Their dread was not at all unreasonable, considering the vast extent of
the cavern--considering the distance which they knew they had
penetrated--considering the various devious and like ways through which
they had passed while in pursuit of the bear--and, above all,
considering the absolute darkness that now reigned around them. Of
course they could see nothing, not even each other; not one of them
could have seen the nose upon his own face, had he been looking for it.
Place yourself in the midst of complete darkness, and you will wonder
how little progress you can make in any direction. Indeed, you cannot
follow a right line even were there no impediment in your way.
After you have advanced a few steps, your face will begin to turn in a
new direction, and perhaps keep turning, until you have gone round the
four cardinal points! You need not be told this; "blind man's buff"
will have imparted to you the idea, long ere now. You will remember
that, after having made a turn or two, you could not tell to which side
of the room you were facing, unless you laid your hand upon the piano,
or some piece of furniture, and recognised it by the touch.
How just like the blind man in the game, so the three were situated;
with the exception that they had no piano--no furniture--no object of
any kind--to guide them. They knew not where to turn--they knew not
which way to advance--which way to go back.
For many minutes, they stood paralysed by the confusion. As already
stated, they held each other by the hand, and in this way they stood.
Each feared to let the others go, lest he might lose them! Of course
this was but an idle tear, as their voices would enable them to keep
together; but there was something so awe-inspiring in their situation,
that they all felt childish and helpless, and they needed the support of
one another.
After remaining at rest a while, they started off afresh; holding each
other by the hands, as they moved. This precaution was more necessary
while they were in motion than at rest. They dreaded that one of their
number might fall over some high steep or into a deep hole; and while
thus clinging together, the danger would be less--that is, if all three
did not go over together.
For several hours they wandered about, and, according to their own
belief, must have walked many miles; but of course their progress was
slow, as they had to feel their way at _every_ step. They grew tired
with the effort they had to make, and at intervals sat down to rest
themselves; but their feelings would not permit them to pause long; and
they would up to their feet again, and scramble on as before.
For many hours--and many miles, say they--they walked, but saw no ray of
light to cheer them--saw nothing, felt nothing that they could
recognise. At times they thought they must be far into the mountain--
perhaps miles from the entrance of the cavern; at other times they
fancied they had gone several times through the same passage; and once
or twice they knew they had done so, by recognising the rocks over which
they had passed.
This gave them a hope that in time they might get acquainted with the
different turnings and passages,--and that would have been possible
enough; but it would have taken a long time, and what were they to
subsist upon while acquiring this knowledge? They thought of this, and
saw at once the foolishness of the hope they had conceived.
The dog Fritz moved along, sometimes before, sometimes by their side,
and sometimes in the rear. He kept silent, seemingly as much frightened
as they. They could tell he was there, by hearing at intervals the
scratching of his claws upon the rocks, when some boulder lay in the
way, and compelled him to scramble over it. What could Fritz do more
than they? In such darkness he could not see his nose any more than
they? No--but he could make use of that nose to direct himself, which
was more than any of his masters could do.
"Ha!" shouted Caspar, as this idea passed through his mind. "Ha,
brother! Ossaroo! why might not Fritz guide us? Why might he not scent
his way out of this horrid dungeon? Surely he must be as tired of it as
we are!"
"Let us try what may be done," rejoined Karl, by his tone showing that
he had no great hope in the experiment. "Call him up, Caspar! He knows
you best."
Caspar addressed the dog by name, adding a few coaxing words, and in an
instant Fritz was by his side.
"How shall we manage? Leave him to himself?" inquired Caspar.
"I fear he will stand still, and not attempt to go ahead of us," replied
Karl.
"We can try him."
And as Caspar made this suggestion, all stood silent and listening.
They stood a long while to give the dog a fair trial, but he knew not
what they wanted, and he remained patiently beside them without
manifesting any disposition to leave. The experiment was a failure.
