Part 4
Mr Hull, a celebrated geologist, has calculated that there is still a quantity of coal in store in England and Wales sufficient to afford a supply of one hundred and twenty millions of tons for about five hundred years. This would be a cheerful estimate, if we could cordially and unquestioningly accept it. But, unfortunately, we cannot, other competent observers having affirmed that the coal deposits of this country will be exhausted in less than two hundred years. We would, therefore, urge with all earnestness, that the people and the government should pay more especial attention to this vital subject than they have hitherto done.
Of course, there are two chief points on which any interference could be effectual: these are, the exportation of coal, and the wasteful processes of mining now in vogue. The former of these involves the great question of free-trade, and the right of each coal-proprietor to sell the produce of his land and labour at the best possible price. The latter is even a still more difficult thing to meddle with, and must, perhaps, be met rather by the provisions made on the part of landed proprietors, when leasing their subterranean property to practical miners, than by anything government can do. At present, the proprietor, having a life-interest in his estate, desires to obtain from the mines the largest amount of the most valuable coal at the smallest working loss. The result is, that vast quantities of inferior but yet valuable material are left in the pits; quantities that would do something towards meeting the growing consumption in this kingdom.
Selfish, narrow-minded people might exclaim: ‘Oh! there will be quite enough of coal to last us our time. We don’t expect or want to live for ever; therefore, we won’t bother ourselves about the economy of fuel.’
Let us remind such unpatriotic mortals that our manufacturing and commercial interests rest upon our supplies of coal as their foundation-stone. Our commercial rivals across the Atlantic possess magnificent coal-fields, that are practically of indefinite extent. Exhaust _our_ coal-fields, and their supremacy will become complete. It behoves each and every one of us to think of the future of our country and of the interests of those who come after us.
Perchance some cynic may say: ‘What has posterity ever done for me? Let posterity take care of itself.’
‘Very well,’ we reply; ‘let posterity do for itself. Let us only be influenced by selfish and non-altruistic principles, and think only of ourselves. The question is, how can we put money into our own pockets by using less coal than we do?’
First, we can do so by using proper grates. Down to the time of Count Rumford, the modern world of coal-burners never thought of the true theory of caloric in connection with grates. Burners of wood had not tried to be economical; they did not expect to be warm on more than one side. When their bodies were scorched and their eyes smarted, they had what they bargained for. Rumford appeared as a new teacher; he laid down the principles of heat and combustion with admirable clearness, and flooded England with grates of his favourite type. But in spite of the teachings of the Count, coal-fires of to-day are as dirty, chilly, and as wasteful as ever.
The waste of coal in Britain is positively disgraceful. One hundred and twenty millions of tons are consumed every year. Of this, one half might be saved by the adoption of improved appliances. About thirty million pounds sterling might thus be kept in our banks, instead of being turned into cinders and smoke. The pall of smoke and fog that broods over London contains in a single day fifty tons of coal! The fact is that we burn coal in house-fires on an entirely false principle—that is, on the principle of a blast-furnace, letting cold air pass through the centre of the fire, to blaze the coal rapidly away, and hurry the heat and half-burnt gases unused up the chimney. We have to go back to the good old principle of the embers on the earth, when the hearth was, as it is at the present day in many Irish cottages, a true ‘focus,’ a centre of accumulated heat. We must, then, return to truer lines, and make our fireplace again a ‘focus’ or ‘well’ of stored heat, into which we put our fuel, first to be distilled into gas, which, rising at a high temperature from its hot bed, meets the air gliding towards the chimney, and bursts into flame, communicating heat to the firebrick back and to the room. Then, when all the gases have been burnt off, the red-hot coke remains, and burns away in the bottom of the grate at a slow rate, yet radiating abundant heat into the room.
This desirable end is gained by using Mr Teale’s ‘Economiser.’ The ‘Coal Economiser’ is simply a shield of sheet-iron which stands on the hearth, and rises as high as the lowest bar of the grate, against which it should fit accurately, so as to shut in the space under the fire. Any ordinary blacksmith can make the ‘Economiser.’ It is applicable to any range, whether in the cottages of the poor or the mansions of the rich. Those who wish for greater elegance can have it made of steel or brass. Its chief purpose is to cut off the under current, and to keep the chamber under the fire hot.
