Mines have long been supposed to be haunted, a fact which is no cause of wonderment, considering the many unearthly sounds—such as ‘the dripping of water down the shafts, the tunnelling of distant passages, the rumbling of trains from some freshly-exploded lode’—constantly to be heard there. In early times it was thought that all mines of gold, &c. were guarded by evil spirits, a belief to which Falstaff alludes in 2 Henry IV. (Act iv. sc. 3), where he speaks of ‘learning a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil.’ The Peruvian Indians affirm that the treasures in emerald mines are guarded by evil spirits, and Stevenson, speaking of the emerald mine in the neighbourhood of Los Esmeraldos, writes: ‘I never visited it, owing to the superstitious dread of the natives, who assured me it was enchanted, and guarded by a dragon, which poured forth thunder and lightning on those who dared to ascend the river.’ The spirits that haunt mines are considered to be unfriendly, because, as an old writer quoted by Reginald Scot remarks, ‘they do exceedingly envy every man’s benefit in the discovery of hidden treasure, ever haunting such places where money is concealed, and diffusing malevolent and poisonous influences to blast the lives and limbs of those that dare attempt the discovery thereof.’ And ‘modern authors,’ adds Fuller, ‘avouch that malignant spirits haunt the places where precious metals are found, as if the devil did there sit abrood to hatch them, cunningly pretending an unwillingness to part with them; whereas, indeed, he gains more by one mine minted out into money than by a thousand concealed in the earth.’

It is supposed by the people who live in the neighbourhood of Largo Law, in Fife, that there is a very rich mine of gold under and near the mountain, which has never yet been properly searched for. So convinced are they that this is so, that, whenever they see the wool of a sheep’s side tinged with yellow, they think it has acquired that colour from having lain above the gold of the mine. Many years ago a ghost made its appearance upon the spot, supposed to be acquainted with the secret of the mine, but, as it required to be spoken to before it would condescend to speak, the question arose as to who should accost it. At length a shepherd volunteered to ask the ghost the cause of its haunting this locality, and to his surprise it proved very affable, promising to appear on a particular night at eight o’clock, when, said the spirit,

True to its promise, the ghost came ready to divulge the secret, when Tammie Norrie, the cowherd of Balmain, either through obstinacy or forgetfulness, ‘blew a blast both loud and dread,’ at which the ghost vanished, after exclaiming—

The unfortunate horn-blower was struck dead on the spot, and as it was found impossible to remove his body, which seemed, as it were, pinned to the earth, a cairn of stones was raised over it, known still as Norrie’s Law, and which is regarded as uncanny by the peasantry.[229]

Again, frequent accidents in mines were thought to be a proof of the potency ‘of the metallic spirits, which so tormented the workmen in German mines, and in those of other countries, by blindness, giddiness, and sudden sickness, that they were obliged frequently to abandon mines well known to be rich in metals.’[230]

Strange noises are oftentimes a puzzle to the miner, and suggest a supernatural agency. In the mine at Wheal Vor, where there appears to have been a general belief in ‘tokens’ and supernatural appearances, a man one morning, on being relieved from his turn as watcher, reported that during the night he had heard a sound like the emptying of a cartload of rubbish in front of the account house where he was staying. On going out nothing was to be seen. The man, considering the strange sound as a warning, pined away and died within a few weeks.

The Cornish miner too has long been a firm believer in the existence of a mysterious being known as the ‘Knocker.’ The late Charles Kingsley, in his ‘Yeast,’ asks, ‘Who are the knockers?’ To which question Tregarra answers: ‘They are the ghosts, the miners hold, of the old Jews that crucified Our Lord, and were sent for slaves by the Roman Emperors to work the mines.... We used to break into the old shafts and adits which they had made, and find fine old stag’s horn pickaxes, that crumbled to pieces when we brought them to grass. And they say that if a man will listen on a still night about these shafts, he may hear the ghosts of them at work, knocking and picking, as clear as if there was a man at work in the next level.’ In some districts the knockers are designated ‘the buccas,’ and, generally speaking, they work upon productive lodes only. An interesting illustration of these strange beings is given in Carne’s ‘Tales of the West,’ wherein we read how ‘the rolling of the barrows, the sound of the pickaxes, and the fall of the earth and stones, are distinctly heard through the night, often, no doubt, the echo of their own labours; but sometimes continued long after the labour has ceased, and occasionally voices seem to mingle with them.’

