Underground Rivers - University of New Mexico

In "Davy Crockett on the Track, or The Cave of
the Counterfeiters," by Frank Carroll, Saturday
Evening Post, January 31, 1874, young Ken
Gordon is captured by the counterfeiters.
A sensation of fear ran through the mind of
the interloper on finding himself discovered,
and by this dangerous man. The goodnatured,
mocking tone of the other was of little
assurance, for he knew him to be odd and
cruel, a man of that temperament that can
commit murder with a smile on his face and a
jest on the tongue
Chapter 21 -- Boys Club Singles
Gordon, however, was too well aware of the company he was in, and had too much command
over his feelings, to permit and sense of fear to display itself. He was in the lions den and must
face the danger with a lion's boldness.
As literature should be instructive, however, the adventure is interspersed with informative
passages.
The many caverns of the west, among them the giant of underground excavations, the great
Mammoth Cave, are supposed to have been formed by the action of water.
Subterranean streams and rivers now run through them, following, probably, natural crevices in
the rock, along whose course they have dissolved and fretted away the softer portions of the
stone, excavating, in one place immense halls, in others, where the rock has proved harder,
narrow apertures.
Boys Club members enjoyed knowing such things.
"Among Bushwhackers," an unattributed feature in the May 30, 1881, Aberdeen Daily News
employs Poe-like imagery.
Then I was slowly lowered down, down, down, through the blackness. So slow was my
descent that I seemed to be suspended for hours and to sink miles into the heart of the earth.
The pain of the slender cord cutting into my flesh was well nigh intolerable, and I bear the
evidence of this today; with each moment the moaning, gurgling and groaning from the
unknown depths into which I was sinking, became more distinct and horrible.
Suddenly, those above let go of the rope, and with a yell of despair I dropped, I do not know
how far, into the water that closed above my head. As I rose to the surface choking and
gasping for breath, I felt I was being swept forward by a powerful current, and as I again sank
my feet touched the bottom. A moment later I stood in water up to my shoulders and again
breathed freely. For some time I was confused beyond the power of thought by the hollow roar
of the black waters rushing through those awful caverns. All surrounding space seemed filled
with snarling, formless monsters cautiously advancing and making ready to spring at me. Even
now I often awake at night with the horror of that moment strong upon me. It was so
unendurable that I resolved to end it. It was with great difficulty that I maintained my footing. I
could not do so much longer. Why should I attempt to? There was absolutely no hope of
escape. I tried to pray, "Oh, Jesus, receive my soul." Then my muscles relaxed, and I was
swept away by the rushing torrent.
At the other end of the writing spectrum, an excerpt from The Four Canadian Highwaymen, or
The Robbers of Markham Swamp (1886) by Joseph Edmund Collins reminds us of the rule: An
author may quote conversations phonetically, but should otherwise employ standard spelling.
The clay into which the roots of the trees had fastened themselves was quite solid, and was
held fast in the thick tangle of roots. So for many years you could hear the river floween
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