IN or about the year 1856, the Mining Journal gave an account of an explosion in a mine in Cornwall. Some particulars of this were given me; and I resolved that, if in the providence of God I should visit Cornwall, I would try to find the miner of whom I had heard, and who had marvelously escaped death, and hear from his own lips an account of the matter. I did not, at that time, expect that an opportunity would so soon be afforded me; however, about twelve months after the above conversation had taken place, I went to reside for a year or two in Cornwall. During my residence there, I visited, on several occasions, the town of Callington, which is situated in the midst of a district rich in minerals, and having a large number of lead and copper mines. On one of these visits, as I was sitting at breakfast in the house of a friend, the circumstances before narrated recurring vividly to my mind, I began to repeat them to the family.
“Oh!” exclaimed my hostess, “that was Happy Michael.”
“And pray who is Happy Michael? and why is he so called?”
“Because,” replied the good woman, “he is accustomed, if you meet him, and ask him how he is, to say, ‘Happy, thank you;’ he seems to be always happy.”
“I should like to see him.”
“There will be no difficulty about that, I’m sure; he will come and see you with pleasure.”
A messenger was accordingly dispatched, and in a short time, to my great satisfaction, Michael himself appeared. He was a good-looking, well-built man, of perhaps from thirty to thirty-five years of age, with a pleasant expression of countenance. I shook hands with him heartily, and requesting him to be seated, I proceeded to inform him on what account I had desired an interview. His eye sparkled as I referred to his remarkable preservation, and uttering an expression of gratitude to God, he proceeded to give me the following simple, but (to me at least) interesting narrative.
“I was working,” said Michael, “at —, sinking a shaft; it was but a small affair, only a few fathoms deep, and there were but three of us working at the time; two of us down the shaft, and the third on the grass, attending to the windlass, bringing up the staff, stones, earth, and so on, as we got it out; and, of course, he had to wind us up in the bucket (or kibble) when we had done work, but he could only bring us up one at a time.
“Well, the rock was rather hard, and we had to blast it. We had driven in a hole, put in the charge, with the match, and were nearly ready to fire it off. One of us was about to go up the one who should remain having, when the bucket came down again, to fire the match, and then the two men at the top would soon bring him up out of danger. Well, on this occasion, we were nearly ready, when my companion, who was finishing about the hole, finding the match (which is like a rope, and rammed tightly down) a little too long, he took his tamping-iron (that is sharp at one end, something like a chisel) to cut off a piece of it that hung out of the hole. As he struck with the iron the rock being very hard it made a spark fly, like a flint and steel; this spark fell on the match, just at the mouth of the hole; it caught in an instant, and began to burn. We looked at one another for a moment, and then both jumped into the bucket.”
“But,” said I, interrupting him, “could you not put it out? Or, could you not draw the match out before it had burned down to the powder?”
“Oh, no! It had burned into the hole before I could do anything. Well, we jumped both of us into the bucket and called to the man above to pull away. He tried, but he could not move us. We looked at one another. To stay was to die we thought. It flashed across my mind, one or both of us will be in eternity in a few minutes. Well, I thought, praise God I am not afraid to die! but this poor man is without God, impenitent, unchanged; if he dies he will be lost. These thoughts ran through my mind as it were in an instant; so I said to my comrade, ‘You are not prepared! Thank God! I am not afraid to die. Go up!’ I jumped out and he remained. I got as close to the side of the shaft as I could, though I had little thought of life, and I began to sing part of a hymn about heaven. ‘I shall soon be there!’ I said to myself; ‘I shall have entrance through the blood of Jesus!’ Meanwhile the man on the grass worked away to bring the other man up: he reached the top, and as he sprang out, the charge exploded. With a sharp, half-stifled sort of roar it went off, shaking the ground where I stood. Fragments of rock broke and darted out of their beds, dashing against the sides, and flying back again, while others, just shifted, fell heavily on the floor. But the smoke pouring out prevented my seeing much; however, I felt I was alive, though surrounded by shattered stones, driven, it was said by some who went down afterward, in every part of the shaft except where I stood yes, alive and unhurt, at least so it seemed to me, though afterward I found that a piece of stone darting by me, had just touched and slightly cut my leg. You may depend I shouted, ‘Glory to God!’ right heartily, that I did. The men above heard me shouting, and they were amazed. However they were not long in having me up, and great was their surprise and joy when they saw me come safely. And I was not a little astonished when I got up, to find that my comrade who had gone in the bucket, and who was in the act of jumping out when the blast went off, had got a worse wound than I had, for a piece of stone had shot right up the shaft and struck him on the forehead; however he was not very badly hurt. But ah! it was a wonderful deliverance for me! Praise be to God!”
“And do you still work at the mines, Michael?” said I, for I observed that his dress was somewhat different from that ordinarily worn by miners.
“Oh, no! some friends heard about my escape, for it was talked of a great deal, and they were kind enough to raise some money to purchase some cows for me.”
“Then you are a dairyman now?”
“Yes,” said he, with a smile.
“And you are getting a comfortable living, I hope, and also still cleaving to the Lord?”
“O yes! I have much to praise God for; and as to leaving him, it would be strange if I should do that when he has done so much for me.”
“True, Michael; the Lord has done great things for you, whereof you have cause to be glad.”
“Yes, sir; and I trust,” said he, with a look of happy confidence, “he will keep me faithful to the end.”
Many years have passed since my interview with “Happy Michael.” I cannot otherwise than admiringly call him to mind, nor reflect otherwise than with delight and gratitude upon the wonderful deliverance wrought out by divine Providence for him, and on the grace of God manifested in him.