RUNNING THE GAUNTLET OF FIRE.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 30, Issue 16, 26 February 1918, Page 2

RUNNING THE GAUNTLET OF FIRE.

When I set out one day, some years ago, in the company of a friend, to visit the Eurowie Opal Mitr-v in the wild heart of New South Wales, I little dreamt that, within a few hours, I should have to go through, one of the must terrible experiences of which any man has ever survived to tell the story— Dial 1 should escape, as by a miracle, a death iLoo horrible to mat cm [ late.

Itwivs will. « ve», light hs.ivt that we edarted on the lourney which wa i

to have nuch c. horrible and anus ttonal ending. It was a glorious day; .a city of deep, cloudless blue stretched stove ua ; the saa Hooded hill and fcrc-st and valley with its golden light, and the air was exhilarating as in amp a gee. It was a dry to make the eyes sparkle and to set the pulses beat'ng quickly v/ith the joy of life ;aud our horses seamed to revel in it just as much as ourselves, as they tossed their heads and devoured the miles that separated ua from our goal. Wuon we arrived at Eurowie, we had the warmest of welcomes from Mr. Mars, the genial owner of the mines, who himself acted as our fuide and showed us much that was of the greatest interest. The thing that astonished me most, perhaps, was the great quantity of timber used about the place ; and, when our tour was finished, I asked our host where it all came from and how it was brought to the mines ; for the difficulties of transport in such a mountainous country must be enormous.

“We have some large timber ‘limits’ about fifteen miles higher up,” he answered ; “and the timber comes down a flume or water race.” The flume, he went on to tell us, is built, »n stout trestles and stringers, and runs over hills, through valleys and around mountains, winding its sinuous way from the forests above down to the valley in which the mines are. The fall is two thousand feet in the fifteen miles ; in parts, as much as one foot in two ; and the water is supplied by a couple of reservoirs. In the construction of the flume no less than two million feet of timber and twenty-eight tons of nails were used.

THE WONDERFUL FLUME. “So you see,” he concluded, “it is all quite simple. The logs, when they are cut, are placed in the flume, and are floated by the water at great speed down the fifteen miles of shute, the incline of which is so great that there is little chance of their jamming. But why not come and see for yourselves how it is done ? You have plenty of time, and it will be a very pleasant ride up to the forest.” The invitation was too tempting to be declined, and, remounting our horses, with Mr. Mars for companion, we werei soon on our way to the source of this wonderful flume which made such light work of transporting a forest to a valley, five leagues below.

That we thoroughly enjoyed the ride through the glorious mountains, with such a delightful and interesting companion, goes without saying ; and, after spending an hour or 90 watching the men at work, cutting the timber and launching it on its long downward plunge, we sat down together to atypical bush, dinner, to which, as you may imagine, after five hours in the saddle, we brought ravenous appetites. We were just lighting our postprandial pipes .in a very happy state of mind and body when suddenly Mr. Mars drew our attention to a lowlying bank of fog (or so it seemed), creeping and growing along the

mountain side a few miles distant ; ind almost at the same moment we heard a cry of “fire !” Jrom one of the timber-cutters working near us. In an instant the whftle camp was in commotion ; for their trained eyes recognised that creeping fog for what It really was—a bush fire. The forest beneath us was on fire. Springing up in alarm, my friend and I rushed to our horses, but Mr.

Mars called us back. “It’s not a bit

of good,” he told us ; “we are too late ; the fire has almost reached our track : and in a few minutes, long before we could pass, it will have swept over it. It is almost certain death to go.”

Here was a nice predicament ! It

was absolutely necessary for me to return that day to the town from which we had started, in order to

catch the mail-coach the next morning, for the coach only went twice a week ; and, apart from this necessity, I did not at all relish the prospect of spending the night and possibly a few days in that bleak mountain solitude. At any rate, there was a chance, however small, of getting through ; and I determined to take it. My friend was game ; and, after much persuasion, we at last induced Mr. Mare to make the dash with us. “I tell you it’s hopeless !” he said, as he reluctantly mounted his horse. ‘‘We are riding to death ; wc can’t possibly get through the belt or timber before the flames reach it ’ it, if you will, you will—so here 1” As we rushed downwards, our hor-

ses galloping madly under the stimulus of spurs and whip and shouts, the ' air, as it rushed past us, struck hot on our cheeks, the pungent smell of smoke came to our nostrils, and through the thunder of hoofs stole the ominous sound of crackling and a subdued roar of flames devouring the forest beneath us on their onward path. Our horses scented the danger ahead, and tossed their heads

in growing alarm ; flights of startled birds winged panic-stricken over us ; and everywhere reptiles were scurrying towards the rocky headlands for refuge.

A HACK FOB LIFE. As we raced on and on it became more and more evident that our venture was hopeless; every moment the fire was gaining on us ; we could see its flames darting and leaping nearer to the white ribbon of road a mile ahead. Paster and faster still we flew. A few hundred yards more and we might do it. But it was not to be. With a deep roar, as if of exultation, the fire reached the road, swept across and seized the trees at tin opposite side. Between us and t a fety was a barrier of flame through v,hicii no man could pass and live. As with one impulse we reined in sweating, trembling, foam-flecked

horses, almost at the edge of the inferno whose hot breath had scorched our faces. "Just as I told you!” gasped Mr. Mars. "I knew we couldn't doit.” ‘‘What can we do now?” I asked helplessly. ‘‘Well,” he answered, ‘‘there is one chance left—a desperate one, I admit —and that is the flume. Away over there is one of the reservoirs that supply the water; if we can reach it we may—though it’s a thousand to one against it—be able to travel to the mines by way of the flume,” It was, indeed, a desperate chance ; but it was the only one left, and we decided to take it.

