Chapter IX

Third Visit--River Hall--Dead Sea--River Styx--Lethe--Echo River-- Purgatory--Eyeless Fish--Supposed Boil of the Rivers--Sources and Outlet Unknown.

Early the next morning, having made all the necessary preparations for the grand tour, which we were the more anxious to take from the glowing accounts of the party recently returned, we entered the cave immediately after an early breakfast, and proceeded rapidly on to River Hall. It was evident from the appearance of the flood here, that it had been recently overflown.

"The cave, or the River Hall," remarks a fair and distinguished authoress, whose description of the river scenery is so graphic, that I cannot do better than transcribe it throughout: "The River Hall descends like the slope of a mountain; the ceiling stretches away--away before you, vast and grand as the firmament at midnight." Going on, and gradually ascending and keeping close to the right hand wall, you observe on your left "a steep precipice, over which you can look down by the aid of blazing missiles, upon a broad black sheet of water, eighty feet below, called the Dead Sea. This is an awfully impressive place; the sights and sounds of which, do not easily pass from memory. He who has seen it, will have it vividly brought before him, by Alfieri's description of Filippo, 'only a transient word or act gives us a short and dubious glimmer, that reveals to us the abysses of his being--dark, lurid and terrific, as the throat of the infernal pool.' Descending from the eminence, by a ladder of about twenty feet, we find ourselves among piles of gigantic rocks, and one of the most picturesque sights in the world, is to see a file of men and women passing along those wild and scraggy paths, moving slowly--slowly, that their lamps may have time to illuminate their sky-like ceiling and gigantic walls--disappearing behind high cliffs--sinking into ravines--their lights shining upwards through fissures in the rocks--then suddenly emerging from some abrupt angle, standing in the bright gleam of their lamps, relieved by the towering black masses around them. He, who could paint the infinite variety of creation, can alone give an adequate idea of this marvellous region. As you pass along, you hear the roar of invisible waterfalls; and at the foot of the slope, the river Styx lies before you, deep and black, overarched with rock. The first glimpse of it brings to mind, the descent of Ulysses into hell,

"Where the dark rock o'erhangs the infernal lake,
And mingling streams eternal murmurs make."

Across (or rather down) these unearthly waters, the guide can convey but four passengers at once. The lamps are fastened to the prow; the images of which, are reflected in the dismal pool. If you are impatient of delay, or eager for new adventures, you can leave your companions lingering about the shore, and cross the Styx by a dangerous bridge of precipices overhead. In order to do this, you must ascend a steep cliff, and enter a cave above, 300 yards long, from an egress of which, you find yourself on the bank of the river, eighty feet above its surface, commanding a view of those in the boat, and those waiting on the shore. Seen from this height, the lamps in the canoe glare like fiery eye-balls; and the passengers, sitting there so hushed and motionless, look like shadows. The scene is so strangely funereal and spectral, that it seems as if the Greeks must have witnessed it, before they imagined Charon conveying ghosts to the dim regions of Pluto. Your companions thus seen, do indeed--

"Skim along the dusky glades,
Thin airy souls, and visionary shades."

If you turn your eyes from the canoe to the parties of men and women whom you left waiting on the shore, you will see them by the gleam of their lamps, scattered in picturesque groups, looming out in bold relief from the dense darkness around them.