"Now," suggested Karl, "let us urge him forward and follow after--
perhaps he will lead us in that way."
Fritz was now commanded to advance, and obeyed the command--for they
could hear him start off with a slight whimper; but to their chagrin
they found that they could not tell in what direction he had gone. Had
he been running on the scent of some animal, his occasional baying would
have served to guide them, as it had done while they were chasing the
bear. Now, however, the dog ran without noise; and although they could
hear an occasional scrape of his claws, yet it was not sufficiently
frequent or continuous to guide them. The experiment again failed, and
Fritz was whistled back.
But it was not without result. Like many other failures, it led to
reflection and a rearrangement of the machinery. A better plan soon
offered itself to the quick wit of Caspar; and Ossaroo had been thinking
of something similar when he cried out--
"Tie string to ee tail!"
"No," replied Caspar, "not to his tail, for then he would not go
forward; but let us hold him in a leash with the string round his neck,
in a regular way. That will be better, I warrant."
No sooner said than done. Thongs and belts were loosed from
powder-horns and pouches; a leash was constructed and fastened round the
neck of the dog, and he was then hunted forward as before.
Caspar handled the straps, and the others followed, guided by Caspar's
voice.
In this order they had scrambled along for a hundred yards or more, when
the dog began to whimper, and then to bay, as if going upon a trail; and
in a moment or two after, he came, all of a sudden, to a stop.
Caspar felt by his strong pulling on the leash, that the dog had sprung
forward and seized something. He stooped down and felt before him.
Instead of the hard cold rocks, his fingers came in contact with a mass
of long shaggy hair.
Alas! their hopes were dispelled. Instead of conducting to the mouth of
the cave, Fritz had only brought them back to the carcass of the bear!
CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT.
CAVERN-LIFE.
They were all filled with disappointment, and particularly that the dog,
having arrived at the spot where the bear had been killed, would go no
farther. Drive him as they would by commands, or coax him by words of
encouragement, he would not part from the carcass. Even when carried
off to some distance, and let go, he always drew Caspar back to the same
spot. It was very vexatious.
So thought they at first; but after a little reflection, they began to
think better of it; and to recognise in this incident something more
than chance. Karl especially thought so, and pointed out to his
companions that the hand of Providence had to do with it; and that that
same hand would yet conduct them safely out of the dismal dungeon into
which they had so imprudently ventured.
Karl's words had a cheering effect; for he pointed out how fortunate it
was for them that they had once more found the carcass. But for that
they should have had nothing to eat, and, as a matter of course, would
have soon perished of hunger.
Now, however, that the bear was found, they could subsist upon his flesh
for days; and during one of these days they might succeed in reaching
the entrance. They would take care not to lose the knowledge of the
place where the carcass lay; and whatever excursion they might make from
that spot, they should always arrange some clue by which they might
return to it.
Fortunately for them there was water in the cavern. In many places it
dripped from the rocks in sufficient quantity to give them as much as
they wanted for drink; and not far off they had crossed a little rivulet
that ran down the bottom of one of the great galleries. This they knew
they could find again; and, consequently they felt no apprehensions on
the score of water.
It was a question, then, how long they would be in finding the entrance,
and how long they could live upon the flesh of the bear.
The finding of Bruin's carcass had considerably bettered their
prospects; and as they gathered around it to dinner, they felt more
cheerful than they had done since the moment when they had laid it low.
As they ate, it was dark enough around them to have called the meal a
supper; and it was long enough since they had eaten their breakfast--
though they could not guess how long--but as they had eaten nothing
since breakfast, they styled this first meal upon the bear-meat their
dinner.
No dinner or supper was ever cooked like that--_it was not cooked at
all_! for they had no fire wherewith to cook it.
