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CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL
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POPULAR
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART
Fifth Series
ESTABLISHED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, 1832
CONDUCTED BY R. CHAMBERS (SECUNDUS)
NO. 114.—VOL. III. SATURDAY, MARCH 6, 1886. PRICE 1½_d._]
COCAINE.
A new discovery in medicine, which has established its claim to general
utility, is as much a matter for congratulation on the part of the
general public as on the part of the members of that profession whose
duty it is to use it. The stir in the world which Simpson’s grand
discovery of chloroform excited is still well remembered, and upon
reflection, persons even now could not fail to be impressed with the
incalculable amount of relief from suffering of which the drug is the
source, if they were to pay a visit to one of our large hospitals and
judge for themselves. It is true that chloroform has some drawbacks;
it is even true that indirectly, if not directly fatal results have
followed its use; but what good thing is free from all blemish, and
how, ‘in this best of all possible worlds,’ can we expect everything to
be as we should wish?
The discovery of ether, it should be remembered, afforded surgeons the
opportunity in after-years of making a choice between the two drugs.
Fortunately, in this connection the effects of each are different in
certain particulars, so that, in a given number of cases, the use of
ether is advisable, and chloroform is to be avoided. The explanation of
this can be readily understood. The effect of chloroform is to depress
the action of the heart. In cases of an overdose of this drug, the
heart is paralysed; and when death occurs during its administration,
there need not necessarily have been more than a very small dose given;
but owing to some undiscovered weakness of the heart, which the drug
unfortunately becomes the means of rendering manifest, sudden stoppage
of the organ takes place, with, of course, death as a consequence. On
the other hand, ether has exactly the opposite effect. The heart’s
action is stimulated during its administration, and the contractions
of the organ are rendered more vigorous. Thus, whenever there is any
suspected weakness of the heart in patients to whom an anæsthetic is
about to be administered, there is no hesitation on the part of the
surgeon in using ether, which under these circumstances is certainly
the safest drug to employ.
But apart from these considerations, all drugs which possess the
property of producing what is called general anæsthesia, are associated
with certain discomforts, certain inconveniences which materially
detract from their usefulness. It is not necessary here to specify the
nature of these, for the knowledge of them has almost become common
property, so that there are persons who would preferably endure the
suffering of an operation than submit to the administration of an
anæsthetic, the after-effects of which, perhaps, previous experience
has taught them to be careful to avoid. Surely, then, under these
circumstances, it must be a matter of extreme comfort for the public
to know that a drug has been discovered whose property is such as to
enable the surgeon in many cases to dispense with either ether or
chloroform during the performance of an operation. This is the new
discovery which agreeably startled the world of medicine towards the
end of the year 1884. The drug in question is called Cocaine, from
Coca—though sometimes also written cucaine and cuca—and it possesses
the remarkable property of causing local anæsthesia when applied to a
mucous membrane, of which more anon. The plant from which this alkaloid
is derived is _Erythroxylon coca_, which is largely cultivated in the
warm valleys of the eastern slopes of the Andes, between five and
six thousand feet above the level of the sea, where almost the only
variation of the climate is from wet to dry, where frost is unknown,
and where it rains more or less every month in the year.
A few details with reference to this remarkable plant may not here
be out of place. It is described as a ‘shrub from four to six feet
high, branches straight and alternate, leaves in form and size like
tea-leaves, flowers, with a small yellowish white corolla, ten stamens,
and three pistils. In raising the plant from the seed, the sowing is
commenced in December and January, when the rain begins, and continues
until April. The seeds are spread on the surface of the soil in a
small nursery or raising-ground, over which there is generally a
thatch-roof. At the end of about fourteen days, they come up, the
young plants being continually watered and protected from the sun. At
the end of eighteen months, the plants yield their first harvest, and
continue to yield for upwards of forty years. The first harvest, the
leaves are picked very carefully one by one, to avoid disturbing the
roots of the young tender plants. Gathering takes place three times,
and even four times in the year. The most abundant harvest takes place
in March, immediately after the rains. With plenty of watering, forty
days suffice to cover the plants with leaves afresh. It is necessary to
weed the ground very carefully, especially while the plants are young.
The harvest is gathered by women and children. The greatest care is
required in the drying of the leaves; for too much sun causes them to
dry up and lose their flavour; while, if packed up moist, they become
fetid. They are generally exposed to the sun in thin layers.’ Such
is, in brief, the account of the plant whose alkaloid, cocaine, has
attained so marked a popularity within the short space of a few months.
Although the plant has only recently become known to us, its virtues
have long been recognised by the natives of that part of the world in
which it grows. It is stated that in 1583 the Indians consumed one
hundred thousand ‘cestos’ of coca, worth 2½ dollars each in Guzco, and
four dollars in Potosi. In 1591 an excise of five per cent. was imposed
on coca; and in 1746 and 1750, this duty yielded eight hundred and
fifteen hundred dollars respectively, from Caravaya alone. Between 1785
and 1795, the coca traffic was calculated at 1,207,436 dollars in the
Peruvian vice-royalty, and including that of Buenos Ayres, 2,641,478
dollars. The coca trade is a government monopoly in Bolivia, the state
reserving the right of purchasing from the growers and reselling to the
consumer. This right is generally farmed out to the highest bidder.
