Chapter 1. The Miner's Dangers

________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER ONE. THE MINER'S DANGERS

A hum of human voices rose from a village in the centre of England, but they were those of women, girls, and children, the latter playing in the street, running, skipping, laughing, singing, and shouting in shrill tones, the former in their yards or in front of their dwellings, following such avocations as could be carried on out of doors on that warm summer evening. Not a man or lad, not even a boy above eight years old, was to be seen. On one side of the village far away could be distinguished green fields, picturesque hills, widespreading trees, and a sparkling stream flowing in their midst; on the other, nearer at hand, a dreary black region, the ground covered with calcined heaps, the roads composed of coal dust or ashes, and beyond, tall chimneys sending forth dense volumes of smoke, which, wreathing upwards, formed a dark canopy over the scene. Then there were large uncouth buildings, above which huge beams appeared, lifting alternately their ends with ceaseless motion, now up, now down, engaged evidently in some Titanic operation, while all the time proceeding from that direction were heard groans, and shrieks, and whistlings, and wailings, and the sound of rushing water, and the rattling and rumbling of tram or railway waggons rushing at rapid speed across the country, some loaded with huge lumps of glittering coal, others returning to be refilled at the pit's mouth. Those high buildings contained the steam-engines which worked the machinery employed in the coal mine; the tall chimneys carried up the smoke from the furnaces and produced the current of air which kept them blazing. The deafening noises came from cranks, pulleys, gins, whimsays, and other contrivances for lifting the coal from the bottom of the mine, pumping out the water, loading the waggons, ventilating the shafts and galleries, and for performing duties innumerable of various descriptions. As the evening drew on, the women retired into their cottages to prepare supper for their husbands and sons, whose return home they were now expecting. Already the corves which took them down to their work in the early morning must be on their way up to the surface, and it is time to have the savoury messes ready for dishing up. Abundance is on the board, for the miner's wages are sufficient to supply him with what would be luxuries to an ordinary labourer above ground; but were they far higher, could they repay him for a life of constant danger, of hard incessant toil, and the deprivation for more than half the year of a sight of the blue sky, the warming rays of the sun, and the pure air of heaven, except on the one blessed day of the week when he enjoys them with the rest of God's creatures? For months together he descends the shaft in the gloom of morning and does not return till darkness has again shrouded the earth.

Many of the good wives had looked at their clocks to judge when to take off the bubbling saucepans from the blazing fires, when, to their dismay, they felt the earth tremble beneath their feet, while a dull rumbling sound like the discharge of musketry struck their ears, coming from the direction of the works. Pale with terror, they rushed out-of-doors to see a vast black mass of dust and smoke rising into the air and forming an inverted cone, beneath which, for an instant, could be distinguished shattered beams and planks, corves and pieces of machinery, which quickly fell again to the earth. The next instant a darkness, like that of early twilight, pervaded the atmosphere, and fine ashes, such as are ejected from a volcano, fell in a thick shower to the ground, which it covered to such a depth that the feet of the terror-stricken women left their imprints on it as they ran towards the scene of the catastrophe--some shrieking and lamenting, but, in most cases, the intensity of their alarm preventing them from giving utterance to their feelings. Among them a young woman, superior to the rest in appearance, went hurrying on towards the pit's mouth, her hand held by a little boy, who had evidently grasped it, refusing to be left behind, when startled by the explosion, she had quitted her cottage. Her fair hair, escaping from beneath her cap, streamed in the wind; her countenance exhibited the most intense anxiety. Her boy, among the oldest of those who had remained that morning in the village, was well able to comprehend what had occurred, yet he did not cry or shriek out, but did his utmost to keep pace with the woman's rapid steps.

