“You’re the man we want,” answered Uncle Denis.
On this the Indian, retiring to his hut, returned with a bundle of torches. We had brought a couple of lanterns and a supply of candles, so that there was no chance of our being left in darkness.
The two negro boys having taken charge of our horses, we proceeded on foot, followed by Peter and Caesar, to the mouth of the pit down which we were to descend into the cavern. This was like a large well into which a stream fell with a cheerful splash. I remember asking not unnaturally whether we should have to swim when we got to the bottom.
We made our way down a flight of wooden steps, when, passing under a high archway, we proceeded along a level road to what were called the “vats,” where saltpetre was manufactured.
The torches lighted up the subterranean region in which we found ourselves. As to describing it exactly is more than I can pretend to do. From the large entrance-hall we made our way through a low narrow passage, which is known as the Valley of Humility, into another hall of enormous extent, the roof so lofty that our torches scarcely illuminated either the walls or roof. At our feet we could see the glitter of water extending far away into the interior, while a bright stream flowed over a rocky bed into it. Uncle Denis proposed that we should sit down and refresh ourselves preparatory to exploring the interior recesses of the cavern. No objection being made, Peter produced some provisions from a basket he had brought on his back. Having discussed them, we slaked our thirst from the pure water of the rivulet. Once more moving on, in a short time we reached Echo River, on the shore of which we found a boat. Our guide invited us to embark. Looking upwards it appeared as if a canopy of black clouds hung over our heads, while on every side we could see precipices and cliffs rising up, apparently into the sky; silence and darkness reigned around us, the smooth sluggish water alone reflecting the glare of our torches. Not a word was uttered by any of our party, until the Indian’s voice suddenly burst forth into one of the melancholy chants of his race, echoed as it appeared by the spirit of his departed brethren. I clung to my father’s arm, and asked where all those sounds came from.
“They are but the echoes of the Indian’s voice,” he answered. Now they rose, now they fell, as he gave forth the notes with the full force of his lungs, or warbled softly, sometimes finishing with a melancholy wail which produced the most mournful effect.
“Come, this is more than I bargained for,” exclaimed Uncle Denis; “now stand by for a different kind of sound. Don’t be alarmed, it’s only the barrel of my pistol going to try what sort of noise it can make.” He pulled the trigger, when there was a flash and then there came a succession of crashing, thundering sounds echoed from every angle in those enormous vaults. Backwards and forwards tore the sounds, rolling and reverberating from wall to wall with terrific crashes. Half a dozen pieces of artillery fired in the open air could not have produced a more tremendous uproar.
Scarcely had the sounds died away, when Peter and Caesar struck up a merry negro melody, contrasting curiously with the melancholy notes of the Indian’s song; they made Uncle Denis and me, at all events, burst in to hearty fits of laughter.
“Come, I like that style of song far better than the music of our red-skin friend,” exclaimed my uncle. The guide told us that although it was perfectly safe at most times of the year to traverse the cavern, there were occasions when the waters rising suddenly had prevented the return of explorers, but that a way had been discovered, through a narrow passage, the course evidently at one time of a stream, up which they could climb over the mud and save themselves from being either drowned or starved, should they have come without provisions. This passage has appropriately been called “Purgatory,” but as we had not to take advantage of it, I cannot describe it more fully.
Leaving “Echo” River we entered another cavern named “Cleveland’s Cabinet,” when we found ourselves in what we might have taken for a fairy region.