The Intermountain Catholic. (Salt Lake City [Utah] ;) 1899-1920, 1903-01-17

IN A CORNISH TIN MINE.
Vast Chamber Hewed by Man in the
Bowels of the Earth.

Bowels of the Earth.
If the reader cares to descend a tir
mine $50 fathoms below the earth
\ surface it will give ME all the pleasure
in the world to act as his guide, says
/ Harold Begbie in the London Post. But
! he must first so change those fine
clothes of his, for the land whittier we
are bound is a place of darkness, with
! slippery paths, dripping walls ano
an atmosphere heavy with penetrating
dust
We walk down a gritty road, and
reach at last the shaft-a wooden
building somewhat like small mill
with wheel like a huge spiders wen
at its side, to which runs a rope from
the distant engine house. Inside TINS
| building we find a tall iron box, some
thi1. between coffin standing on end
anC sentry box. We step into it,
grasping the iron rod that runs down
| the center and leaning our shoulders
against the back, while we fasten bar
across the opening to prevent ourselves
| from tumbling out. We are ready to
descend. The signal is given; bell
rings in the engine house, and pres
ently-while we hold our breath-tne
gig begins to descend.
! 1t goes slowly and smoothly, slipping
down the shaft with scarce a rustic;
then the pace increases, we begin to
rush-but still smoothly and easily-go-
| ing straight down as a stone falls from
the top of a cliff to the rocks below
We grasp our candle by the miner s
wax encircling it, and, holding hand
behind it so as to throw the fame for
ward, we glance at the rushing rock in
front of us, as we go falling through
the earth. Presently, as though 1t
| were a living thing, the gig begins to
dance in the descent, jerking, almost
bounding, like a mare beneath us, filed
with the joy of the descent and sure
of it's course. The pace increases; we
are going straight down, as straight as
line. But now prepare for change.
The course of our journey is to alter;
in minute the gig will impinge on
rock, and then we shall shoot off dag
onally, roaring through the earth away
from the shaft, away from the build
ings atop, under the railway station,
under those cottages where we saw the
gay clothesline huttering in sunlight
away and away, till we are under that
great hill which stood so far away from
us when we alighted at the station.
Bang! The moment has come. With
roar and a rush and grumble we
are rafting away diagonally, grating,
bobbing and shaking along through the
darkness, while our candles flicker and
the rock sweats like a torrent as we
rush past it. We are now quarter
of a mile underground. and with an
other hundred and twenty yards we
shall pull up for our first stop-2S0
fathoms below the earths surface The
gig slackens. the candles steady their
flame. and we can trace the color and
the abrasions of the rock. Down we
go, sloping away through the darkness.
slowly, slowly. slowly, till at last the
gig slackens almost to a stop, and with
a, jerk and a fall finally pulls up in
front of a little gloomy cave. 1t is all
very silent and ghostlike.
We step out, and for a moment sit
down on the rock to rest ourselves aft
er that rushing journey. And while
we rest we mould the miners wax
against our hard hats till the candle
sticks there. flaming away above our
heads, and finging weird shadows on
the walls. Then we arise and go or
ward
1t is like a sea cave, this tunnel. and
we creep slowly along. STOPPING under
the low roof, with our hands against
the side, our eyes fixed a yard before
our feet. AS we go we hear the drip,
drip, drip of water, and far off in the
distance the clink of mallet and drill
where the miners are at work. The
tunnel winds and twists, and presently
in front of us rises a gray mist of
blackness, different from the darkness
in which we have been traveling-a
thin, insubstantial darkness, dimly lu-
minous, palpitating with something
that warns us to walk warily We
approach nearer picking our steps. till
at last our feet strike on boards,
loose chain runs at our side, and we
pull up, gazing with amazement into
yawning space. Far away in the dis
lance little lights twinkle and move:
far below-so that we have to kneel
down and crane our necks over the
abyss to see them-little lights twinkle
and move and far above us. high up
in the unseen dome of this vast chasm,
the same little lights twinkle and move.
And as we look there comes 81 our ear
the rhythmic clink of the mallet strik-
ing the drill, sounding like church bells
heard across a misty valley and then
a sharp, crack, followed by a roar that
rolls up through the darkness. shaking
the rock-hewn walls and filing the
place with echoes. Far away from us
so far as to be safe-they are blast
ing, and again and again rolls UP that
reverberating roar like the sound of
distant battle
Think what a working of 1000 feet
means when into such a cavernous
space you could pile st. Pauls cathe-
dral atop of st. Paul cathedral. and |
once more st. Paul cathedral atom of
that. and only then scrape the roof
with the Golden cross! And this vast
space, hewn out of the rock, reaching
down to $50 fathoms below green fields, |
huttering clotheslines and the roaring
..Cornishman" screaming over the main |
line to Penzance, is the work of mans |
hands unaided by cataclysm of nature. |
himself the architect and builder. and |
all done that he may plumber the earth I
OF her tin for the box that holds your
tobacco! . /