TALES OF ADVENTURE

Auckland Star, Volume LVII, Issue 204, 28 August 1926, Page 26

TALES OF ADVENTURE

MY MAD MATE.

1 often wondered why Harry Neild's iair was so white while he still showed ill the strength and activity of a man n his prime. One day. being in a conversational mood, 1 asked him. We vere timber "spotting" in a big West Australian forest at the time, and had mused to rest beside the fallen trunk )f a ginnt tree that had probably been i seedling at the time of William the Conqueror. "Why is my hair white while I'm still i comparatively young man?" repeated S T eild. "I'll tell you, Bill." He paused, holding out his hands, and showed mc that the bair on their jacks was also snow-white. "It was Tight! That's all—just pure fright. I A'as nearly killed once when mining with a madman. He's over in Claremont Asylum yet, poor fellow. When he r ound how close he had come to killing mc he broke down and became com)lctely insane." , Wit'li that Neild told mc the whole story, which I have set down as nearly is possible in liis own words. Madness, as you may know, is a pecuiar malady. It seldom comes on a person in a day. It seems to grow on Jiem, so that even when you are closely issociated with them it is hard to tell iust when they arp cane or not. Of xnirse, Bob Bowden —that was my mate's name—wasn't a raving lunatic; n fact, he was one of the qxiietest felows I ever mct —a real family man, levoted to his wife and their five chilIren. It was because of Ivs poc /ife and ihildren that I stood by him for so ong; he appeared so harmless that it teemed cruel to complain to the boss ibout him aid lose him his job. for that s what would have happened. But ailing to report him nearly cost mc my ife in the end.

It happened like this: We were working mates, sinking a winze in the Central and West Boulder mine, putting it through from the five-hundred t< the six-hundred foot el. A winze, you know, is just a small sha't in the mine itself. Sometimes it goes straight downwards, sometimes on the slant, but it i 9 always put through to join two levels or tunnels together. Our particular winze went straight down, and we had to use a windlass in order to lift the stone and other debris out. After a time I noticed that my mate seemed to be getting absent-minded. Sometimes when we were boring away with the rock-drill he would suddenly let go the feed-handle, and, lifting his candle from the wall, begin picking the rim off and watching the grease run down the eide just like a child would. I had to give him a slap before T could wake him up to get on with his work. At other times he would wander away into worked-out parts of the level, and 1 had to hunt for him and bring him back to his job. I feared he would fall into some hole, or even down the shaft, and get killed. I was not so much concerned about the risk to myself, but I dreaded

the result for his wife and children if anything happened to him through his strange behaviour. My worst experience came when we "fired-out" in the winze. We had six holes to "shoot," and there was enough dynamite about to sink a battleship. To work with him then was like being between the devil and the deep sea. It was a puzzle to know which was the safer plan —to send Bob down to light the fuses while I stood by the windlass ready to hoist i.im up, or to go down myself and make sure all the charges were lit. At first, though I noticed how peculiar he was getting, I used to trust him occasionally to do the "firing-out"; but when one day he forgot to light a fuse I decided the risk was too great, and that in future I must attend to that part of the work myself as long as we were together. One of the greatest dangers that lies in wait for the miner, of course, is a misfire; I know of a dozen men who have been killed through boring into a charge that had failed to explode. In fact, on one occasion I was told off to get two men out of a shaft who bad lost their lives through a missed charge.

(By W. CHARNLEY.)

Harry Neild was quite a young man his hair was snow-white. One \? y ou Author inquired the reason, wlipreupon Neild told him this story. Mr. Charnley is himself an Australian miner of many years' experience, and vouches for the authenticity of the narrative.

They were drilling away, quite unconscious of danger, when the forgotten charge suddenly exploded and tons of rock rained down all round them. One poor fellow who had been attending to the '"chuck," or nose-end of the drill, was literally blown to pieces, while the other man had his face completely battered in.

