Part 10

My stay underground was cut short by the fear that the others would grow impatient. I was hauled up without mishap, save that at one point the cotton rope stuck fast in a cleft, and I had to pull myself up hand over hand on the life-line. Two men then went down, with the result we had dreaded--the rope could not be got back to the last man without extreme difficulty. Only after tying on stone after stone, and making many a cast in vain, did we ultimately restore communication. He came up; the guardian block was pushed back into its place; and at a late hour we struck down the hillside home.

A day or two later we set out once more to find Phelps's Cavern. It opens on the very crest of the ridge leading up to Crook Hill, or, as it is more commonly known to-day, Crook's Peak, a sharp Limestone spur, running south-east from the western extremity of Wavering Down. At the foot of the hill, near the road, we came across a small cave, called the Fox's Hole, which we searched thoroughly for any continuation upwards or downwards, but in vain. After a great deal of jamming and squeezing, we got in to a distance of 50 feet, where a low chamber has holes between wall and floor that had acted as a water-sink to some ancient system of cavities. But the floor was heaped with stones, and in spite of our efforts to clear these out, we did not discover a single hole big enough to enter. This small cave is, doubtless, but the tail end of the cavern that once existed here; and, indeed, the large cavern at the hilltop must be little more than a fragment of what it was. Crook's Peak seems to be the mere skeleton of a hill. To account for the presence of such a cavern at the summit, one must postulate a large drainage area in days gone by, and a general configuration entirely opposite to the present. The higher part of the hill is but a Limestone shell enclosing these ancient, and now waterless, caverns.

The big cavern is known as Denny's Hole. Descending the sloping side of an open pit, we found ourselves under an arch of mighty span, the crown of which was formed by the rock-wall on the other side. Under this arch the floor sloped precipitously into the jaws of the cavern; then the roof came close down, and the farther passages wound onwards as low tunnels, descending steeply into the entrails of the hill. It is easy enough to get to a considerable depth and distance in the largest of these, but the journey is not specially interesting, for the place has been looted by adventurous rustics, and serious exploration is at present brought to a standstill by the enormous quantities of loose stones filling every cavity in the floor. Coming back to the cave mouth, we were struck by the grandeur of the vestibule, which has every appearance of being the remains of a great subterranean chamber, the pit-like entrance, through which we look up to the sky and the sunshine, being the remnant of a cave-tunnel, once perhaps of very considerable length.

Phelps had alluded to another chamber, of some beauty, to be attained, at the expense of divers wrenches and abrasions, by a certain tortuous passage leading out of the vestibule. After diligent search we found a hole in the floor at one corner, but it seemed to be only a foot or two deep. Kicking about for some time, with body half in and half out of the hole, I managed to shift some loose stones, and felt space below. But the space proved, on experiment, at least as excellent a place of torment as Phelps's description had been able to do justice to. The passage doubled back upon itself at once, and twisted here and there like a corkscrew. Only by obstinate wriggling were we able to worm a way down to the low cavity at the bottom. Two blind passages started therefrom, and in one wall was a long, horizontal slit, with some big place beyond, as we judged from the sound of the stones we threw in. In various cautious attitudes we inserted ourselves into the slit. The drop inside, though fearful to anticipate, was a matter of only a few feet.

The cave we found ourselves in was a sort of double chamber, with vestiges of a partition across the middle; the whole was some 40 feet in length. At one end was a pool of water, stagnant at present, or nearly so. Close by, a low fissure sloped downwards to a vertical hole or pot that sounded deep; but we could not get near it for the spikes of stalactite that guarded it on all sides. This chamber, which we thought must communicate with the series reached by the main passage from the vestibule, seems to have been hardly ever visited. We heard a story of a lady's pet dog that had been lost here for a week, and was not found, although a tempting reward was offered, until a farmer, who told us the story, explored the corkscrew tunnel leading to this cave. He found the poor beast shivering on the edge of the slit we had come in by, afraid to jump. Even the farmer, who thought he knew all the ramifications of this perplexing cavern, did not seem to have reached this chamber, the natural ornaments of which showed no trace of specimen-hunting.

