Canada and Newfoundland

by Frank G. Carpenter

I was amazed at the ore trains that came shooting up out of the mine at from thirty to forty miles an hour, and trembled at the thought of sliding down into the earth at such speed, but my guide gave the “slow” signal and we began our descent at a more moderate rate.

I sat on the red, muddy bottom of an empty ore car. My feet reached almost to the front and I could just comfortably grasp the tops of the sides with my hands. It was like sitting upright in a bathtub. As we plunged into the darkness, the car wheels roared and rattled like those of a train in a subway. My guide shouted in my ear that the shaft was fifteen feet wide, and about eight feet from ceiling to floor. I noticed that some of the timber props were covered with a sort of fungus that looked like frost or white cotton, while here and there water trickling out of the rock glistened in the light of our lamps.

As we descended the air grew colder. It had a damp chill that bit to the bone, and though our speed kept increasing there seemed to be no end to the journey. Suddenly, out of the darkness I saw three dancing lights. Were they signals to us of some danger ahead? Another moment, and the lights proved to be lamps in the caps of three miners, drillers who had finished their work for the day and were toiling their way up the steep grade to the world of fresh air and warm sunshine.

Another light appeared ahead. Our train slowed up and stopped on a narrow shelf deep down in the earth and far under the ocean. Just ahead, the track plunged steeply down again into the darkness. We were at the station where the underground trains are controlled by electric signals. On each side curved rails and switches led off into branching tunnels.

For an hour or more we walked about in the under-sea workings. At times we were in rock-walled rooms where not a sound could be heard but the crunch of the slippery red ore under our rubber-booted feet, or the sound of water rushing down the steep inclines. At other times the rock chambers reverberated with the chugging and pounding of the compressed air drills boring their way into the rock.

We went to the head of a new chamber where a gang was loading ore into the cars. There was a great scraping and grinding of shovels against the flinty rock as the men bent their backs to their work. The miners’ faces were streaked with sweat and grimy with smears of the red ore. I picked up a piece. It was not as big as a dinner plate, but was almost as heavy as lead.

We rode out of the mine at top speed. Upon reaching the surface, the air of the chilly foggy day felt positively hot, while the sunlight seemed almost unreal after the dampness below.

Halifax has a fine natural harbour well protected by islands and with sufficient deep water anchorage for great fleets. The port is handicapped, however, by the long rail haul from such centres of population as Montreal and Toronto.