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[Illustration: cover of The Boy With the U. S. Miners]
[Illustration: NOT DEMONS, BUT SAVIORS.
Mine rescue crew, equipped with oxygen-breathing apparatus, exploring
mine after a disaster.
_Courtesy of U. S. Bureau of Mines._]
U. S. SERVICE SERIES.
THE BOY WITH
THE U. S. MINERS
BY
FRANCIS ROLT-WHEELER
With Thirty-six Illustrations
[Illustration]
BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
Copyright, 1922,
BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
All Rights Reserved
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. MINERS
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
BERWICK & SMITH CO.,
NORWOOD PRESS,
NORWOOD MASS.
PREFACE
No walk of life is more wild and adventurous than that of the questing
miner, whom neither Arctic cold nor tropic heat can bar in his mad
race for the buried treasures of the Earth; no profession is more
hazardous than that of the working miner, whose every step underground
is full of peril.
Wealth is not all. The thrill of the miner's life lies not in the
making of millions. It lies in the ruggedness of his manhood, in the
vigor of his partnerships, in the roaring ways of the mining camps,
and the life of open spaces.
Heroism and daring mark the miner. From the waterless deserts of
California to the shores of the Arctic Ocean, from the loftiest peaks
of the snow-capped Sierras to the stifling depths of the Carson Sink,
the prospector has prowled. Lonely and forgotten, his discoveries have
brought great states into being; hungry and poor, he has opened vaults
of riches thousandfold vaster than the treasuries of kings.
To give a glimpse of the lives of such men, to reveal the amazing
wealth which the Earth yields to those who are willing to dare, and to
set forth what an incalculable debt of gratitude the United States
owes to the miner, is the aim and purpose of
THE AUTHOR
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PAGE
UNDERGROUND TERRORS 11
CHAPTER II
ENTOMBED ALIVE 40
CHAPTER III
THE DANGERS OF RESCUE 67
CHAPTER IV
EIGHT DAYS OF DARK 98
CHAPTER V
THE LURE OF GOLD 128
CHAPTER VI
NUGGETS! 146
CHAPTER VII
THE FORTY-NINERS 174
CHAPTER VIII
THE GREAT BONANZA 204
CHAPTER IX
WHERE TREASURE HIDES 232
CHAPTER X
THE ROARING NORTH 256
CHAPTER XI
THE LONELY ISLAND 276
CHAPTER XII
A SIBERIAN FILIBUSTER 298
ILLUSTRATIONS
Not Demons, but Saviors Frontispiece
FACING PAGE
How Anton's Father was Killed 12
Coal-Hewers at Work 13
Where the Branch Line Forks 13
Knockers 20
Gathon, Goblin of the Mines 20
Dwarfs in the Mine 21
Miners Descending a Shaft 54
Falling-in of a Mine 55
Explosion of "Fire Damp" 55
Into the Poison-Filled Air 82
U. S. Bureau of Mines Rescue Car 83
Interior View showing Life-Saving Equipment 83
Where the Timber goes 90
Geophone Expert Listening for Tapping of Survivors 91
Building the Wall for the "Sand-Hogs" 91
Divining-Rods 138
The World's Oldest Picture of Gold-Seekers 139
Australia's Treasure-House 158
In the Richest Gold Mine of the World 159
Sutter's Mill 176
The Rush to the Gold Mines 177
The Prospector of To-day 184
Flume at the Melones Mine 185
The Coming of the Forty-Niners 194
David Egelston 195
The Miner's Sluice 214
Panning Gold on the Klondyke 215
Where Deserts Yield Millions 236
The Eater of Mountains 237
The Top of the Chilkoot Pass 260
Pass in the Sierra Nevadas 261
Hydraulicking in Colorado 300
America's "Gold-Ship" at Work 301
THE BOY WITH THE U S. MINERS
CHAPTER I
UNDERGROUND TERRORS
"Ay, lad," said the old miner, the pale flame of his cap-lamp lighting
up his wrinkled face and throwing a distorted shadow on the wall of
coal behind, "there's goin' to be a plenty of us killed soon."
"Likely enough, if they're all as careless as you," Clem retorted.
