Papa’s birthday--A Fellow’s sigh--To Kongsberg--A word for
waterproofs--Dram Elv--A relic of the shooting season--How
precipitous roads are formed in Norway--The author does
something eccentric--The river Lauven--Pathetic cruelty--The
silver mine at Kongsberg--A short life and not a merry
one--The silver mine on fire--A leaf out of Hannibal’s book--A
vein of pure silver--Commercial history of the Kongsberg
silver mines--Kongsberg--The silver refining works--Silver
showers--That horrid English.
On the morning of my departure, I find the Norsk flag hoisted on a tall
flagstaff, on the eminence in front of the house.
“What is the meaning of this, Miss Lisa?”
“Oh! that’s for papa’s birthday,” said she, in high glee.
“I wish you many happy returns of the day,” was my greeting to the
pastor, who was evidently not a little pleased at receiving the
compliment in English.
Each of the ladies had something pretty to say to him on the occasion,
and the Fruë produced a very handsome new meerschaum pipe mounted with
silver, which, by some magic process, she had obtained from the distant
By against this auspicious morning.
As we are off the high road, there is no change-house near; but, by my
host’s assistance, I have procured the services of an excellent fellow,
who agrees to take me with his own horse in my friend’s carriole all
the way to Kongsberg, twenty miles off, where I am to visit the silver
mines, and return by the same conveyance to Hougesund, on my way to
Drammen. How very kind these people are.
Seeing I took an interest in legends, the two elder sisters had routed
out some tracts on the subject, and the little Arilda presented me with
some Norwegian views, and a piece of ore from the neighbouring mine.
Miss Lisa blushed and smiled, and did not know what to make of it, when
I wickedly proposed that she should come with me to Oxford.
“No,” said mamma, “if you were twenty years older, perhaps.”
“And I hope, when next you visit us,” said the priest, “you’ll be
married, and bring Mrs. M.”
“Married! you know what I’ve told you about Fellowships. We are
Protestant monks.”
“Well,” retorted his reverence, “I always say England is a great and
enlightened country; but if you wish to see an _effete_ custom clung to
with desperate tenacity, go to England.”
What torrents of rain poured down that day, as we journeyed along
towards Kongsberg.
Poor Sigur was speedily soaked through, his wadmel coat mopping up
the deluge like a sponge. But he took the thing quite as a matter of
course. As for the horse, he went on quite swimmingly. Being encased in
lengthy Cording’s fishing boots, a sou’-wester on my head, and a long
mackintosh on my shoulders, I was quite jubilant, and could not help
defying the storm with certain exclamations, such as,
Blow winds, and crack your cheeks, &c.
Sigur, astonished at my spouting, asked for an explanation, and on
getting it, looked anything but an assent to my proposition.
Truth be told, I was sorry for Sigur. But, at the same time,
waterproofed as I was, I had a sort of self-reliant and independent
feeling, as the rain pattered off my caoutchouc habiliments, pretty
much the same, I should think, as the water-fowl tribe must have, when
they are having a jolly sousing, but keep perfectly dry withal.
“Well,” said I, “Sigur,” remembering it was September 1, “it will be
fine weather for the millers, at all events. No Quernknurre to be
feared this autumn.” Sigur smiled curiously through the fringe of
rain-drops that bugled his hat-rim. He was evidently astonished that
the Englishman had found out that.
“That elv is called Dram Elv,” said he, pointing to the river tearing
along with its fleet of logs. “Once, that farm-house which you see
yonder, a couple of hundred feet above the river, was close to the
water’s edge, but the water burst through some rocks below, and now
it’s a river instead of a lake. There is some old story about it,”
continued he, scratching his grizzled locks, “but I forget it now. They
say that the river takes its name from that Gaard.”
At Hougesund I remarked what I had never seen before out of the towns
in Norway--an intimation over the merchant’s door that travellers
would find accommodation there. This will give a very good notion of
the amount of hotel competition in this country. I had a bag of shot,
No. 5, and as all shooting was now over, Sigur received directions to
sell the same to the merchant for what he could get. The merchant took
it, loudly protesting the while that he should never be able to sell it
again. “Our shooters,” said he, “use the largest hagel, not such dust
as this.” I can imagine that people accustomed to shoot game sitting,
would do so.
It was pitch dark long before we reached Kongsberg. There was nothing
left for it but to let the horse take his own course; but as he was
unacquainted with the road, this was pretty much that of a vessel
without a compass.
