Chapter 27

A BANANA GROVE IN FLORIDA.—The banana plant is one of the most beautiful growths that can be imagined. Its broad, luxuriant leaves are of a bright green color, changing to maroon and orange as the season advances and the fruit begins to ripen. The latter, when it reaches the delicious yellow stage of full maturity, does its part in helping to dress the field in the most beautiful livery of nature, presenting a scene of gold, green and maroon surpassing the powers of pen or pencil to depict or portray. The Spaniards, from a fancied resemblance of the transverse section to a cross, supposed the banana to have been the forbidden fruit, and that Adam saw in eating it the mystery of redemption by the cross.

THE ONE-OX SHAY IN FLORIDA.

Twenty-five miles below Eden is Jupiter, the southern termination of Indian River, a little town that derives its importance from the Government light-house which stands before the inlet to warn vessels off the dangerous reefs outside. The surroundings, however, are very delightful, especially the beach, which is strewn with the prettiest ocean-shells that ever a pensive person gathered, including an occasional pearly nautilus, a perfect one of which we had the good fortune to find. Near-by is the Spouting Rock, a coquina formation that rises into a bank and which has been hollowed at the base by incessant dashing of the billows. Into this grotto the waves plunge with such force that they drive out through an opening in the top of the rock like a colossal fountain, and are scattered by the winds into a shower of rainbows. A narrow-gauge railroad runs south from Jupiter, a distance of eight miles, to Juno, its terminus on Lake Worth, where tourists take a steam launch for Palm Beach and are then in the land of the cocoanut. The voice of eloquence grows coarse when it attempts to paint the beauties of this o’er fair summer-land; a land where warm zephyrs stir the hazy air with breath of perpetual bloom, and sensuous perfumes fan the cheeks of languorous day. In this Arcadian spot of beauty, where the air is passionate as a lover, wooing and kissing the flowers, tossing and embracing the fronds of the cocoa-trees, there is a joy like retrospection; a communion with the rapturous soul of nature; a commingling with the creatures of our sweetest fancy; a balmy, delicious sense of gratification that lulls and etherealizes; that bridges the gulf between the real and the ideal; that builds substantial castles in clouds of gold, and makes everything a slave to our desires. The banks are pictures of beauty, the gardens are beds of perennial delight. Lake Worth is separated from the ocean by a strip of land less than half a mile wide, and this narrow tongue of what was once bare sand has been converted into a stretch of tropical exuberance. For a distance of four miles there is an unbroken glade of cocoanut-trees, while nearer to the sea-shore are banana groves, and trees bending to the ground with guavas, sapodillas, oranges, lemons and other tropical fruits. At intervals there are gardens full-bearing in February with beans, peas, tomatoes, and along the walks are flower-beds that flame with color and lade the atmosphere with nature’s incense. To walk through such a grove of fruitful delight is to fill the heart with ecstasy.

A COCOANUT GROVE ON THE BANKS OF LAKE WORTH, FLORIDA.—There are but few of the wants and conveniences of mankind to which the cocoanut palm does not contribute something. Without exception it is the most useful tree in existence. It attains a height of sixty to one hundred feet, and a diameter of one to two feet; while it is resplendently crowned with numerous feather-like leaves from eighteen to twenty feet long. The flowers come in clusters, and at first have a beautiful milk-white appearance, which, however, soon changes to a yellowish color. They are beautiful for their varied combinations and great number rather than from any individual grace. Each tree will produce from eighty to one hundred nuts per year.

SCENE ON THE OKLAWAHA RIVER, FLORIDA.

The air of this southern region is not only languorous but, in the piney districts particularly, is balsamic, and hence thousands of consumptives go to Florida for relief which they cannot find elsewhere. The Everglades are not what they were formerly pictured to be before exploration revealed that instead of impenetrable swamps they are sections of very thickly timbered lands, whose only drawback are spiney-palmettos, which render travel through them very laborious. But at several places I saw parties of consumptives encamped not far from Indian River, and also in the vicinity of Lake Worth, where they spent their time in hunting and fishing, and claimed great benefits from the exercise as well as from the restoratives contained in the air.