The proximate annual produce of coca in Peru is about fifteen million
pounds, the average yield being about eight hundred pounds an acre.
More than ten million pounds are produced annually in Bolivia; so that
the annual yield of coca throughout South America, including Peru,
Bolivia, Ecuador, and Pasto, may be estimated at thirty million pounds.
It is scarcely pleasant news for us to learn that the natives who
cultivate the coca-plant themselves absorb so much of the products of
their own cultivation. We have here, doubtless, the explanation of the
costliness of cocaine and the scarcity of the drug in England. This
can hardly be otherwise, it is to be feared, for some time to come,
when we remember that the reliance upon the extraordinary virtues of
the coca-leaf amongst the Peruvian Indians is so strong, that in the
Huanuco province they believe that if a dying man can taste a leaf
placed upon his tongue, it is a sure sign of his future happiness! When
Weston the pedestrian was performing his feats of endurance in England,
it was noticed that from time to time he placed something in his mouth,
which he afterwards chewed. For long he refused to divulge what the
nature of this substance was, but at last he acknowledged that he
always provided himself with some coca-leaves; and he added, that the
chewing of these gave him strength, and enabled him more easily to
accomplish his allotted task.
In the states above referred to, the natives are accustomed to use the
leaves largely for the purpose of allaying hunger. Now, the sense of
hunger takes origin in the nerves of the stomach, and it is evident
that if these nerves are rendered incapable of exercising their
functions, the sensations to which they give rise must decline and
remain temporarily in abeyance. This is precisely what takes place
when coca-leaves are eaten. Their effect is to paralyse for the time
being the sensitive ends of the nerves of the stomach, and to establish
practically a condition of local anæsthesia within the interior of that
organ. The sensation of hunger, of course, under such circumstances
becomes impossible; and the native, after eating a few leaves, goes on
his way rejoicing, with the same sensations as if he had partaken of a
hearty repast.
Although cocaine has been known for a good many years, and has from
time to time formed the subject of inquiry amongst distinguished
British and continental savants, including the veteran Sir R.
Christison, it was reserved for Dr Carl Koller of Vienna to demonstrate
the practical use to which its marvellous property could be put.
It occurred to this gentleman that the drug might be of use in the
department of diseases of the eye. With this object in view, he
experimented upon the eyes of animals, applying the drug in solution
of a certain strength, and carefully noting the results. He found that
in the course of a few moments, after the drug had been instilled
several times into the conjunctival sac of an animal, the organ
became insensible; that he was able to touch the cornea—the front
part of the eye, which is endowed with extreme sensibility—with a pin
without the least flinching on the part of the animal. Experimenting
further, he ascertained that the insensibility was not confined to
the superficial parts of the eye, but that it extended throughout the
corneal substance, even to the structures within the ocular globe, and
thus the fact so far of the utility of the drug for operative purposes
came to be established. Then he turned his attention to cases in which
the eye was the seat of disease, and the cornea acutely inflamed and
painful, and he found that much relief from the symptoms was obtained
by the use of the drug. Soon after this, he commenced to employ cocaine
in operations performed upon the eyes of patients. The results were
highly satisfactory; and since then, cataracts have been operated on,
squinting eyes put straight, foreign bodies upon the cornea removed
painlessly and with ease, under the influence of the drug. In cataract
especially, cocaine is of great value; this operation can be performed
by its means without the slightest sensation of pain, and yet the
patient is fully conscious, and is of course able to follow during its
performance the precise instructions of the surgeon.
Now, to an outside observer, cocaine is apt to produce impressions
somewhat akin to the marvellous. Here is a description which a writer
gives in a recent number of the _St James’s Gazette_. A camel-hair
brush is dipped into a small bottle containing a fluid as transparent
as water. With the brush so charged, the part—let us say a portion of
the tongue—is painted several times. After an interval of about a dozen
minutes, another brush is taken, but in this instance a glass one, and
dipped into a bottle, the fumes, colour, and label of which establish
its contents as fuming nitric acid. The tongue is freely brushed with
the acid, great care being observed in so doing, and submits to the
procedure without the slightest recoil indicative of pain.
Such is cocaine, and such is its effect upon every mucous membrane. We
have referred to its utility in the practice of ophthalmic surgeons;
but it is not only in this department of the healing art that cocaine
has been found useful; it can be employed whenever an operation upon
any mucous membrane has to be performed. The drug has been used in
the extraction and stopping of teeth; and results, nothing less than
startling in their completeness, have been obtained with cocaine in
all branches of medicine and surgery, bringing relief to thousands
of sufferers, and—it is true to remark—more than that, unqualified
gratification to the physician or surgeon in charge. Even that
immemorial bugbear, sea-sickness, has often fled before the influence
of cocaine.
One word more. In the present prosaic condition of the world, when the
surfeit of new discoveries seems to have bred in this connection the
familiarity which produces the conventional contempt, it is refreshing
to draw attention to a discovery which has surpassed the ordinary
standard of greatness sufficiently to enable it to figure as a wonder
of the age. Cocaine flashed like a meteor before the eyes of the
medical world, but, unlike a meteor, its impressions have proved to be
enduring; while it is destined in the future to occupy a high position
in the estimation of those whom duty requires to combat the ravages of
disease.
