The streams that burst
forth from every crevice are thrown, by the irregularities of the
surface, into numberless cascades, often disappear in mists or in
chasms, and emerge from subterranean channels, and, finally, either
subside into lakes, or quietly meander through the lower and more level
grounds. Wherever nature left a flat it is made rugged and scarcely passable by
enormous and fallen trunks, accumulated by the storms of ages, and
forming, by their slow decay, a moss-covered soil, the haunt of rabbits
and lizards. These spots are obscured by the melancholy umbrage of
pines, whose eternal murmurs are in unison with vacancy and solitude,
with the reverberations of the torrents and the whistling of the blasts. Hickory and poplar, which abound in the lowlands, find here no fostering
elements. A sort of continued vale, winding and abrupt, leads into the midst of
this region and through it. This vale serves the purpose of a road. It
is a tedious maze and perpetual declivity, and requires, from the
passenger, a cautious and sure foot. Openings and ascents occasionally
present themselves on each side, which seem to promise you access to the
interior region, but always terminate, sooner or later, in insuperable
difficulties, at the verge of a precipice or the bottom of a steep. Perhaps no one was more acquainted with this wilderness than I, but my
knowledge was extremely imperfect. I had traversed parts of it, at an
early age, in pursuit of berries and nuts, or led by a roaming
disposition. Afterwards the sphere of my rambles was enlarged and their
purpose changed. When Sarsefield came among us, I became his favourite
scholar and the companion of all his pedestrian excursions. He was fond
of penetrating into these recesses, partly from the love of picturesque
scenes, partly to investigate its botanical and mineral productions, and
partly to carry on more effectually that species of instruction which he
had adopted with regard to me, and which chiefly consisted in moralizing
narratives or synthetical reasonings. These excursions had familiarized
me with its outlines and most accessible parts; but there was much
which, perhaps, could never be reached without wings, and much the only
paths to which I might forever overlook. Every new excursion, indeed, added somewhat to my knowledge. New tracks
were pursued, new prospects detected, and new summits were gained. My
rambles were productive of incessant novelty, though they always
terminated in the prospect of limits that could not be overleaped. But
none of these had led me wider from my customary paths than that which
had taken place when in pursuit of Clithero. I had a faint remembrance
of the valley into which I had descended after him; but till then I had
viewed it at a distance, and supposed it impossible to reach the bottom
but by leaping from a precipice some hundred feet in height. The
opposite steep seemed no less inaccessible, and the cavern at the bottom
was impervious to any views which my former positions had enabled me to
take of it. My intention to re-examine this cave and ascertain whither it led had,
for a time, been suspended by different considerations. It was now
revived with more energy than ever. I reflected that this had formerly
been haunted by Clithero, and might possibly have been the scene of the
desperate act which he had meditated. It might at least conceal some
token of his past existence. It might lead into spaces hitherto
unvisited, and to summits from which wider landscapes might be seen. One morning I set out to explore this scene. The road which Clithero had
taken was laboriously circuitous. On my return from the first pursuit of
him, I ascended the cliff in my former footsteps, but soon lighted on
the beaten track which I have already described. This enabled me to shun
a thousand obstacles which had lately risen before me, and opened an
easy passage to the cavern. I once more traversed this way. The brow of the hill was gained. The
ledges of which it consisted afforded sufficient footing, when the
attempt was made, though viewed at a distance they seemed to be too
narrow for that purpose. As I descended the rugged stair, I could not
but wonder at the temerity and precipitation with which this descent had
formerly been made. It seemed as if the noonday light and the tardiest
circumspection would scarcely enable me to accomplish it; yet then it
had been done with headlong speed, and with no guidance but the moon's
uncertain rays. I reached the mouth of the cave. Till now I had forgotten that a lamp or
a torch might be necessary to direct my subterranean footsteps. I was
unwilling to defer the attempt. Light might possibly be requisite, if
the cave had no other outlet. Somewhat might present itself within to
the eyes, which might forever elude the hands, but I was more inclined
to consider it merely as an avenue terminating in an opening on the
summit of the steep, or on the opposite side of the ridge. Caution might
supply the place of light, or, having explored the cave as far as
possible at present, I might hereafter return, better furnished for the
scrutiny. Chapter X. With these determinations, I proceeded. The entrance was low, and
compelled me to resort to hands as well as feet. At a few yards from the
mouth the light disappeared, and I found myself immersed in the dunnest
obscurity. Had I not been persuaded that another had gone before me, I
should have relinquished the attempt. I proceeded with the utmost
caution, always ascertaining, by outstretched arms, the height and
breadth of the cavity before me. In a short time the dimensions expanded
on all sides, and permitted me to resume my feet. I walked upon a smooth and gentle declivity. Presently the wall on one
side, and the ceiling, receded beyond my reach. I began to fear that I
should be involved in a maze, and should be disabled from returning. To
obviate this danger it was requisite to adhere to the nearest wall, and
conform to the direction which it should take, without straying through
the palpable obscurity. Whether the ceiling was lofty or low, whether
the opposite wall of the passage was distant or near, this I deemed no
proper opportunity to investigate. In a short time, my progress was stopped by an abrupt descent. I set
down the advancing foot with caution, being aware that I might at the
next step encounter a bottomless pit. To the brink of such a one I
seemed now to have arrived. I stooped, and stretched my hand forward and
downward, but all was vacuity. Here it was needful to pause. I had reached the brink of a cavity whose
depth it Avas impossible to ascertain. It might be a few inches beyond
my reach, or hundreds of feet. By leaping down I might incur no injury,
or might plunge into a lake or dash myself to pieces on the points of
rocks. I now saw with new force the propriety of being furnished with a light. The first suggestion was to return upon my footsteps, and resume my
undertaking on the morrow.