Returning from our trip down Indian River, we left the steamboat at Titusville and took train for Enterprise, at which point we embarked on boat for a run down the St. John’s River as far as Palatka. The journey was very different from that on Indian River, yet the sensation of pleasure was not wanting, for the stream, though the largest in Florida, is, nevertheless, characteristic, sluggish, rather shallow and margined with a thick growth of timber and brush-wood. The landings, while more important than those on Indian River, are generally small villages whose principal population are negroes. The industries in Florida are not varied as in other States, but consist mainly of fruit growing, fishing and phosphate digging. Manufacturing there is none, practically, and the people derive their largest revenue from tourists, who pay as much for oranges, cocoanuts and pineapples at the places where they are grown as is charged for the fruit in our Northern cities. Yet there are signs of rapid growth in Florida, and the State has a bright future, for it is settling up at a marvelous pace, and with an excellent class of immigrants.

AN ORANGE GROVE NEAR PALATKA, FLORIDA.—A full-grown orange tree, loaded to the ground with its yellow, ripe, luscious fruit, is a delightful object to gaze upon. Oranges do not drop from the trees of their own accord as soon as they are matured, like most other fruits, but they hang by the stem until they are plucked off, and it is said that the longer they remain the sweeter and juicier do they become. Experience seems to prove the truth of this theory, for we have never eaten oranges elsewhere so deliciously sweet as when we took them from the tree with our own hands and ate them on the spot. Owing to the peculiarity of the fruit it is no uncommon thing to see ripe oranges on a tree that is in full bloom for another crop.

EXCURSION LAUNCH ON THE RUN, FLORIDA.

About Palatka are many very fine orange groves, and the city is in a flourishing condition, largely through the business of fruit growing. In writing of the St. John’s River Mr. Edward King says, with truth well told: “The banks are low and flat, but bordered with a wealth of foliage to be seen nowhere else upon this continent. One passes for hundreds of miles through a grand forest of cypresses robed in moss and mistletoe; of palms towering gracefully far above the surrounding trees; of palmettos whose rich trunks gleam in the sun; of swamp, white and black ash, of magnolia, water-oak, poplar and plane trees; and where the hummocks rise a few feet above the water level, the sweet-bay, the olive, cotton-tree, juniper, red-cedar, sweet-gum, and live-oak shoot up their splendid stems; while among the shrubbery and inferior growths one may note the azalea, the sumach, sensitive plant, agave, poppy, mallow, and the nettle. The fox-grape clambers along the branches, and the woodbine and bignonia escalade the haughtiest forest monarch. When the steamer nears the shore, one can see far through the tangled thickets the gleaming water, out of which rise thousands of cypress knees, looking exactly like so many champagne bottles set into the current to cool. The heron and the crane saucily watch the shadow which the approaching boat throws near their retreat. The wary monster-turtle gazes for an instant, with his black head cocked knowingly on one side, then disappears with a gentle slide and splash. An alligator grins familiarly as a dozen revolvers are pointed at him over the boat’s side, sullenly winks with his tail, and vanishes, as the bullets meant for his tough hide skim harmlessly over the ripples left above him. For its whole length the river affords glimpses of perfect beauty. It is not grandeur which one finds on the banks of the great stream; it is nature run riot. The very irregularity is delightful, the decay is charming, the solitude is picturesque.”

I may add to Mr. King’s description the regrettable fact that the animate scenes which he pictured are no longer to be witnessed on the St. John’s River. The persecution of alligators by travelers on the steamers has resulted in the practical extermination of those curious creatures in that stream. They are now protected by a State law, but it came too late; where alligators were plentiful five years ago they are now a curiosity, though in some parts of Florida, where travel is not heavy, their number is not yet diminished, but every year they are becoming scarcer, and in a little while they will no doubt be extinct. Not only are alligators persecuted for the mere sport of killing, but thousands are annually destroyed by professional hunters for their hides, which make an excellent leather. The taxidermist also finds his business increased by the sale of stuffed specimens to visitors from the North, while great numbers of the young are caught and sold to the lovers of curious things for pets, all of which contribute to their rapid diminution, and their total extinction is therefore a matter of only a short while.

A PALMETTO GLADE NEAR PALATKA, FLORIDA.—The palmetto is intimately associated with the history of the South, having on several occasions been adopted as the national tree and emblazoned on the flags. It has also done good service on many occasions as material for forts and breastworks, the tough and spongy nature of the wood being well suited for such a purpose. No wonder, therefore, that it is regarded with a certain degree of love and veneration by the people who live within the limits of its growth. As a forest tree, or for the ornamentation of lawns, nothing could be more beautiful, as may be inferred from its elegant appearance in the photograph before us.

SILVER SPRING AND OCKLAWAHA STEAMBOAT.