As good luck would have it, we overtook a traveller in a carriole, or
these lines would mayhap never have been written. “Ye gentlemen of
England, who live at home at ease,” are perhaps not aware, that in
Norway, excepting on two or three pieces of newly-constructed road,
there is no such a thing as posts and rails to fence the highway from
danger. Now and then, as in Switzerland, the edge of a sheer precipice
is supposed to be guarded by blocks of granite, placed two or three
yards apart, but ordinarily fences are only used to keep in cattle. It
was not till the next day on returning that I became aware what I had
escaped. It is true that there was no great depth to fall, but quite
enough to break all my bones. But I might console myself with the
thought, that I should have had an opportunity of talking to the doctor
at Kongsberg, and obtaining from him some more information about his
brownie patient, mentioned at page 232 above.
The object of my detour to Kongsberg was to have a sight of the
celebrated silver mine in its neighbourhood. I had brought an
introduction to the Director, Lammers (brother of the Dissenting
Lammers of Skien), whom I found, next morning, deeply engaged in
studying a plan of the workings. Provided by him with a note to the
Superintendent, I put myself on my carriole, and started with Sigur for
the mine. The excellent Larsen, at whose comfortable caravansary I put
up, had indoctrinated Sigur that it was usual for strangers to take a
carriage from the inn; for which, of course, I should have had to pay
pretty smartly. But I was determined to be eccentric for once, and did
the most obvious thing--take my own vehicle and attendant. The Lauven,
the best salmon river in the south of Norway, cuts the town in two with
a stream of great width. The old wooden bridge, being worn out, is
now being superseded by a new one, built exactly over it; so that we
have the novel sight of two bridges one above the other. I could not
learn that the good old Northern custom of burying a child under the
new bridge, to make it durable, has been observed. At all events, the
Kongsbergers, if they did so, kept their own counsel about it.
In Germany, too, this custom prevailed. Nay, within the last twenty
years (see Grimm, “Deutsche Mythologie”), when a new bridge was built
at Halle, the people said that a child ought to be built into it.
Thiele, also, in his “Danmark’s Folkesagn,” relates as follows:--“A
wall had to be built in Copenhagen, but as fast as they built it up, it
sank into the swampy ground. In this dilemma, a small, innocent child
was set upon a stool with a table before it, on which were playthings
and sweetmeats; and while it was amusing itself with these, twelve
masons set to work and built a vault over it, and, at the same time,
set up the wall again to the sound of music. Since that time the wall
has never sunk the least.”
Nothing noticeable caught my eye on the road, except a Thelemarken
peasant-girl, in her quaint costume, dragging a little cow to market;
but as on our return we again encountered both of them, it was clear
that, with the dogged obstinacy of these people, rather than bate the
price, she was marching back with the cow to her distant home in the
mountains. A roundabout ascent of nearly four miles English brought us
to the principal mine, which, as the crow flies, can be reached by a
footpath in half that distance. The device of a hammer and pick, set
crosswise over a door, with the German motto, “Gluckauf,” reminded me
that these mines were first worked by miners from that country.
Presenting my credentials, I was ushered into a room in the
superintendent’s house, and equipped with the toggery worn on those
occasions--a dark green blouse, a leather apron fastened by a broad
belt, and worn on the opposite side of the person to what aprons
usually are; and lastly, an uncommonly stout black felt hat, with no
brim--in shape, I should imagine, just like those worn by the Armenian
priests. Such was the disguise which I assumed, and very suitable it
was. The apron and blouse protected my clothes from dirt, and, if a
piece of silver ore had attempted to fall upon my head, the hat would
have acted as a helmet, and warded it off. My guide into “the bowels of
the harmless earth” now approached, and we entered the level--commenced
in 1716 by Frederick the Fifth--and progressed for nearly two miles
along the tramway, lighted by a flaring torch, the ashes of which the
conductor ever and anon knocked off into a vessel of water on the
route. All was still, except that now and then a sound as of rushing
waters jarred upon the ear. I found that it was the water pumped out
of the mine by the engine, which usually glides quietly along in its
wooden channel; but in places where there was a slight ascent, got
very angry, and shot along with increased velocity. At the end of this
passage we came upon a group of miners, cooking their porridge for the
mid-day meal. They are on duty, I understood, twenty-four hours at a
stretch, so as to save the loss of time in getting to their work and
back again, the distance in and out being so considerable. The men
looked prematurely old, as far as I was able to judge from the very
unfavourable light; and that, no doubt, has a great deal to do with
looks at all times. The prettiest girl that ever joined in a Christmas
revel, would be shocked if she could see a faithful representation
of her face as it looked by the blue flickering light of the envious
snapdragon.
