The first of these conditions is always more or less present in mine work, not only because of the atmosphere and unnatural environment, but also because a certain amount of work has to be got through under difficulties in a certain amount of time. The second of these conditions is always present to a greater extent than almost anywhere above ground. The third of these conditions is obviously present. In mines and collieries, therefore, we have human nature, neither better nor worse underground than it is above, working continually under circumstances in which the three primary fostering conditions of cruelty are present. We, thus have a primâ facie case for supposing—all other things being equal—that there must be more cruelty in the treatment of animals underground than on the surface. If there were not, it would mean that miners were not only as humane as the rest of mankind, which is freely admitted, but much more humane, which is not likely. The existence of these three primary fostering conditions in perpetual combination, in fact, renders the conclusion, apart from all actual evidence, as inevitable as a chemical equation.
But far beyond all this we have the fact that herbivorous animals, accustomed to daylight and fresh air, are kept from the age of four to the age at which they are about to die in a place where no green thing of any sort can grow, where the air is strange and dark, and there is neither rain nor sunshine. And, further, we have those occasional catastrophes, such as that which so nearly did to death the unfortunate 300 horses in Clydach Vale.
One assumes as a matter of course that mine owners are as personally humane in their treatment of animals as the rest of us; that they do not lack desire to see that their ponies and horses underground are treated well; that they would recoil from the sight of neglectful treatment of four-legged creatures that came under their own eyes. I merely appeal to them to consider, apart from the breezes and contradictions of a vexed question, the plain common sense of the matter. There are, no doubt, thousands of well-fed, well-treated, well-kept ponies employed in pits; but with human nature and animal nature fixed quantities, and the conditions what they are, must there not inevitably be far more suffering, on the whole, in their lives underground than in the lives of animals employed on the surface? The heart of the matter lies in the unnatural conditions.
Small engines are used with success both here and abroad for some kinds of mine traction. For other kinds of mine traction animals may always have to be employed—though that is a hard saying, seeing what human ingenuity can accomplish. But surely a great deal more of the traction in English collieries and mines could be done by engines with safety and economy. Is it too much to beg kindly men that they should do their utmost to substitute, so far as possible, this mechanical traction for the labour of those four-legged creatures whose lives underground must, even in the best circumstances, be unnatural and sad.
It is no more desirable for human beings than for animals to have to spend their lives underground; and what men can put up with animals certainly can. But men have at all events some choice in the matter, and they do spend half the week at least on the surface.
The unnatural conditions of our own lives do not justify us in employing animals under unnatural conditions where we can avoid it. I take it we all wish to see suffering reduced to its irreducible minimum.
(2)
(A Letter to The Times, 1913.)
The inspectors appointed to carry out the provisions of the Coal Mines (Regulation) Act in regard to pit ponies are to be six in number: one for each division in the United Kingdom, which contains 3,325 coal mines.
I understand that this provision is based on the grounds that the ordinary mine inspectors, of whom there are many, will not be thereby absolved from that part of their duties; and that the multiplication of officials is an expensive and undesirable thing.