Palatka is a pretty town of 3,500 inhabitants, and situated in the heart of the orange belt. Besides its picturesque surroundings and importance as a shipping point, it is healthfully located on high ground and in the midst of a piney region noted for the blandness of its climate. Florida has been transformed within the past very few years by the Plant railways from a state of comparatively sandy desolation, without roads through its dense growths, into a country of great advantages and thriftiness. Fruit trees have supplanted the coverts of palmetto, and there is health and prosperity abounding everywhere. The “Florida Cracker,” as her languid, backwoods, one-gallus type of slovenly, slow humanity is called, has not yet wholly disappeared, but the transition to more industrious and cultured citizenship is going on, and it is particularly apparent about Palatka. The old-time conveyance of an ox in shafts hitched to a cart of uncertain age is not quite obsolete, but it survives more as a relic than as a thing of every-day service; and people who visit Florida on a winter trip, people in fine linen who are able to fare sumptuously, are more given to using the ox-cart, than are the permanent inhabitants. In the mountain districts of Colorado tourists ride burros; in Florida they affect a preference for the harnessed ox. It is the influence of locality that diversifies custom. Another curiosity in Florida, peculiar alike to Cuba and the tropics generally, is the palmetto hut, an unsubstantial structure roofed and “weather-boarded” with palmetto leaves, but which furnishes protection from the sun and rain. These huts are usually built to serve as temporary abodes for orange-pickers, and are therefore usually within or near the groves. Throughout Florida it is the custom to sell the orange crop on the trees, the purchasers being fruit dealers from the North. These dealers employ trained pickers, who work throughout the season, going from one grove to another, until the gathering is completed; usually they provide their own supplies, likewise their shelter, and the palmetto hut serves them both well and economically. When the fleas become so thick as to crowd the occupants, they burn the hut and build another. It is the cheapest way yet discovered of getting rid of these elusive pests.

HOME OF THE ORANGE-PICKERS IN FLORIDA.—A curiosity peculiar to Florida, and the tropics generally, is the palmetto hut, an unsubstantial structure roofed and “weather-boarded” with palmetto leaves, but furnishing ample protection from sun and rain. These huts are usually built to serve as temporary abodes for orange-pickers, and are therefore generally within or near the groves. It is the custom to sell the orange crop on the trees, the purchasers being usually fruit dealers from the North. These dealers employ trained pickers, who work throughout the season, going from one grove to another until the gathering is completed. These pickers generally provide their own supplies, likewise their shelter, and the palmetto hut serves them both well and economically.

SCENE ON THE SUWANEE RIVER.

At Palatka we took boat for an excursion up the Ocklawaha River to Silver Spring and Ocala, the head of navigation on that stream. Of our many trips in the East, West and South, this proved to be the most unique, the most wonderful, the most sensationally picturesque. Ocklawaha River is at once a lagoon, a narrow lake, and a swamp, but at no place does it have the appearance of a flowing stream, for the current is scarcely perceptible. The shore-line is indicated by a profuse growth of water-vegetation and cypress knees, while at places the river is so narrow that lofty trees interlace their branches above the low smoke-stack of the boat. And what a boat! It is well adapted to the trade, and to that end is unlike any other steamer that ever sat in the water, a thing of indescribable shape, an object of surprise and curiosity. On this queer craft fifty people may ride in comfort during the day, while attention is attracted by the alligators, cranes, loons and snake-birds along the shore, but the night must be spent in vain regrets and fighting mosquitoes. No chance to get lonesome on this trip; there is too much to see in day-time and too much to do at night. But it is a novelty, an experience, a sensation worth more than the discomforts that must be endured. Along the Ocklawaha alligators are still plentiful, because shooting is not allowed from the boat, and there is no other way to approach them within gun-shot distance. The lazy monsters may be seen sunning their corrugated backs on nearly every log, and in their company huge water-snakes are often found, associated with big and little snapping-turtles, the three species forming a congenial but most repulsive family of reptilian cousinship. The water being half-stagnant is black with a vegetable dissolution, and yet so transparent that the bottom may at times be seen. But if the creatures that haunt the river are offensive, the sight is compensated by the wonder which they excite; while the dense woods that margin the shore are resonant with the carol of birds and jewelled with their brilliant plumage.

