The Sunless City/Chapter 8
A Terrible Predicament
How long Flin remained in a state of insensibility he never knew. Nor must the fact of his having swooned be taken as an evidence of either moral or physical weakness. Should anyone who peruses this veracious history be inclined to criticise Mr. Flonatin in any ill-natured or severe spirit, I would respectfully advise such person to close his eyes for a few minutes and then imagine himself in a volcanic cavern, at a depth of over three miles in the bowels of the earth, and with all means of escaping therefrom apparently gone, and thus shut off from his fellow-men; entombed alive in these halls of silence and mystery, with the prospect of a terrible death from slow starvation staring him in the face, and all his ambitious dreams and brightest hopes scattered to the winds by a sudden and unexpected mishap; if he will but realise this --- in imagination for a few moments --- his blame will be turned to pity, and he will mentally exclaim, "Poor Flin Flon! I hope he will escape."
That this hope was realised will be self-evident, as this story of marvellous adventure could not have been written if the bold explorer had not returned to the earth to bring back his papers. Again, some impatient reader may ask --- but how did Flin get back? Well, I may at once state that it is not my intention to satisfy such curiosity here. At the proper time and in the right place the almost incredible and stupendous manner in which Mr. Flonatin did succeed in returning to the upper earth will be disclosed.
Flin Flon having recovered from his swoon sat bolt upright and stared about him in a dazed sort of manner. He seemed to fancy for some moments that he had been suffering from nightmare. His vessel, which had borne him safely from the upper earth, had drifted away, and he was left without any means of escape. This was the fact he had to face, and it was well calculated to appal any man.
But Flin was not one to sit down idly and whine at his fate. Having got over the first shock, he saw that action was needed, and that no time was to be lost. If his vessel had drifted down the stream --- and it was evident that it had --- it could not have gone very far. Moreover, it had possibly got jammed between some of the pillars. But here another difficulty arose. The main river was diverted in many ways by numerous obstacles, and which of these branches to take was the puzzling question. Flin, however, selected the one he thought that the current was most rapid in, and commenced to make his way along the bank. Travelling for many hours, slowly it is true, for the floor of the cavern had got very rough and broken, and he became bewildered too at the labyrinthian-like manner in which the river wound about the pillars. He began to despair and almost gave himself up for lost. There was another fact also that gave him cause for alarm, and that was the farther he went from the volcano the less light there was to guide him. The gloom increased in a painfully rapid manner. The scintillation of the rocks died out, and the pillars assumed weird and fantastic shapes in the gathering darkness. How could he hope to find his way without a light?
He upbraided himself in the bitterest terms for having been so careless as to come away without one of the electric lamps. It was an oversight that might cost him his life. With one of these little lamps in his possession now he might have pursued his way through Cimmerian gloom. But hope died within his heart as he saw that the darkness increased. Moreover, the pangs of hunger were making themselves felt in a very disagreeable manner, and to add to his misery his snuffbox was empty. He had sniffed the dust freely during his dilemma, and without he found his vessel, where he had a good supply of Lundyfoot[1], he could not replenish his box.
It was a terrible predicament, despair seized upon him, and candidly confesses that at that moment his enthusiasm all left him; he wished that he was back again in New York, where he would be content to retail sugar and tea all his life, and ignore for evermore learned societies and Quixotic expeditions.
But with such a man as Flin a feeling of this kind is generally of the most ephemeric nature. The fire of energy burned within him, and he could not stand still. He must press forward, even if it was to the most fearful death; and press forward he did. Stumbling about and bruising and lacerating himself in a most unpleasant manner. Presently, finding himself on a mound of rock --- for so it really was --- he was obliged to sit down to recover his spent breath, and as he wiped his forehead, on which the perspiration stood in great beads, he bitterly lamented the emptiness of his gold box. A few pinches of snuff would have given him new strength. But regrets were useless. He had learnt a bitter lesson, and determined to profit by it, if ever he should be so fortunate as to regain his vessel.
As he so sat, bewailing his misfortune, he was suddenly startled by what seemed to be two gleaming eyes which shone out in the darkness some distance before him. Now they seemed to come nearer, then recede, then they were lost to view for a few moments, and as the astonished Flin Flon watched them, all sorts of ideas flitted through his brain.
He thought it was possible the eyes were those of some labyrinthodon, or an anopotherium or even a ménopome. For although the two former were extinct in the upper world, there was no reason why they should not exist down here, and it might also prove that the menopome was not a myth after all, but that this batrachian had its home down in the fiery gulf of lava which Flin had slept behind. As he thought of this, and that possibly it was one or other of these monsters that was watching him, and would ultimately swallow him with as much ease as a crocodile would dispose of a fly, he felt very far from comfortable, and his first impulse was to beat a hasty retreat. But after a little reflection he deemed that course to be a cowardly one; moreover if this should prove to be a living specimen of one of the gigantic pachyderms which formerly inhabited the upper world, he felt that it was his duty to get nearer that he might be able to write a description of it for the benefit of his brother savants. At this thought all his enthusiasm came back, and he forgot his danger and troubles in his desire to drink at the well of knowledge. With the fiery eyes still seemingly fixed upon him, he approached slowly, but with every possible caution, making his way as best he could amongst the pillars and rugged masses of rock, but always keeping the eyes in front as a sort of guiding beacon. Presently he heard a gurgling sound, as if the huge monster was drinking deeply of the river water. And as he drew nearer still, he was enabled to distinguish very faintly the outlines of some huge reptile or fish, that was moving up and down and blinking its eyes.
"Dear me," thought Flin, "this is exceedingly interesting to be sure. I wish I could inspect the beast closer. I must try at anyrate, for this is an opportunity that may never occur again."
Crawling on all fours he proceeded cautiously and with much difficulty towards the monster, and as he drew near he found that the rocks were damp and slimy, and he was in danger several times of falling into the water. But nothing disheartened, he pressed on until he reached a jagged pinnacle of rock. Then he crouched down behind it, and peeped forth very cautiously, intending to examine the supposed monster as well as circumstances would permit. As he looked and wondered he suddenly exclaimed, ---
"Why, bless my life --- dear me, how very extraordinary --- surely I cannot be mistaken. It is --- no it isn't --- yes it is, I declare. Hurrah!"
This, it must be confessed, is somewhat incoherent, and to the intelligent reader may convey no special meaning. But it will be remembered that Flin was labouring under intense excitement, and joyful surprise almost deprived him of the power of speech.
As he cried "Hurrah!" he sprang up quickly and rushed forward impetuously, tripping as he did so over an inequality in the rock, which caused him to sprawl in a manner that was far from dignified for a member of the Society for the Exploration of Unknown Regions. He picked himself up, however. But severe abrasions on the hands, knees, face and elbows of the philosopher proved the force with which he and the ground had met. His energy was checked, but he limped forward as well as he was able towards the object that had previously startled him, and which he had taken to be some monstrous animal, but which was in reality the vessel he had all but despaired of ever beholding again.
- ↑ A brand of yellow snuff, produced in the United States by Peter Lorillard of New York, whose company was founded in 1760.