CHAPTER I
UNDERGROUND TERRORS
"Ay, lad," said the old miner, the pale flame of his cap-lamp lightingup his wrinkled face and throwing a distorted shadow on the wall ofcoal 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 accidenthere 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 ingoblins and all that superstitious stuff!"
"It's easy enough for you to say 'nonsense,' Clem Swinton, an' tomake 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 oldminer had turned for affirmation, nodded his head in agreement. Likemany of his fellows, the lad was profoundly credulous.
From his Polish mother--herself the daughter of a Polish miner--Antonhad inherited a firm belief in demons, goblins, gnomes, trolls,kobolds, knockers, and the various races of weird creatures with whichthe Slavic and Teutonic peoples have dowered the world underground.From his earliest childhood he had been familiar with tales ofsubterranean terror, and he knew that his father had often foregone aday's work and a day's pay rather than go down the mine-shaft if someevil omen had occurred.
Yet Anton was willing to accept modern ideas, also. Clem was both hisprotector and his chum, and the boy had a great respect for his oldercomrade's knowledge and good sense. He was aware, too, that Clemwas unusually well informed, for the young fellow was a naturalstudent and was fitting himself for a higher position in the mine byhard reading. This Ohio mine, like many of the American collieries,maintained a free school and an admirable technical library for theuse of those workers who wished to better themselves.
HOW ANTON'S FATHER WAS KILLED.
Miner, failing to test for vibration when tapping roof-slate, goes towork and is crushed by falling slate.
_Courtesy of U. S. Bureau of Mines._]
COAL-HEWERS AT WORK.
Holing or Undercutting in a typical seam not high enough for men tostand upright.
_From "Mines and Their Story."_]
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 modernideas among his comrades, and knew that the old superstitions bredcarelessness and a blind belief in Fate. Despite their differences inage and in points of view, he and Otto were warm friends, and hereturned the old man's attack promptly.
"So far as Anton's father is concerned, Otto," he said, "it was JimRover's carelessness that killed him. He was caught by a falling roofjust because he wouldn't take the trouble to make sure that the drawslate 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 thefirst one to reach him, after the fall, for I was working in the nextroom, 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 aptto work loose. That's one of the dangers of the business. And thedanger can be avoided, as you know perfectly well, Otto, if a chapwill feel the roof for vibration, with one hand, while he uses theother to tap on the slate with the flat side of a pick. If he won'ttake the trouble--why, it's his own fault if he gets killed.
"Blaming the 'knockers,' Otto, doesn't hide the fact that nearly athousand miners get killed in the United States every year, justthrough their own carelessness."
The old man shook a finger ominously.
"It isn't always the careless ones what get taken," he declared. "Lookout for yourself, Clem Swinton; look out for yourself! It's you theknockers'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'mwarnin' 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 todefend his old-fashioned beliefs as was Clem to advance his moderntheories.
"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 Iwas, when I went down the shaft for the first time; there weren't nolaws, then, to keep youngsters out of a mine.
"I was a door-boy to start off with, openin' doors for the coal-carsto come through. That meant keeping one's ears open. The loaded carscome a-roarin' down the slopin' galleries, an', if a kid didn't hearthem, he'd get smashed between the coal car an' the door. Even when hedid 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 emptycars 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 gethis head clouted an' would be fined two days' pay beside.
"There warn't no eight-hours' day, then. We worked a shift o' twelvehours, an' the miners didn't stop between for meals--just took theirgrub in bites while they went on holin' coal. All piece-work it was inthem days, an' every miner holed, spragged (or timbered), picked andloaded his own coal. The more stuff he got out, the more pay. The mendidn't get any too much money, either, an' if a miner wanted to have adecent pay-check at the end o' the week, he warn't goin' to behindered by havin' any trouble with cars. The poor kid at the door gotit comin' to him from all sides.
"It's different now in coal-mines to what it was then. We hadn't noelectric plant to run ventilatin' fans for keepin' the air fit tobreathe. Nowadays, a man can be nigh as comfortable below ground as hecan 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 keepawake. You'd see the pit-boys comin' up out o' the shaft wi' theireyes all red an' swollen an' achin'. No, it warn't from gas, it wasjust from rubbin' em to keep em' open. An' rubbin' your eyes withhands all gritty with coal-dust ain't any too good for 'em."
