Part 25

Several Americans ran all sorts of saws on the Englishman, and prophesied some terrible calamity at every step, saying they never would have thought of coming into the gloomy region unless they had expected that a fair proportion of the excursionists would be killed. Two of my countrymen insisted that they had made their wills before they had left their hotel, and a third averred that he had a vial of prussic acid and a revolver in his pocket for the express purpose of committing suicide, if he should be lost in the cavernous windings. He asked the Briton if he had not taken the same precaution, and pronounced him superlatively reckless because he had not, explaining the advantage of self-destruction over a lingering and horrible death. John Bull, remarkable to relate, had not the slightest suspicion that the “Yankees” were poking fun at him. On the contrary, he regarded all their jests as solemnly sincere, and asserted that it was exactly like our nation never to enjoy anything that was not accompanied by a bloody murder of some sort.

A young Italian, who was quite good-looking, and far more conscious of the fact than anybody else, endured martyrdom in the Catacombs from quite another cause. He was very carefully and daintily dressed, and appeared to consider dust or soil upon his clothes as a sovereign evil. He was the dandiest of dandies, and the most fastidious of fools. He looked rather blank, as I had noticed, when we first began the descent of the circular staircase in the Custom House garden. He was in advance, and before we had gone down a dozen steps, I observed a number of large drops falling from the blazing tapers above him upon his new hat and coat. Some kind friend pointed these out to him, and he actually turned pale with wrath and chagrin.

[Sidenote: INCONVENIENCES OF A VISIT.]

“Who could have done this? Such conduct is disgraceful! I did not come here to have my clothes ruined. I wish the Catacombs were in the bottomless pit.” These and other phrases he ejaculated in choice Tuscan, which very few understood, but which those who did understand enjoyed not a little. After the marring of his wardrobe, there could be no pleasure for him. If he had been shown all the wonders of the world, he could not have forgotten his tarnished garments. His misfortunes followed him. The water dropped through the crevices upon his august person, and as he was unusually tall, he crushed his hat every few minutes against the overhanging rock, which struck oaths out of him as steel strikes fire out of flint. I fancied sometimes that he envied the skeletons he passed, because they had no clothes to spoil. Long before he had finished his underground journey, his beauty of person and raiment was sadly injured, and I am confident that he will remember the Catacombs, and curse them for the harm they did his garments, till the end of his days.

[Sidenote: INQUISITIVENESS OF AN AMERICAN.]

A native of Maine entertained us by inquiring constantly of the guide, who could not speak a word of English, while the New Englander had not the least knowledge of French, in regard to the probable cost of the Catacombs, and whether they paid as an investment. He was very desirous to know, also, whose skull this one might be, and whose that, evidently under the impression that all the monarchs and historic characters of France were buried there. Our guide, too polite not to pretend to comprehend the inquisitive fellow, gabbled away in bewildering generalities. The Maine man asseverated again and again, that he would give five dollars to know what the Frenchman said; and therefore I assumed to tell him. I informed him, though the Catacombs had cost five hundred millions of dollars, that they paid a larger interest than any property in the country; that they were owned by the Rothschilds, who received one hundred dollars from the government for every skull put into the vaults; and that, as there were six millions of them, he could calculate the profits. “By thunder!” he replied; “no wonder those old Jews are so rich. I never knew before how they made all their money. I wonder if a chap couldn’t buy a little Catacomb stock.”

That mighty charnel-house is not without its tragic history. A number of persons have been lost there in spite of all the precautions against accidents; but these have been very rare of late, because so few persons could obtain admission.

A few years ago, a newly-married couple arrived in Paris from the provinces, having gone to the city on their bridal tour. It was their first visit to the capital, and they were naturally desirous to see its lions. The bride had heard a great deal of the Catacombs, and would not be satisfied without exploring them, albeit her husband endeavored to dissuade her from such a dismal enterprise. She was bent on going, and so they went together. He kept close to her side, constantly fearing she might be lost. He admitted that he had a presentiment respecting her, and sure enough it was realized.

[Sidenote: AN UNHAPPY HONEYMOON.]

They had been in the Catacombs something more than an hour, when, having stopped to examine a curious skull, he called for her to look at it, and discovered, to his horror, that she was missing. There were nearly two hundred in the party, and nobody had observed when or where she had disappeared. They all retraced their steps, entered the adjoining passages, and shouted themselves hoarse to attract her attention; but all in vain. Not the least vestige of her could be discovered. The bridegroom was beside himself with grief, declaring that he knew she would never be found, and calling upon the rocks to fall, and relieve him of his misery. It became necessary to drag him from the sepulchral vault, and when this was done, he proved to be a raving maniac. He was sent to an asylum, where such was the violence of his paroxysms night and day, that he died of exhaustion in less than a fortnight. Diligent search was made for the missing bride, though to no purpose. Not the slightest clew was obtained to her fate, and it was finally conjectured that she must have wandered into some tortuous avenue, and fallen into one of the pits which I have described. Such was the melancholy ending of a honeymoon before it had fairly begun.

