From Lighthouses, Lifeboats, and Fire-brigades into the tin and copper
mines of Cornwall is a rather violent leap, but by no means an
unpleasant one.
In the year 1868 I took this leap when desirous of obtaining material
for _Deep Down: a Tale of the Cornish Mines_.
For three months my wife and I stayed in the town of Saint Just, close
to the Land's End, during which time I visited some of the principal
mines in Cornwall; associated with the managers, "captains," and miners,
and tried my best to become acquainted with the circumstances of the
people.
The Cornish tin trade is very old. In times so remote that historical
light is dim, the Phoenicians came in their galleys to trade with the
men of Cornwall for tin.
Herodotus, (writing 450 years B.C.) mentions the tin islands of Britain
under the name of the _Cassiterides_ and Diodorus Siculus, (writing
about half a century B.C.), says:
"The inhabitants of that extremity of Britain which is called Bolerion,
excel in hospitality, and also, by their intercourse with foreign
merchants, they are civilised in their mode of life. These prepare the
tin, working very skilfully the earth which produces it."
There is said to be ground for believing that Cornish tin was used in
the construction of the temple of Jerusalem. At the present time the
men of Cornwall are to be found toiling, as did their forefathers in the
days of old, deep down in the bowels of the earth--and even out under
the bed of the sea--in quest of tin.
"Tin, Copper, and Fish" is one of the standing toasts in Cornwall, and
in these three words lie the head, backbone, and tail of the county, the
sources of its wealth, and the objects of its energies.
As my visit, however, was paid chiefly for the purpose of investigating
the mines, I will not touch on fish here. Having obtained introduction
to the managers of Botallack--the most famous of the Cornish Mines--I
was led through miles of subterranean tunnels and to depths profound, by
the obliging, amiable, and anecdotal Captain Jan--one of the "Captains"
or overseers of the mine.
He was quite an original, this Captain Jan; a man who knew the forty
miles of underground workings in Botallack as well, I suppose, as a
postman knows his beat; a man who dived into the bowels of the earth
with the vigour and confidence of a mole and the simple-minded serenity
of a seraph.
The land at this part of Cornwall is not picturesque, except at the
sea-cliffs, which rise somewhere about three hundred feet sheer out of
deep water, where there is usually no strip of beach to break the rush
of the great Atlantic billows that grind the rocks incessantly.
The most prominent objects elsewhere are masses of debris; huge pieces
of worn-out machinery; tall chimneys and old engine-houses, with big
ungainly beams, or "bobs," projecting from them. These "bobs" are
attached to pumps which work continually to keep the mines dry. They
move up and down very slowly, with a pause between each stroke, as if
they were seriously considering whether it was worth while continuing
the dreary work any longer, and could not make up their minds on the
point. Their slow motions, however, give evidence of life and toil
below the surface. Other "bobs" standing idle tell of disappointed
hopes and broken fortunes. There are not a few such landmarks at the
Land's End--stern monitors, warning wild and wicked speculators to
beware.
One day--it might have been night as far as our gloomy surroundings
indicated--Captain Jan and I were stumbling along one of the levels of
Botallack, I know not how many fathoms down. We wore miners' hats with
a candle stuck in front of each by means of a piece of clay. The hats
were thicker than a fireman's helmet, though by no means as elegant.
You might have plunged upon them head first without causing a dint.
Captain Jan stopped beside some fallen rocks. We had been walking for
more than an hour in these subterranean labyrinths and felt inclined to
rest.
"You were asking about the word _wheal_," said the captain, sticking his
candle against the wall of the level and sitting down on a ledge, "it do
signify a mine, as Wheal Frances, Wheal Owles, Wheal Edwards, and the
like. When Cornishmen do see a London Company start a mine on a grand
scale, with a deal of fuss and superficial show, and an imposing staff
of directors, etcetera, while, down in the mine itself, where the real
work ought to be done, perhaps only two men and a boy are known to be at
work, they shake their heads and button up their pockets; perhaps they
call the affair wheal _Do-em_, and when that mine stops, (becomes what
we call a `knacked bal') it may be styled wheal _Donem_!"
A traveller chanced to pass a water-wheel not long ago, near Saint Just.
"What's that?" he said to a miner who sat smoking his pipe beside it.
"That, sur? why, that's a pump, that is."
"What does it pump?" asked the traveller.
"Pump, sur?" replied the man with a grim smile, "why, et do pump gold
out o' the Londoners!"
There have been too many wheal _Do-ems_ in Cornwall.
Botallack mine is not, I need scarcely say, a wheal Do-em. It is a
grand old mine--grand because its beginning is enveloped in the mists of
antiquity; because it affords now, and has afforded for ages back,
sustenance to hundreds of miners and their families, besides enriching
the country; because its situation on the wild cliffs is unusually
picturesque, and because its dark shafts and levels not only descend to
an immense depth below the surface, but extend far out under the bottom
of the sea. Its engine-houses and machinery are perched upon the edge
of a steep cliff, and scattered over its face and down among its dark
chasms in places where one would imagine that only a sea-gull would dare
to venture.