"Perhaps father and Mat had come up before the blast happened, mother," said the boy in a hopeful tone. "They would be stopping to see how things are going on, or maybe to help any poor fellows left in the pit." The woman answered only by a gasp. "Don't give way, mother dear," continued the boy. "We shall find them both well above ground, depend on't." Still the woman made no reply; her heart told her that her worst anticipations would be realised. She and the rest of the women from the village arrived in a short time at the pit's mouth, where, among the ruined buildings, the broken machinery, and the heaps of rubbish, they rushed frantically here and there seeking for the bread-winners of their families, many uttering piteous wails when they sought in vain for their loved ones; while others, when they were discovered, bursting into shrieks of hysterical laughter, as they flung their arms round the men's necks, led them off to their homes. Some of the miners had, it appeared, come up just before the explosion; but what was the fate of the rest, far beyond a hundred in number, still below? Some, it was surmised, might have escaped death, and many brave volunteers came forward ready to descend to their rescue. All was quiet--the shaft appeared to be free--a fresh corve or teek was procured--a rope attached to the gin, to the shaft of which a party of men putting their shoulders worked it with the strength of horses. The corve descended with its adventurous crew down the shaft. The young woman with the little boy had been among those who had sought in vain for a husband and son. "Have any of you seen John Gilbart and his boy Mat?" she asked of those who had come out of the pit and of others standing by. No one could give her any information about her husband, though one had replied that he had seen young Gilbart leaving the trap at which he had been stationed.

Unlike the other women, on hearing this she uttered no cry, but stood speechless and trembling as near as she could venture to the pit's mouth, where she waited, with intense anxiety, the return of the corve to the surface. "Don't take on so, mother dear," said little Mark, who felt her hand trembling. "They say some may have escaped, and things may have been worse above than they were down at the bottom. Perhaps they threw themselves flat on their faces, and let the blast pass over them. I heard father say, only the other day, that was the best thing to do when fire-damp breaks out. He wouldn't have forgotten that, mother, would he?"

"I pray Heaven that he did not," she answered in a scarcely audible voice. Minute after minute went by, while the brave explorers who had gone below were searching for their comrades. How that poor mother's heart ached as she thought of what had too probably happened to those she loved. Night had come on, but torches and lanterns and a blazing fire not far off lighted up the scene, casting a lurid glare on the dark figures of the men, the lighter-coloured dresses and pale faces of the women, and the surrounding ruins. At last the cry arose that the corve was ascending. The eager crowd pressing forward could with difficulty be restrained from impeding the men working at the gin. Then came the shout, "They're alive! they're alive!" and six dark figures stepped out on the ground. They were soon recognised by their wives or mothers, and hurriedly dragged off to their homes, while the rest of the women, bitterly disappointed, waited till the basket should again come to the surface. The same scene was again enacted, and the rescued now reported that there were more to follow, though how many they could not tell.

Little Mark and his mother waited with trembling hearts. Those they longed to see had not appeared, and to their anxious inquiries no satisfactory reply was given. Neither John Gilbart nor his son had been seen. At length, another party came up from the depths, but this time there were five boys borne in the arms of stronger men. Alas! two were motionless--the arms and heads of the others drooped helplessly down. The poor mothers pressed forward--Mark and Mrs Gilbart among them. "That's Mat--that's Mat!" cried the child, as one of the first was placed on the ground. The mother, kneeling by the side of the boy, gazed into his face. Too truly she recognised her son, but no responsive glance came from his once bright eyes. "Oh, speak to me-- speak to me, Mat," she exclaimed. There was no reply. She took his hand, it was icy cold. Then she knew that her boy was dead. The doctor came. "I grieve for you, my poor woman; he is past recovery," he said, and went on to attend to others. Little Mark sat by his dead brother's side, gazing at him with awe. No one disturbed him. Mrs Gilbart waited on, hope not yet abandoned. More men came up, some fearfully injured. They reported that the rest were in the workings far away-- already the mine was on fire, the heat and smoke unbearable--that it was a miracle any had escaped, that all but themselves must have perished. Heartrending were the wailings and shrieks and moanings which arose at this announcement, confirmed by the viewer and overmen. Still many lingered on in the hopes that the corve might be again sent down, but the viewer forbade any to descend, as it must prove their destruction. At length some men came to carry young Gilbart's corpse to his mother's cottage. She and Mark followed with tottering steps. The sad truth had forced itself on her that she was a widow--the two bread-winners of her household gone. Still it was some poor consolation to have recovered the body of her son. Many had not that--they were destined never again to see those they loved. More explosions took place, and the report was spread that the whole mine was destroyed. This was, however, not the case. Science enabled the manager to triumph over the fiery element raging below. By completely closing the mouths of the shafts, the atmospheric air was excluded, and the flames extinguished. After nearly three months' labour, the mine was explored, and the bodies of the dead, scorched and dried to mummies, were recovered. None could be recognised, and they were buried in a common grave. Mrs Gilbart knew that her husband was among them. The pit was again opened. Fresh labourers arrived from other parts, and once more those dark galleries became the scene of active industry. The cottages were required by the fresh comers, and Mrs Gilbart, with her son and her little girl Mary, a year younger than Mark, would have been compelled to go forth houseless and penniless into the cold world, had not an uncle of her late husband, a hewer at a pit a few miles away, offered to receive her and her children into his house. She thankfully went, hoping to maintain herself and others by her needle.

