ABSTRACT
No situation, in which immediate danger does not form a part, could well be more awful than that in which he now found himself. e human countenance even in its most savage state has something in it divine; and to lose sight of it for ever, would perhaps be a melting consideration even to the hardest heart. But Edward, during a year and a half that he had resided with the Agiguans, had experienced all the tenderness and a ection which nature planted in her genuine o spring, and in a degree more intense and faithful than perhaps the disguised manners of polished life can either attain or express. When, therefore, he could see them no more, he almost felt himself forlorn; and this moment, which he had long panted for with all the fervency of desire, he found, when it arrived,/ damped with regret. He cast his eyes upwards to the awful and sublime cavern, into the recesses of which he was perhaps the rst human being that had ever dared to enter; and, adopting the Indian idea, that it was the temple of the great spirit, he resolved that the rst words he uttered should be dedicated to his praise ‘O thou Almighty Being (said he) who inhabitest eternity, and from whose eye the profoundest caverns of the deep cannot be hid! deign to behold with mercy the humblest and least worthy of thy creatures, who hath no strength but in thy arm, no con dence but in thy help, and who, in all the trials which thou hast appointed him, beseeches the aid of thy grace to enable him to persevere!’ – A deep and hollow voice resounded from the inmost recesses of the cave, ‘Persevere!’ Ned knew it to be but the echo of the last word which he pronounced; but, seizing it as a favourable response, he determined to trust the omen, and, a er doing all that he could for himself, to leave the issue to God./
With this intent he resolved to penetrate as far as possible to the bottom of the cavern, where he intended to remain till night, lest any of the Indians might be induced to watch his motions, and should see him come out again. A multitude of water-fowl built their nests in the sides of this cave; and this being their laying season, he might have freighted his canoe with eggs if he had had a mind. He took as many as he needed for present use, and spared the lives of the birds that layed them, as a satisfaction for the robbery. e parched corn, which the piety of Awattahowee had sent as an o ering to the good spirit, he
reserved for his own use, without thinking he did that spirit any injury, or that he would deprive his friend of any blessing in return; and thus he proceeded in his canoe as far as the water would carry it. In this spot he might have remained in perfect security as long as he pleased: but as he perceived the cavern extended much farther, though without water, his/ curiosity prompted him to explore it: for this, however, a light was necessary, as that of day could serve him no farther than the next turning. But here was a di culty which, however, he in part surmounted, by twisting the bres of some withered vegetables, which, as far as the in uence of the external air and light extended, grew from among the crevices of the rocks; and, by rubbing them with pounded gun-powder a little damped, he formed a kind of spunk,38 which kindled like a squib, and yielded for a time a dull light. Having provided a parcel of these, and swallowed half a dozen raw eggs, with some parched corn, and put the remainder in his pouch, he set forward on his investigation. e way was long and dismal, like that which the poets feign to lead down to Tartarus, and little less dangerous in reality, since there were many pits and slippery places, in which a false step might be death. Poor Ned, when he undertook the task, did no know the danger, and began to wish he/ had not attempted it; but as, by the glimmering light he had, the way seemed rather to widen and grow more easy, he continued to go on, till all on a sudden he fell down, and rolled along a slippery rock for the length of many yards. During the time he was falling he expected nothing but to be dashed to pieces: he, however, found himself at the bottom, unhurt, but in total darkness, and, what was worse, all his spunks lost in the fall. His situation was now dreadful, as he could not move a step without the apprehension of breaking his neck; but his musquet was still in his hand; and all his other accoutrements, which were fastened about him, still safe. His rst resource was to re his musquet. By the light of the ash, and the dismal resounding of the echoes, he perceived he was at the bottom of a great vault; and the ground being smooth under his feet, and composed of small sand, he was not in danger of breaking his neck: but, alas! he was immured as it were in the grave, since to/ ascend to where he fell from, was impossible without assistance, and his most diligent search did not discover any other outlet. While life remained, he determined to exert himself to preserve it, and, when he could do that no longer, to die contented. His rst exertion was to procure light; and this he e ected by wetting some gun-powder with spittle, kneading it into a paste in his hands, and then setting re to it with dry powder in the pan of his musket: by the light of this he was fortunate enough to recover his spunks, which had rolled from him in his fall, and were lying at the bottom of the rock; he discovered too that the cavern he was in was large, but though he went round it and round it a hundred times, he saw no possible exit. Exhausted by his fruitless fatigue, and conceiving himself to be irretrievably lost, he resigned himself quietly to his fate, and laid himself down upon
the ground. How he employed himself there we may judge from what we know of him/ already; he attained however to that submission of will and composure of spirits, that lulled his sorrows to oblivion, and actually su ered him to sleep. How long he lay in this state of suspended sensibility he never knew; all that he could tell was, that he dreamed he was in the cavern where he actually lay, and that on a sudden it opened at the top, and that his dear friend Captain Rivers called to him from thence, and taking him by the hand he found no di culty in mounting from the ground and going away with him. e passionate eagerness to escape instantly woke him: but his surprise was great, when he actually found some creature licking his hand: of what species it was his feeling could not discover, but his presence of mind dictated to him to light his spunk, which he did in his usual manner. e ash frightened the beast, which instantly ed to a part of the rock that jutted out, and disappeared behind it. e discovery revived hope: he immediately hastened to the same spot,/ where he perceived a hole which with some di culty admitted his body; he found it sloped upwards, and through this he continued to creep for near an hour as he supposes, till at last he had the comfort to discover light, and, in a few minutes a erwards, the inexpressible joy to gain the open air. e creature to whom under God he owed his deliverance was of the badger kind, which, though of great strength of body, and considerable size, is yet perfectly harmless and ino ensive, industrious only in seeking out the deepest and most lonely recesses for its habitation, and perhaps was now directed to make that cavern its retreat by the express providence of God to deliver his servant. In this light it is certain Edward took it, and derived from it proportionable trust and con dence.