Spurring our horses we galloped away to the right over the rough hill side, outflanking the fire. Through the rolling clouds of smoke and the furnace blast of the flames we raced, our horses miraculously keeping their footing on the rough, rock-strewn ground, until, after what seemed a small eternity, we .came safely to the reservoir. Here we dismounted, liberated the terrified and exhausted aiwnals, and started them off back to the camp. Then we turned our attention to the flume, our one precarious link with life.

Within a few moments Mr. Mars had. produced from some hiding-place a shallow V-shaped boat, tapering to a point at the front, which, I learned later, is used by the timber men to carry tools such as 'crowbars, hammers, and so on, to repair the flume or to dislodge jammed logs. In almost less time than £t takes to tell, this strange craft—more like a pig-trough than anything else—was placed in the flume, into which its sides just fitted. Mr. Mars held it steady by means of the stout rope attached to it, in the rushing torrent of water, while my friend and I took our places in it. He then followed suit, and, like a greyhound released, our frail barque sprang forward on its wdld scoop down the water-race into the valley far below.

THROUGH THE FURNACE. Never, surely, did men embark on a more perilous venture than this to which we were now committed beyond hope of escape. To our left, far as the eye could reach, was a sea of flame and rolling smoke which swept over us in suSocating clouds—a sea which was rolling relentlessly on to the destruction of our last link with life. Every moment it was growing nearer and nearer ; at some point further down it might already be sweeping over our path. Could we run safely the terrible gauntlet ? In spite of the scorching atmosphere, hot as the gusts from an open furnace door, my blood seemed to turn to ice at thought of the death that menaced us.

Meanwhile we were dashing downward with the speed of an express train, home on the rushing tide of water, now plunging down an almost vertical incline, the spray dashing in a deluge on our faces, then skimming like a swallow along the more level stretches. Now we were, skirting the edge of some deep precipice, darting over gorges and through belts of forest, the roar of the flames loud in our ears, while ever ahead of us stretched the narrow, sinuous lines on which our lives hung. The minutes seemed hours as we sped on and down, half blinded by the spray and the scorching breath of fire, dizzy with the speed of our flight, paralysed by the dread of the fate which : at any moment might overtake us. So far, thanks to Providence, we had outstripped the flames ; but such ■ good fortune could not last long. About half way down the mountain the flume made a circuit to the left in the direction of the fire ; and here, Mars warned us, our chief danger would come. The suspense, as we neared this point of peril, was too terrible to describe. But luckily it was as brief as it was terrible.

Every moment the heat had become more intolerable, the smoke more suffocating, the roar of the flaming forest nearer and more ominous. We dashed through a deluge of sparks and flaming fragments of wood—then we plunged right into the heart of the furnace. On both sides of our narrow track the trees were in fierce flame, tongues of fire leaping from side to side, licking hungrily at the wood work of the flume, and trestles beneath us, and eddying over the swirling water as we dashed onwards, apparently to our doom. Strangely enough, as we plunged into this vortex of fire, all my fears fell from me, and a feeling of indescribable exhilaration took their place. I knew that any moment might be my last on earth ; at any moment the charred timbers might crash under us and we should be hurled to the most horrible of deaths. But, so far from feeling any terror at the prospect—the certainty almost —I revelled in the tussle with death. I could have shrieked aloud in ! my glee and my enjoyment of it all.

AN AWFUL EXPERIENCE. Fortunately for us, at this point, the flume was at its steepest, with an inclination of forty-five degrees, and we shot down i it at such a terrific speed that it took our breath away and compelled us to cling tightly to the boat and one another. Swifter

ana swifter we pmngea downward, through the blinding sheets of flame, through the deluge of red-hot ashes and burning leaves, and the roar of

the furnace that hedged us in on all sides. And through it all my feeling of exultation grew. I could feel the fierce licking of the flames all , around me ; the smell of scorched ; clothing and hair came to ray nostrils ; but of pain I felt as little as of fear. I must, I suppose, > have been mad with the excitement of it all, for I no longer thought we cared | whether we came safely through or not. How long it lasted I cannot say. All I can remember of it is the feeling of wild exhilaration as we swept | down, deeper and deeper into the heart of the fiery furnace—the blinding glare through my closed eyes, the roar and crackle, the suffocating gulps of smoke. Then I heard a fervently ejaculated “We're through !’*’ from Mars.; and opening my eyes I saw that we had come safely out of the mouth of hell. The danger was past. Glancing behind me I saw the blazing inferno, a belt of flame,, roughly a mile wide, through which we had so miraculously come ; and when the full horror of it flashed on me my mood of mad exultation fell from me and I shook like an aspenleaf. So strange are the ways of men. Yes, I must have been mad with the excitement of it all, for, to-day, whenever I recall it in my waking moments, or when it comes back to me in my dreams, I re-live it in its horrors only, with none of the delirium that at the time mercifully possessed me. There is little more to record. Within a few minutes more we came in safety to the end of the flume and one of the most terrible journeys in human history—to the amazement of the timber-men, who lifted us out of our boat, drenched and scorched and utterly exhausted, but not really much the worse for our awful experience. Luckily that same night there was a perfect deluge of rain which effectually quenched the fire ; hut not before it had utterly destroyed many square miles of forest. Of the milelong stretch of flume down which we had run the gauntlet of fire, nothing remained but a black trail of charred and tumbled timber.—” Weekly Telegraph.”