I turned my head a little
-- I dared not lift it -- and looked up. By the feeble light
that yet reached the canoe, I could make out that a dense arch
of rock hung just over our heads, and that was all. In another
minute I could not even see as much as that, for the faint light
had merged into shadow, and the shadows had been swallowed up
in darkness, utter and complete.
For an hour or so we lay there, not daring to lift our heads
for fear lest the brains should be dashed out of them, and scarcely
able to speak even, on account of the noise of the rushing water
which drowned our voices. Not, indeed, that we had much inclination
to speak, seeing that we were overwhelmed by the awfulness of
our position and the imminent fear of instant death, either by
being dashed against the sides of the cavern, or on a rock, or
being sucked down in the raging waters, or perhaps asphyxiated
by want of air. All of these and many other modes of death presented
themselves to my imagination as I lay at the bottom of the canoe,
listening to the swirl of the hurrying waters which ran whither
we knew not. One only other sound could I hear, and that was
Alphonse's intermittent howl of terror coming from the centre
of the canoe, and even that seemed faint and unnatural.
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