The necessary alterations having been made in the costume of my two
daughters, namely, the petticoats being shortened, and trousers being
donned—pants, I ought to have said, for trousers are never named here,
and breeches are never made—and caps being placed upon their craniums, a
gentleman, who accompanied us from Nashville, and myself, having been
provided with coats that had been coats once, and low-crowned soft hats,
we set off for the cave. We were fortunate in getting the services of
the favourite guide Stephen, to whom we had a letter from a lady in
Nashville. He is an active, intelligent, attentive, capital fellow, and
after walking some 200 yards through an avenue of shady trees, we found
him near the entrance, with his lamps ready to light, his flask of oil
on his back, and one basket of provisions. We descended by about thirty
rude steps to the entrance, where our lamps being lighted, we bade
farewell for a while to the light of day. In a very short time we come
to a wall that had been built by the miners, and in which there is a
door-way, inside of which we are fairly in the cave. The temperature of
the cave is always at sixty, and when the temperature out of doors is
higher, the air rushes out at this doorway, so as to blow out the lamps,
if the command of the guide is not obeyed to keep your lamps before you.
At first one cannot see very well—the eyes are not yet accustomed to
penetrate the darkness—the lamps only tended to make the darkness more
visible. By and by we get more used to it. The “Church,” as it is
called, is the first apartment where we make a halt. It is very large,
with galleries round it, and a projection of rock at one side, called
the pulpit. Being told by the guide to put our lights behind us, he set
fire to a Bengal light, and then we were struck with wonder and awe at
the splendour and the vastness of the rocky apartment. For size, Exeter
Hall is nothing to it. During the season service is performed in it by
some of the clergymen visitors, and the effect must be very sublime, to
see each worshipper sitting with his lamp, listening to the Word,
joining in prayer to the Lord of all, and singing his praises. Each
person enters with his lamp, of course, but on coming to the church the
lamps are all placed together, so as to make one general grand light.
The church is in the “Main Cave,” which is five miles in extent, and as
we move along we see the marks of the action of the water upon the rocks
in every part. The average height is 50 feet, its width 100 feet; at one
place, however, it is 340 feet wide. We leave the Main Cave, and enter
the “Gothic Avenue,” where the first apartment we come to is called the
“Haunted Chamber,” from two mummies having been found there by the
miners in 1809. They were in a sitting position, and clothed with
deer-skins. One of them is now in a museum in New York; the other was
burned by the museum in Cincinnati taking fire. The friend who was with
me being somewhat of a utility sort of a person, wishes everything to be
made proper use of, and suggested that the cave would be a capital place
for keeping meat, vegetables, &c., when he was told by Stephen, much to
his satisfaction, that the hotel people used it for that purpose. We go
along farther, and soon find ourselves in the “Register Room,” which
has, or rather had, a beautiful white ceiling, but it is now
considerably defaced by many persons wishing to immortalise themselves
by writing their names on the roof with the smoke of a candle. They must
have had the candle attached to a pretty long pole, for the roof is
high. I. B. of old England is one of the names; I suppose John Bull is
meant. There is also a Mr John Smith—it does not state where his locale
is, but it is not unlikely that it was Mr Smith of the United States.
After passing “Vulcan’s Forge,” so called from the stone resembling very
much the refuse of a forge, we come to the “Gothic Chapel.” Before
entering it, however, Stephen takes our lamps, and leaves us in the dark
for a time, while he goes and places them on the stalactite pillar in
the chapel. He calls out to us to “come on—there’s nothing to stumble
over,” and we advanced towards the chapel. How splendid! how beautiful!
