Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 44, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 July 1875 — A WELSH MINING FEUD. [ARTICLE]

A WELSH MINING FEUD.

BY JAMES WIGHT.

Dr. Peter Williams, the recently-de-ceased Coroner of Flintshire, Wales, was, at the time of his death, the oldest Coroner in Great Britain. He was verv deaf, very old and brimful of “yarns” connected with his official experience. What he termed the “Buckley Mountain Feud” was one of the most interesting and sanguinary of the many cases in which his professional services had been called in requisition. What is called Buckley Mountain is an elevated table-land about three miles east of the market-town of Mold. Its inhabitants were formerly a savage, quarrelsome race, divided like the Scottish Highlanders into “clans.” There were the Willjfeimses, the Joneses, the Hugheses, the Griffiths, the Morgans and the Shepherds, and bitter family feuds often raged between them. Coal-mining and coarsestone pottery manufacture employed most of the adult males; and it was no infre3 uent occurrence . to see the military orered from Chester to suppress their internecine conflicts. The soil is mostly freehold, and the coal-mines are worked on the principle of shares —each mine being divided into thirty-two shares, and each share being designated “ a half an ounce.” At one time eight relatives of the name of Hughes were associated with an equal number of the name of Griffiths in working what was termed the Great Ash Mine, so named from the fact that the shaft had been put dow n close to an immense ashtree. The coal lay deeper here than in most other sections of the mountain, but

it was a thicker seam, and of superior quality, and the Hugheses and the Griffiths were hence esteemed particularly fortunate all over the mountain. There were a good deal of rivalry and frequent quarrels among them; but it W’as mostly goodnatured rivalry carried on by boasting, feats of strength, and physical prowess. But when it became widely known that Evan Hughes, a handsome, stalwart young man of twenty, and Samuel Griffiths, an equally lithe and promising young Hercules, were bitter rivals for the heart of Miss Anne Shepherd, everybody in Buckley knew there w’as strife ingAnne was the daughter of a stone-pot-tery manufacturer, who, without education, had risen from the ranks, and accumulated a handsome fortune. Wealth did not make him arrogant. He was still “hail fellow, well met!” with every hardtoiling miner on the mountain; and he did not hesitate to state, when in his cups in the Red Lion parlor of a night, that Sam Griffiths and Evan Hughes were the two brightestyoung men on the mountain, and that he would be satisfied with either of them for a son-in-law’. A >,

Sam and Evan had wrestled, and run, and jumped, and pitched the stone, with Varying success, and with eager animosi ty. Nothing but Anne’s threat that she would discard the first one who made a blackguard of himself kept them from open and deadly hostilities. Both knew she was a girl of pluck, and would keep her word, and hence their fierce spirits were kept in the outward bond of peace. Meantime the Great Ash colliery was turning out well; the seam was promising and the “dip” was very gradual and uniform. It was, therefore, resolved to sink another shaft directly north of, and about 2,000 feet from, the Great Ash shaft; and it was estimated that, by the time this new shaft was put down, the workings would be driven from the Great Ash to meet it, and thus perfect ventilation by means of an “upcast” and a “downcast” shaft. Evan Hughes and Sam Griffiths were employed to sink the new shaft, which was christened the Great Oak. They took alternate shifts of four hours, - one “ boring” while the other, assisted

