A Dictionary of Arts, Manufactures and Mines / containing a clear exposition of their principles and practice

by Andrew Ure

In collieries which have been worked for a considerable time, and particularly in such as have goaves, creeps, or crushed wastes, the disengagement of the fire-damp from these recesses is much influenced by the state of atmospheric pressure. Should this be suddenly diminished, as shown by the fall of the barometer, the fire-damp suddenly expands and comes forth from its retirement, polluting the galleries of the mine with its noxious presence. But an increase of barometric pressure condenses the gases of the mine, and restrains them within their sequestered limits. It is therefore requisite that the coal-viewer should consult the barometer before inspecting the subterraneous workings of an old mine, on the Monday mornings, in order to know what precautions must be observed in his personal survey.

The catastrophe of an explosion in an extensive coal-mine is horrible in the extreme. Let us imagine a mine upwards of 100 fathoms deep, with the workings extended to a great distance under the surrounding country, with machinery complete in all its parts, the mining operations under regular discipline, and railways conducted through all its ramifications; the stoppings, passing doors, brattices, and the entire economy of the mine, so arranged that every thing moves like a well regulated machine. A mine of this magnitude at full work is a scene of cheering animation, and happy industry; the sound of the hammer resounds in every quarter, and the numerous carriages, loaded or empty, passing swiftly to and fro from the wall faces to the pit bottom, enliven the gloomiest recesses. At each door a little boy, called a trapper, is stationed, to open, and shut it. Every person is at his post, displaying an alacrity and happiness pleasingly contrasted with the surrounding gloom. While things are in this merry train, it has but too frequently happened that from some unforeseen cause, the ventilation has partially stagnated, allowing a quantity of the fire-damp to accumulate in one space to the explosive pitch; or a blower has suddenly sprung forth, and the unsuspecting miner entering this fatal region with his candle, sets the whole in a blaze of burning air, which immediately suffocates and scorches to death every living creature within its sphere, while multitudes beyond the reach of the flame are dashed to pieces by the force of the explosion, rolling like thunder along the winding galleries. Sometimes the explosive flame seems to linger in one district for a few moments; then gathering strength for a giant effort, it rushes forth from its cell with the violence of a hurricane, and the speed of lightning, destroying every obstacle in its way to the upcast shaft. Its power seems to be irresistible. The stoppings are burst through, the doors are shivered into a thousand pieces; while the unfortunate miners, men, women, and boys, are swept along with an inconceivable velocity, in one body, with the horses, carriages, corves, and coals. Should a massive pillar obstruct the direct course of the aerial torrent, all these objects are dashed against it, and there prostrated or heaped up in a mass of common ruin, mutilation, and death. Others are carried directly to the shaft, and are either buried there amid the wreck, or are blown up and ejected from the pit mouth. Even at this distance from the explosive den, the blast is often so powerful, that it frequently tears the brattice walls of the shaft to pieces, and blows the corves suspended in the shaft as high up into the open air as the ropes will permit. Not unfrequently, indeed, the ponderous pulley-wheels are blown from the pit-head frame, and carried to a considerable distance in the bosom of a thick cloud of coals and coal-dust brought up from the mine by the fire-damp, whose explosion shakes absolutely the superincumbent solid earth itself with a mimic earthquake. The dust of the ruins is sometimes thrown to such a height above the pit as to obscure the light of the sun. The silence which succeeds to this awful turmoil is no less formidable; for the atmospheric back-draught, rushing down the shaft, denotes the consumption of vital air in the mine, and the production of the deleterious choke-damp and azote.

Though many of the miners may have escaped by their distance in the workings from the destructive blast and the fire, yet their fate may perhaps be more deplorable. They hear the explosion, and are well aware of its certain consequences. Every one anxious to secure his personal safety, strains every faculty to reach the pit-bottom. As the lights are usually extinguished by the explosion, they have to grope their way in utter darkness. Some have made most marvellous escapes, after clambering over the rubbish of fallen roofs, under which their companions are entombed; but others wandering into uncertain alleys, tremble lest they should encounter the pestilential airs. At last they feel their power, and aware that their fate is sealed, they cease to struggle with their inevitable doom; they deliberately assume the posture of repose, and fall asleep in death. Such has been too often the fate of the hardy and intelligent miners who immure themselves deep beneath the ground, and venture their lives for the comfort of their fellow-men; and such frequently is the ruinous issue of the best ordered and most prosperous mining concerns.

