“But,” argued Hal, “if they were to open it, the fire would spread; and wouldn't that prevent rescue work?”
“Not at all,” declared “Big Jack.” He explained that by reversing the fan they could draw the smoke up through the air-course, which would clear the main passages for a time. “But, you see, some coal might catch fire, and some timbers; there might be falls of rock so they couldn't work some of the rooms again.”
“How long will they keep the mine sealed?” cried Hal, in consternation.
“Nobody can say. In a big mine like that, a fire might smoulder for a week.”
“Everybody be dead!” cried Rosa Minetti, wringing her hands in a sudden access of grief.
Hal turned to Olson. “Would they possibly do such a thing?”
“It's been done—more than once,” was the organiser's reply.
“Did you never hear about Cherry, Illinois?” asked David. “They did it there, and more than three hundred people lost their lives.” He went on to tell that dreadful story, known to every coal-miner. They had sealed the mine, while women fainted and men tore their clothes in frenzy—some going insane. They had kept it sealed for two weeks, and when they opened it, there were twenty-one men still alive!
“They did the same thing in Diamondville, Wyoming,” added Olson. “They built up a barrier, and when they took it away they found a heap of dead men, who had crawled to it and torn their fingers to the bone trying to break through.”
“My God!” cried Hal, springing to his feet. “And this man Carmichael—would he stand for that?”