IN ALL SHADES.
BY GRANT ALLEN,
AUTHOR OF ‘BABYLON,’ ‘STRANGE STORIES,’ ETC. ETC.
CHAPTER XII.
On the morning when the _Severn_ was to reach Trinidad, everybody
was up betimes and eagerly looking for the expected land. Nora and
Marian went up on deck before breakfast, and there found Dr Whitaker,
opera-glass in hand, scanning the horizon for the first sight of his
native island. ‘I haven’t seen it or my dear father,’ he said to
Marian, ‘for nearly ten years, and I can’t tell you how anxious I am
once more to see him. I wonder whether he’ll have altered much! But
there—ten years is a long time. After ten years, one’s pictures of
home and friends begin to get terribly indefinite. Still, I shall know
him—I’m sure I shall know him. He’ll be on the wharf to welcome us in,
and I’m sure I shall recognise his dear old face again.’
‘Your father’s very well known in the island, the captain tells me,’
Marian said, anxious to show some interest in what interested him so
much. ‘I believe he was very influential in helping to get slavery
abolished.’
‘He was,’ the young doctor answered, kindling up afresh with his
ever-ready enthusiasm—‘he was; very influential. Mr Wilberforce
considered that my father, Robert Whitaker, was one of his most
powerful coloured supporters in any of the colonies. I’m proud of my
father, Mrs Hawthorn—proud of the part he bore in the great revolution
which freed my race. I’m proud to think that I’m the son of such a man
as Robert Whitaker.’
‘Now, then, ladies,’ the captain put in drily, coming upon them
suddenly from behind; ‘breakfast’s ready, and you won’t sight Trinidad,
I take it, for at least another fifty minutes. Plenty of time to get
your breakfast quietly and comfortably, and pack your traps up, before
you come in sight of the Port-o’-Spain lighthouse.’
After breakfast, they all hurried up on deck once more, and soon the
gray peaks and rocky sierras of Trinidad began to heave in sight
straight in front of them. Slowly the land drew closer and closer, till
at last the port and town lay full in sight before them. Dr Whitaker
was overflowing with excitement as they reached the wharf. ‘In ten
minutes,’ he cried to Marian—‘in ten minutes, I shall see my dear
father.’
It was a strange and motley scene, ever fresh and interesting to the
new-comer from Europe, that first glimpse of tropical life from the
crowded deck of an ocean steamer. The _Severn_ stood off, waiting for
the gangways to be lowered on board, but close up to the high wooden
pier of the lively, bustling, little harbour. In front lay the busy
wharf, all alive with a teeming swarm of black faces—men in light
and ragged jackets, women in thin white muslins and scarlet turbans,
children barefooted and half naked, lying sprawling idly in the very
eye of the sun. Behind, white houses with green venetian blinds;
waving palm-trees; tall hills; a blazing pale blue sky; a great haze
of light and shimmer and glare and fervour. All round, boats full
of noisy negroes, gesticulating, shouting, swearing, laughing, and
showing their big teeth every second anew in boisterous merriment. A
general pervading sense of bustle and life, all meaningless and all
ineffectual; much noise and little labour; a ceaseless chattering,
as of monkeys in a menagerie; a purposeless running up and down on
the pier and ’longshore with wonderful gesticulations; a babel of
inarticulate sounds and cries and shouting and giggling. Nothing of it
all clearly visible as an individual fact at first; only a confused
mass of heads and faces and bandanas and dresses, out of which, as
the early hubbub of arrival subsided a little, there stood forth
prominently a single foremost figure—the figure of a big, heavy, oily,
fat, dark mulatto, gray-haired and smooth-faced, dressed in a dirty
white linen suit, and waving his soiled silk pocket-handkerchief
ostentatiously before the eyes of the assembled passengers. A supple,
vulgar, oleaginous man altogether, with an astonishing air of conceited
self-importance, and a profound consciousness of the admiring eyes of
the whole surrounding negro populace.
‘How d’ye do, captain?’ he shouted aloud in a clear but thick and
slightly negro voice, mouthing his words with much volubility in the
true semi-articulate African fashion. ‘Glad to see de _Severn_ has come
in puncshual to her time as usual. Good ship, de _Severn_; neber minds
storms or nuffin.—Well, sah, who have you got on board? I’ve come down
to meet de doctor and Mr Hawtorn. Trinidad is proud to welcome back
her children to her shores agin. Got ’em on board, captain?—got ’em on
board, sah?’
‘All right, Bobby,’ the captain answered, with easy familiarity. ‘Been
having a pull at the mainsheet this morning?—Ah, I thought so. I
thought you’d taken a cargo of rum aboard. Ah, you sly dog! You’ve got
the look of it.’
‘Massa Bobby, him doan’t let de rum spile in him cellar,’ a ragged fat
negress standing by shouted out in a stentorian voice. ‘Him know de way
to keep him from spilin’, so pour him down him own troat in time—eh,
Massa Bobby?’