The stalactite pillars are all opposite to each other, as if they were
really supporting the roof. It reminded me of the crypt under the
Cathedral at Rochester, in Kent, excepting that here the pillars were
translucent. About ten or twelve feet high are the pillars, and the
stalactite formations are still going on in some of them. It has been
ascertained, it seems, that it takes thirty years to form the thickness
of a wafer, then how many times thirty years must it have taken to form
these pillars! It was a solemn scene, the stillness was indeed quite
awful. I broke the silence by singing Luther’s Hymn, while those around
me stood like statues. We came next to what is called “Napoleon’s
Breastwork,” an immense block of limestone, that has evidently fallen
away from the roof at some time or other, and now lies in a slanting
form. It is about 60 feet long, 20 feet to the top, and looks over into
a deep ravine. Now we come to his Satanic Majesty’s “Armchair,” which is
the name given to a splendid stalactite column in the centre of a
chamber, and which on one side forms an excellent seat. The back is
round, and like one of the old fashioned chairs stuffed, and covered
with silk. You may have an idea of the size of it when I tell you that
it takes three men’s arms to go round it. Not far from it is another
stalactite formation called the “Elephant’s Head,” from its exact
resemblance to one—the eyes, ears, and trunk, are perfect—some
barbarian, however, has defaced the trunk. Now we approach the “Lover’s
Leap,” where any hapless swain may have an opportunity of getting rid of
all his earthly cares by taking a dismal leap of 50 feet, but no one has
yet been desperate enough to do it. We descend to the left of the
“Lover’s Leap” and presently enter an extraordinary passage in the rock,
called the “Devil’s Elbow;” it is about three feet wide and twelve high,
and leads to the lower branch of the Gothic Avenue. The stone of the
passage bears evidence of water having rushed through it with tremendous
force, though how long ago it is impossible to ascertain. One of the
guides got a terrible fright here some time since, by a gentleman who
was gifted with ventriloquial powers. He had arrived at the hotel in the
evening, and requested a guide to accompany him to the cave. While they
were standing over the “Lover’s Leap” he made a cry for “lights and some
water,” which seemed to come through the “Devil’s Elbow” from the
apartment below. The guide, fancying it was some one of his companions
whose lamp had gone out, called out to him to stay where he was and he
would come to him immediately; as he was descending by the Devil’s Elbow
the voice came from another part in front of them. He returned, and was
ascending again to the Lover’s Leap, when the voice once more came
through the Elbow, at which he became considerably alarmed, and it was
with great difficulty the gentleman could prevent him from running
fairly off out of the cave, and leaving him in the lurch, which perhaps
he deserved. On their return to the hotel the guide told the landlord a
woful story, in the midst of which, however, he was stopped by some one
coming in to say there was a maniac about the grounds, when they went
out and heard a voice calling out for some tea and bread and butter.
“That’s it!” he said, “that’s the same voice that was in the cave.” The
ventriloquist made the landlord aware of the trick, and the mysterious
affair ended with a hearty laugh at the poor alarmed guide’s expense. As
we enter this part of the Gothic Avenue, we come to a basin of beautiful
clear water, called the “Cooling Tub.” It is about six feet wide, and a
stream of the purest water is falling constantly into it from the
ceiling, which is here about thirty feet high. In various parts of the
cave there are streams of this description, and the sound of this
falling water is the only thing that breaks the awful stillness that
constantly reigns. After passing “Napoleon’s Dome,” which is about sixty
feet in height, we come to another little pool, called “Lake Purity,”
the water in which is delicious to drink, so pure that no disturbance
can thicken it. Now we retrace our steps to the “Main Cave,” where at
almost every step we take some new wonder is opened up to us. We are in
an apartment called the “Ball Room,” for it is frequently used as such
by the visitors during the season. The floor is smooth and level, and
continues so for several hundred feet, so that there is plenty of room
for a large party. There are spacious galleries above, too, formed by
the ledging rocks; and there is an orchestra, capable of holding twice
the number of the Philharmonic Band. As we go along gazing in wonder at
everything, the eye suddenly rests on a nice little niche in the wall,
just like the niche that is at the door of a Roman Catholic Cathedral
for holding the holy water. It has been formed by the trickling down of
the water, and is called Wandering Willie’s Spring; as I have
considerable regard for all Wandering Willies, I partook of the water of
his spring, and can vouch for its purity and refreshing qualities. The
“Standing Rocks” that we by and by approach, are immense blocks of stone
that have evidently fallen from the roof, some of them twenty feet long,
and six or eight feet thick, and many of them even larger, and what is
something remarkable, it is the thinnest part of the stone that has sunk
into the earth. The next very prominent object we come to is the
“Giant’s Coffin,” an immense block of limestone that has evidently
fallen away from the side, and which perfectly resembles a coffin, but
may well be called a giant’s, for it is sixty feet long and about twenty
feet thick. It has the curved lid which I have observed in the
fashionable coffins in the south, and which I heard an auctioneer, who
was selling some by auction, recommend as being much more accommodating
than the plain lids, for the person could turn round whenever he felt
inclined to do so. At some distance beyond this, perhaps 150 yards, the
cave takes a gigantic turn, called the “Acute Angle,” or “Great Bend,”
which the guide illumines by one of his Bengal lights, and displays to
the astonished spectator one of the most wonderful sights that ever
mortal eyes beheld. It has the appearance of a vast amphitheatre. It
must be about seventy feet high. In front of us is the great cornerstone
or bend, and on each side the avenue looms away into unfathomable
darkness. The Bengal light dies, and we trudge along to the right, with
our lamps in our hands, single file, with Stephen at the head, and ere
long he says, “Stop, we are now in the ‘Star-Chamber.’” Wonders will
