A gold-seeker, testing some of the rock,
salivated himself, thus discovering it was rich in
quicksilver. A grant with the land adjoining
was procured, the original opening widened, but
in clearing away the rubble and dirt at the end
of the cave, several skeletons were discovered,
together with rude mining tools and other
curious relics, clearly showing that it was an
old excavation made by the natives for the
purpose of procuring vermilion, so much used
by all savages to paint themselves. The position
of the skeletons in the rubbish covering
them left no doubt that, having followed the
vein of cinnabar without exercising due precaution
to prop the loose ground overhead, they
had been literally buried alive in a grave of
their own digging. Further research soon
revealed the immense value of the deposit. Many
years rolled away and very little was done, until
it passed from the hand of an English company
into that of an American firm, when ample
capital was expended in its development.

The mine is about a mile and a half from the
smelting-works, on the side of a mountain; an
admirable road winds by a gentle ascent for the
waggons drawn by mules to bring down the ore
to be smelted. On reaching the summit you
stand on a level plateau, on which the upper
works are built, but as we are at the entrance
of the mine, it will be as well to descend into
its depths, and see for ourselves how the ore is
deposited, and trace step by step the various
processes it has to go through ere it is
rendered marketable.

The main entrance is a tunnel ten feet high,
and about an equal width, through which runs
a tramway leading to the shaft. At the end of
this tunnel a small steam-engine does the work
of the poor "tanateros," or carriers, who, until
very recently, brought the ore and rubbish
from the bottom of the mine on their backs—a
system still adopted in Spain and Peru—each
man having to bring up a load of two hundred
pounds, in a bag made of hide, fastened by two
straps passing round the shoulders, and a
broader one across the forehead, that mainly
sustains the load. It was fatal work to the
poor Mexicans who had to do it, the terrible
muscular strain soon producing disease and
death.

On reaching the engine, I was undressed and
rigged as a miner, a costume far more loose and
easy than becoming. Three dip candles, fastened
to a button in my jacket by the wicks, and one
enveloped in a knob of clay, completed my toilet.
The next process was to be lowered down the
mine. Squeezing myself into a huge kind of
bucket, and assuming as near as practicable the
shape and position of a frog, my candle lighted,
"All right!" said somebody, and I found
myself rapidly descending a damp, dismal hole,
dripping with water like a mild shower. Of
course I shuddered, and had horrible ideas of
an abyss ending no one knows where; the
candle hissed, sputtered, and went out; the
bucket swang as the chain lengthened, and
bumped unpleasantly against the rocks; when
a sudden stop, and a lively consciousness of
being dragged bodily out like a bundle of
clothes, disclosed the fact of my safe arrival at
the bottom.

The swarthy Mexican miner, acting as guide,
led the way along a narrow gully, and down an
incline to the mouth of another hole, the descent
of which had to be effected on a slanting pole,
with notches cut in it—very like a bear-pole—
called by the miner an escalera, requiring an
acrobatic performance that would not have been
so bad if one had only known where one could
have landed in case of falling. After this
scrambling down a flight of steps cut in the
rock, we reached the lowest excavation, about
one thousand feet from the surface.

The cinnabar is found in large pockets, or in
veins, permeating a kind of trap rock, and as
the miners dig it out, large pillars or columns
are left to support the roof, and prevent the
chance of its falling in.

A small charcoal fire burned slowly at the base
of one of these massive columns, and as its
flickering light fell dimly, illuminating with a
ruddy glow the bronzed faces and nearly nude
figures of the miners, the vermilion hue of the
rugged walls and arched roof sparkling with
glittering crystals, forcibly reminded one of the
brigand's cave, such as Salvator Rosa loved to
paint.

All the work is done by contract, each gang
taking a piece of ground on speculation, being
paid according to the amount of ore produced;
the ore averaging about thirty-six per cent for
quicksilver, although some pieces that I dug
myself produced seventy-five per cent. Many
mines in Europe have been profitably worked
when the cinnabar has yielded only one per
cent.

A shrill whistle ringing through the mine, the
miners from all directions rushed towards the
pillars. Thinking at least the entire concern was
tumbling in, I was about to scamper off, when the
guide, seizing me, dragged me behind a projecting
mass of rock, simply saying, "A blast." For a
while there was a death-like silence, not a sound
save the hiss of the fuse, and the heavy breathing
of the men; then the cave lighted up with a
lurid flash, shedding a blinding glare over every
object like tropic lightning; the dark galleries
appeared and disappeared in the twinkling of an
eye, whilst the report, like countless cannon,
was echoed and re-echoed through the cavernous
chambers. Showers of fragments came rattling
down in every direction, hurled up by the force
of the powder. On the smoke clearing, the
miners set to work to pick up the scattered
fragments of cinnabar. If the blast has been
successful, often many tons of rock are loosened
and torn out, to be broken into pieces and
conveyed to the bucket, and hauled by the engine
to the surface. The mining operations are
continued night and day, seventy-four pounds of
candles being consumed in twenty-four hours.

Having finished the survey of this singular
mine, that was perfectly free from foul air or
fire-damp, I ascended as I came down, and, by