With these determinations, I proceeded. The entrance was low, and
compelled me to resort to hands as well as feet. At a few yards from the
mouth the light disappeared, and I found myself immersed in the dunnest
obscurity. Had I not been persuaded that another had gone before me, I
should have relinquished the attempt. I proceeded with the utmost
caution, always ascertaining, by outstretched arms, the height and
breadth of the cavity before me. In a short time the dimensions expanded
on all sides, and permitted me to resume my feet.
I walked upon a smooth and gentle declivity. Presently the wall on one
side, and the ceiling, receded beyond my reach. I began to fear that I
should be involved in a maze, and should be disabled from returning. To
obviate this danger it was requisite to adhere to the nearest wall, and
conform to the direction which it should take, without straying through
the palpable obscurity. Whether the ceiling was lofty or low, whether
the opposite wall of the passage was distant or near, this I deemed no
proper opportunity to investigate.
In a short time, my progress was stopped by an abrupt descent. I set
down the advancing foot with caution, being aware that I might at the
next step encounter a bottomless pit. To the brink of such a one I
seemed now to have arrived. I stooped, and stretched my hand forward and
downward, but all was vacuity.
Here it was needful to pause. I had reached the brink of a cavity whose
depth it Avas impossible to ascertain. It might be a few inches beyond
my reach, or hundreds of feet. By leaping down I might incur no injury,
or might plunge into a lake or dash myself to pieces on the points of
rocks.
I now saw with new force the propriety of being furnished with a light.
The first suggestion was to return upon my footsteps, and resume my
undertaking on the morrow. Yet, having advanced thus far, I felt
reluctance to recede without accomplishing my purposes. I reflected
likewise that Clithero had boldly entered this recess, and had certainly
come forth at a different avenue from that at which he entered.
At length it occurred to me that, though I could not go forward, yet I
might proceed along the edge of this cavity. This edge would be as safe
a guidance, and would serve as well for a clue by which I might return,
as the wall which it was now necessary to forsake.
Intense dark is always the parent of fears. Impending injuries cannot in
this state be descried, nor shunned, nor repelled. I began to feel some
faltering of my courage, and seated myself, for a few minutes, on a
stony mass which arose before me. My situation was new. The caverns I
had hitherto met with in this desert were chiefly formed of low-browed
rocks. They were chambers, more or less spacious, into which twilight
was at least admitted; but here it seemed as if I were surrounded by
barriers that would forever cut off my return to air and to light.
Presently I resumed my courage and proceeded. My road appeared now to
ascend. On one side I seemed still upon the verge of a precipice, and on
the other all was empty and waste. I had gone no inconsiderable
distance, and persuaded myself that my career would speedily terminate.
In a short time, the space on the left hand was again occupied, and I
cautiously proceeded between the edge of the gulf and a rugged wall. As
the space between them widened I adhered to the wall.
I was not insensible that my path became more intricate and more
difficult to retread in proportion as I advanced. I endeavoured to
preserve a vivid conception of the way which I had already passed, and
to keep the images of the left and right-hand wall, and the gulf, in due
succession in my memory.
The path, which had hitherto been considerably smooth, now became rugged
and steep. Chilling damps, the secret trepidation which attended me, the
length and difficulties of my way, enhanced by the ceaseless caution and
the numerous expedients which the utter darkness obliged me to employ,
began to overpower my strength. I was frequently compelled to stop and
recruit myself by rest. These respites from toil were of use, but they
could not enable me to prosecute an endless journey, and to return was
scarcely a less arduous task than to proceed.
I looked anxiously forward, in the hope of being comforted by some dim
ray, which might assure me that my labours were approaching an end. At
last this propitious token appeared, and I issued forth into a kind of
chamber, one side of which was open to the air and allowed me to catch a
portion of the checkered sky. This spectacle never before excited such
exquisite sensations in my bosom. The air, likewise, breathed into the
cavern, was unspeakably delicious.
I now found myself on the projecture of a rock. Above and below, the
hill-side was nearly perpendicular. Opposite, and at the distance of
fifteen or twenty yards, was a similar ascent. At the bottom was a glen,
cold, narrow, and obscure. This projecture, which served as a kind of
vestibule to the cave, was connected with a ledge, by which, though not
without peril and toil, I was conducted to the summit.
This summit was higher than any of those which were interposed between
itself and the river. A large part of this chaos of rocks and precipices
was subjected, at one view, to the eye. The fertile lawns and vales
which lay beyond this, the winding course of the river, and the slopes
which rose on its farther side, were parts of this extensive scene.
