If this cave dweller is a musician
like our cheery outdoor fiddler, how the empty walls must ring!
We found several of these odd insects near Echo river and on the
walls of the cave near the well known as the "Bottomless Pit."
White crayfish moved back and forth on the sand at the edge of
Echo river and backed away from us when we tried to procure one
for a specimen. His subterranean home has seemingly not affected
his habits. This cave also contains a fish known to scientists
as "Amblyopsis Speloens," meaning "A weak-eyed cave dweller."
At one place in the caverns rows of stalactites are arranged in
lines of various lengths in reference to tone, just like the
strings of a piano, in regular graduated system. A small boy who
accompanies the guide will strike those stone harps in rapid
succession which give forth delicious liquid tones, sweet and
silvery as the chimes of Antwerp Cathedral. They waver and float
through those vast halls until the ear catches only a faint echo
from some far, dim aisle. "How many centuries elapsed before
this subterranean organ gave forth its delightful tones!" It
lacked only the soul of a Beethoven or Chopin to interpret them
aright. How like many noble lives whose talents perhaps shall
only bud "unseen" or waste upon the desert air of environment.
One thinks of Keats, whose wonderful Ode to the Nightingale and
lovely Nature Poems might never have been sung had he not gone
out into the fragrant fields and woods, where the song of the
lark and the breezes, "heaven born," touched his great soul like
an Aeolian harp which dispersed sweetest melodies for all
mankind to hear.
CHAPTER IV
FOUR UNUSUAL PICTURES
We spent another memorable day on the mountain roads marveling
again at the omnipotent power that creates such beauty. Looking
out over the valley from the slope of a hill we had a glorious
view. From the ravishing beauty of the scene, our minds fell to
musing over that other race who had dwelt here, whose destiny
the coming of the white man changed. We wondered how the valley
appeared to them and what bird songs burst upon the fragrant air
when that other race possessed the land. Our thoughts were soon
recalled from the vague past; for over the summit of a green
hill a thunder head pushed itself into view. As the great mass
spread swiftly over the heavens, darkness began to creep over
the land like a premature twilight. The songs of the birds that
had been so noticeable before were hushed, the passing breeze
paused a moment as if undecided which course to pursue, then in
sudden fury swept over the land, hurling the leaves and dead
branches in wild confusion through the air.
Like a mighty trumpet summoning those cloud warriors to battle
sounded the thunder, whose terrific peals shook the hills around
us. The clouds, as if obedient to the summons rushed from all
directions, like frightened soldiers. The lightning began to
leap to the earth in angry flashes, or spread through the masses
of rolling clouds like golden chains, or leaped and darted like
the lurid tongues of serpents. The trees rocked and roared on
the hills about us; now and then one fell with a mighty crash
scarcely discernible in the awful roar of the raging wind. The
rain came in blinding sheets to the earth. Soon, however, the
fury of the storm was spent and we heard the echoing peals of
thunder among the distant hills.
The sun came out again and shone among the water drops that
clung in countless myriads to the leaves. They glittered and
scintillated like vast emerald crowns studded with millions of
diamonds. Not an hour had passed and there again was the
heavenly blue smiling down upon the glorious woods. A rainbow,
like a radiant, triumphal arch, bent lovingly over the earth,
now more tranquil and beautiful than ever. It was as if Nature
had made a fitting frame for the endless variety and beauty of
the picture she had painted. The birds came forth from their
leafy coverts and shook the water drops from their feathers
while their notes rained like "liquid pearls" around us. As we
watched the fading hues of the lovely bow and listened to the
bird song that rose and fell in tides of rarest melody we
thought how like life the passing storm had been. The early
hours of summer sky, how quickly they pass away, to be overcast
by dark foreboding clouds of doubt and fear. Yet, after the
storm of life is almost past a radiant bow of promise, tender as
memory and bright as hope, lingers on its ebon folds and we seem
to glimpse through the dispersing gloom fairer fields beyond.
We neared the old historical town of Frederick on a Saturday
afternoon. The rose light from the west that shone upon the
hillsides of green seemed to mingle its hues with that of its
own, and it sifted through the transparent leaves and spread
itself in a mellow glow upon the ground beneath. Never did light
seem so impressive as that which streamed through the forest and
lit up the hills with "strange golden glory." There had been a
rain in the afternoon and the shimmering light from the west was
trying his color effects. It was such an evening as Longfellow
describes in Hiawatha:
Slowly o'er the shimmering landscape,
Fell the evening's dusk and coolness,
And the long and pleasant sunbeams
Shot their spears into the forest,
Breaking through its shields of shadow,
Rushed into each secret ambush,
Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow.
