Blind Brother — Out of Darkness

OUT OF DARKNESS.

It was with a light heart that the Widow Taylor kissed her two boys good-by that morning in December, and watched them as they disappeared into the fading darkness.

When they were gone she went about her household duties with a song on her lips.

She did not often sing when she was alone; but this was such a pretty little song of a mother and her boy, that on this happy winter morning she could not choose but sing it.

Hers were such noble boys, such bright, brave boys!

They had given her heart and life to begin the struggle for bread, on that awful day when she found herself homeless, moneyless, among strangers in a strange land; when, in answer to her eager question for her husband, she had been told that he had met an untimely death, and was already lying in his grave.

But, as she had toiled and trusted, her sons had grown, both in stature and in grace, till they had become, indeed, her crown of rejoicing.

One thing yet she looked forward to with eager hope, and that was the time when her blind boy might have the benefit of skilful treatment for his eyes, with the possibility of sight.

It might take years of saving yet, but every day that they could all work made the time of waiting one day less.

So she was hardly less rejoiced at the renewal of their tasks than were the boys themselves.

It was a bright day, and warm, too, for December; she thought of it afterward, how fair the day was.

But it was lonely without her boys.

It had been weeks since they had been away from her all day so; and, long before the sun went down, she began to wish for their coming.

She made supper early, and set out a few treasured dainties on the table, in honor of the first day’s work.

Then, while the shadows grew indistinct, and the darkness settled down upon the earth, she sat by the window and saw the stars come out, and waited for her boys.

Suddenly there came a jar, the house rocked slightly, the windows rattled, and a dish on the pantry-shelf fell to the floor and was broken.

The Widow Taylor started to her feet, and stood, for a moment, wondering what it could mean.

Then she opened the door of her cottage and looked out.

Other women were standing by their gates, and men were hurrying past her in the darkness.

“What’s happened?

” she called out, to a neighbor.

“A fall,” came back the answer; “it must ’a’ been a fall.

” “Where?

” She asked the question with a dreadful apprehension settling down upon her.

“We canna tell; but mos’ like it’s i’ the Dryden Slope.

They’re a-runnin’ that way.

” The widow shrank back into her house, and sank, weakly, into a chair.

For the moment she was overcome; but only for the moment.

Hope came to her rescue.

There were a hundred chances to one that her boys were not in the mine, even if the fall had been there; indeed, it was already time for them to be at home.

She waited, for a few moments, in anxious indecision; then, throwing a shawl about her head and shoulders, she went out into the night.

She knew very well the route by which her boys came from their work, and she determined to go until she should meet them.

There were many people hurrying toward the slope, but only one man coming from it, and he was running for a doctor, and had no time to talk.

Increasing anxiety hastened the widow’s steps.

She could not go fast enough.

Even as it was, people jostled by her in the darkness, and she ran to keep up with them.

At last, the mile that lay between her cottage and the mine was almost covered.

Up on the hillside, at the mouth of the slope, she saw the twinkling and glancing of the lights of many lamps.

The crowds had grown more dense.

Other women were pushing past her, moaning and lamenting.

She climbed the hill, and through the throng, to where a heavy rope had been stretched about the mouth of the slope, as a barrier to hold back the pressing crowd; and clutching the rope with both hands, she stood there and waited and watched.

She was where she could see into the opening of the mine, and where she could see all who came out.

Some cars were lowered from the slope-house to the mouth, and a dozen men, with picks and crowbars, climbed into them and went speeding down into the blackness.

It was another rescuing party.

Across the open space before her, the widow saw Sandy McCulloch coming, and cried out to him, “Sandy!

” He stopped for an instant, then, recognizing the woman’s voice, he came up to her, and laid his hands on hers, and, before she could speak again, he said, “Ye’re lookin’ for the lads.

They’re no’ come oot yet.

” “Sandy--are they safe?

” “We canna tell.

There was mony ’at got this side o’ the fall afoor it comed; an’ some ’at got catched in it; an’ mos’ like there be some ’at’s beyon’ it.

” A car came up the slope, and the body of a man was lifted out, placed on a rude stretcher, and carried by.

Sandy moved, awkwardly, to get between the dread sight and the woman’s eyes.

But she looked at it only for a moment.

It was a man; and those she sought were not men, but boys.

“They’re a-workin’,” continued Sandy, “they’re a-workin’ like tigers to get to ’em, an’ we’re a-hopin’; that’s a’ we can do--work an’ hope.

” The man hurried away and left her, still standing there, to watch the car that came up from the blackness, at lengthening intervals, with its dreadful load, and to hear the shrill cry from some heart-broken wife and mother, as she recognized the victim.

But they were always men who were brought out, not boys.

After a time, a party of workers came up, exhausted, and others went down in their places.

The men were surrounded with eager questioners, but they had little to say.

The work of rescue was progressing, that was all.

By and by Sandy came back.

“Ye should no stay here, Mistress Taylor,” he said.

“When the lads be found ye s’all know it; I’ll bring ’em to ye mysel’.

Mos’ like they’re back o’ the fall, an’ it’ll tak’ time to get ’em--all nicht maybe, maybe longer; but when they’re found, ye s’all not be long knowin’ it.

