christened the Echo and Roaring Rivers, the Styx and the Lethe;
the last often called Oblivion, because the unclassical public is
resolved to pronounce the Greek title as if it were a monosyllable.
The Echo River is renowned for its echoes. It is much larger and more
striking than the other streams, and when it is high, as it usually
is in the spring, it is difficult to cross. When I last made the
passage, I had to lie almost flat in the little boat to get under the
shelving rocks, and, only a few days before, the guides had to stop
there in consequence of the swollen stream. After we had rowed out a
little way, we shouted, and called, and sang, and had the pleasure
of hearing our words come back to us again and again, with almost
perfect articulation. Even the tone of the voice and the emphases are
preserved, and I could scarcely believe sometimes that persons were
not concealed, and repeating our phrases. The thick darkness, and the
weird aspect of the cavern at that point, aid the fancy, and stimulate
the feeling of superstition, said to exist, more or less, in every
human breast. Two hundred years ago, countless witnesses might have
been found to tell of hobgoblins and demons they had heard with their
own ears, and seen with their own eyes, too, in the ghastly vault.
The Roaring River does not roar much,—indeed, not at all,—and is not
especially noteworthy. It is a dark and turbid stream when it is high,
though at its lower stage, it is as clear as any of the south-western
waters. We rowed over it, as we had rowed over the Echo River, our
little scow being as inconvenient, awkward, and dirty as its fellow.
The Styx flows about a hundred feet below the floor of the cave, and
is passed by a rough wooden bridge. We could hear the murmur of the
stream below, and tried, with the aid of our lamps, to see it. We did
not succeed until the guide attached two or three of the lights to
a long pole, and let them down over the bridge. Then we saw a great
fissure in the rock (manifestly made by the water), the walls of
which are tolerably smooth. The borders of the chasm were so slippery
that great caution was necessary to prevent one from falling into the
yawing gulf. Near the Styx is the Bottomless Pit—a nominal no less
than an actual hyperbole, because it has a bottom not more than one
hundred and seventy-five feet from the spot where we stood. We peered
down into it as best we could, and concluded that it merited its title
in point of gloom and dreariness.
[Sidenote: DESCENDING THE BOTTOMLESS PIT.]
Until within a few years the pit had never been descended; but
several enterprising and rapid Kentuckians, who had done nothing to
distinguish themselves, thought they would render their names historic
by becoming acquainted temporarily with the region which, they feared,
they might know permanently in the future. They went to the spot well
prepared with lights, ropes, hooks, and ladders; but the place looked
so ugly that only one of them had the nerve to go down. He came within
an ace of breaking his neck several times before he was lowered to the
base, where, after groping about for half an hour, and finding nothing
but rough rocks, he expressed a desire to be pulled up again.
This was easier said than done, in consequence of the difficulty of
managing the rope. On his upward passage he was jammed against the
walls, and cut by sharp ledges, until he was exhausted, more from
terror and pain than from loss of blood; and finally he was dragged
to the top, just as the rope, in several places, held only by a few
slight strands. He did not recover from his wounds and the shock
to his nervous system for a long while, and he frequently asserted
that he would not repeat the excursion for any consideration under
heaven. He never recovered, I may say, from the indirect effect of his
exploit; for it gave him a certain local notoriety, and he nourished
his fame on such generous quantities of Bourbon whiskey, known in
the state as Kentucky wine, that, after several brilliant seasons of
imbibition at Frankfort, the delirium tremens and two undertakers took
him to his eternal home.
Since then, the descent of the Bottomless Pit has been made not
unfrequently, one of George D. Prentice’s sons having performed the
feat, and furnished a two-column article of sophomorical extolment
thereon in the Louisville Journal.
The Lethe has steep and rocky banks, and as we floated down its
current, through the almost tangible darkness, with our flickering
torches and the hollow murmur of our voices, it really seemed as if
we might be disembodied spirits on the sad Plutonian shore. When
we ceased to chatter, the dropping of water through the roof into
the stream, and the dip of the oars, broke the silence with strange
impressiveness.
[Sidenote: MUSIC ON THE LETHE.]
