Part 70

One of the principal sights in the mines is the Infernal Lake, a body of water seven or eight hundred feet long, some four hundred broad, and fifty deep. Above and around it is a vast cavern, that might be the abode of the gnomes and goblins once supposed to inhabit the inner parts of the earth. The atmosphere of the place is oppressive, and its every suggestion superlatively dismal. It is infernal in seeming as well as in name; and if the Hahnemannic principle be true, that “like cures like,” melancholy spirits, after a visit there, would be converted to cheerfulness and content. The deep gloom of the vault at once prompted the benefit it would derive from fireworks; and so I sent a number of serpents whizzing through the thick air, and ignited blue and red lights, until I had wrought a perfect transformation. The scene was strikingly theatrical, only far more vivid and impressive than anything could be on the stage. If I had heard a chorus of imps, or had seen blue, yellow, and green devils, of the most improved spectacular pattern, dancing in horrid measures on empty space, I do not think I should have been surprised. Assuredly there could be no evil spirits anywhere if they were not there. Never could they find a more inviting region for the display of their malignity, or a more attractive rendezvous for the perfection of their schemes against the human kind.

A boat was ready for our embarkation upon the inky bosom of the lake, and we rowed out upon it with our gleaming torches, and our voices returning to us in the dreariest echoes. I was still thinking of the charms of the demons, when, of a sudden, the strongest and wildest sounds burst from the cavern. I strained my eyes, but in the thickness of the darkness I could descry no forms.

Groans, and shrieks, and horrid laughter rose, and reverberated through the vault, until—had I been the least superstitious—I should have become convinced that I had reached the Orthodox Tophet at last. The sounds were as weird as mysterious; but I concluded that it must be part of the exhibition, for which I was expected to pay at the usual rate, and I soon discovered that I was right.

[Sidenote: THE INFERNAL LAKE.]

It is the habit of the workmen, when strangers make a visit to the Infernal Lake, to go out in boats, distribute themselves at different points, and set up this diabolical yelling, that a proper impression may be made upon the visitors. That they acquitted themselves handsomely of their task I can testify; for a more discordant and abominable sound it has never been my fortune to hear.

The howls of the miners finally lessened in volume,—probably from exhaustion,—and I could distinguish, at the end of the wild refrain, the words “_Gluck Auf! Gluck Auf!_” (Welcome! Welcome!) There was something singularly sardonic in the idea of being welcomed to that dreary depth. Such a welcome the demons of the fabled Pit would extend, I should suppose, to the doomed and damned. The effect of the cheery words was more dispiriting than if they had been of evil omen.

While we were rowing grimly about on the lake, “_Gluck Auf_” assumed a fiery form in letters of flame, about a hundred feet in front of us. This seemed to be done by magic; but a little reflection taught me that lamps must have been hung in the shape of an arch over a narrow part of the cave, and that, while we were otherwise occupied, the workmen had lighted the lamps. The very moment the illumination was made, the harsh chorus began again, louder and more lugubrious than ever. I set off the last of my stock of fireworks, and amid the sulphurous blaze and the infernal din we floated back to the shore, when I was informed that the entertainment was over.

[Sidenote: CHORUS OF DEMONS.]

In a few minutes the chorus of demons appeared in the shape of hard-featured, muscular, ill-looking miners, asking for kreuzers, in consideration of the efficient aid they had lent to the depressing performance. As I have said, I was well supplied, and I could play the part of My Lord Bountiful with very little expense. Three or four kreuzers were enough to make the stolid faces of the miners brighten as if they had fallen into the possession of pecuniary independence. What they could purchase with such a trifle, I could not comprehend, for I felt that I should be no better off, in my own judgment, with fifty times the amount I had bestowed as gratuities upon the gnomes of Wieliczka.

