"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 ap.r.o.n, 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 acc.u.mulates 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 s.p.a.ce, 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 m.u.f.fled 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 m.u.f.fled 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 ap.r.o.ns (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 G.o.d' 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 ma.s.s 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 coa.r.s.er 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, c.o.ke, 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, a.r.s.enic, 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 sc.r.a.pes 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 pa.s.ses 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 a.r.s.enic, brimstone, and vitriol, and contain, in no inconsiderable quant.i.ties, quicksilver, antimony, calamites, bis.m.u.th, 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 G.o.d!"

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.

CHAPTER XV.

A LIFT IN A CART.

We left Dresden in the middle of July, a motley group of five: a Frenchman, an Austrian, two natives of Lubeck, and myself; silversmiths and jewellers together; all of us duly _vised_ by our several amba.s.sadors through Saxon Switzerland, by way of Pirna, on to Peterswald. The latter is the frontier town of Bohemia, and forms, therefore, the entrance from Saxony into the Austrian empire.

At dusk we were on the banks of the Elbe, at the ferry station near Pillnitz, the summer dwelling of the King of Saxony. Having crossed the broad stream, we leapt joyously up the steep path that led into a mimic Switzerland; a country of peaks, valleys, and pine trees, wanting only snow and glaciers. For three days we wandered among those wild regions; now scaling the bleak face of a rock; now stretched luxuriously on the purple moss, or gathering wild raspberries by the road side. From the abrupt edge of the overhanging Bastei we looked down some six hundred feet upon the wandering Elbe, threading its way by broad slopes, rich with the growth of the vine; or by bleached walls of stone, upon which even the lichens seemed to have been unable to make good their footing.

From the narrow wooden bridge of Neu Rathen, we looked down upon the waving tops of fir trees, hundreds of feet beneath us. Then down we ourselves went by a wild and jagged path into a luxuriant valley called by no unfit name, Liebethal-the Valley of Love!