Another couple, who had been married a number of years, and who had long lived so inharmoniously that they had gone apart several times, entered the Catacombs in the spring of 1853. The wife was missing when the party came out,—it is always the custom to count the number at the beginning and end of the journey, so as to see that none are lost,—and the husband asserted that he had seen her only a few seconds before. Still, she could not be found on that day or the next; but about a fortnight after, a body answering to her description was discovered in one of the narrow passages into which excursionists are never taken. She had evidently been dead some time, and a deep wound on her temple indicated that she might have perished from violence. Her husband was not free from suspicion of having murdered her; but as she might have been so injured by a fall, he was never openly accused of the crime. The story was generally circulated, and the anti-matrimonial jesters of the capital insinuated that more than a thousand unhappy husbands immediately applied for permission to make the subterranean tour with their wives, in the hope that they might be as fortunate as the ungrieving widower.

[Sidenote: IMPRISONED FOR THREE HOURS.]

Walking one day on the Boulevards, my companion pointed out to me a well-dressed man, who had a certain prematurely old look, and whose hair was perfectly white. I was told he was only thirty-five, and that, five years before, he had gone into the Catacombs with a young lady to whom he was engaged, and had hidden himself away from the sepulchral pilgrims for a few minutes, that he might learn how his supposed loss would affect his betrothed. He hid himself so very effectually, that three hours elapsed before he could be found. He had in that time entirely surrendered all hope of release, and the physical changes of years had fallen upon him. He has often described his sensations during those hours, and has represented them as the most terrible he could conceive of. (I can imagine, yes, even understand, what they must have been by my own experience.) The revolution in his mental was as great as the revolution in his physical nature; and after his distressing sensations, all his freshness and buoyancy of feeling departed. With a strange morbidity, he associated the young lady on whom he had wished to try the sentimental experiment with the agony he had endured, and though she was as wretched as any woman ought to be when he was missed, he broke off his engagement, and refused to see her again after that eventful day. The gentleman may be living still; for, in spite of appearances, he had an excellent constitution and vigorous health. He was in good circumstances, and went to dine regularly at the _Café Anglais_, where he had told his story so often, that he had received the name of “Catacombes” Beaudinet. Nothing remarkable except that had ever happened to him, and as he was a Frenchman, and fond of prattle, his one adventure filled him, and rendered him a bore of the first water.

[Sidenote: A MANIA FOR SUICIDE.]

As is well known, the French not only have a passion for suicide, but a passion for committing it at certain places, and in certain ways, that seems to be contagious. Forty years ago, a young journalist, while exploring the Catacombs in company with many of his acquaintances, naturally fell to talking on the subject of death, and expressed his opinion that there was nothing awful in it, or even unwelcome. Some of his friends rallied him on this position, and told him he would think very differently if he were conscious that death was near at hand. He stoutly denied that it would change his sentiments in the least, and when nobody appeared to believe him, he suddenly drew a small knife from his pocket, and before any one was aware of his intention, he thrust it into his heart. His suicide, in such a place too, filled his friends with horror, and the press, as he had been a member of the guild, gave detailed accounts of the tragedy, accompanied by strange theories and analyses of the causes that must have led to it. For several weeks, the Paris journals were full of communications on the subject; and they so aroused public attention and curiosity, that in less than six months nearly twenty men stabbed themselves to death in the Catacombs—all of them unquestionably the effect of example.

The Catacombs are the reverse side of the fair picture of Paris. Never since my journey through them have I been able to forget that they lie black and yawning under some of the most beautiful quarters of the capital. When the sunshine is brightest along the Seine, I think of the darkness below. When the city smiles fairest, I recall the millions of grinning skeletons underneath. When the music from the gardens, and the concerts, and the operas sounds sweetest, I fancy mingling among the strains a mournful dirge for the departed and forgotten, so confusedly heaped together in the awful dreariness of the Catacombs.

XXII.

PETROLEUM.

OIL SPRINGS.—THE FIRE FIELD OF THE CASPIAN.—THE FIRE WORSHIPPERS.—THE RANGOON DISTRICT.—FIRE WELLS OF THE EAST.—PETROLEUM IN AMERICA.—ITS DISCOVERY AND HISTORY.—OIL FEVER.—ANECDOTES OF SPECULATION.—FORTUNES WON AND LOST.—EXTRAVAGANCES OF THE NOUVEAU RICHE.—THE STORY OF JOHN.—HOW TO GET UP A PARTY.

