"And that," said Rhodes, "reminds me."
"Of what?"
"Who is the leader of this little party—that man or our angel?"
"I'd say the angel if I could only understand why she should be the leader."
At length we passed the last pillar and the last stalagmite. All this time we had been descending at a gentle slope. The way now led into a tunnel, rather wide and lofty at first. The going was easy enough for a mile or so; the descent was still gentle, and the floor of the passage was but little broken. The spot was then reached where that tunnel bifurcates; and there were the packs of our Hy-pogeans—or, rather, their knapsacks. There were five, one for each, the men's being large and heavy.
"You see, Bill?" queried Milton. "Evidently our little hypothesis was correct."
"I see," I nodded. "We have far to go."
"Very far, I fancy."
Also, in this place were the phosphorus-lamps of the Dromans, one for each. These were somewhat similar to the ones that Rhodes and I carried, save that the Droman lamps could be darkened, whereas the only way we could conceal the light of ours was to put them into their cylinders. As was the case with our phials, the light emitted by these vessels was a feeble one. Undoubtedly, though, they would remain luminous for a long period, and hence their real, their very great value. Besides the lanterns, oil-burning, of which the Dromans had three, the phosphorus-lamps were pale and sorry things; but, when one remembered that they would shed light steadily for months perhaps, while the flames of the lanterns were dependent upon the oil supply, those pale, ghostly lights became very wonderful things.
"The light," I said as we stood examining one of these objects, "is certainly phosphorescent. But what is that fluid in the glass?"
"I can't tell you, Bill. It may be some vegetable juice. There is, by the way, a Brazilian plant, called Euplorbia phosphorea, the juice of which is luminous. This may be something similar. Who knows?"[1]
The men unbent their bows and thrust them into the, quivers; each took up his or her knapsack, and we were under way again. It was the right branch of the tunnel into which the route led us. That fact Rhodes put down in his notebook. I could see no necessity for such a record, for surely we could not forget the fact, even if we tried.
"We'll record it," said Milton, "certitude to the contrary notwithstanding. And we'll keep adding to the record as we go down, too. There's no telling, remember. It may not be so easy to find the way out of this place as it seems."
"You said," I reminded him, "that we may never want to return."
"And I say it again. But I say this too: we may be mighty I glad indeed to get out!"
Soon the slope of the passage was no longer gentle. An hour or so, and the descent was so steep and difficult that we had to exercise every caution and care in going down it. "Noon" found us still toiling down that steep and tortuous way. We then halted
for luncheon. The Dromans ate and
- ↑ "One dark night, about the beginning of December, while passing along the streets of the Villa de Natividada, I observed some boys amusing themselves with some luminous object, which I at first supposed to be a kind of large firefly; but on making inquiry, I found it to be a beautiful phosphorescent fungus, belonging to the genus Agaricus. . . The whole plant gives out at night a bright phosphorescent light, of a pale greenish hue, similar to that emitted by the larger fireflies, or by those curious soft-bodied marine animals, the Pyrosomae. From this circumstance, and from growing on a palm, it is called by the inhabitants 'Flor de Coco.' The light given out by a few of these fungi in a dark room was sufficient to read by."—George Gardner.
