THE COPPER MINES.
Perchance you now feel no insurmountable objection to visiting and
inspecting the grand source of the prosperity of Conistone—the copper
mines to wit.
Miss Martineau tells you that—“The traveller should see the copper
works at Conistone (if he can obtain leave,) both for their own sake,
and for the opportunity it gives him of observing the people engaged
there, and because they lie in his way to the tarns on Conistone Old
Man, and to the summit of the mountain itself.” Should you happen
to know this very eminent and excellent writer, pray tell her that
she might have omitted the parenthesis which insinuates that leave
to inspect the mines is sometimes refused; for I assure you and her,
that such leave has never been refused during the reign of the present
liberal and enlightened manager, and that has lasted upwards of twenty
years, and will, I earnestly hope, last for upwards of twenty more. You
will find that you have nothing to do but walk up to the office like
a gentleman, as you are, (if you be not a lady,) send in your card,
state your wishes, and you will not only obtain the wished permission,
but the offer of a proper equipment, and candles, and be directed to a
competent guide and cicerone.
Very well, then; you may follow the same route you took at the
commencement of your last ramble—that is to say, along the Lake side,
by the slate-quays, over Yewdale Bridge, past the Church to the Black
Bull, the end of which you pass, and soon come to a wooden bridge
connecting the road with a number of cottages arranged in the form of
an irregular square with a tail to it, and called “the Forge.”
[Sidenote: WAY TO THE MINES.]
As you saunter on towards the hills, you arrive at a huge inelegant
building of three high stories, formerly a corn-mill, but now converted
into eight roomy dwelling-houses, and a large public room. Immediately
above this old corn-mill, on a gentle acclivity at the apex of the
fertile triangular plain of Church Conistone, so close to the fells
as to be almost overhung by them, and surrounded by richly-decorated
grounds, stands Holy-wath, the residence of one to whom Conistone is
mainly indebted for the prosperity she has for so many years enjoyed.
Those interested in planting operations, especially in _trans_planting
“adult trees,” may here see numerous examples of success in that
difficult art; for all these large healthy trees in the grounds of
Holy-wath were transplanted by Mr Barratt, some few years ago, from
beyond the lake.
The neat cottages beyond, smiling over the beauty below them, are
called 'Boon Beck, and, like nine-tenths of the houses you have seen,
are inhabited by miners. Pass through the Fell-gate, taking the road to
the right, and a pretty stiff pull you will find it.
[Sidenote: GHYLL AND FALLS.]
On the upper side of the road, you have a steep fell-side consisting
of grey rock, alternating with green pasturage, and on the lower a
high and dry stone wall, and when you come to a gate therein, you may
rest, and look over, or through it, at the dale and village from a new
point of view. It is “devoutly to be wished” that, when wearied in
the up-hill journey through life, we may always find a resting-place
pleasant as this. You are, of course, delighted, for the beauty of
Conistone is of that sterling character that, from whatever direction
you gain a peep at it, you are struck with renewed admiration, and
you are always inclined to fancy that it is seen to most advantage
from the place whence you then happen to be looking. But all earthly
delights must end, and you must not stand all day gazing so eagerly
at the landscape through the gate—reminding one of a hungry monkey
eyeing gingerbread nuts through the bars of his cage. So resume your
walk, and when the wall terminates, you have in its place a deep
rugged ravine, with the soap-_suddy_ beck brawling and foaming along
its jagged course at the bottom. And here the lover’s leap might
commodiously be perpetrated, as one of Mr George Robins’ advertisements
said in its enumeration of the attractions of a property he had to
sell hereabouts some years ago. But you had better, if you contemplate
such an exploit, defer the execution of it, until once I have shown
you all that is worth seeing around this same Conistone; and then, if
you still wish to quit a world containing a locality so beautiful,
why, the sooner such an insensate animal makes his exit, the better
for all parties concerned. About half way up the ghyll, you come to
a waterfall of about forty feet, where the water, being much broken
by the inequalities above, and upon the broad ledge it falls from,
spreads out like a huge white apron _gathered_ a little at the waist.
A hundred yards higher is another fall, and, higher still, a third,
where the stream is split into three by two sharp projecting rocks,
and, about half way down, falls upon a sort of “slantindicular” shelf,
whence, white as butter-milk, it makes a second fall at right angles
to the first, and forms altogether a highly interesting subject of
contemplation.
[Sidenote: CHRONOLOGICAL DATA.]