But to continue my story about Bob, The next time we bored-out, after he had missed that charge, I felt decidedly anxious. I kept i»s far away as possible from the spot where I reckoned the charge was, but I couldn't be quite sure as to its whereabouts. We emerged in safety, but I made up my mind that I would not allow him to "fire-out" a°rain.

When I told him of my decision he offered no objection, agreeing that it would be better for us both. The curious *art about it all was that Bob had fjiells of complete sanity, when he realised acutely the danger in which he had placed mc, and was full of remorse and apologies for his conduct. Somelimes these sane periods would last for weeks; then, all of a sudden, his brain would give way, and he would begin his strange actions one more.

One clay we were all ready to "fireout." The winze was now about fifty feet deep, making it stiff work for the man at the windlass; on the other hand, the depth allowed us to let the windlass remain over the winze when the sliots went off. Usually we had to dismantle it. because as a rule the winze was less than forty feet deep, and the stone sent, flying up by the explosior. was likely to smash the windlass barrel.

Well, on this particular occasion we hauled up our rock-drill—or rather Bob did, for just then I was below, taking flown the drilling outfit. Then I sent up the big cross-bar. Just as Bob was

about to haul up the long wirebound hose which supplied the compressed air to the drill, I called out to him to leave it for a while and send down the dynamite. The shift was getting on, and 1 was anxious to get the "firing-out" over before it was time to knock off work. Bob duly sent down the explosive; then he hoisted up the hose and made everything tidy, while I charged the holes and "spitted" the fuses. All was now ready; the winze was clear except for the hide bucket which dangled by my side, ready for mc to step into and be hoisted to the top. Looking up, by the glow of the candle I could see my mate at his post by the windlass. "Are you ready?" I called out. By way of answer Bob gave the bucket a slight jerk. With my candle I reached round and hastily lit all the tiny fragments of dynamite that I had inserted into the split ends of the fuses so as to give the powder a good start. "Right!" 1 shouted, and forthwith stepped into the bucket. In doing so, however, I nearly fell to the ground, for my weight encountered no pull from above and brought the bucket limply to the bottom of the winze. I was naturally annoyed, but, not realising in the least what had happened—that Bob had had another of his attacks of "queerness" and gone away—l shouted: "Pull up!"

The bucket did not move. Looking angrily aloft, I could still see the glowing candle, but my mate was no longer visible. Thinking he wae somewhere close at hand, I cupped my hands and yelled with all my might, but I might as well have shouted into empty space.

My blood froze as I suddenly realised my predicament. Already the bottom of the winze was full of smoke from the burning fuses, and the fit of coughing fhat now seized mc did not help to clear thinking.

What could I do? Climb the rope? 1 am a big man, weighing over thirteen stone. The rope was flexible steel wire, about the thickness of a clothes-line. In desperation I seized it, drawing it down towards mc. It came quite freely, for the windlass, not being locked, revolved as I pulled. Down and down came the roj.e —yards and yards of it. There were over a hundred feet in all coiled on the barrel —enough to carry as through to the next levels

1 pulled and pulled until my fe . t were .11 tangled up with it; the buS ing fuees were getting mixed up wiS, it, too. Then suddenly the fifty feet of rope came down in on! ""thing maw, striking mc heavily Z the head and face. 7 n

With dawning horror I realised th futility of my efforts. The ropfw* * attached to the barrel at loose end being merely wrapped beneath the over aymg coils and thus held in posi! tion! 1 had run the entire cable off the windlass and so completely cut off ail chance of escape!

By this time I was nearly paralysed with terror. In the back of my mind 1 had a vision of the poor wretches 1 had helped to remove from the shaft, and 1 pictured myself being picked up'in the same way.

Then quick as lightning, a thought flashed through my brain, and 1 wondered why it had not occurred to mc before.

It was our rule to allow a couple of feet of fuse to project beyond the collar of each hole. Pulling out my knife I began to hunt for the fuses in the wild hope. of cutting off the burning portions and thus preventing the fire reaching the charge. 1 say "hunt" advisedly, because the tangle of coils of rope under and round my feet hindered mc badly, and 1 was only able to find two of the fuses.

