew up. The ostler whipped it again, and Mack scrambled to his feet just in time. He began to get the knack of running backward. Then he became overconfident and slipped on the icy mud. This time the horse charged on. Mack slid to one side, writhing and twisting to get away from the hooves, and was dragged alongside the horse for a second or two, then he lost control and slipped under the horse’s feet. The horse trod on his stomach and kicked his thigh, then stopped.
They made Mack stand up, then they lashed the horse again. The blow to the stomach had winded Mack, and his left leg felt weak, but he was forced into a limping backward run.
He gritted his teeth and tried to settle into a rhythm. He had seen others suffer this punishment—Jimmy Lee, for one. They had survived, although they bore the marks: Jimmy Lee had a scar over his left eye where the horse had kicked him, and the resentment that burned inside Jimmy was fueled by the memory of the humiliation. Mack, too, would survive. His mind dulled with pain and cold and defeat, he thought of nothing but staying on his feet and avoiding those deadly hooves.
As time went by he began to feel an affinity with the horse. They were both in harness and compelled to run in a circle. When the ostler cracked his whip, Mack went a little faster; and when Mack stumbled, the horse seemed to slacken its pace for a moment to allow him to recover.
He was aware of the hewers arriving at midnight to begin their shift. They came up the hill talking and shouting, ribbing one another and telling jokes as usual; then they fell silent as they approached the pithead and saw Mack. The keepers hefted their muskets menacingly whenever a miner seemed disposed to stop. Mack heard Jimmy Lee’s voice raised in indignation and saw, from the corner of his eye, three or four other miners surround Jimmy, taking him by the arms and pushing and shoving him toward the pit to keep him out of trouble.
Gradually Mack lost all sense of time. The bearers arrived, women and children chattering on their way up the hill then falling silent, as the men had, when they passed Mack. He heard Annie cry: “Oh dear God, they’ve made Mack go the round!” She was kept away from him by the Jamissons’ men, but she called out: “Esther’s looking for you—I’ll fetch her.”
Esther appeared some time later, and before the keepers could prevent her she stopped the horse. She held a flagon of hot sweetened milk to Mack’s lips. It tasted like the elixir of life, and he gulped it frantically, almost choking himself. He managed to drain the jug before they pulled Esther away.
The night wore on as slow as a year. The keepers put down their muskets and sat around the ostler’s fire. Coal mining went on. The bearers came up from the pit, emptied their corves on the dump, and went down again in their endless round. When the ostler changed the horse Mack got a few minutes’ rest, but the fresh horse trotted faster.
There came a moment when he realized it was daylight again. Now it could be only an hour or two until the hewers stopped work, but an hour was forever.
A pony came up the hill. Out of the corner of his eye Mack saw the rider get off and stand staring at him. Looking briefly in that direction he recognized Lizzie Hallim, in the same black fur coat she had worn to church. Was she here to mock him? he wondered. He felt humiliated, and wished she would go away. But when he looked again at her elfin face he saw no mockery there. Instead there was compassion, anger, and something else he could not read.
Another horse came up the hill and Robert got off. He spoke to Lizzie in an irate undertone. Lizzie’s reply was clearly audible: “This is barbaric!” In his distress Mack felt profoundly grateful to her. Her indignation comforted him. It was some consolation to know that there was one person among the gentry who felt human beings should not be treated this way.
Robert replied indignantly, but Mack could not make out his words. While they were arguing, the men began to come up from the pit. However, they did not return to their homes. Instead they stood around the horse-gin, watching without speaking. The women also began to gather: when they had emptied their corves they did not go back down the shaft but joined the silent crowd.
Robert ordered the ostler to stop the horse.
Mack at last stopped running. He tried to stand proud, but his legs would not support him, and he fell to his knees. The ostler came to untie him, but Robert stopped the man with a gesture.
Robert spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Well, McAsh, you said yesterday that you were one day short of servitude. Now you have worked that extra day. Even by your own foolish rules you’re my father’s property now.” He turned around to address the crowd.
But before he could speak again, Jimmy Lee started to sing.
Jimmy had a pure tenor voice, and the notes of a familiar hymn soared out across the glen:Behold, a man in anguish bending
Marked by pain and loss
Yonder stony hill ascending
Carrying a cross
Robert flushed red and shouted: “Be quiet!”
Jimmy ignored him and began the second verse. The others joined in, some singing the harmonies, and a hundred voices swelled the melody.He is now transfixed with sorrow
In the eyes of men
When we see the bright tomorrow
He will rise again
Robert turned away, helpless. He stamped across the mud to his horse, leaving Lizzie standing alone, a small figure of defiance. He mounted and rode off down the hill, looking furious, with the thrilling voices of the miners shaking the mountain air like a thunderstorm:Look no more with eyes of pity
See our victory
When we build that heavenly city
All men shall be free!
11