demand for coal was too small to admit of any extensive workings; and so the mining population continued in the same quaint old ways which it had been used to for a century or two, keeping up, among other things, many of its characteristic superstitions. with the singularly bare though verdant aspect of the high grounds on either side. The whole of that district was called in old times Carrick — a Celtic name still in use among the people, and descriptive of the rugged, rocky character of most of the surface. The bones of the country seem indeed everywhere to be sticking Some years ago, on geological errand through the scanty skin of soil and turf; bent, I had occasion to pass a number of and yet the abundant droves of black- months in that sequestered locality, and faced sheep and black cattle, and the to mingle with the colliers themselves, as stores of excellent butter and cheese well as their employers. In this way I which every year come out of these hills was led to glean reminiscences of habits to the great markets, bear witness to the and beliefs, now nearly as extinct as the excellence of the pasture. It might have fossils in the rocks which were the more been hoped that in so rocky a tract min- special objects of research. These gleanerals of some sort would be found to com-ings, as illustrative of former phases of pensate for the comparative poorness of our rural population, are perhaps not unthe surface. Many a viewer and "pro-worthy of record. I propose, therefore, spector" has scoured the sides of the in the present paper to relate an incident, hills and valleys. Copper, lead, and iron in small quantities have been found; but there seems no probability that the pastoral character of the country will ever be to any serious extent disturbed by mining operations. And yet, curiously enough, in one of the deep valleys on the northern margin of the hilly tracts of Carrick a small coal-field exists - -a little bit of the great Scottish coal-field, which by some ancient revolution of the surface has got detached from the rest, and become, as it were, jammed in between the two steep sides of the valley of the Gir van. perhaps one of the most tragic in the history of coal-mining in this country, which occurred in this little Girvan coal-field, and which furnishes examples of several of the more characteristic features of the old Scottish collier. In the quiet churchyard of Dailly, within hearing of the gurgle of the Girvan and the sough of the old pines of Dalquharren, lie the unmarked graves of generations of colliers; but among them is one with a tombstone bearing the following inscription: IN MEMORY OF JOHN BROWN, COLLIER, The colliers of Scotland have been in all time a distinct and a superstitious population. For many a long century Kilgrammie they and the makers of salt were slaves, bought and sold with the land on which they were born, and from which they had Coal-pit, by a portion of it having fallen in, Oct. 8th, 1835, and was taken out alive, but in a very exhausted state, having been twenty-three days in utter seclusion He lived for three days after, no more right to remove themselves than and in full possession of his mental faculties, if they had been of African descent, and born in Carolina. Customs and beliefs which had gradually died out elsewhere naturally lingered for a time among the colliers; and indeed until the general use of steam machinery and the invasion of an Irish labouring population, the Scottish miners maintained much of their singularity. Down in that little coalfield of Carrick, however, shut out from the rest of the mining districts, and even in no small degree from the country at large, the colliers preserved until only a few years ago many traits which we are accustomed to think had died out several generations ago. No railway came near the place; no highway led through it. Lying near the sea, it yet could boast of no good harbour within reach, to stimulate the coal industry. Even the local Three weeks without food in the depths of the earth! It seemed hardly credible, and I set myself to gather such recollections as might still remain. I discovered that a narrative of the circumstances had been published shortly after the date of their occurrence; but I was fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of people who were resident in the district during the calamity, and from whom I obtained details which do not seem ever to have found their way into print. Much of my information was derived from an old collier who was one of the survivors. His narrative and that of the other contemporaries of the event brought out in a strong light the superstition of the colliers, and furnished additional evidence as to one of the longest survivals without food of which authentic record exists. up. At first, half of the coal only was taken out; but after some progress had been made, the pillars were reduced in size, so as to let a third more of the seam be removed. This, of course, was a delicate operation, since the desire to get as much coal out of the mine as possible led to the risk of paring down the pillars so far as to make them too weak for the enormous weight they had to bear. Such a failure of support led to a "crush." The weakened pillars were crushed to fragments, and at the same time the floor of the pit, under the enormous and unequal pressure, was here and there squeezed up even to the roof. Such was the disaster that now befel the coal-pit of Kilgrammie, and it had been the early disturbance of level heralding the final catastrophe which sent the empty waggon along the roadway. On the 6th October, 1835, in a remote part of the old coal-mine of Kilgrammie, near Dailly, John Brown, the hero of this tragedy, was at work alone. Sixty-six years of age, but hale in body and full of fun and joke, he had long been a favourite with his fellow-workmen, more especially with the younger colliers, whom his humour and story-telling used to bring to his side when their own