if you do, you know naught of that flaming spirit which moves the scientist and the discoverer, that such as you should never—indeed, can never—seek the dread secrets of. nature or journey to her hidden places.
We rested there for exactly one
hour. The temperature, by the
way, was 57° Fahrenheit. When we
resumed the descent, I was using the
phosphorus lamp instead of the electric
one. It was not likely that even
our electric lights would fail us; still
there was no guessing what might
happen, and it might be well, I
thought, to adopt a policy of light-conservation
also. As for the phosphorus
lamps, these would furnish
light for six months. In this, they
were simply wonderful; but there
was one serious drawback; the light
emitted was a feeble one.
The manufacture of this lamp (at one time used, I believe, in Paris, and probably elsewhere, in the magazines containing explosives) is simplicity itself. Into a glass phial is put a small piece of phosphorus. The phial is filled two-thirds full of olive oil, heated to the boiling point. The thing is hermetically corked, and there you are. When you wish to use your wonderful little pharos, you simply allow air to enter. The space above the oil becomes luminous then. You replace the cork, and, the phial remains sealed until there is occasion to restore the waning light, which you do, of course, by allowing more air to enter. As has been said, such a phial will furnish light for a half-year.
These phials of ours were set each in a metal frame and protected by a guard in such fashion that it would take a heavy blow to break the glass. When not in use, they were kept in strong metal cylinders. Of course, the electric light could be turned on at any instant.
There were places where the gallery pitched, in a way to make the head swim, many spots in which we had to exercise every caution; a false step might have spelled irrevocable disaster. I wondered how the angel had passed down those difficult places, and many pictures of that mysterious creature, as I wondered, came and went. Well, she had passed down and that without mishap. Where was she now? Indeed, where were we ourselves?
Steadily we toiled our downward way. For a long distance, the gallery ran with but slight deviation either to the right or to the left, though the descent was much broken—I mean now was steep and now gentle, now at some angle intermediate. Rhodes thought that we were now moving in an easterly direction; it might have been north, east, south or west for all I knew. Not a trickle of water had we seen, not even a single drop, which I confess caused some unpleasant thoughts to flicker through my mind.
At 5 o'clock we were two thousand feet above sea-level; at half past 7, about half a thousand. And we then decided to call it a day. Nor was I at all sorry to do so, even though we might be near some strange, even great discovery, for I was very tired, and sore from the. top of my head to the end of my toes. I was in fair trim, and so was Rhodes; but it would take us some time to get used to such work as this.
A very gentle current of air, so slight that it required experiment to detect it, was passing down the gallery. The temperature here was 62° Fahrenheit.
We had stopped before a cavity in the wall, and in that little chamber we passed the night, one holding watch whilst the other slept.
My dreams were dreadful, but otherwise the night was as peaceful as any that ever passed over Eden. Neither Rhodes nor I, during that strange eery vigil there in the heart