In such circumstances the mining engineers or coal viewers have a dangerous and difficult duty to perform. The pit into which they must descend as soon as possible, is rendered unsafe by many causes; by the wrecks of loose timber torn away by the eruption, or by the unrespirable gases; by the ignition perhaps of a portion of the coal itself, or by the flame of a blower of fire-damp; either of which would produce violent and repeated explosions whenever the gas may again accumulate to the proper degree. Such a predicament is not uncommon, and it is one against which no human skill can guard. Yet even here, the sense of duty, and the hope of saving some workmen from a lingering death by wounds or suffocation, lead this intrepid class of men to descend amid the very demons of the mine.

As soon as the ventilation is restored by temporary brattices, the stoppings and doors are rebuilt in a substantial manner, and the workings are resumed with the wonted activity. From an inspection of [fig. 864.], [p. 1029], it is obvious that the stability of the main stopping p, is an important point; for which reason it is counterforted by strong walls of stone, to resist the explosive force of fire-damp.

When it is known that fire exists in the wastes, either by the burning of the small coal-dust along the roads, or from the ignition of the solid coal by a blower of gas, the inspection of the mine is incomparably more hazardous, as safety cannot be insured for an instant; for if the extrication of gas be great, it rapidly accumulates, and whenever it reaches the place where the fire exists, a new explosion takes place. There have been examples of the most furious detonations occurring regularly after the interval of about an hour, and being thus repeated 36 times in less than two days, each eruption appearing at the pit mouth like the blast of a volcano. It would be madness for any one to attempt a descent in such circumstances. The only resource is to moat up the pit, and check the combustion by exclusion of atmospheric air, or to drown the workings by letting the water accumulate below ground.

When fire exists in the wastes, with less apparent risk of life, water is driven upon it by portable fire-extinguishing engines, or small cannon are discharged near the burning coal, and the concussion thus produced in the air sometimes helps to extinguish the flame.

Since the primary cause of these tremendous catastrophes is the accension of the explosive gases by the candle of the miner, it has been long a desideratum to procure light of such a nature as may not possess the power of kindling the fire-damp. The train of light producible from the friction of flint and steel, by a mechanism called a steel mill, has been long known, and afforded a tolerable gleam, with which the miners were obliged to content themselves in hazardous atmospheres.

It consists of a small frame of iron, mounted with a wheel and pinion, which give rapid rotation to a disk of hard steel placed upright, to whose edge a piece of flint is applied. The use of this machine entailed on the miner the expense of an attendant, called the miller, who gave him light. Nor was the light altogether safe, for occasionally the ignited shower of steel particles attained to a sufficient heat to set fire to the fire-damp.

At length the attention of the scientific world was powerfully attracted to the means of lighting the miner with safety, by an awful catastrophe which happened at Felling Colliery, near Newcastle, on the 25th May, 1812. This mine was working with great vigour, under a well-regulated system of ventilation, set in action by a furnace and air-tube, placed over a rise pit in elevated ground. The depth of winning was above 100 fathoms; 25 acres of coal had been excavated, and one pit was yielding at the rate of 1700 tons per week. At 11 o’clock in the forenoon the night shift of miners was relieved by the day shift; 121 persons were in the mine, at their several stations, when, at half-past 11, the gas fired, with a most awful explosion, which alarmed all the neighbouring villages. The subterraneous fire broke forth with two heavy discharges from the dip-pit, and these were instantly followed by one from the rise-pit. A slight trembling, as from an earthquake, was felt for about half a mile round the colliery, and the noise of the explosion, though dull, was heard at from 3 to 4 miles’ distance. Immense quantities of dust and small coal accompanied these blasts, and rose high into the air, in the form of an inverted cone. The heaviest part of the ejected matter, such as corves, wood, and small coal, fell near the pits; but the dust borne away by a strong west wind fell in a continuous shower a mile and a half from the pit. In the adjoining village of Heworth it caused a darkness like that of early twilight, covering the roads where it fell so thickly that the footsteps of passengers were imprinted in it. The heads of both shaft-frames were blown off, their sides set on fire, and their pulleys shattered to pieces. The coal-dust ejected from the rise-pit into the horizontal part of the ventilating tube, was about 3 inches thick, and speedily burnt to a cinder; pieces of burning coal, driven off the solid stratum of the mine, were also blown out of this shaft. Of the 121 persons in the mine at the time of the explosion, only 32 were drawn up the pit alive, 3 of whom died a few hours after the accident. Thus no less than 92 valuable lives were instantaneously destroyed by this pestilential fire-damp. The scene of distress among the relatives at the pit mouth was indescribably sorrowful.