I no longer remember the origin of the term “coal bank”, but when I was growing up, we started several small mines to supply the family’s cooking and heating fuel. We always referred to them as “the coal bank”. It was in one that I had an unforgettable scare.

The mines were never very deep, going back a hundred feet or so into the side of the hill. Fortunately for us the coal seam sloped slightly up as it lay further under the hill. There was always water seeping out of the shale and slate. It was simple, because of the slope, to dig a small channel in the slate that made up the floor of the mine. This allowed the water to drain out.

The mine couldn’t be too deep because we had no way to force ventilation, and after awhile, not enough oxygen would remain to allow work. When that happened, we would move along the hill a short distance and start a new mine.

The coal seam on our farm at the surface level in the “hollow” was only 28 inches thick. That meant that even after removing about a foot of slate above the coal to form a roof, we were working in a tunnel under 40 inches in height. We used pit props to hold the roof up, made of whatever wood could be cut on the farm. Near the entrance, where the rock was softer, there would be a crosspiece with 2 uprights every 18 inches or so. Further into the mine there would be only the uprights. We depended on the hardness of the slate to keep the roof in the center of the tunnel from falling.

To light our work we used the time-honored carbide light. It was a neat little gadget made of brass, with two chambers, one above the other. The top one held about a third of a cup of water. In the bottom one, about the same size, one put a handful of carbide. There was a needle valve in the center of the top chamber, controlled by a small lever that rotated around on the top. By moving the lever a little, water could seep down into the carbide. That produced acetylene gas. The gas flowed through a tube to a jet on the front of the lamp. The jet was in the center of a round, cupped reflector. The reflector never reflected much because it was always covered with soot. But it did help in lighting the lamp. On the edge of it was a flint and wheel. You turned the water on, waited a few moments for the gas to start to form, cupped your hand over the reflector, and snapped a spark from the flint. If your timing was right, the lamp lit with a satisfying pop.

Getting the coal and slate out of the mine was another problem. In our mine we had a coal car made of wood, with sundry salvaged wheels and axles. The wheels were flat rimmed cast iron rollers about 10 inches in diameter, with no flanges. That was just as well because we couldn’t afford steel rails for them to run on anyway. Instead there was a track of flat boards laid end-to-end across wooden ties made of discarded sawmill slabs or, occasionally, a small log. To keep the car on the tracks, 2x4’s were nailed to the outer edges of the flat track boards.

The track worked if you were careful. Of course you can’t get up much speed when you are pushing a load of coal over such a rough track, especially in the darkness of the mine, with your only light aimed at the floor as you pushed. Even so, I’ve spent a lot of time with a pry bar trying to get the load back on the track. We soon learned the location of every treacherous rough place on the way.

The hardest part was the actual digging. The procedure was to dig a groove under the bottom edge of the coal across the face of the seam, and then knock down the coal above the groove. Because the mine was so low, all of the digging was done either lying on your side or maybe for the knocking down part, you could kneel. There was almost always about a half inch of water to lay in. We used double bitted coal picks to dig. They had to be resharpened every day.

Trying to reduce the misery of digging was what got me into trouble. I was, I think, about 15 at the time. My stepfather was sick and the family was running out of coal. It was no problem for me to hook up our old mare, Nellie, and load the stone boat up for the drive to the coalhouse, but getting the coal out of the mine was another matter. I had helped many times before, and knew what to do, but doing it was not easy.

By the end of the morning I had a reasonable undercut dug in the coalface, but I wanted to find an easier way to get the coal down. We had some sticks of compressed blasting powder in the house, where they stayed dry, and the necessary fuse to set them off. I persuaded my mother to let me try blasting the coal.

Another hour’s work with a hand rock drill produced a hole deep enough to completely insert a stick of blasting powder and tamp the end shut. It probably should have been a little deeper, but I wasn’t experienced at the time. I used plenty of fuse to give me time to get out. When all was ready, I reviewed the situation and got ready to light the fuse. The empty coal car was standing there because we always used it as a guide and support in going in and out of the mine. The tunnel was so low that it was much easier to push the car than to scramble along in a crouched position.

I took the carbide light off of my cap and held the flame to the fuse. In a few seconds it began to sputter vigorously. I quickly turned to grab the car and start out. In the process, I dropped the light. Naturally in a puddle of water. Nothing relieving the darkness now but the sputtering fuse. I fumbled for the light but couldn’t find it. Wet flint doesn’t spark well anyway. I decided to just follow the car as I pushed. We hadn’t gone more than ten feet when the car jumped the tracks. No guide left now but the tracks themselves. I worked my way around the car and scrambled out of there on my hands and knees like a scared woodchuck. Never mind the lumps of coal and splinters.

Moments after I was lying against the yellow clay and shale at the mine mouth, there came a dull “Whoompf”. But it took me a long time after the smoke had cleared to go back in, feel around and find the lamp, get the car rerailed and the coal out.