CHAPTER I CONTRADICTORY LETTERS
To Mr. F. R. Starr, Engineer, 30 Canongate, Edinburgh.
IF Mr. James Starr will come to-morrow to the Aberfoyle
coal-mines, Dochart pit, Yarrow shaft, a communication of an
interesting nature will be made to him.
“Mr. James Starr will be awaited for, the whole day, at
the Callander station, by Harry Ford, son of the old overman Simon
“He is requested to keep this invitation
Such was the letter which James Starr received by the first
post, on the 3rd December, 18—, the letter bearing the
Aberfoyle postmark, county of Stirling, Scotland.
The engineer’s curiosity was excited to the highest pitch.
It never occurred to him to doubt whether this letter might not be
a hoax. For many years he had known Simon Ford, one of the former
foremen of the Aberfoyle mines, of which he, James Starr, had for
twenty years, been the manager, or, as he would be termed in
English coal-mines, the viewer. James Starr was a
strongly-constituted man, on whom his fifty-five years weighed no
more heavily than if they had been forty. He belonged to an old
Edinburgh family, and was one of its most distinguished members.
His labors did credit to the body of engineers who are gradually
devouring the carboniferous subsoil of the United Kingdom, as much
at Cardiff and Newcastle, as in the southern counties of Scotland.
However, it was more particularly in the depths of the mysterious
mines of Aberfoyle, which border on the Alloa mines and occupy part
of the county of Stirling, that the name of Starr had acquired the
greatest renown. There, the greater part of his existence had been
passed. Besides this, James Starr belonged to the Scottish
Antiquarian Society, of which he had been made president. He was
also included amongst the most active members of the Royal
Institution; and the Edinburgh Review frequently published clever
articles signed by him. He was in fact one of those practical men
to whom is due the prosperity of England. He held a high rank in
the old capital of Scotland, which not only from a physical but
also from a moral point of view, well deserves the name of the
We know that the English have given to their vast extent of
coal-mines a very significant name. They very justly call them the
“Black Indies,” and these Indies have contributed
perhaps even more than the Eastern Indies to swell the surprising
wealth of the United Kingdom.
At this period, the limit of time assigned by professional men
for the exhaustion of coal-mines was far distant and there was no
dread of scarcity. There were still extensive mines to be worked in
the two Americas. The manu-factories, appropriated to so many
different uses, locomotives, steamers, gas works, &c., were not
likely to fail for want of the mineral fuel; but the consumption
had so increased during the last few years, that certain beds had
been exhausted even to their smallest veins. Now deserted, these
mines perforated the ground with their useless shafts and forsaken
galleries. This was exactly the case with the pits of
Ten years before, the last butty had raised the last ton of coal
from this colliery. The underground working stock, traction
engines, trucks which run on rails along the galleries,
subterranean tramways, frames to support the shaft, pipes—in
short, all that constituted the machinery of a mine had been
brought up from its depths. The exhausted mine was like the body of
a huge fantastically-shaped mastodon, from which all the organs of
life have been taken, and only the skeleton remains.
Nothing was left but long wooden ladders, down the Yarrow
shaft—the only one which now gave access to the lower
galleries of the Dochart pit. Above ground, the sheds, formerly
sheltering the outside works, still marked the spot where the shaft
of that pit had been sunk, it being now abandoned, as were the
other pits, of which the whole constituted the mines of
It was a sad day, when for the last time the workmen quitted the
mine, in which they had lived for so many years. The engineer,
James Starr, had collected the hundreds of
workmen which composed the active and courageous population of
the mine. Overmen, brakemen, putters, wastemen, barrowmen, masons,
smiths, carpenters, outside and inside laborers, women, children,
and old men, all were collected in the great yard of the Dochart
pit, formerly heaped with coal from the mine.
Many of these families had existed for generations in the mine
of old Aberfoyle; they were now driven to seek the means of
subsistence elsewhere, and they waited sadly to bid farewell to the
James Starr stood upright, at the door of the vast shed in which
he had for so many years superintended the powerful machines of the
shaft. Simon Ford, the foreman of the Dochart pit, then fifty-five
years of age, and other managers and overseers, surrounded him.
James Starr took off his hat. The miners, cap in hand, kept a
profound silence. This farewell scene was of a touching character,
not wanting in grandeur.
“My friends,” said the engineer, “the time has
come for us to separate. The Aberfoyle mines, which for so many
years have united us in a common work, are now exhausted. All our
researches have not led to the discovery of a new vein, and the
last block of coal has just been extracted from the Dochart
pit.” And in confirmation of his words, James Starr pointed
to a lump of coal which had been kept at the bottom of a
“This piece of coal, my friends,” resumed James
Starr, “is like the last drop of blood which has flowed
through the veins of the mine! We shall keep it, as the first
fragment of coal is kept, which was extracted a hundred and fifty
years ago from the bearings of Aberfoyle. Between these two pieces,
how many generations of workmen have succeeded each other in our
pits! Now, it is over! The last words which your engineer will
address to you are a farewell. You have lived in this mine, which
your hands have emptied. The work has been hard, but not without
profit for you. Our great family must disperse, and it is not
probable that the future will ever again unite the scattered
members. But do not forget that we have lived together for a long
time, and that it will be the duty of the miners of Aberfoyle to
help each other. Your old masters will not forget you either.