term of work was done. Many a time would they take his pick from him, and finish his remaining task, while he sat on the floor of the mine, and gave them his racy chat in return. For a couple of days cracks and grindOn the day in question he was apart from ing noises went on continuously in the the others, at the far end of a roadway. pit, the levels of the rails got more and While there, an empty waggon came rum- more altered, and though the men rebling along the rails and stopped within a mained at work it became hourly more foot of the edge of the hole in which his clear that part of the workings would now work lay. Had it gone a few inches fur- need to be abandoned. At last, on the ther, it would have fallen upon him, and 8th October, the final crash came suddendeprived him either of limb or life. ly and violently. The huge weight of There seemed something so thoughtless rock under which the galleries ran settled in such an act that he came up to see down solidly on them with a noise and which of his fellow-workmen could have shock which, spreading for a mile or two been guilty of it. But nobody was there. up and down that quiet vale of the GirHe shouted along the dark mine; but no van, were set down at the time as the sound came back, save the echo of his passing of an earthquake. Over the site own voice. That evening, when the men of the mine itself the ground was split had gathered round the village fires, the open into huge rents for a space of sevincident of the waggon was matter of eral acres, the dam of a pond gave way, earnest talk. Everybody scorned the im- and the water rushed off, while the horses putation of having, even in mere thought- at the mouth of the pit took fright, and lessness, risked a life in the pit. Besides, came scampering, masterless and in ternobody had been in that part of the work-ror, into the little village, the inhabitants ings except Brown himself. He fully ac- of which rushed out of doors, and were quitted them, having an explanation of his standing in wonderment as to what had own to account for the movements of the happened. waggon. He had known such things happen before, he said, and was persuaded that it could only be the devil, who seemed much more ready to push along empty hutches, and so endanger men's lives, than to give any miner help in pushing them when full. In truth, this story of the waggon came in the end to have a significance, little dreamt of at the time. It proved to have been the first indication of a "crush" in the pit—that is, a falling in of the roof. The coal-seam was a thick one, and in extracting it, massive pillars, some sixteen or seventeen feet broad and forty to fifty feet long, were left to keep the roof But the disasters above ground were only a feeble indication of the terrors underneath. Constant exposure to risk hardens a man against an appreciation of his dangers, and even makes him, it may be, foolhardy. The Kilgrammie colliers had continued their work with reckless disregard of consequences, until at last the cry arose among them that the roof was settling down. First they made a rush to the bottom of the shaft, in hopes of being pulled up by the engine. But by this time the shaft had become involved in the ruin of the roof. A second shaft stood at a little distance; but this too they found to be closed. Every avenue of es cape cut off, and amid the hideous groan- | shaft of the pit. The catastrophe hap ings and grindings of the sunken ground, pened on a Wednesday, and when Sunthe colliers had retreated to a part of the day came the parish minister, Dr. Hillworkings where the pillars yet stood firm. afterwards a conspicuous man in the Fortunately one of them remembered an Church of Scotland-made it the subject old tunnel, or 66 day-level," running from of a powerful appeal to his people. In the mine for more than half a mile to the the words of a lady, who was then, and is Brunston Holm, on the banks of the Gir- still resident in the neighbourhood, “he van, and made originally to carry off the made us feel deeply the horror of knowunderground water. They were starting ing that a human being was living beneath to find the entrance to this tunnel, when our feet, dying a most fearful death. On they noticed, for the first time, that John the Sunday following we met with the Brown was not among them. Two of the conviction that whatever the man's sufferyounger men (one of whom has told me ings had been, they were at last over, and the story) started back through the falling that he had been dead some days. On part of the workings, and found the old the third Sunday the event had begun to man at his post, working as unconcerned- pass away." ly as if he had been digging potatoes in his own garden. With some difficulty they persuaded him to return with them, and were in the act of hurrying him along, when he remembered that in the haste he had left his jacket behind. In vain they tried to drag him along. "The jacket was a new one," he said; "and as for the pit, he had been at a crush before now, and would win through it this time too." So, with a spring backwards, he tore himself away from them and dived into the darkness of the mine in search of his valued garment. Hardly, however, had he parted from them, when the roof between him and them came down with a crash. They managed to rejoin their comrades; John Brown was sealed up within the mine, most probably, as they thought, crushed to death between the ruins of the roof and floor. Those who have ever by any chance peeped into the sombre mouth of the daylevel of a coal-pit will realize what the colliers had now to do to make good their escape. The tunnel had been cut simply as a drain; dark water and mud filled it almost to the roof. For more than half a mile they had to walk, or rather to crouch along in a stooping posture through this conduit, the water often up to their shoulders, sometimes, indeed, with barely room for their heads to pass between the surface of the slimy water and the