But, to speak seriously, I find that though there is no explosive
air in the mine, yet there is a closeness in the atmosphere which is
prejudicial to health. At a comparatively early age the men become
“ödelagt”--_i.e._, worn out. After a certain number of years of service
they are pensioned. Their wages are, for one class of men, 24 skillings
to 30 skillings per diem; for another, 30 skillings to 36 skillings;
so that the lowest is about 10_d._, and the highest rate about 1_s._
3_d._, English. In this mine, which is called the Kongengrube (King’s
Mine), two hundred are employed. Where we now stood was about the
centre of the mine; above us was a perpendicular ascent to the top
of the mountain, which we had avoided by entering the level. But we
now had to descend, perpendicularly, a series of ladders, lighted by
the dim light of a candle, which the guide, for fear of fire, had
taken instead of the torch. We now descended fifty-five perpendicular
ladders, of unequal lengths, but averaging, I understood, five fathoms
each; so that, according to Cocker, the “tottle” we descended was 1650
feet, though, when we stood at the bottom of the perpendicular shaft,
we were in reality 3120 feet from the upper mouth. Each ladder rests on
a wooden stage, and the top of it against a sort of trap-door let into
a similar stage above. This perpendicularity of the shaft is its chief
danger. Should a large piece of rock become loosened above, there is
nothing but these wooden stages to prevent it smashing through to the
bottom of the shaft; and as no notice, such as “Heads below--look out,”
is given, not a few dreadful accidents have taken place in consequence.
Again, from the construction of the mine, it is peculiarly dangerous in
case of fire.
It was only in May last that a fire broke out suddenly in the
Gotteshülfe in der Not (God’s help in time of need) Mine, where there
are eighty-eight ladders. The fire raged with such fury that four
unfortunate men were choked before they could escape. A fifth got out
alive. The burning continued eight days. The bodies have only just been
found, August 18th.
Fire, I find, is used to make new horizontal shafts. We went into
one of these side shafts to see the operation. Arrived at the end of
the gallery, which was as symmetrical as a railway tunnel, and very
hot, our further progress was barred by a great iron door; this being
opened, I saw a huge fire of fir poles blazing away at the far end of a
kind of oven. After the fire has thus burned for several hours, it is
suffered to go out; and the miners, approaching with their picks, can
with very little effort chip off several inches of the hard rock, which
has become as brittle as biscuit from the action of heat. The biscuit
being cleared away, a fresh fire is lit, and another batch baked and
removed; and so on, day by day, till the miners come to ore.
At the bottom of the mine I was rewarded by the sight of a vein of pure
silver. At first it seemed to me very like the rest of the rock, except
that it was rougher to the touch; but with a little beating, like a
dull schoolboy, it brightened up wonderfully, and I saw before me a
vein of native silver, two or three inches in width, and descending
apparently perpendicularly. The native silver thus found, together with
the argentiferous rock, is packed up in a covered cart, under lock and
key, and driven into Kongsberg, where the smelting works are situate.
“How does the refined silver go to Christiania?” I inquired.
“In a country cart,” was the reply, “driven by a simple bonder.” Even
Queen Victoria’s baby-plate might pass in this manner through the
country without danger of spoliation.
No specimens are permitted to be sold in the mine; the men, I
understand, are searched each time that they leave work.
The fortunes of these celebrated silver mines, which were discovered
in 1623, have been like the mines themselves. There have been many ups
and downs in them. At one time they have been worked by the State; at
another, they have been in private hands; and sometimes the exploration
stopped altogether. After thus lying idle for some years, the works
were, in 1814, if I am rightly informed, offered for sale by the
Danish Government to our present consul-general at Christiania, and
the purchase was only not completed in consequence of that gentleman
declining to keep up the full amount of workmen, a condition which
the Government insisted on. Be this as it may, they were set a-going
by the Government in 1816, and the Storthing voted 21,000 dollars for
the purpose, and even greater sums in subsequent years. And yet, in
1830, the mine was not a paying concern. Just about this time, however,
the miners hit upon a rich vein, and ever since 1832 it has paid. The
greatest yield was in 1833, when about 47,000 marks of pure silver
were obtained. At present, about 400 marks are obtained weekly, or
about 21,000 per annum. There is an actual profit of nearly 200,000
dollars a year. Notwithstanding this brilliant state of affairs, there
has, reckoning from first to last, been a loss of several millions of
dollars on the venture.