Returning to daylight, we examined a cave vent in the ground hard by, where a vapour was steaming up into the chilly air. The penetrable portion was just big enough to accommodate the six feet two of our tallest man. With some time left on our hands, we decided now to walk on to Loxton, the next village, where another cave was situated on a Limestone hilltop. There were only two miles to walk, so we did not think it worth while to doff our cave panoply. Great was the speculation that our unexampled appearance excited in the people we met. We could not be tramps--in fact, we hardly looked respectable enough; and yet our rucksacks, ropes, and cameras gave us an air of distinction that was puzzling in the extreme. Faces crowded to the windows at every house we passed, and at Loxton we had to run the gauntlet of satiric observation. As we asked our way to the quarry at Loxton, the general conclusion was that we were in quest of a job there.

This cave must have been a very interesting one long ago, but now it is like those at Compton Bishop, only a remnant; and besides what has been destroyed by natural denudation, a great deal has been damaged by the gradual approaches of a Limestone quarry on the side of the hill. This has exposed the outlets of several passages. A labyrinth of low galleries remains, with a few larger hollows here and there; but of whatever beauty they once possessed they have long been denuded by the devastating village boy, who has found the intricacies of Loxton Cavern a perfect paradise. It does not follow that the cave would necessarily not pay for a thorough exploration. If some of the lower reaches were carefully examined, entrances would very likely be found into still nether caverns, of which these dry channels were at one time the feeders. But the work would be peculiarly difficult on account of the smallness of the open spaces, and the result uncertain. Yet the Limestone of the Mendips is so thick--the thickest in England--and the parts that have been explored are so honeycombed with cavities and passages, that every gateway into this strange underworld promises more or less reward. It is somewhere in the neighbourhood of Loxton and Banwell that the famous "Gulf" was discovered in the days of the old lead miners. In driving an extensive level through a hill, at a point 80 fathoms below the summit, they came upon a gigantic rift. A man was let down on a long rope--so tradition reports--and when he had descended to the full extent of it he was unable to see either walls or bottom of the tremendous abyss. We are probably on the track of this monster cavity, an exploration of which will entail labour and fortitude. That and the exploration of the swallet at Hillgrove, when it is opened, are the two most fascinating problems awaiting us in the immediate future.

E. A. B.

LAMB'S LAIR

A few years ago the Great Western opened what they called the Wrington Vale Light Railway up the valley of the Yeo, which borders Mendip on the north. A few miles beyond its present terminus lie the two Harptrees, in the heart of a sequestered countryside of great pastoral beauty. Here, where nowadays all the pursuits are agricultural, a great deal of mining was carried on in years gone by, the relics of which are still visible in the surface workings, grown over with grass. In the upland ravines of Lamb's Bottom, near the top of the Mendip plateau, these are very numerous, and seem to be the work of both lead miners and searchers for black oxide of manganese. Early in the eighteenth century a cavern of prodigious size and beauty was discovered in this locality; but, by one of those curious accidents which are by no means infrequent in the history of caves, it was lost, and its site remained unknown for a hundred and twenty years. Its fame, however, was cherished by the country folk, and the tradition of its fabulous wonders induced a lord of the manor, a quarter of a century ago, to offer a heavy monetary reward, which led to its rediscovery in the year 1880. This new exploration made some noise at the time, and a fair number of people ventured on a descent. The difficulties were smoothed down considerably. Ladders were fixed in the shaft, which was strengthened by timber supports, and in difficult parts of the lower galleries; solid beds of arragonite were cut through, and a heavy structure of timber, carrying a windlass, was built out on the verge of an abyss, to make accessible the floor of the Great Chamber. Lamb's Lair is even alluded to, though incorrectly, in the fourth edition of Murray's Guide--that for 1882--and, for a while, great was the renown of its unparalleled beauties. Then, as usually happens with cave scenery when there is any difficulty or any peril involved, the novelty and the popularity of Lamb's Lair waned; and now for a long period the cave has been derelict, the timber erections have become rotten and dangerous, and the only visit during many years previous to the one I am about to describe nearly resulted in a catastrophe.

Our party of four had been engaged in some arduous work near Wells, and a descent into Lamb's Lair meant a long drive across Mendip, nearly to East Harptree. We were dropped by our waggonette, with a great pile of apparatus, at a gate into a field. The field was part of the Lamb's Bottom ravine, and we had some difficulty in locating the entrance to our cavern among the innumerable workings and natural depressions that cut up the surface. At length we caught sight of the end of a ladder sticking out from a hole that was buried in brushwood, and straightway we found ourselves on the brink of the 60-foot shaft. The uppermost ladder was broken six feet from the top, and so was the second; neither was fit to be trusted. We supported the broken part of the top ladder with a forked branch, and I took up my station on a ledge 15 feet down, to steady the things as they were lowered. Each man was roped for the descent, for the crazy ladders, the decayed woodwork, and the loose stones in the shaft all threatened disaster. At last all our paraphernalia was safe at the bottom, and now a muddy progress began through a narrow, dripping cleft into a low tunnel, that brought us, after many windings, to the top of a fourth ladder. This one was not so high, but it was quite as shaky as the others, and a member of the party got a nasty blow on the shoulder from a beam connected with it, that gave way whilst we were passing the luggage from hand to hand.

