Part I Chapter 7 Doctor Dolittle and the Green Canary by Hugh Lofting
The Coal-mine
'The first impression that I got of the town as we approached it was anything but encouraging. As I have said, there had been no rioting here and work was proceeding as usual. For more than a mile outside all the grass and trees seemed sick and dirty. The sky over the town was murky with smoke from the tall chimneys and foundries and factories. In every spare piece of ground, instead of a statue or a fountain or a garden, there was a messy pile of cinders, scrap iron, or furnace slag. I wondered why men did this; it did not seem to me that all the coal and all the steel in the world was worth it—ruining the landscape in this way.
'And they didn't seem any happier for it. I looked at their faces as we passed them, trudging down the streets to work in the early morning. Their clothes were all black and sooty, their faces pale and cheerless. They carried little tin boxes which contained their lunches, to be eaten in the mines or at the factory benches.
'In the middle of the town my man got down from the cart, took me out and thanked the driver for his ride. Then he went off through some narrow streets, where all the houses seemed alike—plain, ugly red brick—and finally knocked on a door.
'A pale–faced untidy woman answered it, with three dirty children clinging to her skirts. She greeted him and invited him to come in. We passed to the back of the house into a small kitchen. The whole place smelled terribly of stale cooking. The woman went on with washing some clothes, at which she had evidently been interrupted, and the man sat down and talked with her. In the meantime the children poked their jammy fingers through the bars of my cage, which had been placed upon the table among a lot of dirty dishes. I was afraid they were going to upset it while the man was busy talking, so I pecked one on the hand, just slightly, to warm him to be careful. He immediately burst into howls. Then my cage was taken and hung up in the window, where I got an elegant view of two dust–bins and a brick wall.
'"Good Lord," I thought to myself, "is this what I've come to? Such a home! What a life!"
'In the evening the brother returned from work, covered with coal grit, tired and weary. He washed his face in the kitchen sink while the newcomer told him how he had left his own town and journeyed hither, seeking work. The brother said he would speak to the foreman and try to get him a job in the same mine he worked in.
'Then they had supper. Ordinarily the cheerful noise of knives and forks and dishes would have made me sing. It always did in the castle, when the marchioness took her meals with me in the little tower room. And so it did with the soldiers when they all sat around my baggage cart and rattled their dishes and ate stew with a hissing noise like horses. But somehow, here in this squalid, smelly room, among these tired, dirty people, I just couldn't sing. I felt almost as though I'd never be able to sing again.
'And after the woman had put some broken rice and breadcrumbs into my seed–trough I ate a little, put my head under my wing to shut out the picture of that wretched room and miserably went to sleep.
'Well, my man got his job. And two days later he started out with his brother to go to work in the morning; and he returned with him in the evening. And, supposing that I was going to be here for some time I tried to settle down and take an interest in the household and in the family. But I found it very hard work. Their conversation was so dull, what there was of it. In the morning the men got up, leaving only time enough to gobble their breakfast and rush off to work. In the evening the poor fellows were so tired that they went to bed almost immediately supper was over. And in between all I had to listen to was the children bawling and the woman scolding them.
'Many a time I'd say to myself, "Look here, my girl, this won't do. You must cheer up. Laugh at your troubles and sing a song."
'And then I'd throw my head back and try to fool myself that I was out in the green woods, all merry and bright. But before I'd sing more than two notes one of the brats would start crying or the harassed mother would interrupt with some complaint. It was no use. I just couldn't sing in that house.
'After I'd been there a week I gathered from the conversation of the men one evening that I was going to be taken somewhere the following day. I was delighted. For I thought to myself that, no matter where it was, the change couldn't be for the worse.
'But I was wrong. Where do you suppose I was taken? You could never guess. I was taken down into the coal–mine. I didn't know at the time that it was customary to keep canaries in coal–mines. It seems that there is a very dangerous kind of gas, called coal damp, that sometimes comes out underground and kills the men working there if they are not warned in time to escape. The idea of having canaries down there is, apparently, that the birds being higher up than the men—hung on the walls of the passages—will get the gas first. Then if the birds start to suffocate the men are warned that it is time to get out of the mine. While the canaries are lively and hopping about they know it's all right.
'Well, I had never seen the inside of a coal–mine before. And I hope I never will again. Of all the dreadful places to work and live I think that must be the worst. My cage was taken by my owner and his brother the next morning, and he walked a good mile before we came to the mouth of the pit. Then we got into a sort of a big box with a rope to it. And wheels began to turn and we went down and down and down and down. The sun could not be seen. For light the men had little lamps fastened to their hats. The box stopped and we got out and went along a long, narrow passage which had little rails with wagons on them, running the length of it. Into these little wagons the coal was put, a long way back in the inside of the mine. Then it wa trundled along till it came to the big shaft, where the sliding box, or lift, took it up to the top.