” “O Sandy!

ye’ll spare naught; ye’ll spare naught for ’em?

” “We’ll spare naught,” he said.

He had started with her towards home, helping her along until the bend in the road disclosed the light in her cottage window; and then, bidding her to be hopeful, and of strong heart, he left her, and hurried back to aid in the work of rescue.

The outer line of the fall, and the openings into it, had already been searched; and all the missing had been accounted for--some living, some dead, and some to whom death would have been a happy relief--all the missing, save Tom Taylor and his blind brother.

It was well known that their route to the foot of the slope lay by the new north heading; and, along this passage, the entire work of rescue was now concentrated.

The boys would be found, either buried under the fall, or imprisoned back of it.

At some points in the heading, the rescuing parties found the rock and coal wedged in so solidly that the opening of a few feet was the work of an hour; again, the huge blocks and slabs were piled up, irregularly; and, again, there would be short distances that were wholly clear.

But no matter what these miners met, their work never for one moment ceased nor lagged.

They said little; men do not talk much under a pressure like that; but every muscle was tense, every sense on the alert; they were at the supreme height of physical effort.

Such labor was possible only for a few hours at a time, but the tools scarcely ceased in their motion, so quickly were they caught up by fresh hands, from the exhausted ones that dropped them.

Men do not work like that for money.

No riches of earth could charge nerve and muscle with such energetic fire.

It was, indeed, a labor of love.

There was not a workman in Dryden Slope but would have worn his fingers to the bone to save these lads, or their widowed mother, from one hour of suffering.

The frank, manly character of Tom, and the pathetic simplicity of his blind brother, had made both boys the favorites of the mine.

And beneath the grimy clothes of these rugged miners, beat hearts as warm and resolute as ever moved the noblest of earth’s heroes to generous deeds of daring.

When the Widow Taylor reached home it was almost midnight.

She set away the supper-dishes from the table, and, in place of them, she put some of her simple household remedies.

She prepared bandages and lint, and made every thing ready for the restoration and comfort of the sufferers when they should arrive.

She expected that they would be weak, wounded, too, perhaps; but she had not yet thought of them as dead.

Then she lay down upon her bed and tried to sleep; but at every noise she wakened; at every passing foot-fall she started to her feet.

At daybreak a miner stopped, with blackened face and bleeding hands, to tell her that the work of rescue was going bravely on.

He had, himself, just come from the face of the new opening, he said; and would go back again, to work, after he had taken a little food and a little sleep.

The morning went by; noon passed, and still no other tidings.

The monotony of waiting became unbearable at last, and the stricken woman started on another journey to the mine.

When she came near to the mouth of the slope, they made way for her in silent sympathy.

A trip of cars came out soon after her arrival, and a half-dozen miners lifted themselves wearily to the ground.

The crowd pressed forward with eager questions, but the tired workers only shook their heads.

They feared, they said, that not half the distance through the fall had yet been accomplished.

But one of them, a brawny, great-hearted Irishman, came over to where the Widow Taylor stood, white-faced and eager-eyed, and said, “It won’t be long now, ma’am, till we’ll be afther rachin’ ’em.

We’re a-hopin’ every blissed hour to break through to where the purty lads is a-sthayin’.

” She started to ask some question, but he interrupted her: “Oh, av coorse!

av coorse!

It’s alive they are, sure; an’ hearty; a bit hungry like, maybe, an’ no wondher; but safe, ma’am, as safe as av ye had the both o’ thim in your own house, an’ the dure locked behind yez.

” “An’ do ye find no signs?

” she asked.

“Do ye hear no sounds?

” “Ah, now!

” evading the question; “niver ye fear.

Ye’ll see both childer a-laughin’ in your face or ever the mornin’ dawns again, or Larry Flannigan’s word’s no betther than a lie.

” She turned away and went home again, and the long night passed, and the morning dawned, and Larry Flannigan’s word was, indeed, no better than a lie.

It was only the same old story: “They’re a-workin’.

It can’t be long now.

” But among themselves the miners said that had the lads escaped the fall, they would perish from hunger and foul air long before the way could be opened into their prison.

To bring their lifeless bodies out for decent burial was all that could be hoped.

The morning of the fourth day dawned, beautiful and sunny.

It was the holy Christmas Day; the day on which the star-led shepherds found the Christ-child in the hallowed manger in the town of Bethlehem.

White and pure upon the earth, in the winter sunlight, rested a covering of newly fallen snow; and, pale-faced and hollow-eyed, the mother of the two imprisoned boys looked out upon it from the window of her desolated home.

The sympathizing neighbors who had kept her company for the night had gone for a little while, and she was alone.

She knew that there was no hope.

They had thought it a kindness to tell her so at last, and she had thanked them for not keeping the bitter truth hid from her.

She did not ask any more that she might see her two boys in life;

she only prayed now that their dear bodies might be brought to her unmangled, to be robed for Christian burial.

To this end she began now to make all things ready.

She put in order the little best room; she laid out the clean, new clothing, and the spotless sheets; she even took from her worn purse the four small coins to place upon the white, closed lids.