They were not squeamish. A very long interval had transpired since they
had eaten their slight breakfast. Karl and Caspar had refrained from
the uncooked viand until their appetite could resist no longer; and then
the raw flesh of the bear became palatable enough. It was supper time
with Ossaroo. His stomach had more easily got over its scruples, and he
had bolted his dinner long, long ago; so that when the others sat down
to their first meal, Ossaroo was able to join them at his second.
Both Karl and Caspar ate heartily enough,--quite as heartily as if a
chandelier with its wax-lights had been sparkling over their heads.
Perhaps the absence of light was a circumstance in their favour. The
huge paws--those "titbits" of the bear's flesh--constituted their
dinner; and hunters will tell you that, boiled, roasted, or _raw_, a
bear's paw is not bad eating.
When they had finished their meal, all three groped their way to where
they heard the trickling of water.
They found a place where it oozed in a rapid and continuous dripping
through the rocks; and, applying their mouths to this subterranean
fountain, they were enabled in a few moments to slake their thirst.
They then returned to where they had dined; and, being now much wearied
with their long-continued exertions, they stretched themselves upon the
rocks with the intention of having some sleep. Though their bed was a
hard one, it was not cold; for in the interior of great caverns it is
never cold. There the temperature is more equable than that of the
atmosphere without--being cooler in summer and warmer in winter, so that
variety is scarcely known--at all events, the extremes of heat and cold
are never felt. This is the ease with the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, and
other large caverns; and on this account it has been thought that
persons suffering from pulmonary complaints might derive benefit by
dwelling in caves. There are many such patients who make their home in
the Mammoth; and where a commodious hotel enables them to live in
comfort, and even luxury! It is possible enough that the mild and
equable temperature that exists under ground may enable the victim of
consumption to prolong life for a considerable time: but it is doubtful
whether any radical cure can be effected in this way; and the
unfortunate sufferer, once he emerges from his subterranean dwelling,
will be in as much danger from the insidious disease as before.
Little did Karl, Caspar, and Ossaroo, care for the mild atmosphere that
surrounded them in the cavern. They would gladly have exchanged it for
the hottest country in the torrid zone, or the coldest spot in all the
Arctic regions. Biting mosquitos in the former, or biting frost in the
latter, would have been more welcome than that mild and gentle climate
that surrounded them--that gloomy atmosphere, where sun had never shone,
and where snow had never fallen.
Notwithstanding their anxiety of mind, their weariness at length
overcame them, and all three fell fast asleep.
CHAPTER FIFTY NINE.
EXPLORATION OF THE CAVE.
They slept a good long while, though, whether if was by night or by day,
they had no means of judging. They could only guess at it, by
remembering how much time had transpired since they first entered the
cave; but to show how little trust can be placed in any conjectures of
this sort, they differed from one another in their estimates full twelve
hours!
Karl thought they had been wandering about nearly two days and a night;
while the others believed the time not so long by twelve hours at least.
Karl adduced a reason for his belief--the ravenous appetite which they
had acquired, and which must have taken a long time to grow upon them;
moreover, they had slept so long that he thought it must be in the
night-time--the natural time of rest, which the nerves would understand
without any clock to guide them. Karl admitted that his second reason
was somewhat lame, since, having missed one night of sleep, their nerves
on the day following would not be very nice about what hour they should
feel inclined towards slumber.
It is probable, however, that Karl was right in his conjecture. They
had been long hours wandering to and fro, and had rested many times.
The fuelling of horrid anxiety under which they had been suffering
always impelled them to press on; and no wonder they had lost all
definite recollection of the distance they had gone, or the time thus
fruitlessly spent. It had taken them a good while to get the ladder in
place; and the first day had been far spent before they were ready to
penetrate the cave. It was, therefore, quite probable that their first
sleep had been during the second night, after entering their gloomy
chamber.
Whether or not they had slept long and soundly enough--though not
without troubled dreams--in which they had encountered bears, fierce
shaggy yak-bulls, deep dangerous pits into which they were about to
fall, and high cliffs they were trying in vain to climb--it was quite
natural they should dream of such things.
