explored, accompanied by my eldest son, W.T. Powell, I reached the
place one warm Saturday morning. We found about twelve or fourteen
men waiting for our coming; some discussing the matter of whether
we would enter when we did come, and others who had volunteered to
work the windlass, which had been erected over the opening, by
means of which, with a one hundred foot rope, entrance was to be
made. The opening was like a small well, and situated under the
edge of an overhanging cliff of marble, and on the southeast slope
of the mountain, about one hundred and fifty feet above the bottom
of a narrow valley, and about the same distance below the top of
the mountain, which here is three hundred feet high. In order to
rig a windlass the edge of the cliff had to be broken away. The
well-like opening descended for about ten feet through strata of
flat-laying rocks that formed a roof; then all appeared to be
vacancy and a stone cast in gave back a distant sound.

"Having first tested the air and proved it good by dropping in
blazing excelsior saturated with turpentine, a stout oak stick was
attached to the end of the rope, my son sprang astride and was
lowered to the bottom, just one hundred feet. He reported back 'All
right.' On the return of the rope I took my position on the stick
and was soon dangling in mid air. The sensation was strange and
exhilarating. Looking up I could only see the small opening I came
through, and a straggling stream of light poured down that, but on
all sides profound darkness reigned supreme. A spark-like light my
son lit, reminded me of the lost Pleiad. About twenty-five or
thirty feet from the top I caught sight of a scene that made me
call on the men at the windlass to stop.

"This caused them to think something was going wrong and one called