On the night of October 17, 1867, thirteen men were working deep within the Central Shaft when an accident set off a deadly chain of events. A candle left burning near a leaking container of nitroglycerin fumes ignited a fire. At first, the blaze seemed minor, until it reached the supply of explosives and triggered a second, far more violent blast.
Above, the hoisting platform, used to move men, equipment, and debris, was obliterated. Heavy machinery, steel tools, buckets, and massive timbers were blown skyward before crashing back down into the open shaft. Below, the fire spread rapidly. Flames engulfed the wooden cribbing that lined the shaft. Smoke and toxic gas poured into the chamber. The lift system was gone. Escape was impossible.
Some of the thirteen died instantly. Others were injured and trapped in the rising smoke. They screamed for help, but nothing could be done. The shaft soon filled with water, either from broken pipes or firefighting attempts, and what hadn’t burned was drowned. Crews on the surface tried to organize a rescue, but the wreckage was impassable, the fire too intense. They could hear men below, but they couldn’t reach them.
It took nearly a year to clear the collapsed debris and pump out the water. When the bodies were finally recovered, they were skeletal and waterlogged, disfigured by fire and time. The smell was said to be overwhelming. Survivors described it as something that clung to you long after you left the site. The men were buried in a mass grave. Their names were barely recorded, if at all. For many, the shaft became their tomb.
Afterward, workers refused to go near it at night. Some claimed to hear voices rising from the darkness. Others said the air around the shaft never felt the same again, heavier, colder, and somehow aware.
The tragedy at the Central Shaft wasn't just a deadly accident, it became a turning point in the tunnel’s story. It fused engineering with death. Progress with grief. And it cemented the tunnel’s other name in local memory: the Bloody Pit.
Hauntings, Legends, and Unanswered Deaths
From there, the stories deepened. Men spoke of voices in the dark. Of tools that moved. Of cold hands brushing their shoulders. Workers began refusing to enter after sunset. And still, the accidents came.