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180
FIRE!
[_]
[The late melancholy accident at the Dykehead Pit, near Lark-hall, Hamilton, suggested the following Poem. The incidents are, I think, nearly real.]
It was the corning-time—the hour
Of rest but new begun;
The ponies had their rakes brought in,
And been stabled one by one:
Some lucky miners had been sent
To the regions of the sun.
Of rest but new begun;
The ponies had their rakes brought in,
And been stabled one by one:
Some lucky miners had been sent
To the regions of the sun.
The “oncost” near the bottom sat,
With napkins spread on knee,
Taking their humble mid-day bite,
Drinking their twice-warmed tea;
Eating their labour-seasoned meal
In thankfulness and glee:
With napkins spread on knee,
Taking their humble mid-day bite,
Drinking their twice-warmed tea;
Eating their labour-seasoned meal
In thankfulness and glee:
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When, lo! they heard a sound, that made
Their breath for a time retire—
A strange alarming sound—and still
Its note of alarm rose higher.
“Let's see what's wrong,” said one: “my God!
There drops the signal-wire;
The lining-deals are glowing red,
And the shaft's ablaze with fire!”
Their breath for a time retire—
A strange alarming sound—and still
Its note of alarm rose higher.
“Let's see what's wrong,” said one: “my God!
There drops the signal-wire;
The lining-deals are glowing red,
And the shaft's ablaze with fire!”
“What's to be done?” thought every one,
As they gazed, with fear aghast,
And felt the air around them rush
With a strong and strengthening blast.
“What's to be done?” What could they do?
For the burning wood fell fast,
And the roar of the fire above proclaimed
Life's chances hastening past.
As they gazed, with fear aghast,
And felt the air around them rush
With a strong and strengthening blast.
“What's to be done?” What could they do?
For the burning wood fell fast,
And the roar of the fire above proclaimed
Life's chances hastening past.
The growing heap of embers red
There helplessly they watched,
And they saw the cage drop hissing hot.
With the severed rope attached.
Then thicker fell the burning shower,
And the air-rush ceased anon,
While a thick white cloud—the breath of Death—
Began to gather down.
There helplessly they watched,
And they saw the cage drop hissing hot.
With the severed rope attached.
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And the air-rush ceased anon,
While a thick white cloud—the breath of Death—
Began to gather down.
Fast spread the news, and from the face
The miners, hurrying, throng;
They see the smoking wreck, but scarce
Conjecture all that's wrong.
And loud and wildly rose their cry
Up through the smoke and flame,
“Good God! are we to die like dogs?”
But still no answer came.
The miners, hurrying, throng;
They see the smoking wreck, but scarce
Conjecture all that's wrong.
And loud and wildly rose their cry
Up through the smoke and flame,
“Good God! are we to die like dogs?”
But still no answer came.
And oh! the torture of their thoughts,
As there they sat or stood,
And saw the stifling, thickening cloud
Still closer o'er them brood!
Oft as the long, long hours crept past,
And no relief seemed near,
Despair assumed the voice of Hope,
A neighbour's heart to cheer;
As there they sat or stood,
And saw the stifling, thickening cloud
Still closer o'er them brood!
Oft as the long, long hours crept past,
And no relief seemed near,
Despair assumed the voice of Hope,
A neighbour's heart to cheer;
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And when the deadly damp had come,
When Death was present there,
Religion with her solace came,
And breathed the fervent prayer.
The dead and dying, huddled close,
In groups together lie;
Some from the crowd apart have crept,
In peace alone to die.
When Death was present there,
Religion with her solace came,
And breathed the fervent prayer.
The dead and dying, huddled close,
In groups together lie;
Some from the crowd apart have crept,
In peace alone to die.
And Memory and Affection stood
Their closing eyes before,
And spoke of those they loved, whose smile
Would never greet them more.
And when at last the rope came down,
To grasp it some would leap,
While some in apathy turned o'er,
The sleep of Death to sleep!
Their closing eyes before,
And spoke of those they loved, whose smile
Would never greet them more.
And when at last the rope came down,
To grasp it some would leap,
While some in apathy turned o'er,
The sleep of Death to sleep!
Meanwhile, above, a mighty crowd
Has come from far and near;
A few to lend their aid have come,
The rest to see and hear.
Has come from far and near;
A few to lend their aid have come,
The rest to see and hear.
184
And sad indeed is the sight they see,
For ruin rules the scene;
Yon heap of ashes tells where once
The scaffolding had been;
Yonder the naked engine stands,
And the pit's somewhere between.
For ruin rules the scene;
Yon heap of ashes tells where once
The scaffolding had been;
Yonder the naked engine stands,
And the pit's somewhere between.
And fathers, mothers, wives, around,
Wait for their own dear dead,
Whose winding-sheets at home are out,
And ready to be spread.
Wait for their own dear dead,
Whose winding-sheets at home are out,
And ready to be spread.
And has there nought been done, the fate
Of those dear friends to know?
Oh, yes! the mining chiefs have long
Been hurrying to and fro.
Their hundred plans confusion breed,
For each his skill must show;
Meantime the precious hours haste on,
And the poor men die below.
Of those dear friends to know?
Oh, yes! the mining chiefs have long
Been hurrying to and fro.
Their hundred plans confusion breed,
For each his skill must show;
Meantime the precious hours haste on,
And the poor men die below.
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Die? No, not all—for, hark! a voice
Is heard from the ruined pit,
A desperate human wail. “Oh, haste,
They may all be living yet!”
And the angel Hope comes down among
The mourning ones to sit.
Is heard from the ruined pit,
A desperate human wail. “Oh, haste,
They may all be living yet!”
And the angel Hope comes down among
The mourning ones to sit.
A rope was lowered; but how describe
The agony of thought
That chilled the hearts of those who ne'er
Could find the friends they sought,
As one by one the living, dead,
And dying, up were brought?
The agony of thought
That chilled the hearts of those who ne'er
Could find the friends they sought,
As one by one the living, dead,
And dying, up were brought?
And still the tumult louder grows;
Here some for whisky cry,
There brutes endowed with speech crack jokes
As the dead are carried by;
And curses, bandied to and fro,
'Mid tears and misery fly—
What cares the thoughtless crowd for those
Poor mourners listening nigh?
Here some for whisky cry,
There brutes endowed with speech crack jokes
As the dead are carried by;
And curses, bandied to and fro,
'Mid tears and misery fly—
What cares the thoughtless crowd for those
Poor mourners listening nigh?
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At length the last of all the dead
Is from the ruins borne
As stars begin to fade, and night
Gives place to smiling morn.
And miners, as they hurry home,
Thus musing, sadly say,
“Their turn was yesterday, and ours
Perhaps will come to-day:”
And the desponding answer is,
“God knows! perhaps it may.”
Is from the ruins borne
As stars begin to fade, and night
Gives place to smiling morn.
And miners, as they hurry home,
Thus musing, sadly say,
“Their turn was yesterday, and ours
Perhaps will come to-day:”
And the desponding answer is,
“God knows! perhaps it may.”
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