DRIVING OUT THE LUCKSPIRIT.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 2420, 18 December 1880, Page 4

DRIVING OUT THE LUCKSPIRIT.

Miners never whistle while at work. Most old miners believe that a “ goodluck spirit ” lurks in every niine, and that at a sound of whistling it Hies and leaves the miners at the mercy of the spirit of evil. In 1810 there was a great mine disaster, when several miners were buried in one of the Dalaware and Hudson canal company s mines b}' a sudden caving in of the roof. Although the cause of the caving was known to have been a lack of a proper support by pillars and timbers, at least one miner a survivor of the disaster, still living, maintains that it was caused by a daredevil, named Jack Biehards, whistling in the mine, Bichardsj was a sceptical young Welshman, who ridiculed all the superstitions. With the miner mentioned above and fifteen others, he was wolking in the mine, a mile from the entrance. The mine was well known to be scantily propped, and the miners were robbing it preparatory to its abandonment. He was a merry fellow, fond of teasing his companions. On this occasion he sudden!}' laid down his pick and announced to his companions in the chamber he intended to ‘‘ whistle them up the Bigs o’Barley. The miners were aghast. Ho laughed at their fears, and with clear, loud notes made the chamber ring with the lively Scotch air. Not content with that, says the old minor, ho rattled off a jig known among the miners as the “ Devil Among the Tailors,” and ended by telling the good luck spirit to “ take a dance to that, and be biowed to it.” None of the miners could speak for some time. Some of them tried to go to work again but the fear of disaster was so strong upon them that they all made preparation to quit the mine. Jack Biehards could not convince any of the them of the childishness of their intended course. Suddenly, while they were gathering up their tools, a noise like the sound of distant thunder came to the cars of the agitated miners. They knew too well what the sound presaged. .The roof working, and a cave-in threatened. The miners turned to Jack and charged him with bringing disaster on them by his defiance of the good hick spirit of the mine. Jack replied that if the roof was falling it was because of insnilicient support, and not because of bis whistling, and knowing the danger that encompassed them all, he counselled his comrades to lose no time in “ getting atop.” But before they could take the tirst step toward reaching the surface, a second shock ran through the mine. It was followed by a crash that could be made only by the falling masses of rock and coal from the roof, and by a gust of wind that burled the miners against the jagged walls of their chamber. Then the mine fell in about them, and the seventeen miners and the car-borse wore imprisoned behind a wall of fallen coal and rock, in a space of not more than forty feet square. Their lights were extinguished, and there, was not a match in the party. With death awaiting them in one of its worst forms, they cursed Jack Biehards, ami one of the miners tried to lind him in the dark to brain him with a pick. To ascertain whether any of the gang had been killed by the falling coal, the name of each one was called by one of the miners. All reresponded but Jack Biehards. Ho was found dead, half buried beneath the wall of rock and coal. The miners gave themselves up to despair, as they did not dream it possible for any aid to reach them from without, and to dig their way through a mile of flrbn'n was a task they knew was hopeless. Among the imprisoned miners was a son of Alexander Boyden, the superintendent of the mine. He encouraged his imprisoned companions with the assurance that the air in the mine would not be poisoned by the gases for at least two days, and that as long as the horse’s body lasted they need not starve. He said that his father would leave nothing undone to rescue all who were in the mine, and that, meantime, they themselves could aid his efforts by digging out to meet him. Only three picks could be found, the others being buried beneath the coal. With these the men went to work with a wil 1 . Those who had no picks worked with their hands in digging into the barrier between them and their freedom. The Body of Jack Bichares was uncovered and laid tenderley in safe place in the chamber. The horse seemed to understand the terror of the situation, and gave voice to frequent piteous ueighs. The men worked for hours, many of them working the flesh from (heir lingers in the sharp coal. Some of them lost all heart, and threw themselves upon the damp floor of their underground prison and bewailed their fate. Suddenly a ray of light broke through a small opening in the wall. Then a lantern was pushed through, followed by a man’s head. The man cried out—“ Is there a man here that is alive A glad shout from the miners was the reply. The man pulled himself through the opening into the chamber. It was Alex. Boyden, the superintendent. The miners took him up in their arms, wept tears of joy, and kissed the man who they believed had come to deliver them. Mr Boyden had found Ins way to the spot where the miners were imprisoned by crawling along a narrow passage that had been left in the fallen coal and rock by the lodging of rooftimbers all along the way. It required a struggle for hours to make the perilous jouruey. He did not expect to find one alive in the chamber, his great desire being to rescue the body of his son, if possible, and save it from being devoured I)}' the rats. He soon had the miners in readiness to follow him back toward the mouth of the mine. He took the body of Jack Biehards on his back and led the way, and two hours afterwards the miners were in the arms of wives, parents, and sweethearts, on the top. Biehards had no relatives but a crippled sister, who was dying with consumption. She died the next day. The brother and son of the narrator of this tragic incident, and twelve other miners were never found. Three days after thp fall, Mine Boss Hosie, who had been in a distant part of the mine when the roof caved in, emerged from its depths, worn to a skeleton. With his pick he had dug his way for more than a mile through a solid wall, without. a taste of food or a drop of water to strengthen and sustain him. This mine tragedy forms one of the favorite narratives of the old miners of that region, and, after relating it to inquiring visitors, they never fail to warn them not to whistle if they intend going down into a mine.—“ Waverley.”