PRAISE FOR
JOURNEY TO THE BOTTOMLESS PIT
Nominated for the Louisiana Young Readers’ Choice Award, the Young Hoosier Book Award, and the Volunteer State Book Award
“A well-told and riveting story of underground exploration . . . the extraordinary tale of a man who rises above his imposed station in life to find his true calling.”
—National Speleological Society News
“The thrilling setting is the focus of this novel about Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, which Mitchell shapes around the astonishing biography of Stephen Bishop.” —Booklist
“Would make for great reading before or after a visit to Mammoth Cave, but also has broader appeal as a human-interest story.” —School Library Journal
“Takes readers on a tour unlike anything they’ve experienced.”
—Metro Parent Magazine
Journey to the Bottomless Pit
The Story of Stephen Bishop & Mammoth Cave
Elizabeth Mitchell
Illustrations by Kelynn Z. Alder
To my grandfather,
John L. Mitchell,
who first took me to Mammoth Cave
CONTENTS
How I Wrote This Book: A Note to Readers
The New Guide
The Church and the Steamboat
The First Discovery
Across the Bottomless Pit
A New Master
Under Crevice Pit
The Underground Hospital
Stephen Draws a Map
Free at Last?
The Legacy of Stephen Bishop
Stephen Bishop’s Life and Times
An engraving of Stephen Bishop from the nineteenth century
How I Wrote This Book:
A Note to Readers
When I was studying to be a newspaper reporter in college, I learned how to ask all the questions a reader might have about a story. Who was involved? What happened? When and where did it happen? Why? How?
So when I decided to write about Stephen Bishop, those are the questions I wanted to answer. Of course there was no one alive I could interview about Stephen—he was born around 1821 and died in 1857. But Stephen guided hundreds of people through Mammoth Cave, and some of them wrote about him afterwards. Their books and articles became my sources of information.
For one whole summer, the New York City Public Library was my home away from home. As often as I could, I went there and requested to see their very old books about Mammoth Cave. The old volumes don’t sit out on shelves like most library books. They are stored under special conditions so that they won’t fade or fall apart (or be stolen). To read them at the New York Public Library, you have to fill out a request form, which goes down to the basement storage area. The books are collected and sent back upstairs by means of a dumbwaiter (a little elevator used to transport books). You can’t take them out of the library, or even out of the research room. You have to take notes right there while you read.
Some of the books I looked at were so old that they were held together with string. I had to be very careful opening them up and flipping through them. I also read books about cave exploration during the 1800s and books about what life was like in Kentucky during slave times.
Later I took at trip to the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C. There I looked at newspapers from the 1840s and ’50s, hoping to find stories about Mammoth Cave. I didn’t find any, unfortunately. But I did discover something else. The front pages of the papers I looked at were covered not with the most important news stories of the day, but with ads for slaves on sale and notices about runaway slaves. Wow.
Stephen Bishop made many important discoveries, and enough people wrote about him that I was able to complete this book. Please note that the dialogue is not reproduced from any source. People writing about Stephen’s discoveries never quoted Stephen himself. Sometimes he was referred to by name; more often he was called simply “the guide.”
However, the writers who followed Stephen through the cave were obviously impressed by him. They often mentioned Stephen’s lively personality, his quiet self-confidence and sense of humor, and his deep knowledge of the cave.
There were a few things I had to guess at. For example, how did Stephen learn to read? Where did he meet his wife? We know that he could read, and we know he was married, but no one ever wrote down the details. So I had to do the best I could in telling his story.
The author would like to thank Mammoth Park ranger/guides Joy Medley Lyons and Charles DeCroix, historian Bob Ward, and Vickie Carson of the Mammoth Cave Public Information Office for their contributions to this manuscript and its accuracy. Any errors herein are the author’s, not theirs. In addition, thank you to the National Speleological Society for access to its videotape collection.
Here are a few of the reference books I used.
Rambles in the Mammoth Cave: during the year 1844, by A Visiter. Generally attributed to A. Bullitt. Also attributed to John Croghan, owner of Mammoth Cave. 1845.
A guide manual to the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky. By Charles W. Wright, 1860.
The Mammoth Cave and its denizens; a complete descriptive guide. By A. D. Binkerd, 1869.
Pictorial guide to the Mammoth cave, Kentucky. A complete historic, descriptive and scientific account of the greatest subterranean wonder of the western world. By A. D. Binkerd, M.D., 1888.
The New Guide
The young slave brushed aside branches and vines as he followed his master down the trail. Today he would start learning to guide visitors through Mammoth Cave. He was excited, but he was worried as well. Would he do a good job?
Seventeen-year-old Stephen Bishop had seen many caves in his life. He had grown up in the state of Kentucky, and Kentucky is full of caves, from animal dens in the sides of hills to holes larger than a house. But Mammoth Cave was so big that people came from all over to see it. And now it belonged to Stephen’s master, Franklin Gorin.
Mr. Gorin led the way. He talked to Stephen as they crossed a wooden bridge over a small stream.
“I want everything to be ready by the end of April,” he said. “That means you, too. You have to learn the trails quickly so you can start leading tours.”
