The smell of fresh cooked pork sausages filled the air as we
loaded our provisions into two canoes alongside the long wooden pier at
On this particular Saturday afternoon the world was bright
and alive with the sound of children’s voices, dogs barking, and the ubiquitous
hum of motor boat engines. None of us could fathom that our adventure would
leave the land of living and descend into the darkness of the dead. This is a
true story of how a few good Christians paddled out to Sultana
My name is Russell Gainer, and I led the
The plan was simple – by canoes it would take us forty
minutes to cross the bay. We planned to explore
Sultana is one of the most famous gold mines on the
Mining operations commenced in the summer of 1892 when three
small veins were discovered in the rock.
When we arrived at Sultana we found the sandy beach deserted of all life and the shore absolutely full of driftwood. It was a Beachcomber’s paradise. Beyond the dunes there was long grass and a dense forest that obscured all signs of any previous development. Just beyond the trees we encountered a crumbling rock wall holding back a mass of rusty barrels that was bisected by a narrow trail that snaked its way up a steep incline. A set of stairs had been cut right into the rock.
Chester found a small chunk of dark red ore buried in the soil here – a crumb of some really heavy metallic mineral. When I dug down into the rocky soil I dredged up barrel hoops and bucket handles, thick square nails, and rusty hinges… There was corrugated steel roofing lying in the grass beside the trail - this was all that remained of some structure no doubt integral to the operation of the mine.
As we continued walking up the rise the rest of the island came into view. At the top of the hill we each stared open mouthed at a century old rock cut that was the throat of the number two shaft. In the jaws of this stone cavity we could see moss covered timbers set right into the rock. At one time these tree trunks had supported a sturdy platform on which miners might have worked the hoists. At one point I threw a stone down into the darkness and we listened as it ricocheted off the sides of the passage - we waited almost fifteen seconds to hear the splash.
Unaware of any danger I climbed down the rock wall to stand
on the bed of timbers. Immediately I felt a blast of very cold air rising from
the cave – although it was the heat of the summer there was still plenty of ice
down there in the darkness. Trixie was the first to hear it – dripping water
echoed up the shaft and between each drip there were other sounds, less
natural.
In December 1899
When the gold seams faded away into the rock a few months later the organization hired explosive experts and ferried a mass of low grade dynamite to the site. As the TNT was lowered down into the pit there was an accident. History doesn’t record exactly what happened, but it does detail the deaths of four miners in 1901. Two men were buried in the rock at the bottom of the tunnel - it took a week’s digging to recover the bodies. Those are the two spirits who cries forever resonate in the darkness of the mine.
Trixie bade us all to shut up and listen. Just for a moment,
as I peered into the darkness of the abyss I could hear the rope squeaking and
then I too heard the faint echo of human voices… it sounded like two men whispering
soft warnings to each other… The air grew even colder as their voices grew
louder and every member of the expedition was paralyzed with fear – we slowly
backed away from the rock cut and then quickly ran down the hill and back to
the boats. It was seriously scary stuff – fear pervaded our very beings and it
wasn’t until we were back in our canoes and well away from shore that we could
discuss the experience. We laughed about it then, but I think it’s safe to say
that each of us was overcome with fear.
When I researched the mine at the

