Although we had a day’s rest yesterday, it being Sunday, my eldest
daughter was not sufficiently recovered from the fatigues of Saturday to
encounter another day’s journeying in the cave, which might perhaps be
more fatiguing than any we had yet undergone, and so my youngest and
myself sallied forth, both of us being very anxious to see the ferlies
across the river. It has been doubtful for some days whether we should
be able to cross the river, for, like all the rivers for a considerable
time past, it has been so high that there has not been sufficient room
for a boat to pass between the river and the rocky ceiling above.
However, Green River, which flows at about half a mile’s distance from
the mouth of the cave, has fallen considerably since last night, which
affords some hope that the river in the cave may also have fallen, and
Stephen assures us that he will get us to the other side some way or
other, if we should go through Purgatory, which he suspects we shall
have to do. We take an additional guide with us, named Alfred, in case
his services may be required. We trudge along the Main (and at a pretty
smart pace), till we reach the Giant’s Coffin, behind which we again
descend, and go through the Deserted Chambers, pass the Bottomless Pit
and again get into the Winding Way, through which having winded, we
leave the Bacon Chamber on the right, and take the passage to the left,
which leads to the Dead Sea, which may be seen by looking over a
precipice, and sending a blazing piece of paper to the regions below. At
eighty feet distance it reaches the still water of the Dead Sea. We
journey on through avenues till we reach the River Styx, which we cross
in a boat, then we walk a little farther till we get to Lethe. We sail
along it in our frail bark till the water becomes so shallow that we can
go no farther. Echo River is the great one we have to cross, and as the
guides are uncertain about the state of it, they leave us till they
ascertain by what means we are to get to the other side. It was no very
delightful situation for solitary helpless individuals to be left alone
in a boat in the middle of a river so far under the face of the earth,
and with no sound of anything near us save the trickling of invisible
waterfalls, and nothing with any sign of life but gnats that fluttered
about our lamps, and now and then a large cricket with immense long
legs, but there was no “hearth” for it to be on, nor did it chirp. In
this river are the eyeless fish; there are two kinds of them, neither
having the least resemblance of a place for an eye, for, of course, they
have no need of eyes. The solitariness of such a scene can scarcely be
conceived. However, we must not think of it; we sang and chatted. The
echo was magnificent, and sounding chords afforded us some amusement.
The four notes of the chord, sounded by one voice, continued to sound
altogether for a very long time, and at length died away by almost
inaudible sounds. After being in this lonely situation for an hour, we
were cheered by hearing the voices of the guides, singing at a long
distance from us. As they came nearer we discovered that it was “Auld
lang syne” they were singing, and I am sure I never heard that favourite
air with greater pleasure or satisfaction. At length the glimmer of the
lamps is seen in the distant darkness, and the guides approach us,
awakening the echoes with “Oh, Susanna,” “Old Uncle Ned,” and other
negro ditties. We learn that we cannot embark at the usual place, but
must go round by Purgatory Avenue. They have to carry us through the
shallow water about fifty yards, till we come to walking ground, then we
reach a ferry which we cross in a boat, and Alfred takes the boat
through the archway at the usual place for embarking, to meet us at the
end of the avenue; for we hear the water splashing against the ceiling,
and we cannot go that way. He must lie down flat in the boat, and get
through as he best can. We reach the point of the river where he had
come to, and there is no sign of him. We wait patiently for a time, and
at length the awful silence is broken by the sounds of his voice,
singing to let us know he has got through in safety. The effect of the
solitary lamp on the water is astounding. We now all embark, and sing
our way down the Echo River for about a quarter of a mile, when we get
out, and walk again for some distance, then cross the river again, on
Stephen’s back, and at last we are fairly on the other side. The river
was discovered in 1839, and first crossed in 1841. As we go along,
although we are fifty or sixty feet above the river, marks of its recent
rise are visible, for the sand is very wet, and our road very slippery.