In the locked cupboard, where the boys should not see them till the time came, she found the Christmas presents she had thought to give to them this day.

Not much, indeed.

A few cheap toys, some sweetmeats purchased secretly, a book or two, and, last of all, some little gifts that her own weary, loving hands had wrought in the long hours after the children were asleep.

And now the Christmas dawn had come; but the children-- She had not wept before, not since the first jar from the fall had rocked her cottage; but now, with the sight of these poor, simple Christmas gifts, there came some softening influence that moved her heart, and brought the swift tears to her eyes, and she sat down in her accustomed chair and wept--wept long and piteously, indeed, but in the weeping found relief.

She was aroused by a knock at the door.

The latch was lifted, the door pushed open, and Sandy McCulloch stumbled in.

He was out of breath, his eyes were wide with excitement, and down each side of his grimy face was a furrow where the tears had run.

The widow started to her feet.

“Sandy!

” A wild hope had come into her heart.

“They’re found!

” he forced out breath enough to say.

“O Sandy, alive or--or”-- She could not finish the question; the room seemed whirling round her;

she grasped at the chair for support.

“Alive!

” he shouted.

“Alive, an’ a-goin’ to live!

” He started forward, and caught the woman as she fell.

The shock of joy had been too sudden and too great, and for a time nature gave way before it.

But it was indeed true.

When the men, working at the face of the tunnel, caught the sound of responsive tappings, they labored with redoubled energy, if such a thing could be, and, after another night of most gigantic effort, they broke through into the prison-house, to find both boys unconscious indeed, but alive, alive.

Medical aid was at hand, and though for a time the spirit of Bennie seemed fain to leave his wasted body, it took a firmer hold at last, and it was known that he would live.

In triumphant procession, they bore the rescued, still unconscious, boys in tender haste to their mother’s house; and those who ran before shouted, “Found!

found!

” and those who followed after cried, “Alive!

alive!

” How the women kissed their own children and wept, as they saw the lads borne by!

How the men grasped one another’s hands, and tried to speak without a tremor in the voice--and failed.

And how wild the whole town went over the gallant rescue of the widow’s sons!

But Jack Rennie, poor Jack, brave, misguided Jack!

They found his body later on, and gave it tender burial.

But it was only when the lips of Tom and Bennie were unsealed, with growing strength, that others knew how this man’s heroic sacrifice had made it possible for these two boys to live.

Under the most watchful and tender care of his mother, Tom soon recovered his usual health.

But for Bennie the shock had been more severe.

He gained strength very slowly, indeed.

He could not free his mind from dreadful memories.

Many a winter night he started from his sleep, awakened by dreams of falling mines.

It was not until the warm, south winds of April crept up the valley of Wyoming, that he could leave his easy-chair without a hand to help him; and not until all the sweet roses of June were in blossom that he walked abroad in the sunlight as before.

But then--oh, then what happened?

Only this: that Jack Rennie’s gift was put to the use he had bespoken for it; that skilled hands in the great city gave proper treatment to the blind boy’s eyes through many weeks, and then--he saw!

Only this; but it was life to him,--new, sweet, joyous life.

One day he stepped upon the train, with sight restored, to ride back to his valley home.

Wide-eyed he was; exuberant with hope and fancy, seeing all things, talking to those about him, asking many questions.

The full and perfect beauty of late summer rested on the land.

The fields were never more luxuriantly green and golden, nor the trees more richly clothed with verdure.

The first faint breath of coming autumn had touched the landscape here and there with spots of glowing color, and the red and yellow fruit hung temptingly among the leaves of all the orchard trees.

The waters of the river, up whose winding course the train ran on and on, were sparkling in the sunlight with a beauty that, in this boy’s eyes, was little less than magical.

And the hills; how high the hills were!

Bennie said he never dreamed the hills could be so high.

“Beautiful!

” he said, again and again, as the ever changing landscapes formed and faded in his sight; “beautiful!

beautiful!

” Before the train reached Wilkesbarre the summer evening had fallen, and from that city, up the valley of Wyoming, Bennie saw from the car-window only the twinkling of many lights.

Tom was at the station to meet him.

Dear, brave Tom, how his heart swelled with pride, as, by some unaccountable instinct, Bennie came to him, and called him by name, and put his arms around his neck.

Many were there to see the once blind boy, and give him welcome home.

And as they grasped his hand, and marked his happiness, some laughed for joy, and others,--for the same reason indeed,--others wept.

Then they started on the long home walk, Tom and Bennie, hand in hand together, as they used to go hand in hand, to find and greet the mother.

She was waiting for them; sitting by the window in her chair, as she had sat that dreadful winter night; but there came now no sudden jar to send a pallor to her face; she heard, instead, the light footsteps of her two boys on the walk, and their voices at the door; and then--why, then, she had Bennie in her arms, and he was saying--strange that they should be the very words that passed his lips that awful hour when death hung over him--he was saying, “O Mommie!

how beautiful--how beautiful--it is--to see!

” Transcriber’s Notes: --Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); text in bold by “equal” signs (=bold=).

--Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.

--Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.

--Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.

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