Historical collections of Virginia containing a collection of the most interesting facts, traditions, biographical sketches, anecdotes, &c., relating to its history and antiquities, together with geographical and statistical descriptions : to which is appended, an historical and descriptive sketch of the District of Columbia : illustrated by over 100 engravings, giving views of the principal towns, seats of eminent men, public buildings, relics of antiquity, historic localities, natural scenery, etc., etc. |
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CHESTERFIELD. |
 | Historical collections of Virginia |  |
CHESTERFIELD.
Chesterfield was formed from Henrico, in 1748. It is 28 miles
long, with an average width of about 18; the surface is broken,
and, excepting on the margin of the streams, the soil is generally
sterile. It is particularly celebrated for its immense beds of coal,
which have been worked from a very early day. The James River
forms its N. and the Appomattox its S. boundary; and the great
line of railroads, from the north to the south, passes through its
eastern portion. Pop. 1830, 11,689; 1840, whites 7,859, slaves
8,702, free colored 587; total, 17,148.
Manchester lies on the James, immediately opposite Richmond,
with which it is connected by the railroad and Mayo's bridges. In
the American revolution it was visited by the enemy, and then had
but a few houses. Ten years ago it contained a population of
1500, since which it has not increased. The town is very much
scattered; there are several tobacco and one or more large cotton
manufactories. Its beautiful situation has induced wealthy men,
doing business in Richmond, to make it their residence, who have
erected some splendid private mansions within its limits. Bellona
Arsenal, on the river, 12 miles above Richmond, was established
in 1816. Formerly it was a depôt for military stores, and was
garrisoned by a company of U. S. troops. Adjacent is the Bellona
foundry, one of the oldest cannon foundries in the Union. Hallsboro'
is a small village in the W. part of the county. Salisbury,
now the seat of Mrs. Johnson, in this county, was once the residence
of Patrick Henry.
Warwick, which is on the river, was, previous to the revolution,
larger than Richmond, and one of the principal shipping ports on
the river. Formerly large vessels came up there, and it was the
point where all the coal of this county was shipped. The Marquis
de Chastellux thus describes it, as it was in 1782: "We skirted
James River to a charming place called Warwick, where a group
of handsome houses form a sort of village, and there are several
superb ones in the neighborhood; among others, that of Col.
Carey, on the right bank of the river, and Mr. Randolph's [at
Tuckahoe] on the opposite shore." In the revolution, the barracks
of the American troops at the court-house of this county,
were burnt by the enemy.
On the N. bank of the Appomattox, above the falls, and about a mile from Petersburg, is Matoax, where
resided John Randolph, senr., the father of John R. of Roanoke. The name Matoax, (or Matoaca,) was
the private name of Pocahontas. Of the house nothing now remains. Here John Randolph of Roanoke
passed the years of his boyhood. The Bland papers, from which this article is abridged, remark that,
"he is said in after-life, when involved in the turmoil of politics, to have recurred with fond regret to his
early days at Matoax, and in particular to his angling amusements there. Numerous arrowheads, stone
tomahawks, and other Indian relics found there, would seem to indicate it as formerly a favorite haunt
of the natives." Subjoined are translations from Latin inscriptions engraved on three tombstones, under
a clump of oaks, near the site of the Matoax house:
John Randolph, Esq., died 28th October, 1775, aged 34. Let not a tomb be wanting to his ashes, nor
memory to his virtues.
Jesus, the Saviour of mankind. When shall we cease to mourn for Frances Bland Tucker, wife of St.
George Tucker? She died 18th January, 1788, aged 36.
Martha Hall, died 4th of March, 1784. Whom Hymen slighted, Pollux and Apollo courted.