Franklin Gorin was a lawyer, but he was not a rich man. He had agreed to buy Mammoth Cave for $5,000. He had paid the first $1,000, but he needed to earn the rest of the money by charging people to tour the underground cavern.
Young Stephen had lived with his mother and his brother on Gorin’s property in Glasgow, Kentucky. But Gorin reasoned that he could make more money on every tour if he used Stephen as a guide. He didn’t have to pay Stephen, the way he would have to pay a free man. That is why he brought Stephen to the cave.
It was the year 1838, and about 180,000 slaves lived in Kentucky. Most toiled in the fields, clearing land, planting and weeding crops, and taking care of livestock. House slaves worked long hours inside their masters’ homes, cooking, cleaning, and caring for the children.
A few slaves were taught a useful trade such as blacksmithing, fancy sewing, or cobbling shoes. But no one that Stephen knew had ever worked as a cave guide. Stephen felt proud that Mr. Gorin thought he could do this job.
Mr. Gorin carried one lantern and Stephen carried another. Both lanterns were filled with lard oil. Stephen also carried a bag over his shoulder. Inside were a tin box filled with matches, some spare wicks for the lamp, a canister filled with more oil, and enough lunch for two men. Mr. Gorin had told Stephen he would spend all day in the cave.
They rounded a bend in the trail, pushing past branches that were just sprouting new leaves. Now Stephen could hear the sound of someone sawing wood. In a clearing ahead of them he saw a group of men at work under the shade of a big tree. They were splitting logs and shaping boards.
Stephen recognized two of the men. They were slaves who usually worked at Mr. Gorin’s house in Glasgow, fixing fences and doing carpentry.
“How are things coming, Tapscott?” Mr. Gorin called to the man in charge.
“Just fine, sir,” the carpenter answered. “We’ll have this railing finished in another few days.”
While Mr. Gorin talked to Mr. Tapscott, Stephen noticed something very strange. The day was warm, warm enough that he didn’t need any kind of a coat. But all of a sudden he could feel a chilly breeze coming from somewhere nearby. He looked around, puzzled.
Mr. Gorin noticed him. “You feel it, don’t you?” he asked Stephen. “That’s air blowing out of the cave. It’s always nice and cool down there. Even on the hottest summer day, you’ll feel as though you’re stepping into the middle of October.”
Stephen followed Mr. Gorin around one more curve in the trail. There, an amazing sight met his eyes.
Stephen was facing a steep hillside. The hill was made of layers of rock, but it looked as though many layers had fallen away, leaving a huge opening downhill from where he was standing. Bushes and trees grew all around the opening, and a small stream cascaded from the top. It was the mouth of Mammoth Cave.
“The first job is to build a stairway down into the entrance, so that people can get inside safely,” Mr. Gorin said to Stephen. “We’ve already measured eight miles of cave passage. People will pay well for tours, once we let them know we’re ready for business. Come now. Here’s someone for you to meet.”
A young white man who had been watching the workers came over to join Stephen and Mr. Gorin. Mr. Gorin shook the man’s hand and handed him the lantern he had been carrying.
“This is Archibald Miller,” Mr. Gorin told Stephen. “He’s been a guide here for about five years, and his daddy was a guide, too. You mind him well, and he’ll teach you what you need to know.”
Gorin turned back to the trail. He was headed to the top of the hill, where another gang of laborers was repairing and enlarging an old inn. Mammoth was located nine miles from the main stagecoach line between Louisville, Kentucky, and Nashville, Tennessee, and Gorin hoped that many travelers would stop to see his cave.
Archibald Miller looked Stephen up and down. Other men had done this before, making Stephen feel like a plow mule or a milk cow they were thinking of buying. But Mr. Miller just seemed to be taking his measure.
Miller looked only a few years older than Stephen. If you learned this cave, then I can, too, Stephen said to himself. For a moment he thought of his mother and brother back in Glasgow. They were so proud he had been chosen as a guide. Up until now, only white men had led visitors into Mammoth Cave.
“You’ll need a good pair of boots,” Mr. Miller said at last. “The cave floor is rough and rocky in a lot of places. I’ll tell Mr. Gorin.”
Mr. Miller and Stephen stopped at the edge of the deep hole. Steps made of broken rock led downward. A new wooden handrail extended part of the way, but below that Stephen had to be careful. The stream that ran off the top of the hillside fell alongside the steps. It splashed into a natural pond at the bottom of the stairway.
“This is where the visitors will fill their canteens,” said Mr. Miller. “There is hardly any water inside the cave. Here, fill these up.” He handed over two water bottles and waited while Stephen filled them to the top. They slung the bottles over their shoulders and Miller led the way forward.
Stephen gazed up as they stepped into the huge mouth of the cave. He felt very strange. Part of him was excited to be going into this new and very different place. But another part of him was scared. He had not imagined the cave would be so big. It looked very dark inside. What if he lost his way in the passages? What if other people got lost following him?
No time for worrying now. A dirt path led past the waterfall and into the cave. The opening began to narrow.