In Wales, when a mysterious thumping, not produced by any human being, is heard, and when, in examining the spot from whence the sound proceeded, indications of ore oftentimes are detected, the sturdiest incredulity is shaken.[231] In such cases, ‘science points out that the noise may be produced by the action of water upon the loose stones in fissures and pot-holes of the mountain limestone, and does actually suggest the presence of metals.’ Furthermore, as the late Mr. Wirt Sikes rightly suggests, ‘in the days before a Priestley had caught and bottled that demon which exists in the shape of carbonic acid gas, when the miner was smitten dead by an invisible foe in the deep bowels of the earth, it was natural that his awe-struck companions should ascribe the mysterious blow to a supernatural enemy. When the workman was assailed suddenly by what we now call fire-damp, which killed him and his companions upon the dark rocks, scorching, burning, and killing, those who survived were not likely to question the existence of the mine-fiend.’ Hence, too, originated the superstition of basilisks in mines, which destroyed with their terrible gaze.[232]

In the ‘Colliery Guardian’ for May 13, 1863, many strange superstitions are described, in which it is stated that the pitmen in the Midland Counties have or had a belief unknown to the north, in aerial whistlings warning them against the pit. Who or what the invisible musicians were, nobody pretended to know, but they generally consisted of seven, as the ‘Seven Whistlers’ is the name they bear to this day.[233] An instance of this superstition is given in the ‘Times’ of September 21, 1874. Owing to certain nocturnal sounds, a large number of the men employed at some of the Bedworth collieries in North Warwickshire refused to descend the coal-pits in which they were employed. During Sunday it was stated that these sounds had been distinctly heard in the neighbourhood of Bedworth, and the result was that on the following morning, when labour should have been resumed, the men pointedly refused to work.

The Northern mines were supposed to be haunted by two goblins. One was a spiteful elf, who indicated his presence only by the mischief he perpetrated. He rejoiced in the name of ‘Cutty Soams,’ and appears ‘to have amused himself by severing the rope-traces or soams, by which an assistant putter, honoured by the title of “the fool,” is yoked to the tub. The strands of hemp, which were left all sound in the board at “kenner-time,” were found next morning severed in twain. “‘Cutty Soams’ has been at work,” would the fool and his driver say, dolefully knotting the cord.’ The other goblin was no other than a ghostly putter, and his name was ‘Bluecap.’ Sometimes the miners would perceive a light blue flame flicker through the air, and settle on a full coal-tub, which immediately moved towards the rolley way, as though impelled by the sturdiest sinews in the working. Industrious Bluecap was at his vocation, but he required to be paid for his services; therefore, once a fortnight, his wages were left for him in a solitary corner of the mine. If they were a farthing below his due, the indignant Bluecap would not pocket a stiver; if they were a farthing above his due, Bluecap left the surplus where he found it. A hewer was asked if Bluecap’s wages were nowadays to be left for him, whether they would be appropriated. The man shrewdly answered he thought they would be taken by Bluecap, or somebody else.

But as most mines are productive, more or less, of the same weird echoes, we find similar stories current in different localities of strange hammerings and knockings. A story is told in North Ayrshire of a miner who, day by day, heard the sounds of a pick on the other side of the coal into which he was digging, which so terrified him, that at last he sought the help of a minister to protect him ‘from the machinations of the devil.’ The good man having asked him how many ‘holings’—the depth of coal displaced by one blasting—there were before the wall between him and the evil spirit could be broken through, sent him back to work until there was only one ‘holing’ between them. Then he was to take a piece of bread, and crumble it all down in a train to the mouth of the pit, and again resuming his pick, to strike through the dividing coal. The moment this was done, he was to cry ‘The hole’s mine!’ and make for the mouth of the pit as fast as he could. These directions the miner carefully followed, but he had a narrow escape, for he had no sooner reached his place of safety than the walls of the pit came close together with a thundering crash.

Another story, recorded in ‘Communications with the Unseen World,’ tells how, for many years, the overseer of a mine at Whitehaven was a Cumberland man, but being found guilty of some unfair proceedings, he was dismissed by the proprietors from his post, though employed in an inferior one. The new overseer was a Northumberland man, to whom the degraded overseer bore the strongest hatred, and was heard to say that some day he would be his ruin. One day they were both destroyed by fire-damp, and it was believed in the mine that, preferring revenge to life, the ex-overseer had taken his successor, less acquainted than himself with the localities of the mine, into a place where he knew the fire-damp to exist, without a safety lamp, and had thus contrived his destruction. But, ever after, in the place where the two men perished, their voices might be heard high in dispute, the Northumbrian burr being distinctly audible, and also the well-known pronunciation of the treacherous murderer.

