I will return to Wadesville, where I spent seven years of my life as a young boy.  From the age of nine to sixteen, the first nine years I lived at East Delaware, then moved from there to Wadesville.  In the latter place the conditions were much better for me.  I received less than three months schooling as I had to go to work in the mines with my stepfather.  My stepfather could not read or write.  He was a native of Wales and followed coal mining for his living.  During my stay with him I never knew him to enter any church.  He spent a great deal of his time in saloons drinking always after receiving his pay.  While there he would meet others like himself, making bets on dog fighting or selecting their sons to wrestle for a gallon of beer or kegs of beer.

Often on Saturday afternoon I would have to go with him to other places or towns and wrestle with others of my age who were strangers to me, knowing he would be cross with me if I should not come out the victor.  I always did my very best.  It was more like a fight and suited the rough crowd of miners standing around in a circle and cheering one or the other and betting on which lad would win.  In those days miners were paid monthly in cash.  Other boys would receive from their fathers a dime or sometimes a quarter.  They would ask me, "What did your daddy give you, Phil?" I would answer, "Nothing."

A feeling would come over me that my stepfather was not treating me like the other boys were being treated.  I had worked hard for him, loading coal under ground into cars that took all my strength to lift; lifting lumps of coal into cars that were high and large.  Often have I been so tired and weak that it was difficult for me to walk from the mines to my home, two miles.  My back ached and my head troubled me from bad air and I would lie down to rest.  My stepfather seemed to be indifferent to my condition.  I could not call him father.  A feeling came over me that those conditions could not continue much longer.  I was obedient to both of my stepparents.  They always told me that I was bound to them until I was 21 years old.  They always received my monthly pay envelope from the mines.  Never did I receive a dime.  Other boys received small coins from their parents.  This aggravated me and caused trouble between me and other boys.  Twice I had fights with other boys coming out of Sunday School, and in other places.  There was a tough boy whose nick-name was Rhodesy, much heavier and older than I was.  I had several arguments with him before we could walk together peaceably.

I had a very strong friendship with some other boys.  This I kept until two years ago when the last one, Henry THOMAS, passed away with a heart attack, aged 81 years.  His wife died 12 years before him.  Henry lived a clean life and never got into trouble; neither did he drink or swear.  He was a member of the Methodist Church.  In September, 1936, I visited his daughter, Mrs. RAYBOLD, at Pottsville, Pennsylvania, with whom he lived.

In the year 1866 I worked at The St. Clair Shaft, under ground as a coal pusher with several other boys.  An incident happened that almost caused me to change my mind about being a coal miner which I had always wanted to be.  One morning I was told to go to a certain chute to push coal down to a man who was loading it into a mine car.  As I started to go there through a small door, another boy named PRICE, older than I was, pushed me aside, cursing and said that was his place.  I protested but gave way to him.  I went to another chute, close by and commenced to work.  I only worked a few minutes when another boy by the name of ROGERS came running to me and called out, 'PRICE is killed.' I ran to the place with the man that was loading the car.  I saw a large flat lump of coal weighing several tons, which had fallen on the chute, covering PRICE.  I could only see part of his hand protruding from under the lump.  It had crushed him flat.  Soon several men came with levers and wedges and slowly raised the lump so that they could pull his body out.  It was crushed so that it was carried out of the mine in a canvas sack.  During the excitement, I stood close by thinking what a narrow escape I had.  It was known by others that it was my place to have been where PRICE met his death.  As this was my first close escape from death, it troubled me a great deal.

On my way over the hill to Wadesville, where I stayed, I came very near deciding that it would be best for me to quit the mines.  It was customary in those days that the mine would suspend operations three days when a miner was killed.  After those days were over my stepfather ordered me to go back to work.  It was some time before I could forget the scene of PRICE's death, with his loud swearing a few minutes before his death.  I never swore in all my long life, nor would I work with one who had the habit of swearing.