Nearly all the old guides familiar to visitors before the War, when Bell’s Tavern was the starting-point for the underground journey, have yielded to nature and to circumstance. One of the ancient band, however, Sam Meredith, still lingers,—at least, he did a year or two ago—and is a genuine autochthon. He has been a guide for a quarter of a century; was born on the spot, and has never been twenty miles beyond the limits of the county. He is naturally intelligent, though he can neither read nor write; but he makes up for these slight defects of education by his skill with the rifle. He is regarded as one of the best shots in Kentucky; has a wife and children, and a small farm; receives fifteen dollars a month; does not know that the world is round; believes Paris, in Kentucky, is the capital of civilization, and is, on the whole, as contented a mortal as I have ever met.
TEMPERATURE OF THE CAVE.
In addition to the short and long routes already mentioned, the great cavern has a vast number of avenues and branches, many of which remain as yet unexplored. All these ramifications, taken together, would give a length to the cave, it is said, of nearly three hundred miles. Its temperature, all the year round, is 59° Fahrenheit. The interior air is believed to be much purer than that of the outer world, and, on account of its elasticity and sweetness, to be remarkably invigorating. There seems some foundation for this opinion, inasmuch as tourists can make much more exertion, and endure much more fatigue, in that underground region than they can on the ordinary surface of the earth. I have observed weak men and delicate women perform acts of pedestrianism which astonished themselves, and of which they would be incapable outside the mouth of the cavern. I know that I have done thirty miles in those sombre recesses in a few hours without being jaded in the least, and on one occasion I accomplished the last mile of the long route—the roughest and most difficult of all—in eleven minutes by a stop watch, which the guide pronounced the best cave time on record.
DRESSED FOR THE EXPEDITION.
My last visit to the cave was during the spring of 1870. Early as the season was, I found at the hotel about a dozen persons bent on the same errand. Seven or eight of them were anxious to traverse the long route, and as that was my purpose also, we rose betimes, and prepared ourselves for the journey. There were several ladies in the party, and they were obliged to part with their hooped skirts and city attire, and put on water-proof cloaks, with the simplest possible arrangement of their hair and toilet. We tyrants of the race donned some old clothes, heavy boots, and caps, each taking a lamp attached to long wires, so that we could hold it easily and swing it as we walked along. Our conductor, who was no other than Sam Meredith, looked very carefully after our lamps, to see if they were properly supplied with oil and properly trimmed, since the consequences of having one’s light go out in those desolate chambers, and of being left in awful solitude and darkness,—perhaps forever,—are in no manner pleasant to contemplate. At different parts of the cave, small tanks of oil are kept, from which the lamps may be replenished in case of accident, and these have proved to be invaluable in numerous instances.
Eight o’clock in the morning was our hour for starting, and though we had become acquainted the evening previous, we were so changed in appearance—thanks to our simple attire—that we were scarcely able to recognize one another when we assembled for the march.
The masculine excursionists had not undergone such a metamorphosis as our feminine friends, whose mothers would have been excusable for not knowing them in the Spartan severity of their costumes. One young lady, whom I had thought quite pretty, was anything but pretty in the absence of her usual chevelure and modish robes. Another girl, still in her teens, who had appeared decidedly plain, really shone with comeliness and grace in her water-proof and generally dishevelled state. Her common raiment so set her off that I was obliged to conclude that none of her personal charms depended on her wardrobe, and that the less she wore the lovelier she seemed.
A GROTESQUE COSTUME.