At one time Kongsberg was a city of considerable importance. At
present, there are less than 5000 inhabitants; but in 1769, when
Christiania had only 7496 inhabitants, Trondjem 7478, and Bergen
13,735, Kongsberg had over 8000. But it must be always considered
important, as being the great mining school of the country--a country
which contains, no doubt, vast mineral treasures under its surface.
Tough work it was ascending the ladders, and very hot withal. But as
I intended to be in Drammen that evening, distant five-and-twenty
miles, no time was to be lost. My climbing on the fjeld had been
capital practice; and such was the pace at which I ascended, that the
superintendent, who joined us, broke down or bolted midway.
We were soon at Kongsberg, it being down hill all the way. People
told me I must by no means omit going to see a monument on the hill,
between the mines and the town, where the names of ten kings, who
had come to see the mine, were recorded, including Bernadotte. But I
preferred devoting the rest of my spare time to what I considered much
more instructive, viz., a visit to the establishments for reducing
and refining the silver ore. As good luck would have it, I had an
opportunity of witnessing the process for refining silver. About 2000l.
worth of the precious metal was in an oven, with a moveable bottom,
undergoing the process of refinement by the intense heat of a pine-wood
fire, blown upon it from above.
Schiller’s magnificent “Song of the Bell” rose to my mind--
Nehmet Holz von Fichtenstamme,
Doch recht trocken lasst as seyn,
Dass die eingepresste Flamme
Schlage zu dem Schwalch hinein!
The mynte-mester, a fat man, of grave aspect, illuminated by large
spectacles, ordered one of the Cyclopses around to put what looked
like a thin, long poker, with a small knob at the end, into the boiling
mass. It came out coated with a smooth envelope of dead metal. This
the director examined, and shook his head; so away went the blow-pipe
as before. Presently the same process was repeated. On the poker-knob
being inserted a third time, the director scrutinized it carefully,
and then said, “færdig!” On examining it, I found projecting, like a
crown of airy thorns, a coating of exceedingly fine spicula of frosted
silver. That was the signal that it was sufficiently purified. Never
till now had I known so exactly the force of the words of the Psalmist,
“Even as silver which from the earth is tried and purified seven times
in the fire.”
It was desired to have the silver in small nodules for silversmiths, as
more easily workable than in a lump. For this purpose, a vessel of cold
water was placed under the furnace-spout. Another Cyclops stationed
himself in front of the said spout, holding in his hand the nozzle of
some hose connected with a water-engine. With this he took aim at the
orifice (reminding me much of a Norskman shooting game sitting, but in
this case it was flying, as will be seen). A signal is given, a cock
turned, and out rushes the white-hot molten metal; but at the moment of
its escape from the trap, the fireman discharges a jet of cold water
at it; the consequence is, that, instead of descending in a continuous
stream, the blazing jet is squandered, and falls into the vessel below
in a shower of silver drops. Danaë could have explained the thing
to a nicety, only her shower was one of gold; while the metal most
predominant in her own composition would seem to have been brass.
The gentleman who had been conversing with me in German, and apparently
considered me a Teuton, said he could talk French also; but as for
that horrid English, those people began a sentence and rolled it
in their mouths, spit it half out, and the rest they swallowed. I
strongly recommend any Englishman, who wishes to hear what people on
the Continent think of John Bull and his wife, not to betray his nation
if he can help it, and then he has some chance of getting at the true
state of opinion without flattery. This rule will apply to general
society, such as one meets abroad. But there is a no less golden
exception, which is this: never at a custom-house or police-office know
the language of the officials; if you do, they are sure to badger you,
especially if you are above suspicion. If, on the other hand, you shrug
your shoulders, and keep replying to their remarks in English, you will
completely foil their efforts at annoyance, and they will not be able
to make anything of you, and look out for other prey.
Another remarkably polite and intelligent official now proceeded to
show me some beautiful specimens of pure silver in another part of the
building. Some of these “Handstene,” as they are called, I purchased.
Here, too, were those splendid specimens that appeared at the Great
Exhibition in London, and also in Paris; and gained a medal in both
instances. The bronze medal, designed by Wyon, with the busts of
Victoria and Albert, and likewise the silver one of Napoleon, were side
by side; the latter pretty, doubtless, but, to my thinking, and also
that of the inspector, vastly inferior to the former, which, he said,
was a real work of art.
My companions at dinner were the engineer of the new road out
of Kongsberg, and a Hungarian refugee, getting his living by
portrait-painting. All things considered, I should think that the
engineer’s trade was the better of the two. But the artist was a
good-looking fellow, and twirled his moustache with great complacency;
so that, perhaps, he got sitters. At all events, he could have no
competition.