These objects were at any time fitted to inspire rapture. Now my delight
was enhanced by the contrast which this lightsome and serene element
bore to the glooms from which I had lately emerged. My station, also,
was higher, and the limits of my view, consequently, more ample than any
which I had hitherto enjoyed.
I advanced to the outer verge of the hill, which I found to overlook a
steep no less inaccessible, and a glen equally profound. I changed
frequently my station in order to diversify the scenery. At length it
became necessary to inquire by what means I should return. I traversed
the edge of the hill, but on every side it was equally steep and always
too lofty to permit me to leap from it. As I kept along the verge, I
perceived that it tended in a circular direction, and brought me back,
at last, to the spot from which I had set out. From this inspection, it
seemed as if return was impossible by any other way than that through
the cavern.
I now turned my attention to the interior space. If you imagine a
cylindrical mass, with a cavity dug in the centre, whose edge conforms
to the exterior edge; and if you place in this cavity another cylinder,
higher than that which surrounds it, but so small as to leave between
its sides and those of the cavity a hollow space, you will gain as
distinct an image of this hill as words can convey. The summit of the
inner rock was rugged and covered with trees of unequal growth. To reach
this summit would not render my return easier; but its greater elevation
would extend my view, and perhaps furnish a spot from which the whole
horizon was conspicuous.
As I had traversed the outer, I now explored the inner, edge of this
hill. At length I reached a spot where the chasm, separating the two
rocks, was narrower than at any other part. At first view, it seemed as
if it were possible to leap over it, but a nearer examination showed me
that the passage was impracticable. So far as my eye could estimate it,
the breadth was thirty or forty feet. I could scarcely venture to look
beneath. The height was dizzy, and the walls, which approached each
other at top, receded at the bottom, so as to form the resemblance of an
immense hall, lighted from a rift which some convulsion of nature had
made in the roof. Where I stood there ascended a perpetual mist,
occasioned by a torrent that dashed along the rugged pavement below.
From these objects I willingly turned my eye upon those before and above
me, on the opposite ascent. A stream, rushing from above, fell into a
cavity, which its own force seemed gradually to have made. The noise and
the motion equally attracted my attention. There was a desolate and
solitary grandeur in the scene, enhanced by the circumstances in which
it was beheld, and by the perils through which I had recently passed,
that had never before been witnessed by me.
A sort of sanctity and awe environed it, owing to the consciousness of
absolute and utter loneliness. It was probable that human feet had never
before gained this recess, that human eyes had never been fixed upon
these gushing waters. The aboriginal inhabitants had no motives to lead
them into caves like this and ponder on the verge of such a precipice.
Their successors were still less likely to have wandered hither. Since
the birth of this continent, I was probably the first who had deviated
thus remotely from the customary paths of men.
While musing upon these ideas, my eye was fixed upon the foaming
current. At length I looked upon the rocks which confined and
embarrassed its course. I admired their fantastic shapes and endless
irregularities. Passing from one to the other of these, my attention
lighted, at length, as if by some magical transition, on--a human
countenance!
My surprise was so abrupt, and my sensations so tumultuous, that I
forgot for a moment the perilous nature of my situation. I loosened my
hold of a pine-branch, which had been hitherto one of my supports, and
almost started from my seat. Had my station been in a slight degree
nearer the brink than it was, I should have fallen headlong into the
abyss.
To meet a human creature, even on that side of the chasm which I
occupied, would have been wholly adverse to my expectation. My station
was accessible by no other road than that through which I had passed,
and no motives were imaginable by which others could be prompted to
explore this road. But he whom I now beheld was seated where it seemed
impossible for human efforts to have placed him.
But this affected me but little in comparison with other incidents. Not
only the countenance was human, but, in spite of shaggy and tangled
locks, and an air of melancholy wildness, I speedily recognised the
features of the fugitive Clithero!
One glance was not sufficient to make me acquainted with this scene. I
had come hither partly in pursuit of this man, but some casual appendage
of his person, something which should indicate his past rather than his
present existence, was all that I hoped to find. That he should be found
alive in this desert, that he should have gained this summit, access to
which was apparently impossible, were scarcely within the boundaries of
belief.
His scanty and coarse garb had been nearly rent away by brambles and
thorns; his arms, bosom, and cheeks were overgrown and half concealed by
hair. There was somewhat in his attitude and looks denoting more than
anarchy of thoughts and passions. His rueful, ghastly, and immovable
eyes testified not only that his mind was ravaged by despair, but that
he was pinched with famine.
These proofs of his misery thrilled to my inmost heart. Horror and
shuddering invaded me as I stood gazing upon him, and, for a time, I was
without the power of deliberating on the measures which it was my duty
to adopt for his relief. The first suggestion was, by calling, to inform
him of my presence. I knew not what counsel or comfort to offer. By what
words to bespeak his attention, or by what topics to mollify his direful
passions, I knew not. Though so near, the gulf by which we were
separated was impassable. All that I could do was to speak.
