Part 54 (2/2)

In Tresco's Cave.

Tresco stood in his dark, dank cavern, and meditated upon the loneliness of life.

He was naturally a sociable man, and loved the company of his fellows, but here he was living a hermit's existence, shut up in the bowels of the earth, with no better a.s.sociates than the clammy stalact.i.tes which constantly dripped water upon the white, calcareous floors.

The atmosphere was so cold that it chilled the marrow of the goldsmith's bones, and to render habitable the inner recess where he lived he was forced to keep a fire perpetually burning. To do this it was necessary for him to sally into the daylight, in order that he might collect firewood, of which there was in the neighbourhood of the cave an abundant supply.

Groping his way slowly through the winding pa.s.sage, every twist and turn of which he knew in the dark, Benjamin pa.s.sed into the lofty cavern which he had named the Cathedral, where the stalact.i.tes and stalagmites, meeting, had formed huge columns, which seemed to support the great domed roof overhead. This was a place which Tresco was never tired of admiring. ”A temple built without hands,” he said, as he held aloft his candle, and viewed the snow-white pillars which stood on either side of what he named the Nave.

”What a place to preach in.” He who has no companions must needs talk to himself if he would hear the human voice. ”Here, now, a man _could_ expatiate on the work of the Creator, but his sermon would have to be within the fifteen minutes' limit, or his congregation would catch their death of cold. 'Dearly beloved brethren, the words of my text are ill.u.s.trated by the house in which we are a.s.sembled.'” His voice filled the Nave, and reverberated down the aisles. ”'Here you have the real thing, built by the Master Builder, Nature, for the use of the Cave Man, and preserved for all time. How wonderful are the works of Creation, how exquisite the details. You have heard of the Doric, the Ionic, and the Corinthian columns, and of the beauties of Greek architecture, but compare these white, symmetrical piers, raised in one solid piece, without join or crevice. Observe yonder alabaster gallery where the organ swells its harmonious tones; observe the vestry, where the preacher dons his sacerdotal garb--they are perfect. But did I hear a lady sneeze? Alas! Nature forgot the hot-air pipes; the Cathedral, I admit, strikes a little chilly. Therefore I dismiss you, my brethren, lest you should catch pleurisy, or go into galloping consumption.'”

He finished with a laugh, and then pa.s.sed into the small entrance-cave, which he denominated facetiously the Church Porch. Here he blew out his candle, which he placed on a rock, and emerged from his hiding-place.

He had burst from the restful, if cold, comfort of his cave upon the warring elements. Peal after peal of thunder rolled along the wooded slopes of the rugged range; fierce flashes of lightning pierced the gloom of the dark valley below, and from the black thunder-cloud overhead there poured a torrent of rain which made the goldsmith think of the Deluge.

”Ha!” he exclaimed, as he stood in the entrance of his damp den, ”there are worse places than my cave after all. But what I want is firewood.

Lord! that flash almost blinded me.

Rumble--grumble--tumble--crash--bang! Go it; never mind _me_. You aren't frightening me worth tuppence. I rather like a little electricity and _aqua pura_.” In answer there was a dazzling flash, followed by a terrific clap of thunder which seemed to burst almost above Benjamin's head. ”All right, if you insist--I'll go. Sorry I obtruded ... Good afternoon.”

He retreated into the cave, took up his candle, which he relighted, saying to himself, ”I'll go and explore that pa.s.sage behind the Organ Loft, and see if it leads to the outer world. In case I get shut in here, like a rat in a hole, it's just as well for me to know my burrow thoroughly.”

Groping his way up a slippery ascent where his feet continually stumbled over the uneven surface of the encrusted floor, he climbed to the Organ Loft, where, screened behind a delicate, white tracery which hung from roof to floor of the gallery and a.s.sumed the shape of an organ, pipes and panels complete, he could see his candle's flame shoot long fingers of light into the vast Nave below.

However, he spent but little time in contemplation of the weird scene, but turning sharply to the right he followed a narrow, winding pa.s.sage which led into the heart of the limestone mountain. His progress was both slow and difficult, for the encrusting carbonate had, in many places, all but filled up the pa.s.sage, and, in many others, the floor was so broken as to make it almost impossible for him to press onwards.

Now he would squeeze himself between the converging sides of the pa.s.sage, now he would crawl on hands and knees through a hole which would barely receive his shoulders; and thus, sweating, panting, bruised, and even bleeding where his hands and arms had been grazed by rasping and projecting rocks, he at length sat down to rest in a place where the tunnel broadened into a small chamber. How far he had pushed his way into the bowels of the earth he could not tell, neither was he thoughtful of the distance. What he was looking and hoping for, was a gleam of light ahead, but whenever he blew out his candle the inky blackness was so intense as to be painful to his eyes.

”My G.o.d! Supposing a man got in here, and couldn't get back? Suppose I got stuck between two rocks?--I'd have to stop here till I grew thin enough to squeeze out.”

Quickly he re-lit his candle.

”That's better,” he exclaimed. ”There is after all some company in a lighted candle. We'll now go on; we'll press forward; we'll see whither this intricate path leadeth. 'Vorwarts' is the word: no turning back till the goal is reached.”

He crept through a low aperture, and with difficulty he rose to his feet; a few steps further on he stumbled; the candle fell from his hand, and dropped, and dropped, and dropped, in fact he never heard it reach the bottom.

Feeling in his pocket for his matches as he lay p.r.o.ne, he struck a light, and held the burning taper beyond him as far as he could reach.

All that he saw was a dark and horrible abyss. He struck another match with the same result. He seized a piece of loose rock, rolled it over the edge, and waited for the sound of its lodgment at the bottom. He heard it b.u.mping as it fell, but its falling seemed interminable, till at length the sound of its pa.s.sage to the nether regions died away in sheer depth.

Tresco drew a long breath.

”Never,” he said, ”never, in the course of his two score years and ten has Benjamin been so near Hades. The best thing he can do is to 'git,'

deliberately and with circ.u.mspection. And the candle has gone: happy candle to preserve the life of such a man as B.T.”

Slowly and with the utmost caution he crept backwards from the horrible pit. But his supply of matches was scanty, and often he b.u.mped his head against the ceiling, and often he tripped and fell, till before long there was not a part of his portly person that was free from pain. Yet still he struggled on, for he realised that his life depended on his extricating himself from the terrible labyrinth in which he was entangled. He struck match after match, till his stock was expended, and then, panting, weary, and sore, he clenched his teeth and battled onward. It seemed miles to the end of the pa.s.sage. He imagined that he had got into some new tunnel, the opening of which he had pa.s.sed unwittingly when he crept into the trap; and to the natural dread of his situation was added the horrible fear that he was lost in the bowels of the earth.

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