Count Rumford affirmed that seven-eighths of the heat was carried up the chimney. Heat is wasted in three ways: by combustion under the influence of a strong draught; by imperfect combustion; by the escape of heat through the sides and the back of the fireplace. By using the ‘Economiser’ all this is altered. If there is plenty of heat round the fuel, then but little oxygen will do. But burn coal with a chilling jacket, and it needs a fierce draught of oxygen to sustain it. High temperature does not imply complete combustion, for in making gas, coke is left. When the ‘Economiser’ is applied, the fire burns with an orange colour, for the stream of oxygen is slow and steady, and the coal undergoes complete combustion; consequently, there is an entire absence of cinders, and only a little fine snuff-like powder falls into the ‘economised’ chamber. Smoke is also conspicuous by its absence.
In a recent lecture delivered at the Royal Institution, Mr Teale mentioned several additional points about the structure of fireplaces, which tend to the saving of fuel. (1) As much firebrick and as little iron as possible should be used. Iron absorbs the heat, and chiefly in directions in which the heat is least wanted. Firebrick retains and accumulates heat. (2) The back of the fireplace should lean or arch over the fire, so as to become heated by the rising flame. The heated back sends forth abundant radiant heat into the room. ‘Milner’s’ back is a capital arrangement; so is the Nelson ‘Rifle’ back. (3) The bottom of the grating should be deep from before backwards. (4) The slits in the grating should be narrow; this prevents small cinders from falling through. (5) The bars in front should be narrow.
If the foregoing instructions are attended to, there will be an enormous saving of fuel. Soot and smoke will be diminished, and there will be no half-burnt cinders.
The late Sir William Siemens was an ardent advocate for the use of gas as a heating agent. At the British Association of 1882, he said: ‘The time is not far distant when both rich and poor will largely resort to gas, the most convenient, the cleanest, and cheapest of heating agents, and when raw coal will only be seen at the colliery or gasworks. In all cases where the town to be supplied is within, say, thirty miles of the colliery, the gasworks may with advantage be placed at the mouth, or, still better, at the bottom of the pit, whereby all haulage of fuel would be avoided, and the gas in its ascent from the bottom of the colliery would acquire an onward pressure sufficient, probably, to impel it to its destination.’ No doubt, if this scheme could be realised, we would all be deeply indebted to the great man who first suggested it. More than one half of the coal now consumed would be saved by its adoption. At present, we must be content with the old order of things.
It is astonishing, however, that so few people employ gas instead of coal as a cooking agent, especially in summer. It secures an immense saving of labour, not to speak of its superiority over coal in respect to coolness. In the hot summer days, cooking with a coal-fire in an ordinary range is a tremendous trial to the poor cook. The kitchen is like an oven. What a difference if gas is used! The moment it is no longer required it can be turned off, and the temperature of the kitchen is soon lowered. By using a gas-stove, no coal is required during the summer. It is less expensive than coal. Of course, care must be taken to have it turned off directly it is no longer required, and a proper economy exercised in its use. Mr Fletcher, of Warrington, a high authority on gas for cooking and heating purposes, says: ‘The cost of gas, even if wastefully used, must be considered not only as regards the saving of coal, but also, what is far greater, the saving in weight of meat roasted, which is considerable, and the reduced wear and tear, waste, dirt, and consequent labour. Taken altogether as affecting the total housekeeping expenses, gas is cheaper than coal for cooking at any price not exceeding twelve or fourteen shillings per thousand cubic feet; coal being, say, twelve to fourteen shillings per ton.’ The majority of people, however, pay very much less for their gas, and more for coal; in which case, gas will be much cheaper than coal.
Asbestos heated by gas makes a suitable fire. It is cleanly, quiet, free from dust, and convenient; and it can be turned on or extinguished in an instant.
Enough has been written to show that economy of fuel is not merely theoretical and fanciful, but that it is practicable and worthy of earnest attention.
THE SIGN OF THE _RED INDIAN_.
Just on the outskirts of the seaport and garrison town of Chubleigh, in the south-west of England, stands a little old-fashioned hostelry called the _Red Indian_. How it came by its name is involved in obscurity. The antiquity of the inn is undoubted, and a tradition is current in the district, that during the unfortunate Monmouth’s rebellion it was used as the temporary head-quarters of Colonel Kirke. In its back-garden, a wooden seat is still shown to visitors on which that bloodthirsty officer, surrounded by his ‘lambs,’ is alleged to have sat in judgment, and thence ruthlessly consigned to the gallows scores of the unoffending rustics of the locality. From time immemorial, the _Red Indian_ has been in the hands of a family named Slade. The present proprietor, though, generally speaking, as deliberate in manner as John Willet, is yet apt to be garrulously communicative in talking of his inn and its interesting historical associations. Above the rustic porch over the door there is fixed a large, rudely carved, wooden figure of a savage holding in its hand a tomahawk. The Indian’s nose was long ago knocked off by a well-directed stone thrown by some mischievous urchin; his original coat of paint has peeled off, and large cracks are visible, which run the whole length of the figure. Altogether, this Indian is as disreputable-looking a sign as a traveller might perceive throughout the length and breadth of England. Nevertheless, it is in connection with this dilapidated timber savage that the writer obtained, from the landlord of the _Red Indian_, materials for the following story.
