Saturday, February 21, 1891 began much the same as any other workday at Springhill Collieries, except that Number 3 would stand idle due to lack of empty coal cars. While the 7 AM shift descended into number 1 and 2 slopes, some felt a little edgy, having heard rumours of a predicted mine disaster. But most were calm enough, comforted by the preceding day's thumbs up safety inspection and by the fact that the prediction said the disaster would occur in May -- three months hence.
Sure enough, the morning passed uneventfully, and the workers enjoyed a well-deserved half hour break at noon. Most had finished their sandwiches; others were caught in mid-chew when a roar ripped through the mine. Coal dust had caused a massive explosion that would decimate the mines and the lives of hundreds of innocent people.
Mercifully, death was swift. "With few exceptions their faces wore a peaceful look, and there were evidences of sudden death. One man had a piece of bread in his mouth and had not finished eating his dinner. Another had his teeth firmly set upon the amber mouthpiece of his pipe, which had to be broken to be released from his death grip," recounted H. A. McKnight.
(In March of 1891, H. A. McKnight published a twenty-five cent manuscript entitled "The Great Colliery Explosion at Spring Nova Scotia." McKnight's two bits would remain the disaster's authoritative account for more than a century.)
"Horses had dropped on their knees and expired leaning against the side of the levels. . . . A young man was found standing where he stood at the time of the fearful blast, which piled debris around him to the height of his waist, and where he was probably instantly killed," wrote McKnight.
The manuscript described the phenomenon, "In No. 2 Slope the explosion extended a short distance through this tunnel, but in No.1 Slope it swept along the 1,900 foot level a considerable distance. Eye witnesses describe it as preceded by a sudden gust of wind, which swept like a tornado through the dark passages, hurling timbers and clouds of dust and flying missiles before it. This was followed in a few seconds by balls of fire, large and small, and then came a solid body of fierce flame that filled the passages, and literally roasted everything in its path."
Rescue efforts began immediately. Tremors were felt above ground and rubble lay everywhere.
"Cries for help could be heard, and men, flying for their lives, howling frantically, were met," McKnight recounted.
Dead and survivors intertwined; men, boys and horses lay trapped beneath slabs of stone, piles of debris and felled timbers. "Adolph Landry . . . was lying beneath a dead horse, severely burned," wrote McKnight. "About 40 feet farther cries of 'Mother' were heard, and after removing a dead horse and a quantity of rubbish, John Conway, a driver, was found crazed with the shock and fright, but unscratched."
If the coal was inexhaustible, so, too, were the rescuers. They descended into the mine day after day, digging through rubble, risking after-damp poisoning and subsequent explosions. Thermometers placed in return airshafts measured the pits' temperature. Progress was laborious, "several heavy falls were encountered, and over these the searching party had to climb and crawl, sometimes laden with their dead comrades' bodies spread on a canvas sheet, and carrying their safety lamps between their teeth," wrote McKnight. Often the find was too much to bear, "Jesse Armishaw accompanied the party only to find his three sons cold in death. A. A. McKinnon and Daniel Murray went down to search for McKinnon's brother, whom they found dead on the level, overcome by the powerful narcotic poison," recounted McKnight.
Survivors like Cyrus Munro, one of the worst cases of after-damp, described the horror, "He heard the noise of the explosion, and with his companion, who was suffocated, rushed from his working place. He says he became quite dizzy, as if intoxicated, and the after damp tasted sweet," wrote McKnight.
Later that evening, the dead would begin their slow ascent to the carpenter shop-come-morgue where they would lay in cold rows awaiting identification by weeping relatives. Some were mere boys upon whom widowed mothers and still younger children had depended on. Joseph Dupee would never become a teenager. John Dunn and Peter Reid would not see their fourteenth year. In the end, by McKnight's reckoning, dependents numbered 57 widows, 169 orphans and 8 widowed mothers. Last to join his dead comrades was Henry Swift, Manager of the Collieries.
Mining was a family affair and some households lost several members. Reid Carter and sons Clarence and Willard were all gone. "Clarence was to have been married the first of the following week, and Willard was killed on his thirteenth birthday," documented McKnight. Carmichael sons John, Andrew and William were killed, and Gordon unconscious from after damp. After-damp also claimed the Armishaw brothers Jesse and Herbert, and their adopted brother Ernest Brainbridge. John Nearing and sons Malcolm and James also died.
In an ugly twist of fate, as Oliver Dupois brought Joseph's body home, his four year old son raced out to meet. The boy slipped on ice and was killed instantly.
Mining was a family affair. So too would be the burial. The dead would rest in common graves wrested from frozen ground. "When more than one member of a family were to be buried, they were buried side by side in one grave. Two and three were laid in several graves, made large enough for this purpose. The strangers were buried in a large grave sixteen feet square," wrote McKnight. Few funerals were before Monday; efforts had been focused on locating survivors.
Mining was a family affair. So too would be the burial. The dead would rest in common graves wrested from frozen ground. "When more than one member of a family were to be buried, they were buried side by side in one grave. Two and three were laid in several graves, made large enough for this purpose. The strangers were buried in a large grave sixteen feet square," wrote McKnight. Few funerals were before Monday; efforts had been focused on locating survivors.
When the dust settled, the explosion of February 21, 1891 would be ruled accidental, perhaps providing a little comfort to the multitude of mourners. McKnight reported the jury's ruling, "There was an unusual flame from the said shot owing to a slip in the stone. . . . the explosion was accidental . . . no blame can be attached to the management . . . they have taken every precaution for the safety of their workmen." Every precaution except luck.
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