"Carelessness ain't got nothin' to do with it," the old man replied.
"The 'knockers' has got to be satisfied! There ain't been an accident
here for months. It'll come soon! The spirits o' the mine is gettin'
hungry for blood."
"Nonsense, Otto! The idea of an old-timer like you believing in
goblins and all that superstitious stuff!"
"It's easy enough for you to say 'nonsense,' Clem Swinton, an' to
make game o' men who were handlin' a coal pick when you was playin'
with a rattle, but that don't change the facts. Why, even Anton, here,
youngster that he is, knows better'n to deny the spirits below ground.
The knockers got your father, Anton, didn't they?"
Anton Rover, one of the youngest boys in the mine, to whom the old
miner had turned for affirmation, nodded his head in agreement. Like
many of his fellows, the lad was profoundly credulous.
From his Polish mother--herself the daughter of a Polish miner--Anton
had inherited a firm belief in demons, goblins, gnomes, trolls,
kobolds, knockers, and the various races of weird creatures with which
the Slavic and Teutonic peoples have dowered the world underground.
From his earliest childhood he had been familiar with tales of
subterranean terror, and he knew that his father had often foregone a
day's work and a day's pay rather than go down the mine-shaft if some
evil omen had occurred.
Yet Anton was willing to accept modern ideas, also. Clem was both his
protector and his chum, and the boy had a great respect for his older
comrade's knowledge and good sense. He was aware, too, that Clem
was unusually well informed, for the young fellow was a natural
student and was fitting himself for a higher position in the mine by
hard reading. This Ohio mine, like many of the American collieries,
maintained a free school and an admirable technical library for the
use of those workers who wished to better themselves.
[Illustration: HOW ANTON'S FATHER WAS KILLED.
Miner, failing to test for vibration when tapping roof-slate, goes to
work and is crushed by falling slate.
_Courtesy of U. S. Bureau of Mines._]
[Illustration: COAL-HEWERS AT WORK.
Holing or Undercutting in a typical seam not high enough for men to
stand upright.
_From "Mines and Their Story."_]
[Illustration: WHERE THE BRANCH LINE FORKS.
Loaded car of coal switched to main line and on its way to the shaft.
_From "The Romance of Modern Mining," by A. Williams._]
The young student miner was zealous in his efforts to promote modern
ideas among his comrades, and knew that the old superstitions bred
carelessness and a blind belief in Fate. Despite their differences in
age and in points of view, he and Otto were warm friends, and he
returned the old man's attack promptly.
"So far as Anton's father is concerned, Otto," he said, "it was Jim
Rover's carelessness that killed him. He was caught by a falling roof
just because he wouldn't take the trouble to make sure that the draw
slate overhead was solid before setting to work to undercut the coal.
I know that's so, because he told me, just before he died. I was the
first one to reach him, after the fall, for I was working in the next
room, just around the rib."
"An' who made the draw slate fall, just when Jim Rover was a-standin'
right under it? Answer me that, Clem Swinton!"
The other shrugged his shoulders.
"Every man who's ever handled a coal pick knows that draw slate is apt
to work loose. That's one of the dangers of the business. And the
danger can be avoided, as you know perfectly well, Otto, if a chap
will feel the roof for vibration, with one hand, while he uses the
other to tap on the slate with the flat side of a pick. If he won't
take the trouble--why, it's his own fault if he gets killed.
"Blaming the 'knockers,' Otto, doesn't hide the fact that nearly a
thousand miners get killed in the United States every year, just
through their own carelessness."
The old man shook a finger ominously.
"It isn't always the careless ones what get taken," he declared. "Look
out for yourself, Clem Swinton; look out for yourself! It's you the
knockers'll be after, next, an' much good all your readin'll do you,
then! I warned Jim Rover less'n a week afore he got killed, an' I'm
warnin' you now."
Anton looked up, fearfully, for old Otto had a reputation as a seer,
in the mine, but Clem only laughed.
"I put my faith in following out the safety rules, Otto," he replied,
"not in charms and tricks to keep the goblins away."