The trip is remarkably interesting, but the greatest charm that attaches to the stream is found when the boat reaches Silver Spring, the most exquisite pool that was ever rippled by dip of oar or skimmed by lap-wing. Tradition tells us that this is the marvelous rejuvenating spring of which Ponce de Leon heard fabulous tales which lured him to the dark interior of Indian-infested Florida. If his eyes ever gazed into its crystalline depths surely he must have believed that his quest for the magic fountain had been rewarded. The clearness of the water may be likened to the air itself, for at its greatest depth of eighty feet objects on the bottom may be clearly and distinctly seen, likewise the fissure through which the water pours up like a veritable fountain. A peculiarity of the spring is the prismatic colors which are reflected from any white or shiny object thrown into it. To test this curious fact I cast in a piece of broken crockery and watched with keenest interest the fragment as it sank in a zigzag motion to the bottom. No rainbow was ever so brilliant as the colors which flashed up from this piece of saucer, nor did ever jewel gleam with more scintillant beauty.

A HOME IN THE SHADES OF SOUTHERN PINES.—If Ponce de Leon and his doughty Spaniards had remained in Florida and built them homes like this, under the shades of the health-giving pines, instead of wading through swamps and morasses in quest of the fountain of youth, they might, and probably would, have lived to be hale and hearty old men. Abodes like this, in the balmy air of the Sunny South, are fountains of life within themselves, where, free from worry and the necessity of making a living, one has but little to do aside from living and growing and being happy. Such homes, with contentment, are more worthy of being sought after than the wealth of a thousand Crœsuses.

A BAPTIZING ON THE SUWANEE RIVER.

The flow from Silver Spring is so great that a deep river one hundred feet wide is formed, which, after a course of nine miles, joins the Ocklawaha. This stream is called the Run, and a little launch, or tug, plies over this short course, carrying visitors on an excursion which, if brief, is incomparably delightful. Five miles from Silver Spring is Ocala, on the Florida Southern Railroad, to which point we proceeded, and thence north and west by the Savannah, Florida and Western, and the Florida Central and Peninsular railroads to New Orleans. Ocala is on the border or north limit of the hummock lands, and thereafter the journey was through pine-barrens which are so infested with dwarf palmetto that it appears to be an impossible labor to clear it away. This is the home of the deer and likewise of the rattlesnake, very monsters of the latter being more plentiful than game; but north of Gainesville the country presents a change for the better, being much higher and undulating, with hills that are 300 or 400 feet above the ocean level, and the soil is exceedingly fertile. The vegetation, too, loses its tropical character, orange groves disappear, and fields of tobacco and cotton occupy the landscape.

At High Springs we crossed the Santa River, a tributary of the Suwanee; at New Bradford we touched the banks of that historic river, and at Ellaville crossed the stream and halted there a day to pay to it the tribute of a respect aroused in every American heart by Foster’s mournful pastorale, “The Old Folks at Home.” Who has not heard “Way down upon the Suwanee River”? and who hearing the song has not tried to picture the desolate plantation and the dreary heart that went up and down the solitudes of the deserted cotton-field sighing for the old massa and missus, who will never call for Pompey again? In a small boat we rowed down the river, which was as still as death, and almost as motionless. The faint sound of a saw-mill at Ellaville was the only thing that gave reminder of our proximity to civilization; and when at length even this link was broken by distance, it seemed as if all creation had gone into mourning. The spell, while mournful, was yet dreamily charming, and instinctively, under the influence of such lonesome isolation, we sang with the fullness of appreciation, “The Old Folks at Home.” Never before had song such sweetness, never had one so much of sadness, to me; and when the last note died away there was a feeling of oppression in the silence that ensued. The old song brought up visions to whichwe were unused: a fallow-field where once was bounty; a large white mansion with its long porch fallen in decay; a magnolia-tree with a mocking-bird’s deserted nest ready to fall from its dead branches; two grave-stones, green with moss, in the pasture, and an old darkey bowed in prayer. The Suwanee has its source in Okefenokee Swamps, Georgia, and after running its course of nearly three hundred miles, empties into the Gulf of Mexico, just above Cedar Key. At some places the river has considerable width, but never sufficient depth to permit of navigation by any craft of considerable size. Its banks are occasionally high, as at Ellaville, but generally they are flat and overhung by oaks thickly festooned with moss. The current is sluggish and the water seldom clear, carrying as it does a thick vegetable solution. The stream is neither beautiful nor romantic, save as it acquires the reputation for being both through the song that has made it as famous as our largest rivers.

A SECTION OF BIENVILLE PARK, MOBILE, ALABAMA.