It was the awaking that was most unnatural. Instead of a bright
sunshine to greet their eyes, or the soft blue light of morning, they
saw nought--all around was gloom. Instead of the music of birds, or
even the cheering sounds of active life, they heard nought. All around
was the silence of the tomb!
A tomb it might yet be to them--for a short while, perhaps, a living
tomb; but, sooner or later, a tomb for their dead bodies--a sepulchre
for their bones!
Such were their reflections on awaking. Their dreams while asleep were
even less horrid than the reality to which they awoke!
If the sense of sleep regards not the absence of light, still less is
the appetite of hunger affected by it. Once more the bear's paws were
drawn upon for a meal, and afforded it without boil or broil, bread or
salt.
As soon as they had eaten to their satisfaction, they rose to their
feet, and set about the work which Karl had already traced out in his
thoughts. Of course, before going about it he had fully communicated
his plans to his companions.
They were to make excursions in every direction from the spot where the
bear had been killed. There were many galleries leading from the
place--they had noticed that while their torches were yet burning. All
these they designed to explore, one after another. The explorations
were at first to be for short distances, until they had made themselves
familiar with the passage extending in some one particular direction.
This they would accomplish by _feeling_ the rocks on either side, until
they became thoroughly acquainted with the protuberances, or other marks
that could be used as guides. If none existed, they would make them, by
piling up stones at such places, or chipping a piece from the
stalactites with the hatchet. Their design, in effect, was to "blaze"
the passages, so that they would know them again, just as a woodman
marks his way through the pathless forest.
It was altogether an ingenious idea, and one that with time and patience
promised success. Indeed, it seemed the only plan that held out a hope
beyond mere chance--for amidst so many devious ways, to have proceeded
without some plan would have been to trust to chance, and that they had
tried already.
They well knew that to carry out their design would require both time
and patience; but by this, all three were well drilled in the lessons of
patience. The bridge-building had been a school for them. It might not
take much time, but it might; and for either result had they made their
minds ready.
In all probability, however, they might be long before they should set
their eyes upon a ray of the sun's light--before they should see that
bright disk of the cavern's mouth, that they had scarce looked at while
leaving it behind them.
It was their intention then, first, to take one particular direction,
and thoroughly explore that before penetrating into any other. When the
first should be traversed, either to its termination, or to such a
length as might influence them in believing they were in the wrong way,
they would then leave it, and set to exploring some other. Sooner or
later, they believed that this would bring them into the passage that
would conduct them out of their gigantic prison.
Before setting about the execution of their plan, they once more made
trial of Fritz, as upon the day before; but the dog would not part from
the spot; and though, encouraged by the voice of Caspar, he would beat
about for a certain space--it always ended by his returning to the
carcass of the bear.
As soon as they became convinced that Fritz would not guide them, they
released him from the string; and then, in real earnest, set about
carrying out the design of Karl.
Their mode of proceeding was quite ingenious. They groped about until
they found a large passage that led from the chamber or opening in which
they were. This gallery they resolved to explore first.
Lest by any mistake they might not find their way back, one always
remained at a certain point; while the other two went ahead--stopping at
intervals to blaze their way. Of course should the two who acted as
pioneers make a wrong turn, so as not to know the route back, the voice
of the third would at once guide them.
In this manner they proceeded without much difficulty, though with great
slowness. You will fancy they might have gone fast enough, their
retreat being thus secured for them. But there were many obstacles to
prevent a rapid advance. Each lateral passage they came to--and there
were numbers of these--had to be marked for future examination, and the
mark had to be made distinct and recognisable--this operation sometimes
requiring a considerable time to effect. They had also to make their
blazes at short intervals, so that these might be the more easily found
upon their return. Another impediment was found in the clambering over
sharp boulders, and getting across clefts that everywhere intercepted
their path.
