The French mind is essentially material. Would not the more mystic Celt or Anglo-Saon feel a superstitious thrill cross his mind when he saw, surging from the silence and the night of the fatal galleries where he knew all was death and decay, spectral forms in the "unlucky number" of thirteen? Yet the legends of the mine exist in France.
The miners in Zola's "Germinal" fear the "Black Man" who lurks in the black recesses of the galleries. The fire-damp was once supposed to be the vengeance of some Pluto-like lord of the underworld, jealously guarding his black diamonds. Even now, some of these northern miners will talk of the "bianque besse," the white bat which is seen flitting, banshee-like, among the workers before the dreaded explosion takes place, or of the white snow-like flakes which are harbingers of the same terrible danger.
In Central France the "little miner" is a kobold who plays Puck-like tricks on the men. Does a lamp go out, a tool break, a piece of timbering fall on a miner - he apostrophises the mischievous elf whom he suspects to be playing these practical jokes.
The "Vieux Garcon" (old bachelor) is another legend. When the new shift is coming down in the cage, and all should be silence, the men hear the pick resound, the "bennes" rolling along the rails and savage cries of "Ratata!" Then comes a crash, as if all had been destroyed. But when the gallery is reached, all is in order - it is but the "Vieux Garcon."
The same sprite is supposed to haunt the Breton mines, but here he plays a more useful role. He watches over the miners and by ghostly blows of the hammer (heard but never seen), he indicates where timbers are rotting and danger lurks. Let us hope this belief does not lead to that neglect which, in a mine, is apt to be so tragic in its results. -- "T.P.'s Weekly."
Belfast News-Letter 17th April 1906.
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