DOWN IN A SILVER MINE.
The sojourner in Leipsic, while strolling through its quaint old streets
and spacious market-place, will be attracted, among other peculiarities
of national costume, by one which, while startling and showy, is still
attractive and picturesque. The wearer is most probably a young man of
small figure and of pallid appearance. He is dressed in a short jacket,
which is black, and is enriched with black velvet. The nether garments
are also black. His head is covered with a black brimless hat, and a
small semicircular apron of dark cloth is tied, not before, but behind.
This is one of the Berg-leute, mountain people; he comes from the
Freiberg silver district, and is attired in the full dress of a miner.
Doubtless, these somewhat theatrically attired mountaineers hold a
superior position to the diggers and blasters of the earth. The dress
is, perhaps, more properly that worn in the mountains, than that of the
miners themselves. Still, even their habiliments, as I afterwards
learned, are but a working-day copy of this more costly model; and the
semicircular apron tied on behind, is more especially an indispensable
portion of the working dress of the labouring miner.
From Leipsic, the mines are distant about seventy English miles. We--who
are a happy party of foot-wanderers bound for Vienna--spend three
careless days upon the road. Look at this glorious old castle of
Altenburg, gravely nodding from its towering rock upon the quaint town
below. It is the first station we come to, and is the capital of the
ancient dukedom of Saxon-Altenburg. Look at the people about us! Does
it not strike you as original, that what is here called modest attire,
would elsewhere be condemned as immoral and ridiculous? Each of the
males, indeed, presents an old German portrait, with short plaited and
wadded jacket, trunk breeches, and low hat, with a rolled brim. But the
women! With petticoats no deeper than a Highlandman's kilt, and their
legs thus guiltless of shoes or stockings, the bust and neck are
hideously covered by a wooden breastplate, which, springing from the
waist, rises at an angle of forty-five degrees as high as the chin; and
on the edge of it is fastened a handkerchief, tied tightly round the
neck. A greater disfigurement of the female form could scarcely have
been devised. Yet, to these good people, it is doubtless beauty and
propriety itself; for it is old, and national.
Through pretty woods and cultivated lands; beside rugged, roadside dells,
we trudge along. We halt in quiet villages, snug and neat even in their
poverty; or wend our way, in the midst of sunshine, through endless
vistas of fruit-laden woods, the public road being one rich orchard of
red-dotted cherry-trees: purchasable for a mere fraction, but not to be
feloniously abstracted. Through Altenburg, Zwickau, Oederon, and
Chemnitz; up steep hill paths, and by the side of unpronounceable
villages, until, on the morning of the fourth day, we straggle into
Freiberg.
Freiberg is the walled capital of the Saxon ore mountains, the
Erzgebirge; the centre of the Saxon mining administration. One of its
most spacious buildings is the Mining Academy, which dates from 1767.
Here are rich collections of the wonderful produce of these mountains;
models of mining machines, of philosophical and chemical apparatus; class
and lecture rooms, and books out of number. Here Werner, the father of
geology, and Humboldt, the systematiser of physical geography, were
pupils. The former has bequeathed an extensive museum of mineralogy to
the Academy, which has been gratefully named after its founder, the
Wernerian Museum.
Freiberg holds up its head very high. The Mining Academy stands one
thousand two hundred and thirty-one feet above the sea, although this is
by no means the greatest altitude in the long range of mountains, which
form a huge boundary line between the kingdoms of Saxony and Bohemia.
The general name for the whole district is the Erzgebirg-Kreis--the
circle of ore mountains--and truly they form one vast store of silver,
tin, lead, iron, coal, copper, and cobalt ores; besides a host of
chemical compounds and other riches. The indefatigable Saxons have
worked and burrowed in them for more than seven hundred years.
We proceed to the Royal Saxon Mining Office, and request permission to
descend into the "bowels of the land." This is accorded us without
difficulty, and we receive a beautiful specimen of German text, in the
shape of a lithographed Fahrschein, or permission to descend into
Abraham's Shaft and Himmelfahrt, and to inspect all the works and
appliances thereunto belonging. This Fahrschein especially informs us,
that no person, unless of the Minerstand (fraternity of miners), can be
permitted to descend into the Zechen or pits, who is not eighteen years
old; nor can more than two persons be intrusted to the care of one guide.
We cheerfully pay on demand the sum of ten silver groschens each (about
one shilling), for the purpose--as we are informed in a note at the
bottom of the Fahrschein--of meeting the exigencies of the Miners'
Pension and Relief Fund.
The mine we are about to inspect, which bears the general title of
Himmelsfurst--Prince of Heaven--is situated near to the village of Brand.
