THE ELDER CAVE.
On leaving-the Carlotta Arch and the bridge, the visitor--mentally
gratified, physically tired, and conscious that his perceptive faculties
have been somewhat strained--rejoices that the cave-house is
conveniently near, so that he can promptly ensconce himself in an
easy-chair and meditate upon the charming scenes upon which his eyes
have feasted. If he be unusually robust he may economise the return
journey by taking a peep at the Elder Cave, which lies just off his
homeward course. It derives its name from the elder trees which grow
about it and conceal its entrance, which is at the bottom of a "ragged"
shaft similar to that described in the tragedy of "Titus Andronicus,"
whose authorship is disputed, but which Samuel Phelps and others have no
doubt was written by Shakespeare. It resembles the "subtle hole" where
Bassianus lay imbrued "all of a heap like a slaughtered lamb." But that
was near an alder, and not an elder, tree; and, so far as is known, the
pit which leads to the Elder Cave has no associations so tragic as those
which are inseparable from the horrible brutalities of "Titus
Andronicus." Its mouth is not covered with "rude growing briars," nor
are there upon the leaves "drips of new-shed blood as fresh as morning
dew distilled on flowers." On the contrary, it is a rather
cheerful-looking pit, filled up with foliage like an arborescent bouquet
in an enormous natural vase. For a long time its cavity was completely
obscured by the leafy covering, and it was first entered by climbing
along a branch level with the surface of the ground, and descending the
trunk of the tree to the bottom of the well. There are several elders in
the pit, which, being unusually moist, is favourable to their growth,
and they bear splendid cymes of cream-coloured flowers and black berries
suggestive of spiced home-made wine.
The Elder Cave was found by Mr. Wilson in 1856, but it has not had much
attention bestowed upon it, probably because its beauties have been
eclipsed by later discoveries. The first part consists of some rather
large chambers connected by small passages, rough inside, and difficult
to explore. All are pretty, and one, named "The Chapel," contains
stalactites called "shawls," on account of their resemblance to ladies'
vestments so designated. One of these is about five feet long by six
inches deep, and a quarter of an inch thick. Half of it is of glassy
clearness. The floor is of ornate formation. The next chamber is called
the "Coral Cave." It is difficult of access. The way for about 100 yards
varies from only two to four feet from floor to ceiling. Nearly at the
end is a hole about 12 feet in diameter and 15 feet deep, containing
fossil bones. From floor to roof the formation is grand. There are a few
fine stalagmites, but the chief beauty is in the stalactitic growth.
Many of the stalactites hang from the lowest shelving rock to the floor,
and form an alabaster palisade. Immense bunches of snow-white limestone
droop from the roof, and one unusually large conical mass tapers off
until it connects with the apex of a pyramidal block on the floor. In
contrast with these ponderous specimens are numerous straw-like glassy
tubes. Portions of the floor are covered with beautiful coral.
Near the mouth of this Pit Cave is an aperture of special interest,
because it is the entrance to the shaft at the bottom of which, on the
16th February 1879, the intrepid curator discovered the Imperial Cave,
which is one of the most magnificent opened to the public. He made three
separate attempts before he was able to bottom this deep black hole. On
the first occasion he was lowered into it at the end of a rope, and
when all the line had been paid out was dangling in mid-air at the end
of his tether. When he was let down a second time with a longer cord it
was found to be deficient, and the cave-keeper was still suspended in
ebon space. The second failure made him still more resolute. He did not
believe that the black hole into which he had descended was the
bottomless pit, and so he tried again to fathom its inky depths, and at
a distance of 90 feet from the surface alighted upon the rocky floor of
what is now called the Imperial Cave.