My surprise and my horror were still strong enough to give a shrill and
piercing tone to my voice. The chasm and the rocks loudened and
reverberated my accents while I exclaimed,--"_Man! Clithero!_"
My summons was effectual. He shook off his trance in a moment. He had
been stretched upon his back, with his eyes fixed upon a craggy
projecture above, as if he were in momentary expectation of its fall and
crushing him to atoms. Now he started on his feet. He was conscious of
the voice, but not of the quarter whence it came. He was looking
anxiously around when I again spoke:--"Look hither. It is I who called."
He looked. Astonishment was now mingled with every other dreadful
meaning in his visage. He clasped his hands together and bent forward,
as if to satisfy himself that his summoner was real. At the next moment
he drew back, placed his hands upon his breast, and fixed his eyes on
the ground.
This pause was not likely to be broken but by me. I was preparing again
to speak. To be more distinctly heard, I advanced closer to the brink.
During this action, my eye was necessarily withdrawn from him. Having
gained a somewhat nearer station, I looked again, but--he was gone!
The seat which he so lately occupied was empty. I was not forewarned of
his disappearance or directed to the course of his flight by any
rustling among leaves. These, indeed, would have been overpowered by the
noise of the cataract. The place where he sat was the bottom of a
cavity, one side of which terminated in the verge of the abyss, but the
other sides were perpendicular or overhanging. Surely he had not leaped
into this gulf; and yet that he had so speedily scaled the steep was
impossible.
I looked into the gulf, but the depth and the gloom allowed me to see
nothing with distinctness. His cries or groans could not be overheard
amidst the uproar of the waters. His fall must have instantly destroyed
him, and that he had fallen was the only conclusion I could draw.
My sensations on this incident cannot be easily described. The image of
this man's despair, and of the sudden catastrophe to which my
inauspicious interference had led, filled me with compunction and
terror. Some of my fears were relieved by the new conjecture, that,
behind the rock on which he had lain, there might be some aperture or
pit into which he had descended, or in which he might be concealed.
I derived consolation from this conjecture. Not only the evil which I
dreaded might not have happened, but some alleviation of his misery was
possible. Could I arrest his footsteps and win his attention, I might be
able to insinuate the lessons of fortitude; but if words were impotent,
and arguments were nugatory, yet to sit by him in silence, to moisten
his hand with tears, to sigh in unison, to offer him the spectacle of
sympathy, the solace of believing that his demerits were not estimated
by so rigid a standard by others as by himself, that one at least among
his fellow-men regarded him with love and pity, could not fail to be of
benign influence.
These thoughts inspired me with new zeal. To effect my purpose it was
requisite to reach the opposite steep. I was now convinced that this was
not an impracticable undertaking, since Clithero had already performed
it. I once more made the circuit of the hill. Every side was steep and
of enormous height, and the gulf was nowhere so narrow as at this spot.
I therefore returned hither, and once more pondered on the means of
passing this tremendous chasm in safety.
Casting my eyes upward, I noted the tree at the root of which I was
standing. I compared the breadth of the gulf with the length of the
trunk of this tree, and it appeared very suitable for a bridge. Happily
it grew obliquely, and, if felled by an axe, would probably fall of
itself, in such a manner as to be suspended across the chasm. The stock
was thick enough to afford me footing, and would enable me to reach the
opposite declivity without danger or delay.
A more careful examination of the spot, the site of the tree, its
dimensions, and the direction of its growth, convinced me fully of the
practicability of this expedient, and I determined to carry it into
immediate execution. For this end I must hasten home, procure an axe,
and return with all expedition hither. I took my former way, once more
entered the subterranean avenue, and slowly re-emerged into day. Before
I reached home, the evening was at hand, and my tired limbs and jaded
spirits obliged me to defer my undertaking till the morrow.
Though my limbs were at rest, my thoughts were active through the night.
I carefully reviewed the situation of this hill, and was unable to
conjecture by what means Clithero could place himself upon it. Unless he
occasionally returned to the habitable grounds, it was impossible for
him to escape perishing by famine. He might intend to destroy himself by
this means, and my first efforts were to be employed to overcome this
fatal resolution. To persuade him to leave his desolate haunts might be
a laborious and tedious task; meanwhile, all my benevolent intentions
would be frustrated by his want of sustenance. It was proper, therefore,
to carry bread with me, and to place it before him. The sight of food,
the urgencies of hunger, and my vehement entreaties, might prevail on
him to eat, though no expostulations might suffice to make him seek food
at a distance.