How fond these old miners were of Biblical designations! and what an
earnest spirit of religion glowed within them! There is another mine in
the vicinity, at Voightberg, called the Old Hope of God; but we must
recollect that Freiberg was one of the strongholds of early
Protestantism, and that the first and sternest of the reformers clustered
about its mountains. They have a cold, desolate look; and we think of
the gardens we have left at their bases, and of the forests of fir-trees
which wave upon some of the loftier pinnacles of these same Erzgebirge.
Nor are the few men we meet of more promising appearance: not dwarfed nor
stunted, but naturally diminutive, with sallow skins and oppressed
demeanour. How different are the firm, lithe, sun-tanned mountaineers,
who breathe the free air on the summits of their hills!
We are near the entrance of the mine; and, entering the neat, wooden
office of the Schachtmeister, or mine-controller, we produce our
credentials. Having signed our names in a huge book (in which we
decipher more than one English name), we are passed to the care of an
intelligent-looking guide; who, although still in early manhood, is of
the same small and delicate growth observable in the miners generally.
Our guide, providing himself with small lanterns and an ominous-looking
bundle, leads the way out of the Schachtmeister's office to another
portion of the same building. Here are heaps of dark grey "macadamised"
stones;--silver and lead ores just raised from the pit; over whose very
mouth we are unknowingly standing. A windlass is in the centre of the
chasm; and it is by means of this windlass that the metalliferous
substance is raised to the surface in square wooden boxes. Here the
dressing of the ores commences; boys cluster in all directions, under the
wooden shed, and in oilier sheds beyond that. Here the ores are picked
and sorted, washed and sieved, and, we believe, crushed or pulverised,
according to the amount of metal contained in them, till they are in a
fit state for the smelting furnace. We are not admitted to a minute
inspection of these processes; but, under the direction of our guide,
turn towards the mouth of the pit which we are to descend. Ere we leave
the shed, we pick out a small block of ore as a memorial of the visit,
and are astonished at its weight; bright yellow, and dull lead-coloured
crystals gleam over its surface; and a portion of the gneiss, from which
it has been broken, still adheres to it.
We follow our guide across a dusty space towards a wooden building with a
conical roof; and, as we approach it, we become conscious of, rather than
hear, the sweet, melancholy sound of a bell, which, at minute intervals,
tones dreamily through the air. Whence comes that sad sound? In the
centre of the shed is a square box, open at the top; and immediately
above hangs the small bell; thence comes the silvery voice.
"For what purpose is this bell?" we inquire of our guide.
"It is the bell of safety."
"Does it sound a warning?"
"No, the reverse; its silence gives the warning. The bell is tolled by a
large water-wheel, immediately below the surface. By means of this
wheel, and others at greater depths, the whole drainage of this mine is
effected. If, by any means, these waterwheels should cease to act, the
bell would cease to sound, and the miners would hasten to the day, for no
man could tell how soon his working might be flooded."
"And can it be heard throughout the mine?"
"Through this portion of it. Probably the water acts as a conductor of
the sound; but the miners listen earnestly for its minute tolling."
Toll on, thou messenger of comfort! May thy voice ever tell of safety to
the haggard toiler, deep in the earth!
Our guide now directs us to attire ourselves in the garments disgorged
from the portentous-looking bundle. They consist of a pair of black
calico trousers, a dark, lapelled coat, a leathern semicircular apron,
buckled on behind--the strap of which serves to hook a small lantern on
in front--and a terrible brimless felt hat, which we feel to be a curse
the moment we put it on, and which we never cease to anathematise, up to
the instant when we take it off. These habiliments being drawn over our
ordinary clothing, do not facilitate our motions, or help to keep us in
so cool a state as might be desirable.
Over the edge of the square box, and down a stone staircase cut through
the solid granite, we follow our guide. We pause on the first few steps,
and are just able to distinguish the huge, broad water-wheel, slowly
revolving in its stony chamber: its spokes, like giant arms, sweep
through the wet darkness with scarcely a sound, but a low dripping and
gurgling of water. That terrible staircase! dark and steep and slimy!
Water drips from its roof and oozes from its walls. It is so low, that
instead of bending forward as the body naturally does when in the act of
descent, we are compelled to throw our heads back at the risk of
dislocating our necks, in order that the detestable hat may not be driven
over our eyes by coming in contact with the roof. Down, down the
slippery steps; feeling our way along slimy walls: through the dense
gloom, and heavy, moist air! The way seems to wave and bend we scarcely
know how; sometimes we traverse level galleries, but they only lead us
again to the steep, clammy steps, cut through the tough rock, always at
the same acute angle. Down, down, six hundred feet! and our guide
whispers to us to be careful how we go, for we are in a dangerous place:
he has brought us to this portion of the mine to show us how the water
accumulates when undisturbed.