The avenue in which we now are must have been filled with water to the
very ceiling, and our path is an awfully wild one, strewed with immense
rocks that have fallen from above, and the ceiling is like a dark
midnight sky. The walls are beautifully ornamented with rosettes, &c.,
of stalactite in great profusion. We are now in Lillyman’s Avenue, and
have come to a bend, something like the Great Bend on the other side of
the river. This bend resembles exactly the stern of a large ship, and we
see it as if we were in the water looking up at it. It is called the
Great Western. The avenue, which is two miles long, is terminated by an
apartment called Ole Bull’s Concert Room, for here the great violinist
discoursed eloquent music to a large party whom he accompanied into the
cave some years ago. We now enter the Pass of El Ghor, which is two
miles long, very narrow, that is, it averages a breadth of six or eight
feet, and a height of about fifteen or eighteen. There is a
singular-looking place in it called The Hanging Rocks, which are immense
blocks of stone rent from the roof, and hanging as it were in air, ready
to annihilate any half-hundred people that may venture under them, but
fortunately they don’t. We leave the Pass, and enter Spring-side, when
we ascend a ladder about fifteen feet into a place called Mary’s
Vineyard, one of the most extraordinary freaks in the whole cave. It
looks as if all the dark coloured grapes had been collected from half
the vineyards on the Rhine and deposited here. The clusters are perfect,
and the formations are still going on. It was lighted up with a Bengal,
and the effect of it is indescribable. We pass on to Washington Hall, or
the Spar Chamber, as it is sometimes called, a large and beautiful
apartment, where the walls and roof are covered with beautiful
ornaments, and by and by we reach the Snow-ball Room, which has the
appearance of there having been a formidable battery of snow-balls
directed against the roof, many of which are beautifully formed, like
large white roses. We proceed to Cleveland’s Cabinet, which is about two
miles in length, and filled with stalactite beauties, various parts of
it being distinguished by particular names, such as Mary’s Bower, a
beautiful part—St Cecilia’s Grotto, Charlotte’s Grotto, Mary Reedie’s
Festoon, &c., the walls of the whole for several miles being covered
with rosettes, Prince of Wales’ feathers, tulips, lilies, &c., and often
we see a piece like a richly carved Corinthian capital. We must not
forget the Diamond Grotto, where, by holding your lamp behind you, a
never-ending profusion of sparkling diamonds is seen among the
stalactite beauties. Many beautiful specimens have fallen on the ground,
and many have been knocked from the place where Nature deposited them by
the ruthless hand of some visitor. We brought away some specimens with
us, but they are very brittle and very heavy, which makes it difficult
to procure many. It is said there are rats in this part of the cave,
though it is difficult to imagine what they can support themselves and
their families upon, for they cannot exist on the beautiful ornaments by
which they are surrounded any more than the California miner can live on
the gold he finds; but sometimes they get a chance for food. It is not
long since two young men came from New York with the determination of
exploring the cave. They took provisions with them to last for three
days, and had Stephen for their guide. They had their blankets with
them, and after one day’s exploration, they fixed on Cleveland’s Cabinet
for their sleeping chamber. When they got up in the morning, and went
for their basket to breakfast before setting out on their travels, they
found every particle of food gone, and they had a trudge of eight miles
to the mouth of the cave for a breakfast. The rats are different from
the usual species, they leap something like a rabbit, and are very
seldom seen. Beyond Cleveland’s Avenue, we came to the Rocky Mountains,
an exceedingly difficult place to travel over, then get to the Dismal
Hall, a gloomy-looking place, about 100 feet high—Sereno’s Arbour, well
worthy to be visited, and Medora’s Spring, are at the farthest extent of
the explored part of the cave, and here we are nine miles from the
mouth. We now returned, and saw on our way the Snow-ball Chamber lighted
up with a Bengal, which, if possible, increased its beauty. We stopped
to dine at a little spring not far from the foot of the ladder by which
we descended from Mary’s Vineyard, and, after resting for a time, we
entered once more the Pass of El Ghor, and continued our way looking
with regret for the last time upon the many wonders we had already
explored. As we approached the river we found the walking as bad as
ever, but we got over safe. As Alfred was carrying me along the Styx on
his back, he stepped upon a quicksand, and sank considerably, which I
not liking, and being quite ignorant as to where he was likely to sink
to, I jumped from his back, in spite of Stephen’s shouts to “hold on to
him! hold on to him!” It afforded me a hearty laugh, for the water
scarcely came to my knees, and the exertion of clambering over rocks,
and walking along on the rough road, soon made all dry. Once on this
side the river, we trudged on nimbly through the Fat Man’s Misery and
the Valley of Humility, and getting into the Main Cave from behind the
Giant’s Coffin again, we were not long in seeing the light of day. I
nearly forgot to mention, that as we were sailing up the Echo River on
our way home, Alfred, the guide, caught two of the eyeless fish. They
are small, about a finger’s length, one of them like a minnow, and the
other something like a shrimp. There is not the slightest appearance of
eyes about them. We heard also the sound of a voice at some distance,
which Stephen knew to be that of one of the guides, and when we got up
on the walk about fifty feet above the river, we saw at a great distance
three individuals standing beside the river, their lamps beside them.