never cease, for here is something more wonderful than anything we have
yet seen. How can I convey to you an idea of it? Let me see. It is as if
we were at the bottom of a deep ravine or pass, about sixty feet wide,
and one hundred feet high, the top of the ravine being terminated by
jutting-out rocks, and above those projecting rocks we see the blue
firmament of heaven, as it were, with the stars shining above us. The
rocks at the top are white in many places, and cloud-like, which shows
the starry firmament to greater advantage. The stars are formed by the
sparkling gypsum in the dark limestone, and a more complete optical
illusion dame Nature never called into existence. We felt as if we
should never tire gazing on this, and expatiating to each other upon its
wonders. Stephen asked us how we should like to have all the lights
extinguished, to try the effect of it in that way, which we readily
agreed to; but not a particle of anything could we see. There was, of
course, not the smallest ray of light—there could not be, for we were
two miles from the mouth of the cave, and 170 feet below the surface of
the earth. I put my finger close to my eye but could see nothing. When
no one spoke the silence was awful. I don’t know what the others were
thinking of in the midst of this total eclipse, but I could not help
thinking, now, if Stephen should have forgot his matches we shall be in
a fine _fix_. I spoke to him of this afterwards, when he said he should
soon have got lights for us if he had forgot his matches, for he knows
the cave so well, having been a guide in it for thirteen years, that he
could have forced his way to the mouth. This Star-Chamber is one of the
most pleasing sights in the cave. Not far from it are the remains of
some small houses that were built some years ago for consumptive
patients. The air is so pure and the temperature so equal, that they
enjoyed very good health while they remained in the cave, but as soon as
they went above ground they became as bad as ever; the idea, therefore,
of making the cave an hospital for consumption has been abandoned. I
forgot to say that while we were admiring the wonder of the Starry
Chamber we sang a sacred trio, the effect of which was beautiful, for
everything was so still—no interruption by whisperers, or those persons
who are not aware that it is the height of rudeness to speak while any
one is singing—the voices sounded large and full. The sublimity of the
scene could not altogether withdraw the attention of our utility friend
from the things of this earth, for while we were gazing in astonishment
on the scene around us, he asked me whether, as I came from London, I
had ever seen a work on the art of brewing by fermentation, and without
yeast! The Star-Chamber was the extent of our walk in the Main Cave
to-day. We returned as far as the Giant’s Coffin, behind which we
entered an avenue, and descended some 12 or 14 steps, then through a
very low and narrow passage into the “Deserted Chambers,” which we got
to by crawling some part of the way on our hands and knees. The first of
the Deserted Chambers is called the Wooden Bowl, from the fact of a
wooden bowl having been found in it by the miners some years ago. At a
short distance from this bowl we stopped to dine, sitting on the edge of
a large flat rock, which we used as a dining-table. Close by there was a
spring of clear delicious water. We enjoyed our repast amazingly; drank,
in the pure, unadulterated water, to all our friends round St Paul’s;
had some songs after dinner, then resumed our walk. Our attention was
first directed to the “Sidesaddle Pit,” which is about 60 feet deep; and
to prevent one’s having a chance of falling into it, it is railed round
by spars of sassafras tree, on one of which are two sprouts, which made
their appearance about a month ago, and are looked upon with interest,
for there is no other sign of vegetation within the place. The ceiling
here, from water oozing through the stone, is just like honeycomb. A
little further on we come to the “Bottomless Pit,” a frightful chasm
with a fragile wooden bridge across it. A piece of lighted paper thrown
from the bridge into the pit, shows us the depth of it, which, from the
water to the top of the dome above us, is 280 feet. As we found that the
splendid dome over head had no name, we called it St Paul’s, and
insisted that Stephen should henceforth call it by that name, and no
other.
As we go along we see on the roof of the avenue the most beautiful
stalactite formations—rosettes, &c., in innumerable variety; there is
indeed here a mixture of the sublime and beautiful. We come to the “Wild
Hall,” well named from its appearance, go through the “Arch,” which is
one of the most-beautifully formed natural arches that can be seen,
return through what is called the Labyrinth, and go to “Gorin’s Dome.”
Much as we had seen to astonish us, we were not prepared for the
magnificence of the scene we were now to witness. Stephen placed us at
an aperture about the ordinary size of a window, told us to lay down our
lamps behind us, then he left us. By and by we discovered him on a point
a considerable way above us, and he lighted one of his Bengals and
unfolded the wonders of the dome to us. It is nearly 300 feet in height,
and we were standing about half way up. The sides of the dome are
fluted, and have the appearance of having been polished, for the water
is still trickling down. It is utterly impossible to give any idea of
the splendour of this place when lighted up. We had not seen half enough
of it. We called for another Bengal light, but Stephen had not one more
left, so we were obliged to leave, which we did, expressing our
determination to visit the dome again in our next ramble.
We had now been five hours in the cave, and as we had more than two
miles to walk to the mouth, we set off on our homeward route, and passed
again some of our old acquaintances, the Giant’s Coffin, the Church,
walked a little way down “Audribow’s Avenue,” and finally we saw the
light of day glimmering before us, and as we drew nearer to the mouth I
thought the sun never shone so beautifully before, and that the green
grass and the foliage of the trees, in fact the whole face of nature,
was more lovely than ever. When fairly out of the cave we felt as if hot
air was being blown upon us, so oppressively warm did the atmosphere
feel. And so finished our first day in the Mammoth Cave. We returned to
the hotel, spent the evening in thinking over and talking of the wonders
we had seen, then went to bed pretty early, to prepare ourselves for
being up betimes to start upon our second day’s ramble.