The ghost of Charlotte Cray, and other storiesMarryat, Florence
Science
The ghost of Charlotte Cray, and other stories
Marryat, Florence
English fiction -- 19th century; Ghost stories, English; Short stories, English
The “glittering” stalactites are nowhere. The cave is lined with
stalactites, but (with the exception of a few white ones) they are all
of a uniform pale-brown colour, and have no idea of glittering or
being prismatic. The greatest wonder of the grotto is its vastness,
which may be estimated from the fact that we are two hours going over
it, and then have not traversed the whole on account of fresh works
being carried on in parts. We penetrate to its very depths to see the
river and the waterfall, but the mud is so excessive that we are
compelled to stop, and let the guide descend with his lamp and flash
it over the water, which is really very pretty, and, strange to
relate, contains good trout.
Then we plough our way upwards again; up fungus-covered ladders, and
wet, slippery stairs, upon which it is most difficult to keep a
footing, until we arrive at decidedly the finest sight there--the
_salle du sabbat_. Here the guides send up a spirit-balloon, to show
us the height and extent of the vast cavern, and we are rather
awe-struck, particularly as, in order that we may see the full effect,
the other guide plants us on three chairs and takes away both the
lamps, leaving us seated in the darkness, on the edge of a precipice.
The blackness is so thick about us that we can almost _feel_ it; and
the silence is that of death. My youngest girl slips her little hand
in mine, and whispers, “Mamma, supposing he weren’t to come back
again!” and I can’t say the prospect pleases. However, the balloon
reaches the top of the cavern, and is hauled back again; and the guide
_does_ come back; and, whilst he is assisting his fellow to pack it
away, I sing a verse of “God save the Queen,” for the children to hear
the echo, which is stupendous.
Then we see the prettiest thing, perhaps, we have seen yet. At the top
of the _salle du sabbat_ there is a kind of breakage in the side, and
a large cluster of stalactites. One guide climbs up to this place and
holds his lamp behind the group, whilst the other calls out “_la femme
qui repose_;” when lo! before us there appears almost an exact
representation of a woman, reclining with crossed legs, and a child on
her bosom. It is so good an imitation, that it might be a figure
carved in stone and placed there, and I think the sight gave us more
pleasure than anything in the grotto. We have come upon several groups
of stalactites already, to which the guides have given names, such as
_l’ange de la résurrection_, _l’oreille de l’éléphant_, and _le
lion Belge_; but though they have, of course, borne some resemblance
to the figures mentioned, the likeness is only admitted for want of a
better. This likeness, however, is excellent, could hardly be more
like; and we are proportionately pleased. With the _salle du sabbat_
and the balloon the exhibition is ended; and we are thankful to emerge
into the fresh air again, and to leave slippery staircases and the
smell of fungi behind us.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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