And now, occupying the upper end of an oblong basin amongst the hills,
you see “a little town” of sheds, offices, workshops, and water-wheels,
which, with the constant clatter of the machinery issuing therefrom,
presents a most extraordinary contrast to the silence and solitude
of the surrounding wilderness. These are the works belonging to the
Copper Mines, which Copper Mines were in existence when Christianity
was not, for there is good reason to believe that copper was wrought
here, and that extensively, by the Romans during their first occupation
of the country, and also by the Britons before them. In support of this
supposition, I beg to offer an extract, bearing upon the subject, from
that very grave and erudite work, Mr A'Beckett’s History of England.
“Before quitting the subject of Cæsar’s invasion, it may be interesting
to the reader to know something of the weapons with which the early
Britons attempted to defend themselves. Their swords were made of
copper, and generally bent with the first blow, which must have greatly
straitened their aggressive resources, for the swords thus followed
their own bent, instead of carrying out the intention of the persons
using them. This provoking pliancy of material must often have made
the soldier as ill-tempered as his weapon.” Since those remote days,
these mines have never been entirely deserted, save for a few years
during the rumpus kicked up by Oliver Cromwell and his compatriots, at
which period of our national history, lead and cold iron being more
in request than “sounding brass and tinkling cymbals,” they were shut
up; but on the restoration of tranquillity and of “that sad scamp, the
Merry Monarch,” operations were resumed, and continued with varying
energy and success until the advent of the present management. At
that period there were only two or three miners employed, but since
then, matters have been very different. The mines have been rapidly
increasing in extent and prosperity; they now employ several hundred
people, and are become a splendid property to the present enterprising
company.
[Sidenote: MINING—OLD AND MODERN.]
It is worthy of being remarked, that, in the early ages, the mode
of obtaining the ore, which is generally found in veins, or lodes,
intermingled with quartz, and surrounded by very hard rock, was similar
to that which the Roman historians say was adopted by Hannibal to
smooth his passage over the Alps; that is, they kindled large fires
upon the veins, and, having heated the stone as much as possible,
poured water upon it, (the Carthaginians used vinegar,) which, by
the sudden and copious abstraction of caloric, caused it to crack,
or burst, and so rendered a circumscribed portion workable by their
rude implements, some of which—small quadrangular iron wedges, with a
hole at the thick end for the insertion of a handle—have been recently
found in the very old workings. The invention of gunpowder and its
application to blasting purposes, have, of course, for ages, superseded
this primitive _modus operandi_;
And now these rock-built hills are hourly “shaken
By thy humane discovery, _Friar Bacon_!”
Some of the operations are carried on by what are called
“tribute-workers,” the workmen receiving a certain proportion of what
they raise, and, when fortunate, some of them realize large sums under
this system; but the greater part by far of the underground work is
done by bargain, some man, or, more frequently, men, undertaking
to excavate a given number of fathoms in a certain locality and
in an assigned direction, for so much per fathom; the results of
their labours being brought out along the levels by waggons, and by
“kibbles”—a sort of large strong bucket—up the shafts. If you happen to
be fresh from College, it may be necessary to inform you that a level
means a horizontal, and a shaft a perpendicular excavation.
High up the mountain side, you may notice a solitary water-wheel which,
from having nothing near it visible from below, appears to be spinning
away like a child's toy mill, without aim or object. It is at the top
of the main shaft, and is employed in hoisting those kibbles and water
to the horse level.
[Sidenote: THE HORSE LEVEL.]
And now having arrived at the works, before examining the details of
the dressing process, suppose you take a subterranean ramble, and
see how and where the ore is obtained, and to do that comfortably,
it were well to borrow some regular mining habiliments to save your
clothes;—the gentlemen below stairs will excuse your appearing amongst
them in full dress.
It will be wise to select the oldest and most extensive part of the
mines for exploration, and _it_ is that most to the east; so, when you
are properly equipped, and have procured candles and a guide, proceed
at once to the horse level mouth, light your candles, open the door and
walk in, and as you proceed, it were well, once in a way, to take a
lesson from your respectable fellow-biped the goose, who, I have been
told, always lowers his head when entering even the highest doors; for
if you disdain the Saviour of the Capitol’s example, you will hardly
save your own capital, the arch of living rock beneath which you travel
being too low for even a little man to walk with an erect front. When
you have progressed thus with your crest lowered for some distance, you
may straight your back and look up, for you are under the “Cobbler’s
hole,” a tremendous chasm, from which a vein of copper, extending to
above the water-wheel you saw on the hill-side, has been wrought, and
when you are advanced about a quarter of a mile into the level, you
are at the side of the shaft which reaches from the said water-wheel
through all the workings down to the deepest level; and by which the
kibbles containing the ore are hoisted a few fathoms above your head,
and there emptied into a large hopper, the mouth of which is six or
seven feet above the level, and under it the waggons are run to be
loaden.
[Sidenote: VISIT TO THE INTERIOR.]