by an old bank's-man named Bill Conway, drew up the clay and stone with a rope and windlass. *.When they descended to the limestone each man drilled his blast-hole with a hand-hammer, like that used by stone-dressers, drilling it alxrnt twelve inches deep, "and then charge, it ..with coarse blasting-powder. No fuse was used for igniting the charging; but a copper-pointed “ needle" was placed on the powder and allowed to stand until the ►hole was tightly stemmed with clay-slate. Then the needle was carefully withdrawn and the hole filled with a finer grain of powder. The “ shot” being thus far prepared the man below sung out for the cord, when one end of a tightly-twisted line was let down the shaft and then securely stemmed into the top of the shot-hole. The bottom end of the line being now' secured and surrounded by fine powder, and the other end in the hands of the bank’s-man, the man below gave the usual signal and was forthwith drawm to bank. A red-hot ring, three or four inches in diameter, was then taken from the “ hut” fire; the end of the cord was quickly passed through it; the ring shot down the Shaft and the blast was fired. One fine spring day Sam and old Bill Conway w'ere at bank, and Evan below' had just prepared his blast in the manner described and had given the signal to be hauled to bank. It was nearly noon and a "half-witted son of the old bank’s man w’as walking quietly along behind an adjoining hedge with’ his father’s dinner. He heard the “ shot” fired and hurried to the pit-heap. There he saw Sam Griffiths jumping and sw’earing around; he saw the smoke pouring up the shaft; he saw' his father’s little dog; but he saw’ neither his father nor Evan Hughes. • “Where’s fayther and Yeaven?” asked the poor, half-witted lad. Sam’s blood w r as up, and he struck poor Dick on the cheek and blacked his eye. The lad ran home, and Sam went halfway to the Great Oak shaft, howling wildly for assistance. The fearfully-muti-lated bodies of young Hughes and the old man Conway were brought to bank, and a few hours after Coroner Peter Williams held an inquest. Sam Griffiths was the only important witness. He testified that Bill Conw’ay, being old and stupid, had, at Evan Hughes’ signal to “ wind up,” gone for the red-hot ring by mistake. That, seeing the old man’s terrible blunder, he (Sam) had rushed from behind the “hut,” where he had been asleep, to prevent the mischief, but that he had only arrived in time to see the glowing ring shoot down the shaft. Almost instantly the old man had discovered his fearful error, and, stricken with horror and remorse, he had plunged head-first down the shaft just as the smoke and debris from the blast were rising. “It was all the work of half a minute,” he said to the Coroner and jury; “ and it was all over before I could reach the spot. As for ‘ shouting,’ I w’as struck speechless with fear.” The jury accepted the explanation—there was none other to offer—and, though the silly lad Conway, by his curious antics and expressive pantomime, seemed to have something on his mind, he did not understand the nature of an oath and w r as consequently not sworn. There were imposing funeral services in Buckley on the following Sunday. The village maidens, with white handkerchiefs on their heads, and sprigs of rosemary, rue and balm in their hands, w'alked before Evan Hughes’ coffin, singing pathetic dirges, until the graveyard w’as reached; but Anne Shepherd had been- seized with a fit when she heard the fatal tidings, and was unable to attend the young man’s funeral. Time passed. The Hughes family began to repine less for the untimely end of the pride of their family. The Great Ash and the Great Oak Shafts were now each in operation, and the workings underground had been materially extended. Another cousin filled Evan Hughes’ place, and there was still a sharp rivalry between the eight Griffiths and the eight Hugheses. In order to make plain what is to follow, a short explanation of the mine is necessary. The two shafts, then, occupied each an end of the long side of a parallelogram —the Great Ash, or “ downcast shaft,” at the south, and the Great Oak, or “ upcast shaft,” at the north. From each shaft a drift 200 feet long ran due east, and the parallelogram was completed by running another drift north and south, joining the ends of these two easterly drifts. They had thus cut clear round a rectangular mass of coal, 2,000 feet long by 200 feet broad, which they would work aw ay by sections and pillars until it was exhausted. The air that descended the Great Ash shaft, had it been permitted, would have rushed along the straight gallery and right up the Great Oak shaft, without ventilating the three other sides of the parallelogram where the men were working; but there were massive doors placed close to the foot of each shaft in the straight gallery between them, to divert the air through the workings. There was a large escape of gas from the coal-face, and the pure air that descended the Great Ash shaft consequently ascended the Great Oak very much charged with carbureted hydrogen. The mine was worked on two shifts. On alternate weeks the Hughes party went down the Great Oak shaft at four a. m., and worked till twelve m., while the Griffiths party descended the Great Ash at four p. m. and worked till midnight. Each party had their own door-keeper, whose sole duty it was to see that the door was kept shut at all times, or closed instantly after any person connected with the mine had passed through it. Although there was a considerable escape of gas, the air-current was so direct and strong that the men worked with open oil-lamps; and, albeit there had been pretty severe “ blowers,” as sudden spurts of local gas are termed, no danger was apprehended by either of the gangs who owned and worked the mine. It was now three years since Evan Hughes met his sad fate, and on a fine May morning there were great rejoicings in the village. Bunting waved from every available flag-staff and the gutters in front of the four ale-houses literally ran beer. The Griffiths were in high feather, for Sam and Anne .Shepherd had been married in the morning. Long before noon the bride’s proud sire was purple in the face with pledging the young couple and with urging others to do likewise. Gaylydressed groups of youths and maidens danced round the Maypole on the village green, and everybody was in a supreme state of enjoyment—all except Mrs. Hughes, poor Evan’s mother, and Hannah, his twin sister. The merry-making palled on their hearts. It recalled the lost one—the flower of the flock, who had so miserably perished, and who to-day might have been Anne Shepherd’s husband. Therefore they retired early in the evening and, by closing doors and windows, tried to exclude the sounds of merriment. While the day’s festivities werd’being prolonged far into the night, the mother and daughter retired to rest. Sleep fell upon their sad eyes and each woman dreamed a dream—a dream so marvelously uniform in detail that it was as if the two had sat and watched the same tableau.

