DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.11287#0033
32
DEE NEUENHEIMEE.
shimmer of the coal, all this—accompanied by the ceaseless
drip, drip of trickling water, surrounded by a halo of darkness
just rendered visible by the yellow lamps—helps to form a
picture which Kipling would fail to describe, and Whistler
would have loved to paint. Seated in a diminutive waggon,
behind a still more diminutive pony, we jolt along a narrow
gallery, nowhere six feet high, and in places not a yard-and-
a-half wide. At various points we stop for a moment whilst
a string of loaded waggons comes clattering past within two
inches of where we sit, and we begin to calculate the chances
of our getting through without a collision. However the
workings are reached at last and we breathe more freely.
Here men, stripped to the waist, are undercutting the coal
with a view to bringing as much down as possible by the
firing of a shot. The charge is placed in position, the hole
plugged, a fuse laid and I volunteer to fire the train. The
men clear away their picks and shovels, and make their way
to the drift, whilst the fireman puts the finishing touches to
their preparations. By some chance or other the fuse burnt
at a furious pace and in the excitement of the moment I part
company with my fellow collier.
A dull roar, a light puff of air, and out goes my lamp.
I am in total darkness and on turning round to grope back to
the workings, I find my way blocked by a solid mass of coal.
Suddenly the truth flashes across me. In making my
way from the burning fuse I have run the wrong way;
instead of going towards the pit shaft I have gone in the
opposite direction and in Egyptian darkness, without food or
light. I am in solitary confinement till such time as I shall
be rescued by tbe willing workers on the other side of that
cruel wall of coal.
Erom what I had seen of the plans of the pit I knew that
I was in a gallery about half-a-mile long which led to other
workings. Slowly groping my way along, knocking my head
at every other step against the low roof I made my «y there,
hoping against hope that I should find some other men who
DEE NEUENHEIMEE.
shimmer of the coal, all this—accompanied by the ceaseless
drip, drip of trickling water, surrounded by a halo of darkness
just rendered visible by the yellow lamps—helps to form a
picture which Kipling would fail to describe, and Whistler
would have loved to paint. Seated in a diminutive waggon,
behind a still more diminutive pony, we jolt along a narrow
gallery, nowhere six feet high, and in places not a yard-and-
a-half wide. At various points we stop for a moment whilst
a string of loaded waggons comes clattering past within two
inches of where we sit, and we begin to calculate the chances
of our getting through without a collision. However the
workings are reached at last and we breathe more freely.
Here men, stripped to the waist, are undercutting the coal
with a view to bringing as much down as possible by the
firing of a shot. The charge is placed in position, the hole
plugged, a fuse laid and I volunteer to fire the train. The
men clear away their picks and shovels, and make their way
to the drift, whilst the fireman puts the finishing touches to
their preparations. By some chance or other the fuse burnt
at a furious pace and in the excitement of the moment I part
company with my fellow collier.
A dull roar, a light puff of air, and out goes my lamp.
I am in total darkness and on turning round to grope back to
the workings, I find my way blocked by a solid mass of coal.
Suddenly the truth flashes across me. In making my
way from the burning fuse I have run the wrong way;
instead of going towards the pit shaft I have gone in the
opposite direction and in Egyptian darkness, without food or
light. I am in solitary confinement till such time as I shall
be rescued by tbe willing workers on the other side of that
cruel wall of coal.
Erom what I had seen of the plans of the pit I knew that
I was in a gallery about half-a-mile long which led to other
workings. Slowly groping my way along, knocking my head
at every other step against the low roof I made my «y there,
hoping against hope that I should find some other men who