Cave exploration is not what would be commonly regarded as a pleasant
pastime. It requires a lissom body, plenty of physical strength, and a
strong nerve to worm along narrow passages, without any certainty of
being able to reach a turning-place, and with the risk of being so
wedged in as to make retreat impossible. A stout heart is necessary to
enable a man to descend to unknown depths of blackness from mouths of
fearsome pits, close proximity to which makes one's flesh creep. A
fracture of the rope or the falling of a piece of rock might give the
explorer his quietus. A somewhat sensational illustration of this kind
of peril is given in Griffin's "Studies in Literature." The eldest son
of George D. Prentice, one of the sweet singers of the New World,
determined to fathom the maelstrom of the Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. A
long rope of great strength was procured, and with a heavy fragment of
rock attached to it, like a stone at the end of a kellick rope, it was
let down and swung about to clear the course of loose stones. "Then the
young hero of the occasion, with several hats drawn over his head to
protect it as far as possible against any masses falling from above, and
with a light in his hand and the rope fastened around his body, took his
place over the awful pit, and directed the half-dozen men, who held the
end of the rope, to let him down into the Cimmerian gloom. Occasionally
masses of earth and rock whizzed past, but none struck him. On his way,
at a distance of 100 feet, the spray caused by a cataract which rushed
from the side down the abyss nearly extinguished his light. One hundred
and ninety feet down he stood on the bottom of the pit. Returning to
the mouth of the cave the pull was an exceedingly severe one, and the
rope, being ill-adjusted around his body, gave him the most excruciating
pain. But soon his pain was forgotten in a new and dreadful peril. When
he was 90 feet from the mouth of the pit and 100 from the bottom,
swaying and swinging in mid air, he heard rapid and excited words of
horror and alarm above, and soon learned that the rope by which he was
upheld had taken fire from the friction of the timber over which it
passed. Several moments of awful suspense to those above, and still more
awful to him below, ensued. To them and to him a fatal and instant
catastrophe seemed inevitable. But the fire was extinguished with a
bottle of water belonging to himself, and then the party above, though
almost exhausted by their labour, succeeded in drawing him to the top.
He was as calm and self-possessed as upon his entrance into the pit; but
all of his companions, overcome by fatigue, sank down upon the ground,
and his friend, Professor Wright, from over-exertion and excitement,
fainted, and remained for some time insensible. The young adventurer
left his name carved in the depths of the maelstrom--the name of the
first and only person that ever gazed upon its mysteries."
The keeper of the Jenolan Caves has had many experiences quite as
thrilling as that of the son of George D. Prentice, who, some time after
his descent into the maelstrom, fell in the conflict between the
Northern and the Southern States of the American Union. The curator has
hundreds of times wormed his way in the darkness through narrow drives
and descended black holes of unknown dimensions by means of ropes and
ladders. He has burrowed about like a rabbit, squeezing through small
apertures, occasionally having his clothes torn off him by stalactites,
and his knees wounded by miniature stalagmites, and his sides abrased by
the sharp corners of projecting rocks. When being lowered by ropes he
has run the risk of being brained by falling _debris_. Fortunately, he
has been preserved from serious injury, and is still as lithe as a
ferret. Christopher Columbus made wonderful maritime discoveries in the
Western hemisphere, and Captain Cook distinguished himself in the
Southern seas, but neither the bold Genoese nor the stout-hearted
Yorkshireman who thrice circumnavigated the globe could have thrown more
earnestness into his work than has been displayed by the subterranean
explorer at Jenolan, of whom it may be said, without prejudice to his
good name, that he has done more underground engineering than any
"road-and-bridge" member of the Legislative Assembly, performed more
turning and twisting than the most slippery Minister of the Crown who
has ever held a portfolio in New South Wales, and found secluded
chambers enough to permit every political or social Adullamite--"every
one that is in distress, and every one that is in debt, and every one
that is discontented"--to have a little cave of his own. As the visitor
has to be guided by the curator through labyrinthine passages as
intricate as the most puzzling mazes of Crete or Egypt, in order to see
fairy grottoes, crystal cities, jewel caskets, coral caves, and mystic
chambers which he has discovered, it may be here recorded that Mr.
Jeremiah Wilson was born in Ireland, near Enniskillen, that he was three
years old when he came to New South Wales, 43 years ago, and that his
family have lived continuously near Oberon. His first visit to Jenolan
was with a party of excursionists. He has ever since taken a romantic
interest in the caves, and from the time of his appointment as
cave-keeper in 1867 until now his enthusiasm for exploratory work
appears to have never flagged.
[Illustration: THE LUCAS CAVE.]