"Well, Otto," the young fellow interrupted, "you can't deny thatmodern methods have improved all that. There aren't any door-boys in amodern mine. Most of the States in this country have passed lawsrequiring that all doors through which coal cars pass must be operatedautomatically. The United States Bureau of Mines keeps a sharplookout, too. There aren't any donkeys, either, not in up-to-datemines; endless-chain conveyors take the coal from the face where theminer has dug it clear to the mouth of the shaft, and load it into thebuckets by a self-tipping device. As for small boys in a mine, as yousaid 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 yournewfangled schemes don't stop accidents and won't never stopaccidents, not till you get rid o' the knockers an' gas sprites of amine. An' that you'll never do!
"You're like a whole lot o' these young fellows, Clem, who believenothin' that they don't see. You don't never stop to think that maybeit's your own blindness an' not your own cleverness that keeps youfrom seem'. Wait till I tell you what happened to me, one time, when Iwas a door-boy in Germany.
"Long afore I first went down into a coal mine, I knew about theknockers, and where t
hey come from. Dad told me that all thecoal-seams o' the world were forests, once. Long afore Noah an' theFlood. 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 goodmany 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 liketrees have to-day. Elves an' dryads, he used to call 'em. When theFlood came an' spread deep water over the whole world, the tops o' thehills were washed into the valleys an' all these forests were coveredin mud an' sand. That's how it is you never find anything but shale orslate (which is mud-rock) or sandstone above a coal seam. What's more,when pullin' down slate, you'll often find sea-shells, like musselsan' clams. Ain't that so?"
"I won't argue with you about the Flood, Otto, for that's a longstory. But you're dead right in saying that all coal seams areoverlaid with rocks which have been laid down by water, and thatfossil shells are found in the overlying layers. But go ahead and tellus what you saw."
"When the Flood came," the old man resumed, "the elves an' dryads whatused to live in the coal-trees were swallowed up in the water. Theyweren't drowned, because spirits can't die--at least, that was whatDad told me. They couldn't go away from their trees, because the treeswere still standin' there, though all covered in mud or sand. So theyhad 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 gasdamps.
"In the old days, folks used to be able to see these spirits o' theforests. They used to build temples to 'em, an' have regular festivalsin the woods, always leavin' some food for 'em to eat. Dad told menever to forget that the only way to keep on the good side o' thespirits 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 toeat below ground, to leave a bite behind.
"I've always done it. In all the years I've been minin', I've nevergone 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 wasworkin', I've put a bit o' bread aside for the knockers. You canbelieve it or not, as you like, but when I got back to the place, onmy next shift, the bread was gone."
"Probably rats," commented Clem, in an aside to Anton.
KNOCKERS.
_After a Vignette by Bottrell._]
GATHON, GOBLIN OF THE MINES.
_Fragment of a Composition by Phiz._]
DWARFS IN THE MINE.
The Other Mythical Personages are the King of the Metals and theKeeper of the Treasures of the Earth.
_From a German Engraving after Froebom._]
The old miner paid no heed to the interruption, if, indeed, he heardit.
"That way, I always knew that the knockers were on my side, an' I'vebeen 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 froman accident of any kind. I know I'm safe, because of what happened tome when I was still a kid.
"One day--I don't know just why, maybe the air was worse'nusual--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 loadedcar come roarin' down, but I didn't wake up until it was so close asto be too late.
"I scrambled up on my feet an' was just makin' a wild jump forward tothe door, when I felt a little fist--it seemed about the size of ababy's, but was strong an' hard--hit me right in the chest. It pushedme 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 swungopen.
"Rubbin' my eyes--they was so gritty wi' coal that I could hardly lookout o' them--I saw what looked like a little man made o' coalstandin' back against the door an' holdin' it open for the car to passthrough. His face was sort o' pale, like a whitewashed wall in thedark, an' his eyes were red, like sparks. I thought he had a pointedhat an' long pointed shoes, but I was so scared that I couldn't berightly sure. I could just see his whitish face movin' up an' down,like he was noddin' his head. Then the door slammed shut, the handsuddenly lifted off my chest an' I didn't see nothin' more. I tellyou, I kept awake after that."