Simon Hayes had been a miner from his boyhood. Though there were some soft places in his heart, he was rough and untutored, and he had many of the faults common among men of his class. He had a wife much like himself in several respects, but he had no children. Though receiving good wages, he had saved nothing, having spent them extravagantly in obtaining luxuries for himself and his wife, for which they cared but little. By refraining from these, he was well able to feed these additional mouths, and for some time his wife made no complaint at his doing so. Still there was nothing saved up for a rainy day. Simon Hayes took mightily to little Mary. There was nothing he thought too good for her; but he showed no affection for Mark. He was a boy doomed to labour as he had been, and the only labour he could think of for him was down in the mine, first as a trapper, then as a putter, and finally as a hewer. Mrs Gilbart shuddered when he alluded to the subject. She had hoped to bring him up to some trade which he could follow above ground, though it would be several years before he would be old enough to be apprenticed. "But he is not very strong, and he is my only one, uncle, you know," she answered. "Let him go to school first. I have taught him what I could, but he will get on with his learning there faster than at home."

"What's the use of learning to a miner?" exclaimed Simon with a gruff laugh. "However, you must have your way, Mary, and I don't mind paying for his schooling, though, look ye, if times get bad, he'll have to earn his bread like the rest of us." Mrs Gilbart thanked her uncle, hoping that the evil day was put off for a long time. Little Mark went to school, and being fond of his books, made rapid progress in reading and writing. He thus soon possessed himself of the key of knowledge. Little Mary was also sent to a girls' school, and being bright and intelligent, soon became a favourite pupil of the mistress. At length Mrs Hayes fell ill, and her niece's time was so fully occupied in attending on her, that she could gain nothing by her work. Then there was the doctor to pay. Simon also was laid up for some weeks from a severe bruise by a fall of coal. "I can't stand this no longer, niece," he said one day. "The next time I go down the pit I must take Mark with me." Mrs Gilbart begged hard that her boy might remain above ground. She would take him from school and try to get employment for him on a farm. Simon was obdurate; if she would not agree to his wishes she might leave his house. Her fears were all nonsense, the boy would do well enough in the pit, he would get tenpence a-day as a trapper--on a farm he couldn't get twopence. Without telling her what he was about to do, the first morning he returned to work he took Mark by the arm and led him along to the pit's mouth. He had brought a flannel suit. He made the boy put it on. "Now, Mark, we are going into the pit, and you'll do what I tell you when we get down," he said, as if it was a matter of course. "I've arranged with the manager to take you on from to-day as a trapper. Though you may not like it at first, you'll soon get accustomed to the work, and so let's have no nonsense. Here's the corve all ready to go down--come along." _

Read next: Chapter 2. Learning To Watch


Table of content of Mines and its Wonders


GO TO TOP OF SCREEN

Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book