The country about Ellaville is fairly well settled, though the place itself hardly ranks as a hamlet. We arrived on Saturday, and as no trains run on Sunday we were compelled to remain over, and attended church in the forenoon and witnessed a baptizing later in the day. The administration of the ceremony proved to be a great event in the unruffled lives of the people, and many came long distances to witness the immersion of four candidates, three women and a man. The sight of a baptizing, while common enough, possessed for us unusual interest because the place was Suwanee River, and having the consent of the officiating minister, we took a photograph of the crowd on shore, a heavy cloud overcasting the sun immediately after, so that a picture could not be made of the baptizing. From Ellaville our journey was continued westward through Tallahassee and on to Mobile, where a short stop was made, and thence to New Orleans. Mobile is not only one of the oldest towns in the South, but is among the earliest settlements in America, the exact date of its founding being in dispute. The place is known to have been the original seat of the French colonization in the Southwest as early as 1702, but its growth was so slow that the Colonial Government was transferred to New Orleans in 1723, and with the change, the little importance which it had acquired became lost, nor was it again recovered until the place became a rendezvous for corsairs under the infamous Lafitte, from 1810 to 1815. Its greatest prosperity, however, dates since the civil war, though someyears preceding that troublous period Mobile had become a considerable port, her chief shipments being cotton, coal, lumber and naval stores.

AVENUE OF TOMBS IN WASHINGTON CEMETERY, NEW ORLEANS.

The entrance to Mobile Bay is commanded by Forts Morgan and Gaines, which are thirty miles below the city, and on the east side of Tensas River are the ruins of Spanish Fort and Fort Blakely, all of which played an important part in the defence of the city when it was attacked by Admiral Farragut, in August, 1864. One of the most desperate battles that was fought during the war took place in the harbor, when Farragut ran the blockade with a squadron of ten powerful men-of-war headed by his flagship, theHartford, and encountered the Confederate fleet inside. One of the Union ships ran onto a torpedo and was instantly blown into fragments, but the other vessels met with little opposition until at the moment when Farragut thought the battle won, he saw with surprise the dark body of a strange vessel flying the Confederate flag and bearing down upon him at great speed, evidently intent upon ramming and sinking his ship. TheHartford, by a piece of good luck and skilful handling, managed to avoid the intended blow, and then followed an engagement that has few parallels in fierceness. The strange gun-boat proved to be theTennessee, one of the most powerful and destructive that the Confederate Government had sent into service. The Union iron-clads closed around their black and terrible antagonist and battered her with their heavy prows of steel until the unequal contest was ended by her surrender. Forts Gaines and Morgan were also captured, but Spanish Fort and Fort Blakely still defended the city, which resisted all efforts at its reduction until April 12, 1865, three days after the surrender of Lee.

Mobile has grown greatly since the war, and now has a population of nearly 35,000. It is situated on a sandy plain that rises into high and very graceful hills. Notwithstanding the barren shore as nature made it, the arts of man have supplied the deficiency of soil and made of the streets bowers of lovely shade, so charming that much of the city’s fame is due to the noble trees that arch all its streets. Bienville Park is one of the prettiest spots in southern lands, noted far and near alike for its massive live-oaks, magnificent magnolias, and handsome fountain, a place swathed in delicious airs and luxurious with the richest and most beautiful vegetation.

A PLANTATION HOME IN MISSISSIPPI.—This is one of the few old-time Southern mansions that survived the shock of war and still remain as landmarks of the golden age of the South country, when the wealthy planters owned armies of slaves and entertained with a hospitality even more than princely. As a rule these mansions have fallen into decay, even where they were not wholly or partially destroyed, for when the master and his sons left their bones to bleach upon some distant battle-field, the light of the home went out, and the weaker members of the household, reduced in many instances to pinching poverty, sadly but bravely took up the battle of life in less favored localities. But prosperity promises once more to smile upon the South, and the old mansions are being rebuilt, but the old faces are no more seen beneath their roofs.

Westward from Mobile the route was by the Louisville and Nashville Railroad along the Gulf border of Mississippi, through some of the loveliest intervales that vision ever wandered over. The air is warm without debilitating sultriness, for the Gulf of Mexico tempers the atmosphere with refreshing humidity, and a constant breeze shakes the perfume out of flowering shrub and tree. Many beautiful places are passed on the run of one hundred and forty miles from Mobile to New Orleans, some of which are more or less noted as winter resorts, such as Ocean Springs, Biloxi, Beauvoir, Pass Christian, and Bay St. Louis. Beauvoir has a place in history as being the residence of Jefferson Davis for several years after the war, and where he died. The way is beautified also by many palatial homes and well-cultivated plantations that attest the thrift and prosperity of farmers of the New South.

