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DESCENT INTO A NEWCASTLE COAL MINE.
Article copied from “Leisure Hour” a family Journal of instruction
and recreation.
Thursday July 26, 1855
HAVING in a previous number explained the occupations of young
persons in coal mines, we now supplement that account by a
description of the interior of a great Newcastle coal mine. Let the
kind reader accompany us in our imaginary descent, and we will
notice things as they present themselves to us.
We must select our mine; and, having risen early, and made our way
towards the scene, we observe a flag of smoke streaming forth from a
tall chimney, which forms a good mine mark. The official who is
appointed to accompany us, meets us at the pit's counting-house, and
conducts us to a little room, where we array ourselves in pitmen's
dresses. A glance in a broken mirror shows us ourselves with a very
laughable exterior. The writer sees himself suddenly transformed
into a rough miner, clothed in wide and coaly trousers, having a
scanty waistcoat with one button, and a loose flannel jacket, into
one pocket of which he crams a handkerchief, and into the other a
paper of biscuits. If the curious reader will fancy himself to be
the writer's companion, he can laugh and be laughed at in a similar
array. Thus attired, we should both be passed as strangers by our
nearest and dearest of kin, especially when we put on our heads the
round leather caps with broad rims.
We now step outside and observe the busy scenes at the surface,
while the preparations are making for our descent. We see a long low
shed, erected at the mouth of the shaft, on what is called the "
pit-heap," for the convenience of the men. Other long sheds on
either hand are erected to cover the "screens," where the process
goes forward by which the large coals are separated from the small;
and a very noisy, dusty, and disagreeable scene it is. A strange,
half-musical sound comes from the large screens of stretched wires
or rods, when heaps of coal are thrown upon them, just as if so many
metallic harps had been rudely struck. Here, what every housekeeper
knows as " screened Wallsend," is made ready for the London market.
The refuse, or small coal, is sold at a nominal price to the
workpeople, who make immense fires of it in their cottages; or it is
consumed in the many factories and glass works around. Formerly, it
was kindled at the surface as waste, and the country was lit up at
night for miles around with these useless conflagrations. All around
you it will be noticed that the grass, once green, is black with
coal dust issuing from the screens; and the red faces of the boys
and lads are half-veiled in black, as they wheel away the coals from
under the screens to the wagons; and if you are standing at all in
their way, boys and barrows threaten you on every side.
Just behind us stands the engine-house, wherein you may inspect the
steam-engine for " winding " or drawing up the produce of the mine,
and which will, I hope, draw us up safely when we have finished our
subterranean journey. This we must now soon commence, for the man at
the pit's mouth has made everything ready, and, by strange vocal
communications with the people below, has arranged that the shaft
shall be kept clear while we descend. A few words on shafts may be
interesting while we linger here a moment.
The shafts in the Newcastle coal-field are often very deep; and I
have reckoned that the aggre-gate depth of twelve of these shafts
which I have descended, is no less than 11,780 feet. I have selected
twelve of the deepest. The deepest perpendicular coal mine shaft in
the world is one of these. It is that of Pemberton's pit, near
Sunderland, and is 1590 feet clear depth, or nearly equal to the
Monument of London when piled eight times upon itself! The cost of
sinking this shaft was almost £100,000, owing to the great
difficulties met with in the enterprise. The most costly shafts are
those which pass through sands full of springs of water, all of
which must be " stopped back " and pumped out of the mine. Such
shafts are lined with brick or stone, and sometimes with iron-casing
of the most expensive character.
The mere lining or " tubbing " of the shafts will cost from £60 to
£70 per fathom (six feet). A shaft is not considered dear at an
outlay of £10,000 in difficult cases. If many springs are met, large
pumping engines must be at once erected, and these enormous machines
work night and day in pumping up the water. To reach the coal is
termed, in the north, " winning the coal; " and when the expensive
nature of many such undertakings is known, it is indeed a costly
winning, and oftentimes anything but winning a prize. The most
expensive coal-winning in the world, perhaps, was that of the Murton
pits, at South Hetton, near Durham, and which, owing to the peculiar
obstacles encountered, was not completed for a sum much less than
£300,000! Such was my conjecture from data afforded me on the spot.
Few persons have any idea of the powerful springs of water cut in
such sinking's. They are expressly named " feeders;" and of such
feeders three were cut in the Helton colliery, which sup-plied
respectively 2000, 1000, and 1600 gallons of water per minute.
