COMMUNICATIONS
A Trip to Chesterfield County, Virginia
There is a Working Society in Chesterfield — a Female
Working Society for Foreign Missions. And be it observed, this is
a sure enough working society. It not only talks, and resolves, and
plans, but it works — and so effectually, that it has sent its hundred
dollars, annually, for the support of the missionaries, for a number
of years, and this amid much discouragements and with very few
to aid. Now, I like to work for those that like to work themselves;
and hence, when I was honored some weeks ago with the invitation
of this society to preach their annual Sermon at Bethlehem Church,
I did not debate the question at all, but just went to do as I was bid.
The day appointed for going was bright and pleasant; and
the cars soon carried me to the spot where my kind host, Mr. J. R.
McT. was awaiting me. As it was Saturday, and we were just
among the coal mines, I was glad to avail myself of my friend’s
kindness in showing me the lions of that sooty region. A few
hours examination of the outside arrangements, the part of the
works above ground , answered all my purposes, without a descent
into those depths where so many have perished. In the dark
chambers of one of the pits, some 700 feet deep, the bodies of
eight or ten workmen are even now floating about, who were
caught in its caverns by a flood of waters bursting through, that
had accumulated in the abandoned workings nearby. At another
point, I saw the fragments of old machinery and buildings, which
remained from an explosion, in which about sixty lost their lives,
and almost every locality had its own tale of disaster and death.
An experienced miner and manager, with whom I had some
conversation, said to me — “I have been now more than forty years
engaged, as man or boy, in the mines. I have been down a great
number of pits, in England and in this country, and I have never
known fear nor scruple in going where duty called me, though I
have seen innumerable accidents, and know the dangers well. But
I say to you, if duty did not call, I never would go down another
pit.”
I examined the slender but immensely strong ropes of 36
strands of iron wire twisted round a hempen cord, by which
communication is kept up between the surface and the bottom of
the pits; the arrangements for signals, for ventilation, for removing
