make a visit to the mines, the superintendent being notified
beforehand of the important event. Great preparations are then made.
The main passages and different chambers of Wieliczka are brilliantly
illuminated; the miners are relieved from work; festivals are held
in the villages, and presents are given to the people in the name of
the House of Hapsburg. One of these royal visits had been made a few
weeks before mine, and many of the peasants were still speaking of it
in terms approaching ecstasy. How merely relative is everything we
give the name of pleasure to! The poor Poles and Austrians, relieved
from twelve hours of their customary labor, and given a few unexpected
kreuzers, are made happier than many men would be in the midst of
material blessings, and surrounded by the answered wishes of their
hearts.
One of the principal sights in the mines is the Infernal Lake, a body
of water seven or eight hundred feet long, some four hundred broad,
and fifty deep. Above and around it is a vast cavern, that might be
the abode of the gnomes and goblins once supposed to inhabit the inner
parts of the earth. The atmosphere of the place is oppressive, and
its every suggestion superlatively dismal. It is infernal in seeming
as well as in name; and if the Hahnemannic principle be true, that
“like cures like,” melancholy spirits, after a visit there, would be
converted to cheerfulness and content. The deep gloom of the vault at
once prompted the benefit it would derive from fireworks; and so I
sent a number of serpents whizzing through the thick air, and ignited
blue and red lights, until I had wrought a perfect transformation. The
scene was strikingly theatrical, only far more vivid and impressive
than anything could be on the stage. If I had heard a chorus of imps,
or had seen blue, yellow, and green devils, of the most improved
spectacular pattern, dancing in horrid measures on empty space, I do
not think I should have been surprised. Assuredly there could be no
evil spirits anywhere if they were not there. Never could they find
a more inviting region for the display of their malignity, or a more
attractive rendezvous for the perfection of their schemes against the
human kind.
A boat was ready for our embarkation upon the inky bosom of the lake,
and we rowed out upon it with our gleaming torches, and our voices
returning to us in the dreariest echoes. I was still thinking of the
charms of the demons, when, of a sudden, the strongest and wildest
sounds burst from the cavern. I strained my eyes, but in the thickness
of the darkness I could descry no forms.
Groans, and shrieks, and horrid laughter rose, and reverberated
through the vault, until—had I been the least superstitious—I should
have become convinced that I had reached the Orthodox Tophet at last.
The sounds were as weird as mysterious; but I concluded that it must
be part of the exhibition, for which I was expected to pay at the
usual rate, and I soon discovered that I was right.
[Sidenote: THE INFERNAL LAKE.]
It is the habit of the workmen, when strangers make a visit to the
Infernal Lake, to go out in boats, distribute themselves at different
points, and set up this diabolical yelling, that a proper impression
may be made upon the visitors. That they acquitted themselves
handsomely of their task I can testify; for a more discordant and
abominable sound it has never been my fortune to hear.
The howls of the miners finally lessened in volume,—probably from
exhaustion,—and I could distinguish, at the end of the wild refrain,
the words “_Gluck Auf! Gluck Auf!_” (Welcome! Welcome!) There was
something singularly sardonic in the idea of being welcomed to that
dreary depth. Such a welcome the demons of the fabled Pit would
extend, I should suppose, to the doomed and damned. The effect of the
cheery words was more dispiriting than if they had been of evil omen.
While we were rowing grimly about on the lake, “_Gluck Auf_” assumed
a fiery form in letters of flame, about a hundred feet in front of
us. This seemed to be done by magic; but a little reflection taught
me that lamps must have been hung in the shape of an arch over a
narrow part of the cave, and that, while we were otherwise occupied,
the workmen had lighted the lamps. The very moment the illumination
was made, the harsh chorus began again, louder and more lugubrious
than ever. I set off the last of my stock of fireworks, and amid the
sulphurous blaze and the infernal din we floated back to the shore,
when I was informed that the entertainment was over.
[Sidenote: CHORUS OF DEMONS.]
