probably saw the spark in time to spring
away, and was actually in the air when the explosion came.

In my investigations I have heard various stories showing what
uncertainty there is as to the behavior of dynamite in the presence of
fire. Workmen who handle it constantly in blasting operations say you
can put fire to a stick of dynamite without danger, and it will simply
burn away in bluish flame. On the other hand, they admit that in every
fifty or a hundred sticks there may be one where the touch of fire
_will_ bring explosion.

[Illustration: THE EXPLOSION IN THE NEW YORK CITY TUNNEL.]

It is quite certain this was the case in New York's recent tunnel
accident near One Hundred and Eightieth Street, and I have some facts of
interest here obtained from a workman who was in the main gallery at the
time. This man heard a shout of warning, and, looking down the rock
street, saw a puddle of blazing oil from one of the lamps lapping at the
side of a heavy wooden box. He knew that the box was full of dynamite,
and as he looked he saw the yellow oil flame turn to blue. That was
enough for him, and he started to run for his life. But the explosion
caught him in the first step, lifted him from the ground, and bore him
on, while his legs kept up the motions of running. He was running on the
air.

As he was thus hurled along his knee struck a large stone between the
siding and the north heading, and he fell on his face, half dazed. The
air was thick with strangling fumes, there was a frightful din about
him--yells and crashing stones. Every lamp had been blown out, and in
the utter darkness he could see the glaring eyeballs of fleeing negroes,
who cursed in awful oaths as they ran. He pressed his mouth close to the
ground, and found he could breathe better. He felt some one step over
him, and seized a leg. The leg kicked itself free and went on. He groped
about with his hands, and touched an iron rail; it was the little track
for hauling the dumping-cars. He crept along this painfully to the
siding, then down the siding to the shaft, where, in the blackness, he
found a frantic company--negroes mad with fright, Italians screaming and
praying, Irishmen keeping fairly cool, but wondering why, oh, why! the
elevator did not come, and several men stretched on the ground quite
still or groaning quietly.

Time lacks for the rest of the story; they took out men dressed in a
collar and shirt-band only--everything else blown off, and