Peak cavern, also called the Devil’s Hole, is one of those magnificent,
sublime, and extraordinary productions of nature, which constantly
excite the wonder and admiration of their beholders. It has accordingly
been considered one of the principal wonders of Derbyshire, and has been
celebrated by several poets. It lies in the vicinity of Castleton, and
is approached by a path at the side of a clear rivulet, leading to the
fissure, or separation of the rock, at the extremity of which the cavern
is situated. It would be difficult to imagine a scene more august than
that which presents itself to the visitor at its entrance: on each side,
the huge gray rocks rise almost perpendicularly, to the hight of nearly
three hundred feet, or about seven times the hight of a modern house,
and meeting each other at right or cross angles, form a deep gloomy
recess. In front, it is overhung by a vast canopy of rock, assuming the
appearance of a depressed arch, and extending, in width, one hundred and
twenty feet, in hight forty-two, and in receding depth about ninety.
After penetrating about ninety feet into the cavern, the roof becomes
lower, and a gentle descent leads, by a detached rock, to the interior
entrance of this tremendous hollow. Here the light of day, having
gradually diminished, wholly disappears; and the visitor is provided
with a torch to illumine his further progress.
The progress now becoming extremely confined, he is obliged to proceed,
in a stooping posture, about twenty yards, when he reaches a spacious
opening, named the Bellhouse, and is thence led to a small lake, called
the First Water, about forty feet in length, but not more than two or
three feet in depth. Over this he is conveyed in a boat to the interior
of the cavern, beneath a massive vault of rock, which in some parts
descends to within eighteen or twenty inches of the water. “We stood
some time,” says M. de St. Fond, “on the brink of this lake; and the
light of our dismal torches, which emitted a black smoke, reflecting our
pale images from its bottom, we almost conceived we saw a troop of
specters starting from an abyss to welcome us. The illusion was
extremely striking.”
On landing, the visitor enters a spacious vacuity, two hundred and
twenty feet in length, two hundred feet in breadth, and in some parts
one hundred and twenty feet in hight, opening into the bosom of the
rock; but, from the want of light, neither the distant sides nor the
roof of this abyss, can be seen. In a passage at the inner extremity of
this vast cave, the stream which flows through the whole length of the
cavern, spreads into what is called the Second Water, and near its
termination is a projecting pile of rocks, known by the appellation of
Roger Rain’s House, from the incessant fall of water in large drops
through the crevices of the roofs. Beyond this, opens another tremendous
hollow, called the Chancel, where the rocks are much broken, and the
sides covered with stalactical or petrified incrustations. Here the
visitor is surprised by a vocal concert which bursts in discordant tones
from the upper regions of the chasm. “Still,” observes a tourist, “this
being unexpected, and issuing from a quarter where no object can be
seen, in a place where all else is still as death, is calculated to
impress the imagination with solemn ideas, and can seldom be heard
without that emotion of awe and pleasure, astonishment and delight,
which is one of the most interesting feelings of the mind.” At the
conclusion of the strain, the choristers, who consist of eight or ten
women and children, are seen ranged in the hollow of the rock, about
fifty feet above the floor.
The path now leads to a place whimsically called the Devil’s Cellar and
Half-way House, and thence, by three natural and regular arches, to a
vast concavity, which, from its uniform bell-like appearance, is called
Great Tom of Lincoln. When illuminated by a strong light, this concavity
has a very pleasing effect; the symmetrical disposition of the rocks,
the stream flowing beneath, and the spiracles in the roof, forming a
very interesting picture. From this point the vault gradually descends,
the passage contracts, and at length does not leave more than sufficient
room for the current of the stream, which continues to flow through a
subterraneous channel of several miles in extent, as is proved by the
small stones brought into it after great rains, from the distant mines
of the Peak Forest.
The entire length of this wonderful cavern is twenty-two hundred and
fifty feet, or nearly half a mile; and its depth, from the surface of
the Peak mountain, about six hundred and twenty feet. A curious effect
is produced by the explosion of a small quantity of gunpowder, wedged
into the rock in the interior of the cavern; for the sound appears to
roll along the roof and sides, like a tremendous and continued peal of
thunder. The effect of the light, on returning from these dark recesses,
is particularly impressive; and the gradual illumination of the rocks,
which becomes brighter as the entrance is approached, is said to exhibit
one of the most interesting scenes that ever employed the pencil of an
artist, or fixed the admiration of a spectator.