Between Pass Christian and Bay St. Louis the road crosses an inlet of St. Louis Bay on a steel trestle, and a few miles further west passes over Pearl River and enters Louisiana. The land is level, and cut up by innumerable bayous, and after crossing the narrow outlet of Lake Pontchartrain, called Pigolet’s, the road runs along a tongue of sea marsh for a few miles, then plunges into a dismal swamp, where the alligator’s bellow and the cormorant’s cry are the only sounds that disturb its stillness, save when a train goes growling by. “The sea marsh is dotted with many lakes, where green vegetable rafts of lotus leaves and lily pods turn slowly with the tide or float lazily about, blown by the breath of a salt breeze sweeping in from the Gulf. But in the ghostly gloom of the swamp, the forest trees are like an assemblage of monstrosities, great gnarled trunks and knotted arms of moss-draped oaks, clutching at the fan-shaped fronds of palmettos, while the mixture of crooked bodies and twisted leaf-stems of the latonia appear as if they were the bodies and outstretched arms of horned goblins appealing for release.”

New Orleans is a very old city, settled by the French in 1718. Like other settlements of these early times, it has passed through many evil vicissitudes and been in turn a possession of France, Spain, and the United States. A singular thing in connection with the city is the fact that it is built upon ground that is considerably lower than the surface of the Mississippi during high water, and that it has no more substantial foundation than an alluvium deposit which has been going on for centuries, constantly extending into the Gulf, the point of outlet of the Mississippi. To prevent overflowing, the city is protected by a dyke, or levee, which is fifteen feet wide and fourteen feet high. This earth-wall follows the river’s crescent winding a distance of ten miles, while another extends across the rear to protect the city from Lake Pontchartrain. To secure a firm foundation for some of the large buildings, cotton-bales have been used on which to build, as piling is of no service. But that this character of basis is no disadvantage is proven by the fact that New Orleans is noted for its mammoth edifices, public, church and commercial, which give no sign of insecurity. The place is essentially cosmopolitan, for in no other city is the population more mixed, nearly every street being occupied by a different nationality. Commercially it is next to New York as an export city, and easily holds the honor of the leading cotton port of the country, from which one-fourth of the world’s supply is floated. She is likewise a city of many charms and great historic interest. Within the city proper occurred a terrible scene following the rebellion of 1763, when France ceded the place to Spain, while at its southern outskirts is the battle-field on which Jackson won his glorious victory over the British under Packenham, January 8, 1815. The city passed through another storm of shot and shell in 1862, when Farragut compelled its capitulation after a terrible bombardment. But these scars have long since healed, and New Orleans, despite plagues and wars, has held her position as Queen City of the South and one of the great metropoli of America, with a population now of 250,000, which is rapidly increasing. While New Orleans is famous for the romance with which her history is invested, for her immense importance as an export city, and also for the beauty of her parks and magnificence of her private residences, the curiosity of strangers is no less attracted by her cemeteries, which are unlike those of any others in the world. In earlier times it was the custom there to bury the dead in shallow graves, but this practice was finally abandoned for the more sacred and sanitary one of enclosing the bodies in tombs above the ground, and then hermetically sealing up the mortuary cell. This became a necessity because of the nature of the soil, where water is reached at a depth of two feet below the surface. Some of these tombs are mausoleums made of stone or iron and of beautiful architectural designs, but the more common form of disposition of the dead is in a wall pierced by cells large enough to contain a coffin, one above the other, to a height of seven or eight feet. There are thirty-three such cemeteries in New Orleans, in one of which (Greenwood) is a monument to the Confederate dead; and in another, the National, at Chalmette, the Union dead are similarly honored.

FAIRY GROTTO, MAMMOTH CAVE.—There is a remarkable absence of stalactitic formations in Mammoth Cave, Fairy Grotto and the Maelstrom being the only points where they are found in any quantity. But on the other hand, it contains an unexampled wealth of crystals of endless variety and incomparable beauty. There are halls canopied with fleecy clouds, or studded with mimic snowballs, and others displaying various grotesque resemblances on the walls and ceilings. Two avenues, each a mile long, are adorned by myriads of gypsum rosettes and curiously twisted crystals, called “oulopholites,” or cave-flowers, which are unfolded by pressure like a sheaf of wheat forced through a tight binding. This charming embellishment of clusters and garlands is frequently seen curling outward, like roses, composing petrified bouquets that cover the snowy arches.

