IN STUMP CROSS CAVERN.
Photo by E. A. Baker.
THE PILLAR, STUMP CROSS CAVERN.
Photo by E. A. Baker.
I will now, as clearly as I can, follow the steps of the party in their exploration of these Middle Caverns, and proceed afterwards with them into the other series. Descending gradually, and passing many nooks and corners where exquisite recesses are wreathed about by the ivory-white incrustations on wall, roof, and floor, we stayed to drink a ceremonious glass from the icy waters of Jacob's Well, a crystal pool curtained in with masses of stalactite, and then passed on to one of the chief show places seen by the public, bearing the modest name of the Chapel. Its great attraction is the series of massive pillars of translucent white that seem to uphold the arching roof. In few of the caverns that I have explored is there anything to compare with the stateliness of this pure colonnade, the cylindrical shafts of which are a good deal longer than a man's height, and modelled fantastically by the irregular deposit of the calc spar. One column in this part of the cave measured three feet in circumference. A peculiar beauty was the transparency of the material, a pure glassy white through which the light of a candle shone clearly, whilst a light inside converted the hanging folds and clusters of stalactites into a beautiful species of lantern. On the walls were folds and ridges of snowy stalagmite, and from the roof hung stalactites of all shapes and sizes, myriads of threadlike growths hanging in a lacy fringe. Onwards the arcading and the array of pillars extended into a roomy vault, the end of which struck upwards, as already explained, south-eastwards, toward Dry Gill. Though a perceptible draught comes through from the open air, and the heaps of clay-coated blocks show that a swallet is not far off above, no way can be forced through without excavation. Augmented by the arrival of two or three local friends, the party descended, after lunch, into the Lower Caverns. Unlike the other passages, with their continual windings and perplexing branches, these two series of large vaults, narrow tunnels, and almost impracticable crevices maintain a westerly direction throughout, and the few branches strike off decisively to the right or to the left. Two of us, being delayed by some trifling accident, missed the others at the bottom of the short vertical descent, and, unaware that there were two series of passages, crept on along the first that opened. This had the appearance of an old stream-bed, the ground being littered in places with blocks of Limestone, in others clayey, and in some parts smoothed down by the rush of a torrent. High in places, it often dwindled to a very low passage, through which we crept and wriggled after the manner of the serpent, ofttimes exerting no little strength to push beneath the projections overhead. Here a shaft of glassy stalagmite, uniting floor and roof, tried to bar the way, and there it was impossible to advance without scraping against the vitreous threads that hung like hairs from the dripping rocks. We shouted to the others who we thought were ahead of us, but got no reply, and after twenty minutes of this painful progression began to think of returning. Noticing a hollow in the right wall, I asked my comrade to wait while I examined it. Inside was a blind passage and the round orifice of a small tunnel, into which I thrust my head and shoulders and then crawled forward. It was not an inviting hole, being wet and an exceedingly tight fit, and I was on the point of returning when a voice was heard faintly in the distance. Listening intently and creeping on again, I heard the voice more distinctly, and shouted. The voice replied from below. I quickly realised that we two had missed the others, who were following a lower series of passages somewhere beneath us. Unable to turn round, and too far advanced to return up this slippery tunnel, I saw there was nothing for it but to push on, head downwards. In a yard or two, to my unspeakable relief, the hole grew big enough to turn round in, just before I got to the end of it, and saw Messrs. Croft and Puttrell, 12 feet below me, holding out their hands and inviting me to drop. The leap was a little sensational, but I had my turn of enjoyment in witnessing the grace with which my comrade from above, who was now courteously invited to follow me through the water-pipe, took the jump on to the clay floor of the lower tunnel.
We returned later to the other westerly passage, at the top of the water-pipe. Examining every opening carefully, we noticed many similar communications between the two series, evidently proving that the upper was a very ancient stream course that had been tapped successively until the lower tunnel superseded it as a waterway. Pushing ahead, we soon realised that we had arrived at the richest part of the whole cavern, though also the most inaccessible. The roof came down bristling with spikes and shafts of the purest calcite; the floor was one mass of crystallisation, ridged all over with the rippling lines that form as the crust grows under water. This exquisite scene was continued for hundreds of feet, various and indescribable as a dream, whilst our march onward over the sharp crystals of the floor and through the portcullis that closed every chamber was as painful as a nightmare. Loveliest of all was a long tunnel that once held many pools of water, half-encrusted over with a film of carbonate. Only one of these lucid mirrors remained, but the dried-up basins were as beautiful now as ever, with the bottom and sides covered by a coraline growth delicate in colour as in form. At the end was a small dome-like chamber, where we extended ourselves for a hard-earned rest before facing the toils and tribulations of the journey back.