A damp smell pervaded the air, and there was a strange sense of contraction and confinement, so to speak, which had at first an unpleasant effect on Oliver. The silence, when both men paused at a ladder-foot to trim candles or to rest a minute, was most profound, and there came over the young doctor a sensation of being buried alive, and of having bid a final farewell to the upper earth, the free air, and the sunshine, as they went down, down, down to the depths below.
At last they reached a “level” or gallery, by which the ladder-shaft communicated with the pump-shaft.
Here Captain Dan paused and trimmed Oliver’s candle, which he had thrust inadvertently against a beam, and broken in two.
“You have to mind your head here, sir,” said the captain, with a quiet smile; “’tis a good place to learn humility.”
Oliver could scarce help laughing aloud as he gazed at his guide, for, standing as he did with the candle close to his face, his cheeks, nose, chin, forehead, and part of the brim of his hat and shoulders were brought into brilliant light, while the rest of him was lost in the profound darkness of the level behind, and the flame of his candle rested above his head like the diadem of some aristocratic gnome.
“How far down have we come?” inquired Oliver.
“About eighty fathoms,” said the captain; “we shall now go along this level and get into the pump-shaft, by which we can descend to the bottom. Take care of your feet and head as you go, for you’ll be apt to run against the rocks that hang down, and the winzes are dangerous.”
“And pray what are winzes?” asked Oliver as he stumbled along in the footsteps of his guide, over uneven ground covered with débris.—“Ah! hallo! stop!”
“What’s wrong?” said the captain, looking back, and holding up his candle to Oliver’s face.
“Candle gone again, captain; I’ve run my head on that rock. Lucky for me that your mining hats are so thick and hard, for I gave it a butt that might have done credit to an ox.”