Sam Meredith was not musical: but I remember on a previous occasion,
that our ancient sable guide treated me to a dirge on the flute, while
we glided over the bosom of the river of oblivion. The effect was
magical; the solemn strains were so in keeping with the sombreness of
the surroundings, the flame of the torches was so weird and fitful,
the faces of the tourists looked so pale and wondering, and the ebony
player assumed such an impishness of form and feature, that I should
not have been in the least astonished to meet, sailing along in
another boat, spirits long departed from the world.
Would it had been Lethe indeed! How gladly I should have drank of
its waters! how willingly have forgotten the earthly life and all
its sorrows, including the bad breakfast I was to get at the hotel
the next morning, and the boredom I was doomed to encounter for the
fortnight to come!
On the long route the most noticeable localities are the passage of
El Ghor, a long, narrow, covered causeway; the Brown Chamber, so
called from the color of its walls, and its square, apartment-like
shape; Martha’s Vineyard, the roof of which resembles clusters of
grapes cut in marble; Snow-ball Grotto, showing a remarkable likeness
to sculptured (floral) snowballs overhead; the Rose Chamber, a fine
counterfeit of roses in rock; Silliman’s Avenue, a narrow gallery so
regular that it might have been the work of engineers; and numerous
chambers of different proportions, and marked by striking geological
features.
The Maelstrom is an ordinary pool containing an eddy and a great
disappointment at the same time. It is no more of a sham, however,
than the famous (fabulous) whirlpool off the coast of Norway, which
was supposed to carry down ships and whales, and which in reality is
not perilous to vessels or even small open boats, except during winter
and in time of violent storms.
The Rocky Mountains, the end of the long route, extend about a mile,
and are nothing more than an extremely rough surface detrimental to
the physical comfort and shoe-leather of those going over them. Women
seldom attempt this passage, which has little to commend it except the
difficulty of its execution, and the probability of fatigue in its
accomplishment.
[Sidenote: EYELESS FISH IN THE ECHO RIVER.]
I should have mentioned the celebrated eyeless fish, peculiar to the
Echo and other rivers. They have been the cause of many scientific
theories and speculations among _savants_, who have deduced from them
either that Nature does not furnish organs which are of no use, or
that organs unemployed cease to exist. Abundant as the fish are, it
is difficult to catch them, and I was considered extremely fortunate
because I secured three or four in as many minutes. I gave them to
a man who had dabbled somewhat in science, and he was very grateful
for the present. I told him he need not be, for I would rather have
half a dozen brook trout or a Spanish mackerel for breakfast than
all the eyeless fish the Mammoth Cave contained. These sightless
little creatures, generally about four inches long, resemble ordinary
minnows, though of a rather darker hue, and more inclined to
translucency.
On the short route, the Giant’s Causeway, the Gothic Chapel, the
Grand Dome, and the Star Chamber, especially the last, have the most
reputation and attract the most attention. The Causeway receives its
name from its likeness to the Causeway on the coast of Ireland, and
the likeness is considerable, as I can testify by actual observation.
The Chapel is striking and picturesque, albeit there is no more
reason to call it Gothic than Doric or Ionic. It closely resembles
a chapel, and I should fancy Nature might have been in an
ecclesiastico-architectural mood when she formed it.
The Grand Dome is seen through a large opening in the wall, and shows
to great advantage, being about one hundred feet below the ordinary
level, and one hundred feet above, and possessing a vastness and
majesty to which few other parts of the cave can lay claim.
[Sidenote: WONDERS OF THE STAR CHAMBER.]
The amount of rhetoric the Star Chamber has given rise to is beyond
calculation. It has supplied innumerable similes, and has been
discoursed upon in every language. The Chamber is some seventy feet
high, and the roof is composed of crystal of gypsum, and black
oxide of manganese. As soon as we entered the Chamber, the guide
took several of our lamps, descended into a hollow in the rock, and
threw the light therefrom upon the ceiling. The effect was wonderful.
