Contradictory Letters

: The Underground City

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 Ford."



"He is requested to keep this invitati
n secret."



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 Northern Athens.



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 Aberfoyle.



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 Aberfoyle.



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 engineer.



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

basket.



"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 our friend!"



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 Aberfoyle mines.



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 pit."



"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 her!"



"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. He 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 that.



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 fast.



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 object."



No signature.



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