The grand cavern, called the "Lucas Cave," was so named in recognition of valuable services rendered by the Hon. John Lucas, M.L.C., who, from the 8th December 1864, until the dissolution of Parliament on the 15th December 1869, represented in the Legislative Assembly the electorate of Hartley, in which Jenolan is situated. He used his influence to obtain the dedication of the reserve, and make provision for the care and improvement of the caves. It was on his recommendation that the present cave-keeper was appointed to the office of curator. His foresight and activity are suitably commemorated by the association of his name with objects of beauty, the fame of which is now spread throughout the whole civilised world.
The opening to the Lucas Cave is very massive, and has a rather steep fall of about 12 feet from the pathway to the floor of the cavern. The entrance is about 30 feet wide and 25 feet high. The roof of the portico is ornamented by rocks, which in shape and colour appear to be in keeping with the gloomy-looking tunnel beyond. The overhanging masses are honeycombed and convoluted in a remarkable manner, and thin off to points like stalactites. The curved, tapering forms are in groups of various dimensions, drooping in folds like those of loosely-fitting garments. They represent not "formation," but the original rock, out of the crevices of which the softer portions and earthy substances have been extracted by the ordinary operations of Nature. To the left of the archway is a bulky convoluted pillar, rising from the surrounding blocks and boulders to the uppermost part of the portico, and to the right of the archway is a fine piece of stalagmite formation about 10 feet in height. In the centre, immediately behind it, is a large stalactite, and near by an extensive patch which looks like conglomerate of lime and pebbles. On the outer walls are flowering shrubs and creeping plants, including one which bears a strong resemblance to the climbing fig (Ficus stipulata), which clothes with pleasant verdure many an ugly wall in and about Sydney. The rock colouring is especially fine and beautifully shaded all the way from the broad daylight to the beginning of the interior blackness, which is somewhat sharply defined by a fringe of stalactites like the vertical bars of a portcullis.
The immediate entrance to this cave is begrimed with dust. A few yards onward there is an iron gate. The guide opens it and carefully locks in his visitors, who light their candles and proceed by a downward path. The descent is about 80 feet, partly by steps cut zigzag fashion, and then on a sloping floor covered with débris. There is a marked difference in the temperature, which is many degrees higher than that of the outward air, and several degrees warmer than the interior of the Arch and Nettle Caves. Small flies surprise the excursionists by the suddenness of their appearance, and by the narrow limits of their habitat. They live in the zone between daylight and darkness. In the region of perpetual night the only signs of animated nature are clusters of bats. The lighted candles serve to make the surrounding darkness more pronounced.
Where the rays of light pierce through the night to its rocky boundary indistinct, irregular lines can be seen like the ribs of a skeleton, and it is easy to conjure up all sorts of uncanny shapes, from hobgoblins to anthropophagi. The only sounds audible, or apparently audible, are the quickened respiration and the throbbing of the heart. When the voice is raised its effect is strange, and there is no responsive echo. Darkness and silence dwell together. After spending a few seconds—or minutes—in their company, the curator lights his magnesium lamp, and the visitor finds himself in the precincts of "The Cathedral," in the centre of which is a large stalagmite. The roof rises to a height of about 300 feet, 70 feet loftier than Canterbury Cathedral or Notre Dame, and within 100 feet of the altitude of St. Paul's! The walls are composed of limestone, terraced with tier upon tier of stalagmites brought into bold relief by the gloom of innumerable fantastically-shaped recesses. The preacher is Solitude; his theme is "Awful Stillness." Wandering through the nave to the south, the visitor walks over caves not yet opened, but the existence of which can be proved by dropping little pebbles into dark recesses and listening to the percussion on floors more or less remote. In an aisle of the Cathedral leading to the Music Hall, there is another grandly-arched cavern with a steep descent into an abysmal depth. Here on the one side are numerous stalactites, white as virgin snow, and on the other similarly-shaped formations of carbonate of lime tinged with oxide of iron—some of them so deeply as to present the colour of a boiled lobster's crust. This is a favourite clustering place for bats, and numbers of these membranous-winged quadrupeds may be seen snoozing together on the roof.
THE MUSIC HALL.
By means of a wire ladder the excursionist descends still deeper into the bowels of the earth. He then goes farther down by 18 or 20 steps, cut in a clayey substance, to the vestibule of the Music Hall. Some of the stalagmites are stained with clay. They have evidently been used as steadying-posts by visitors who had previously placed their hands on the red earth when working their way down the declivity where the steps are now formed. The other stalagmites away out of reach are white and glistening. The approach to the Music Hall, which was discovered in the summer of 1860, is low. The passage to it is about 35 yards long. The floor is composed entirely of "formation," and at the sides are numerous columns of different colours. The Music Hall itself is about 12 feet in height, and runs out at the end to about two feet. It is called the "Music Hall" because of its very fine acoustic properties. A weak voice raised in song or oratory sounds full and sonorous. This hall encloses a secret which architects of public buildings might covet, and the wonder is how such tonic effects are produced in a chamber which presents so many obstructions to the waves of sound. The floor contains a series of basins, curiously shaped by the water which has been retained in them, until it has escaped by percolation to form stalactites and stalagmites at some lower level. The edges of these shallow reservoirs are sharply defined and gracefully moulded. The formation of the walls is extremely delicate. Some of it is white and some like yellow coral. The roof has been slightly defaced by certain nineteenth century cads. In various places the "mark of the beast," in lampblack, has been produced by holding candles near to the ceiling and moving them about gradually, and the sooty hieroglyphics remain unto this day as an evidence of vanity and folly. The floor, which was once like alabaster, is now soiled by the tramping of feet. But, notwithstanding these defects, the Music Hall is still very beautiful.
THE SHAWL CAVE.