One of these I cut just in the nick ol time, but the other burnt my fingers as 1 seized it, and I knew that the lire had passed beyond the collar of the hole and that nothing 1 could do would prevent the charge from exploding.

How 1 cursed my folly! Had I thought of cutting the fuses at first all would have been well; I should simply have had to wait until my mate or someone else came along and hoisted mc out. But my mind had been so concentrated on getting away up the winze that it failed to work in any unaccustomed groove. Having been hoisted up so many times before after "spitting" the fuses, the sequence had naturally assumed the force of a habit. But it was too late to repine about my folly now.

I gave myself up for lost. The holes were six feet deep and with the fuses burning at the rate of three feet a minute I had just two minutes longer to live. The moment the spark touched the fulminate cap the whole floor of the pit would rise up in lumps and hurl mc into eternity.

I was frantic! I screamed; I yelled; I clawed at the rough rock sides in a vain attempt to scale them. Although the acrid powder-smoke nearly choked mc every time, I opened my mouth I shrieked again and again. In imagination I felt the rock lifting beneath my feet A few seconds more and then My voice cracked; a sharp pain seized my throat. I could shout no longer. The end had come.

I leaned against the side of the winze, shielding my face with my arm and prepared to die. I had a horror of the stone battering my face —though whit did that matter, seeing I was going to be killed?

Suddenly a voice shouted: "Look out!" and something came flying down towards mc. I clutched at it wildly and held on. It was the wire-bound air-hose and someone above was making superhuman efforts to drag mc up. But I knew they could never lift mc in time.

"Hold tight!" I screamed and with U»t I began to climb the swaying wire hand over hand. I was never much of A climber before, nor have I been since, but I shinned up that air-hose like a practised acrobat. Probably the spiral wire binding with which it was armoured helped matters, but in any case I struggled upwards, calculating the depth below as I climbed. Every foot gave mc an added chance of life, but I felt I could never reach the top before the charges exploded. Suddenly 1 began to ascend faster and yet faster. Miraculous strength seemed to be coming to my aid from above, for as I climbed the hose was being hoisted. Up, up I clambered. I was twenty feet from the top —then only ten! I could see the faces of the men above mc. There stood Bob and beside him was our old "shift-boss."

Surely I could do it now—there were only just a few feet between mc and safety.

Then a terrific blast of wind came leaping up from below—the shots were going off! I felt myself seized like a feather and hurled upwards. There waa a terrible crash and I remembered no more. ,

When I came to I was in the hospital and learned to my surprise that nearly A week had passed since I had clung to that air-hose, climbing for dear life. It was not until some time later that I was told just how I had been saved; but one day when the "shift-boss" came to see mc he related the complete story of his opportune arrival on the scene. It appeared that he bad been travelling down the main shaft in the cage and when passing our level caught a glimpse, by the light of his candle, of a pan standing in the dark. This being entirely against mining regulations, he had returned to the level as quickly ac the engine could hoist him. Bob wa* still standing there in the darkness. The "shift-boss," seeing his dazed condition, at once divined that something was wrong and hastily went in search of mc. As he proceeded along the drive he heard my agonised shrieks. Reaching the mouth of the winze, he was somewhat nonplussed on finding that all the rope was off the windlass and myself still below.

Fortunately he had sufficient presence of mind to fling down the only life-line available—the long air-hose. Hit strength proved insufficient, however, to hoist mc up until my mate slowly came to his senses and helped to haul'on the line. When the explosion occurred I was lifted bodily upwards and struck my head against the windlass barrel. Luckily this barrel was made of soft pine wood and the "shift-boss" just had time to seize mc and drag mc into safety before I fell back into the pit. Poor Bob was immediately suspended and put under observation, but unfortunately he has never recovered from the shock. I remained in hospital for quite a long time and the doctors kept my hair short in order to dress the wound in my head more readily. When I came out, of course, I let it grow again. At first it was grey, but within a year it turned snow-white and has since remained bo —the result, I suppose, of that night of horror.