They saw the three men sinking the Great Oak shaft ; they saw Evan charge and prime his shot, and then attach the end of the “ firing-cordthey • heard him give the signal to be-hauled to bank; they saw old Bill Conway begin to turn the windlass; they saw Sam Griffiths steal out of the “ hut” with the red-hot ring and slip it down the rope; they saw the old man quit hold of the windlass in horror; and they saw the powerful young murderer dash the old man down the shaft in the face of the shower of stones thrown up by the explosion. Mother and daughter awoke in the solemn midnight and discussed their dream with trembling and with awe. And they clung to each other, and comforted each other, and tried not to believe it. Just then John Hughes, the husband and, father of the two women, entered; and after some banter—he was in liquor—the women again slept. “It was a most extraordinary circumstance,” Coroner Williams used to say, “• but both these women dreamed the selfsame dream over again.” In the morning Mrs. Hughes met Dick Conway, the idiot lad, took him aside, and questioned him about what he saw that day when he lost his father. He indicated by dumb show how some one was thrown down the shaft, and how some one else was struck on the face, meaning himself. Mrs. Hughes shortly after died. The doctors who attended her were not agreed respecting her malady; but Dr. Jones, of Mold, was certain that her mind was gone, and that she was the victim of hallucinations. Hannah, the twin daughter, now devoted herself exclusively to her father. She would frequently descend the Great Oak shaft while he was at work, and carry ale, hot coflee, tea, etc., to him; and consequently she achieved a kind_of envied notoriety on the mountain for her bravery in descending the coal-mine. She had several admirers ; but her kind w'ords and light looks seemed reserved for her father. On his part he repaid her with an affectionate admiration that approached idolatry; and it was his boast that when his head w’as laid low Hannah would be a lady.

On a dark December midnight, a few months after her mother’s death, Hannah Hughes and the idiot lad Conway stole quietly away from Buckley village and proceeded toward the Great | Oak shaft. Her father and his companions would have stopped work at twelve o’clock, and the two nocturnal pedestrians avoided the road by which the miners would return to their homes. When Hannah and Dick reached the nit-heap all was still as the grave. The horse had been loosed from the “ gin” windlass, and lay sleeping in the straw, and not a star cheered the gloomy vault of heaven. Hannah soon obtained a light; the stable door was opened; the gin-horse was harnessed and hitched into the, accustomed shafts for raising the coal; the young woman took her seat on the “ corve, ,T or basket, and told Dick to “ loweraway.” Into the black, yawning pit she descended without fear or trepidation, and when the bottom was reached she stepped briskly out of the “ corve,” proceeded to the airdoor near the bottom of the shaft and securely propped it open. Then she walked along the 2,000 feet that separated her from the Great Ash shaft, and, reaching the air-door there, securely propped it open. The air-current now shot direct along the shortest route between the two shafts and, by its violence, extinguished her light; but she returned, undismayed by the darkness or the inequalities of the rugged tramway, until she reached the shaft whm-e she had descended. Then she shouted ro Dick, who started the horse |nd she was wound up until she reached the bank in safety. The horse was now unhitched and returned to the stable, and the girl and the crazy lad made quick progress homeward. Before daybreak every man and woman on Buckley Mountain was plunged into a paroxysm of grief and wailing. The Great Oak and Ash Colliery had exploded, and, with the exception of the doorkeeper, every man of the Griffiths gang, who had gone to ivork at four a. m., was torn and scorched into shreds and patches and scoria of humanity. As far as the Coroner could gather from the doorman’s ante-mortem statement he had gone down the pit as usual, but had almost immediately been horror-struck to discover that the door was open and that the air was blowing straight along the Great Asli gallery, instead of coming along the eastern workings. Thereupon he had slammed the door and had run as fast as he was able to shut the door at the other end of the gallery. The miners, meantime, had returned into their workings and were shouting and swearing about the air. When both doors were closed the air returned into its proper course, carrying with it all the gas that had accumulated during these four hours. Of course it ignited like a spark of gunpowder, and with irresistible force swept through the mine and burst up the two shafts with a gigantic tongue of flame and a report like Titanic artillery. The id At boy had remained out of bed in expectation of some catastrophe, and when he saw the two vivid flashes and heard the heavy reports he danced around the village street, crying: “Hoorah! hoorah! for Hannah Griffiths and me! Who’s got a black eye now? Hoorah!” By this demonstration of crazy Dick Hannah was suspected, and she, made an open confession of the terrible’.crime to Coroner Peter Williams, stating, at the same time, that she had been incited to the deed by the double dream and the certainty that Samuel Griffiths had murdered her twin brother. She was lodged in Flint Castle to await her trial, but evaded her probable fate by suicide. — Appletons' Journal.

There is a curious anecdote of Henry VII. The King had been out hunting in the neighborhood of Windsor. His eagerness in“ the pursuit of the chase had carried nim out of sight and hearing of his retinue. Night was falling; return to the castle that day was close at hand lay the Abbey of Reading. Thither accordingly the King turned his steps. His habit was simple, and the good monks took him for one of the royal foresters, while Henry, for reasons of his own, did not care to undeceive them. He was hospitably entertained, and the lord abbot looked on with an appropriate smile at the hearty performance of his guest. At last, he said: “ Truly, I would give His Grace your master the half of my revenuesrfor so good an appetite.” Three days passed; the abbot was, suddenly arrested in x the King’s name, and hurried to the Tower, where a diet of bread and water was assigned him. The end of the story maybe imagined. Before a month was over the abbot had recovered an excellent appetite for beer. —Some one has discovered that the po-tato-bugs steal rides frdm the West in ’•freight cars. They should be made literal dead-heads as soon as they alight.