70 FROM BLOMIDON TO SMOKY. 



Darkness was coming, yet still we waited. Pres- 

 ently a message came. The coal king or his 

 viceroy had perhaps finished his supper, and 

 remembered to release us. Yes, we were to wait 

 no longer for the Moncton train, but to start for 

 Springhill. The road was ballasted with soft 

 coal dust; even the hollows were filled with 

 wasted fuel, which was cheaper for the purpose 

 than gravel. The conductor came in, and I 

 asked him about Springhill. What was it like ? 

 " A coal-mining town, with thousands of miners, 

 pits, shafts, dirt, poverty, and the memory of 

 the horror of three years ago, when scores of 

 widows and hundreds of fatherless children wept 

 and wailed round the pit mouths after the explo- 

 sion which suffocated their bread-winning hus- 

 bands and fathers." " And must we stay there 

 all night ? " He hesitated. " Perhaps not ; an 

 engine may be run down to Parrsboro with some 

 freight cars. But the lady?" and he looked 

 inquiringly at my wife. 



Soon, through the dismal rain and smoke, we 

 saw the flaring lights near the pits, and heard 

 the throbbing heart of the great mine-pump. A 

 few dim lamps burned in streets or dingy win- 

 dows, but the town looked smothered in wet coal 

 dust and misery. A whisper came in my ear, 

 " Better to ride to Parrsboro on the engine than 

 to spend a night here ; " and my heart assented. 