'After we had gone a good distance underground the men stopped and my owner hung my cage on a nail high up on a wall of the passage. There they left me and went to their work. And all day long men passed and repassed with little wagons of coal, while others picked with pick–axes and loaded the trucks with shovels. Again I was taking an active part in the lives of men. Such lives, poor wretches! My job was to wait for gas—to give warning, by coughing or choking or dying, that the deadly coal damp was stealing down the corridors to poison them.
'At first I feared I was going to be left there all night after the men went home. But I wasn't. When a whistle blew at the end of the day I was taken down from the wall back to the sliding box and up into the open air—and so home to the kitchen and the squalling children. It was now late in the autumn and the daylight was short. It was barely dawn when we went to work in the morning, and dark again before we came up at night. The only sunlight we saw was on Saturday afternoon and Sunday. I had been an inn coach announcer; I had been a Marchioness's pet in a silver cage; I had been a crack regiment's mascot. Now I was a miner, working nine hours a day—sniffing for gas! … It's a funny world.
'This was, I think, the unhappiest part of my life. My fortunes had fallen very low—they couldn't get much lower than the bottom of a coal mine, could they? So I had that consolation, anyhow; whatever change fate brought along it was bound to be an improvement. And, curious though it may seem, I preferred the working hours in the mine to the so–called resting time in the miner's home. Down in the pit there was at all events a spirit of work. I felt something was being done, accomplished, as each loaded wagon rattled past my cage on its way to the hoisting shaft. And I was helping, doing my share. While the dingy, squalid home—well, it was nothing. One wondered why it had to be, that's all.'
'But in the mine,' Dab–Dab put in, 'weren't you always in continued dread of this horrible gas poisoning you?'
'At the beginning, yes, I was,' said Pippinella. 'But after I had my first experience of it I was not so scared. I had supposed that if the gas ever did come while I was there that, of course, would be the end of me. But I was wrong. We had several goes of it in my mine, but no fatal accidents. I remember the first one especially. It was a little after noon and the men had only been working about half an hour since lunch. I noticed a peculiar smell. Not knowing what gas smelled like I didn't at first suspect what it was. It got stronger and stronger. Then suddenly my head began to swim and I thought, "Gosh! this is it, sure enough!" And I started to squawk and flutter about the cage and carry on. There were men working not more than seven or eight feet from my cage. But with the noise of their own shovels and picks they did not hear me. And their heads, of course, being lower than mine, they had not yet smelled the gas, which always floats to the top of a room first.
'After a couple of minutes had gone by and still they hadn't taken any notice of me things began to look pretty bad. The beastly stuff was all in my nose and throat now, choking me, so I could hardly squeak at all. But still I kept on fluttering madly about the cage, even though I couldn't see where I was going. And just at the last minute, when everything was getting all dreamy in my head, the men put down their shovels and picks to take a rest. And in a voice that sounded all sort of funny and far away I heard out of them cry:
'"Bill—look at the bird!—Gas!"
'Then that signal word "Gas!" was shouted up and down the passages of the whole mine. Tools were dropped with a clatter on the ground; and the men, bending down to keep their heads low, started running for the hoist shaft. My man Bill leaped up and snatched my cage from the wall and fled after them.
'At the shaft we found hundreds of workers gathered, waiting their turn to go up in the sliding box. The whistle up at the top was blowing away like mad to warn any stray men who might still be lingering in the passages.
'When everyone had reached the open air big suction fans were set to work to draw the gas out of the mine before the men would go to work again. It took hours to get all the passages cleared and safe. And we did not go down again that day.
'And then I realized that these men were taking the same risk as I was. After that first time, when we nearly got caught and suffocated, they were more careful. And at least one of the workers always kept an eye on my cage. If I showed the least sign of choking or feeling queer they would give the alarm and clear out of the mine.
'The winter wore on. Sadly I wondered how long I was to be a miner. For the first time since I had been a fledgling in the nest I fell to envying the wild birds again. What did it matter how many enemies you had, hawks, shrikes, cats and what not, as long as you had liberty? The wild birds were free to sweep the skies: I lived under the ground—in a cage. I often thought of what my mother had told me of foreign birds—birds of paradise and gay–plumed macaws that flitted through jungles hung with orchids, in far–off tropic lands. Then I'd look around at the black coal walls of this underground burrow, at the lights on the men's caps glimmering in the gloom; and it seemed to me that one day of freedom in India, Africa or Venezuela would be a good exchange for a whole life such as mine. Was I here for the rest of my days? Nine hours of work; home; to bed; and back to work again. Would the end never come?
