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05 - Baron Trump's Marvellous Underground Journey · Classic Adventure Books Library

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  Chapter five. Up and still up, and through the quarries of the demons,
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  How the cattle kept the trail, and how we came at last upon
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  the brink of the Giant's well. The terraces are safely passed. Beginning of
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  the descent into the well itself. All difficulties overcome we reached the edge of
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  Polyphemus's funnel. Generally speaking, people with very large heads are fitted out by
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  nature with a pair of rather pipe stemy legs. But such was not my
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  case. I was blessed with legs of the sturdiest sort, and found no
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  difficulty in keeping pace with my new four footed friends, who, to my
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  delight, were not long in convincing me that they had been there before.
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  Not for an instant did they halt at any fork in the path, but
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  kept continually on the move, often passing over stretches of ground where there was
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  no trail visible, but coming upon it again with unfailing accuracy. Once only
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  they halted, and that was to slake their thirst at a mountain rill vulgar
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  and I followed their example. It was only too evident to me that they
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  had in mind a certain grazing ground, and were resolved to be satisfied with
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  no other, so I let them have their own way. For as it
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  was still up up up, I felt that it was perfectly safe to follow
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  their lead. At last, the mountain side began to take on quite another
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  character. The gorges grew narrower, and at times overhanging rocks shut out the
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  sunlight almost entirely. We were entering a region of peculiar wildness, of fantastic
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  grandeur. I had often read of what travelers termed the quarries of the demons
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  in the Northern Urals, but never till now had I the faintest notion of
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  what the expression meant. Imagine to yourself the usual look of ruin and devastation
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  around and about a quarry worked by human hands. Then, in your thoughts,
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  conceive every chip to be a block, and every block a mass.
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  Add four times at size to every slab and post and pecument, and then
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  turn a mighty torrent through the place, and roll and twist and lift them
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  up in wild confusion, end on end and on each other. Piled to
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  these wild waters have builded fantastic portals to temples, more fantastic and arched.
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  Wild gorges with roofs of rock, which seemed to hang so lightly that a
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  breath or footfall might bring them down with terrible crash. And then, dear
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  friends, you may succeed in getting a faint idea of the wild and awful
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  grandeur of the scene which now lay spread out before me. Would the cattle
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  that had now led Bulgar and me so safely up the mountain side? Know
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  where to find an entrance to this wilderness of broken rock? And what was
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  more important, still, would they, when once engaged within its winding courts
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  and corridors, its darkened maze of wall and parapet, its streets and plazas
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  roughly paved as if by demon hands, impatient of the task, know how
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  to find their way out again. Dear friends, man has always been too
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  distrustful of his four footed companions. They have much that they might tell us,
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  had they but speech to tell it with. I have often trusted them
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  when it would have seemed fool hearty to you. At never once have I
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  had cause to repent of doing so. So. Vulgar and I, with
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  stout hearts, followed straight after these silent guides. Although I must confess my
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  legs were beginning to feel the terrible strain I had put them to, but
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  I resolved to push on a head at least until we had cleared the demon's
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  quarry, and then to bring my little herd to a halt and pass the
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  rest of the day in the night season in well earned repose. Once within
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  the quarry, however, all sense of fatigue vanished, and my thankful mind
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  entranced and fascinated by the deep silence, The awful grandeur, the mysterious lights
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  and shadows of the place lent me new strength. At length we had traversed
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  this city of silence and gloom, and once again we emerged into the full
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  glory of the afternoon sun. Suddenly, my little drove of cattle, with
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  playful tossing of their heads, broke into a run, Bulgar and I at
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  their heels. However, it was a mad race, But dear friends,
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  when it ended, I took off my fur cap and tossed it high into
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  the air with a wild cry of joy, and Bulgar broke out in a
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  string of yelps and barks. For look, ye, the cattle were grazing
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  away for dear life there in front of me, and as their breath reached
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  my keen nostrils recognized the odor of Juliana's herbs, which she had bound on
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  my hard head. Yes, we stood almost upon the brink of the giant's
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  well, but I was too tired to take another step farther, too tired,
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  in fact, to eat, although I had a stalk of dried fruit
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  in my pockets, and noticed that the nests of the wild fowl were well
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  supplied with eggs. Having unloosened the tackle from the back of the good beast
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  that had carried it up the mountain for me, I threw myself on the
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  ground and was soon fast asleep, with my faithful Bulgar boiled up close against
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  my breast. In the morning, the cattle were nowhere to be seen,
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  but I didn't trouble myself about them, for I knew that old Juliana would
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  be sent up after them the moment they were missed. After a hearty breakfast
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  on half a dozen roasted eggs of the wild fowl with some dried fruit and
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  winter green berries, Vulgar and I advanced to the edge of the Giant's well,
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  or rather to the edge of the vast terraces of rock leading down to
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  it, each of which was from thirty to fifty feet in share height.