When the present century was in its infancy, the son of the then proprietor, and grand-uncle of the present landlord, was engaged in the capacity of boatswain of a privateer, which had been fitted out with the object of preying on the French merchant service. In the Mediterranean, the privateer captured a large vessel, which in part was laden with the product of the labours of a Parisian curiosity-hunter, who had been despoiling ancient Grecian temples, with the object of supplying the virtuosi of the French metropolis with antique sculptures and bronzes, and thereby securing a large profit to himself. The privateersmen were greatly disappointed at not finding specie, and what they considered marketable merchandise, on board the Frenchman, and attached but little value to the battered though priceless bas-reliefs and statues. Boatswain Slade took a great fancy to a life-sized bronze gladiator, which he considered would prove an acceptable addition to the attractions of the back-garden of his father’s inn, and managed, for a few shillings, to effect its purchase from the captain.
Shortly after the glorious victory of Trafalgar, the privateer was paid off at Chubleigh; and the boatswain conveyed the statue on shore to his father’s inn. The gladiator was placed on a brick pedestal, flanked on either side by two rusty carronades; and the bareness of the surroundings was relieved by the artistic disposal of a number of huge shells which the boatswain had brought from ‘foreign parts.’ The host of the _Red Indian_, however, was soon struck by the idea of making the figure a sign for his hostelry. He had but little sentimental regard for the rich green mould of antiquity, so, with execrable vandalism, carefully scraped it off the statue, and had the gladiator painted a bright scarlet by a local artist, who took payment for his work in the old ale for which the hostelry was famous. This operation performed, the metamorphosed gladiator was removed to a prominent position in front of the inn door, and for years did duty as a Red Indian. Its brilliant appearance was a perpetual source of gratification and delight to the host and his numerous customers; while inquiring strangers were proudly informed that it had been captured from the frog-eaters. Once a year the extemporised Indian received a fresh coat of paint; and save when its head was decorated at times with a disused tin pail or an old hat by some facetious individuals, it was not otherwise interfered with.
At the close of the year 1815, Chubleigh was _en fête_ in connection with the disembarkation of the 31st Regiment of Light Dragoons, which during that year had performed doughty service at Waterloo, and which had just returned from the occupation of Paris. The piping times of peace had again returned, and, naturally enough, the officers and men who had assisted to destroy the power of the once dreaded ‘Boney’ were the objects of popular pride and enthusiasm among the inhabitants of the town. When the regiment settled down in quarters, invitations to the houses of the principal townsmen were showered on the officers, and each vied with the other to entertain these heroes of Waterloo.
The younger officers, several of whom had left school to join their regiment in Belgium, gave themselves prodigious airs; but no one considered himself of so much importance as a raw young Connaught-man, a cornet named Mike Macnamara. Mike, a warrior of about nine months’ service, created great amusement both in the officers’ mess and in the houses to which he was invited by boasting about the number of Frenchmen whom he had placed _hors de combat_ in the late short but eventful campaign. His bounce together with his extreme simplicity rendered him the butt of his brother-officers, and he was in consequence the victim of numerous practical jokes. In these days, and for many years subsequently, rough horseplay and the perpetration of the most uncomfortable imaginable practical jokes were characteristic of the spirited gentlemen who officered the regiments of British cavalry. Those of our readers who took the trouble, some years ago, to wade through the evidence at the Tichborne trial, will remember the description of the ruthless tricks played on the simple undoubted Roger by his brother-carabineers. At the present day, military practical joking is somewhat out of fashion, and any games that may be played are curtailed of their former disagreeable proportions, and have assumed a comparatively mild character.
Cornet Macnamara’s room was the favourite arena for a display of the ingenious tricks of his facetiously inclined brother-officers. Thistles and dead cats were placed between his sheets; trapfuls of live rats were let loose in the apartment; the nuts of his iron bedstead were unscrewed, so that when the poor fellow turned in, the framework of the couch tumbled to pieces and landed the mattress on the floor, while at the same time he was douched by a tub of water from the shelf above, which was fastened with cord to the mattress, and upset simultaneously with the collapse of the bed. On such occasions Mike was naturally wroth, and expressed himself as anxious to call out the offenders; but despite his utmost vigilance and caution, he could never capture his tormentors.