The old man, however, was not thus to be set aside. He was as ready to
defend his old-fashioned beliefs as was Clem to advance his modern
theories.
"Experience goes for somethin'," he affirmed stubbornly. "Boy an' man,
I've been below ground for over forty years. I've worked in Germany,
Belgium, France, and all over this country. Just eight years old I
was, when I went down the shaft for the first time; there weren't no
laws, then, to keep youngsters out of a mine.
"I was a door-boy to start off with, openin' doors for the coal-cars
to come through. That meant keeping one's ears open. The loaded cars
come a-roarin' down the slopin' galleries, an', if a kid didn't hear
them, he'd get smashed between the coal car an' the door. Even when he
did hear them, he had to jump lively, or he'd get nipped, anyhow.
"On the other side o' the door it wasn't much better, for the empty
cars were hauled up the slope o' the mine galleries by donkey power,
an', if a kid didn't hear the whistle o' the donkey driver, he'd get
his head clouted an' would be fined two days' pay beside.
"There warn't no eight-hours' day, then. We worked a shift o' twelve
hours, an' the miners didn't stop between for meals--just took their
grub in bites while they went on holin' coal. All piece-work it was in
them days, an' every miner holed, spragged (or timbered), picked and
loaded his own coal. The more stuff he got out, the more pay. The men
didn't get any too much money, either, an' if a miner wanted to have a
decent pay-check at the end o' the week, he warn't goin' to be
hindered by havin' any trouble with cars. The poor kid at the door got
it comin' to him from all sides.
"It's different now in coal-mines to what it was then. We hadn't no
electric plant to run ventilatin' fans for keepin' the air fit to
breathe. Nowadays, a man can be nigh as comfortable below ground as he
can be above; but, when I was a kid, the air in a mine was hot, an'
heavy, an' sleepy-like.
"After breathin' that air for nine or ten hours, it was hard to keep
awake. You'd see the pit-boys comin' up out o' the shaft wi' their
eyes all red an' swollen an' achin'. No, it warn't from gas, it was
just from rubbin' em to keep em' open. An' rubbin' your eyes with
hands all gritty with coal-dust ain't any too good for 'em."
"Well, Otto," the young fellow interrupted, "you can't deny that
modern methods have improved all that. There aren't any door-boys in a
modern mine. Most of the States in this country have passed laws
requiring that all doors through which coal cars pass must be operated
automatically. The United States Bureau of Mines keeps a sharp
lookout, too. There aren't any donkeys, either, not in up-to-date
mines; endless-chain conveyors take the coal from the face where the
miner has dug it clear to the mouth of the shaft, and load it into the
buckets by a self-tipping device. As for small boys in a mine, as you
said yourself, there aren't any, not in the United States, anyhow."
"I'm not denyin' that minin' has got easier," was the grudging reply,
"it'd be a wonder if it hadn't. What I'm sayin' is that all your
newfangled schemes don't stop accidents and won't never stop
accidents, not till you get rid o' the knockers an' gas sprites of a
mine. An' that you'll never do!
"You're like a whole lot o' these young fellows, Clem, who believe
nothin' that they don't see. You don't never stop to think that maybe
it's your own blindness an' not your own cleverness that keeps you
from seem'. Wait till I tell you what happened to me, one time, when I
was a door-boy in Germany.
"Long afore I first went down into a coal mine, I knew about the
knockers, and where they come from. Dad told me that all the
coal-seams o' the world were forests, once. Long afore Noah an' the
Flood. He'd seen ferns an' leaves o' trees turned into coal. One time,
when digging out a seam, he'd come across the trunk of a tree standin'
upright in the coal, with the roots still in the under clay."
"That's right enough," agreed Clem, "but the coal-forests were a good
many million years older than Noah!"
"Maybe, maybe; but you warn't there to see," Otto retorted. "Anyhow,
there were forests, an' these forests were standin' afore the Flood.
Judgin' by what's left, the trees o' these forests must ha' been big.
