In Tallmadge, Ohio, last winter, I penetrated one of these coal mines, accompanied by the workmen, nearly one thousand feet. I found the stratum of coal at that place not far from four feet thick.
This coal is split out, by means of drilling and blasting, as in the case of removing any other rock. They usually proceed in a narrow way at first, perhaps eight or ten feet broad and as many high. As they go on, they place props under the incumbent hill; or, what is more common, they place at suitable distances a framework around the sides to prevent its falling in.
When they have penetrated several hundred feet into these coal hills, and the air does not circulate freely enough, and especially does not carry away the smoke of their powder far enough, they sometimes dig a well or hole from the top of the hill directly over the line of the excavation till it meets it. This serves as a chimney and ventilator, and is of great and lasting service.
To carry the coal, they have in general small cars drawn by one horse each. For this purpose a railroad is made, as far as the excavation extends.
When the coal is brought out of the excavation, there are many curious ways of unloading it; but I have not time to describe them all. In some instances the coal is slid down an inclined plane a long distance, by means of ropes and pulleys, and the emptied cars brought back by the same means.
I found the bases of the hills on the banks of the Ohio, especially on the northern side, full of these excavations. The amount of coal which is dug here yearly must be immense.
For myself, I can never think of this wonderful provision of God for human wants without feelings of gratitude. In a few years only, the native wood in many of these regions would in a natural course be used up in houses, factories, steamboats, &c.; and what would the people do then for fuel, had not the great Eternal filled the hills with this never-failing substitute?
One region in particular attracted my attention. The villages of Pomeroy, Coalport, and Sheffield, were so near each other as to seem to form one continuous village, about three miles in length. And here, a stranger would be apt to think, the people do little else but dig coal and burn it. The houses were almost as black with soot as the hill-sides themselves.