"You must have opened the door unconsciously, while half-asleep, anddreamed 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. Awoman 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 happenedright after," he declared. "In the big explosion at Loosburg, whenover four hundred miners were killed, it was found out, after, thatone o' the miners was a woman who had dressed herself in men'sclothes an' was pickin' coal. But what was it your father saw, Anton?"
"It happened right when the visiting party was in the mine," the boyexplained. "It was in one of the main galleries, which was stronglytimbered. A prop, which had been standing firmly for ever so manyyears, suddenly crumbled into splinters and the roof fell on thewoman, hurting her so badly that she died soon after she was taken tothe top.
"Just after the roof fell, so Father said, he and all the rest of theminers saw a band of knockers gathered around the pile of fallen roofand pointing at the figure of the woman crushed beneath. He said theknockers were laughing so loudly that some of the miners heard theechoes 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 founda sympathetic listener. "I've never seen 'em myself, but there'splenty that have. In a mine where I used to work, in Belgium, therewas a man who could see 'em as plain as I see you or Anton. That washis job, and he was paid handsomely, too.
"He could walk through a gallery, either in a workin' or an abandonedmine, 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 gassprites himself an' give warnin' where men had better not go. Hedidn't have to carry a safety lamp, nor chemical apparatus, nor cagesof mice an' canaries, the way folks do, now. He just walked into themine an' saw the sprites. He was friendly to 'em, an' they never didhim no harm."
"What were they like, Otto?" queried Anton.
"Shadows o' women," the old man replied promptly. "Fire damp, thisdiviner used to say, looked like a figure veiled in red, black dampwas veiled in black wi' white edges, white damp was bluish, an' stinkdamp was yellow. When the gas was faint, all he could see was just theglow o' the colors, very dim; but when the gas was strong then theshapes o' the women were bold an' clear.
"The gas sprites, bein' women, catch an' hold the young men an' thesingle men more easily than old an' married miners. You don't denythat single men are more often killed by damps than married men, doyou, Clem?"
The young miner looked uncomfortable at the question.
"That's a general belief, and statistics seem to back it up," headmitted. "But I don't see that it has anything to do with your goblinideas, Otto. It's just because the single men, generally, are theyoungest, and they haven't become as immune to the poisonous gases ofthe mine as men who have been working below ground all their lives."
"You can explain away anything, if you have a mind to," Otto retortedscornfully. "But as long as men are workin' below ground, there'sgoin' to be knockers an' sprites o' the damps, an' miners is goin' tobe killed.
Me, I've escaped. Why? Because I'm chock-full o' sciencean' modern ideas? Not a bit of it! I get along because I know what thespirits o' the mine expect, an' I give it to 'em. Right now, I'm theoldest 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 youastray. The 'damps' are just various kinds of gases coming out of thecoal, and the way to fight them is to keep a strong current of airgoing through the mine."
"How do they come out o' the coal, if you know so much?" questionedOtto, 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 believewhich o' the two he pleases."
"Well, it's something this way," Clem began, casting about in his mindfor 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 than21 per cent. of oxygen and a little more than 78 per cent. ofnitrogen. The rest of it is a mixture of carbon and oxygen which thebooks call carbon dioxide or black damp, with some other rare gasesbeside.
"Now, all animals, including man, depend for their life on the oxygenin 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 areused, because the flame of a lamp goes out when there's less than 17per cent. oxygen. Even at 19 per cent., a lamp will burn so dimly asto warn of danger. The nitrogen in the air is inert, that is, it doesneither 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 comein!
"Now, when pure air comes down a coal shaft, a lot of changes happento it. Some of the oxygen is consumed by the breathing of the men andanimals in the mine--if there are any donkeys or such--some is takenup by the burning of lamps, some more by the explosion of blastingpowder, a little is lost by the rusting of iron pyrites--which isfound 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 minerremarked sarcastically. "But you're talkin' about dry air, an' the airin most mines is moist."
"Quite right," Clem agreed. "It has to be. Mine air is made moist, onpurpose, especially in winter."
"It is?" Otto's voice expressed unqualified astonishment.
"It certainly is! In most coal-mines--this one, for instance--all theair that passes down the intake shaft is moistened by a spray of mixedwater 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 aboveground is a lot colder than the air in the mine. Cold air can't holdas 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 tocome in contact.
