The Cave
which lies six miles from the village of Schoharie. The entrance is at the base of a heavily-wooded mountain that shuts in a secluded little valley. The only opening from this solitary vale is made by a small stream that winds out from among the hills. The entire seclusion of the place has prevented its earlier discovery; but the inevitable 'Hotel' now rears its wooden walls above the cave to encourage future adventurers to explore its recesses.
In the absence of the proprietor of the hotel, who usually acts as cicerone, we took as guide a sun-burnt young man, with an economical portion of nose, closely cut hair, and a wiry little mouth, which we saw at a glance would open only at the rate of a quarter of a dollar a fact. He proved himself, however, shrewd, witty, and, withal, good-natured, and as fond of a joke as any one of us all. Bob, for so our new companion named himself, showed us at once into a dressing-room, advising us to put on, over our own garments, certain exceedingly coarse and ragged coats, hats and pants, which transformed us at once from rather fashionable young men into a set of forlorn-looking beggars. Each laughed at the appearance of the other, unconscious of his own transformation; but Bob, with more truth than politeness, informed us that we all 'looked like the Old Nick;' whence it appeared that in Bob's opinion the Enemy is usually sorely afflicted with a shabby wardrobe, and that, in the words of the sage,
'Poverty is the devil.'
Being furnished with small oil lamps, we descended to the mouth of the cave. This opens at once into an entrance-hall, one hundred and fifty feet in length and thirty in width, and high enough for a tall man to enter upright.
I inquired of Bob when the cave was discovered. 'In 1842,' he replied. 'And by whom?' I continued. 'Why,' rejoined our guide, 'Mister Howe was a huntin' for caves, and he came across this one.' Rather a queer thing to be hunting for, I thought, though without comment; but in future I allowed Bob to carry on the conversation as best suited himself. He plunged at once into a dissertation on the state of the country, gravely stating that 'Washington was taken.' At the involuntary smile which this astounding piece of news called forth, Bob confessed 'he might be mistaken in this respect, as his paper came but once a week, and frequently only once in two weeks.' Finding him a stanch Union man, and inclined to serve his country to the best of his ability, we undertook 'to post him up' on the present state of affairs, for which the poor fellow was truly grateful.
Entrance Hall leads into Washington Hall, a magnificent apartment, three hundred feet long, and in the lowest part upwards of forty feet high. Our guide favored us at every turn with some new story or legend, repeated in a sing-song, nasal tone, ludicrously contrasting with the extravagance of the tales themselves. Yet he recited all alike with the most immovable gravity. It was a lively waltz of three notes.
Old Tunnel and Giant's Chapel, two fine cave-rooms, were next explored. On entering the latter, Bob favored us with the rehearsal of an old story from the Arabian Nights, which—unfortunately, not one which will bear repetition—he wished us to believe actually happened in this very locality.
I may here confess that, when we came to 'the dark hole in the ground,' I felt some slight reluctance to trust myself therein. Bob, observing this, immediately drew from his lively imagination such an astonishing increase of the perils of the way, looking complacently at me all the while, that my alarm, strange to say, took flight at once, and I pushed onward defiantly. The journey is, however, one that might justly inspire timidity. Above our heads, and on each side, frowned immense rocks, threatening at every instant to fall upon us; while the dash and babble of a stream whose course we followed, increasing in volume as we progressed, came to our ears like the 'sound of many waters.' We crossed this stream a hundred times, at least, in our journey. Sometimes it murmured and fretted in a chasm far below us; again, it spread itself out in our very path, or danced merrily at our side, until it seemed to plunge into some distant abyss with the roar of a cataract.
We emerged from the windings of our tortuous path into Harlem Tunnel, a room six hundred feet in length. In its sides were frequent openings, leading into hitherto unexplored parts of the cave; but we did not venture to enter many of these. Never have I seen such rocks as we here encountered; at one time piled up on one another, ready to totter and fall at a touch; at another, jutting out in immense boulders, sixty feet above our heads, while, in the openings they left, we gazed upward into darkness that seemed immeasurable.
From Harlem Tunnel we came into Cataract Hall, also of great length, and remarkable for containing a small opening extending to an unknown distance within the mountain, since it apparently cannot be explored. Applying the ear to this opening, the sound of an immense cataract becomes audible, pouring over the rocks far within the recesses of the mountain, where the Creator alone, who meted out those unseen, sunless waters, can behold its beauty and its terror.
Crossing the Pool of Siloam, whose babbling waters sparkled into beauty as we held our lamps above them, we entered Franklin Hall. Here the roof, although high enough in some places, is uncomfortably low in others; whereupon Bob bade us give heed to the caution of Franklin, 'Stoop as you go, and you will miss many hard thumps.'
We arrived next at Flood Hall, where a party of explorers were once put in great peril by a sudden freshet in the stream. They barely saved themselves by rapid flight, the water becoming waist-deep before they gained the entrance. We had no reason to doubt the truth of this story, as there were evidences of the rise and fall of water all about us.
Congress Hall now awaited us, but I will omit a description of it, as Musical Hall, which immediately succeeded, contains so much more that is interesting. On entering, our attention was first directed to an aperture wide enough for the admission of a man's head. Any sound made in this opening is taken up and repeated by echo after echo, till the very spirit of music seems awakened. Wave after wave of melodious sound charms the ear, even if the first awakening note has been most discordant. If the soul is filled with silent awe while listening to the unseen waterfall in Cataract Hall, it is here wooed into peace by a harmony more perfect than any produced by mortal invention. A temple-cavern vaster than Ellora with a giant 'lithophone' for organ!