In various parts of the world there are springs, or natural sources, of inflammable oil. Some of these have been known for thousands of years, but most of them are of recent discovery. The oil which flows from these springs is generally known as “petroleum,” the word being of Latin origin, and signifying rock oil. The most productive oil springs are of artificial origin, and are made by boring into the earth, or rock, in certain localities. The most famous natural deposit of this substance, or anything akin to it, on the surface of the earth, is in the Island of Trinidad, in the West Indies, where it forms a lake of asphaltum and petroleum, which is called Tar Lake. This material is a very good substitute for pitch, and is extensively used for coating vessels, and preserving their timber.

A gentleman who has visited this lake says that it is about a mile from the sea-shore, and the distance around it is about a mile and a half. Near the shore the tar is solid, and appears as if it had cooled, when the liquid was boiling, in large bubbles. As one goes from the shore to the middle of the lake, the temperature increases, the matter becomes softer, and in the centre it boils steadily. At a distance, when first seen, it resembles a lake of water; but when one approaches it, it appears like glass. A strong odor of sulphur arises from it, and can be detected at a distance of eight or ten miles. There is a bed of coal under the lake. It is of bituminous character, and makes a thick smoke when burning.

[Sidenote: THE SACRED FIRE WELLS.]

The largest supplies of petroleum are obtained in America. Throughout Europe and Asia there are many petroleum wells. One of the most celebrated localities where they are found is the eastern shore of the Caspian Sea. At Baku, on the shores of the Caspian, there are many springs of naphtha and petroleum, and a great many streams of inflammable gases. The abundance of these wells caused the region to be called The Field of Fire; and in the ancient times Baku was known as the Sacred City of the Fire Worshippers. The annual value of this production is about half a million of dollars. About fifteen miles from Baku there is a jet of inflammable gas rising from the rock, and known as the Perpetual Fire. A temple has been built over it, and the fire has been burning for hundreds of years. Pilgrims come from all parts of Asia to visit this sacred well. The place is in charge of a large priesthood, who are supported by the gifts of the devotees.

Another region, quite as wonderful as that of Baku, is the Rangoon district, in India; and a considerable portion of India has been, for thousands of years, supplied by it with rock oil. One authority says, that the number of wells in that district is nearly six hundred, yielding half a million hogsheads of oil annually. Most of the Rangoon wells are artificial, and are sunk in beds of sandy clay, resting on the sandstone, but the wells rarely exceed a hundred feet in depth.

Some parts of Africa are known to contain petroleum springs, and there are many of these springs throughout China and various other regions of the East; Australia and New Zealand claim their share, and it is probable that every country on the globe could, by means of proper borings, be made to yield petroleum.

[Sidenote: SENECA OIL AS A MEDICINE.]

As before stated, America is the great petroleum-producing country of the world. Rock oil is found in various parts of the American continent, from Hudson’s Bay to the Gulf of Mexico, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean. The most prolific oil region in America is in Western Pennsylvania, and millions of dollars’ worth of petroleum have been obtained there. Thousands of men have made fortunes in petroleum, and a great many have made fortunes in it the wrong way. The early settlers of that region were well aware of the existence of petroleum, having obtained their knowledge of it from the Indians. The Indians used to collect the oil on the shore of Seneca Lake, and it was sold as a medicine, in small quantities, under the name of Seneca Oil. A stream in Alleghany County, New York, was named Oil Creek, on account of the petroleum floating on its surface, and the same name was given to another stream in Venango County, Pennsylvania. On the old maps of that region several localities were marked as affording oil, but it is only within the past thirty years that the oil product has been of any importance.

The substance, as before stated, was used as a medicine, and the inhabitants collected it by spreading blankets on the surface of the stream, and then wringing out the oil which they absorbed. There are indications that the oils were collected long ago, as several deep and very old pits have been discovered. Some people attribute the construction of these pits to the early French settlers, some to the Indians, and some to the predecessors of the Indians. A history of Pennsylvania, published thirty years ago, says that the Indians used the oil to mix with paint in dressing themselves, and refers to an old letter, written by the commander of Fort Duquesne to General Montcalm, describing an assembly of Indians at night on the banks of the creek; and in the midst of their ceremonies they set fire to the oil on the surface of the water. As the flames burst out, the Indians gave wild shouts, which recalled to the writer many of the ceremonies of the ancient fire worshippers at Baku.

[Sidenote: BORING FOR SALT WATER.]

The early settlers did not collect great quantities of oil, probably not more than twenty-five or thirty barrels a year. In 1845 operations were being conducted for obtaining salt at a place above Pittsburg, on the Alleghany River. Several springs of petroleum were struck, but the value of the material was not known. In Ohio, over fifty years ago, borings were made for salt water. An account, descriptive of the work, said, “They have sunk two wells, which are now more than four hundred feet deep. One of them affords very strong and pure water, but not in great quantity. The other discharges such vast quantities of petroleum, or, as it is vulgarly called, Seneca oil, and besides is subject to such tremendous explosions of gas, as to force out all the water, and afford nothing but gas for several days. We make but little or no salt.”