"What happens in a mine, in such a case? Why, as the cold air fromabove passes through the galleries of a mine, it gets warmed up. As itwarms up, it draws out from the roofs, the ribs, and the floors allthe water that there is to draw, and makes the mine dead dry. Whencoal 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 thatthe smallest flame--even a spark from the stroke of a pick--will setthe whole mine ablaze."
"I don't see that," interrupted Anton. "If dust is so bad, why do thebosses hang boards from all the gallery roofs and pile them high withdust?"
"Because the dust in those piles is stone dust, my boy," the youngfellow explained. "When an explosion happens, it drives a big blast ofair in front of it, so strong, sometimes, as to knock a man down. Theblast of air blows all the stone dust from those boards and fills theair chock-full of it.
"This stone dust, usually made from crushed limestone or crushedshale, won't burn. The flame of the explosion can't pass through andthe 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 terrificforce, is choked back by this dense cloud of rock-dust, and, as youknow, all coal mines have more or less methane gas."
"They don't, either," contradicted Otto. "I've worked in mines foryears at a time an' never seen the 'cap' on the flame of thesafety-lamp, tellin' there's fire damp there."
"You may not have seen it, but there was gas there, just the same. Asfor the cap-flame you're talking about, Otto, I'll admit that it's thesurest way of telling when there's so much fire-damp that the mine isgetting dangerous. But it's a risky test, just the same. You can't seethe little cap of methane gas flame burning above the oil flame of thelamp until there's 2 per cent. of gas in the air of the mine, and alittle 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 thesafety-lamp."
"But if the gas is already burning inside, why doesn't it explodeoutside?"
"Just because it's a safety-lamp, my boy. That's why the flame burnsinside a wire gauze. I'll explain that.
"Suppose you take a lamp with a hot flame--an alcohol or spirit lampwill do--and light it. Then hold a piece of close-meshed wire gauzeright on the flame. You'll find that the flame will spread under thewire gauze but will not go through. Hold it long enough, though, untilthe wire gets red hot, and, quite suddenly, the flame will passthrough and burn above the gauze as well as below.
"Try another trick. Put out the lamp and then hold the gauze justwhere it was before. You can light the flame above the wire but itwill not pass below the gauze until the wire gets red-hot. That showsthat gas which is not burning can pass through a wire gauze, but thatgas 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 acylinder of wire gauze, the gas of fire-damp can go through, and, ifthere's enough of it to burn, it will burn above the flame of thelamp, making an aureole or 'cap' just as Otto says. But the flaminggas can't get back through the wire gauze to set fire to the fire-dampoutside, at least, not until the wire gets red-hot, which it's notlikely 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 asafety-lamp is drawn down until it shows only a small yellow tip. Ifthere's any fire-damp in the air, a light-blue halo appears over theyellow flame. At a little more than 1 per cent., an experienced mancan judge that there is gas there, but the true 'cap,' which ispointed like a cone, doesn't show until there's 2 per cent. of thegas. At 3 per cent., the cap will be like a dunce's cap, and more thanhalf an inch high. At 4 per cent., it will be over an inch high, andat 4-1/2 per cent. it'll form a column of blue flame. Then it's hightime to get out of the mine, and to get out quickly.
"In the improved form of safety-lamps, the oil flame burns inside aglass, but the air which reaches the flame has to pass through twocylinders of wire gauze. The glass keeps the flame from ever touchingthe innermost gauze, and, if an accident happens--such as the breakingof the glass--it would still be fairly safe, for the burning gasinside wouldn't pass through the inner gauze until that got red-hot,and it wouldn't reach the outer gauze because the current of airpassing down between the two layers of wire mesh would keep the outergauze cool. This safety-lamp was invented by Sir Humphry Davy, inEngland, in 1815, just after a big explosion in an English collieryhad cost hundreds of lives. All mines nowadays require that miners useeither safety-lamps or electric lamps, and it's every miner'sbusiness to report to the boss when he sees a cap of burning gasinside his safety-lamp."
The old miner nodded his head in agreement.
"I won't use an electric lamp," he commented. "It's foolishness. Theg
as sprites ain't really malicious. They're willin' enough to give awarnin'. They'll put a cap on a flame if they don't want folks in thatpart of the mine. An electric lamp tells nothin'. It won't even give awarnin' against black damp."