The light, striking upon the crystals of gypsum, made them look
precisely like stars, and—all the lower part of the vault being in
deep shadow—created so complete an illusion that I could hardly
doubt but that I was standing under the evening sky. Never was space
so elongated. Those seventy feet seemed immeasurable. The longer I
gazed, the more the shining ceiling appeared like the heavens. I could
scarcely believe that I was under ground, and that the green grass and
trees were growing above my head. I was completely lost for a while,
just as any one will be after a long and earnest contemplation of the
stars; and when the guide stepped out of the hollow with the lamps,
and changed the scene entirely, I felt as if I had been awakened
from a dream. My companions were unreserved in their expressions of
astonishment and delight, and “beautiful,” “splendid,” “magnificent,”
“marvellous” were the adjectives that dropped momentarily from their
lips. The Mammoth Cave would be well worth visiting, if its only
wonder were the Star Chamber. I have seen it a number of times, and
each time its beauty is greater, and its illusion more complete.
[Illustration: VIEWS IN MAMMOTH CAVE, KENTUCKY.]
The dimensions of the cave find their extremes in the Fat Man’s
Misery and the Grand Dome—the former not more than twelve inches
wide, and the latter over a hundred feet. The height varies quite as
much. The Valley of Humility, where one is obliged to make a crawling
L of himself, is offset by the loftiest rocky chambers; and the
frequently smooth limestone floor is diversified by streams, ledges,
and roughnesses culminating in the so-styled Rocky Mountains. What the
cave lacks more than aught else is stalactites and stalagmites, though
these are found well represented in the Gothic Chapel. The great
cavern is noted for its variety, having nearly all the remarkable
features that characterize other celebrated caves. It is no less
attractive to the ordinary sight-seer than it is to the naturalist,
the geologist, or the general lover of science. It appeals to every
taste—to that of the poet and of the philosopher, of the curious and
the enthusiastic, of the reverent and the sceptical, of the worldling
and the mystagogue.
[Sidenote: FATIGUES OF THE JOURNEY.]
How did your party come out? The masculine portion of it very much
as it went in, except that some members complained very bitterly of
fatigue. The feminine portion suffered in various ways. The young
woman who had been changed for the worse by the cave costume, grew
homelier and homelier every mile she went, and so disenchanted her
immediate companion—he was her lover, I think—that after the excursion
he ceased to regard her with fond and favoring eyes.
The other young woman, who needed not the foreign aid of ornament,
steadily improved with fatigue, drippings of water, and splashings of
mud. If she had fallen into the Styx or Lethe, and then been drawn
for half an hour over the floor of the cave, I have little doubt she
would have appeared charming. I never knew one of her sex to make such
æsthetic advances under adverse circumstances.
The plethoric widow gave out a dozen times during the journey,
detained us materially, and was at last left behind, in company with
a sympathizing friend, until the rest of us had retraced our steps,
and literally taken her up again. She declared that she never would be
able to get rested; and two weeks after her journey I heard she was
still an inmate of the hotel, bemoaning her fatigue and disordered
nerves.
Persons have been lost, from time to time, in the cave, but not
nearly so often as has been reported. Some years ago, one of a party
who made the exploration disappeared in the Star Chamber, and all
effort to find him proved abortive. When they went back to the hotel,
the greater part of the valuables belonging to the excursionists,
which had been deposited with the landlord, had faded out of sight.
Investigation established a close connection between the disappearance
of the man in the Star Chamber and the watches and jewelry. The
fellow was, unquestionably, a professional thief, but had pretended
to be a clergyman from St. Louis. After the party had set out, he
hurried back to the house, and informing Boniface that the ladies
and gentlemen had altered their minds, and preferred to take their
valuables with them, the latter was unsuspecting enough to hand them
over. The pretended divine rejoined the excursionists, kept his own
counsel, and consulted his interests by disappearing from the Star
Chamber when the lamps had been removed.
[Sidenote: ACCIDENTS IN THE CAVE.]
In 1835 two men from Bourbon County, Kentucky,—their appearance
indicated that they had for a long time quaffed the fiery beverage of
that region,—arrived at Bell’s Tavern, and declared that they could go
all through the cave without a guide, and come out safely. They even
laid wagers to that effect, and though they were warned against such
folly, they started upon their expedition. They certainly went in, but
they have never come out; and as thirty-seven years have elapsed, it
is highly probable they have deferred their return indefinitely. It
is supposed that they got lost in some of the windings off the main
route, and starved to death.