The effect was awfully sepulchral—they looked like beings of the nether
regions. By the by, the place through which we traversed to the spot
where we saw them, is called the Infernal Regions. The visitors soon
joined us, and we left the cave together. They had only gone to the bank
of the river. It will be long ere we forget our visit to the Mammoth
Cave. The season not commencing till about the end of June, we had it
all to ourselves, and enjoyed it much; but even when there is a crowd of
people there, it must add to the amusement to meet parties as one
rambles through the cave, though one would scarcely get into such a
place for amusement. It fills the mind with thoughts something deeper
than amusement. No accident of a serious nature has ever happened in the
cave, for the guides are very careful, and every precaution is taken to
prevent accidents. Very soon after the river was discovered two young
gentlemen, accompanied by two young ladies, went to cross it. They were
full of spirits and too full of fun, for despite the guide’s warning
that the boat was very crazy, they, in getting into it, upset it. Their
lamps were all extinguished, and their matches lost. Fortunately the
guide got them out of the water, and placed them on some rocks, where
they were obliged to remain for several hours, till the people in the
hotel sent to see what detained them so long in the cave. They were in a
terrible fright, and no wonder. Another gentleman who had left his
party, in his ardour to examine some particular point, lost his way in
attempting to rejoin them, and wandered about shouting till his lamp
went out, when he sat down, and he was thirty hours alone before they
found him. There is no danger if the parties keep together and with the
guide, but to attempt to find the way oneself were a useless task.[2] We
left the Mammoth Cave Hotel at six in the evening, and had a pleasant
ride to Bell’s, at eight miles distance. The road is through the woods
and very rough, but will be smoother by and by, when there is more
traffic on it. Mr Bell has improved it very much this spring, at his own
expense, for he has the conveying of all the visitors from the house to
the cave, and very reasonably he does it. As I before mentioned, he is
an obliging and attentive old man, Mr Bell, and if you get into his good
graces, he will not be sparing of his peach brandy and honey, though he
very wisely takes none of it himself; and perhaps he may take you into
the garden, where he will show you something that will strike you as
being very singular, if you are an Englishman. In a corner of the
garden, under a quiet tree, you will see a neat tombstone, which will
tell you that there the old man’s son lies, and two of that son’s
children, and perhaps he may tell you himself that he is conducting the
house and farm for the benefit of that son’s widow and surviving child,
whom he wishes to see comfortably provided for before he be laid in the
quiet corner beside his son. After spending five hours at Bell’s we got
the stage for Louisville, ninety miles distant, over a road that is not
of the best, and to make it worse there is a storm brewing, the
lightning is flashing, the thunder is roaring, the rain is coming down
in torrents, and the fire flies are whirling in the air in myriads.
_P.S._—This description of the Mammoth Cave, if it may be called so, was
written to a private friend, and not intended for public
perusal—therefore, gentle reader, be not disappointed at not having
discovered finely rounded periods, or any attempt at high-flown
language—be contented with a plain chat about one of the greatest
wonders of the world, and if you can manage to come across the Atlantic
to see it, do so—you will not then be disappointed, I promise you,
however imperfect may be my description.
SCOTIA’S DIRGE:
BEING
VERSES ON THE DEATH OF JOHN WILSON, Esq.,
THE SCOTTISH VOCALIST,
Who died at Quebec on the 9th July 1849.
Auld Scotia now may sigh aloud,
Her tears in torrents fa’,
Her sweetest harp now hangs unstrung,
Since Wilson’s ta’en awa’.
He sang o’ a’ her warlike deeds,
An’ sons that gallant were—
Her hoary towers, an’ snaw-clad hills,
An’ maidens sweet and fair.
His was a harp o’ thrillin’ sound,
Could pleasure aye impart;
Its melody o’ bygane days
Gaed hame to ilka heart.
Its strains could bring remembrance back
To youthfu’ days at school;
Or mak’ us sigh for Scotia’s wrangs,
An’ Flodden’s day o’ dool.
He sang o’ beauty’s winsome wiles,
In mony a leesome theme,
An’ gather’d by his artless lays
A never-dying name.
While heather blooms on Scotia’s hills,
An’ burnies join the sea,
His aft-applauded “Nichts wi’ Burns”
Will ne’er forgotten be.
Ye gentle maids! a tribute pay
Frae ’mang your Western bowers,
An’ strew the minstrel’s lowly grave
Wi’ summer’s balmy flowers!
Then rest thee, minstrel! Tho’ thy harp
Can noo nae mair be found,
The lovers o’ auld Scotia’s sangs
Can ne’er forget its sound!
Gourdon Schoolhouse.
W. J.