The coal-region of eastern Virginia is supposed to be about 50
miles long and 12 broad, and occupies part of this and several of
the adjacent counties. Here, however, the mining has been the
most successfully prosecuted, and at present the mines in Chesterfield
daily raise, in the aggregate, about 250 tons. We had the
pleasure, in the summer of 1843, of visiting one of the mines, and
at the time published a letter in a public print, giving an account
of our visit. A portion of it is copied below:
Learning that the Midlothian mines were the most extensively and as skilfully
wrought as any, I paid them a visit; but my remarks as to the management and quality
of the coal, will in general apply as well to the remainder. Four shafts have been sunk
by this company since 1833; in two, coal has been reached, one at a depth of 625, and
the other at 775 feet. The sinking of the deepest occupied three years of labor, at a
cost of about $30,000. The materials were raised by mules, and it is supposed a like
depth was never before attained by horse-power in any country. These shafts, eleven
feet square each, are divided by timbers into four equal chambers. At the deep shaft,
two steam-engines on the surface operate in raising coal; at the other, one. The extra
engine at the deep shaft draws coal up an inclined plane down in the mine, to the bottom
of the shaft. This plane reaches the lowest point of the mine, about 1,000 feet or a
fifth of a mile from the surface. The coal having thus been brought to the pit, the other
engine raises it perpendicularly to the surface, when the baskets containing it are placed
on little cars on a small hand-railway, and are pushed by the negroes a few rods to where
it is emptied, screened, and shovelled into the large cars on the railroad, connecting with
tide-water near Richmond, 12 miles distant. While the engine attached to the plane is
drawing up coal, it is so arranged that pumps, by the same motion, are throwing out the
"surface water," which, by means of grooves around the shaft, is collected in a reservoir
made in the rock, 360 feet below the surface. This water is conducted about twenty feet
above ground, to a cistern, from which it is used by the different engines.
Through the kindness of the president of the company, I was allowed to descend into
the mines. I was first conducted to a building where I put on a coarse suit, which is
perhaps worthy of description. Firstly, imagine a figure about five feet and a half in
height, incased in a pair of pants of the coarsest "hard-times" cloth, coming up nearly
to his shoulders, with legs as large as the wearer's body. Throw over these a coat of
the same material, with a very short skirt, and over its collar place a shirt-collar of sailcloth,
turned over "à la Byron," being the upper termination of a garment operating
most unmercifully as a flesh-brush upon the tender skin of its wearer. Mount this interesting
figure in a pair of negro shoes, crown him with a low black wool hat, stuck just
on the top of his head; beneath it place a countenance sunburnt and weatherbeaten to
the hue of unscraped sole-leather, relieved on each side by huge masses of long light hair,
and you have a tolerable portrait of the writer as he was about making his début, at 4 P.
M., July 13th, A. D. 1843, into the deep pit of the Midlothian coal-mine, in Chesterfield
county, "Ole Virginny."
My friend, guide, and self, each with a lighted lamp, sprang into a basket suspended by
ropes over pulleys and frame-work, above a yawning abyss seven hundred and seventy-five
feet deep. The signal was given—puff! puff! went the steam-engine, and down, down,
went we. I endeavored to joke to conceal my trepidation. It was stale business.
Rapidly glided past the wooden sides of the shaft,—I became dizzy,—shut my eyes,—
opened them and saw, far, far above, the small faint light of day at top. In one minute—
it seemed five—we came to the bottom with a bump! The under-ground superintendent
made his appearance, covered with coal-dust and perspiration; his jolly English face
and hearty welcome augured well for our subterranean researches. Him we followed,
each with a lighted lamp, through many a labyrinth, down many a ladder, and occasionally
penetrating to the end of a drift, where the men were at work shovelling coal
into baskets on the cars running on railroads to the mouth of the pit, or boring for blasts.
We witnessed one or two. The match was put, we retreated a short distance,—then
came the explosion, echoing and re-echoing among the caverns,—a momentary noise of
falling coal, like a sudden shower of hail, succeeded, and then all was silence.
The drifts, or passages, are generally about sixteen feet wide, and ten feet high, with
large pillars of coal intervening about sixty feet square. I can give the idea by comparing
the drifts to the streets, and the pillars to the squares of a city in miniature.
When the company's limits are reached, the pillars will be taken away. The general
has to descend by ladders, or by steps, cut in solid rock. Doors used in ventilation were
often met with, through which we crawled. Mules are employed under ground in transporting
the coal on the small railways, coursing nearly all the drifts. They are in excellent
condition, with fine glossy coats of hair, nearly equal well-kept race-horses, which
is supposed to result from the sulphur in the coal, and the even temperature of the mines.
Well-arranged stables are there built, and all requisite attention paid them. Some of
the animals remain below for years, and when carried to the strong light of day, gambol
like wild horses.
