Thirteen Years of a Busy Woman's LifeAlec-Tweedie, Mrs. (Ethel)
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Thirteen Years of a Busy Woman's Life
Alec-Tweedie, Mrs. (Ethel)
Alec-Tweedie, Mrs. (Ethel), -1940; Great Britain -- Intellectual life -- 20th century
The size alone appalled, but the stalactites and stalagmites almost
petrified one with amazement. Many of them have joined, making rude
pillars a couple of hundred feet high and perhaps a hundred feet in
diameter at the base. Others have formed grotesque shapes. A seal
upon the ground is positively life-like: a couple of monster Indian
idols: faces and forms innumerable; here an old woman bent nearly
double, there a man with a basket on his head, thrones fit for kings,
organs with every pipe visible, which, when tapped, send forth deep
tones. It was all so great, so wonderful, so marvellous; I felt all
the time as if I were in some strange cathedral, greater, grander, and
more impressive than any I had ever entered. Its aspect of power and
strength paralysed me, not with fear, but with admiration.
At times it was terribly stiff climbing and several of the party had
nasty falls in the uncertain light; at others it was a case of sitting
down and sliding, in order to get from one boulder to another; but it
was worth it all to see such a sight, to realise the Power that made
those caves, to bow before the Almighty Hand which had accomplished
such work, even in millions of years. There hung those great stone
roofs without support of any kind—what architect could have performed
such a miracle? There stood those majestic pillars embedded in rocks
above and below; there hung yards and yards of stalactites weighing
tons, and yet no stay or girder kept them in place. It was a lesson,
a chapter in religion, something solemn and soul-stirring, something
never to be forgotten; one of the Creator’s great mysteries, where
every few yards presented some fresh revelation.
My knees were trembling, every rag of clothing I wore was as wet as
when first taken from the washerwoman’s tub, yet I struggled on,
fascinated, bewildered, awed, by the sights which met me at every step.
Think of it. Stumbling along for four and a half hours, even then not
reaching the end, and, though we returned by the easiest and quickest
way, it was two hours more before we found the exit.
In one of the caves the Governor proposed my health, and the party
gave three cheers, which resounded again and again in that wonderful
subterranean chamber, deep down in the bowels of the earth, with a
mountain above and a couple of rivers below. The military band of
Cacahuimilpa accompanied us, and the effect produced by their music was
stupendous. No words can give any idea of the volume of sound, because
the largest band in the world could not succeed in producing the same
effect of resonance in the open air which ten performers caused in
those vast silent chambers.
It is impossible to describe the immense grandeur of Cacahuimilpa.
Man is speechless in such majestic surroundings; but in this
all-pervading silence surely the voice of God speaks.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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