THE CAVE OF THE BATS
When the nine small gunny-sacks stenciled "Skylark, 1870," were emptied
on the floor of the house, the Crustacea of the Atlantic's sands had
found a resting-place on the summit of Whiteside Mountain, and might
yet furnish evidence to some grave scientist of the future to prove
beyond a doubt that the sea at no very remote period had surged above
the peaks of the Blue Ridge. Starfish, shells, and bones, and
fragments of the legs of spider-crabs, horseshoe-crabs, and crayfish,
and some very active sand-fleas afforded much scientific amusement to
our exiles, and brought vividly to mind the boom of the sea and the
whitebait and whales that wiggle-waggle in its depth.
Neither the telescope nor the army blanket with "U.S." in the center,
nor the two combined, had brought any visitors to the three soldiers,
nor any information of the real state of affairs in the United States,
which would quickly have terminated their exile.
The very pathetic and amusing volume of stories found in the
alligator-skin bag caused more tears and healthy laughter than the
soldiers had given way to since their great disappointment, and
actually brought about such neglect of the October work on the
plantation that more than half the potato crop rotted in the ground.
On the 21st of that month in this very balloon year, the area of
Sherman Territory was extended by the addition of half an acre of rocks
and brambles on the boulder side of the mountain, and afterward of much
more, as will be shown in due time.
The twenty-first day of October in the year '70, then, was a lowery
day. A strong, humid wind was blowing steadily across the mountain and
soughing in the boughs of the pines, while the low clouds, westward
bound, flew in ragged rifts overhead. It was a pleasant wind to feel,
and the rising and falling cadence of its song reminded the soldiers of
a wind from the sea. In the successive seasons they had gleaned the
grove so thoroughly, even cutting the dry limbs from the trees, that
they were now obliged to search under the carpet of needles for the fat
pine-knots which formerly lay in abundance on the surface.
At the extreme southern end of the tongue of land on which the pines
grew, a solitary stump clung in the base of the cliff. The outer fiber
of the wood had crumbled away, leaving the resinous heart and the tough
roots firmly bedded in the soil. They had been chopping and digging
for an hour before they loosened and removed the central mass.
Continuing their quest for one of the great roots which ran into the
earth under the cliff, George dealt a vigorous stroke on the rotten
stone and earth behind, which yielded so unexpectedly that he lost his
footing, and at the same time his hold on the ax, which promptly
disappeared into the bowels of the earth. They heard it ring upon the
rocks below with strange echoes, as if it had fallen into a
subterraneous cavern. At the same time the wind rushed through the
opening in a current warmer than the surrounding atmosphere, and
brought with it a strong, offensive smell, as if they had entered a
menagerie in August. As soon as the soldiers recovered from their
surprise they set vigorously to work for the recovery of the ax,
attacking the loose earth with their gold-tipped shovel and with the
tough oaken handspike with which they had been prying at the stump.
Their efforts rapidly enlarged the opening, and presently the great
root itself tumbled in after the ax. Philip ran to the house for a
light, and by the time he returned with a blazing torch, Coleman and
Bromley had enlarged the opening under the cliff until it was wide
enough to admit their bodies easily. All was darkness, even blackness,
within, and the rank animal smell was as offensive as ever, so that
Philip held his nose in disgust.
By passing the torch into the opening of the cavern they could see the
ax lying on the earthen floor ten feet below, and to the right the
overlapping strata of granite seemed to offer a rude stairway for their
descent. George entered at once, with the torch in one hand, and in
the other the handspike with which to test his footing in advance. In
another moment he stood on the hard floor by the ax and the light of
his torch revealed the rocky sides of the cavern stretching away to the
south along the side of the mountain. Coleman provided himself with
one of the fattest of the pine-knots, and descended into the cavern
after Bromley. With some hesitation Philip followed.