Partitions of thin plank, attached to timbers put up in the centre of the main drifts,
are one of the principal means by which the mines are ventilated, aided by a strong
furnace near the upcast shaft. Near this is a blacksmith-shop. The atmospheric air is
admitted into the mines down the deepest shaft, and after coursing the entire drifts, and
ascending to the rise-workings of the mines, is thence conducted to the furnace, where
it is rarefied, and ascends to the surface, having in its progress become mixed with the
carbureted hydrogen gas emitted from the coal. When this gas is evolved in unusual
quantities, greater speed is given to the air by increasing the fire. If the partitions in
the drifts (known as brattice-work) should be broken, the circulation would be impeded,
and the gas so strongly impregnate the air, as in its passage over the furnace to
ignite, and result in destructive consequences. Or, should too much gas be thrown out
of the coal when the circulation is impeded from any cause, it would explode on the
application of a common lamp. In such cases, the Davy lamp is used. I heard the
gas escaping from the coal make a hissing noise, and I saw it set on fire in crevices of
the walls by the lamp of our conductor; and although a novice in these matters, enough
was seen to convince me of the skill of Mr. Marshall, the company's under-ground
superintendent, in managing the ventilation.
Some years since, when ventilation was less understood than at present, an explosion
took place in a neighboring mine of the most fearful character. Of the fifty-four men
in the mine, only two, who happened to be in some crevices near the mouth of the shaft,
escaped with life. Nearly all the internal works of the mine were blown to atoms.
Such was the force of the explosion, that a basket then descending, containing three
men, was blown nearly one hundred feet into the air. Two fell out, and were crushed
to death, and the third remained in, and with the basket was thrown some seventy or
eighty feet from the shaft, breaking both his legs and arms. He recovered, and is now
living. It is believed, from the number of bodies found grouped together in the higher
parts of the mine, that many survived the explosion of the inflammable gas, and were
destroyed by inhaling the carbonic acid gas which succeeds it. This death is said to be
very pleasant; fairy visions float around the sufferer, and he drops into the sleep of
eternity like one passing into delightful dreams.
To a person unacquainted with mining, no true conception can be formed of the interior
of a large and well-arranged coal-mine, unless by examination; and none but a thorough
adept can give a description of its complicated arrangements. The art of coalmining
has progressed rapidly in this vicinity within a few years; but, unfortunately,
the trade is now depressed. The Midlothian coal has a beautiful lustre, similar to the
anthracite. It is believed that no bituminous coal unites qualities so generally adapted
to all purposes. It has been extensively used in the production of gas and coke, in the
manufacture of iron, glass, copper, chemicals, for locomotives, steamboats—and for smiths
and forges it has no superior. As domestic fuel it is equal to the best English coals, and
far superior to them in strength and durability. It is strange, that with all these qualities,
a preference should be given at the north to English coal. This is accounted for from
the fact that formerly large quantities of inferior coal were shipped to the northern ports
from the north side of James River, and created strong prejudices against Virginia coal
generally.
The Midlothian mines employ, in all their operations, some 150 negroes.[1]
They are
under the care of a steward, and daily attended by physicians. I could not but almost
envy their well-developed muscular figures. The negroes prefer this labor to any other,
enjoy many perquisites, and generally the labor of the week is performed in five days.
Singular as it may seem, persons engaged in mining become exceedingly attached to it.
I never knew a person more enamored with his profession than our conductor. He
eloquently descanted, in a rich brogue, upon the pleasure he experienced in the mine.
Was he sick, the pure air of the pit—the thermometer being about 60° throughout the
year—would restore him. Was he hot, there he could become cool. Was he cold, there
become warm. Was he low-spirited, his employment would bring relief. In fine, "the
pure air of the pit" was a universal panacea, the elixir of life, the infallible remedy for
all human ills. If his opinion were general, farewell Saratoga, White Sulphur, and
Rockaway—your glories would be eclipsed by the glories of this!