This story of the ignorance of the value of petroleum and the disappointment of the salt-makers at finding springs of petroleum instead of salt water, reminds one of the account of the Irishman who complained of his trouble in shooting ducks: “I was not able to fire a shot,” said he. “Every time I got sight of a duck another one swam in between him and me, and I could not kill anything.”

The first movement for utilizing this vast oil product was made, in 1854, by two New Yorkers, who organized a company, and secured the right to a certain spring on Oil Creek; but they made no progress until three years later, when Messrs. Bowditch and Drake, of New Haven, undertook to search for oil. In the winter of 1858 and ‘9, Colonel E. S. Drake completed arrangements for boring into the rock below the bed of the creek. On the 26th of August, 1859, oil was found at a depth of seventy-one feet. The drills sank into a cavity in the rock, and the oil rose to the surface. By means of a pump, four hundred gallons were obtained per day, and a larger pump being introduced, the supply reached one thousand gallons daily. This was the beginning of the borings for oil in that region. Every spot where oil was found, or was likely to be found, was carefully examined, and a great many wells were put down. Up and down the banks of Oil Creek derricks were erected and wells were sunk, and in a year or two the banks of the stream looked as if their natural product had been derricks rather than trees. The ground was perforated like a sieve, and if the holes had been a few feet, instead of a few inches, in diameter, it would have been dangerous walking round there for fear of tumbling through. The original depth of seventy-one feet was found insufficient, and the borings were frequently conducted to a depth of several hundred feet. I believe one well was sunk over two thousand feet, and a great many wells exceeded a thousand. Many of them never produced oil, and the man who had risked his money to bore these wells saw it vanish without affording anything in return.

[Sidenote: FORTUNES WON AND LOST.]

A great many stories are told of fortunes made and lost in boring for oil. In some cases men just narrowly missed success, and in others they obtained their success by accident. A story is told of some men who had secured a locality and sunk their drills to a depth of nearly a thousand feet. All their money was gone, and they knew not where to obtain more. There were no indications of oil, their machinery was mortgaged, and the sheriff stood by to secure it. They were about to abandon work; it was near the close of the day, and they had no credit and no means to continue work on the following morning. One of the men proposed to quit about four o’clock in the afternoon. “No,” said the other; “let us die game, and put the machine through till sunset.”

He tore away a piece of the timber supporting the derrick, and threw it into the furnace to give additional speed to the engine. Just as the sun was beginning to dip behind the western hills, the drill suddenly sunk several feet. It was withdrawn from the rock, and a column of oil mixed with salt water followed it. They had “struck oil,” and were saved.

In another instance a company was formed, and had drilled a dozen wells, but without success. Their capital was nearly gone, and they were working on a well which, if unsuccessful, would prove their ruin. Just as they had expended almost their last dollar, and were within twenty-four hours of suspending, they found oil in abundant quantities, and were saved from ruin.

There are many instances of men searching for oil, boring their wells to a considerable depth, and abandoning them in consequence of the exhaustion of their money, and the discouraging prospects. After abandoning their work, others took possession of the places, and in a few days, sometimes in a few hours, opened wells of great value.

In the oil regions I was once told a story of two men who had been at work a long time, but could get no oil. Their money was exhausted, and they became discouraged. When they had expended their last dollar, and mortgaged everything, they stepped aside and made way for their creditors. As they surrendered their machinery, one of them said,—

“Let us clear out of this place, and go to work by the day until we can get enough to try it again.”

“Hold on,” said the other; “let us sit down and see these fellows work. We will stay a little while, and see if they get along as fast as we did.”

So the two men remained, mainly for the reason they did not know what else to do.

[Sidenote: A LUCKY STROKE.]

The new comers drilled away at the well, which was already several hundred feet deep, and in half an hour after they began working they found oil. When the tools were withdrawn, the well began flowing a hundred or more barrels per day. Imagine the disgust of the former owners!

It was the same in the oil regions with regard to disappointments that it has been in California and other countries containing mineral treasures. A case like the one just described is almost an exact parallel of a case in California, where two men, working a week or more on a claim where they hardly made money enough to pay their expenses, abandoned it in disgust. Two others stepped in, and on the very day they took possession, found a lump of gold worth several thousands of dollars. In another instance some Americans abandoned a claim, which was immediately occupied by half a dozen Chinese. The Chinese found a rich deposit of gold within six inches of where one of the Americans had abandoned the use of his pick and shovel.

[Sidenote: SALTING A WELL.]