Copper Mining Western America.

New Zealand Illustrated Magazine, Volume VII, Issue 1, 1 October 1902, Page 45

Copper Mining Western America.

A GLIMPSE UNDERGROUND.

By

" IP^ftETTY near time to go mB% down, ain't it, Jack V llO? '"' & uess so > better get liLtr our candles/ answered my °^ partner, and we move to where the shift boss is standing, handing out candles to the men as they pass him. Waiting for the last few moments to pass before the whistle blows the signal for work, 1 look round at the thirty or forty men grouped about the mouth of the tunnel, and think what a cosmopolitan and interesting lot we are. Of all ages, from the lad, whose work it is to push the ore cars, to the hard-featured, grey-haired and toilstained " old timer " who, during the course of his dangerous and eventful life, has probably worked

EX-MINER,

in every mining camp in America, and perhaps in the world. We are dressed for the most part in blue overalls, some with their breeches tucked into rubber knee boots, and all more or less bespattered with candle grease. Of many nationalities, and from all quarters of the globe ; but predominant, the thin, keen face, bright, restless, almost fierce eyes and gaunt, powerful frame of the Western American. We are all very quiet. A certain gravity of expression and action pervades all. A few minutes agoout in the bright sunlight we were whiling away the time chatting or indulging in rough, good-humoured banter. But here in the cool shade of the shaft-house we are subdued and silent. What conversation there

is, is carried on in quiet undertone, a half-suppressed laugh may be heard occasionally, but that is all. For the most part we remain stolidly silent, engrossed in our own thoughts, and listening for the first sound of the whistle. Across the mind of the most hardened and reckless of us passes, may be the thought, " Perhaps my last shift." Danger and death are the ever constant attendants of the miner. He is ever rubbing shoulders with the one and looking straight into the eyes of the other. A sudden and unexpected explosion — that fearful Hash of blinding purple fire, that terrible roar and — after the debris has been cleared away — the ghastly, mangled remains of those who have not been blown into utter annihilation ; the caving-in of tunnel or drift, burying all, the dead and dying in one common tomb. Fortunate, indeed, are the first, but for the yet living, what is their death ? Death by suffocation, the life-giving air gradually changing into poisonous vapour, a tightening pressure on the chest, a torturing congestion of the bloodvessels of the throat, a horrid, gasping for breath, and — merciful oblivion. Or, perhaps, the more excruciating torture of a yet more lingering death— the mangled, painracked frame, pinned captive between jagged rocks and splintered timbers, tortured with an agonizing thirst. Slowly but surely is that life to which it so tenaciously clings, wrung from it, moment by moment, minute by minute, hour by hour, and, perhaps, day by day. Or the miner may be suddenly struck down by rocks, which, breaking away without warning from face of stope or roof of tunnel, come hurling down through the thick darkness overhead. Death, also, may come from bad air, and from foul, poisonous powder smoke, Or, perhaps, in the descent down the shaft the cable snaps, or something goes wrong with the engine, and the cage breaks away, a sudden plunge downward, a terrific

increase in the momentum, a paralysing fear, which grips each man's heart, and then the awful crash.

Read the experience of a man who passed through, and actually survived, such an accident. In a certain mine in Montana there is a clear drop of one thousand feet from the collar of the shaft to the sump at the bottom. Passing the 200-foot level the cable broke, and down crashed the cage, clear to the bottom, 800 feet below. Losing consciousness before the cage reached the bottom, the man woke up five weeks after, the only survivor of the dozen or fifteen men who were on the cage with him. But what a cruel escape. Young in years, from a clever, intelligent mechanic he was transformed into a wreck of his former self, constitution broken down for ever, nerves completely gone, a poor, palsied, weak creature, whose only thought it now was to sleep and sodden himself in drink.

Such are some of the risks the miner daily and carelessly runs as a matter of course. "My life against four dollars every time 1 go down the hole " is his way of summing up the position. But this thought is but momentary. If the mind dwells on it at all, it is only to hope the blow may be final and complete, and not leave him blind or helplessly crippled, to drag out a miserable existence by the aid of grudging, humiliating charity.

The whistle blows and the scene changes to one of bustle and action. We troop along the tunnel to where the cage awaits to take us down the main shaft. We step on, as many as the cage will hold, two bells are rung, the engine rattles, the huge drum revolves, the cable unwinds, and down we sink— down, down, down, into the gloom and darkness, the dim, flickering lights of our candles throwing queer shadows over our faces and forms. The sides of the shaft gleam with moisture, and the air grows damp and heavy as we descend.

Arrived at the level where we are to work, one bell is given, the cage stops, and we step off into a rectangular chamber, blasted out of the solid rock from which run tunnels leading to the different workings. The machine men separate into pairs, collect a set of sharp drills (or steels, to use a miner's term) and walk along the tunnel to the particular stope, or face where they are to work. Here their first care is to carefully examine the ground, and make all as safe as possible overhead by barring and knocking down any rocks that seem loose and likely to fall. Next they very carefully examine the face, or wall in which they are about to drill, for " miss-holes." The miners working here on the preceding shift have probably drilled, loaded, and on going off shift, fired a round of holes. It sometimes happens that through defective priming, or some unknown cause, one or more of the holes has failed to explode. Or, perhaps, as it is believed does happen, a shot has only partially exploded, and a portion of the powder in the bottom of the hole has not been consumed. To drive a drill into an unexploded hole, means almost certain death, and at least fearful mangling to anyone within a considerable radius. To go up against a miss-hole is the miner's chief and ever-constant dread.