Having passed the Styx, (much the smallest of the rivers,) you walk over a pile of large rocks, and are on the banks of Lethe; and looking back, you will see a line of men and women descending the high hill from the cave, which runs _over_ the river Styx. Here are two boats, and the parties, which have come by the two routes, _down_ the Styx or _over_ it, uniting, descend the Lethe about a quarter of a mile, the ceiling for the entire distance being very high--certainly not less than fifty feet. On landing, you enter a level and lofty hall, called the Great Walk, which stretches to the banks of the Echo, a distance of three or four hundred yards. The Echo is truly a river: it is wide and deep enough, at all times, to float the largest steamer. At the point of embarkation, the arch is very low, not more than three feet, in an ordinary stage of water, being left for a boat to pass through. Passengers, of course, are obliged to double up, and lie upon each others shoulders, in a most uncomfortable way, but their suffering is of short duration; in two boat lengths, they emerge to where the vault of the cave is lofty and wide. The boat in which we embarked was sufficiently large to carry twelve persons, and our voyage down the river was one of deep, indeed of most intense interest. The novelty, the grandeur, the magnificence of every thing around elicited unbounded admiration and wonder. All sense of danger, (had any been experienced before,) was lost in the solemn, quiet sublimity of the scene. The rippling of the water caused by the motion of our boat is heard afar off, beating under the low arches and in the cavities of the rocks. The report of a pistol is as that of the heaviest artillery, and long and afar does the echo resound, like the muttering of distant thunder. The voice of song was raised on this dark, deep water, and the sound was as that of the most powerful choir. A fall band of music on this river of echoes would indeed be overpowering. The aquatic excursion was more to our taste than any thing we had seen, and never can the impression it made be obliterated from our memories.

The Echo is three quarters of a mile long. A rise of the water of merely a few feet connects the three rivers. After long and heavy rains, these rivers sometimes rise to a perpendicular height of more than fifty feet; and then they, as well as the cataracts, exhibit a most terrific appearance. The low arch at the entrance of the Echo, can not be passed when there is a rise of water of even two feet. Once or twice parties have been caught on the further side by a sudden rise, and for a time their alarm was great, not knowing that there was an upper cave through which they could pass, that would lead them around the arch to the Great Walk. This upper cave, or passage, is called Purgatory, and is, for a distance of forty feet, so low, that persons have to crawl on their faces, or, as the guides say, _snake it_. We were pleased to learn that this passage would soon be sufficiently enlarged to enable persons to walk through erect. This accomplished, an excursion to Cleveland's Avenue may be made almost entirely by land, at the same time that all apprehensions of being caught beyond Echo will be removed. It is in these rivers, that the extraordinary white eyeless fish are caught--we secured two of them. There is not the slightest indication of an organ similar to an eye, to be discovered. They have been dissected by skillful anatomists, who declare that they are not only without eyes, but also develope other anomalies in their organization, singularly interesting to the naturalist. "The rivers of Mammoth Cave were never crossed till 1840. Great efforts have been made to discover whence they come and whither they go, yet they still remain as much a mystery as ever--without beginning or end; like eternity."

"Darkly thou glidest onward,
Thou deep and hidden wave!
The laughing sunshine hath not look'd
Into thy secret cave.

Thy current makes no music--
A hollow sound we hear;
A muffled voice of mystery,
And know that thou art near.

No brighter line of verdure
Follows thy lonely way
No fairy moss, or lily's cup,
Is freshened by thy play."

According to the barometrical measurement of Professor Locke, the rivers of the Cave are nearly on a level with Green River; but the report of Mr. Lee, civil engineer, is widely different. He says, "The bottom of the Little Bat Room Pit is one hundred and twenty feet _below_ the bed of Green River. The Bottomless Pit is also deeper than the bed of Green River, and so far as a surveyor's level can be relied on, the same may be said of the Cavern Pit and some others." The rivers of the Cave were unknown at the time of Mr. Lee's visit in 1835, but they are unquestionably _lower_ than the bottom of the pits, and receive the water which flows from them. According to the statement of Lee, the bed of these rivers is lower than the bed of Green River at its junction with the Ohio, taking for granted that the report of the State engineers as to the extent of fall between a point above the Cave and the Ohio, be correct, of which there is no doubt. "It becomes, then," continues Mr. Lee, in reference to the waters of the Cave, "an object of interesting inquiry to determine in what way it is disposed of. If it empties into Green River, the Ohio, or the ocean, it must run a great distance under ground, with a very small descent."