CHAPTER XXX.
In Tresco’s Cave.
Tresco stood in his dark, dank cavern, and meditated upon the loneliness of life.
He was naturally a sociable man, and loved the company of his fellows, but here he was living a hermit’s existence, shut up in the bowels of the earth, with no better associates than the clammy stalactites which constantly dripped water upon the white, calcareous floors.
The atmosphere was so cold that it chilled the marrow of the goldsmith’s bones, and to render habitable the inner recess where he lived he was forced to keep a fire perpetually burning. To do this it was necessary for him to sally into the daylight, in order that he might collect firewood, of which there was in the neighbourhood of the cave an abundant supply.
Groping his way slowly through the winding passage, every twist and turn of which he knew in the dark, Benjamin passed into the lofty cavern which he had named the Cathedral, where the stalactites and stalagmites, meeting, had formed huge columns, which seemed to support the great domed roof overhead. This was a place which Tresco was never tired of admiring. “A temple built without hands,” he said, as he held aloft his candle, and viewed the snow-white pillars which stood on either side of what he named the Nave.
“What a place to preach in.” He who has no companions must needs talk to himself if he would hear the human voice. “Here, now, a man could expatiate on the work of the Creator, but his sermon would have to be within the fifteen minutes’ limit, or his congregation would catch their death of cold. ‘Dearly beloved brethren, the words of my text are illustrated by the house in which we are assembled.’” His voice filled the Nave, and reverberated down the aisles. “‘Here you have the real thing, built by the Master Builder, Nature, for the use of the Cave Man, and preserved for all time. How wonderful are the works of Creation, how exquisite the details. You have heard of the Doric, the Ionic, and the Corinthian columns, and of the beauties of Greek architecture, but compare these white, symmetrical piers, raised in one solid piece, without join or crevice. Observe yonder alabaster gallery where the organ swells its harmonious tones; observe the vestry, where the preacher dons his sacerdotal garb—they are perfect. But did I hear a lady sneeze? Alas! Nature forgot the hot-air pipes; the Cathedral, I admit, strikes a little chilly. Therefore I dismiss you, my brethren, lest you should catch pleurisy, or go into galloping consumption.’”
He finished with a laugh, and then passed into the small entrance-cave, which he denominated facetiously the Church Porch. Here he blew out his candle, which he placed on a rock, and emerged from his hiding-place.
He had burst from the restful, if cold, comfort of his cave upon the warring elements. Peal after peal of thunder rolled along the wooded slopes of the rugged range; fierce flashes of lightning pierced the gloom of the dark valley below, and from the black thunder-cloud overhead there poured a torrent of rain which made the goldsmith think of the Deluge.
“Ha!” he exclaimed, as he stood in the entrance of his damp den, “there are worse places than my cave after all. But what I want is firewood. Lord! that flash almost blinded me. Rumble—grumble—tumble—crash—bang! Go it; never mind me. You aren’t frightening me worth tuppence. I rather like a little electricity and aqua pura.” In answer there was a dazzling flash, followed by a terrific clap of thunder which seemed to burst almost above Benjamin’s head. “All right, if you insist—I’ll go. Sorry I obtruded ... Good afternoon.”