The vein of ore has, in this part, ceased to yield a profit for the
necessary labour, and the works have been abandoned. We creep
breathlessly down until our guide bids us halt; and, holding out his
lantern at arm's length, but half reveals, in the pitchy darkness, a
low-roofed cavern, floored by an inky lake of still, dead water; in which
we see the light of the lantern reflected as in a mirror. It is fearful
to look on--so black and motionless: a sluggish pool, thick and
treacherous, which seemingly would engulf us without so much as a wave or
a bubble; and we are within a foot of its surface! We draw involuntarily
back, and creep up the steep stair to the first level above us.
Along a narrow gallery we proceed for a short space, and then down again;
still down the interminable steps, till our knees crack with the ever
uniform motion, and the hot perspiration streams from every pore. The
air is so thick and heavy, that we occasionally draw breath with a half
gasp; and still we descend, till we hear the muffled ring of
steel,--tink, tink, tink,--immediately near us, and are suddenly arrested
in our downward course by the level ground.
We are in a narrow gallery, considerably loftier than any we have yet
seen; for we can walk about in it without stooping. At the further end
are two miners, just distinguishable by the tiny glow of their lanterns.
From these proceed the ring of steel--the muffled tinkling in the thick
air we had heard--and we see that they are preparing for a "blast." With
a long steel rod, or chisel, they are driving a way into the hard rock
(geologists say there is little else in the Erzebirge than the primitive
gneiss and granite), and thus prepare a deep, narrow chamber, within
which a charge of gunpowder is placed and exploded. The hard material is
rent into a thousand pieces, bringing with it the ore so indefatigably
sought.
With every limb strained and distorted, the miners pursue their cramping
labours, grovelling on the earth. The drilling or boring they are
engaged in is a slow process, and the choice of a spot, so that the
explosion may loosen as much of the lode and as little of the rock as
possible, is of considerable importance. They cease their labours as we
enter, and turn to look at us. The curse of wealth-digging is upon them.
They, in their stained and disordered costume, seated on the ground on
their semicircular leather aprons (for that is the obvious use of this
portion of the dress, in these moist regions); we, in our borrowed
garments and brimless beavers, with flushed features and dripping hair.
The miners do not wear the abominable hats, at least "beneath the day,"
that is, in the mines.
"Is this the bottom of the mine?" we inquire anxiously.
The guide smiles grimly as he answers, "We are little more than half-way
to the bottom; but we can descend no deeper in this direction."
Heaven knows we have no desire!
"This is the first working," he continues. "The rest of the mine is much
the same as you have already seen. We have no other means of reaching
the workings than by the stone staircases you have partly descended."
"What are the miners' hours of work?"
"Eight hours a day for five days in the week at this depth," is the
answer. "In the deeper workings the hours are fewer."
"What is the extent of the mine?" we demand.
"I cannot tell. There is no miner living who has traversed them all.
The greater portion is out of work, and spreads for miles under ground."
"And the depth?"
"About two hundred fathoms--twelve hundred feet--the sea level. The 'Old
Hope of God' is sixty feet below the level of the sea."
"Are there many mines like this?"
"There are about two hundred mines in all, with five hundred and forty
pits: in all the mines together there are some four thousand eight
hundred hands, men and boys. This mine occupies nine hundred of them."
"And your pay?"
"One dollar a week is a good wage with us."
One dollar is about three shillings of English money! This seems small
pay, even in cheap Saxony.
"But," we pursue our inquiries, "you have no short time, and are
pensioned?--at least, so says our Fahrschein."
"We are paid our wages during sickness, and are never out of work. When
we can no longer use the pick, nor climb these staircases, we can retire
upon our pension of eight silver groschens a week."
Tenpence! Magnificent independence! This is digging for silver with a
vengeance.
But we are faint with fatigue; and, bidding adieu to the two miners, we
gladly agree to our guide's suggestion of ascending to the happy
daylight. Our way is still the same; although we mount by another shaft,
most appropriately named Himmelfahrt--the path of heaven; but we clamber
up the same steep steps; feel our way along the same slimy walls, and
occasionally drive our hats over our eyes against the same low, dripping
roof. With scarcely a dry thread about us; our hair matted and dripping;
beads of perspiration streaming down our faces, we reach the top at last;
and thank Heaven, that after two hours' absence deep down among those
terrible "diggins," we are permitted once more to feel the bracing air,
and to look upon the glorious light of day.