The second wonder of Musical Hall is a lake of great extent, and from ten to thirty feet in depth. The smooth surface of these crystal waters, never ruffled by any air of heaven, and undisturbed save by the dip of our oars as we were ferried across, the utter darkness that hid the opposite shore from our straining sight, the huge rocks above, whose clustering stalactites, lighted by our glimmering lamps, sparkled like a starry sky, the sound of the far-off waterfall, softened by distance into a sad and solemn music, all united to recall with a vivid power, never before felt, the passage of the 'pious Æneas' over the Styx, which I had so often read with delight in my boyhood. I half fancied our Yankee Bob fading into a vision of the classic Charon, and that the ghosts of unhappy spirits were peering at us from the darkness.
At the end of the lake is Annexation Rock, a huge limestone formation in the shape of an egg. It stands on one end, is twenty-eight feet in diameter, and over forty in height.
We were now introduced into Fat Man's Misery, where the small and attenuated have greatly the advantage. We emerged from this narrow and difficult passage into the Museum, half a mile long, and so called from the number and variety of its formations. We did not linger to examine its curiosities, but pushed on over the Alps, which we surmounted, aided partly by ladders. Very steep and rugged were these Alps, and quite worthy of the name they bear. We descended from them into the Bath-room, where a pool of water and sundry other arrangements suggest to a lively imagination its designation. It certainly has the recommendation of being the most retired bath-room ever known. That of the Neapolitan sibyl is public in comparison to it.
We then entered Pirate's Retreat. Why so named, I can not guess, for I doubt if the boldest pirate who ever sailed the 'South Seas o'er' would dare venture alone so far underground as we now found ourselves.
Leaving the Pirate's Retreat, we were obliged to cross the Rocky Mountains, similar in formation and arrangement to the Alps. The Rocky Mountains lead into Jehoshaphat's Valley, one mile in length. Like its namesake, this valley is a deep ravine, with steep, rugged sides, and a brawling brook running at the bottom.
Miller's Hall next claims our attention. Here we take leave of the brook, which, with the cave, loses itself in a measureless ravine, where the rocks have fallen in such a manner as to obstruct any further explorations.
From thence, turning to the right, we enter Winding Way, a most appropriate name for the place. The narrow passage turns and twists between masses of solid rook, high in some places, and low in others. The deathlike silence of the solitude that surrounded us impressed us with a vague feeling of fear, and we felt no disposition to tempt the Devil's Gangway, especially as, in consequence of a recent freshet, it was partly filled with water. Our guide informed us that beyond the Gangway were several rooms, among which Silent Chamber and Gothic Arch were the most noteworthy. The portion of the cave visited by tourists terminates in the 'Rotunda,' eight miles from the entrance; although explorations have been made some miles further. The Rotunda is cylindrical in shape, fifteen feet in diameter, and one hundred feet in height.
We were now in a little room six miles from the mouth of the cave, and thought the present a good opportunity to try the effect of the absence of light and sound on the mind. Extinguishing our lights, therefore, we resigned ourselves to the influences of darkness and silence. To realize such a state fully, one must find one's self in the bowels of the earth, as we were, where the beating of our own hearts alone attested the existence of life. We were glad to relight our lamps and begin our return to upper air.
I have already mentioned Annexation Rock; near it is another curious freak of nature, called the Tree of the World's History. It resembles the stump of a tree two feet in diameter, and cut off two feet above the ground, upon which a portion of the trunk, six feet in length, is exactly balanced. A singular type of the changes which time makes in the world above-ground.
In the Museum, whose examination we had postponed till our return, we were lost in a world of wonders. It were vain to attempt to describe or even enumerate half of the various objects that met us at every turn. Churches, towers, complete with doors and windows, as if finished by the hand of an architect; an organ, its long and short pipes arranged in perfect order; Lot's Wife, a figure in stone, life size; in another place two women, in long, flowing garments, standing facing each other, as if engaged in earnest conversation, and a soldier in complete armor,—these were among the most striking of the larger objects. The vegetable world was also well represented. Here was a bunch of carrots, fresh as if just taken from the ground, sheaves of wheat, bunches of grain and grass hanging from the walls and roofs. Interspersed were birds of every species, doves in loving companionship, sparrows, and hawks. I noticed also in one place a pair of elephant's ears perfect as life. Indeed it was not difficult to believe that these stony semblances had once been endowed with life, and, ere blight or decay could change, had been transmuted into things of imperishable beauty.
While waiting for our guide to unmoor the boat, which was to take us over the lake a second time, I ran up the bank to look at the stalactites that hung in the greatest profusion above the water. The light of my lamp shining through them produced an effect as surprising as it was beautiful. But no words can do justice to the scene. Imagine an immense room whose ceiling is studded with icicles forming every conceivable curve and angle, and you will have only a faint idea of the number and variety of these subterranean ornaments.
A mile from the entrance we found some stray bats,—the first living creatures we had met. We endeavored to attract them by holding up our lamps, and succeeded so well that we were glad to leave them behind us as soon as possible.
It is a singular fact, noted by other cave-explorers, and confirmed by our own experience, that while within a cave one's usual vigor and activity appears augmented. A slight reaction takes place on coming out into the upper world, and renders rest doubly refreshing and grateful.
Let me, in closing, advise other visitors to Howe's Cave to choose fair weather, and take time enough for their visit, as the windings of the cave and its curiosities are alike exhaustless.