THE DEVIL IN THE MINE.
For several years I was compelled to live in the interior of Russia, the establishment with which I was connected being one of those centres of industrial enterprise which, for their vastness in extent and in the number of persons employed, are perhaps unequalled in the whole world.
The labourers and work people—upwards of forty thousand—under my charge, were, if anything, slightly above the average of their compeers in intelligence; it need not, therefore, be supposed that this story, or rather incident, conveys any exaggerated idea of the Russian moujik, or common labourer.
While engaged in my office one afternoon in September, the youth in attendance announced that one of the miners from the works wished to see me most particularly. Now for a peasant to demand an interview with his native master, especially when the latter had just dined, was a proceeding of very rare occurrence, and showed that something very extraordinary must have taken place, as the relative positions of master and moujik in the social scale are very widely different.
I had, however, frequently found, that by occasionally listening to what the men had to say, and allowing myself apparently to sympathize with their little weaknesses, I gained the way to their hearts; discovering at the same time the fact that the moujik was not seldom a much better man than his master at the period I write of, which was before the emancipation of the serfs in Russia.
"Allow him to come in, Ivan," I said to the lad, and presently the miner entered. He first looked carefully round him, and then, equally cautiously, he peered underneath the tables and seats in the room—all the time nervously clutching the greasy cap which he held in his hand. He literally shook in his coarse bark shoes; his face was naturally pale, but it was all the paler by contrast with his dark eyes staring from under their heavy eyelids.
"Barrin" (master, in a superior sense), said he, whispering hoarsely from chattering lips, "I have seen the devil!"
"Indeed!" said I, greatly surprised, but of course pretending not to be alarmed in the slightest degree; "where have you been fortunate enough to meet with such good luck?"
"Oh, barrin," answered the man eagerly, "we have got him all right: he is safe at the bottom of an ore-pit in our village; and," he added, confidently, "he can't get out, because the whole of the villagers have surrounded the pit-head."
"That is all right, Ivan," I said; "wait for a few minutes and I will go with you, and we will see if we can catch him."
Ordering three fast horses to be harnessed to my tarantass, and refreshing Ivan with a good glass of vodka (spirits) to shake his benumbed faculties together, away we soon went at the rate of twenty versts an hour to the village from whence Ivan had come.
It would have been perfectly useless for me to have attempted to persuade this man that the person or "party," whoever he or whatever it was they had got in the pit, was not Satan himself. No; the only way to convince a Russian is to prove the matter; and even absolute proof is not always convincing.
On my arrival at the village I at once observed that something very unusual was exciting the attention of the inhabitants, as instead of the usual number of lazy men and women who are generally to be seen standing idling about in the streets of every hamlet, I found the place absolutely deserted; but on an adjacent hill stood the cause of the commotion.
A crowd of people—men, women, and children—were standing round the mouth of an ore-pit, some ten fathoms deep, and about as much like an ordinary English draw-well without the brick-lining as could possibly be conceived. All were talking at once, and all agreed that they had caught no less a personage than the very devil himself, as they felt quite sure that the miner who had last come out of the pit could not possibly be mistaken.
Now came the knotty questions: "How shall we get his Satanic majesty out of his retreat? and who among the spectators would be bold enough to undertake the risk of tackling such an awkward customer?"
The only manner of being hoisted up and down these antiquated examples of mining is by sitting astride a small piece of wood fastened to the end of a not too thick piece of rope, which in its turn is wound up and down by a wooden windlass—not a very desirable mode of descending, even when the men are not sure the "old gentleman" himself is in their neighbourhood, but decidedly dangerous when they think he is.
I therefore, although strongly solicited, declined the honour of descending, and looked about for a substitute. My eye caught sight of one of those rough-and-ready "ne'er-do-weels" who are to be found in Russia as well as in every other country—men who come to the surface of society when some particular daring deed has to be done, and sink out of sight again when the rewards of success have been distributed.
A few glasses of vodka in advance, and three silver roubles in prospective, assisted by friendly pats on the back from his companions, who were afraid to go themselves, were sufficient encouragements to animate this man of valour to the heroic pitch.
The villagers set him astride the piece of wood, and began to lower away; indeed they were in such a hurry to send him down to the presence of the Evil One that I began to fear he would be dropped altogether.
However, he arrived at the bottom in safety; and now was the opportunity for observing, more clearly and closely, how the diabolic idea had seized on the popular mind.
All were in a rampant state of excitement and expectation. The mayor was wondering where he could lock up the infernal prisoner; in fact, doubting whether or not he should send to the nearest town for the assistance of the military.
Two or three suggested that I had made a mistake in not ordering the fire-engines to come, and many more were speculating upon the probability of their envoy having been already devoured by the devil as a return for his temerity.
Presently the rope was shaken, which is the signal to draw up. Very gently and very nervously this operation commences; a good many of the crowd show signs of running away; and the men at the windlass maintain that it turns very heavily. A few peaceable citizens suggest that, after all, perhaps the better way would be not to bring the prisoner up, but to leave him where he is, with a strong guard always on the watch to see that he did not pop up suddenly and set fire to the village; but seeing that this means only letting go the windlass, and the poor fellow that is attached to it, I insist on their proceeding with the winding-up.
In time the man's head appeared coming out of the darkness, and he called out, "I have got him all right."
The peasants then began to think that, after all, his diabolic majesty was not so awful as they supposed—the captive brought to light proving to be no more than an immense specimen of the Horned Owl of the Ural Mountains, whose enormous eyes shone from his ruffled plumage like two balls of fire.
The disappointment was thoroughly real, as, by the time the affair had finished, the news having spread, people were arriving from the neighbouring villages to see the wonderful sight; and as there was no devil after all, the moujiks did not think it advisable to ask me to treat them to vodka all round, which in Russia is a natural adjunct to the occurrence of anything extraordinary in a village.
But perhaps the greatest disappointment was felt by the poor fellow who made the adventurous descent. He, of course, received his three silver roubles, but he lost the "kudos" for his act of daring.
In answer to the question, "Well, Ivan, how did you manage it all?" he replied:
"Well, Barrin, you see, when I got to the bottom I saw something blazing; so I shut my eyes, made a rush at it, and brought it up in my arms in the best way I could, and here it is."
This same owl—a splendid specimen—I had stuffed, and kept facing my writing-table for a long time afterwards, as a memento of the Russian peasants' belief in the "Devil and all his works."