Having completed our work in New Orleans, and a tour of the Southeast, or at least that portion which is noted for its semi-tropical characteristics and great picturesqueness, we took train on the Louisville and Nashville Railroad for Mammoth Cave, to make an inspection and photographic tour of that world-wonderful natural curiosity. To reach the Cave our route was northeast through Birmingham, Nashville, and thence to Glasgow Junction, at which point connection is made with a little spur of the Louisville and Nashville Road, which runs directly to the Cave, a distance of twelve miles from the Junction. Mammoth Cave is in the eastern part of Edmondson county, Kentucky, eighty-five miles south of Louisville, and its entrance is in a forest ravine nearly two hundred feet above Green River, where the banks are very steep and high. It is said to have been discovered in 1809 by a hunter named Hutchins, while pursuing a wounded bear that had taken refuge in a wide crevice that led directly into a broad chamber of the Cave. The history of this discovery is not sufficiently definite to enable us to know which one of the two points of entrance was thus accidentally found. The present opening used is in the ravine mentioned, but the original mouth is believed to have been the aperture that is nearly a quarter of a mile above, and leads into what is known as Dixon’s Cave, a disconnected branch of Mammoth Cavern.

Luray Caverns are lighted by electricity, so that photographing its many chambers and beautiful stalactitic formations is easily accomplished; but though Mammoth Cave is the largest and best known of the world’s great subterranean recesses, and visited by about 6,000 persons annually, no provision has been made for lighting, beyond the crude method of guides who carry torches and candles. To photograph its dark rivers, avenues, configurations, and strange sculpturings many attempts have been made by the aid of magnesium lights, but without satisfactory results until Mr. Ben. Hains, of New Albany, Indiana, made special and most careful preparations to do the work which had so often failed in the hands of others. Several weeks were spent in the cave testing the powerful artificial lights which he had provided, and by dint of perseverance he was at last rewarded by the most perfect results. To this enterprising gentleman we are indebted for the use of the photographs from which our reproductions are made.

Mammoth Cave first came into notice and importance about the year 1812, when it was discovered that the cave contained vast beds of niter, sufficient, as was stated at the time, to supply the whole population of the globe with saltpeter. Gratz and Williams were the owners, and established a very large industry in collecting the nitrous earth by means of ox-carts and shipping it to Philadelphia, where it was used in manufacturing the gun-powder that enabled us to triumph over England a second time. The region is essentially cavernous, as Professor Shaler estimates that in this carboniferous limestone district of Kentucky “there are at least 100,000 miles of open caverns,” but very few of the five hundred caves and grottoes of Edmondson county contain nitrous earth. On the other hand, there have been very few evidences of prehistoric occupancy discovered in Mammoth Cave, while in Salt Cave, its neighbor, and almost a rival in size, archæologic remains, such as fire-places, burnt torches, sandals, and moccasin-prints are numerous; and in Short Cave, also near-by, the mummified bodies of several small animals and a few human remains have been found. White Cave is half a mile from the Mammoth Cave entrance, and the two may be connected, though the communication has not been discovered. But there is a decided difference in the formations that characterize the two. White Cave is in some respects similar to Luray Caverns in its exquisitely charming variety of stalactites. In the first chamber, “Little Bat Room,” as it is called, we find many lovely creations and a few objects of great interest to paleontologists. In the second room is a piece of stalactitic drapery, which has been very appropriately called the “Frozen Cascade.” “Humboldt’s Pillar” and “Bishop’s Dome” are other wonderful examples of the effects of slowly percolating water bearing lime in solution. In this same cave, some seventy years ago, were found huge fossil bones, of the megalonyx, or giant sloth, bear, bison, and stag, and scattered among these animal remains were a few human bones.

But while the adjacent caves each possess an interest peculiar to themselves, Mammoth Cave must continue to remain the most remarkable cavern in our country, not only for its size, but likewise for the marvels which exploration of its labyrinthine avenues has revealed. To Professor H. C. Hovey’s admirable and scientific description of the Cave I acknowledge my indebtedness for a larger part of the information here imparted, from which, also, liberal extracts are made, though without quotation credit.

OLD STONE HOUSE, MAMMOTH CAVE.—The dry atmospheric condition of the galleries of Mammoth Cave led to a belief some forty years ago that a continuous residence within these dark precincts for a definite period would be beneficial to consumptives. The experiment was therefore made by building a number of stone houses or huts at a point about a mile within the cave, in which a colony of invalids took up their abodes and lived in deep seclusion until it was demonstrated by the death of several of the sufferers that they derived no benefit from the surroundings. Relics of two of these stone huts still remain, but they exist now only as curiosities, no one having spent a night in either of them for many years.