rough roof above. But at length they reached the bright daylight as it streamed over the green holms and autumn woods of the Girvan, no man missing save him whom they had done their best to rescue. They were the first to bring the tidings of their escape to the terrified village. After the lapse of some days the cracking and groaning of the broken roof had so far abated, that it became possible once more to get down into the pit. The first efforts were, of course, directed towards that part of the workings where the body was believed to be lying. But the former roadways were found to be so completely blocked up, that no approach to the place could be had, save by cutting a new tunnel through the ruins. This proved to be a work of great labour and difficulty; for not only were the materials extremely hard through which the new passage must be cut: a dead body lay in the pit, and awakened all the superstition of the colliers. At times they would work well, but their ears were ever on the alert for strange weird noises, and often would they come rushing out from the working in terror at the unearthly gibberings which ever and anon would go soughing through the mine. A fortnight had passed away. The lessee, like the rest of the inhabitants, believed poor Brown to be already dead, and brought a gang of colliers from another part of the county to help in clearing out and re-opening his coal-pit. But a party of the men continued at work upon the tunnel that was to lead to the body. They cut through the hard crushed roof a long passage, just wide enough to let a man crawl along it upon his elbows, and at last, early in the morning of the twentythird day after the accident, they struck through the last part of the ruined mass into the open workings beyond. The rush of foul air from these workings put out their lights, and compelled them to retreat. One of their number was desNo attempt could at first be made to patched to upper air for a couple of save the poor fellow. As the colliers boards, or corn-sieves, or any broad themselves said, not even a creel, or little | flat thing he could lay hands upon, with coal-basket, could get down the crushed which they might advance into the work ings, and waft the air about, so as to mix | were made to have the sufferer taken up it, and make it more breathable. Some to daylight again. And here one of the time had to elapse before the messenger strangest parts of the story must be told: could make the circuitous journey, and If by chance the reader has ever been meanwhile the foulness of the air had in a coal-pit, he may have remarked that probably lessened. When the sieves upon the decayed timber props and old came one of the miners agreed to advance wooden boardings an unseemly growth of into the darkness, and try to create a cur- a white and yellow fungus often takes root, rent of air; the rest were to follow. In a hanging in loathsome tufts and bunches minute or two, however, he rejoined from the sides or roofs wherever the wood them, almost speechless with fright. In is decaying. After being cautiously pushed winnowing the air with his arms, he had through the newly-cut passage, John struck against a waggon standing on the Brown was placed on the lessee's knees roadway, and the noise he had made was on the cage in which they were to be followed by a distinct groan. A younger pulled up by the engine. As they rose member of the gang volunteered to return into daylight, a sight which had only been with him. Advancing as before, the faintly visible in the feeble lamplight besame waggon stopped them as their sieves low presented itself, never seen before, came against the end of it, and again there and never to be forgotten. That same rose from out of the darkness of the mine loathsome fungus had spread over the a faint, but audible groan. Could it be poor collier's body as it would have done the poor castaway, or was it only another over a rotting log. His beard had grown wile of the arch enemy to lure two col- bristly during his confinement, and all liers more to their fate? Gathering up through the hairs this white fungus had all the courage that was left in him, one taken root. His master, as the approachof them broke the awful silence of the ing daylight made the growth more visiplace by solemnly demanding, "If that's ble, began to pull off the fungus threads, your ain groan, John Brown, in the nan but (as he told me himself) his hand was o' God, gie anither." They listened, and pushed aside by John, who asked him, after the echoes of his voice had ceased" Na, noo, wad ye kittle (tickle) me?" they heard another groan, coming apparently from the roadway only a few yards ahead. They crept forward, and found their companion - alive. By nine o'clock on that Friday morning, three-and-twenty days after he had walked out of his cottage for the last time, John Brown was once more resting on his In a few seconds the other colliers, own bed. A more ghastly figure could who had been anxiously awaiting the re- hardly be pictured. His face had not the sult, were also beside the body of John pallor of a fainting fit or of death, but Brown. They could not see it, for they wore a strange sallow hue like that of a had not yet resumed their lights; but they mummy. His flesh seemed entirely gone, could feel that it had the death-like chill of nothing left but the bones, under a thin a corpse. Stripping off their jackets and covering of leather-like skin. This was shirts, they lay with their naked backs specially marked about his face, where, next to him, trying to restore a little in spite of the growth of hair, every bone warmth to his hardly living frame. His looked as if it were coming through the first words, uttered in a scarcely audible skin, and his eyes, brightened into unnatwhisper, were, "Gie me a drink." Fear-ural lustre, were sunk far into his skull. ful of endangering the life which they had been the means of so marvellously saving, they only complied so far with his wish as to dip