Descending still through an irregular passage, we suddenly entered a roomy vault with stalactites on the roof. Here the glories of Lamb's Lair begin. In a few moments we shall be at the threshold of the incomparable Beehive Chamber, and thence, to a point far beyond what we can attain to-day, the poetry and witchery of cave scenery are at their finest. Stumbling over the irregularities of the crystal floor, we see dimly, by the light of our candles, great luminous arcs bending over our heads; and then, catching sight of a regularly shaped hemisphere rising out of the darkness and dwarfing the cave with its enormous proportions, we realise that this is the Beehive Chamber. When the limelight is brought in, and its fierce beams play upon the wild arcades and groining of this fantastic vault, we are astounded by the wealth and brilliance and extraordinary variety of the incrustations: not a rib, not a corner of bare rock remains visible; every inch of floor and walls and roof has been thickly coated with the calcareous enamel. The Beehive itself, 12 feet high and enormous in girth, is not more astonishing for its size than for the regularity of its shape. It is probably the largest boss of stalagmite in England. The sides are streaked with white and yellow bands, which enhance the weird symmetry and polish of its appearance; and, on the summit, wide enough for a man to walk about, we noticed that a number of stalactites, fallen from the vault above, had become embedded in its mass, and were slowly being crusted over with the ceaseless deposits. All over the chamber there is a continuous patter of water-drops, carrying on the work of the ages, and laying film after film of lustre on the imageries of this hidden shrine, which man has visited so rarely. To right and left of the Beehive the uneven floor descends into deep recesses--which we see as we draw nigh to be rocky porches adorned with the most magnificent incrustations--leading into two passages. These two porches, the arch by which we have entered, and the wild vaulting that rises to an apex over our heads amid a profusion of glistening stalactites, are the dominant features of this piece of fairy architecture. But who can count or describe the gleaming volutes and scrolls that wind over the walls in brilliant confusion, the clustered corbels whence random ribs spring towards the roof, the lace-like fringe of delicate stalactites that hangs from every ridge, or the gnome-like fingers and ghoulish faces, staring and pointing downwards, that one seems to discern amid the disordered sculpture of roof and walls?

A broken bottle of paraffin and some pieces of cotton-waste, evidently the relics of the last party who had used them to light up the Beehive Chamber years ago, were lying in a corner just as they were left. In one of the galleries I noticed the marks of fingers and the impress of the clothes of a man who had crawled along the clay floor--as fresh as if he had been there an hour ago. This changelessness of everything fills one with a certain awe; but what impresses one as still more wonderful is that all this consummate beauty and grandeur should lie concealed and unknown in the midst of modern England, only a few miles away from important cities, but unvisited by a soul for long periods of years, while the country people seem hardly aware of the cave's existence. Were the cave easily accessible, one can hardly question that crowds of sightseers would be attracted, and much of the charm would be dispelled, even if its treasures were not ransacked. For the present these are perfectly safe.

From the Beehive Chamber a passage winds downward under one of the glorious porches already described, and on and on between walls of calcspar and arragonite, toward the chief wonder of Lamb's Lair, the Great Chamber. The original passage was low and difficult, and early explorers cut a deeper way through solid beds of arragonite, whose miraculous whiteness glistens on every side as we advance. So enormous is the thickness of this compact and fine-grained variety of the calcium carbonate, with its delicate lines of crystallisation showing transparently where it is shattered, that fully three and a half feet are shown in section, a wall of snowy brilliance; and one cannot judge how much more is hidden. The tunnel widens into an arch of reddish rock, covered with sparry reliefs; then suddenly we find ourselves stepping on a plank, and out of the darkness ahead starts up the gaunt shape of a windlass. We have reached the spot where the gallery breaks into the upper part of the Great Chamber; under our feet is a black void, and further progress is forbidden. The gallery ends on a sloping bevel, 10 feet wide, that dips steeply into the chasm. On this bevel, which overhangs by many feet the receding wall of the Great Chamber, a timber platform was erected a quarter of a century ago. It is a sort of cantilever, with the windlass resting on the long arms. We moved here with utmost caution, hardly venturing to place a foot on the time-worn structure without holding on to the rocks at the side. On the last occasion that the cavern was visited, some years ago, a fatal accident was averted almost by a miracle. The rope broke while Mr. Balch was descending; he fell about 60 feet, on to the broken rocks beneath, checking his fall by catching at a tangle of line that was hanging near. His hands were cut to the bone, and he lay at the bottom stunned for a quarter of an hour, and has hardly ceased to feel the effects of the shaking. Naturally, he now felt little inclination to venture another descent, especially as he told us that the rickety state of the platform has filled him with grave doubts as to its safety if weight were put on it.