Late one evening, a party of revellers from barracks were passing the _Red Indian_, when they espied the vermilioned gladiator. Nothing would satisfy them but to feloniously remove the statue and return with it to quarters—a work of considerable difficulty, as the figure was heavy. Arrived thither with their load, some one suggested that it should be placed in Cornet Macnamara’s room; and this idea was hailed with general enthusiasm. A scout was despatched to the messroom, in order to keep watch on Mike’s movements, and give the alarm in case he should appear on the scene. With great labour the gladiator was hoisted to the top of the staircase of the officer’s house; and Mike’s room door having been forced open, the jokers placed the statue in front of his dressing-table, on the top of an inverted iron coal-box. The staircase at the time was in process of being whitewashed, so the officers obtained possession of a tub of the mixture, and smeared the ‘Red Indian’ a dirty white; then taking the sheets from Mike’s bed, they hung them about the figure, turning it into a respectable-looking ghost. Afterwards, the officers dropped one by one into the messroom, and joined a group who were listening with great amusement to a new-fangled story which was being retailed by Macnamara regarding his prowess at Waterloo.
Mike, after clapping an additional two Frenchmen to the previous grand total of the number who had fallen by his sword, as narrated in his tale of the previous night, left the messroom in order to proceed to his quarters, whither, in a minute or two, he was stealthily followed by the whole of the officers, who anticipated great fun from the consternation of their victim when beholding the ghastly apparition in his bedroom. Mike gaily entered the apartment, singing a love ditty of his native land, and began to fumble for his tinder-box. After several attempts, he at last managed to light his candle, and of course at once perceived the ghost. The cornet was filled with the superstitious notions of a certain section of his countrymen, and started back nearly overcome with terror. ‘Ye saints in glory! what’s that?’ he cried; then leaving the room, he plunged madly down the staircase, and rushed yelling across the parade ground in the direction of the messroom. In his headlong progress, poor Mike did not observe a party of two ladies and a gentleman, who happened to be the colonel, accompanied by his wife and daughter, who had just returned from a dinner-party. Mike ran full tilt against his commanding officer, and knocked him into a puddle in the barrack square. The ladies screamed loudly; and the colonel, with many objurgations, got on his feet and confronted his assailant.
‘You—Cornet Macnamara!’ he angrily exclaimed. ‘What do you mean, sir, rushing about like a madman at this time of night? Consider yourself under arrest, sir.’
‘Faith, colonel,’ answered the unfortunate Mike, ‘I am very sorry, sorr, but I did not percaive ye. But, sorr, I wint up to me room just now, and as I hope for salvation, I found the divil in it, wid a big white shate wrapped round him!’
The irate colonel at once surmised that another trick had been played on his subordinate; so he sent the ladies home to quarters, and then called loudly for the sergeant of the guard with a file of men.
When this detachment of the guard appeared on the scene, the colonel ordered them to follow him to Macnamara’s room, where, by the light of the sergeant’s lantern, he showed the trembling cornet that there was nothing supernatural in the character of the figure that had frightened him so much. He then, under the circumstances, relieved Mike from arrest and proceeded home.
Mike waited until the commanding officer and the men of the guard were clear of the staircase, and then slid the gladiator off the coal-box. He edged the statue to the top of the stair, and by main strength toppled it over the banister; and an instant later, with a loud crash, the gladiator was smashed into fragments on the flagstones of the lobby, four stories beneath.
It is needless to say that there was great anger and consternation in the breast of the worthy host of the _Red Indian_ when, next morning, he awoke and found that his cherished statue had mysteriously disappeared. It was not long, however, before he obtained a clew to its whereabouts, as a customer informed him that late the previous night he ‘met a lot of milingtary chaps carrying summut’ in the direction of the barracks. This ‘summut’ Mr Slade shrewdly conjectured was his ‘Red Indian;’ and he at once wrote to the regimental quarters to make inquiries into the matter.
When the poor landlord discovered the gladiator in its fragmentary state, he became most angry and abusive; but was somewhat consoled when an emissary from the mess informed him that the officers would make good the damage, and requested him to inform them by letter next day the price at which he valued his statue. The landlord then procured the services of a passing cart and had the pieces removed to the inn. After a long consultation with his wife, he decided to assess the damage at ten guineas; and by way of making the most of the business, communicated with a marine store-dealer in town, intending to sell the smashed gladiator as old metal.
The colonel made the most strenuous though unavailing efforts to discover the practical jokers, and roundly abused the whole of the mess for their treatment of poor Mike; but after a while, the affair passed off in a general laugh.