Chapter 29

Put your shoulder to the wheel; push along,
Do your duty with a heart full of song.
We all have work; let no one shirk.
Put your shoulder to the wheel.

- Will L. Thompson

00000

Day number two in the mines went pretty much like day number one.

Day number three was ten times worse.

By day number four, Harper was convinced he was going to die.

Day number five he wished he would.

Day six he wondered if he was dead and condemned to outer darkness and eternal suffering for all the rotten things he'd done over the years.

By the time day seven rolled around, a whole week spent as a harnessed mule, Harper knew the Devil had nothing on the Niets. Why wait for the afterlife to start endless torture and punishment?

Of course Harper had never been one to go peacefully to either death or damnation. If he curled up on the ground in agony and begged to die like he really wanted to, the Ubers won, which would just really stink.

So he stayed upright. And as long as he was upright, he was alive. And as long as he was alive, he might as well put his vast people skills to work and try to help brighten the Ubers' days, one little step at a time.

And so he began to plot.

After all, if he had to endure torture hour after hour, all day long, there was no reason to keep it all to himself. That would be just plain selfish…

00000

He started lightly. Just a few well known ditties to ease the way in.

"I've been working on the railroad, all the live long…"

His voice was clear and crisp and strong; well as clear and crisp and strong as one's voice can be when one is three-fourths starved, two-fifths dead, and dragging a large cart full of rocks through an icy tunnel. But he did his best and his Ma had always told him he had a nice singing voice.

He really started to get warmed up as he worked his way through Oh My Darlin' Clementine, Old MacDonald, Kumbayah, and John Brown's Body.

"She'll be coming round the mountain…," he sang, having saved his favorite folk song for last.

By mid-morning he'd made it through all the great traditional ones. He moved on to a few more original classics.

"On top of the playground, all covered with sand,
I shot my poor teacher, with a green rubber-band.

I shot her with pleasure, I shot her with pride.
I couldn't have missed her…she was forty feet wide!"

"Oh send me to glory in a glad bag!
Don't waste no fancy coffin on my bones…"

"Oh I wear my pink pajamas in the summer when it's hot,
And I wear my flannel nightie in the winter when it's not.
And sometimes in the springtime, and sometimes in the fall…
I jump in bed with nothing on at all!"

"You put your right foot in, you put your right foot out, you put your right…"

Around what would have been lunch in the normal world he ran out of these, so he moved on to some more hip ancient favorites.

"…Don't wanna be a fool for you
Just another player in your game for two
You may hate me but it ain't no lie,
Baby, bye, bye, bye..."

"I'll start walkin' your way, you start walkin' mine…"

"I wanna hold your haaaaaand…"

He got a little loopy with hunger about then and tried it differently.

"I wanna smell your feeeeeet…"

"I wanna pick your noooose…"

"I wanna brush my teeeeeeth…"

It got old after a while.

In the late afternoon he started wishing for something cold, anything cold. It put him in a festive mood.

"Jingle bells! Jingle bells! Jingle all the way…"

Jolly Old Saint Nic and Rudolph led to Frosty and Deck the Halls. Then he remembered his favorite.

"Grandma got ran over by a reindeer, walking home from our house Christmas Eve…"

Finally, the day was over, so he decided to end his performance and drag his aching body out of the mine with a rousing chorus of the most appropriate tune of all.

"Put your shoulder to the wheel, push along! Do your duty with heart full of song…"

00000

Harper and Dylan sat quietly on their pile of straw, not having the energy to move much. Harper appeared to be deep in thought or half asleep; either way he was blissfully unaware of any of their surroundings, but Dylan noticed there seemed to be a sort of conference or argument going on over in the far corner of their barrack. About twenty or thirty of the other slaves were gathered together, conversing in hushed whispers, every once in a while throwing a glance over their shoulders back at Harper.

Dylan's worry-o-meter started beeping, but he was too worn out to care. He might as well wait for whatever was coming where he was. Saved energy that way.

He watched the others for a bit longer and he had to admit his curiosity was growing. They almost appeared to be drawing lots. Then one boy, about fourteen, reluctantly separated himself from the others. He started toward Harper then stopped. Hands pushed him on even as he dragged his feet and whispers of "go on!" or "hurry up!" followed him.

Finally, he stopped in front of Harper who was still lost in space, figuratively speaking. Dylan waited apprehensively.

"Um…"

Harper's head jerked round at the sound of the voice.

"Hey, um…blind dude?"

Harper snorted at the salutation and rolled his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Um…" the kid shuffled on his feet as he stammered, obviously not wanting to say what he'd been elected to say. He glanced back over his shoulder but the others furiously waved him on.

"Um…well…we was wondering, me and some of the others that is… Well, see it's bad enough down there as it is…and not that we don't admire your spirit and all… But…well…" He stopped, then sucked in his breath and blurted it out. "Could you please not sing anymore! It's driving us crazy!"

There was a moment of silence then, much to Dylan's surprise, Harper threw back his head and laughed. He laughed so hard it took him a moment to be able to speak.

"Drew the short straw, did ya, kid?" he finally asked.

Surprised, the kid nodded then remembered who he was talking to and mumbled "yeah."

"All right, I promise. No more Harper Harmonies or Singing Seamus Symphonies. I was doing it to bug the Ubers, anyway, not you guys," Harper grinned. "But it was fun while it lasted."

The kid looked extremely grateful and turned back to the others, giving them a thumbs-up signal. Collectively, they sagged in relief.

"If it makes you feel any better," he told Harper as he was leaving, "I heard from Billy in Barrack 9B who heard from James in 1A that the Uber in charge of cart guard duty requested a transfer out today. Said something about wanting to spend more time with his wife and kids and rethink his occupational goals."

Harper laughed till he cried this time. Score one for Seamus Harper.