Underground there exists a vast region of shafts and levels, or
tunnels--mostly low, narrow, and crooked places--in which men have to
stoop and walk with caution, and where they work by candlelight--a
region which is measured to the inch, and has all its parts mapped out
and named as carefully as are the fields above. Some idea of the extent
of this mine may be gathered from the fact that it is 245 fathoms, (1470
feet), deep, and that all the levels put together form an amount of
cutting through almost solid granite equal to nearly 40 miles in extent.
The deepest part of the mine is that which lies under the bottom of the
sea, three-quarters of a mile from the shore; and, strange to say, that
is also the _driest_ part of the mine. The Great Eastern would find
depth of water sufficient to permit of her anchoring and floating
securely in places where miners are at work, blowing up the solid rock,
1470 feet below her keel--a depth so profound that the wildest waves
that ever burst upon the shore, or the loudest thunder that ever
reverberated among the cliffs, could not send down the faintest echo of
a sound.
The ladder-way by which the men descend to their work is 1230 feet deep.
It takes half an hour to descend and an hour to climb to the surface.
It was a bright morning in May when I walked over from Saint Just with
Captain Jan to pay my first underground visit to Botallack.
Arrayed in the red-stained canvas coat and trousers of the mine, with a
candle stuck in the front of our very strong hats and three spare ones
each hung at our breasts, we proceeded to the ladder-way. This was a
small platform with a hole in it just big enough to admit a man, out of
which projected the head of a strong ladder. Before descending Captain
Jan glanced down the hole and listened to a distant, regular, clicking
sound--like the ticking of a clock. "A man coming up," said he, "we'll
wait a minute."
I looked down, and, in the profound abyss, saw the twinkling of,
apparently, a little star. The steady click of the miner's nailed shoes
on the iron rounds of the ladder continued, and the star advanced,
until, by its feeble light I saw the hat to which it was attached.
Presently a man emerged from the hole, and raising himself erect, gave
vent to a long, deep-drawn sigh. It was, I may say, a suggestive sigh,
for there was a sense of intense relief conveyed by it. The man had
just completed an hour of steady, continuous climbing up the ladders,
after eight hours of night-work in impure atmosphere, and the first
great draught of the fresh air of heaven must have seemed like nectar to
his soul! His red garments were soaking, perspiration streamed from
every pore in his body, and washed the red earth in streaks down his
pale countenance. Although pale, however, the miner was strong and in
the prime of life. Chills and bad air, (the two great demons of the
mines), had not yet smitten his sturdy frame with "miner's complaint."
He looked tired, but not exhausted, and bestowed a grave glance on me
and a quiet nod on Captain Jan as he walked away to change his dress in
the drying-house. My contemplation of the retiring miner was
interrupted by Captain Jan saying--"I'll go first, sir, to catch you if
you should fall." This remark reminded me of many stories I had heard
of men "falling away from the ladders;" of beams breaking and letting
them tumble into awful gulfs; of stones giving way and coming down the
shafts like grape or cannon-shot, and the like. However, I stepped on
the ladder and prepared to follow my guide into the regions of
unchanging night! A few fathoms' descent brought us into twilight and
to a small platform on which the foot of the first ladder rested.
Through a hole in this the head of the second ladder appeared.
Here we lighted the candles, for the next ladder--a longer one, 50 feet
or so--would have landed us in midnight darkness. Half way down it, I
looked up and saw the hole at the top like a large white star. At the
foot I looked up again, the star was gone, and I felt that we were at
last in a region where, (from the time of creation), sunlight had never
shone. Down, down, ever _downwards_, was the uppermost idea in my mind
for some time after that. Other thoughts there were, of course, but
that one of never-ending descent outweighed them all for a time. As we
got lower the temperature increased; then perspiration broke out. Never
having practised on the treadmill, my muscles ere long began to feel the
unwonted exercise, and I thought to myself, "If you are in this state so
soon, what will you be when you get to the bottom, and how will you get
up again?"
At this point we reached the foot of another ladder, and Captain Jan
said, "We'll walk a bit in the level here and then go down the
pump-shaft." The change of posture and action in the level we had now
entered was agreeable, but the path was not a good one. It was an old,
low, and irregular level, with a rugged floor full of holes with water
in them, and with projections in the roof that rendered frequent
stooping necessary. The difficulty of one's progress in such places is
that, while you are looking out for your head, you stumble into the
holes, and when the holes claim attention you run your head against the
roof; but, thanks to the miner's hat, no evil follows.
We were now in a region of profound _silence_! When we paused for a
minute to rest, it felt as if the silence of the tomb itself had
surrounded us--for not the faintest echo reached us from the world
above, and the miners at work below us were still far down out of
ear-shot. In a few seconds we came to a yawning hole in the path,
bridged by a single plank. Captain Jan crossed. "How deep is it?" I
asked, preparing to follow. "About 60 feet," said he, "it's a winze,
and goes down to the next level!"