The entrance to Mammoth Cave is arched by a rock-span of seventy feet, thence leading by an easy descent down a winding flight of stone steps to a narrow passage through which the air rushes outward with great force in summer and is drawn inward with corresponding violence during the winter, a phenomenon due to the inequality of temperature between the air inside and out of the Cave, for the temperature of the Cave is uniformly 54° Fahrenheit at all times. The atmosphere being thus constantly agitated, is kept constantly pure, for while the lower levels are moist, being no doubt connected with Green River, the upper avenues and galleries are always dry; conditions which were one time thought to be particularly favorable to consumptives, as well as to those suffering from other wasting diseases. The experiment was therefore made, some forty years ago, of building thirteen stone houses at a point one mile within the Cave, in which a number of invalids took up their domicile and lived there in deep seclusion until it was demonstrated that whatever might be the salubrity of the atmosphere, consumptives derived no benefit from it, a number dying in the Cave. Relics of two of these stone huts still remain, but they exist now only as curiosities, no one having spent a night in one of them for many years.

The main cave is from 40 to 300 feet wide and from 35 to 125 feet high, divided into a great number of rooms and winding avenues, the extent of which has not yet been determined, for exploration of the Cave is far from being complete. Some of the best known rooms are, first, the Rotunda, in which are ruins of the old saltpeter works, and where the skeletons of two men were found several years ago. Beyond this is the Star Chamber, where the protrusion of white crystals through a coating of black oxide of manganese creates an optical illusion of great beauty. Another department is called the Chief City, a chamber of nearly two acres space, with a vaulted roof 125 feet high. The floor is bestrewn with rocks, among which have been found charred torches of cone, and a few other evidences of prehistoric occupancy. There are also shown some mummified bodies, preserved by their inhumation in nitrous earth, utensils, ornaments, braided sandals, and other relics, but all of these were found in Salt and Short Caves, near-by, and removed to Mammoth Cave for exhibition. The main cave ends four miles from the entrance, but is joined to other spacious chambers by winding passages leading to different levels, so that while the cavern area is perhaps less than ten miles, the total length of the avenues is supposed to be 150 miles.

The chief places of interest are found along two main lines of the explored portions, from which side excursions may be made. The “short route” may be covered in about four hours, but it requires nine hours to traverse what is known as the “long route.” Audubon Avenue is the first leadway, interesting for the swarms of bats that hang in huge clusters from the ceiling, but it is not until Gothic Avenue is reached that stalactites and stalagmites are met with. This passage leads into the Chapel, at the end of which is a beautiful double dome and cascade; thence we pass into the Throne-Room, with its royal formations of surprising splendors, which compel visitors to stop, and elicit exclamations of wonder and admiration. The Bridal Altar is almost equally grand, with its frosted pillars of pearl-white, and the convolutions of their magnificent pediments that may be likened to clouds in the sky of cave. Indeed, these vertical shafts or petrified columns are among the most surprising features of cave scenery. They are not confined to the Bridal Altar, however, for they pierce through all levels, from the uppermost galleries to the lowest floors, and even find lodgment in the sink-holes.

A block of stone that is forty feet long by twenty feet wide is called the Giant’s Coffin, and when viewed from a certain angle the resemblance to a funeral casket is so great that even if attention were not called to it, visitors would hardly fail to be a little shocked by the sight. There is a narrow passage-way around the coffin, which followed leads to a large vault called Gorin’s Dome, in which there are six pits varying in depth from 65 to 220 feet; truly, awful pits to fall into. Notwithstanding the treacherous character of the floor, Gorin’s Dome is one of the finest chambers in the Cave, for it is charmingly festooned and pillared with stalactitic formations. Mammoth Dome, which is at the termination of Sparks Avenue, is probably more interesting, because besides having its walls draped with a marvelous tapestry, the great wonder of the room is immensely increased and beautified by a cataract, which falls from a height of 250 feet and fills the apartment with its musical splashings. The Egyptian Temple, which is a continuation of the Mammoth Dome, contains six massive columns, two of which are quite perfect and eighty feet high by twenty-five feet in diameter. Lucy’s Dome, which is three hundred feet high, is the loftiest of these monster shafts, the equal of which cannot be found in any known cave in the world.

Back to Index Next