The floor was mostly of bare rock, smooth but not level, as it was worn concave or with rounding ridges. We crossed over to the opposite side facing the entrance, and sat down on a narrow ledge with a comfortable back of sandstone.
"Let's sing," said Jim.
"Tune up," cried Tom.
The sound was not echoed, but the dome gave it a deep, sonorous quality that was really impressive. As we sang we forgot all the hardships of the past, the uncertainty of the present and the dangers of the near future. We were back in civilization again and among our home surroundings and folks once more. The warmth of the sentiment softened us and did us good.
"Way down upon the Suwanee River,
Far, far away,
That's where my heart is turning ever,
That's where the old folks stay."
"All the world am sad and dreary
Everywhere I roam.
Oh, darkies, how my heart grows weary
Longing for the old folks at home."
There was something of pathos in our tones as we sang the last line. Jim had a good baritone, and Tom's voice was really a fine tenor, while mine was of a nondescript variety.
We spent hours in this cavern in singing and exploring around.
"I'll tell you what let's do," exclaimed Tom. "Let's carve our names in here."
"Good idea," I agreed.