In a few minutes the chorus of demons appeared in the shape of
hard-featured, muscular, ill-looking miners, asking for kreuzers, in
consideration of the efficient aid they had lent to the depressing
performance. As I have said, I was well supplied, and I could play
the part of My Lord Bountiful with very little expense. Three or four
kreuzers were enough to make the stolid faces of the miners brighten
as if they had fallen into the possession of pecuniary independence.
What they could purchase with such a trifle, I could not comprehend,
for I felt that I should be no better off, in my own judgment, with
fifty times the amount I had bestowed as gratuities upon the gnomes of
Wieliczka.
My two guides denounced the begging unfortunates for their mercenary
conduct in a vile Polish _patois_, which must have consisted chiefly
of curses. I am sure they mentioned mercenary conduct, which must have
been an ironical expression, since none of the wretches, in asking for
_trinkgeld_, received, at the highest, more than four or five cents.
The rebuke reminded me of the familiar instance of the parsimonious
father who handed his boy a penny, accompanied by the precaution that
he should not make a beast of himself, or of the over-thrifty husband,
who, having been asked for a little money by his wife, wished to know
what had become of the dollar and a half he had given her a month
before.
[Sidenote: STOLIDITY OF THE MINERS.]
The majority of the miners are Poles, unable either to read or write,
to whom labor in the mines has been an inheritance—their sole one,
indeed. Many of them have never been five miles from home, nor do they
expect to be. They are rooted to the spot by the necessity of toil
and their narrow circumstances. Some of the workmen are Austrians,
and they are usually more intelligent, or rather less ignorant, than
the others. After a few years of service, they often leave Wieliczka,
seek a larger field of labor and a better kind of employment. But the
Poles, possessing a certain kind of stupid contentment, appear to
have no ambition, and no future. I ascribe this partially to their
loss of nationality, than which no greater calamity can befall a
people. It robs them of their individuality, impairs their energy,
and depreciates their self-esteem. They feel that they are deprived
of what they have a right to enjoy, and that they are likely to be
despised for a misfortune for which they are not directly responsible.
Nearly all the miners reveal in their features and expression the hard
fate that has attended them. They have all the marks of undevelopment,
all the traces of an animal and undisciplined nature. Mind, in the
strict sense, is omitted in their composition. They are merely
machines of flesh and blood, obeying physical instincts, and impelled
by the law of self-preservation.
Years ago, the Austrian government used to condemn political prisoners
to a term of service in the mines, sometimes extending through life;
but of late this practice has been abandoned, and now all who work are
regularly paid, and free to go or stay, as they like.
Going out of the mines, I followed almost the same course that I had
coming in. Altogether I spent some six hours under ground, and might
have spent weeks there, had I been inclined to exercise, since the
combined length of its excavations and passages is said to exceed
three hundred miles.
Accidents are uncommon in the mines, not averaging more than thirty
a year, and few of these are fatal. They occur either from falls, or
from being run over by the cars drawn to and fro by horses. These
cars run on tracks from the place where the salt is dug out, to the
mouth of the shaft, and thence the salt is drawn up by machinery to
the surface of the earth. I had made my entrance through the parts
that had been excavated and abandoned, that way having been selected
to give me a clear idea of the progress of the work, and the gradual
deepening of the mines. I observed afterwards, at the lower levels,
where hundreds of men were actively employed, how the salt was thrown
into the cars, and then carried by the railway to the principal shafts.
Wieliczka is impregnated with tales and traditions, natural and
supernatural. Of the latter the peasants relate many, and believe them
sincerely.
[Sidenote: THE MIRACULOUS SIGN.]
One of these is, that a miner, who had been sent to Cracow, found, on
his return, an image of the Virgin, which, as the narrative runs, had
been stolen by the devil from the cathedral of that city, and dropped
by the wayside; St. Paul, or some other saint, having detected the
theft, started in pursuit of the diabolical thief. A poor workman
picked up the image, which was of wood, and knowing it to be sacred,
carried it back to the church in the midst of a storm. When he had
reached the edifice, summoned the priest, and given it into the holy
man’s hands, the inanimate image suddenly shone with celestial light,
sped through the air, and took its accustomed place at the altar.