The cold air was all around him now, rushing out of the cave mouth. “It’s no good lighting the lanterns until you’re inside,” Miller told him. “The wind blows them right out. Always carry a good supply of oil and wicks. And keep all the lanterns clean and dry. We don’t want anyone telling horror stories about getting lost in the dark.” Stephen agreed with that!
The breeze blew fiercely as they passed through a narrow opening. Then they stopped to light the lanterns. Stephen looked over his shoulder. The cave mouth was not far behind him, but already the daylight could hardly be seen.
He held up his lantern and looked around.
They were in a low tunnel made of rock. The pathway underfoot was smooth clay. Overhead, the roof formed a rocky arch. Archibald Miller’s lantern bobbed ahead of him.
“This part of the cave is called the Narrows,” Miller said. He turned around. Stephen had stopped to touch the rocky wall alongside the trail. It felt chilly and damp.
“Don’t lag behind, Stephen. That’s how people get lost in here,” Miller told him. “You’ll have plenty of time to look around later. Today I’m going to show you the Church.”
Church? What kind of strange church could be inside a cave? Stephen followed quickly. His eyes were getting used to the lamplight now. He could see a low, rocky roof overhead and rock walls on both sides of the pathway.
A new wooden handrail extended part of the way, but below that Stephen had to be careful.
The narrow passageway was beginning to widen. The cave floor sloped gently downhill. Stephen noticed some wooden pipes running along the floor, and a pair of wagon ruts leading deeper into the cave. He wondered what animal had pulled a wagon into this strange place.
Suddenly the Narrows ended and Stephen could see only a great dark space in front of him.
Archibald Miller bent over a pile of broken-up wood. “Give me a hand,” he said. Together they stacked enough wood to build a small fire. When the flame caught in the wood, Miller stood up and threw his arm wide.
“This is the first big room in the cave. We call it the Rotunda. Do you know that word?”
“No, sir.” Stephen liked the sound of it, though. He loved learning new words.
“It means a large room with a high, domed ceiling.” Miller raised his lantern.
Stephen looked up, and his eyes widened. Now he could see a vast rocky roof. It curved smoothly across a space so wide Stephen could not see any other wall from where he stood. The little fire they had built could not possibly light up this enormous room.
“The Rotunda is two hundred feet long, and the ceiling is as high as ten men,” Miller said. “You must remember everything I tell you, because you will be telling the same things to everyone who takes the tour.”
He pointed around the great, dark room at other supplies of wood, and at some large heaps of dirt that Stephen had not noticed before. “Light two or three fires, so that visitors can see how big the Rotunda is,” Miller told him. “If they ask what all this dirt is, and those pipes along the wall, explain that they are old mine diggings left over from the War of 1812. I’ll tell you more about that later.”
Stephen nodded. He felt a strange emotion, part wonder and part excitement. Although he had spent only a few minutes inside this cave, already he was learning its secrets. He was sure the cave would reveal many more.
Miller picked up his lantern again and led the way through the Rotunda. Now the passage was higher, and much wider than the Narrows. Stephen looked at everything, although it was hard to see very far with only the two lanterns for light.
Miller stopped at the entrance to another passage. “Now here’s something important,” he told Stephen. “Before you announce the n
ame of this room, you must be sure to tell any ladies that they are not to be alarmed. It is called the Little Bat Room. But there are no bats here in the warmer months, when we get most of our visitors.”
Miller held his lantern high. “In wintertime, though, you should see this place. Thousands and thousands of bats, all crowded together, hanging upside down with their wings wrapped tight. They look like little men wearing capes. They sleep all winter long.”
Stephen had watched bats flitting above the trees on a summer evening, hunting for bugs to eat. But he’d seen only a few at a time. He tried to imagine what thousands of bats would look like.
“Ladies come into the cave?” he asked Archibald Miller.
“They do indeed,” the other man said. “Young ones mainly; the older ones often can’t manage the entrance. You’ll see all types of visitors soon.”
The Little Bat Room wound deep into the rocky cave. In the dim light, Stephen could see a number of small holes leading into the walls on each side. None was big enough for a person to squeeze inside.
“There’s a dangerous pit here at the back wall.” Miller stopped and pointed. “You need to keep an eye on your people. Warn them to stay away from it. And make sure you walk in front.”
Stephen gripped his lantern. Its shivering flame lit up the left-hand wall. He could see the floor slope down into a place of utmost darkness. Miller picked up a rock and threw it into the hole.
Stephen listened. It seemed a long time before the rock struck bottom. Miller told him, “This is Crevice Pit. It is two hundred and eighty-five feet deep. I know because I measured it myself. Tied a rock onto a rope and lowered it down until the rock struck bottom. Anybody falls in there, they ain’t coming out again.”
Stephen shivered. He couldn’t imagine falling into a hole so dark and deep.
“I always invite people to sit down here and listen to a story.” Miller set down his lantern and sat on a chunk of broken rock. “Long before I measured this hole, a fellow went down there on the end of a rope. He was a young slave—even younger than you. The story goes, his boss was looking for peter-dirt. That’s one of the makings of gunpowder. They used to dig tons of it out of this cave. Anyway, somebody told the boss the best dirt of all was bound to be at the bottom of a pit, so he lowered a lantern down into that hole to see how deep it went.
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