Ay, slowly and with great caution were they compelled to make their
advance, and when _night came_--that is, when they had grown wearied and
hungry, and wanted food and rest--they calculated they had not proceeded
above half-a-mile from their place of departure. Of course no light had
cheered them throughout those long working hours; but for all that they
returned to the resting-place with their hearts still buoyed up with
hope. To-morrow,--or the morrow after, or still another morrow, what
mattered it?--they felt high confidence that on some morrow they would
look once more upon the sun.
CHAPTER SIXTY.
PRESERVING THE BEAR'S-MEAT.
There was one thing, however, about which they were apprehensive, and
that was about their larder--how long would it last? The bear was large
and fat, they could tell by the "feel" of him; and if they drew upon the
carcass for moderate rations, it would hold out for many days; but then
how was the meat to be preserved? Lying as it was--still unskinned--it
must soon become unfit for food, though not so soon as in the open air;
for meat will keep much longer in a cave,--that is, if it be a very deep
one, than it will when exposed to the full light of the sun.
This is easily explained. The principle of decomposition exists in the
atmosphere itself, as is well-known to every one who deals in the
hermetically-sealed airtight canisters of preserved meats; and if you
can but remove the atmosphere entirely from a piece of fish, flesh, or
vegetable, it is supposed that it will keep for ever!
In the interior of a cavern, of course there is still an atmosphere, but
it is rarer and of a less changeable sort, and, most probably, less
active in its powers to cause decay. Hence it is that within the cave
decomposition is slower than without; and, indeed, there are some
caverns where, instead of being decomposed, the bodies of men and
animals have been found still retaining their proper forms, only
shrivelled into smaller size, and dried up like mummies.
Though there was water here and there in the cavern, in all other places
it was exceedingly dry. They could tell that the air was so, because
the rocks felt dry, and in some places there was dust that was perfectly
ready to puff up at the touch. They had noticed this while in pursuit
of the bear. Both bear and dog had more than once been found enveloped
in a cloud of dust as the hunters came near them with the torches.
Indeed, they could tell that the atmosphere of the cavern was dry by
simply breathing it in,--it felt dry to the throat.
Under the keen apprehension which they had lest the meat should spoil
before they could find the entrance of the cave, their wits were set to
work to find some means of preserving it. Salt they had none, and
therefore pickling was out of the question. Had they been able to
procure the material to make a fire, they could have managed without
salt by smoking the meat; but fire-wood was just then as difficult to be
got at as salt. Even without either, had they only been in the open
air, with the warm sun shining down upon them, they could have cured
that bear-meat so that it would have kept good for months.
Alas! the sun's rays were as inaccessible as either the salt or the
fuel.
Preserving the meat by any one of the three different modes of salting,
smoking, or jerking, was alike out of their power.
Having already noticed the extreme dryness of the atmosphere, it
occurred to them that if the meat were cut into very thin slices or
strips, and then hung up, or spread out upon the rocks, it might not
spoil at once--at all events, it might keep for a longer period than if
suffered to lie as it was in one great mass. This was Ossaroo's
suggestion, and a good one it was. At all events, nothing better could
be thought of, and after some consideration, they determined to act upon
it.
Where were they to procure lights? How was the bear to be skinned
without light? How was the flesh to be cut up and spread out?
These were questions that did not present the slightest obstacle--our
adventurers scarce gave thought to them. They had by this time almost
learnt to work in the darkness; and as for the skinning of the bear,
Ossaroo could have performed that operation if it had even been
darker,--supposing this to be possible. There was no difficulty about
lights; and the shikarree, having been assisted by the others to place
the carcass in a proper attitude, set to work with the keen blade of his
knife, and, almost as readily as if a dozen candles had been held by
him, he stripped off the shaggy hide, and laid it back upon the rocks.
The cutting the flesh into slices and strips would be easily effected,
though it would require more time, and should be done with great nicety.
If not sliced very thin, the meat would be liable to spoil the sooner.