CHAPTER XXXVIII.

AT LAST.

AMONG the destructive phenomena of Nature, few are more awful than those attending the explosion of firedamp in a mine. The sudden raising of the temperature, the blinding flame, the flash as of the most brilliant lightning, the sound as of the most tremendous clap of thunder; then the rush through all the levels of the roaring whirlwind of flaming atmosphere, breaking down, overturning, or destroying whatever it chances to meet-doors, trams, men, horses-till it reaches the shaft, and, bursting up with all the power and fury of a volcano, belches forth iron cages, pump-timbers, brattice-work, forming the casing of the shaft, stone, coal, &c., while lifting from their very foundations the staging, engine-beams, machinery, and other erections at the mouth of the pit.

It seems at such times as if Nature were no lifeless congeries of underground earth, and rock, and water, and coal, and gas, such as we habitually think of, when the word is used in connection with a mine; but a vital, sentient power, that, patient at ordinary times, feels. herself outraged beyond endurance at last, and summons all her subsidiary forces to her aid, to sweep her enemies out of her path.

Within the mine, men are thrown down without even the warning of a single second of time; are stricken blind, sometimes permanently; their clothes may take fire, while the wearers are scorched sometimes to a cinder.

The temperature after an explosion is occasionally raised so high as to convert the coal at the sides of the levels into coke.

The air doors, for checking and guiding the wind, being destroyed, the ventilation is reversed; and so the stalls where the colliers may still be at work in safety get filled with steam and carbonic acid, which overpowers them too; while retreat or movement of any kind becomes difficult, frequently impossible.

Whatever life, indeed, may still exist in the mine has to contend with an enemy as deadly as the fire-damp, and far more insidious-that is, the carbonic acid gas, just mentioned, known as the choke-damp or after-damp; which has no explosive tendencies, but simply suffocates whatever has breathing life. It has neither taste nor smell; it is at first breathed unconsciously, and so steals away the faculties that men often die before they can know they are assailed.1

Within a few minutes after the explosion, people began hurriedly to gather about the pit's mouth, narrating to each other-some, what sounds they had heard from their several homes, and others, what they had seen; and explaining how fearful had been the vomiting of the shaft, where the whole movable contents of the pit, including the casing of the shaft, seemed to have been lifted from the bottom with awful force, and shot forth into space. But as everyone said, and with a half feeling. of congratulation, there was less life endangered-through the time, night-than might have been expected. Had it been in the day, two or three hundred lives must have been sacrificed, whereas on the present occasion, there was not even the night-shift; so that in all, not more than a dozen men, besides the stableman, with perhaps his boy helper, would have been below. These unfortunates had doubtless perished. As yet no one knew or suspected that Israel himself, their employer, and the Overman were both below in the mine.

The state of things was indeed remarkable at the pitmouth. Ponderous iron shears had been snapped and torn asunder like so much match-wood. Immense bolts and stanchions of iron had been twisted into the most fantastic shapes, contorted as if with extreme agony. A tall chimney standing near exhibited a gap in the brickwork, extending from the base far up. The atmosphere was still filled with clouds of coal-dust and sulphur, which

The facts in the above summary are mostly taken from Simonin's Underground Life: a book to which the author has also to acknowledge himself otherwise indebted.

the bystander inhaled with every breath. Heavy detached masses of metal and masonry lay scattered about, even to the distance of more than a hundred yards. Crowds were seen in every direction, for miles round-east, west, north, and south; dense throngs of men, women, and children coming and meeting at the pit-mouth. There they formed into innumerable little groups round those unfortunates whose relatives were below. Wives were crying for husbands, mothers and fathers for sons, youths for their brothers and fathers.

In strange contrast with this spectacle was that presented at one point of the outskirts of the multitude; where a score or two of boys, thinking nothing of the calamity so near, knowing, perhaps, none of their friends were in danger, feeling only the sense of youthful and abounding life, were pursuing, with surprising skill, the game of sliding down a steep incline, one after another in rapid and unbroken succession, seated on an iron slab, and balanced on a single iron rail--the ring of the metals, and the joyous accompanying laugh, penetrating far in among the crowd, and adding a new pang to the sorrowing hearts that heard and understood.