"All those trees, Dad used to say, had spirits o' their own, just like
trees have to-day. Elves an' dryads, he used to call 'em. When the
Flood came an' spread deep water over the whole world, the tops o' the
hills were washed into the valleys an' all these forests were covered
in mud an' sand. That's how it is you never find anything but shale or
slate (which is mud-rock) or sandstone above a coal seam. What's more,
when pullin' down slate, you'll often find sea-shells, like mussels
an' clams. Ain't that so?"
"I won't argue with you about the Flood, Otto, for that's a long
story. But you're dead right in saying that all coal seams are
overlaid with rocks which have been laid down by water, and that
fossil shells are found in the overlying layers. But go ahead and tell
us what you saw."
"When the Flood came," the old man resumed, "the elves an' dryads what
used to live in the coal-trees were swallowed up in the water. They
weren't drowned, because spirits can't die--at least, that was what
Dad told me. They couldn't go away from their trees, because the trees
were still standin' there, though all covered in mud or sand. So they
had to change their ways for a new life, first under the water, an'
when the waters o' the Flood dried up, under the ground. The elves,
who were the men-spirits o' the forest, became knockers; the dryads,
who were the women-spirits o' the trees, became the sprites o' the gas
damps.
"In the old days, folks used to be able to see these spirits o' the
forests. They used to build temples to 'em, an' have regular festivals
in the woods, always leavin' some food for 'em to eat. Dad told me
never to forget that the only way to keep on the good side o' the
spirits below ground was to keep out o' the mine on the first day o'
spring an' the last day o' summer, an' every time I took anything to
eat below ground, to leave a bite behind.
"I've always done it. In all the years I've been minin', I've never
gone down the shaft on March 21st or September 20th, an' I never will.
An', every time I've taken my dinner-pail to the face where I was
workin', I've put a bit o' bread aside for the knockers. You can
believe it or not, as you like, but when I got back to the place, on
my next shift, the bread was gone."
"Probably rats," commented Clem, in an aside to Anton.
[Illustration: KNOCKERS.
_After a Vignette by Bottrell._]
[Illustration: GATHON, GOBLIN OF THE MINES.
_Fragment of a Composition by Phiz._]
[Illustration: DWARFS IN THE MINE.
The Other Mythical Personages are the King of the Metals and the
Keeper of the Treasures of the Earth.
_From a German Engraving after Froebom._]
The old miner paid no heed to the interruption, if, indeed, he heard
it.
"That way, I always knew that the knockers were on my side, an' I've
been willin' to hole coal in mines that folks said weren't safe.
What's more, in forty years o' work, I've never lost a day's time from
an accident of any kind. I know I'm safe, because of what happened to
me when I was still a kid.
"One day--I don't know just why, maybe the air was worse'n
usual--after I'd been lookin' after the door for the bigger part o'
the shift, I dropped right off asleep. Half-dreamin', I heard a loaded
car come roarin' down, but I didn't wake up until it was so close as
to be too late.
"I scrambled up on my feet an' was just makin' a wild jump forward to
the door, when I felt a little fist--it seemed about the size of a
baby's, but was strong an' hard--hit me right in the chest. It pushed
me back into the corner, out o' the way o' the car, an' held me there.
"At the same minute, an' just in the nick o' time, the door swung
open.
"Rubbin' my eyes--they was so gritty wi' coal that I could hardly look
out o' them--I saw what looked like a little man made o' coal
standin' back against the door an' holdin' it open for the car to pass
through. His face was sort o' pale, like a whitewashed wall in the
dark, an' his eyes were red, like sparks. I thought he had a pointed
hat an' long pointed shoes, but I was so scared that I couldn't be
rightly sure. I could just see his whitish face movin' up an' down,
like he was noddin' his head. Then the door slammed shut, the hand
suddenly lifted off my chest an' I didn't see nothin' more. I tell
you, I kept awake after that."
"You must have opened the door unconsciously, while half-asleep, and
dreamed about seeing the goblin," was Clem's comment.
But, before the old man could retort, Anton broke in.
"Father told me he's seen some, just like that. It was in Wales. A
woman visitor had gone down to see the mine."
Otto shook his head gravely.
"Never a woman went down a coal mine yet, but an accident happened
right after," he declared. "In the big explosion at Loosburg, when
over four hundred miners were killed, it was found out, after, that
one o' the miners was a woman who had dressed herself in men's
clothes an' was pickin' coal. But what was it your father saw, Anton?"
