Chapter 3

CHAPTER III THE DOCHART PIT

HARRY FORD was a fine, strapping fellow of five and twenty.
His grave looks, his habitually passive expression, had from
childhood been noticed among his comrades in the mine.
His regular features, his deep blue eyes, his curly hair,
rather chestnut than fair, the natural grace of his person,
altogether made him a fine specimen of a lowlander.
Accustomed from his earliest days to the work of the mine,
he was strong and hardy, as well as brave and good.
Guided by his father, and impelled by his own inclinations,
he had early begun his education, and at an age when most lads

are little more than apprentices, he had managed to make himself
of some importance, a leader, in fact, among his fellows,
and few are very ignorant in a country which does all it can
to remove ignorance. Though, during the first years of his youth,
the pick was never out of Harry's hand, nevertheless the young
miner was not long in acquiring sufficient knowledge to raise
him into the upper class of the miners, and he would certainly
have succeeded his father as overman of the Dochart pit,
if the colliery had not been abandoned.

James Starr was still a good walker, yet he could not easily
have kept up with his guide, if the latter had not slackened
his pace. The young man, carrying the engineer's bag,
followed the left bank of the river for about a mile. Leaving its
winding course, they took a road under tall, dripping trees.
Wide fields lay on either side, around isolated farms.
In one field a herd of hornless cows were quietly grazing;
in another sheep with silky wool, like those in a child's
toy sheep fold.

The Yarrow shaft was situated four miles from Callander. Whilst walking,
James Starr could not but be struck with the change in the country.
He had not seen it since the day when the last ton of Aberfoyle coal had
been emptied into railway trucks to be sent to Glasgow. Agricultural life
had now taken the place of the more stirring, active, industrial life.
The contrast was all the greater because, during winter, field work is at
a standstill. But formerly, at whatever season, the mining population,
above and below ground, filled the scene with animation. Great wagons
of coal used to be passing night and day. The rails, with their
rotten sleepers, now disused, were then constantly ground by the weight
of wagons. Now stony roads took the place of the old mining tramways.
James Starr felt as if he was traversing a desert.

The engineer gazed about him with a saddened eye.
He stopped now and then to take breath. He listened.
The air was no longer filled with distant whistlings and the panting
of engines. None of those black vapors which the manufacturer
loves