My two guides denounced the begging unfortunates for their mercenary conduct in a vile Polish _patois_, which must have consisted chiefly of curses. I am sure they mentioned mercenary conduct, which must have been an ironical expression, since none of the wretches, in asking for _trinkgeld_, received, at the highest, more than four or five cents. The rebuke reminded me of the familiar instance of the parsimonious father who handed his boy a penny, accompanied by the precaution that he should not make a beast of himself, or of the over-thrifty husband, who, having been asked for a little money by his wife, wished to know what had become of the dollar and a half he had given her a month before.

[Sidenote: STOLIDITY OF THE MINERS.]

The majority of the miners are Poles, unable either to read or write, to whom labor in the mines has been an inheritance—their sole one, indeed. Many of them have never been five miles from home, nor do they expect to be. They are rooted to the spot by the necessity of toil and their narrow circumstances. Some of the workmen are Austrians, and they are usually more intelligent, or rather less ignorant, than the others. After a few years of service, they often leave Wieliczka, seek a larger field of labor and a better kind of employment. But the Poles, possessing a certain kind of stupid contentment, appear to have no ambition, and no future. I ascribe this partially to their loss of nationality, than which no greater calamity can befall a people. It robs them of their individuality, impairs their energy, and depreciates their self-esteem. They feel that they are deprived of what they have a right to enjoy, and that they are likely to be despised for a misfortune for which they are not directly responsible.

Nearly all the miners reveal in their features and expression the hard fate that has attended them. They have all the marks of undevelopment, all the traces of an animal and undisciplined nature. Mind, in the strict sense, is omitted in their composition. They are merely machines of flesh and blood, obeying physical instincts, and impelled by the law of self-preservation.

Years ago, the Austrian government used to condemn political prisoners to a term of service in the mines, sometimes extending through life; but of late this practice has been abandoned, and now all who work are regularly paid, and free to go or stay, as they like.

Going out of the mines, I followed almost the same course that I had coming in. Altogether I spent some six hours under ground, and might have spent weeks there, had I been inclined to exercise, since the combined length of its excavations and passages is said to exceed three hundred miles.

Accidents are uncommon in the mines, not averaging more than thirty a year, and few of these are fatal. They occur either from falls, or from being run over by the cars drawn to and fro by horses. These cars run on tracks from the place where the salt is dug out, to the mouth of the shaft, and thence the salt is drawn up by machinery to the surface of the earth. I had made my entrance through the parts that had been excavated and abandoned, that way having been selected to give me a clear idea of the progress of the work, and the gradual deepening of the mines. I observed afterwards, at the lower levels, where hundreds of men were actively employed, how the salt was thrown into the cars, and then carried by the railway to the principal shafts.

Wieliczka is impregnated with tales and traditions, natural and supernatural. Of the latter the peasants relate many, and believe them sincerely.

[Sidenote: THE MIRACULOUS SIGN.]

One of these is, that a miner, who had been sent to Cracow, found, on his return, an image of the Virgin, which, as the narrative runs, had been stolen by the devil from the cathedral of that city, and dropped by the wayside; St. Paul, or some other saint, having detected the theft, started in pursuit of the diabolical thief. A poor workman picked up the image, which was of wood, and knowing it to be sacred, carried it back to the church in the midst of a storm. When he had reached the edifice, summoned the priest, and given it into the holy man’s hands, the inanimate image suddenly shone with celestial light, sped through the air, and took its accustomed place at the altar. The awe-struck priest and peasant fell upon their knees in prayer, and when the latter arose, there was an illuminated cross on his forehead. By inspiration he understood that whenever this symbol was visible, it was to indicate good fortune; and going back to the mines, the cross proved to be very beneficial in pointing out the richest veins of salt. The man walked under ground, and whenever his forehead kindled with the divine token, it was a certain sign that the spot on which he stood would yield richly. He received handsome presents, and numerous sums of money from the government, and so excited the envy of his former fellow-workmen, that they entered his cabin one night, and knocked out his brains. His murderers disappeared mysteriously the next day, and it was supposed, in the Galician village, that they were carried off by demons.

The image in the cathedral was heard to wail at the time the crime was committed, which was probably intended as a warning, though it did not do any good to the victim, at least in this world, however much it may have benefited him in the next.

