kinds of funny t'ings. Why, as I was a-turnin' away at dat ol' windlass
dere was red spiders crawlin' up me legs. But I was wise. I wouldn't
look at dem, give dem de go-by. Den a yeller rat got gay wid me an' did
some stunts on me windlass. But still I wouldn't let on. Den dere was
some green snakes dat wriggled over de platform like shiny streaks on de
water. Sure, I didn't like dat one bit, but I says, 'Dere ain't no
snakes in de darned country, Pat, and you knows it. It's just a touch of
de horrors, dat's all. Just pass 'em up, boy; don't take no notice of
dem.'

"Well, dis went on till I begins to get all shaky an' jumpy, an' I was
mighty glad when de time came to quit, an' de boys down below gives me
de holler to pull dem up.

"So I started hoistin' wid dose snakes an' spiders an' rats jus'
cavortin' round me like mad, when all to once who should I hoist outa de
bowels of de earth but de very devil himself.

"His face was black. I could see de whites of his eyes, an' he had a big
dirty towel tied round his head. Well, say, it was de limit. At de sight
of dat ferocious monster comin' after old Pat I gives one yell, drops
de crank-handle of de windlass, an' makes a flyin' leap down de dump. I
hears an awful shriek, an' de bucket an' de devil goes down smash to de
bottom of de shaft, t'irty-five feet. But I kep' on runnin'. I was so
scared.

"Well, how was I to know dey had a Blackmoor down dere? He was a stiff
when dey got him up, but how was I to know? So I lost me job."

On another occasion he told me:

"Say, kid, youse didn't know as I was liable to fits, did youse? Dat's
so; eppylepsy de doctor tells me. Dat's what I am scared of. You see,
it's like dis: if one of dem fits should hit me when I'm hoistin' de
boys outer de shaft, den it would be a pity. I would sure lose me job
like de oder time."

He was the most degraded type of man I had yet met on my travels, a
typical degenerate, dirty, drunken, diseased. He had three suits of
underclothing, which he never washed. He would wear through all three in
succession, and when the last got too dirty for words he would throw it
under his trunk and sorrowfully go back to the first, keeping up this
rotation, till all were worn out.

One day Hoofman told me he wanted me to go down the shaft and work in
the drift. Accordingly, next morning I and a huge Slav, by name Dooley
Rileyvich, were lowered down into the darkness.

The Slav initiated me. Every foot of dirt