In the summer of 1840, a middle-aged lady from Boston suddenly swooned
from fatigue, while making the underground journey, and sinking to the
earth in silence, the remainder of the party went on without missing
her. On their way back, the guide observed her sitting on a stone,
chattering to herself like a monkey. The poor woman had become insane.
Recovering her consciousness, and finding herself in the darkness,—for
in her fall she had extinguished her lamp,—she had believed herself
lost, as it is supposed, and the terror had shattered her intellect.
The excursionists had not been absent two hours; and yet that
brief time was sufficient to destroy her reason utterly. She never
recovered, and died two years after in the Worcester (Massachusetts)
Insane Asylum, a raving maniac.
To be lost in the Mammoth Cave would be enough to overturn the
strongest brain, since, with all its beauties and wonders, it has
capacities for terrible tragedy and ineffable horror.
XXXII.
INSURANCE AND ITS MYSTERIES.
HISTORY OF FIRE AND MARINE INSURANCE.—LIFE INSURANCE.—OBJECTIONS
OF A CALIFORNIAN.—HOW HE ANSWERED AN AGENT.—FRAUDS UPON
COMPANIES.—A DEEP-LAID SCHEME.—JOHNSON AND HIS THIRTY THOUSAND
DOLLARS.—OPENING A GRAVE.—A FICTITIOUS CORPSE.—PURSUIT BY
DETECTIVES AND CAPTURE OF THE SWINDLER.—LITIGATIONS ABOUT
INSURANCE.—CHINESE TRICKS ON AGENTS.—SUBSTITUTES FOR EXECUTION.
The system of fire and marine insurance has been in use for centuries.
The Chinese claim to have invented it, as they have claimed nearly
everything else; but the probabilities are, that it was of western
origin. It is alluded to in the English laws about the middle of the
thirteenth century. Its earliest form was in that of marine insurance;
afterwards the system of fire insurance was invented. Still later came
insurance against death, which has grown in recent years to very great
proportions.
Many people are unable to understand how insurances can be effected
against an event which is sure to happen. There is a story of a man in
California who was approached by an insurance agent with a request to
take out a policy on his life. The agent painted in glowing colors the
advantages of insurance, and the man listened to him very patiently.
When the agent had finished his story, the victim said with great
deliberation, “Stranger, I have lived in this yere country twenty-five
years. I have bucked agin nearly every game that they have ever
brought out, but I’ll be hanged if I want to play at anything where I
have got to die before I can win.”
[Sidenote: OBJECTIONS TO INSURANCE.]
The objection which this individual made against insuring his life,
was a very natural one, and is an objection made by many people,
though in a different form. The insurance companies, some of them at
least, meet this objection with a plan by which a man arriving at a
certain age without dying, can draw the money that would come to his
heirs in case he died before the specified age was attained. They have
devised other plans to meet the objections of all classes of people,
and it is safe to say, that the system of life insurance is about
as near perfection as it is possible to bring it. It is a question
whether, in many cases, the companies do not reap a much larger
advantage than is their just due. It is noticeable that the companies,
as a general thing, pay enormous salaries to their officers, erect
costly buildings, pay heavy dividends, and have a good time generally.
The conclusion is natural that the rates of insurance are altogether
too high, and the advantages are much greater for the companies than
for their patrons.
It is possible, sometimes, for dishonest men to defraud the insurance
companies, though it is not always easy. The companies are generally
on the safe side; they require the most positive proof of the death
of a person whose life has been insured, and they throw a great many
obstacles in the way of the collection of the amount of the insurance.
I have known them to demand one certificate after another, and compel
the person who was endeavoring to collect the insurance money to make
ten or twelve visits to the office before meeting his just demands.
Very often, after the death of an insured person, questions are raised
which were never before mentioned. The premiums may have been paid
for years, and the officers of the company claim to make a discovery
that relieves them from all responsibility. In some cases their action
in this respect is just, but in many others it is about as unjust as
anything that can well be conceived. It would seem proper that where a
person has been accepted for insurance, and the premiums on the amount
of money called for have been regularly paid and received without
objection, no objection should be raised after the person’s death.
[Sidenote: NEAT FRAUD ON A COMPANY.]
Some interesting stories are told of the way in which insurance
companies are sometimes defrauded. One was told to me by the secretary
of a prominent company in New York, which indicates great ingenuity on
the part of the swindler.