The awe-struck priest and peasant fell upon their knees in prayer,
and when the latter arose, there was an illuminated cross on his
forehead. By inspiration he understood that whenever this symbol was
visible, it was to indicate good fortune; and going back to the mines,
the cross proved to be very beneficial in pointing out the richest
veins of salt. The man walked under ground, and whenever his forehead
kindled with the divine token, it was a certain sign that the spot on
which he stood would yield richly. He received handsome presents, and
numerous sums of money from the government, and so excited the envy
of his former fellow-workmen, that they entered his cabin one night,
and knocked out his brains. His murderers disappeared mysteriously the
next day, and it was supposed, in the Galician village, that they were
carried off by demons.
The image in the cathedral was heard to wail at the time the crime was
committed, which was probably intended as a warning, though it did not
do any good to the victim, at least in this world, however much it may
have benefited him in the next.
I cannot see the moral of this monkish story, unless it be that
persons who find things should not return them. If the miner had taken
the image home, and split into kindling-wood, he might have lived much
longer, and died peaceably in bed at a ripe old age.
[Sidenote: STORY OF A POLISH REBEL.]
During one of the periodic Polish revolutions in Warsaw, a prominent
nobleman, resident in the city, and the leader of the insurrection,
had volunteered to proceed to St. Petersburg, and assassinate the
czar. The government spies detected the plot before it was mature,
and went to the dwelling of the Polish conspirator to arrest him.
He had been apprised of the discovery, and knowing that he would
instantly be executed, he had been wise enough to flee from the
town. He was sought for everywhere, for the authorities considered
him extremely dangerous, and felt confident, from his character,
that the emperor would not be safe while the desperate noble lived.
All the subtle detective machinery of Russia was set in motion to
hunt up the fugitive Pole, but all to no purpose; and the emissaries
of the government, after a year of unexampled activity, abandoned
further effort. Potzoporousky, the name of the arch rebel, feeling
that he would not be secure anywhere on the surface of the continent,
conceived the happy idea of going below it. He proceeded in disguise
to Wieliczka, claimed to be a native of Vienna, and was hired as a
miner, at thirty kreuzers a day. He labored most faithfully, and was
considered an excellent workman, strangely preferring, as was thought,
to remain in the mines, even when he might have been enjoying the
sunlight. Nobody ever dreamed of looking for Potzoporousky a thousand
feet under ground; and there he remained for fifteen months. Then he
applied for his last week’s pay, saying he had met with an injury that
would prevent him from working for a little while, hurried to Vienna,
thence to Constantinople, and finally to Smyrna. There he resumed his
correspondence with some of the former conspirators, and had perfected
a plan for a new revolution, when he was seized with cholera, and died.
[Sidenote: MURDER OF A SUPERINTENDENT.]
During the latter part of the eighteenth century, a scientist
of Radour was implicated in a conspiracy to defraud the Russian
government of several millions of roubles by means of forged army
orders, and sentenced to ten years’ exile in Siberia. He asked, as a
special favor, that he might be sent, instead, to Wieliczka, where, he
affirmed, his scientific knowledge would be of use in separating the
green salt from the clay, with which the directors of the mines were
then having considerable trouble. Prompted by interest, the government
granted his request, and, the fifth day after he had entered upon the
service, he induced one of the superintendents to visit a new passage
in process of excavation, crushed his skull with a lump of rock salt,
put on his garments, and escaped. He had always been regarded as a
purely intellectual man, absorbed in his studies, and his deliberate
taking of another man’s life only shows how sweet liberty is to all of
us, and of what desperate deeds we may be guilty to regain the freedom
we have lost.
From 1825 to 1851, one of the most vigorous and enduring miners was
Johann Gerbreitz, a German, who, in all that time, is said never to
have missed a single day’s work. He was a great favorite, on account
of his kindness of heart and uniform good temper, especially with the
women of the village, who, whether young or old, manifested a great
deal of fondness for him. When in his thirtieth year he married Elisa
Dosbrinski, a cobbler’s daughter, regarded as one of the prettiest
girls in the town. They lived together so very happily that they were
considered a model pair. They were never known to have even those
slight differences which are not uncommon to the most sympathetic
and harmonious couples. They seemed wholly devoted to each other,
and though Johann had been something of a flirt before he became a
Benedick, nothing of the kind could be charged upon him afterwards.
