CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE DRUNKARDS’ DEN.
As we progressed the voices in our rear became more faint, and yet the whistling volleys of screeching voice bombs passed us as before. I shuddered in anticipation of the sight that was surely to meet our gaze, and could not but tremble for fear. Then I stopped and recoiled, for at my very feet I beheld a huge, living human head. It rested on the solid rock, and had I not stopped suddenly when I did, I would have kicked it at the next leap. The eyes of the monster were fixed in supplication on my face; the great brow indicated intelligence, the finely-cut mouth denoted refinement, the well-modeled head denoted brain, but the whole constituted a monster. The mouth opened, and a whizzing, arrow voice swept past, and was lost in the distance.
"What is this?" I gasped.
"The fate of a drunkard," my guide replied. "This was once an intelligent man, but now he has lost his body, and enslaved his soul, in the den of drink beyond us, and has been brought here by his comrades, who thus rid themselves of his presence. Here he must rest eternally. He can not move, he has but one desire, drink, and that craving, deeper than life, can not be satiated."
"But he desires to speak; speak lower, man, or head of man, if you wish me to know your wants," I said, and leaned toward him.
Then the monster whispered, and I caught the words: "Back, back, go thou back!"
I made no reply.
"Back I say, back to earth or"—
Still I remained silent.
"Then go on," he said; "on to your destiny, unhappy man."
"This is horrible," I muttered.