"It happened right when the visiting party was in the mine," the boy
explained. "It was in one of the main galleries, which was strongly
timbered. A prop, which had been standing firmly for ever so many
years, suddenly crumbled into splinters and the roof fell on the
woman, hurting her so badly that she died soon after she was taken to
the top.
"Just after the roof fell, so Father said, he and all the rest of the
miners saw a band of knockers gathered around the pile of fallen roof
and pointing at the figure of the woman crushed beneath. He said the
knockers were laughing so loudly that some of the miners heard the
echoes away at the other end of the mine."
"And do you believe that, Anton?" queried Clem, incredulously.
"Father saw them himself," the boy replied, in a tone of finality.
"Then there's the gas sprites," Otto went on, pleased at having found
a sympathetic listener. "I've never seen 'em myself, but there's
plenty that have. In a mine where I used to work, in Belgium, there
was a man who could see 'em as plain as I see you or Anton. That was
his job, and he was paid handsomely, too.
"He could walk through a gallery, either in a workin' or an abandoned
mine, an' could tell right away if there was fire damp, or white damp,
or black damp, or stink damp, in the workin's. He could see the gas
sprites himself an' give warnin' where men had better not go. He
didn't have to carry a safety lamp, nor chemical apparatus, nor cages
of mice an' canaries, the way folks do, now. He just walked into the
mine an' saw the sprites. He was friendly to 'em, an' they never did
him no harm."
"What were they like, Otto?" queried Anton.
"Shadows o' women," the old man replied promptly. "Fire damp, this
diviner used to say, looked like a figure veiled in red, black damp
was veiled in black wi' white edges, white damp was bluish, an' stink
damp was yellow. When the gas was faint, all he could see was just the
glow o' the colors, very dim; but when the gas was strong then the
shapes o' the women were bold an' clear.
"The gas sprites, bein' women, catch an' hold the young men an' the
single men more easily than old an' married miners. You don't deny
that single men are more often killed by damps than married men, do
you, Clem?"
The young miner looked uncomfortable at the question.
"That's a general belief, and statistics seem to back it up," he
admitted. "But I don't see that it has anything to do with your goblin
ideas, Otto. It's just because the single men, generally, are the
youngest, and they haven't become as immune to the poisonous gases of
the mine as men who have been working below ground all their lives."
"You can explain away anything, if you have a mind to," Otto retorted
scornfully. "But as long as men are workin' below ground, there's
goin' to be knockers an' sprites o' the damps, an' miners is goin' to
be killed. Me, I've escaped. Why? Because I'm chock-full o' science
an' modern ideas? Not a bit of it! I get along because I know what the
spirits o' the mine expect, an' I give it to 'em. Right now, I'm the
oldest man at work, here, an' I ain't never had an accident."
"Don't you believe his stories, Anton," the young miner protested,
turning to the boy. "Those antiquated notions will only lead you
astray. The 'damps' are just various kinds of gases coming out of the
coal, and the way to fight them is to keep a strong current of air
going through the mine."
"How do they come out o' the coal, if you know so much?" questioned
Otto, belligerently.
"Sure I know! But I don't suppose telling you will change your ideas."
"It won't," the old miner admitted frankly. "But I've had my say, an'
it's only fair to let you have yours. The youngster, here, can believe
which o' the two he pleases."
"Well, it's something this way," Clem began, casting about in his mind
for a way to explain the chemistry of mine air as simply as he could.
"Ordinary air--the air above ground--is made up of a little less than
21 per cent. of oxygen and a little more than 78 per cent. of
nitrogen. The rest of it is a mixture of carbon and oxygen which the
books call carbon dioxide or black damp, with some other rare gases
beside.
"Now, all animals, including man, depend for their life on the oxygen
in the air. If the oxygen drops to 15 per cent., a man will suffer.
