With a companion I had descended a thousand feet perpendicularly,
beneath the earth's surface, into one of the coal mines of East
Virginia, called the Mid-Lothian pit. As we were wandering through its
dark passages--numerous and extensive enough to form a subterranean
city--the sound of music at a little distance caught our ears. It
ceased upon our approach; but we perceived that it was sacred music,
and we heard the concluding sentiment of the hymn, "I shall be in
heaven in the morning."
On advancing with our lamps we found the passage closed by a door, in
order to give a different direction to the currents of air for the
purpose of ventilation; yet this door must be opened occasionally to
let the rail-cars pass, loaded with coal. And to accomplish this we
found sitting by that door an aged blind slave, whose eyes had been
entirely destroyed by a blast of gunpowder many years before, in
that mine. There he sat, on a seat cut in the coal, from sunrise to
sunset, day after day; his sole business being to open and shut the
door when he heard the rail-cars approaching. We requested him to sing
again the hymn whose last line we had heard. It was, indeed, lame in
expression, and in poetic measure very defective, being in fact one of
those productions which we found the pious slaves were in the habit of
singing, in part at least, impromptu. But each stanza closed with the
sentiment, "I shall be in heaven in the morning."
It was sung with a clear and pleasant voice, and I could see the
shrivelled, sightless eyeballs of the old man rolling in their sockets,
as if his soul felt the inspiring sentiments; and really the exhibition
was one of the most affecting that I have ever witnessed. There he
stood, an old man, whose earthly hopes, even at the best, must be very
faint--and he was a slave--and he was blind--what could he hope for on
earth? He was buried, too, a thousand feet beneath the solid rocks. In
the expressive language of Jonah, he had "gone down to the bottom of
the mountains; the earth with her bars was about him for ever." There,
from month to month, he sat in total darkness.
I would add, that on inquiry of the pious slaves engaged in these
mines, I found that the blind old man had a fair reputation for piety,
and that it was not till the loss of his eyes that he was led to the
Saviour. It may be that the destruction of his natural vision was the
necessary means of opening the eye of faith within his soul. And though
we should shudder at the thought of exchanging conditions with him on
earth, yet who can say but his peculiar and deep tribulation here may
prepare his soul for a distinction in glory which we might covet. Oh,
how much better to endure even his deep degradation and privations,
sustained by his hopes, than to partake of their fortune who live in
luxury and pleasure, or riot in wealth!
The scene which I have now described affords a most animating lesson
of encouragement to the tried and the afflicted, and of reproof to the
complaining and discontented.
Suppose health does fail us, and poverty oppress us, and our friends
forsake us, and our best laid plans prove abortive, so that a dark
cloud settles upon our worldly prospects--who of us is reduced so low
as to be willing to change places with this poor slave? And yet he is
able to keep his spirits buoyant by the single hope of future glory. He
thinks of a morning that is to come, when even his deep and dreadful
darkness shall pass away; and the thought has a magic power to sustain
him. If we are Christians, shall not that same hope chase away our
despondency, and nerve us to bear cheerfully those trials which are far
inferior to his?