If you are determined to descend the shaft, it must be by a series
of ladders, with wooden sides and iron steps, and you come upon a
platform, or “landing,” at every few fathoms. Diverging occasionally
from, but generally following the line of the shaft, you pass several
old “bunnins”—I am not sure about the orthography, but the derivation
is, I fancy, from _bound in_—which are short logs of wood jammed
between the opposite walls of rock for the miners to stand upon when
working in such situations. As you proceed on your perilous journey,
you must not allow the thundering echoes of the distant blast, or the
astounding rattle of the rapidly descending kibble and its chain,
to deprive you of your presence of mind, else you are “but a dead”
tourist. But supposing that you carry your senses along with you,
and are resolved to stop at nothing short of the deep workings, you
continue, sometimes crawling down the ladders, and sometimes stepping
cautiously across the landings, and pass several levels in your
descent—viz., one twenty fathoms down, one thirty-five, one fifty, and
at length you arrive at the seventy fathom, when you are some where
about the level of the village, or about 420 feet below the place
where you commenced your underground knight errantry—or, again, about
640 feet below the top of the shaft. There is, “at the lowest depth a
lower still,” some twenty fathoms below this another working called
“the ninety;” but you are already deep enough for any useful purpose.
Moving a short way onwards, you come in sight of two men working upon
a “bunnin,” and looking, according to your notion, very much like
inhabitants of a still lower region, the darkness being made barely
visible by a couple of twinkling candles plastered against the rock
with clay. Their attitudes are somewhat picturesque, as they hold up
and turn the jumper with the left hand, whilst they keep driving it
into the flinty rock by an incessant rapping with a hammer held in
[Sidenote: BORING AND BLASTING.] the right. Having bored their holes
to a sufficient depth, they proceed to clear them out with an iron
instrument something like a yard-long needle, with its point bent
and flattened—first scraping out the borings or fragments of stone,
with the point, and then drying the hole with a small wisp of straw,
or dried grass, drawn through the eye, and worked up and down in the
hole until all moisture is completely mopped up. They then fill a tin
tube with gunpowder, and conveying it into the hole, withdraw the tube
and leave the hole filled to one-third, or one-half its depth with
the powder. Having corked down, by way of wadding, the wisp used in
drying, and carefully cleaned away any stray grains of powder which may
possibly adhere to the sides, they next thrust a long sharpened rod of
copper, called a “pricker,” down one side into the powder, and pass an
iron “stemmer,” or ramrod, grooved on one side to fit the pricker, to
feel whether it work easily, which it will not do, if the pricker be
improperly inserted. They then beat in with the stemmer a quantity of
soft rotten stone, called “stemming,” sufficient to fill up the hole,
finishing off with a little clay, and commence the withdrawal of the
pricker, an operation of some nicety. Having got it out, they pass down
the hole it leaves a long straw filled with powder, having a piece of
match-paper attached to its outer extremity; and having secured their
tools, and uttered two or three indescribable warning shouts, the
precise sound of which it is difficult to realize, but which consist of
the monosyllable “fire,” they ignite the touch-paper and immediately
retire to a respectful distance, and you had better retire with them,
to await the report, which, when it does occur, will be pretty likely
to make you jump an inch or two out of your skin. Returning to their
working, they note carefully the effects of the blast, and breaking
up the larger fragments, and beating down any loose pieces that may
hang about the sides, they select a suitable “lofe,” and recommence
boring. About three blasts in this hard rock is considered a fair
day's work, the men working eight hours a day in shifts—which does not
mean that they array themselves in chemises to work in, but that they
are relieved, or shifted, at the end of eight hours, by other workmen
taking their places.
[Sidenote: RETURN TO DAYLIGHT.]
And now having visited the depths of the mines, and witnessed the most
important, as well as the most common of the underground operations,
and, moreover, being almost “scomfished” with the powder smoke, you are
anxious to return to the blessed light of day, and “Heaven's untainted
breath,” and may clamber up the interminable ladders you descended by.
What you have seen, of course, conveys no adequate idea of the extent
of the mines, for these hills are almost honey-combed by levels and
other workings; but you have seen enough to show you the nature of
copper mining. It is rather extraordinary that the mines, even in their
deepest parts, are infested by myriads of rats, and why they harbour
there, or what they get to eat, would require a longer head than mine
to discover.