That's not likely to happen where miners' lamps or safety-lamps are
used, because the flame of a lamp goes out when there's less than 17
per cent. oxygen. Even at 19 per cent., a lamp will burn so dimly as
to warn of danger. The nitrogen in the air is inert, that is, it does
neither good nor harm to man. But what I want you to remember, Anton,
is that even in the purest air above ground, there's always some
'black damp,' so it's a bit hard to see where Otto's goblin women come
in!
"Now, when pure air comes down a coal shaft, a lot of changes happen
to it. Some of the oxygen is consumed by the breathing of the men and
animals in the mine--if there are any donkeys or such--some is taken
up by the burning of lamps, some more by the explosion of blasting
powder, a little is lost by the rusting of iron pyrites--which is
found in many coal mines--and a lot of it is taken up by the coal,
just how, we don't quite know."
"It's good to hear o' somethin' you don't know," the old miner
remarked sarcastically. "But you're talkin' about dry air, an' the air
in most mines is moist."
"Quite right," Clem agreed. "It has to be. Mine air is made moist, on
purpose, especially in winter."
"It is?" Otto's voice expressed unqualified astonishment.
"It certainly is! In most coal-mines--this one, for instance--all the
air that passes down the intake shaft is moistened by a spray of mixed
water and air, so finely atomized that it floats like a cloud."
"What for? It's easier to work in dry air'n moist air."
"It's easier to get blown up, too! In winter time, Otto, the air above
ground is a lot colder than the air in the mine. Cold air can't hold
as much moisture as warm air, and as soon as air gets warmed up a bit,
it tries its hardest to absorb any moisture with which it happens to
come in contact.
"What happens in a mine, in such a case? Why, as the cold air from
above passes through the galleries of a mine, it gets warmed up. As it
warms up, it draws out from the roofs, the ribs, and the floors all
the water that there is to draw, and makes the mine dead dry. When
coal dust is absolutely dry, it crumbles into finer and finer dust,
until at last the particles are so small that they float in the air.
Then comes disaster, for finely divided coal dust is so explosive that
the smallest flame--even a spark from the stroke of a pick--will set
the whole mine ablaze."
"I don't see that," interrupted Anton. "If dust is so bad, why do the
bosses hang boards from all the gallery roofs and pile them high with
dust?"
"Because the dust in those piles is stone dust, my boy," the young
fellow explained. "When an explosion happens, it drives a big blast of
air in front of it, so strong, sometimes, as to knock a man down. The
blast of air blows all the stone dust from those boards and fills the
air chock-full of it.
"This stone dust, usually made from crushed limestone or crushed
shale, won't burn. The flame of the explosion can't pass through and
the fire can't jump a rock-dust barrier. Even the flame of methane,
which you know better as 'gas,' or fire damp, which has a terrific
force, is choked back by this dense cloud of rock-dust, and, as you
know, all coal mines have more or less methane gas."
"They don't, either," contradicted Otto. "I've worked in mines for
years at a time an' never seen the 'cap' on the flame of the
safety-lamp, tellin' there's fire damp there."
"You may not have seen it, but there was gas there, just the same. As
for the cap-flame you're talking about, Otto, I'll admit that it's the
surest way of telling when there's so much fire-damp that the mine is
getting dangerous. But it's a risky test, just the same. You can't see
the little cap of methane gas flame burning above the oil flame of the
lamp until there's 2 per cent. of gas in the air of the mine, and a
little more than 5 per cent. will start an explosion."
"What makes that cap?" queried Anton.
"Fire damp or methane gas burning inside the wire gauze of the
safety-lamp."
"But if the gas is already burning inside, why doesn't it explode
outside?"
"Just because it's a safety-lamp, my boy. That's why the flame burns
inside a wire gauze. I'll explain that.
"Suppose you take a lamp with a hot flame--an alcohol or spirit lamp
will do--and light it. Then hold a piece of close-meshed wire gauze
right on the flame. You'll find that the flame will spread under the
wire gauze but will not go through. Hold it long enough, though, until
the wire gets red hot, and, quite suddenly, the flame will pass
through and burn above the gauze as well as below.
"Try another trick. Put out the lamp and then hold the gauze just
where it was before. You can light the flame above the wire but it
will not pass below the gauze until the wire gets red-hot. That shows
that gas which is not burning can pass through a wire gauze, but that
gas which is aflame cannot pass until the wire is red-hot."