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  Before I go any further, dear friends, I must beg you to remember
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  that I am an expert in the use of tackle, there being no not,
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  noose or splice known to a sailor which I didn't have at my fingers
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  ends, in fact not to be wondered at when you take into consideration the
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  thousands of miles which I have traveled on water. Nor would I have you
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  shake your heads and look only half persuaded when I go on describing our descent
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  into the giant's well, For of course you'll be asking yourselves how I succeeded
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  in giving the tackle down when there was no one left at the other end
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  to and tie it. No, then that that was the smallest of my
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  troubles, For as any sailor will tell you, you only need to tie
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  your line in what is known as a fool's knot to one end of which
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  you make fast and mere cord. The moment you have reached the bottom,
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  a sharp tug at the cord unties the fool's knot, and your tackle falls
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  down after you. My method was to lower bulgar down first, and then
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  let myself down after him. In this way we proceeded from parapet to parapet,
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  until at last we stood upon the very edge of the vast well,
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  the existence of which had been so mysteriously hinted at in Don Fome's manuscript.
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  Its mouth was probably fifty feet in width, and by straining my eyes,
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  I satisfied myself of the existence of a shelf of rock on one side as
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  nearly as I could judge, about seventy five feet down. It was a
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  goodly stretch, and would require every foot of my rope. You will not
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  smile, I'm sure when I tell you that I pressed Bulgar to my breast
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  and kissed him fondly before lowering away. He returned my caresses, and by
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  his joyous yelp, gave me to understand that he had perfect faith in his
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  little master. In a few moments I had joined him on this narrow shelf
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  of rock. Below us now was darkness. But think you I hesitated.
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  I knew that my eyes would soon become accustomed to the gloom. And I
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  also knew that when my eyes failed, Bulgar's keener ones were there to help
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  me out. I rigged my tackle now with extra care, for I was
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  really lowering my little brother on a sort of trip of discovery. He was
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  soon out of sight. And then, in spite of my calmness, I
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  drew a quick breath, and my heart started upward a barley corner or so.
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  But harp, his quick, sharp bark comes plainly up to me.
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  It means that he has landed upon a safe shell or ledge. And the
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  next moment my legs encircled the rope and I began to glide noiselessly down in
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  to the stilly depths, his glad voice ringing in my ears. Again and
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  again did I send my wise and watchful little brother down ahead of me,
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  until at last, standing there and looking up, naught remained to me of
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  the mighty outside world, but a bright silver spack, like a tiny ray
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  of light streaming through a pin hole in the curtains of your chamber. But
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  stop, have we reached the bottom of the Giant's well, For with a
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  trial plummet, I find that the walls are no longer sheer. They slope
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  inward and gently too, almost so much so that I hardly need a line
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  to continue my descent. Lighting one of my little tapers. I make my
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  way cautiously around the edge. In half an hour I find myself back at
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  the starting place. The curve to the path has always been the same,
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  while my trial plummet at all times has indicated the same slope to the rocky
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  basin. And then, for the first time, two certain words made use
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  of by that learned master of Master's don fum till then mystery to me stood
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  out before my eyes, as if written with a pen upon those black walls
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  thousands of feet below the great world of light, which I had quitted a
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  few hours before. Those words were Polyphemus's funnel. Yes, there could be
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  no doubt of it. I had reached the bottom of the giant's well.
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  I stood upon the edge of Polyphemus's funnel. End of Chapter five