Our labours, however are not over. Distant rather more than an English
mile from Himmelsfurst are the extensive amalgamation works, the smelting
furnaces and refining ovens. Painfully fatigued as we are, we cannot
resist the temptation of paying them a brief visit. The road is dusty
and desolate; nor are the works themselves either striking or attractive.
An irregular mass of sheds, brick buildings, and tall chimneys, present
themselves. As we approach them we come upon a "sludge hole"--the bed of
a stream running from the dredging and jigging works; where, by the
agency of water, the ore is relieved of its earthy and other waste
matter, and the stream of water--allowed to run off in separate
channels--deposits, as it flows, the smaller particles washed away in the
first process. These are all carefully collected, and the veriest atom
of silver or lead extracted. It is only the coarser ores that undergo
this process; the richer deposits being pulverised and smelted with white
or charred wood and fluxes, without the application of water, and refined
by amalgamation with quicksilver. The two metals are afterwards
separated by distilling off the latter.
Here are heaps of scoria--stacks of piglead, wood, coke, limestone and
waste earth, everything, indeed, but silver; although we are emphatically
in a silver mining district, silver is by no means the material which
presents itself in the greatest bulk. Having placed ourselves under the
direction of one of the workmen, we are led into some newly built brick
buildings, where force-pumps and other water appliances, erected at great
cost by the Saxon government, are gratefully pointed out to us. These
water-works are equally applicable to the extinction of fire, as to the
preparation of ores.
Into what an incomprehensible maze of words should we be betrayed, were
we to attempt a description of the multifarious operations for the
extraction and refining of metals! Every description of ore, or
metalliferous deposit, requires a different treatment: each suggested and
verified by laborious experience and vigilant attention. In some cases
the pure silver is separated by mechanical means; in others the ore is
roasted, in order to throw off the sulphur, arsenic, and other volatile
matters, which are separately collected and form no inconsiderable
portion of the valuable produce of the mine. These roastings again are
smelted with a variety of fluxes, and in different states of
purification, until they are ready for refining.
Here are roasting furnaces, dull and black; huge brick tubes with swollen
ends; others built in, and ready for ignition. Everywhere, we see pigs
of lead, sometimes lying about in reckless confusion, at others, neatly
packed in square stacks. Now, they bring us to a huge circular oven,
with at least half-a-dozen firmly closed iron doors, and as many glowing
caves; and a swarthy man, armed with an iron rake, swinging open one of
the iron doors with a ring and a clatter, we look in upon a small lake of
molten silver, fuming, and steaming, and bubbling. The iron rake is
thrust in, and scrapes off the crumbling crust--the oxide of lead, which
has formed upon its surface. The silver fumes and flashes, and a white
vapour swims in the air. The swarthy man swings the iron door to with a
clang, takes us by the arm, and bids us look through into a dark cavity,
and watch the white drops which fall at intervals like tiny stars from
above. This is the quicksilver evaporated from the heated silver in the
furnace, which passes through the chimney into a kind of still, and is
restored to its original condition.
And what is the result of all this skill and labour? We find that the
average produce of the Saxon mines is from three to four ounces of silver
to the hundred pounds' weight of ore; and that the mines about Freiberg
yield annually nearly four hundred and fifty thousand ounces of silver.
We find further that the total mines of the Erzgebirge-Kreis--"circle of
ore mountains"--of which those of Freiberg form a portion, produce a
total of seven hundred and twenty thousand ounces of silver every year;
besides from four hundred to five hundred tons of lead, one hundred and
forty tons of tin, about thirty tons of copper, from three thousand five
hundred to four thousand tons of iron, and six hundred tons of cobalt.
They are rich also in arsenic, brimstone, and vitriol, and contain, in no
inconsiderable quantities, quicksilver, antimony, calamites, bismuth, and
manganese. Even precious stones are not wanting; garnets, topazes,
tourmalines, amethysts, beryls, jaspers, and chalcedonies having been
found.
A shrewd old workman tells us, with a proud satisfaction, that when
Napoleon's power was crushed, and Saxony had to pay the penalty of her
adhesion to the French conqueror, in the shape of various parings and
loppings of her already narrow territories--that Prussia gloated with
greedy eyes, and half stretched out an eager hand to grasp the Erzgebirge
and their mineral riches. "_Aber_," exclaims he with a chuckle, "_die
sind noch Sachische_, _Gott sey dank_!" "But they are still Saxon,
thanks be to God!"
All things considered (the Australian diggins included), we came to the
conclusion, from our small experience of Saxon mines, that there are more
profitable, and even more agreeable occupations in the world than
mining--pleasanter ways, in short, of getting a living, than digging for
silver in Saxony, or even for gold in Australia.