The resinous smoke of the torches relieved the subterraneous atmosphere
somewhat of its offensive animal odor, and the flames flooded the walls
and ceiling with light. Their voices, calling to each other as they
advanced, sounded abnormally loud, and seemed to fill the space about
them with a cavernous ring in which they detected no side echoes which
would indicate lateral chambers branching off from the main passage.
By the current of air flaring the torches back toward the opening they
had made, they knew that the passage itself must be open to the day at
its other end. The roof seemed to be about eight feet above their
heads, although at times it drew nearer, and occasionally it retired to
a greater altitude, but never beyond the searching illumination of
their torches.
Presently, as they advanced, their attention was drawn to brown masses
of something like fungi clinging to the rock overhead, but partaking so
closely of the color and texture of the stone that they seemed, after
all, to be but flinty lumps on the roof. As Bromley, who was in front,
came to a point where the ceiling hung so low as to be within reach, he
swept the flame of his torch across one of these brown patches, and
straightway the stifling air was filled with a squeaking, unearthly
chorus, and with the beating of innumerable wings. Scorched by the
flame and blinded by the light, many of these disabled creatures, which
proved to be a colony of bats, fluttered to the floor, and dashed
against the bare feet of the soldiers with a clammy touch that made the
cold chills rise in their hair.
This was too much for Philip, who turned back to join Tumbler in the
open air at the mouth of the cavern. At the same time, however, the
offensive odor was accounted for, and Bromley and Coleman had no
further fear of meeting larger animals as they advanced. As a lover of
animals, George was shocked at the cruel consequences of his rash
action; as a bold explorer, however, he pushed on into the gruesome
darkness at a pace that soon left Coleman's prudent feet far behind.
The latter had a wholesome fear of treading on some yielding crust
which might precipitate him to other and more terrible depths.
The way seemed to turn somewhat as they advanced; for at times the
light of George's torch vanished behind the projection of one or the
other wall, and at such times Coleman called eagerly to him to wait.
Bromley's cheery voice, evidently advancing, came ringing back so
distinctly that his companion was reassured by his seeming nearness.
Once, when the darkness had continued for a long time in front, Coleman
began to be alarmed at the thought that Bromley's torch must have gone
out, and then the fear that he might have fallen into some fissure in
the rocks made him cold about the heart.
Lieutenant Coleman was now picking his way more gingerly than ever, and
holding his light high above his head, when, to add to his terror, he
thought he heard something approaching behind him. Sure enough, when
he turned about, in the darkness of the cavern just beyond the
illumination of his torch he saw two gleaming eyes. The eyes were
fixed upon him, and the head of the animal moved from side to side, but
came no nearer. He would have given worlds for the carbine. His blood
ran cold in his veins at the thought of his terrible situation. He was
utterly helpless, hemmed in by the rocks. It was impossible to go
back. He could only go forward. He remembered then that the fiercest
of wild animals, even lions and tigers, kept back in the darkness and
glared all night with their hungry eyes at the fires of hunters. He
was safe, then, to go on, but a dreadful conflict was in store for the
two men if the animal should follow them out of the cavern.
[Illustration: "BEYOND THE ILLUMINATION OF HIS TORCH HE SAW TWO
GLEAMING EYES."]
Bromley's torch now reappeared in the distance. Coleman was too
terrified to call, but instead moved on in silence, occasionally
flaring his torch behind him, and always seeing the gleaming eyes when
he looked back. Try as he would, he could get no farther from them.
There were occasional stumbling-blocks in the way, and once or twice he
encountered rocks which he was obliged to pass around. Whenever
Coleman turned and waved the torch, the animal whined as if he too were
in fear.
Terrified as Lieutenant Coleman was, he could not help noticing that
the brown colonies of bats now appeared more frequently on the stone
ceiling, and presently the air grew perceptibly fresher as he advanced.
