Personal Reminiscences in Book Making by Robert Michael Ballantyne (motivational books for men TXT) 📕

wakeful and hopeful, with plenty of time to study the perplexing question whether it is legitimate, under any circumstance, to wish for a wreck or a fire!

When patience was worn out I gave it up in despair.

At another time, however, I had an opportunity of seeing the Lifeboat in action. It was when I was spending a couple of weeks on board of the "Gull" Lightship, which lies between Ramsgate and the Goodwins.

A "dirty" day had culminated in a tempestuous night. The watch on deck, clad in drenched oil-skins, was tramping overhead, rendering my repose fitful. Suddenly he opened the skylight, and shouted that the Southsand Head Lightship was firing, and sending up rockets. As this meant a wreck on the sands we all rushed on deck, and saw the flare of a tar-barrel in the far distance. Already our watch was loading, and firing our signal-gun, and sending up rockets for the purpose of calling off the Ramsgate Lifeboat. It chanced that the Broadstairs boat observed the signals first, and, not long after, she flew past us under sail, making for the wreck.

A little later we saw the signal-light of the Ramsgate tug, looming through the mist like the great eye of the storm-fiend. She ranged close up, in order to ask whereaway the wreck was. Being answered, she sheared off, and as she did so, the Lifeboat, towing astern, came full into view. It seemed as if she had no crew, save only one man-- doubtless my friend Jarman--holding the steering lines; but, on closer inspection, we could see the men crouching down, like a mass of oilskin coats and sou'westers. In a few minutes they were out of sight, and we saw them no more, but afterwards heard that the wrecked crew had been rescued and landed at Deal.

In this manner I obtained information sufficient to enable me to write _The Lifeboat: a Tale of our Coast Heroes_, and _The Floating Light of the Goodwin Sands_.

A curious coincidence occurred when I was engaged with the Lifeboat story, which merits notice.

Being much impressed with the value of the Lifeboat service to the nation, I took to lecturing as well as writing on this subject. One night, while in Edinburgh in the spring of 1866, a deputation of working men, some of whom had become deeply interested in Lifeboat work, asked me to re-deliver my lecture. I willingly agreed to do so, and the result was that the working men of Edinburgh resolved to raise 400 pounds among themselves, and present a boat to the Institution. They set to work energetically; appointed a Committee, which met once a week; divided the city into districts; canvassed all the principal trades and workshops, and, before the year was out, had almost raised the necessary funds.

In the end, the boat was ordered and paid for, and sent to Edinburgh to be exhibited. It was drawn by six magnificent horses through the principal streets of the city, with a real lifeboat crew on board, in their sou'westers and cork life-belts. Then it was launched in Saint Margaret's Loch, at the foot of Arthur's Seat, where it was upset--with great difficulty, by means of a large erection with blocks and ropes--in order to show its self-righting and self-emptying qualities to the thousands of spectators who crowded the hill-sides.

At this time the good people of Glasgow had been smitten with a desire to present a lifeboat to the Institution, and, in order to create an interest in the movement, asked the loan of the Edinburgh boat for exhibition. The boat was sent, and placed on view in a conspicuous part of the city.

Among the thousands who paid it a visit was a lady who took her little boy to see it, and who dropped a contribution into the box, which stood invitingly alongside. That lady was the wife of a sea-captain, who lost his ship on the coast of Wigton, where the Edinburgh boat was stationed, and whose life was saved by that identical boat. And not only so, but the rescue was accomplished on the anniversary of the very day on which his wife had put her contribution into the collecting-box!

Sixteen lives were saved by it at that time, and, not long afterwards, fourteen more people were rescued by it from the insatiable sea; so that the working men of Edinburgh have reason to be thankful for the success which has attended them in their effort to "rescue the perishing."

Moreover, some time afterwards, the ladies of Edinburgh--smitten with zeal for the cause of suffering humanity, and for the honour of their "own romantic town"--put their pretty, if not lusty, shoulders to the wheel, raised a thousand pounds, and endowed the boat, so that, with God's blessing, it will remain in all time coming on that exposed coast, ready for action in the good cause.


CHAPTER FIVE.


DESCENT INTO THE CORNISH MINES.

From Lighthouses, Lifeboats, and Fire-brigades into the tin and copper mines of Cornwall is a rather violent leap, but by no means an unpleasant one.

In the year 1868 I took this leap when desirous of obtaining material for _Deep Down: a Tale of the Cornish Mines_.

For three months my wife and I stayed in the town of Saint Just, close to the Land's End, during which time I visited some of the principal mines in Cornwall; associated with the managers, "captains," and miners, and tried my best to become acquainted with the circumstances of the people.

The Cornish tin trade is very old. In times so remote that historical light is dim, the Phoenicians came in their galleys to trade with the men of Cornwall for tin.