When men have worked together, they must never be stranger to
each other again.
We shall keep our eye on you, and wherever you go, our
recommendations shall follow you. Farewell then, my friends, and
may Heaven be with you!”
So saying, James Starr wrung the horny hand of the oldest miner,
whose eyes were dim with tears. Then the overmen of the different
pits came forward to shake hands with him, whilst the miners waved
their caps, shouting, “Farewell, James Starr, our master and
This farewell would leave a lasting remembrance in all these
honest hearts. Slowly and sadly the population quitted the yard.
The black soil of the roads leading to the Dochart pit resounded
for the last time to the tread of miners’ feet, and silence
succeeded to the bustling life which had till then filled the
One man alone remained by James Starr. This was the overman,
Simon Ford. Near him stood a boy, about fifteen years of age, who
for some years already had been employed down below.
James Starr and Simon Ford knew and esteemed each other well.
“Good-by, Simon,” said the engineer.
“Good-by, Mr. Starr,” replied the overman,
“let me add, till we meet again!”
“Yes, till we meet again. Ford!” answered James
Starr. “You know that I shall be always glad to see you, and
talk over old times.”
“I know that, Mr. Starr.”
“My house in Edinburgh is always open to you.”
“It’s a long way off, is Edinburgh!” answered
the man shaking his head. “Ay, a long way from the Dochart
“A long way, Simon? Where do you mean to live?”
“Even here, Mr. Starr! We’re not going to leave the
mine, our good old nurse, just because her milk is dried up! My
wife, my boy, and myself, we mean to remain faithful to
“Good-by then, Simon,” replied the engineer, whose
voice, in spite of himself, betrayed some emotion.
“No, I tell you, it’s TILL WE MEET AGAIN, Mr. Starr,
and not Just ‘good-by,’” returned the foreman.
“Mark my words, Aberfoyle will see you again!”
The engineer did not try to dispel the man’s illusion.
patted Harry’s head, again wrung the father’s hand,
and left the mine.
All this had taken place ten years ago; but, notwithstanding the
wish which the overman had expressed to see him again, during that
time Starr had heard nothing of him. It was after ten years of
separation that he got this letter from Simon Ford, requesting him
to take without delay the road to the old Aberfoyle colliery.
A communication of an interesting nature, what could it be?
Dochart pit. Yarrow shaft! What recollections of the past these
names brought back to him! Yes, that was a fine time, that of work,
of struggle,—the best part of the engineer’s life.
Starr re-read his letter. He pondered over it in all its bearings.
He much regretted that just a line more had not been added by Ford.
He wished he had not been quite so laconic.
Was it possible that the old foreman had discovered some new
vein? No! Starr remembered with what minute care the mines had been
explored before the definite cessation of the works. He had himself
proceeded to the lowest soundings without finding the least trace
in the soil, burrowed in every direction. They had even attempted
to find coal under strata which are usually below it, such as the
Devonian red sandstone, but without result. James Starr had
therefore abandoned the mine with the absolute conviction that it
did not contain another bit of coal.
“No,” he repeated, “no! How is it possible
that anything which could have escaped my researches, should be
revealed to those of Simon Ford. However, the old overman must well
know that such a discovery would be the one thing in the world to
interest me, and this invitation, which I must keep secret, to
repair to the Dochart pit!” James Starr always came back to
On the other hand, the engineer knew Ford to be a clever miner,
peculiarly endowed with the instinct of his trade. He had not seen
him since the time when the Aberfoyle colliery was abandoned, and
did not know either what he was doing or where he was living, with
his wife and his son. All that he now knew was, that a rendezvous
had been appointed him at the Yarrow shaft, and that Harry, Simon
Ford’s son, was to wait for him during the whole of the next
day at the Callander station.
“I shall go, I shall go!” said Starr, his excitement
increasing as the time drew near.
Our worthy engineer belonged to that class of men whose brain is
always on the boil, like a kettle on a hot fire. In some of these
brain kettles the ideas bubble over, in others they just simmer
quietly. Now on this day, James Starr’s ideas were boiling
But suddenly an unexpected incident occurred. This was the drop
of cold water, which in a moment was to condense all the vapors of
the brain. About six in the evening, by the third post,
Starr’s servant brought him a second letter. This letter was
enclosed in a coarse envelope, and evidently directed by a hand
unaccustomed to the use of a pen. James Starr tore it open. It
contained only a scrap of paper, yellowed by time, and apparently
torn out of an old copy book.
On this paper was written a single sentence, thus worded:
“It is useless for the engineer James Starr to trouble
himself, Simon Ford’s letter being now without