Wider and wider grew the place, more and more broken and savage. Soon
even the walls were involved in darkness. The roof, as we advanced,
became more and more lofty. Clearly this cavern was one of enormous
extent. I began to glance about with some apprehension. How had
Drorathusa found her way into such a place--and out again? I marveled
that she had not got lost. But she had not, and evidently there was no
likelihood that that could happen. She was moving forward, into that
place of savage confusion, with never a sign of hesitation, with the
certitude of one following a well-beaten path.
Suddenly Drorathusa stopped, and, after making a sign for silence, she
said, pointing into the blackness before us:
"_Narranawnzee._"
_Narranawnzee._ Yes, there it was, the faint murmur and tinkle of
water.
We hurried forward, the wall of the cavern emerging from out the
darkness. And there it was, a large spring of the purest, coolest water
gushing out from the base of the rock, to fall in a gentle cascade and
then flow away to a great pool gleaming dark and sullen in the feeble
rays that found their way to it.
It was near nine o'clock of the day following when we left that spot.
Rhodes and I were smooth-shaven again; yes, he had brought along a
razor, one of your old-fashioned, antediluvian scrapers. I actually
believe that it was an heirloom from the Man of Piltdown, or perhaps
from the more ancient Pithecanthropus erectus himself.
Ondonarkus and Zenvothunbro too had gladly availed themselves of this
opportunity to get rid of their beards, which, however, they had kept
trimmed close with clippers. Your Droman has a horror of mustache,
beard or whiskers.
As for the ladies, they were now radiant and lovely as Dians.
We were following the stream. An hour passed, another. We had advanced
five miles or so and had descended probably half a thousand feet. And
then we lost our guide; the stream flowed into a cleft in the rock, to
burst forth again, perhaps, far, far down, in some black cavern that
has never known, and indeed never may know, the tread of any human foot.
For some moments we lingered there, as though reluctant to quit the
spot; and then, with a last lingering look at those pellucid waters,
flashing dark and sullen, however, as the light moved from them, we
pressed grimly on and soon were involved in a cavern so rugged and
smashed that we actually began to despair of ever getting through it.
But we did get through, to abruptly step out into a place as smooth
almost as a floor. The slope was a gentle one, and we pressed forward
at a rapid rate.
We had gone perhaps a mile and a half when Rhodes, who was walking in
advance with Drorathusa, abruptly halted, cried out and pointed.
Something white was dimly visible off in the darkness. We moved toward
it, the Dromans evincing a tense excitement. A cry broke from them, and
they made a rush forward.
It was a mark upon the wall, a mark which they themselves had placed
there.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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