From Louisville I determined to go on a visit to the celebrated Mammoth Cave, a very considerable and extraordinary hole in the ground, situated about half-way between Louisville and Nashville—that is to say, nearly one hundred miles from each place. I was informed at the Falls City, that I should take the Louisville and Nashville Railroad, and get off at Cave City, whence I should take a stage for the Mammoth Cave, ten miles from the railroad.
Leaving my trunk at my hotel in Louisville, I took the five o’clock evening train, and arrived at Cave City—a small village that isn’t a city at all—by reasonable bedtime, where I retired to rest for the night in a good but rather expensive hotel. I was put in a double-bedded room with another passenger from Louisville, who also intended to visit the Mammoth Cave next day.
The clerk having conducted us to our room, withdrew from the chamber and closed the door after him.
“I wonder if there is a lock on the door?” said my companion.
“There ought to be,” I replied. “We should secure it by some means, at all events.”
“Yes,” he remarked, “I always make it a rule, when traveling, to see that every thing is secure.—Yes, here is a lock and bolt,” he said, as he walked to the door and examined it. He turned the key and shot the bolt. “Are you going to the Cave to-morrow?”
“Yes, that is my object.”
“Did you come on the train from Louisville?”
“Yes; did you?”
“Yes, I too. I am from Missouri: and you?”—