‘Rum,’ the oily mulatto responded cheerfully, but with great dignity,
raising his fat brown hand impressively before him—‘rum is de staple
produck an’ chief commercial commodity of de great an’ flourishin’
island of Trinidad. To drink a moderate quantity of rum every mornin’
before brekfuss is de best way of encouragin’ de principal manufacture
of dis island. I do my duty in dat respeck, I flatter myself, as
faithfully as any pusson in de whole of Trinidad, not exceptin’ His
Excellency de governor, who ought to set de best example to de entire
community. As de recognised representative of de coloured people of dis
colony, I feel bound to teach dem to encourage de manufacture of rum
by my own pussonal example an’ earnest endeavour.’ And he threw back
his greasy neck playfully in a pantomimic representation of the art of
drinking off a good glassful of rum-and-water.
The negroes behind laughed immoderately at this sally of the man
addressed as Bobby, and cheered him on with loud vociferations.
‘Evidently,’ Edward said to Nora, with a face of some disgust, ‘this
creature is the chartered buffoon and chief jester to the whole of
Trinidad. They all seem to recognise him and laugh at him, and I see
even the captain himself knows him well of old, evidently.’
‘Bless your soul, yes,’ the captain said, overhearing the remark.
‘Everybody in the island knows Bobby. Good-natured old man, but
conceited as a peacock, and foolish too.—Everybody knows you here,’
raising his voice; ‘don’t they, Bobby?’
The gray-haired mulatto took off his broad-brimmed Panama hat and
bowed profoundly. ‘I flatter myself,’ he said, looking round about him
complacently on the crowd of negroes, ‘dere isn’t a better known man in
de whole great an’ flourishin’ island of Trinidad dan Bobby Whitaker.’
Edward and Marian started suddenly, and even Nora gave a little
shiver of surprise and disappointment. ‘Whitaker,’ Edward repeated
slowly—‘Whitaker—Bobby Whitaker!—You don’t mean to tell us, surely,
captain, that that man’s our Dr Whitaker’s father!’
‘Yes, I do,’ the captain answered, smiling grimly. ‘That’s his
father.—Dr Whitaker! hi, you, sir; where have you got to? Don’t you
see?—there’s your father.’
Edward turned at once to seek for him, full of a sudden unspoken
compassion. He had not far to seek. A little way off, standing
irresolutely by the gunwale, with a strange terrified look in his
handsome large eyes, and a painful twitching nervously evident at
the trembling corners of his full mouth, Dr Whitaker gazed intently
and speechlessly at the fat mulatto in the white linen suit. It was
clear that the old man did not yet recognise his son; but the son
had recognised his father instantaneously and unhesitatingly, as he
stood there playing the buffoon in broad daylight before the whole
assembled ship’s company. Edward looked at the poor young fellow
with profound commiseration. Never in his life before had he seen
shame and humiliation more legibly written on a man’s very limbs and
features. The unhappy young mulatto, thunderstruck by the blow, had
collapsed entirely. It was too terrible for him. Coming in, fresh from
his English education, full of youthful hopes and vivid enthusiasms,
proud of the father he had more than half forgotten, and anxious to
meet once more that ideal picture he had carried away with him of the
liberator of Trinidad—here he was met, on the very threshold of his
native island, by this horrible living contradiction of all his fervent
fancies and imaginings. The Robert Whitaker he had once known faded
away as if by magic into absolute nonentity, and that voluble, greasy,
self-satisfied, buffoonish old brown man was the only thing left that
he could now possibly call ‘my father.’
Edward pitied him far too earnestly to obtrude just then upon his shame
and sorrow. But the poor mulatto, meeting his eyes accidentally for a
single second, turned upon him such a mutely appealing look of profound
anguish, that Edward moved over slowly toward the grim captain and
whispered to him in a low undertone: ‘Don’t speak to that man Whitaker
again, I beg of you. Don’t you see his poor son there’s dying of shame
for him?’
The captain stared back at him with the same curious half-sardonic look
that Marian had more than once noticed upon his impassive features.
‘Dying of shame!’ he answered, smiling carelessly. ‘Ho, ho, ho! that’s
a good one! Dying of shame is he, for poor old Bobby! Why, sooner
or later, you know, he’ll have to get used to him. Besides, I tell
you, whether you talk to him or whether you don’t, old Bobby’ll go on
talking about himself as long as there’s anybody left anywhere about
who’ll stand and listen to him.—You just hark there to what he’s saying
now. What’s he up to next, I wonder?’
‘Yes, ladies and gentlemen,’ the old mulatto was proceeding aloud,
addressing now in a set speech the laughing passengers on board the
_Severn_, ‘I’m de Honourable Robert Whitaker, commonly called Bobby
Whitaker, de leadin’ member of de coloured party in dis island. Along
wit my lamented friend Mr Wilberforce, an’ de British parliament, I
was de chief instrument in procurin’ de abolition of slavery an’ de
freedom of de slaves troughout de whole English possessions. Millions
of my fellow-men were moanin’ an’ groanin’ in a painful bondage. I
have a heart dat cannot witstand de appeal of misery. I laboured for
dem; I toiled for dem; I bore de brunt of de battle; an’ in de end
I conquered—I conquered. Wit de aid of my friend Mr Wilberforce, by
superhuman exertions, I succeeded in passin’ de grand act of slavery
emancipation. You behold in me de leadin’ actor in dat famous great
an’ impressive drama. I’m an ole man now; but I have prospered in dis
world, as de just always do, says de Psalmist, an’ I shall be glad
to see any of you whenever you choose at my own residence, an’ to
offer you in confidence a glass of de excellent staple produck of dis
island—I allude to de wine of de country, de admirable beverage known
as rum!’