I cannot see the moral of this monkish story, unless it be that persons who find things should not return them. If the miner had taken the image home, and split into kindling-wood, he might have lived much longer, and died peaceably in bed at a ripe old age.

[Sidenote: STORY OF A POLISH REBEL.]

During one of the periodic Polish revolutions in Warsaw, a prominent nobleman, resident in the city, and the leader of the insurrection, had volunteered to proceed to St. Petersburg, and assassinate the czar. The government spies detected the plot before it was mature, and went to the dwelling of the Polish conspirator to arrest him. He had been apprised of the discovery, and knowing that he would instantly be executed, he had been wise enough to flee from the town. He was sought for everywhere, for the authorities considered him extremely dangerous, and felt confident, from his character, that the emperor would not be safe while the desperate noble lived. All the subtle detective machinery of Russia was set in motion to hunt up the fugitive Pole, but all to no purpose; and the emissaries of the government, after a year of unexampled activity, abandoned further effort. Potzoporousky, the name of the arch rebel, feeling that he would not be secure anywhere on the surface of the continent, conceived the happy idea of going below it. He proceeded in disguise to Wieliczka, claimed to be a native of Vienna, and was hired as a miner, at thirty kreuzers a day. He labored most faithfully, and was considered an excellent workman, strangely preferring, as was thought, to remain in the mines, even when he might have been enjoying the sunlight. Nobody ever dreamed of looking for Potzoporousky a thousand feet under ground; and there he remained for fifteen months. Then he applied for his last week’s pay, saying he had met with an injury that would prevent him from working for a little while, hurried to Vienna, thence to Constantinople, and finally to Smyrna. There he resumed his correspondence with some of the former conspirators, and had perfected a plan for a new revolution, when he was seized with cholera, and died.

[Sidenote: MURDER OF A SUPERINTENDENT.]

During the latter part of the eighteenth century, a scientist of Radour was implicated in a conspiracy to defraud the Russian government of several millions of roubles by means of forged army orders, and sentenced to ten years’ exile in Siberia. He asked, as a special favor, that he might be sent, instead, to Wieliczka, where, he affirmed, his scientific knowledge would be of use in separating the green salt from the clay, with which the directors of the mines were then having considerable trouble. Prompted by interest, the government granted his request, and, the fifth day after he had entered upon the service, he induced one of the superintendents to visit a new passage in process of excavation, crushed his skull with a lump of rock salt, put on his garments, and escaped. He had always been regarded as a purely intellectual man, absorbed in his studies, and his deliberate taking of another man’s life only shows how sweet liberty is to all of us, and of what desperate deeds we may be guilty to regain the freedom we have lost.

From 1825 to 1851, one of the most vigorous and enduring miners was Johann Gerbreitz, a German, who, in all that time, is said never to have missed a single day’s work. He was a great favorite, on account of his kindness of heart and uniform good temper, especially with the women of the village, who, whether young or old, manifested a great deal of fondness for him. When in his thirtieth year he married Elisa Dosbrinski, a cobbler’s daughter, regarded as one of the prettiest girls in the town. They lived together so very happily that they were considered a model pair. They were never known to have even those slight differences which are not uncommon to the most sympathetic and harmonious couples. They seemed wholly devoted to each other, and though Johann had been something of a flirt before he became a Benedick, nothing of the kind could be charged upon him afterwards. Everybody declared he was a manly and noble fellow, and that his serenity could not be ruffled.

In his fortieth year a fragment of rock fell upon him, and killed him instantly. His wife was wild with grief at her bereavement, and all her neighbors lamented, sorely too, because Johann was a loss to the village that could not be supplied. The children of Wieliczka had learned to look for his smile, and little acts of kindness,—he was a Rip Van Winkle of Austria, without Rip’s infirmities,—and literally cried for him when he appeared in the streets.

[Sidenote: HOW A WOMAN KEPT A SECRET.]