Everybody declared he was a manly and noble fellow, and that his
serenity could not be ruffled.
In his fortieth year a fragment of rock fell upon him, and killed him
instantly. His wife was wild with grief at her bereavement, and all
her neighbors lamented, sorely too, because Johann was a loss to the
village that could not be supplied. The children of Wieliczka had
learned to look for his smile, and little acts of kindness,—he was a
Rip Van Winkle of Austria, without Rip’s infirmities,—and literally
cried for him when he appeared in the streets.
[Sidenote: HOW A WOMAN KEPT A SECRET.]
After the poor fellow’s corpse had been brought to the stricken home,
it was discovered, to the amazement of the whole town, that Johann
was a woman; and it is to be presumed that he had never been anything
else. The secret of his sex had been most carefully preserved, and
it would never have been thought, from any outward indication, that
it had been shared even by his spouse. This is an excellent proof,
if proof were wanting, that women can keep a secret, and that there
are some things which even the busybodies of a village cannot find
out. The story of the man-woman Johann Gerbreitz is still told at
Wieliczka, along with many other curious histories, of which specimens
have already been given.
Like the great capitals, the mining town of Galicia has its comedies
and tragedies, its lyrics and its epics, perhaps trifling in
themselves, but of wondrous moment in its too partial eyes.
LXVII.
EXPLOSIONS IN MINES.
THICKNESS OF COAL SEAMS.—STUPIDITY OF A TURKISH MINING
SUPERINTENDENT.—THE RESULT.—BLASTING IN MINES.—HOW IT
IS DONE.—TERRIBLE ACCIDENTS.—MINES ON FIRE.—SCENES OF
DEVASTATION.—EFFECT OF SUBTERRANEAN FIRE.—EXPLOSIONS OF
FIRE-DAMP.—HORRIBLE ACCIDENTS.—STORIES OF SURVIVORS.—LOSS OF
LIFE.—SCENE IN A WELSH MINE.—EXPLOSIONS IN ENGLISH AND AMERICAN
MINES.—MODES OF RELIEF.—STORY OF TWO BROTHERS.—HOW THEY WERE
SAVED.—THE SAFETY-LAMP.—ITS CONSTRUCTION.—THE FIRE-WALLS OF
CHINA.—THE PENITENT AND CANNONEER.
After the shafts have been completed and the levels opened in the
mines, the work may be said to be fairly under way. The seams of coal
are of varied thickness. Sometimes, though rarely, there will be found
a coal seam of thirty feet in depth, sometimes one of twenty, and
so on down to two and three feet. A seam of three feet in thickness
is considered a valuable discovery, and oftentimes the seams do not
exceed twenty inches. In the deep coal seams the work is comparatively
easy, as the space in the level can be hollowed out the full depth
of the seam, and all that is necessary for supporting the roof is to
leave a sufficient number of pillars standing.
There is a coal mine in Turkey where the seam is about ten feet thick.
A superintendent, entirely ignorant of the business, was sent to
take charge of the mine. On his first visit to the mine the men were
below. He observed the pillars which were left to support the roof
above. He gave one glance at them, and then turned to the workmen and
said,—“Remove those blocks of coal instantly: this mine has not been
worked properly.”
With that blind obedience peculiar to the Orientals, the men
immediately knocked away the pillars, when down came the rock, killing
half the men in the mine, and among them the stupid superintendent,
who had ordered the removal of the supports.
[Sidenote: DANGERS IN A COAL SEAM.]
There are many dangers and difficulties to be encountered in opening
a coal seam. The ordinary mode is to dig away the coal from the
lower part of the seam, and allow the substance to fall down in
large blocks. To perform this work the miner must lie on his side,
frequently in a hot temperature, and in this position he digs away
with his tools. It is not unusual for the coal to fall upon him,
sometimes injuring him seriously, and sometimes killing him. In his
work the miner is frequently stripped to his trousers and shoes, and
sometimes he works entirely nude. The perspiration streams from his
face and from his entire body, and he is unable to continue his labors
for any extended period of time.