There was another peal of foolish laughter from the crowd of negroes at
this one ancient threadbare joke, and a faint titter from the sillier
passengers on board the _Severn_. Edward looked over appealingly at the
old buffoon; but the mulatto misunderstood his look of deprecation, and
bowed once more profoundly, with immense importance, straight at him,
like a sovereign acknowledging the plaudits of his subjects.
‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘I shall be happy to see any of you—you, sah, or
you—at my own estate, Whitaker Hall, in dis island, whenever you find
it convenient to visit me. You have on board my son, Dr Whitaker, de
future leader of de coloured party in de Council of Trinidad; an’ you
have no doubt succeeded in makin’ his acquaintance in de course of your
voyage from de shores of England. Dr Whitaker, of de University of
Edinburgh, after pursuin’ his studies’——
The poor young man gave an audible groan, and turned away, in his
poignant disgrace, to the very furthest end of the vessel. It was
terrible enough to have all his hopes dashed and falsified in this
awful fashion; but to be humiliated and shamed by name before the
staring eyes of all his fellow-passengers, that last straw was more
than his poor bursting heart could possibly endure. He walked away,
broken and tottering, and leaned over the opposite side of the vessel,
letting the hot tears trickle unreproved down his dusky cheeks into the
ocean below.
At that very moment, before the man they called Bobby Whitaker could
finish his sentence, a tall white man, of handsome and imposing
presence, walked out quietly from among the knot of people behind
the negroes, and laid his hand with a commanding air on the fat old
mulatto’s broad shoulder. Bobby Whitaker turned round suddenly and
listened with attention to something that the white man whispered
gently but firmly at his astonished ear. Then his lower jaw dropped in
surprise, and he fell behind, abashed for a second, into the confused
background of laughing negroes. Partly from his childish recollections,
but partly, too, by the aid of the photographs, Edward immediately
recognised the tall white man. ‘Marian, Marian!’ he cried, waving his
hand in welcome towards the new-comer, ‘it’s my father, my father!’
And even as he spoke, a pang of pain ran through him as he thought
of the difference between the two first greetings. He couldn’t help
feeling proud in his heart of hearts of the very look and bearing of
his own father—tall, erect, with his handsome, clear-cut face and full
white beard, the exact type of a self-respecting and respected English
gentleman; and yet, the mere reflex of his own pride and satisfaction
revealed to him at once the bitter poignancy of Dr Whitaker’s
unspeakable disappointment. As the two men stood there on the wharf
side by side, in quiet conversation, James Hawthorn with his grave,
severe, earnest expression, and Bobby Whitaker with his greasy, vulgar,
negro joviality speaking out from every crease in his fat chin and
every sparkle of his small pig’s eyes, the contrast between them was so
vast and so apparent, that it seemed to make the old mulatto’s natural
vulgarity and coarseness of fibre more obvious and more unmistakable
than ever to all beholders.
In a minute more, a gangway was hastily lowered from the wharf on to
the deck; and the first man that came down it, pushed in front of a
great crowd of eager, grinning, and elbowing negroes—mostly in search
of small jobs among the passengers—was Bobby Whitaker. The moment
he reached the deck, he seemed to take possession of it and of all
the passengers by pure instinct, as if he were father to the whole
shipload of them. The captain, the crew, and the other authorities
were effaced instantly. Bobby Whitaker, with easy, greasy geniality,
stood bowing and waving his hand on every side, in an access of
universal graciousness towards the entire company. ‘My son!’ he said,
looking round him inquiringly—‘my son, Dr Whitaker, of de Edinburgh
University—where is he?—where is he? My dear boy! Let him come forward
and embrace his fader!’
Dr Whitaker, in spite of his humiliation, had all a mulatto’s impulsive
affectionateness. Ashamed and abashed as he was, he yet rushed forward
with unaffected emotion to take his father’s outstretched hand. But
old Bobby had no idea of getting over this important meeting in such
a simple and undemonstrative manner; for him, it was a magnificent
opportunity for theatrical display, on no account to be thrown away
before the faces of so many distinguished European strangers. Holding
his son for a second at arm’s length, in the centre of a little circle
that quickly gathered around the oddly matched pair, he surveyed the
young doctor with a piercing glance from head to foot, sticking his
neck a little on one side with critical severity, and then, bursting
into a broad grin of oily delight, he exclaimed, in a loud, stagey
soliloquy: ‘My son, my son, my own dear son, Wilberforce Clarkson
Whitaker! De inheritor of de tree names most intimately bound up wit
de great revolution I have had de pride and de honour of effectin’ for
unborn millions of my African bredderin’. My son, my son! We receive
you wit transport! Welcome to Trinidad—welcome to Trinidad!’
SHOT-FIRING IN COAL-MINES: AN IMPROVED METHOD.