Hebburn colliery supplied 3000 gallons of water per minute. But the
most abundant springs of water were cut in the Murton sinking above
mentioned, where, according to a fair calculation recently laid
before me, no less a quantity than eight thousand gallons of water
per minute issued from depths of 70 to 80 fathoms! At this same
colliery, steam power to the extent of 570 horses was constantly
employed in effecting the discharge of water and the extraction of
coal! This marvellous enterprise was carried on about nine miles
from Durham, in a wild waste country. While on shafts, I may mention
that the astronomer royal has recently made numerous experiments
with the pendulum, to ascertain the density of the earth, in a deep
shaft at South Shields.
But it is time for us to descend. The man is calling out, " Now,
gemmen; we he's all ready, zurs." We must step into this "cage,"
which, you perceive, is a kind of vertical railway carriage, open at
the sides, and running upon upright guides which extend through the
shaft. The old plan of descent was an iron tub, or a wicker basket
("corfe"); but the cages have largely supplanted the baskets and
tubs, although, as a matter of choice, I prefer the old basket, in
which I could stand upright and easy; whereas in most cages one must
crouch and draw in arms and feet, lest one or other should be lopped
off by the guides.
The miners themselves have an abiding preference for " riding in the
loops;" that is, forming a loop of the bottom part of the pit rope,
by hooking it back upon itself, they insert one leg in such loop,
and wind themselves round the rope, and then swing off, down or up,
without possibility of being ejected, however much they may be
thumped, bumped, and banged against sides of shaft, or other
passengers, in their journey.
I have often stood wondering at the pit's mouth, when the men came
up after work, to see them emerge from darkness, riding in loops one
above the other, on the rope, and smoking short pipes, and looking
as indifferent and easy as a gentleman in his easy chair. More
curious still was it to watch the lads and boys coming up in like
fashion after their day's work, and to see the little boys safely
hugged in the arms of their big brothers, or in some instances
merely resting on the knees of the elders. In one instance, I saw a
little fellow of about ten years of age emerge from the pit fast
asleep on a man's knee!
Now, then, we are off on our descent. The signals have been made and
answered. All we have to do is to sit still. We are how in total
darkness, sliding down—down—down, until, lo! here we are at the
bottom! Actually, we have gone down 958 feet in four minutes and a
half! Out, we get on the coal-floor. We can see nothing, and grope
about timidly, for we must wait until our eyes become accustomed to
the dimness. Let us sit down awhile on this log of wood. Now we
begin to distinguish objects, and to observe a dull glimmering lamp
against the wall, and a dozen black leering lads eyeing us. No time
must be lost; and our guide has our candles ready. He puts a lump of
clay between the fourth and fifth fingers of your left hand, sticks
a thin pit candle (40 to the pound) in the clay, lights it, lights
his own, gives us each a stick, and on he marches, telling us to
follow him, and on no account to leave him. We follow his candle and
his shadow, and find the walking tolerably easy, and the passages
airy and rather lofty. We are now walking up the " mainway " of the
pit —as it were its Cheapside, or principal street. You observe that
the roof is arched, and the sides well formed and supported. Indeed,
the whole of the mainway is like a long railway tunnel, though
lower, darker, and less airy.
We proceed in this passage for half a mile or more, until we see our
guide disposed to turn off right or left. When he does so turn, we
find ourselves in rather narrower and lower passages—like the lanes
and small streets branching out of main streets. To illustrate the
plan of the mine very familiarly, let us suppose that the great dome
of St. Paul's represents the shaft, and that we have descended from
the summit of the cross, (which we assume as the level of the
earth's surface,) and have reached the floor of the mine, in St.
Paul's Churchyard. Consider Ludgate Hill and Fleet Street to form
the mainways of the pit, and that Shoe Lane and Fetter Lane and
Chancery Lane are the side passages on the right, and Bouverie
Street and other streets on the left. Now, just as a street
passenger would turn up one of these lanes, say Shoe Lane, so we are
now turning up one of the side lanes of the mine.
The whole mine is excavated somewhat in the same manner as streets
are laid out, but more regularly, and nearly at right angles, in its
various passages. The object is to form the whole mine into panels,
or compartments, each of which shall contain an area of from eight
to twelve acres of coals. A solid wall of coal, forty to fifty yards
thick, is left at first around each panel. All the panels in the
mine are connected by roads with the shaft, and each one has a
distinguishing name,, like that of a city square, or block of
houses; so that, by a corresponding plan, mapped out and kept in the
colliery office, any circumstance relating to the details of the
mine can be readily referred to a specified locality. Through each
separate panel, roads and " air-courses " are excavated, to work the
coal and ventilate the mine—the air descending one shaft and
ascending another.