At present, beyond the stark shape of the windlass, darkness reigned. We flung blocks of arragonite out into the void. There was an interval of silence, then a crash on the hard floor, and the missile burst into fragments. When the ray of our 2000-candle-power searchlight flashed across the abyss, we found ourselves looking into a chamber whose weird majesty held us spellbound. Its height is 110 feet, and the walls curve gradually over in an irregular dome. Hardly a square foot of this mighty wall-space is blank. Stripes and reticulations and pendulous lacework run all over it in enchanting disorder. Here a snow-white flood of calcite drops from an unseen cleft, there a cascade of many colours ripples down from roof to floor. There are great sheets of opaline enamel, curtains drooping in massy folds, silken fabrics wrinkled over the face of the rock, all giving one the sense of motion suddenly arrested, and of light and colour captured from the rainbow and sleeping here in the darkness, waiting year after year for our lamp to awaken it to life and beauty.

The cylinder of oxygen and the ether saturator were pushed out as far as we dared, and the camera was set up on the edge of the platform, to secure at least a glimpse of this hall of wonders. We were told what lay beyond. Another gallery, begemmed as richly as the one behind us, leads on and on, until a high chamber is reached, into which water pours over a sheet of snowy stalagmite, 60 feet high. We could not descend into the Great Chamber, but we intended to light it up. A tinful of Bengal fire was put into an iron saucer, hanging from a string by iron wires; and this with a light attached was lowered through the hole in the platform, whereon we lay extended at full length looking over into the gulf. There was a fizz, and then the fierce radiance swept from side to side of the huge vault, staining the sheets and curtains and cascades of white a splendid crimson. The walls sparkled blood-red as if set with rubies, and the blue-black sheets of calcite marked by oxide of manganese were empurpled by the glow. We fled before the pungent clouds of smoke that rose into our gallery, back to the Beehive Chamber, leaving that glorious hall once more to solitude and silence.

The only other part we explored was the winding tunnel that begins under the second porch in the Beehive Chamber. It goes far away down, and is knee-deep in mire for a considerable distance. At last, when it seems as if the Great Chamber itself cannot be far away, the passage ends in a choke. We had been in the cavern about five hours, when, after much hard work, we got our apparatus back to the foot of the shaft. Climbing ahead up the rickety ladders, the broken rungs of which were caked with mud and clay, and keeping hold of the life-line all the while, I found our driver waiting for us at the top, for we were an hour late. Several dangerous stones were shifted in pulling up the luggage, and one man below not only received a nasty blow, but narrowly escaped destruction by another stone that he just succeeded in warding off his face.

We have since regretted that we did not test the platform and windlass by a rough-and-ready method, and then descend by a long Alpine rope. The sharp ledges underneath might, however, have rendered this dangerous. We had not seen everything, but we had seen enough to recompense us abundantly for the toil, the slight risk, and the dirt. Murray says that Lamb's Lair is the finest cave in Somerset; I would confidently venture further, and say that for transcendent beauty it has not its equal in England.[4]

E. A. B.

[4] Mr. James McMurtrie, then manager of Earl Waldegrave's estates, was responsible for the exploration of this cavern after its rediscovery in 1880. He had it surveyed and plans made; he had the windlass erected, but went down himself before it was fixed. Very great credit is due to him for this valuable work, which it is hoped will not be rendered less valuable by allowing the artificial shaft as well as the windlass to be permanently destroyed through neglect and decay. The plan and section contained here were the result of independent measurements, which fully confirmed the results of his previous survey.

A CAVE IN THE QUANTOCKS