Shot-firing or blasting in coal-mines is a subject which has for
many years engaged the attention of mining experts and scientists,
in consequence of the disastrous explosions which have so frequently
resulted therefrom; but the discovering of an agent or the devising
of a method by which the operation would be attended with perfect
safety, has hitherto remained a problem too difficult to solve. At a
very remote date in mining history, the use of explosives for blasting
purposes was altogether unknown, and the various minerals, &c., were
obtained from the bowels of the earth by means of hammer and wedge.
Large quantities of these products were not then required, and the
laborious and primitive method adopted for procuring them was fully
equal to supplying the demand. But as time rolled on, mining produce
became in much greater request, and means had to be devised which would
enable mine-owners to meet the growing requirements of commerce and
civilisation. Gunpowder was consequently utilised for this purpose,
being first employed on the continent in 1620; and in the same year it
was introduced into England as a blasting agent by some German miners
brought over by Prince Rupert, and who employed it at the copper mine
at Ecton in Staffordshire. Gradually it came into general use as a
means of rapidly developing the mineral resources of the earth; and by
its use, the output of our coal-mines has been increased by more than
fifty per cent.
To its employment for obtaining coal, however, there were some great
objections, both from a pecuniary and hygienic point of view. Large
quantities of coal were converted into ‘slack,’ or a semi-pulverised
state, in some cases to the extent of twenty-five per cent., and
therefore great loss was sustained by the colliery proprietor, the
marketable value of slack being very small. Again, the explosion of
gunpowder is always attended with the formation of immense volumes of
sulphuretted hydrogen, carbonic anhydride, and other gases, which are
so deleterious to health, that, for a considerable space of time after
a charge has been fired, the miners cannot work in that vicinity. Where
large quantities of this substance are daily used, these noxious gases
contaminate the air passing through the mine to such an extent that in
the course of time they exercise an injurious effect on the health of
the workmen.
Under these circumstances it was very desirable that other agents
should be employed; but it is only within the last thirty years
that other explosive substances have been submitted to mine-owners.
The first of these was gun-cotton, which was invented by Professor
Schönbein in 1846. It was not, however, until some years after its
discovery that it came into use as a mining agent, such serious
explosions attending its manufacture and storing, immediately after
its introduction to the world, that no one would have more to do with
so deadly an explosive. Eventually, however, it was ascertained how
to render it safer, and it came into extensive use as a mining agent.
Though it burns harmlessly away when simply ignited, yet, when fired
by means of a detonator, as is done for mining purposes, it possesses
some six times the explosive power of gunpowder; and its combustion
in this way is so complete that no noxious gases are given off. It
can be used either in the form of yarn or in a compressed block.
When used in the former state, it is the opinion of many that its
combustion is too rapid, and that it is thereby prevented doing its
full amount of effective work. It bursts the minerals asunder with
great force; but it lacks the cutting property which is essential to
the performance of good work. The compressed cotton is free from these
defects. It possesses all the force of yarn cotton; and in consequence
of its slower combustion, it cuts in such a way as to make the block
of mineral ready for the next charge. This latter is a great advantage
to the workman, and hence the gun-cotton used for mining purposes is
generally in a compressed state. By the use of this agent, mining of
all descriptions was immensely facilitated, and the dangerous operation
of ‘tamping,’ or filling the shot-hole with brick or coal dust rammed
hard, was rendered unnecessary.
At a somewhat later period, nitro-glycerine attracted much attention,
the first to attempt its use as an explosive agent being Alfred Nobel,
a Swedish engineer, in 1864. So far as explosive power was concerned,
it was all that could be desired, possessing ten times the force
of gunpowder, and therefore being of nearly double the strength of
gun-cotton. On the other hand, it was open to most serious objections.
The danger of its exploding from concussion was very great, and many
dreadful accidents have thus been caused by it. The liquid also, when
poured into a shot-hole, has frequently run into some unknown crevice,
and when fired, has produced an explosion under the very feet of the
miners. To obviate this in some degree, cartridges have been employed;
but in whatever light it is viewed, nitro-glycerine is a most perilous
explosive.
To remove many of the dangers associated with the use of
nitro-glycerine, particularly those of concussion, Mr Nobel invented
dynamite, which was tried and approved as a mining agent at Merstham
in 1868. When properly prepared, it constitutes one of the safest,
most convenient, and most powerful explosives applicable to industrial
purposes. It burns without explosion when placed in a fire or brought
into contact with a lighted match. If struck with a hammer on an
anvil, the portion struck takes fire without igniting the dynamite
around it; and if packed with moderate care, it may be transported by
road, railway, or canal with little danger of an explosion either from
heat, sparks, friction, concussion, or collision. Such conditions of
safety, however, entirely depend upon dynamite being properly made.
If the _Kieselguhr_ or porous infusorial earth, of which it contains
about twenty-five per cent., be not properly dried and prepared,
so as not only to absorb but to permanently hold in absorption the
nitro-glycerine mixed with it, exudation is apt to take place; and
if this only occurs to the extent of a thin greasy layer over the
surface, there are present all the dangers of nitro-glycerine pure and
simple. It is of a pasty consistence, and thus possesses the advantage
that, whilst being very little less powerful as an explosive than
nitro-glycerine, bore-holes can be filled with it without the dangers
attending that liquid, and no cartridge case is required.