After the poor fellow’s corpse had been brought to the stricken home, it was discovered, to the amazement of the whole town, that Johann was a woman; and it is to be presumed that he had never been anything else. The secret of his sex had been most carefully preserved, and it would never have been thought, from any outward indication, that it had been shared even by his spouse. This is an excellent proof, if proof were wanting, that women can keep a secret, and that there are some things which even the busybodies of a village cannot find out. The story of the man-woman Johann Gerbreitz is still told at Wieliczka, along with many other curious histories, of which specimens have already been given.

Like the great capitals, the mining town of Galicia has its comedies and tragedies, its lyrics and its epics, perhaps trifling in themselves, but of wondrous moment in its too partial eyes.

LXVII.

EXPLOSIONS IN MINES.

THICKNESS OF COAL SEAMS.—STUPIDITY OF A TURKISH MINING SUPERINTENDENT.—THE RESULT.—BLASTING IN MINES.—HOW IT IS DONE.—TERRIBLE ACCIDENTS.—MINES ON FIRE.—SCENES OF DEVASTATION.—EFFECT OF SUBTERRANEAN FIRE.—EXPLOSIONS OF FIRE-DAMP.—HORRIBLE ACCIDENTS.—STORIES OF SURVIVORS.—LOSS OF LIFE.—SCENE IN A WELSH MINE.—EXPLOSIONS IN ENGLISH AND AMERICAN MINES.—MODES OF RELIEF.—STORY OF TWO BROTHERS.—HOW THEY WERE SAVED.—THE SAFETY-LAMP.—ITS CONSTRUCTION.—THE FIRE-WALLS OF CHINA.—THE PENITENT AND CANNONEER.

After the shafts have been completed and the levels opened in the mines, the work may be said to be fairly under way. The seams of coal are of varied thickness. Sometimes, though rarely, there will be found a coal seam of thirty feet in depth, sometimes one of twenty, and so on down to two and three feet. A seam of three feet in thickness is considered a valuable discovery, and oftentimes the seams do not exceed twenty inches. In the deep coal seams the work is comparatively easy, as the space in the level can be hollowed out the full depth of the seam, and all that is necessary for supporting the roof is to leave a sufficient number of pillars standing.

There is a coal mine in Turkey where the seam is about ten feet thick. A superintendent, entirely ignorant of the business, was sent to take charge of the mine. On his first visit to the mine the men were below. He observed the pillars which were left to support the roof above. He gave one glance at them, and then turned to the workmen and said,—“Remove those blocks of coal instantly: this mine has not been worked properly.”

With that blind obedience peculiar to the Orientals, the men immediately knocked away the pillars, when down came the rock, killing half the men in the mine, and among them the stupid superintendent, who had ordered the removal of the supports.

[Sidenote: DANGERS IN A COAL SEAM.]

There are many dangers and difficulties to be encountered in opening a coal seam. The ordinary mode is to dig away the coal from the lower part of the seam, and allow the substance to fall down in large blocks. To perform this work the miner must lie on his side, frequently in a hot temperature, and in this position he digs away with his tools. It is not unusual for the coal to fall upon him, sometimes injuring him seriously, and sometimes killing him. In his work the miner is frequently stripped to his trousers and shoes, and sometimes he works entirely nude. The perspiration streams from his face and from his entire body, and he is unable to continue his labors for any extended period of time.

Sometimes the coal can be removed by means of tools, without the necessity of blasting, but very often it is necessary to employ the force of gunpowder. The rock is drilled, and then the charge must be placed in the hole. There is always more or less danger of premature ignition of a charge, and in consequence of such ignition, men are frequently killed.

The most dangerous place for blasting operations is in the shaft. The men can only retire after the charge is lighted, and when this is done it is imperatively necessary that they should be drawn up with all speed.

One day, at a mine in Pennsylvania where a shaft was being sunk, the men had lighted the fuse and given the signal to be drawn up. Somehow, just as the bucket was started, some of the machinery gave way, and the men remained at the bottom of the shaft. The fuse was slowly but steadily burning, and there was no time to be lost. One of the men jumped from the bucket and cut off the fuse when it had burned to such a point that another moment would have rendered the explosion inevitable.