Sometimes the coal can be removed by means of tools, without the
necessity of blasting, but very often it is necessary to employ the
force of gunpowder. The rock is drilled, and then the charge must be
placed in the hole. There is always more or less danger of premature
ignition of a charge, and in consequence of such ignition, men are
frequently killed.
The most dangerous place for blasting operations is in the shaft. The
men can only retire after the charge is lighted, and when this is done
it is imperatively necessary that they should be drawn up with all
speed.
One day, at a mine in Pennsylvania where a shaft was being sunk, the
men had lighted the fuse and given the signal to be drawn up. Somehow,
just as the bucket was started, some of the machinery gave way, and
the men remained at the bottom of the shaft. The fuse was slowly but
steadily burning, and there was no time to be lost. One of the men
jumped from the bucket and cut off the fuse when it had burned to
such a point that another moment would have rendered the explosion
inevitable.
A safer way than using the ordinary fuse, is to fire the charges by
means of electricity. This method, however, is not always practicable,
owing to the expense and the difficulty of employing it in small
operations.
Nitro-glycerine, which was invented in 1847, has been found to possess
many advantages over gunpowder, and the day is not far distant when it
will be used for all blasting operations on an extensive scale.
[Sidenote: UNDERGROUND FIRES.]
The firing of gunpowder and nitro-glycerine is not the only source
of danger which threatens the miners by fire. There is frequently
in coal mines a spontaneous combustion, produced by the heating of
fragments of coal from the decomposition of iron pyrites in contact
with moisture. When the small coal of certain mines is left in heaps
within the mines, they speedily undergo this decomposition, especially
in a moist atmosphere, which is accompanied by a great development of
heat.
In such cases walls of clay are built up to shut off the fire. When
these are constructed perfectly tight, and the atmosphere is carefully
excluded, the fire goes out; but for some time the temperature in
these parts of the mine will be very great, and the miners find much
difficulty in working there. The work of building up the walls in
such a case is very serious. The walls become very hot, and men are
frequently rendered insensible. Sometimes carbonic acid gas has been
used to extinguish fires created in this way. The portable apparatus
known as the Fire Extinguisher has frequently been found very useful.
Sometimes, however, it is impossible to extinguish these fires; and
in such cases the place is abandoned. In this country, and in England
and Scotland, there are mines now burning which have been on fire
for several, and some of them for many, years. One mine in Scotland
took fire nearly forty years ago, and is still burning. The ground is
black, baked, and scorched. The trees, and grass, and all kinds of
vegetation have died, and there is a general appearance of sterility
throughout the region.
[Sidenote: EFFECT OF UNDERGROUND FIRES.]
In several instances, where a fire cannot be extinguished by closing
the mines, it has been found useful to flood the works. In France,
about twenty years ago, an entire river was turned into a burning
mine, and allowed to flow through it for nearly three months. A mine
in Pennsylvania took fire, and was filled with water, remaining so
filled for nearly half a year before the fire went out.
At Brulé, St. Etienne, there is a coal mine which has been on fire
nearly two hundred years. Hot vapors are constantly arising; sulphur,
alum, and other natural productions are deposited, and one might
suppose that it was the burning of the accursed cities formerly
consumed by the fires of heaven and earth. An irreverent American,
who visited this region, said that it looked like hell with the fires
going out.
In the western part of England there was formerly a coal mine on
fire. Snow melted as soon as it touched the ground. The gardens were
very beautiful and fertile, and produced three crops in a year. Many
hot-house plants were cultivated, and an eternal spring prevailed. It
was the same principle, on a grand scale, by which plants are grown
in hot-houses by running pipes of hot water through the ground. The
people of this region imported tropical plants at a heavy cost, and
cultivated them in the open air; but one day the fire went out; the
place gradually resumed its usual temperature, and the tropical plants
died.
[Sidenote: EXPLOSIONS OF FIRE-DAMP.]