"Yes," said Anton, "I can see that."
"Very good. Then, if you have a lamp which is burning inside a
cylinder of wire gauze, the gas of fire-damp can go through, and, if
there's enough of it to burn, it will burn above the flame of the
lamp, making an aureole or 'cap' just as Otto says. But the flaming
gas can't get back through the wire gauze to set fire to the fire-damp
outside, at least, not until the wire gets red-hot, which it's not
likely to do, seeing that the gas is in the middle, not underneath it.
"That's how they test for fire-damp, nowadays. The flame of a
safety-lamp is drawn down until it shows only a small yellow tip. If
there's any fire-damp in the air, a light-blue halo appears over the
yellow flame. At a little more than 1 per cent., an experienced man
can judge that there is gas there, but the true 'cap,' which is
pointed like a cone, doesn't show until there's 2 per cent. of the
gas. At 3 per cent., the cap will be like a dunce's cap, and more than
half an inch high. At 4 per cent., it will be over an inch high, and
at 4-1/2 per cent. it'll form a column of blue flame. Then it's high
time to get out of the mine, and to get out quickly.
"In the improved form of safety-lamps, the oil flame burns inside a
glass, but the air which reaches the flame has to pass through two
cylinders of wire gauze. The glass keeps the flame from ever touching
the innermost gauze, and, if an accident happens--such as the breaking
of the glass--it would still be fairly safe, for the burning gas
inside wouldn't pass through the inner gauze until that got red-hot,
and it wouldn't reach the outer gauze because the current of air
passing down between the two layers of wire mesh would keep the outer
gauze cool. This safety-lamp was invented by Sir Humphry Davy, in
England, in 1815, just after a big explosion in an English colliery
had cost hundreds of lives. All mines nowadays require that miners use
either safety-lamps or electric lamps, and it's every miner's
business to report to the boss when he sees a cap of burning gas
inside his safety-lamp."
The old miner nodded his head in agreement.
"I won't use an electric lamp," he commented. "It's foolishness. The
gas sprites ain't really malicious. They're willin' enough to give a
warnin'. They'll put a cap on a flame if they don't want folks in that
part of the mine. An electric lamp tells nothin'. It won't even give a
warnin' against black damp."
"Perfectly true," Clem agreed. "With an oil safety-lamp, the flame
gets dim or even goes out if there's too much black damp. The electric
lamp burns on, just the same, because the light is in a vacuum. Black
damp isn't so dangerous as fire damp, though. It only causes distress
and hard breathing because it shows that there's too big a proportion
of nitrogen and carbon dioxide in the air and not enough oxygen. It's
oxygen that a man misses."
"But black damp'll explode, too," put in Otto.
"No," the other corrected, "it won't. But it often happens that
there's fire-damp around when black damp is present and the black damp
makes a test for gas difficult. It's the gas that explodes, not the
black damp.
"It isn't always the explosiveness of a damp that makes it dangerous,
though," he went on. "As Otto could tell you, Anton, white damp is the
worst of the three. And it doesn't give any warning at all."
"That's why we had that diviner in a Belgian mine," the old man
commented, gravely. "He could see the gas sprites in their blue veils.
But, if there's a lot o' white damp, you can tell it by the flame of a
safety-lamp gettin' a little longer an' brighter."
"It's not safe to trust it," the young fellow advised. "You'd have
trouble seeing 2 per cent, of white damp, and you'd be dead before you
had much chance to look. Even with 1-1/2 per cent., a man would be
likely to drop before he reached a better-ventilated part of the mine,
and he couldn't see that much on the flame of his safety-lamp at all.
To breathe the air with only 1 per cent. of white damp for an hour
would put a man in such a state that he mightn't recover, and he
wouldn't have had any warning.
"Luckily, there's much less danger of white damp in mines than there
used to be. It's a gas that's formed only when there's been something
burning. After an explosion in a mine, or a fire, there's sure to be
a lot of it, and rescue parties have always found it their worst foe.
But, in the ordinary working mine, it is rare."
