We spring to our feet, and come together--so that we can touch each other. We grasp our guns, and get ready our knives and pistols. We make to the edge of the rock, and, sliding down, assure ourselves of the path. We grope our way downward, guided by the granite walls on each side. We go not with caution, but in the very recklessness of a desperate need. We are met by the masses of smoke still rolling upwards. Further down, we feel the hot caloric as we come nearer to the crackling fires. We heed them not, but rush madly forward--till we have cleared both the cloud and the flames, and stand upon the level plain! It is but escaping from the fires of hell to rush into the midst of its demons. On all sides they surround us with poised spears and brandished clubs. Amidst their wild yells, we scarcely hear the cracking of our guns and pistols; and those who fall to our shots are soon lost to our sight, behind the bodies of others who crowd forward to encompass us. For a short while we keep together, and fight, back to back, facing our foes. But we are soon separated; and each struggles with a dozen assailants around him! The struggle was not protracted. So far as I was concerned, it ended, almost on the instant of my being separated from my comrades. A blow from behind, as of a club striking me upon the skull, deprived me of consciousness: leaving me only the one last thought--_that it was death_! CHAPTER SIXTY. A CAPTIVE ON A CRUCIFIX. Am I dead? Surely it _was_ death, or an oblivion that equalled it? But no--I live! I am conscious that I live. Light is falling upon my eyes--thought is returning to my soul! Am I upon earth? or is it another world in which I awake? It is a bright world--with a sky of blue, and a sun of gold; but are they the sky and sun of the earth? Both may belong to a future world? I can see no earth--neither fields, nor trees, nor rocks, nor water--nought but the blue canopy and the golden orb. Where is the earth? It should be under and around me, but I cannot see it. Neither around nor beneath can I look--only upward and forward--only upon the sun and the sky! What hinders me from turning? Is it that I sleep, and dream? Is the incubus of a horrid nightmare upon me? Am I, like Prometheus, chained to a rock face upward? No--not thus; I feel that I am standing--erect as if nailed against a wall! If I am not dreaming, I am certainly in an upright attitude. I feel my limbs beneath me; while my arms appear to be stretched out to their full extent, and held as in the grasp of some invisible hand! My head, too, is fixed: I can neither turn nor move it. A cord traverses across my cheeks. There is something between my teeth. A piece of wood it appears to be? It gags me, and half stifles my breathing! Am I in human hands? or are they fiends who are thus clutching me?