He began to realize the presence of a gray light apart from that of his
torch; and finally coming sharply around a projecting rock, he saw the
welcome light of day streaming in through a wide opening in the rocks,
and at one side, thrust into a crevice, George's torch was flaring and
smoking in the wind. Coleman placed his torch with the other, hoping
that the lights would continue to protect them from the animal and then
he sprang out of the cavern into the sweet open air, with that joyous
feeling of relief which can be understood only by one who has passed
through a similar experience.
George was standing in the dry grass, with a great stone in each hand,
as if he already knew their danger and was prepared; but when Coleman
told him in hurried words what they had to expect, he dropped the
stones, and they began to look about for a place of safety. It was not
far to a high rock upon which they both scrambled, and then Bromley let
himself down again, and passed up a number of angular stones for
ammunition. Whatever the mysterious beast might be, they could keep
him off from the rock for a time, but they were not prepared for a
siege. They had little to say to each other, and that in whispers as
they strained their eyes to look into the entrance to the cavern.
Bromley, however, was softly humming a tune, and just as Coleman looked
up at him in astonishment he dropped the stones from his hands and
burst into laughter; and sure enough, there in the mouth of the cavern
stood their tame bear, Tumbler, wagging his head from side to side just
as Coleman had seen the mysterious eyes move in the darkness, and,
moreover, he was still licking his chops after the feast he had made on
the bats.
Lieutenant Coleman had been so alarmed at first, and then so gratified
at the happy outcome of his adventure, that he had not noticed the
character of the stones which Bromley had been handling. It was not
until his attention was called to a flake of mica that he looked about
him on the ground, to see every where blocks and flakes of what is
commonly called isinglass. They could have something better than
wooden shutters for their windows now.
By a certain gnarled chestnut which overhung the cliff above them,
growing out of the hill near the spring, they estimated the length of
the subterraneous passage to be not less than a quarter of a mile. The
sun, which had broken through the clouds, indicated by the angle of his
rays that the afternoon was well past. They now thought it advisable
to retrace their steps through the unsavory cavern. In view of the
stifling passage, Coleman inhaled deep drafts of the sweet outer air,
and shuddered involuntarily at the necessity of repeating the
experience, even when he knew the animal now following him was only
stupid old Tumbler. George handed him a piece of the mica to carry,
and his careless, happy mood indicated that he returned to the
subterraneous passage as gaily as if it were a pleasant walk overland.
As they drew near the entrance to the cavern, with the bear shambling
at their heels, an indefinable dread of trouble ahead took possession
of Coleman. It might have been the absence of the resinous smell of
the torches. At all events, they were presently standing in the
gruesome half-light before the empty crevice, through which they could
see their pine-knots still burning fifty feet below in an inner cavern.
As their torches had burned to the edge of the rock they had fallen
through the opening. They were without fire, and if they should
succeed in striking it with their flints, they had no means of carrying
it a hundred yards into the darkness. The situation was frightful.
Outside, the perpendicular cliff rose a matter of sixty feet to the
overhanging trees of the plateau, and close to the south ledge, which
towered above it. The two men and the bear were prisoners on this
barren shelf of rocks, with a quarter of a mile of subterraneous
darkness separating them from food and shelter--from life itself. Was
it their destiny, Coleman thought, to die of starvation among these
inhospitable rocks, hung like a speck between the plateau and the
valley, watched by the circling eagles and by the patient buzzards, who
would perch on the nearer tree-tops to await their dissolution? The
very thought of the situation unmanned him.
[Illustration: EXPLORING THE CAVE OF THE BATS.]
Lieutenant Coleman was not a man to shrink from enemies whom he could
see; but the darkness and the dangers of the half-explored cavern
terrified him. Corporal Bromley, on the other hand, was only made
angry by the loss of the torches; and the livid expression of his face
reminded his comrade of the morning when they had received the news of
General Sherman's death before the works at Atlanta. In a moment,
however, he was calm. Without a word, he walked away among the rocks,
and when he came back he held in his hands a lithe pole ten or twelve
feet long.