It says much for the excellent arrangements on the part of the
management, that, notwithstanding the dangerous nature of the work,
and the number of hands employed, serious accidents are of very rare
occurrence; and when they do occur, they are almost always the result
of negligence, frequently involving disobedience of orders, on the
part of the sufferer. However, one of the most melancholy that has yet
occurred, was purely accidental, and I may relate it as a sad episode
in mining life. A father and son—Irishmen—named Redmond, were employed
at the foot of a shaft, “filling kibbles.” The father’s kibble had
descended, and he had unhooked the chain, handed it to his son to
attach to _his_ kibble, which was full, and commenced refilling, when
his attention was attracted by a cry, and, starting round, he saw his
son carried with the kibble rapidly up the dark shaft. He called to
him to hold on by the bucket, but that was considered hopeless by the
workmen about, because the shaft is tortuous, and the sides very rugged
and uneven. A very short time shewed that they were correct, for the
unfortunate youth's body was heard tumbling down the shaft. The old man
placed himself below, stretching out his arms to catch the body as it
fell, and was with difficulty dragged from the position where he would
have shared the fate of his son, whose mangled body fell close to his
feet.
[Sidenote: ANECDOTES GRAVE AND GAY.]
Another story of a different character connected with kibble-filling,
I may tell you by way of relief to the above sad narrative. A man
was employed in this department, who had seen better days, and whose
thoughtlessness or ill luck had reduced him to labour thus for his
daily bread, but whose humour and ready wit were by no means impaired
by his fallen fortunes. One of the agents observing some small stones
falling down the shaft, said, “Take care—or you'll have your brains
knocked out!” He continued his work, replying coolly, “If I’d ever had
any brains, Captain, I shouldn’t have been here!”
[Sidenote: PROCESS OF SEPARATION.]
And now, having safely returned to this every-day world, you may
examine the processes through which the ore has to pass, before it is
fit for the market, for, unlike most other mining, one-half of the
work is not done when it is brought above ground. Well, first, you
perceive, it is thrown from the waggons into a heap, where water runs
over it, and by cleaning the lumps, shews more plainly what each piece
is _made of_. Then from the heap it is raked by men to a platform,
or long low bench, along which a number of little boys are actively
engaged in picking or separating the richer pieces from the poorer,
and it is highly amusing to watch the expertness and celerity with
which the imps make the selection, and toss each lump into its proper
receptacle. The richest portion is carried at once to the crushing
mill, the poorer is thrown into another shed below, to be broken up
and further picked, and the mere stones are wheeled off to the rubbish
heap. The ore being broken small is thrown into the crushing mill,
and passed once or twice through it, being returned to the mill by
an endless chain of iron buckets, which dip into the heap of crushed
ore below, and, carrying it up, empty themselves into the mill. When
ground to the size of coarse sand, the ore is carried to the “jigging
troughs,” which are large square boxes, filled with water, and having
each a smaller box, with a grated bottom, suspended in it from a beam
above, and filled with ore, a “jigging” motion being imparted to the
grated boxes by water-power. This jigging under water causes the grains
of pure ore, which are heavy, to sink and pass through the grating of
the inner box, and the particles of spar and rock, which are lighter,
to rise to the top, whence they are scooped off and wheeled away to
undergo another pounding and washing. The pounding is effected by means
of two long rows of stamps or heavy iron-shod pestles, kept incessantly
rising and falling in beds fronted with perforated iron plates, and fed
with the material, and a flow of water to wash it, when fine enough,
through the holed plate. It is, after that, collected to go through the
process of “buddling,” which consists of laying it on slanting shelves,
at the head of long wooden troughs, also slanting longitudinally, and
a limited stream of water being allowed to run through it and wash it
slowly off the shelves and down the inclining troughs, the heavier and
valuable portion remains at the head, whilst the lighter and worthless
portion is washed down to the lower end. All the waste water used in
any of the dressing processes is made to flow through a series of large
tanks or reservoirs, in which it deposits all the fine particles of
ore that may be floating away, and from these tanks some thousands of
pounds' worth of ore is collected annually in the form of slime, and
looking like bronze, which with all the other ore is shipped to Swansea
to be smelted.
[Sidenote: ANOTHER WORD FOR MINERS.]
An impression is general that the people employed here are more than
ordinarily “ignorant and profligate.” Nothing could be farther from
the truth than such a supposition. They, doubtless, have their share
of the failings of human nature, and many enjoy themselves rather
freely at the month’s end, when they receive their pay, but open or
obtrusive profligacy is very rare, and their ignorance is certainly not
so general as that of the pastoral and agricultural population around
them. And I maintain that, in kindness to each other, in the proper
discharge of the duties of domestic life, in demonstrative respect for
those above them, in real civility to strangers, though accompanied
perhaps, in some instances, by gruffness of manner, the mining
population of Conistone are not to be surpassed by any other of equal
numbers in the world, and are certainly not equalled by any that I have
been amongst.
I have now nothing more to say about either mines or miners, but leave
you to divest yourself of your miners' habiliments, and cleanse your
fingers from the candle grease at your leisure.