A safer way than using the ordinary fuse, is to fire the charges by means of electricity. This method, however, is not always practicable, owing to the expense and the difficulty of employing it in small operations.

Nitro-glycerine, which was invented in 1847, has been found to possess many advantages over gunpowder, and the day is not far distant when it will be used for all blasting operations on an extensive scale.

[Sidenote: UNDERGROUND FIRES.]

The firing of gunpowder and nitro-glycerine is not the only source of danger which threatens the miners by fire. There is frequently in coal mines a spontaneous combustion, produced by the heating of fragments of coal from the decomposition of iron pyrites in contact with moisture. When the small coal of certain mines is left in heaps within the mines, they speedily undergo this decomposition, especially in a moist atmosphere, which is accompanied by a great development of heat.

In such cases walls of clay are built up to shut off the fire. When these are constructed perfectly tight, and the atmosphere is carefully excluded, the fire goes out; but for some time the temperature in these parts of the mine will be very great, and the miners find much difficulty in working there. The work of building up the walls in such a case is very serious. The walls become very hot, and men are frequently rendered insensible. Sometimes carbonic acid gas has been used to extinguish fires created in this way. The portable apparatus known as the Fire Extinguisher has frequently been found very useful.

Sometimes, however, it is impossible to extinguish these fires; and in such cases the place is abandoned. In this country, and in England and Scotland, there are mines now burning which have been on fire for several, and some of them for many, years. One mine in Scotland took fire nearly forty years ago, and is still burning. The ground is black, baked, and scorched. The trees, and grass, and all kinds of vegetation have died, and there is a general appearance of sterility throughout the region.

[Sidenote: EFFECT OF UNDERGROUND FIRES.]

In several instances, where a fire cannot be extinguished by closing the mines, it has been found useful to flood the works. In France, about twenty years ago, an entire river was turned into a burning mine, and allowed to flow through it for nearly three months. A mine in Pennsylvania took fire, and was filled with water, remaining so filled for nearly half a year before the fire went out.

At Brulé, St. Etienne, there is a coal mine which has been on fire nearly two hundred years. Hot vapors are constantly arising; sulphur, alum, and other natural productions are deposited, and one might suppose that it was the burning of the accursed cities formerly consumed by the fires of heaven and earth. An irreverent American, who visited this region, said that it looked like hell with the fires going out.

In the western part of England there was formerly a coal mine on fire. Snow melted as soon as it touched the ground. The gardens were very beautiful and fertile, and produced three crops in a year. Many hot-house plants were cultivated, and an eternal spring prevailed. It was the same principle, on a grand scale, by which plants are grown in hot-houses by running pipes of hot water through the ground. The people of this region imported tropical plants at a heavy cost, and cultivated them in the open air; but one day the fire went out; the place gradually resumed its usual temperature, and the tropical plants died.

[Sidenote: EXPLOSIONS OF FIRE-DAMP.]

In many coal mines there is great danger from what the miners call “fire-damp”—an inflammable gas produced from the coal. It is identical with the streams of natural gas, which burn readily, and not unlike the coal gas artificially produced in cities. Certain kinds of coal throw off this fire-damp in considerable quantities. The gas is a combination of hydrogen and carbon. Sometimes its presence is not noticed until an explosion, but in such cases the explosions are not very dangerous. Those who have been accustomed to this explosive material have received a vivid experience of underground life. No meteor, however terrible it may be supposed to be, can be compared to an explosion of fire-damp. A thunderbolt, a hurricane, a typhoon, a cyclone, or a whirlwind, is not more terrible in its effects than a fire-damp explosion. Imagine a discharge of a hundred cannon loaded with canister shot, the simultaneous explosion of a number of powder magazines, or the bursting of the boilers of a steam engine, and the effect will not be more terrible than an explosion of fire-damp in a coal mine.