In order to uphold the roof, and the vast masses of super incumbent
streets, considerable portions of the coal are left standing in the
form of pillars, the dimensions of which vary according to depth
from surface, and consequent weight of strata. The proportion of
coal left in the pillars varies, of course, with their dimensions.
In the deepest pit (Pemberton's), the proportion of coal left to
that extracted is as six-sevenths to one-seventh; that is, only
one-seventh of the entire coal is extracted. The rest must be left
to support the roof, until the one-seventh is extracted; then the
miners will attack the pillars themselves, reducing them
proportionally and gradually, and propping up the roof with timber;
until, in the end, a large portion of the entire pillars may be
removed, when the roof will probably crumble down, and the mine fall
into "waste." Such is the improved system of working; but formerly
they abandoned a mine after extracting only a small proportion of
the coal. Pillar-working is dangerous on several accounts ; but the
most dangerous process is " drawing the props," or attempting to
extract the wooden supports after the pillars are worked out,, and
when, consequently, the roof rests on the wood, and falls instantly
when it is withdrawn. I once stood near some prop-drawers, and
watched the perilous parsimony of sawing the wood at the risk of
life. In this manner is the coal mine excavated, supported, worked
out, and abandoned.
The side passages, in one of which we are now standing, and into
which we have turned while thus explaining, are narrow and low; and
if you are tall, you must stoop low in proceeding. The farther in we
advance, the narrower and lower they are found ; and when we attain
the innermost recesses of the pit, we find ourselves compelled to
bend very low—almost towards the ground—and here and there we must
creep upon all-fours. In this part of our journey things are very
uncomfortable. The air is loaded with the gaseous and other
impurities of the pit; the heat is considerable, and, unless you
perspire freely, very oppressive; your limbs ache, and, perhaps, you
have more than once bumped your back, or struck your head, against
roof or side, or burnt your hands with the wasting and flaring
candle, or filled your mouth, eyes, and ears with coal dust.
We will therefore make short cuts to the " hewers," and, having
inspected their operations, turn back.
Here we are, then, amongst a dozen hewers or getters of the coal,
working at one " face " of the coal. Never did you see before such a
strange-looking place, such strange-looking people, and such
peculiar postures. You observe the seams are thin, varying from two
to three feet of coal, and seldom more than three or four feet. You
see one man kneeling, one sitting with a peculiar squat, another
stooping or bending double, and, in the thinnest seams, you mark one
or two lying on their sides or on their backs, and all picking away
at the coal before or above them with short, heavy picks. To hew
coal well is not easy.
The men must be brought up (or brought down) to it. Where naked
candles can be used with safety, gunpowder is employed to blast the
coal; and those peculiar, booming, deadened sounds which startled us
some time ago, were the sounds of the blastings here, and the smoke
of which has not yet cleared away. These hewers work only about six
hours a day, and can earn from 3s. 6d. to 4s. 6d. per day, according
to the demand for coals. Many are their complaints and grievances,
according to their own tales, which, after a long and patient
inquiry, I am disposed to think not often very well founded. They
often " strike," but seldom gain anything by their strikes.
They live rent free, or nearly so, in cottages forming pit-villages,
with plenty of coal at nominal charges. Their work is very hard, and
not very healthy; but they live well. The worst part is their
exposure to the fatal explosions so often arising from the
combustion of the fire damp in these mines. Yet they become familiar
(strangely so) with danger.
Having now seen the coal, got, the baskets filled, put on to little
trucks, and driven to the bottom of the shaft, by boys driving a
train on the railway which lines the mainway, the trains being drawn
by pit ponies, it is time to think of returning, and ascending to
the upper regions, where warm water and soap will remove our stains,
and refreshment reinvigorate our weary frames.
While we are walking back, let me inform you that you might walk for
more than twenty miles through the passages of this mine. In one old
pit it has been computed that there are nearly seventy miles of
gallery excavations. Indeed, this whole coal-field is honey-combed
in all directions under-ground; and not infrequently miners pierce
old workings in their progress, by which waste waters are sometimes
let into the mine, and serious inundations occur.
About ten years ago, the writer collected statistics of the
collieries on the three rivers Tyne, Wear, and Tees. The average
depth of shafts was found to be respectively 510, 450, and 330 feet.
