CHAPTER XXXVI.

I had already learned how hard and long and dismal a task it is to burrow down into the bowels of the earth and get out the coveted ore; and now I learned that the burrowing was only half the work; and that to get the silver out of the ore was the dreary and laborious other half of it.  We had to turn out at six in the morning and keep at it till dark.  This mill was a six-stamp affair, driven by steam.  Six tall, upright rods of iron, as large as a man’s ankle, and heavily shod with a mass of iron and steel at their lower ends, were framed together like a gate, and these rose and fell, one after the other, in a ponderous dance, in an iron box called a “battery.”  Each of these rods or stamps weighed six hundred pounds.  One of us stood by the battery all day long, breaking up masses of silver-bearing rock with a sledge and shoveling it into the battery.  The ceaseless dance of the stamps pulverized the rock to powder, and a stream of water that trickled into the battery turned it to a creamy paste.  The minutest particles were driven through a fine wire screen which fitted close around the battery, and were washed into great tubs warmed by super-heated steam—­amalgamating pans, they are called.  The mass of pulp in the pans was kept constantly stirred up by revolving “mullers.”  A quantity of quicksilver was kept always in the battery, and this seized some of the liberated gold and silver particles and held on to them; quicksilver was shaken in a fine shower into the pans, also, about every half hour, through a buckskin sack.  Quantities of coarse salt and sulphate of copper were added, from time to time to assist the amalgamation by destroying base metals which coated the gold and silver and would not let it unite with the quicksilver.

All these tiresome things we had to attend to constantly.  Streams of dirty water flowed always from the pans and were carried off in broad wooden troughs to the ravine.  One would not suppose that atoms of gold and silver would float on top of six inches of water, but they did; and in order to catch them, coarse blankets were laid in the troughs, and little obstructing “riffles” charged with quicksilver were placed here and there across the troughs also.  These riffles had to be cleaned and the blankets washed out every evening, to get their precious accumulations—­and after all this eternity of trouble one third of the silver and gold in a ton of rock would find its way to the end of the troughs in the ravine at last and have to be worked over again some day.  There is nothing so aggravating as silver milling.  There never was any idle time in that mill.  There was always something to do.  It is a pity that Adam could not have gone straight out of Eden into a quartz mill, in order to understand the full force of his doom to “earn his bread by the sweat of his brow.”  Every now and then, during the day, we had to scoop some pulp out of the