'And at last it did. You know a canary is a somewhat smaller creature than a human being, but his life and what happens in it are just as important for him. Only that, of the two, the canary is the better philosopher. I've often thought that if a man or woman had had my job in that mine he would probably have pined away and died from sheer boredom and misery. The way I endured it was by just refusing to think too much. I kept saying to myself; "Something must happen some day. And whatever it is it'll be something new."
'One morning at eleven o'clock a party of visitors came to look over the mine. You wouldn't think if you had ever worked in a coal mine, that anybody would want to go and look at one. But folks will do all sorts of things out of curiosity. And these people came to inspect us and our mine in rather the way they'd go to a zoo.
'The manager himself came down first to announce their coming. He asked the foreman of the gang in which my owner worked to see that the visitors were shown everything and were treated politely. And a little later the party itself arrived. There were about six of them altogether, ladies and gentlemen. They all wore long coats with the manager had lent them to protect their fine clothes from the coal dust and dirt. They were greatly impressed by things which to us miners were ordinary, everyday matters. And many were the sarcastic remarks the workers made beneath their breath as their fastidious folks poked around and asked stupid questions.
'Among them was an old lady, a funny, fussy old thing, with a plain but very kind face. She was the first in the party to notice me.
'"Good gracious!" she cried. "A canary! What's he doing here?"
'"He's for the gas, ma'am," said the foreman.
'And then, of course, she wanted to know what that meant and the foreman told her all about it.
'"Good gracious!" she kept saying. "I had no idea they had canaries in coal–mines. How very interesting! But how dreadful for the poor birds! Can I buy this one? I'd just love to have a canary who have lived in a coal–mine."
'My heart jumped. The chance had come at last, a chance to get back into the open air—to a decent life!
'A long talk began between the old lady and the foreman and my owner. My owner said I was a specially good bird for gas, very sensitive and gave warning at the first traces. But the old lady seemed very determined. She really wanted to help me, I think, to give me a better kind of life. But she was also greatly attracted by the idea of having a bird who had lived in a real coal–mine—as a sort of souvenir, perhaps. Also she seemed to have a good deal of money. Because every time my owner shook his head she would offer him a higher price. Till finally she got to ten guineas. Still he refused, and still the old lady went on higher. The workmen stood around listening, gaping with interest. But they weren't half so interested as I was. For on the result of this bargaining my life, or at least my happiness, depended.
'At last, when the bidding had gone to twelve guineas, my owner gave in. I suppose I ought to have felt very proud, for it was a tremendous sum for a canary to cost. But I was much too busy feeling glad to have time for any other kind of sentiment.
'My cage was taken down from the wall and handed to the old lady. She gave the man her address—where he was to come the following day to get his money.
'"Is it a cock? Does it sing?" she asked.
'"I don't know, ma'am," said the man. "I understand it was a cock. But he hasn't sung a single note since he's been with me."
'"I'd like to know who would—here," growled one of the miners.
'"Well, I'll take him anyway," said the woman. "I dare say he'll sing when he gets into the air and sunlight."
'And so ended another chapter in the story of my adventures. For when the old lady, with the rest of the party, took me up in the sliding box I left the lift of a miner behind me for good. I often thought afterwards of those poor wretches toiling away underground and wondered how the other canary got along who took my place. But, oh my, I was glad that for me it was all over and some new kind of a life was in sight!'
'I should think so!' declared the Doctor. 'I've always felt terrible sorry for canaries who were forced to do such disagreeable work.'
'Why must they use birds?' asked Whitey. 'Wouldn't cats do just as well? I'm sure it would be a great relief to know that some of them were shut up in the coal mines.'
The Doctor laughed at the mouse's remark.
'Yes, Whitey,' he said. 'For a mouse or a bird that would be a comfort. But, you see, birds—especially canaries—have a very sensitive respiratory system. They can detect the faintest odour of gas while any other animal would be unconscious of its presence.'
Then the Doctor closed his notebook for the night.
'Dab–Dab,' he said. 'Could we have some cocoa and toast before we go to bed. I feel a bit hungry. How about the rest of you?'
'Hurray!' cried Gub–Gub. 'There's nothing I like better than cocoa and toast—unless it's cauliflower.'
'Cauliflower!' howled Jip. 'That horrible stuff! I'd rather eat horseradish root!'
'That's good, too!' said Gub–Gub, smacking his lips.
'Well, there's not going to be any cauliflower—or horseradish root,' snapped Dab–Dab. 'It will be cocoa and toast—as the Doctor ordered—OR NOTHING!'
So they all sat down to steaming cups of cocoa and heaps of hot buttered toast which they finished to the last drop and crumb. Pippinella, remembering the happy days that followed her miserable sojourn in the mines, sang them a tender lullaby which she had composed while living at Aunt Rosie's house.