Herodotus, (writing 450 years B.C.) mentions the tin islands of Britain under the name of the _Cassiterides_ and Diodorus Siculus, (writing about half a century B.C.), says:

"The inhabitants of that extremity of Britain which is called Bolerion, excel in hospitality, and also, by their intercourse with foreign merchants, they are civilised in their mode of life. These prepare the tin, working very skilfully the earth which produces it."

There is said to be ground for believing that Cornish tin was used in the construction of the temple of Jerusalem. At the present time the men of Cornwall are to be found toiling, as did their forefathers in the days of old, deep down in the bowels of the earth--and even out under the bed of the sea--in quest of tin.

"Tin, Copper, and Fish" is one of the standing toasts in Cornwall, and in these three words lie the head, backbone, and tail of the county, the sources of its wealth, and the objects of its energies.

As my visit, however, was paid chiefly for the purpose of investigating the mines, I will not touch on fish here. Having obtained introduction to the managers of Botallack--the most famous of the Cornish Mines--I was led through miles of subterranean tunnels and to depths profound, by the obliging, amiable, and anecdotal Captain Jan--one of the "Captains" or overseers of the mine.

He was quite an original, this Captain Jan; a man who knew the forty miles of underground workings in Botallack as well, I suppose, as a postman knows his beat; a man who dived into the bowels of the earth with the vigour and confidence of a mole and the simple-minded serenity of a seraph.

The land at this part of Cornwall is not picturesque, except at the sea-cliffs, which rise somewhere about three hundred feet sheer out of deep water, where there is usually no strip of beach to break the rush of the great Atlantic billows that grind the rocks incessantly.

The most prominent objects elsewhere are masses of debris; huge pieces of worn-out machinery; tall chimneys and old engine-houses, with big ungainly beams, or "bobs," projecting from them. These "bobs" are attached to pumps which work continually to keep the mines dry. They move up and down very slowly, with a pause between each stroke, as if they were seriously considering whether it was worth while continuing the dreary work any longer, and could not make up their minds on the point. Their slow motions, however, give evidence of life and toil below the surface. Other "bobs" standing idle tell of disappointed hopes and broken fortunes. There are not a few such landmarks at the Land's End--stern monitors, warning wild and wicked speculators to beware.

One day--it might have been night as far as our gloomy surroundings indicated--Captain Jan and I were stumbling along one of the levels of Botallack, I know not how many fathoms down. We wore miners' hats with a candle stuck in front of each by means of a piece of clay. The hats were thicker than a fireman's helmet, though by no means as elegant. You might have plunged upon them head first without causing a dint.

Captain Jan stopped beside some fallen rocks. We had been walking for more than an hour in these subterranean labyrinths and felt inclined to rest.

"You were asking about the word _wheal_," said the captain, sticking his candle against the wall of the level and sitting down on a ledge, "it do signify a mine, as Wheal Frances, Wheal Owles, Wheal Edwards, and the like. When Cornishmen do see a London Company start a mine on a grand scale, with a deal of fuss and superficial show, and an imposing staff of directors, etcetera, while, down in the mine itself, where the real work ought to be done, perhaps only two men and a boy are known to be at work, they shake their heads and button up their pockets; perhaps they call the affair wheal _Do-em_, and when that mine stops, (becomes what we call a `knacked bal') it may be styled wheal _Donem_!"

A traveller chanced to pass a water-wheel not long ago, near Saint Just.

"What's that?" he said to a miner who sat smoking his pipe beside it.

"That, sur? why, that's a pump, that is."

"What does it pump?" asked the traveller.

"Pump, sur?" replied the man with a grim smile, "why, et do pump gold out o' the Londoners!"

There have been too many wheal _Do-ems_ in Cornwall.

Botallack mine is not, I need scarcely say, a wheal Do-em. It is a grand old mine--grand because its beginning is enveloped in the mists of antiquity; because it affords now, and has afforded for ages back, sustenance to hundreds of miners and their families, besides enriching the country; because its situation on the wild cliffs is unusually picturesque, and because its dark shafts and levels not only descend to an immense depth below the surface, but extend far out under the bottom of the sea. Its engine-houses and machinery are perched upon the edge of a steep cliff, and scattered over its face and down among its dark chasms in places where one would imagine that only a sea-gull would dare to venture.

Underground there exists a vast region of shafts and levels, or tunnels--mostly low, narrow, and crooked places--in which men have to stoop and walk with caution, and where they work by candlelight--a region which is measured to the inch, and has all its parts mapped out and named as carefully as are the fields above. Some idea of the extent of this mine may be gathered from the fact that it is 245 fathoms, (1470 feet), deep, and that all the levels put together form