The mysterious apparition of a woman who committed suicide was supposed to haunt Polbreen Mine, Cornwall, locally known as ‘Dorcas.’ She appeared to take a malicious delight in tormenting the miner when at work, calling him by his name, and enticing him from his duties. This was carried on by her to such an extent that when ‘a tributer’ had made a poor month, he was commonly asked if he had ‘been chasing Dorcas.’ On one occasion only, Dorcas is said to have acted kindly. It is stated[234] that two miners, who may be styled Martin and Jacky, were at work in their end, and at the time busily engaged ‘beating the borer.’ The name of Jack was distinctly uttered between the blows. He stopped and listened—all was still. They proceeded with their task, a blow on the iron rod—‘Jacky!’ Another blow—‘Jacky!’ They pause—all is silent. ‘Well, thee wert called, Jacky,’ said Martin, ‘go and see.’ Jacky, however, disregarded the sound, work was resumed, and ‘Jacky! Jacky! Jacky!’ was called more vehemently and distinctly than before. Jacky threw down his hammer, resolved to satisfy himself as to the person who was calling him. But he had not proceeded many yards from the spot on which he had been standing at work, when a mass of rock fell from the roof of the level weighing many tons, which would have crushed him to death. Martin had been stooping, holding the borer, and a projecting corner of rock just above him turned off the falling mass. He was securely enclosed, but he was extricated without injury. Jack declared to his dying day that he owed his life to Dorcas.

A similar experience is recorded by Mr. John Lean in the ‘West Briton,’ who relates how, when he was underground hundreds of fathoms distant from any other human being at Wheal Jewell, a mine in the parish of Gwennap, ‘as he was walking slowly and silently through the level, his thoughts, as it were, absorbed, examining the rich course of copper ore in the roof or back, he was aroused as though by an audible voice, “You are in the winze!” He at once threw himself flat on his back in the bottom of the level, and on shifting from this posture to that of a sitting one, he discovered that his heels were on the verge of the end of a winze, left exposed and open, embracing all the width of the gunnis, communicating with the next level, ten fathoms below. At the moment he received this singular warning, his foot was lifted for the next step over the mouth of this abyss, a step to eternity, had it not thus been prevented.’

On the Continent, similar tales of phantoms haunting mines are current. In the mines about Clausthal and Andreasberg a spectre was formerly seen who went by the name of the ‘BergmÖnch.’ He was clad as a monk, but was of gigantic stature, and always carried in his hand a large tallow candle, which never went out. When the miners entered in the morning, he would stand at the aperture with his light, letting them pass under it. It appears that the BergmÖnch was formerly a burgomaster or director, who took such delight in mining that, when at the point of death, he prayed that instead of resting in heaven, he might wander about till the last day, over hill and dale, in pits and shafts, and superintend the mining. To those towards whom he is well disposed he renders many a kind service, and appears to them in a human form and of ordinary stature; while to others he appears in his true form. His eyes sprout forth flames, and are like coach-wheels; his legs are like spiders’ webs.[235] Associated, too, with the German miners’ superstitious fancies is the belief in the ‘Cobal,’ or ‘Kobold,’ a supernatural being who is generally malicious, and rarely heard but when mischief is near. But still more to be feared were the ‘Knauff-kriegen,’ of whom Professor Ramazzini of Padua thus writes:

‘I took the story of devils haunting mines to be fabulous, until I was undeceived by a skilful Hanoverian operator in metals, who is now employed by our duke in tracing the metallic veins in the mountainous parts of Modena. For this man told me seriously, that in the Hanoverian mines the diggers have frequent falls, which they say are occasioned by their being knocked down by devils, which they call “Knauff-kriegen,” and that after such falls they often die in the space of three or four days; but if they outlive that time they recover.’

French mines are haunted, and many tales are told of a spectral hare which at times is seen. One story tells how ‘a miner was frightened one day by seeing a white object run and conceal itself in an iron pipe. He went forward, and stopped up the two ends of the tube, and called one of his fellow men to examine the pipe with him. They did so, but found nothing within, the hare spirit had vanished.’[236] ‘Similarly at Wheal Vor,’ says Mr. Hunt,[237] ‘it has always been and is now believed that a fatal accident in the mine is presaged by the appearance of a hare, or white rabbit, in one of the engine houses. The men solemnly declare that they have chased these appearances till they were hemmed in apparently, without being able to catch them; and they tell how the white rabbit on one occasion was run into a “windbore” lying on the ground, and though stopped in, escaped.’ With this belief may be compared one which was common in Sussex a few years ago, closely resembling the French superstition of the FÉtiches, animals of a dazzling whiteness which appear only in the night-time, and vanish as soon as anyone attempts to touch them. A blacksmith’s wife at Ashington, the daughter of a small farmer, was found one morning much depressed in mind, and on being questioned as to the cause of it said, ‘I shall hear bad news before the day is over; for late last night as I was waiting for my husband what should I see on looking out of the window, lying close under it, but a thing like a duck, yet a great deal whiter than it ought to have been, whiter than any snow.’ It was suggested that it might have been a neighbour’s cat, and that it looked whiter than usual on account of the moonlight. ‘Oh, dear no!’ she replied, ‘it was no cat, nor anything alive; those white things were sent as warnings,’ but no sad news came as she expected.[238] She nevertheless remained firmly convinced that a warning of some kind had been supernaturally sent to her.