Clergymen of the Church of England, Baptist, Wesleyan, and other ministers, now began to arrive, and to exert themselves in comforting the mourners; while one, standing up in the vehicle that had brought him, began to pray aloud, and afterwards to address them, and to sing with them a hymn of consolation.

Among those who heard the roar of the explosion was Israel's old housekeeper, who alone knew or believed he was in the pit. Superstition lent wings to her aged feet. She came hobbling along towards the mine, convinced that now her warnings were to be realised.

A great dread and horror fell on all when they heard from her the truth.

But no one offered to go down, even if a descent were practicable, through a shaft that was in an utterly ruinous condition.

Israel's night-deputy, it will be remembered, had been absent on duty in the office above ground. He came, and, after a careful examination, said it was impossible that anyone could get down, and that if they could it would only be to go to certain death, for there were so many old reservoirs of gas in the mine, that more explosions would be sure to take place.

Even while he spoke, another explosion sent the crowd scattering in all directions, lest the flying débris might kill or maim them.

Suddenly there appeared among them Rees Thomas and his wife, who looked pale and delicate, and whom he seemed to be vainly striving to persuade to go back.

6

Is it true,' he demanded of a bystander,' that the master, Israel Mort, is below?"

'Ay, and dead enough, I'll be bound.'

6

'We'll see to that. Morgan '-he spoke to the nightdeputy- will you, in the absence alike of the master, and the Overman, James Lusty, give me authority to act, if I say I believe there may be cause for hope, and that I am willing to sacrifice my life, if necessary, in the attempt to try?' Then he added, in so low a tone that only the two could hear, Depend on me not to harm you or your position.'

6

If you like to take the responsibility, you can; but you are warned. I'd do as much as most men for my

employer, but——’

6

You are right. The task is more dangerous than even the collier's known heroism would justify. I say that to clear you. But it does not seem exactly the same to me, as regards myself. I am called here! You give me authority then?"

'Yes.'

Rees Thomas turned to his wife, took her in his arms, and kissed her as he said

'Wife, dearest, we have so lived that death is not necessarily a thing we need very much fear. This is God's work-I am sure of it. If I can save him-Israel, the strong man-thou shalt see how he will reward us.

And so farewell. If we never meet again, rear up our child in thine own spirit, and I can ask no more.'

She clung to him for a moment in silent, bitter, but not all bitter, anguish; then put him from her, smiled, put her hand on her breast, and said to him—

"I am comforted. Go.'

In a wonderfully short space of time they rigged up something to allow this Christian soldier, this one rank and file of the forlorn hope, to go down.

A rope was about his waist. He grazed his hands till they were raw and bleeding all over with the repeated collisions of his form against the sides in his descent, which his hands could alone prevent from being dangerous or fatal. But he felt not the smart; he only longed to go more and more swiftly down.

He reached the bottom in safety. He found the stableman lying dead among his horses, as if guarding them to the last.

There he is obliged to pause, on account of the warning given by the dying light of his lamp.

But the light improves little by little, and he is able to advance.

He passes along the central level, where all is terrible silence, and partial ruin. Every instant he expects to find his way barred by the fallen coal, and masonry, and earth. He worms his way through holes, he squeezes his way between the roof and great heaps of débris, he calls—but gets no answer.

He tries one level, but finds it impassable on account of the gas.

He tries another, and advances in it, but with a sort of instinctive feeling Israel is not there; and at last, after vainly shouting, returns without exploring it to its end, and then fears he has done wrong.

He enters a third level—and a cry escapes him—he sees dark substances on the floor.

Commending his soul to God, for the amosphere here is to the last degree oppressive and dangerous-life and death a question of perhaps of a few seconds less or more of delay, he stoops to examine them.