Our conductor, as he took us about, all zeal to show us every thing, and a determination
that we should not depart until all was seen, would have kept us there I know not
how long, had not the cry of "All's well!" resounding from cavern to cavern, echoing in
the recesses and dying in the distance, proclaimed that it was 7 o'clock, the day's work
finished, and time for us to ascend. Glad was I, for although I had gone through but a
small portion of the drifts, yet the four miles I did travel, of such "going," was enough
even for as old a pedestrian as myself. I returned as I came, entered the dressing-house,
and on looking in the glass, saw a face blackened with coal-dust, which, on a due application
of soap and water, I recognised as an old acquaintance. Being duly washed,
combed, and dressed, I leisurely wended my way to a fine old mansion on the hill, embowered
in a grove of waving locusts, the abode of elegant hospitality. There, seated
under the porch, with the delicious feeling a comfortable seat always inspires when one
is greatly fatigued, I passed "twilight's witching hour,"—my senses lulled by delightful
music from the adjoining parlor: anon, recovering from my revery, I listened to the
amusing adventures of Col. A., from Texas, or treasured up the particulars of mining
operations, and anecdotes given by Major W. The music I must not give: heavenly
sounds produced by fairy fingers, are too ethereal to be materialized by the printer's imp!
but I will give, in conclusion, an anecdote of the Major's, of a most tragical occurrence.
Usually comedy, but now tragedy will be the finale, ere the curtain drops.
Some years since, a gentleman was one autumnal evening hunting in this county in
the vicinity of some old coal-pits. Straying from his companions, he accidentally slipped
down the side of an abandoned pit, and caught by one arm a projecting branch on its
slope. The pit was supposed to be about two hundred feet in perpendicular depth, and
its bottom a pile of rocks. He heard in the distance the cries of his companions, and
the yell of the hounds in the chase. He shouted for help, but no answering shout was
returned, save the echo of his own voice among the recesses of the surrounding forest.
Soon his companions were far away. Death awaited him—an awful death. His mind
was intensely excited, and keenly alive to the terrors of his situation. He thought of
his friends—of all he loved on earth! and thus to separate; oh! 'twas agony. Hoarsely
moaned the wind through the dying leaves of autumn; coldly shone the moon and
stars on high, inanimate witnesses of human frailty fast losing its hold upon this life.
Nature could sustain herself no longer, he bade "farewell to earth," grew weaker and
weaker, released his grasp and fell—fell about six inches! This brought him to the
bottom of the pit, as you, patient reader, are at the bottom of a long letter—all about
coal too.
Shortly after we were at the Midlothian mine, the Rev. Mr. Jeter, of Richmond, made it a visit, and
having held divine worship there, published an interesting and graphic narration of the scene. A part
of his description here follows:
The intelligence of the meeting had spread throughout the cavern, and all had gathered for the service.
The news had gone beyond the pit, and brought down several from above. By means of logs, puncheons
and boxes, the congregation were mostly seated in a wide and well-ventilated drift. The small brilliant
lamps, of which every collier has one, were suspended along the walls of our chapel, creating a dazzling
light. The congregation consisted of about 80 colored, and 10 white persons. The blacks at my request
sung a song. Their singing was greatly inferior to that of their colored brethren in the tobacco factories
at Richmond. I lined a hymn, which was sung, offered a prayer, and preached from John iii. 16. The
circumstances were impressive and awful. I desired to do good—I spoke without premeditation, and I
was listened to with devout attention. When I had closed my sermon, I requested my friend N. to follow
in exhortation and prayer. He arose, attired in the uncouth dress of the mine; and solemn as was the
scene, and as much as my heart was in unison with it, I could not avoid smiling at the oddity of his
appearance. The diversion, however, was momentary only. The exhortation was pertinent, and the
prayer fervent. Many of us felt that God was present. The colored friends sang another song. I was
desirous of knowing how many professors of religion there were among them; and first having all seated,
I requested those who were professing Christians to arise. Thirty arose; they are all, or nearly all,
members of the Baptist church. I was gratified to learn from the managers, that many of them are orderly
and consistent in their deportment; and, generally, that there is a marked difference between those
who do, and those who do not profess religion. A few words of advice and encouragement closed the
service. The like had never been known in these parts. Mr. Marshall, who had spent many years in
the English mines, said that he had frequently heard social prayer in the pits, but had never before known
a sermon delivered in one. To address the living, on the solemn subjects of death, judgment, and eternity,
800 feet beneath the sleeping-place of the dead, in a pit which bears so striking a resemblance to
that region of outer darkness into which the impenitent shall be cast, cannot but interest and affect the
heart.
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