"Not a very interesting outlook, Fred, for a man who would rather be
eating his supper," said George, trying the strength of his pole; "but
you must be patient and amuse yourself as best you can."
Lieutenant Coleman stared at Bromley in speechless amazement as he
disappeared into the cavern, carrying the pole across his breast. It
was something less than courage--it was the utter absence of the
instinct of fear which the others had so often noticed in his
character. Would he succeed the better for the very want of this
quality with which the All-wise has armed animal life for its
protection? Perhaps.
The bear was snuffing about Coleman as if he were trying to understand
why he remained; and when he failed to attract his attention, he turned
about and shambled after Bromley.
Although Coleman was deeply concerned by the dangers which threatened
his comrade, he reasoned with certainty that wherever Bromley was, he
was as calm as an oyster, regarding his progress as only a question of
time and some bruises.
To keep his mind away from the cavern, he rose mechanically, and began
to gather up the fragments of mica and heap them together. For an hour
he threaded his way among the rocks, thus employed. The glittering
heap grew larger, for the supply was quite inexhaustible, and he
discovered fresh deposits on every hand.
It was now grown quite dark, and he made his way to the mouth of the
cavern, vainly hoping to see a star advancing in the darkness, but only
to meet a flight of bats wheeling out into the night. Carefully he
crept back and seated himself on a smooth stone by the side of his
store of mica, and imagined himself a hunter in the middle of a
trackless desert, dying for a drop of water beside a princely fortune
in accumulated elephants' tusks. When he looked up the dark mass of
the tree-crowned cliff cut softly against a lighter gloom; but when he
turned his eyes away from the mountain, the sky or the clouds, or
whatever it might be, seemed to surround him and press upon him. Oh,
for one star in the distance to lift the sky from his head; or, better
yet, the calm face of the moon, and the touch of its yellow light on
tree and stone! Instead of anything so cheerful, a patter of raindrops
met his up-turned face, as if in mockery of his wish; and then the rain
increased to a steady downpour, beating from the east, and he knew the
autumnal equinox was upon them. He reflected that George might never
feel the rain. Miserable thought! What if he were to perish in the
darkness, separated from him and from Philip, after having lived so
long together! Coleman might have sought shelter in the mouth of the
cavern; but he was indifferent to the rain falling on his bare back and
canvas trousers.
How long he had been waiting, two hours or three, he had no means of
telling. His watch had long since ceased to run. Up on the plateau
they had noon-marks at the house and at the mill, and at night, when it
was clear, they went out and looked at the seven stars. He was
thoroughly drenched by the rain, which had now been falling for a long
time. Certainly George should have returned before this, if all had
gone well with him. And then his mind returned to the contemplation of
that other possibility with a perverseness over which he could exercise
no control. He saw Bromley lost in some undiscovered byway of the
subterraneous passage, groping his way hopelessly into the center of
the mountain; knowing that he was lost when, go which way he would, his
pole no longer reached the walls. He saw him retracing his steps, now
going this way, now that, but always going he knew not whither, too
brave to yield to despair.
Then he saw him in a lower cavern, where he had fallen through the
floor, groping about the rough walls with bleeding hands and staring
eyes, patiently searching for a foothold, his indomitable pluck never
failing him. Horrible as these fancies were, others more dreadful
oppressed his half-wakeful mind; for he was so tired that in spite of
the rain he lapsed into a state of unconsciousness, in which he dreamed
that the roof of that suffocating cavern, covered with the brown
blotches of bats, was settling slowly upon George, until he could no
longer walk erect. Lower, lower it came in its fearful descent, until
it bumped his head as he crawled. Now the roof grazes his back as he
writhes on his belly like a snake.
"Fred! Old boy! Fred!"
And there stood Bromley in the flesh, as calm as if nothing unusual had
happened, the raindrops hissing in the flame of his torch.