The bridge of lightVerrill, A. Hyatt (Alpheus Hyatt)
Science
The bridge of light
Verrill, A. Hyatt (Alpheus Hyatt)
Adventure stories; Central America -- Fiction; Mayas -- Fiction; Science fiction
Hurrying, stumbling, slipping, cursing as the way became rougher and
the grade steeper, we forced our blistered, bruised feet onward. The
walls of the great cleft drew nearer and nearer together, until they
seemed to overhang our heads, and we were in semi-darkness in the
depths. Presently, from ahead, came a new sound, a low reverberating
roar, and a mile or so farther on we came in sight of the head of
the cañon, and our hearts sank in dismay. Once more we were faced
with a mighty wall of rock down which the stream poured in a series
of cataracts. There seemed no escape, no hope. We were doomed. But
as I stared at the flashing, roaring falls, a faint hope rose in me.
On either side of the descending water, the cliff had been worn and
cut into rough, irregular masses. It might be possible to ascend the
precipice in that spot. I tried to explain it to the chief, to indicate
my intention, and presently he grasped my meaning and nodded. But to
climb that perpendicular wall even with the rough crags and footholds
would be utterly impossible with the heavy packs upon our shoulders. We
must abandon our loads or resign ourselves to remaining in the cañon to
die like trapped rats.
Ripping open the packages, I filled my pockets with the most essential
things, made up two small packs, and strapping these to the shoulders
of my comrade and myself we commenced the difficult and perilous
ascent. It was terrible work. The rock was rotten, and at any instant
might give way and precipitate us to the rocks below. Inch by inch we
struggled upward, often so close to the falls that we were drenched, at
other times straddling and crawling far to one side, clinging with toes
and fingers, our hands torn and bleeding. Twenty, forty, fifty feet we
ascended, when we came to a narrow ledge or shelf running diagonally
across the face of the cliff. To the right the ledge dwindled to
nothing; above us there was not a crevice, not a finger hold in sight;
to the left, the shelf vanished beneath the column of water falling
from far above. Our only chance was to pass _beneath_ the fall and
trust to finding a passable way upward on the farther side.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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