Since the introduction of dynamite, several other nitro-compounds
have been brought forward as blasting agents, such, for instance, as
dualine, lithofracteur, blasting gelatine, and gelatine-dynamite. With
the exception of the two last named, however, they have not found
much favour as mining agents in this country, and their use is mainly
confined to the continent.
Whilst all the explosives mentioned in this article are more or less
suited to blasting in mines, so far as their propulsive force is
concerned, yet the use of each and all is attended with great danger
in a coal-mine, and for the following reason: coal, being of vegetable
or organic origin, is constantly giving off numerous gases, the most
dangerous of which, under ordinary circumstances, is methylic hydride
or marsh-gas, known in mining districts as fire-damp. It is of an
inflammable nature; and when it becomes mixed with from seven to ten
times its volume of air, it is highly explosive. It was the presence
of this gas in coal-mines that gave rise to the researches of Humphry
Davy and George Stephenson, and which resulted in the production
of two kinds of safety-lamp, differing but little from each other
in construction. As a mark of distinction for his invention, the
first-named gentleman received the honour of knighthood. Explosive as
is methylic hydride when mixed with air in the proportions stated,
it becomes infinitely more so when the air contains a proportion of
coal-dust. A very small percentage of fire-damp when mixed with air
and coal-dust is sufficient to cause a disastrous explosion. In all
dry coal-mines there is a considerable quantity of coal-dust (coal in
a state of impalpable powder) lying about, and a certain proportion
of it is always floating in the air through the workings of the mine.
Now, when explosives are used, no matter how they are ignited, their
combustion is always attended with the formation of a mass of flame,
and consequently there is always great danger of an explosion of
fire-damp taking place. Especially is this the case with gunpowder,
which, requiring to be used in large quantities to produce the desired
effect, is accompanied with much flame at the moment of its ignition.
Gun-cotton being a much more powerful explosive than powder, can be
used in far smaller proportions, and therefore to a certain extent
possesses an advantage over it, inasmuch as its combustion is not
attended with so great a mass of flame; thus to some extent, though
only very slightly, reducing the danger of an explosion of fire-damp.
In addition to showing flame at the moment of its ignition, dynamite
possesses the drawback, that the _Kieselguhr_ is liable to become
incandescent, and whilst in this state, to be blown about by the force
of the explosion of the blasting charge, and so fire any gas or mixture
of gas and coal-dust which may be in the vicinity.
But great as is the danger always attending blasting in coal-mines,
it becomes immeasurably greater in the case of a blown-out shot—that
is, a shot which blows out the tamping, and does not bring down the
coal—for the flame then issues unobstructed from the bore-hole, and
extending for some distance, is free to ignite any inflammable mixture
with which it may come in contact. To blown-out shots or charges is due
the majority of colliery explosions. Before a shot is fired in a seam
of coal, a portion of the latter is hewn away at the top to a depth of
four or five feet, and is continued down one side, near the bore-hole,
so as to decrease the resistance to be overcome by the explosive. If
the shot-hole has been properly drilled, the blasting agent does its
work; but if the hole has been drilled into the ‘fast’—that is, if it
has been bored farther into the seam than the cavity produced by hewing
out a portion of the coal extends—a blown-out shot is the result; for
the charge of explosive is in such a case placed in the solid bed of
coal, and the resistance, consequently, being too great to be overcome,
the ramming with which the shot has been fixed in its place is forced
out, an outlet being thus formed, through which the propulsive power of
the explosive issues without bringing down any of the coal.
From what has been said, it will be seen that the great desideratum of
mine-owners has been the discovery of an agent whose propulsive power
could be utilised without any attendant flame, or the devising of a
method by which the ordinary explosives could be rendered harmless in
this respect—that is, that their flame could be extinguished at the
moment of its formation. Mining experts, scientists, and others have
for years been endeavouring to solve this problem, but without success.
At last, however, an invention has been brought forward which leaves
but little doubt that all difficulties have now been overcome, and
that so soon as the appliance is in general use, colliery explosions
resulting from shot-firing will be at an end, and the dreadful loss of
life and limb with which they are too frequently attended will be a
thing of the past.
The invention, which has been patented, is introduced by Mr Miles
Settle, managing director of the Madeley Coal and Iron Company,
Staffordshire. The explosive used is gelatine-dynamite (a chemical
combination of gun-wood and nitro-glycerine), three ounces of which
are equal in explosive power to a pound of gunpowder. It is of a straw
colour, and about the consistence of soap. The design of the patent is
to inclose the charge of gelatine-dynamite in a tin case or any other
material, not necessarily waterproof, and to insert this in a larger
case of oiled paper, india-rubber, tin, or anything that is waterproof.
Projections from the sides and ends of the inner case keep it in such a
position that when the outer vessel is filled with water, the cartridge
case is completely surrounded with fluid. A detonator is fixed to
the explosive, and this is in turn connected with a magneto-electric
machine. When the outer case has been so secured as to prevent the
escape of the water, the whole is inserted in the shot-hole, and is
fixed there by ramming, as for an ordinary powder shot. The operator
then retires to a safe distance and fires the charge by electricity.