"Perfectly true," Clem agreed. "With an oil safety-lamp, the flamegets dim or even goes out if there's too much black damp. The electriclamp burns on, just the same, because the light is in a vacuum. Blackdamp isn't so dangerous as fire damp, though. It only causes distressand hard breathing because it shows that there's too big a proportionof nitrogen and carbon dioxide in the air and not enough oxygen. It'soxygen that a man misses."
"But black damp'll explode, too," put in Otto.
"No," the other corrected, "it won't. But it often happens thatthere's fire-damp around when black damp is present and the black dampmakes a test for gas difficult. It's the gas that explodes, not theblack 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 theworst 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 mancommented, 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 asafety-lamp gettin' a little longer an' brighter."
"It's not safe to trust it," the young fellow advised. "You'd havetrouble seeing 2 per cent, of white damp, and you'd be dead before youhad much chance to look. Even with 1-1/2 per cent., a man would belikely 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 hourwould put a man in such a state that he mightn't recover, and hewouldn't have had any warning.
"Luckily, there's much less danger of white damp in mines than thereused to be. It's a gas that's formed only when there's been somethingburning. After an explosion in a mine, or a fire, there's sure to bea 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 ofit, on the other side."
"You wouldn't now," was the reply. "The white damp of those days wasdue 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, "theybrought down more coal an' didn't smash it up so bad."
"They smashed up men, instead," Clem retorted. "And they put a wholelot of white damp into a mine. That was really dangerous, because, inthose days, people hadn't found out the value of canaries."
"I've often wondered about that," interjected Anton. "Why do thetesting-parties carry canaries?"
"Because," answered Clem, with a smile, "canaries are as clever atseeing the gas sprites as was the Belgian diviner that Otto talksabout. No, but seriously," he went on, "the reason is that canariesare extremely susceptible to white damp. Less than 1/4 of one percent of white damp will cause a canary to collapse at once, and a mancould breath that proportion for an hour without much harm. Even atenth of one per cent. will cause the little bird to show signs ofdistress."
"It's tough on the bird," was Anton's sympathetic comment.
"Not especially! As soon as a bird begins to show collapse, it istaken back to the open air and is as frisky and lively as ever in fiveminutes. But its value as a warning signal is enormous, for it tellsrescue parties or investigating parties when to put on gas masks orbreathing 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, afellow is warned away, because of the smell--which is just like rotteneggs. The worst part of stink damp is that it smells the worst whenthere's only a little of it. When there's so much of it around as tobe deadly, it doesn't smell any worse. You get small quantities of it,sometimes, in blasting, but generally hydrogen sulphide or stink dampis found after a mine fire or an explosion. Rescue parties generallycarry 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 amouse sprawl on his belly, his legs don't seem strong enough to holdhim 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 downinto the workings to put the fire out. Water absorbs stink damp veryeasily and gives it up equally easily when stirred. So, if a member ofa rescue party puts his foot in a puddle of water where there has beenstink damp around, so much of the gas may suddenly come up in his faceas to topple him over.
"But you can see, Anton, that most of the gas troubles in a mine comefrom the blasting. That's why, nowadays, the miners who get out thecoal seldom or never fire the shots. Experienced men, trainedespecially for that work, are used. After a miner has undercut thecoal, 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 incase 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 orforty yards away from the face where the coal is being cut--andprepares the charge with a detonater which he carries in a box overhis shoulder. The miner never touches either the explosive or thedetonater. Then the shot-firer puts the primed charge in the hole,jams the hole full of clay with a wooden tamper--a steel bar mightcause a spark and a premature explosion--tests for gas again, connectsthe electric wires from a portable battery around the rib corner,fires the shot, returns to the face and tests for gas again. Then, andnot until then, does the miner begin to dig the coal. That way, everyone in the mine is safe."
"Yes," growled the old miner, "and the shot-firer doesn't dig anycoal, nor do any hard work, an' gets paid more'n we do."
"He knows more than you do," Clem responded, "and he gets better paybecause his experience and prudence is worth a lot of money to themine. Just think what an explosion costs--to say nothing of the riskof lives being lost! And you won't find experienced shot-firers ormine-managers talking about gas sprites, Otto!"
"Better for 'em if they did!" the old man warned. "For I'm sayin' toyou again, what I said before--the spirits o' the mine is gettin'hungry for blood!"