the sleeve of a coat in one of the little runnels which were trickling down the walls of the mine, and to moisten his lips with it. He pushed it from him, asking them "no to mak'a fule o' him." A little water refreshed him, and then, in the same strangely sepulchral whisper, he said, "Eh, boys, but ye've been lang o' coming." Word was now sent to the outer world that John Brown had been found, and was yet living. The lessee came down, the doctor was sent for, and preparations The late Dr. Sloan, of Ayr, who visited him, told me that to such a degree was the body wasted, that in putting the hand over the pit of the stomach, one could distinctly feel the inner surface of the backbone. Every atom of fatty matter in the body seems to have been consumed. Light food was sparingly administered, and he appeared to revive, and would insist on being allowed to speak and tell of his experiences in the pit. He had no food with him all the time of his confinement. Once before, when locked up underground by a similar accident, he had drunk the oil from his lamp and had thereby sickened himself; so that this shrewdly suspected this to be some new snare of his for the purpose of entrapping and carrying off some of their number. A post-mortem examination followed. But even that sad evidence of mortality failed to convince some of the more stubbornly superstitious. The late Dr. Sloan, who took part in the examination, told me that after it was over, and when he emerged from the little cottage, a group of old colliers who had been patiently waiting the result outside came up to him with the inquiry, "Doctor, did ye fin' his feet?" It certainly had not occurred to him to make any special investigation of the extremities, and he confessed that he had not, though surprised at the oddity of the question. He inquired in turn why they should have wished the feet particularly looked to. A grave shake of the time, though he had both oil and tobacco with him, he had tasted neither. For some days he was able to walk about in the open uncrushed part of the mine, where too he succeeded in supplying himself with water to drink. But in the end, as he grew weaker, he had stumbled across the roadway and fallen into the position in which he was found. The trickle of water ran down the mine close to him, and was for a time the only sound he could hear, but he could not reach it. When asked if he had not despaired of ever being restored to the upper air, he assured his questioners that he had never for a moment lost the belief that he would be rescued. He had heard them working towards him, and from the intervals of silence and sound he was able, after a fashion, to measure the passing of time. It would seem, too, that he had been sub-head was the only reply he could get at ject either to vivid dreams or to a wandering of the mind when awake, for he thanked again and again the sister of his master for her great kindness in visiting him in the pit and cheering him up as she did. On the Sunday afternoon when some of his old comrades were sitting round the bedside, he turned to them with an anxious puzzled look and said, "Ah boys, when I win through this, I've a queer story to tell ye." But that was not to be. His constitution had received such a shake as even its uncommon strength could not overcome. That evening it became only too plain that the apparent recovery of appetite and spirits had been but the last flicker of the lamp of life. Later in the night he died. So strange a tragedy made a deep impression on the people of that sequestered district. Everybody who could, made his way into the little cottage to see a man who, as it were, had risen from the dead, and no doubt this natural craving led to an amount of noise and excitement in the room, by no means very favourable to the recovery of the sufferer. But this was not all. A new impetus came to the fading superstitions of the colliery population. Not a few of his old work-fellows, though they saw him in bodily presence lying in his own bed and chatting as he used to do, nay, even though they followed him to the grave, refused to believe that what they saw was John Brown's body at all, or at least that it was his soul which animated it. They had seen so many wiles of the devil below ground, and had so often narrowly escaped with their lives from his treachery, that they the time, but he soon found out that had he examined the feet, he would have found them not to be human extremities at all, but bearing that cloven character which Scottish tradition has steadily held to be one of the characteristic and ineffaceable features of the deil, no matter under what disguise he may be pleased to appear. And even when the grave had closed over the wasted remains of the poor sufferer, people were still seeing visions and getting warnings. His ghost haunted the place for a time, until at last the erection of a tombstone by the parishioners with the inscription already quoted, written by the parish minister, slowly brought conviction to the minds of the incredulous. Many a story, however, still lingers of sights and sounds seen as portents after this sad tragedy. I shall give only one, told to me by an old collier, whose grandmother was a well-known witch, and who himself retained evidently more belief in her powers than he cared to acknowledge in words. Not long after John Brown's death, one of the miners returned unexpectedly from his work in the forenoon, and to the surprise of his wife appeared in front of their cottage. She was in the habit, unknown to him, of solacing herself in the early part of the day with a bottle of porter. On the occasion in question, the bottle stood toasting pleas antly before the fire when the form of the "gude-man" came in sight. In a moment she had driven in the cork and thrust the bottle underneath the blankets of the box-bed, when he entered, and, seating himself by the fire, began to light his pipe. In a little while the warmed porter managed to expel the cork and to |
