Was Entombed Fifteen Days

1906

Bakersfield, Cal., Dec. 24. — Lindsay B. Hicks, released from an entombment of 15 days in a caved-in tunnel, appeared well and happy after his gruesome experience, spending much time in receiving congratulations of friends and neighbors, to whom he related as best he could the feelings he underwent within the dark, close quarters of his tomb-like prison near the dead bodies of five less fortunate companions, while scores of men worked like beavers day and night for more than two weeks to save him from death by digging through many feet of earth and rock.

Hicks' bravery under the trying conditions won for him the admiration of hundreds of persons who watched the progress of his exhumation. So strong was Hicks at the finish that he helped to scrape away the last barrier of earth, and crawled, with slight assistance from death to life.

Hicks was not emaciated. He was so strong that the stimulants that had been prepared for him were not needed.

No sooner was the last segment of debris removed and the way left open, than Hicks began to scrape away the rocks and earth and crawl toward the opening. With arms in front of his head, he went into the miniature tunnel and began to work his way slowly through to the other side of a dump car, near which he has remained during the excavating. His arms were seized by Dr. Stinchfield and a miner. The two, exerting all their strength, pulled the miner into the main tunnel, where he was placed in a sitting position. The blindfold that Hicks had been ordered to put on was removed, as the tunnel was only dimly lighted by candle.

And there, 100 feet from the face of the mountain and within a few steps of the place where the miner had lain entombed for nearly 16 days, there occurred a pathetically joyful scene. Dr. Stinchfield, with tears in his eyes, and his hands laid affectionately on Hicks' shoulders, said: "Well, how are you, old boy?"

And there were tears in the eyes of Hicks as well, the only tears that he had shed in all the days and nights since he was entombed, as he replied: "I am feeling fine. I can never thank you, doctor, for what you have done."

While working on a tunnel that was building by the Edison Power company near Bakersfield on December 7, the vertical walls of a deep cut fell in on Hicks and five fellow workmen. It was at first thought that all had perished under the hundreds of tons of rock and earth.

Three days later a tapping on the rail of the little tramway running through the drift gave the first intimation that a man still alive was buried beneath the debris. A 70-foot pipe, two inches in diameter, was immediately forced through the debris. It reached the spot where Hicks was entombed. A heavy dirt car had become wedged in the debris in such a way as to keep the immense weight from crushing him.

When Hicks pulled the wooden plug from the iron pipe and called to the men above him his voice sounded like one from the grave. Through the pipe the men working on top learned from Hicks that for several hours after the cave-in he had talked with his companions, but that they had become silent and he believed they were dead.

By means of the pipe Hicks kept in communication with a big force of rescuers which was at once organized; milk was poured down the pipe. This was the only sustenance it was possible to give the man for nearly two weeks. During the first two days Hicks said he had existed on a plug of tobacco he had with him at the time of the cave-in.

He had just exhausted this when the pipe was forced into the crevice in which he was pinned. Every day gallons of milk were poured down the pipe to keep him alive.

In a narrow space under the car there was just room for Hicks to lie down. His prison did not allow of the slightest freedom of movement, and for days the man lay on his back, not daring to move lest he might disturb the car overhead and bring down upon himself an avalanche of dirt that would mean his death.

Through the pipe he directed the work of rescue, guiding the course of the tunnel the miners started toward his prison, so that it would not by some chance disturb the equilibrium of the car, which was all that lay between him and death.

—New Oxford Item, New Oxford, PA, Dec. 27, 1906, p. 1.