The number of pits or collieries was 192. The number of men and boys
employed (above and below ground) was no less than 25,770. The
engine power in action was 19,397 horses.
The total quantity of coal raised per annum was 6,506,371 tons, the
average price of which, at the pit's mouth, was from 8s. 6d. to 10s.
6d. per ton. I have paid, not long since, 53s. per ton for coal,
which, I believe, cost, at the pit's mouth, not much more than 12s.
to 13s., the remaining £2 being levied for freight, taxes, and
numerous impositions. The entire mines of the Northumberland and
Durham coal-field yield, at this time, about 10,000,000 of tons of
coal per annum.
The geographical dimensions of this great northern coal-field
are:—length, about 48 miles; extreme breadth, 24 miles ; area, about
837 square miles. Of this area, 243 square miles belong to
Northumberland, and 594 square miles to Durham. The three rivers,
Tyne, Wear, and Tees intersect the whole region most advantageously
for the development and carriage of the coal.
Pitmen live in district villages built near the collieries. These
are nick-named "Shiney Rows," the houses being built in long rows.
Those in which the subordinate officers of the pit live are called "
Quality Row." Take your station in a pit village about five or six
o'clock on a fine evening, and you will see much to amuse and inform
you. Long strings of British blackamoors maybe seen approaching the
village from the mine. Some are carrying empty bottles and bags—the
former emptied of their cold tea, the latter of their bread, meat,
and cheese. Some approach gaily and laughing—these are the lads and
boys; others come gravely and moodily—these are the men.
The gait and carriage of a born and bred pitman are peculiar. A
hewer will be marked by his incur-vature of body, inclining to the
shape of a note of interrogation. His legs will have a graceful bow,
only in the wrong direction; the chest protrudes like that of a
pigeon; his eye has the glance of a hawk half awake; his face, when
washed, presents the appearance of a pound of pit candles. Let us
not smile at him; we should look much the same had we been hewers.
They are commonly shrewd men, sharp as needles in all that concerns
their earnings, strikes, and dangers. Many of them are Methodists,
and neat chapels are commonly found in the pit villages. The lads
and boys come onward in a slouching, careless, half-defiant manner.
Poor fellows! They have had work enough for one day of twelve
hours—mostly dark to them.
Upon their entrance into their cottages they strip and wash, without
very much ceremony or decency. Then they sit down to a hearty meal
of animal food, with much fat, and tea or coffee. A luxurious
accompaniment is a cake, baked on the girdle, having plenty of fat,
which hisses upon being heated, and is thence called " a
singing-honey." Often have I been pressed to " take a bite of
sing-in' hinnie "—a favour I have always dreaded and declined.
Eating over, the boys and lads will get a game of play in the
village. Men will smoke, read newspapers, and, some few of them,
religious or mathematical works. Others will go to " meeting " or
chapel, and many to the alehouse. Some are musicians, and attempt
all kinds of discords upon all kinds of instruments.
The evening, however, is short for all; for most must go to bed
early in order to get up at four, five, or six o'clock, when the
"caller" goes round to summon them to work. Hence, about nine
o'clock, most of the men and lads yawn and become sleepy: now
fiddles sound very scrapingly, and quavers on the flute become very
doubtful and difficult; the horn gives a short and dismal blast, and
the clarionet is dreadfully nasal; songs have died away; men turn in
from various resorts; lads and boys lounge in from the lanes, and
from marbles and pitch-and-toss. Persecuted donkeys and dogs know
their hour of release and rest is come. Boys of all temperaments
become mild instead of pugnacious. On all sides there are
unequivocal signs of settlement for the night. At about ten or
eleven o'clock the whole village is hushed, and another day's
turmoil is forgotten in the balmy bonds of sleep.
In almost every pitman's house there are pieces of good
furniture—generally in the shape of a good eight-day clock, a
mahogany chest of drawers, and a fine four-post bedstead. A
newly-married couple consider these things indispensable. Immense
fires and immense families are also to be seen in nearly every
cottage. A family of boys is a great gain to a pitman, as they can
all earn money when above ten years of age. Hence, too, a widow of a
pitman, if left with eight or nine boys, is considered a great "
catch " by the thrifty single man. Such a family would be a heavy
burden to most workmen, and an incumbrance to most widows; but the
pitmen's widows consider these to be equal to a settlement. Hence,
there will often be an active competition for such a widow.
END
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