A party of us visited this cave, found it for the most part a narrow tunnel through which flowed a shallow stream in which we had to wade a portion of the way--occasionally widening into chambers, here and there branching into lateral passages that wandered off into the vague and shadowy regions of the dark. Two of us turned back before the rest of the party, and as my comrade carried our only candle, I did not notice how short it was--until the others were beyond ear shot--when we made the startling discovery that we had not more than half enough to light us out of the cave. We made all the haste, consistent with the state of the roads and the preservation of our flickering light. But when we were yet some two hundred yards from the mouth of the cave the last drop of tallow was exhausted, and we looked upon that expiring dip, as a man might gaze upon the dying face of a friend. For it left us in total if not outer darkness. We read of a darkness that once fell upon Egypt which was so thick that it could be felt. Well I felt this darkness in my very soul. We dare not move for fear of following some lateral passage and getting out of the usual line of travel or of stumbling into some pitfall in which the cave abounded. How long we stood there I know not. Long enough to indulge in some very unpleasant conjectures that the rest of party might run out of light and not be able to return to us, or returning take some other route and “pass by on the other side.” Long enough to feel convinced that the Scripture which says, “Men love darkness rather than light” had no application to us. Long enough to remember all the stories we had ever heard of people lost in these caves, until starvation found them and claimed them for its own. After we had become thoroughly uneasy, we heard another party coming in, making the usual lot of noise, and it was only the most diligent and vigorous use of our lungs that we got them to come to our assistance, for they had actually turned and started out when they happened to get still enough to distinguish our shouts from the roaring in their own heads. On emerging from the cave we procured a supply of candles and started after our comrades who, just as we reached the entrance, appeared, muddy and panting, with about a half an inch of candle in the party. They were a little wiser than we were--about three fourths an inch. Under the mountain on the west of our camp Nickajack, was Nickajack cave, the largest in this region. Upon the mountain above is the point where Georgia and Alabama join upon the south line of Tennessee. So that within the darksome winding passages of the cavern, you can become a tenant at will, of either of the three states. A good place to dodge the Sheriff. The question of jurisdiction would be a perplexing one and the dodger would have ample opportunity for keeping shady. No wonder the highwayman, Murrell, had a fancy for this neighborhood.