All being satisfactory the miners set up their machine. This is a task requiring considerable skill and labour, the machine having to be wedged in very firmly, as otherwise the terrific concussion of the drill pounding against the rock would; cause it to kick back. Also, that i^^ljgstrong enough to withstand tra^feli^avy concussion is an essential 'feits- construction. The weight of a maclicne drill and its fittings varies from about 200 lbs, in what is called a "baby", drill, to over 700 lbs in the large sizes, and it can readily be understood what a severe task it is for two men to lug about and

lift up and down such a weight in the dark, confined space, and over the rough floor of a tunnel. The machine being set up, the air hose is connected and drilling com- . mences. Compressed air works a piston in the machine in a very * similar manner to steam in a steam engine. The drill is fitted into the piston rod, thus forming an elongation of it, and is driven backwards and forwards at a high rate of speed and with a rotary motion. After each stroke of the drill the air escapes, and serves the further purpose of ventilating the surrounding atmosphere. Two men run the machine. One looks after the air, turning it on and off, as necessary, and attends the screw by which the drill is advanced as boring proceeds and the hole deepens. The other, called the chuck tender, looks after the drill, knocks it loose, should it stick in the hole as sometimes happens, changes blunt steel for sharp, and " muds-out," that is cleans out the powdered rock that gradually collects in the hole, and which, v allowed to remain, would prevent the drill striking clean rock, and thus cause the stroke to lose a good deal of its force and power.

The work of a shift is usually to drill a round of holes up to about eight feet in depth, and varying in number according to the nature of the work. In boring the holes the chief object aimed at is to place them so that the explosion may bring down the greatest quantity of rock (or " country/ as miners say) at the smallest expenditure of time, labour and material ; and it is in attaining this object that the skill of the miner comes into play. An experienced, skilful miner will produce very much better results at a much less expense, and entail much less labour on himself than an inexperienced or unskilful man. When the round is completed the holes are loaded by the powder-monkey, and usually fired just before going off shift.

When a blast is about to be

Vol. VII.— No. 1.— 4.

fired a warning signal of four bells is given the engineer working the hoist. He responds by raising and lowering the cage a few feet to show the men below that he is alert and at his post. As a rule, not less than two men stay below to fire the blast. The fuses, being lit, the men hasten to the cage, give one sharp ring, and are immediately hoisted to the surface. After the engineer has responded to the blast-signal, he pays no attention to any other signals, he may receive, nor leaves his post for any reason whatever until he has hoisted the men to the surface.

The blast being fired, and the smoke having cleared away sufficiently, the rock (or " muck/ to again use a miner's term) is shovelled into cars by the muckers. They, also, in narrow tunnels, work in pairs, using long-handled shovels, having about two feet sawn off the handle. The cars run on light steel rails, along which they are hoisted to the top.

The scene underground is weird, impressive, and to the unaccustomed, not a little awesome. The darkness and gloom, which the dim, flickering lights of the candles seem but to intensify, the moving figures of the men, seen faintly, grotesquely and as if at a distance, or coming suddenly into view out of the inky blackness, the heavy, stale odour of powder smoke, the jig, jig of the drills pounding against the rock, the drip of the water, and occasionally the deep, dull boom of a blast in some distant part of the mine, make up a combination of scene and sound that keeps the senses strained and the mind alert and anxious. This uneasiness, however, soon passes away, and becoming accustomed to the surroundings, one works on, heedless of danger, and as much at home as if working on top in the light of day.

The illustrations in this article give the reader an excellent idea of the sort of country in which copper-mining is carried on in

British Columbia. The first shows an ore train from the Le Hoi mine on its way to the smelter at North Pool, in Washington State, a distance of seventeen miles. Each car contains thirty tons of ore, and there are twelve of them. The " Le Roi " is one of the best equipped and most scientifically worked mines in America. It is at present being worked at a depth of 1000 feet, but it is equipped with hoisting gear capable of raising ore 3000 feet. The mine has already been prospected to that depth, and contains immense deposits of copper and gold ores. This is the mine which has been the subject of so much discussion lately in London in connection with the affairs of Whitaker Wright and the London and Globe Finance Corporation.

The building on the ridge of the hill, in the background, is the " War Eagle '" hoist, and the Red Mountain shows up prominently. The second illustration is a view of the Phoenix mining township in British Columbia. It shows the " Old Ironsides " and " Knob Hill " mines. These are comparatively undeveloped properties, but are, perhaps, the biggest coppermining propositions in Canada. The whole mountain on which they are situated appears to carry value, low-grade copper ore running all through it. Besides the underground workings there is a large, open quarry on the side of the mountain, all the rock from which is sent to the smelter for treatment.

Phoenix bears special interest as being the only place in Canada where the miners absolutely refuse to allow Chinese or Japs to enter. It is about 4000 leet above sea level.

The third illustration gives another view of Phoenix, showing the " Brooklyn " and " Stemwinder " mines. A rather prominent building in the centre is the office of the "Phoenix Pioneer," the local weekly newspaper.