“One day,” said the secretary, “a man called at our office, and said
he wished to effect an insurance of ten thousand dollars on his life,
and was ready to submit himself for immediate examination.
“The physician of the company was called in, and made a careful
examination of this man, whom I will call Johnson. Johnson was
pronounced a good subject. All sorts of questions were asked, and he
answered all of them satisfactorily. He was closely inspected. His
limbs were pinched, and his chest was thumped in the orthodox way,
but no defect could be discovered. To all appearances he was good for
three-score and ten, and possibly more. He gave us references, stated
that he was a clerk in an up-town house, and his statement was fully
verified. I called upon his employer, inquired about his clerk, and
was told that his character was of the best, and that he was a very
industrious and strictly temperate young man. We were satisfied, and
insured his life for the full amount.
“In a little while he made a request to be permitted to travel west,
and of course we granted it. His parents lived in a small town in
Connecticut. He had married in New York, and had been married for
three or four years. Occasionally he took his wife on a brief visit
to his old home. He went west soon after his application, and we lost
sight of him. His wife accompanied him, and he announced his intention
of finding employment and settling in one of the western cities.
“Six or eight months after his departure, his wife telegraphed to her
friends in the east that her husband was very ill with pneumonia. Two
days later she telegraphed that he was dead, and that she would bring
the body to Connecticut for burial.
“In due course of time she arrived, dressed in deep mourning, and
evidently suffering from deep grief. The funeral was held, his parents
attended, the coffin was opened, and the features were visible through
the glass plate, though they were much dimmed by the moisture which
collected on the inside.
“A few days after the funeral, the widow, whose name had been
inserted in the policy at the request of her loving husband, called
at our office, presented the proper papers, and made the necessary
application. We made an investigation, were satisfied that everything
was correct, and paid over the money.
“We lost sight of the widow after that, but learned casually that
after a short residence in New York she had gone to California.
[Sidenote: AN EXTENSIVE SWINDLE.]
“We happened to learn also, soon after, that the same man had insured
his life for ten thousand dollars in another company, a Massachusetts
one, having an agency in New York; and also in a Hartford company for
the same amount. Of course this naturally raised our suspicions. The
premium on thirty thousand dollars is a very heavy one for a man on a
clerks salary, and we became convinced that all was not right; so we
began an investigation.
“We saw the merchant that had employed Johnson while in this city,
and learned that the young man went west at the time indicated.
The merchant had heard of his death, but had no positive proof or
knowledge of it. Then we went to the village in Connecticut whence
Johnson had hailed, and though we made the most searching inquiries,
we could learn nothing to confirm our suspicions. His parents were
positive of his death. Had they not seen his widow? and had they not
seen his features through the glass plate of the coffin? and had they
not seen that coffin buried in the public cemetery? To their minds
everything was perfectly straight, and they were indignant at our
supposing that there might be something wrong.
“I had a suspicion that the body in the coffin might be a ‘dummy’
with a wax face, in imitation of the features of Johnson. So I hired
the sexton in charge of the cemetery to open the grave and allow me
to examine the interior of the coffin. We did the work at night,
and unknown to Johnson’s parents, as we knew they would be greatly
offended if they learned what was going on. But I was doomed to
disappointment, as the corpse proved to be genuine, and as good a one
as ever was buried. Plainly I was on the wrong scent when searching
for a body of straw and a face of wax.
“The three companies agreed to work in concert, and share the expenses
of an investigation into the whole affair. We sent a detective to the
city where Johnson had died, and after a little inquiry he ascertained
that a man answering to the name of Johnson, and the proper
description, had actually died in that city. His body had been sent
to the east, and that was all that was known; but it was ascertained
that instead of dying of pneumonia after a few days’ illness, the man
had lingered some time with a disease strongly resembling consumption.
Here was a clew which we determined to follow up.
[Sidenote: PURSUING A WIDOW.]
“As the widow had gone to California, we told the detective to follow,
and trace her out. She had written no letters to the parents of her
dead husband, except a single one announcing her arrival at San
Francisco, and giving a brief description of her overland journey. She
said she had friends living near San Francisco, and she expected to
reside a short time with them; perhaps she might remain in that place
through the winter, and perhaps not; could not tell; would write again.