"Not so rare as all that!" objected Otto. "We used to have a lot of
it, on the other side."
"You wouldn't now," was the reply. "The white damp of those days was
due to the heavy charges of gunpowder or low explosive that were used,
explosives which are forbidden now in dangerous mines."
"They were better'n the stuff we use nowadays," grumbled Otto, "they
brought down more coal an' didn't smash it up so bad."
"They smashed up men, instead," Clem retorted. "And they put a whole
lot of white damp into a mine. That was really dangerous, because, in
those days, people hadn't found out the value of canaries."
"I've often wondered about that," interjected Anton. "Why do the
testing-parties carry canaries?"
"Because," answered Clem, with a smile, "canaries are as clever at
seeing the gas sprites as was the Belgian diviner that Otto talks
about. No, but seriously," he went on, "the reason is that canaries
are extremely susceptible to white damp. Less than 1/4 of one per
cent of white damp will cause a canary to collapse at once, and a man
could breath that proportion for an hour without much harm. Even a
tenth of one per cent. will cause the little bird to show signs of
distress."
"It's tough on the bird," was Anton's sympathetic comment.
"Not especially! As soon as a bird begins to show collapse, it is
taken back to the open air and is as frisky and lively as ever in five
minutes. But its value as a warning signal is enormous, for it tells
rescue parties or investigating parties when to put on gas masks or
breathing apparatus containing oxygen. In a well-ventilated mine,
however, where high explosive is used and handled by experienced men,
there's not likely to be much danger from white damp.
"Stink damp is rare but can sometimes be dangerous. Generally, a
fellow is warned away, because of the smell--which is just like rotten
eggs. The worst part of stink damp is that it smells the worst when
there's only a little of it. When there's so much of it around as to
be deadly, it doesn't smell any worse. You get small quantities of it,
sometimes, in blasting, but generally hydrogen sulphide or stink damp
is found after a mine fire or an explosion. Rescue parties generally
carry a cage of mice as well as one of canaries."
"With the same idea?" queried Anton.
"Exactly. As little as a tenth of one per cent. of stink damp makes a
mouse sprawl on his belly, his legs don't seem strong enough to hold
him up; while, in the same air, a canary doesn't suffer a bit.
"The only real danger in stink damp is when there's water in the mine,
for example when, after a fire, a lot of water has been pumped down
into the workings to put the fire out. Water absorbs stink damp very
easily and gives it up equally easily when stirred. So, if a member of
a rescue party puts his foot in a puddle of water where there has been
stink damp around, so much of the gas may suddenly come up in his face
as to topple him over.
"But you can see, Anton, that most of the gas troubles in a mine come
from the blasting. That's why, nowadays, the miners who get out the
coal seldom or never fire the shots. Experienced men, trained
especially for that work, are used. After a miner has undercut the
coal, the shot-firer comes. He tests for gas before he begins work,
bores a deep hole in the coal with a drill, tests for gas again in
case he should have tapped a leak in the seam, cleans out the hole,
sends the miner for the box of explosive--which is kept thirty or
forty yards away from the face where the coal is being cut--and
prepares the charge with a detonater which he carries in a box over
his shoulder. The miner never touches either the explosive or the
detonater. Then the shot-firer puts the primed charge in the hole,
jams the hole full of clay with a wooden tamper--a steel bar might
cause a spark and a premature explosion--tests for gas again, connects
the electric wires from a portable battery around the rib corner,
fires the shot, returns to the face and tests for gas again. Then, and
not until then, does the miner begin to dig the coal. That way, every
one in the mine is safe."
"Yes," growled the old miner, "and the shot-firer doesn't dig any
coal, nor do any hard work, an' gets paid more'n we do."
"He knows more than you do," Clem responded, "and he gets better pay
because his experience and prudence is worth a lot of money to the
mine. Just think what an explosion costs--to say nothing of the risk
of lives being lost! And you won't find experienced shot-firers or
mine-managers talking about gas sprites, Otto!"
"Better for 'em if they did!" the old man warned. "For I'm sayin' to
you again, what I said before--the spirits o' the mine is gettin'
hungry for blood!"