DERRICK STERLING

A STORY OF THE MINES

BY KIRK MUNROE

Author of "The Flamingo Feather"

ILLUSTRATED

In the burning breaker.

NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1888, BY HARPER & BROTHERS
COPYRIGHT, 19l6, BY KIRK MUNROE

PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. In the Burning Breaker
CHAPTER II. A Fearful Ride
CHAPTER III. The Mine Boss Takes Derrick into his Confidence
CHAPTER IV. Introducing Harry, the Bumping-mule
CHAPTER V. Attacked by Enemies, and Lost in the Mine
CHAPTER VI. The Secret Meeting.—A Plunge down an Air shaft
CHAPTER VII. A Cripple's Brave Deed
CHAPTER VIII. Derrick Sterling's Splendid Revenge
CHAPTER IX. Socrates, the Wise Mine Rat
CHAPTER X. In the Old Workings.—Misled by an Altered Line
CHAPTER XI. A Fatal Explosion of Fire-damp
CHAPTER XII. The Mine Boss in a Dilemma
CHAPTER XIII. Ladies in the Mine.—Harry Mule's Sad Mishap
CHAPTER XIV. A Life is Saved and Derrick is Promoted
CHAPTER XV. A "Squeeze" and a Fall of Rock
CHAPTER XVI. Bursting of an Underground Reservoir
CHAPTER XVII. Imprisoned in the Flooded Mine
CHAPTER XVIII. To the Rescue!—A Message from the Prisoners
CHAPTER XIX. Restored to Daylight
CHAPTER XX. Good-by to the Colliery

ILLUSTRATIONS

[Transcriber's note: Illustrations were not available]

In the burning breaker

"Here, lad, lead this mule down the rest of the way, will ye?"

Suddenly there came a blinding flash, a roar as of a cannon

Good-by to the colliery

DERRICK STERLING: A STORY OF THE MINES

CHAPTER I

IN THE BURNING BREAKER

"Fire! Fire in the breaker! Oh, the boys! the poor boys!" These cries, and many like them—wild, heartrending, and full of fear—were heard on all sides. They served to empty the houses, and the one street of the little mining village of Raven Brook was quickly filled with excited people.

It was late in the afternoon of a hot summer's day, and the white-faced miners of the night shift were just leaving their homes. Some of them, with lunch-pails and water-cans slung over their shoulders by light iron chains, were gathered about the mouth of the slope, prepared to descend into the dark underground depths where they toiled. The wives of the day shift men, some of whom, black as negroes with coal-dust, powder-smoke, and soot, had already been drawn up the long slope, were busy preparing supper. From the mountainous piles of refuse, of "culm," barefooted children, nearly as black as their miner fathers, were tramping homeward with burdens of coal that they had gleaned from the waste. High above the village, sharply outlined against the western sky, towered the huge, black bulk of the breaker.

The clang of its machinery had suddenly ceased, though the shutting-down whistle had not yet sounded. From its many windows poured volumes of smoke, more dense than the clouds of coal-dust with which they were generally filled, and little tongues of red flame were licking its weather-beaten timbers. It was an old breaker that had been in use many years, and within a few days it would have been abandoned for the new one, recently built on the opposite side of the valley. It was still in operation, however,