No flame accompanies its explosion, as at the moment of its formation
it is extinguished by the water surrounding the cartridge. In addition
to this, the water causes the gelatine-dynamite to exert its power
equally in all directions, and it also absorbs the gases formed by
the combustion of the explosive, so rendering it possible for men to
commence working at the coal immediately after the discharging of the
shot. Moreover, the coal dislodged by this method contains a minimum
of slack, and there is therefore a great saving to the colliery
proprietor in this respect.
The cartridge has recently been put to some very severe tests in some
of the most fiery coal-mines in North Staffordshire; in fact, shots
have been fired with this explosive in mines which are so gaseous
that blasting is strictly prohibited in them, and the coal has to be
obtained by the expensive and ancient method of hammer and wedge. In
some of these fiery mines, blown-out shots have actually occurred; and
all the experts who were present at the time expressed a unanimous
opinion that had such a circumstance happened in the ordinary method
of blasting, a disastrous explosion would inevitably have been the
result. To prove the safety with which one of these cartridges can
be fired, they have been exploded in bags of coal-dust, and not the
slightest vestige of flame has attended their combustion. Gunpowder has
been exploded under similar circumstances, with the result that the
coal-dust instantly became ignited, and shot into the air for several
yards like one sheet of flame.
All the experts who have witnessed the experiments, both on the surface
and down in the mine, have expressed their perfect satisfaction with
the invention in every way, and have stated their belief that it can
be used with entire safety in the most fiery mines. The government
Inspector of Mines for North Staffordshire, who has been present at
some of the experiments, has announced that he is prepared to report
to the Home Office that the appliance possesses the element of safety
which is claimed for it.
A magneto-electric machine is used to fire the shot in preference to
an electric battery, as the former is considered much the safer of the
two. With a magneto-electric machine, the current, as is well known, is
generated by friction, and it can therefore be broken simultaneously
with the firing of the shot; whilst in an electric battery it is
generated for the most part by means of strong acids, and cannot be
broken without disconnecting one of the wires from the battery. It is
just possible, therefore, that as the current is continuous in the
last-named machine, the two wires might still remain so close together
after the discharging of a shot as to allow a spark to pass between
them, which in a very fiery mine would certainly cause an explosion.
Looking at the construction of Mr Settle’s patent and at the very
severe tests to which it has been subjected, there seems every reason
to believe that at last has been solved the difficult problem of
shot-firing with safety in coal-mines, and that henceforth explosions
arising from this cause will be unknown. Such disasters are among the
most dreadful calamities which can overtake a community; and only those
who have been eye-witnesses of the widespread sorrow and suffering they
entail—whole villages and districts being in a moment plunged into
mourning, and dozens of children rendered fatherless or orphans—can
form an adequate idea of the boon which the ‘water-cartridge’ promises
to be to the mining population. That the highest expectations
concerning it may be fully realised, is the devout wish of all who are
connected with the management or working of our collieries, and who
are so frequently called upon to witness some of the saddest and most
heartrending spectacles that it is possible for humanity to gaze upon.
THE HAUNTED JUNGLE.
A LEGEND OF NORTH CEYLON.
IN THREE CHAPTERS.
CHAP. I.—THE PÚSÁRI’S ADVENTURE.
Buried in the depths of the great Thorokádú jungle lay the little
village of Pandiyán. Half-a-dozen low, round, mud-huts with conical
roofs, thatched with rice-straw, each with its _pandál_ or workshed,
granary, and cooking-pot stand, composed the village. A strong
stake-fence surrounded each hut, intended as much to keep off the
village cattle as a protection from the wild beasts which infested the
surrounding jungle. On two sides of the village the jungle rose like a
wall; on the third side lay the village tank. Along the _bund_ or dam
grew a number of giant marúthú trees, with their spreading, twisted
roots in the water, and their long branches hanging gracefully over it.
The placid surface of the tank, with its dark background of jungle,
looked like a plate of burnished silver, and lay clear and unruffled
save by the splash of some water-bird fishing, or the movements of a
slowly swimming crocodile. On the top of the dam, under a gigantic
tree, and overlooking the village, stood a little temple. It was a
small mud-hut, painted in vertical stripes of red and white. A rudely
hewn stone idol, smeared with oil and coarse paint, and representing
Púliya the jungle-god, stood on a niche at the farther end. A rough
slab of stone, on which lay withered offerings of flowers; an iron
trident stuck in the ground before the door; a dirty brass lamp, and a
bell, comprised the rest of the sacred furniture and utensils. Through
a gap in the wall of jungle, on the other side of the village, could
be seen the rice-fields irrigated by the tank, an expanse of emerald
green. Picturesque watch-huts and stacks of last season’s straw stood
here and there in the fields.
It was late in the afternoon and very hot. To the shade of a group of
huge dense-foliaged tamarind trees that stood in the centre of the
village all the animal population of Pandiyán appeared to have come.
Black mud-covered buffaloes all standing and staring stupidly; dwarf
village cattle wandering restlessly about, pestered by swarms of
flies; mangy, gaunt, pariah dogs snarling viciously at each other; and
long-legged, skinny fowls—all had sought protection from the burning
rays of the sun under the shady trees.