DESPAIR

NZ Truth, Issue 1151, 22 December 1927, Page 4

DESPAIR

+ . Story of The Glow Of Death (By "Retsof.") Incredible quiet, broken on/p by the incessant dripping of water. Somewhere m that void of darkness the man was beginning to realize that his search for an outlet jrom this remote limestone cave was only bringing him back again to the point from which he had commenced to grope. Always that slow, solemn, monotonous drip, drip of water as each drop fell with a decisive, almost sinister plop into some inky pond. Cyprian Power had made no progress. The mighty echoing walls about him and the majestic pinnacles of limestone formation, might have made a hall for Pharaoh, given light — and laughter. But this vast, unresponsive, shadowy underground No-man's land, was eerieness itself. Frightful stillness; all-absorbing 1 darkness. enveloping everything. What was conquest to the explorer if he could not proclaim it to the world? What was triumph if capped with death? Here was a gigantic mystery domain, dazzling even the wonderful Waitomo. "What use was it if death was to wrap her black cloak of silence forever around both explorer and his discovery? Using his hands as a megaphone, Power called again and again m the chilly darkness, but only the sound of his own voice — distorted echo, terrifylngly unnatural — 'reverberated through the lofty halls. His new-found world. His prison! It seemed an age since he had wandered into that small orack m the ground m the heart of She King Country. Calculation was difficult. With one of his few remaining matches he discovered that he had broken the face of his wrist watch. It registered two o'clock. Had he been entombed for four hours, for forty hours or as many -days? He was hungry; no, not even hungry — now;, had passed the period of toleration' of food. The chain of events, recent events, was being tried, the mental links were only just holding. Chaos and confusion were making a strong bid for the ascendancy. Usually, when confronted by difficulties such as these, Power sat down, tried to think things out and calmly to decide the best expedient. Here was no alternative. Go forward or backward, he landed m the same place. Fearful silence; relentless, wickedly tormenting dripping of water and the great boney- fingered limestone ghostß against which he frequently stumbled, adding their meed of terror. SUSPENSE And now, as Fear began to whisper, each drop of water smashed the nucleus of every thought that struggled to live m his brain. .Again he pushed forward to leave the depressing dirge behind him. Here, a great passage, and further on, a g gantic amphitheatre, fit for the revels o* gladiators. On, on, but never a ribbon . of light, never a crack to lei m the whdlesome air and light from the real world beyond. His last mutch spluttered into a sickly bluish flame. He was able to oi>sorve th;tl the sinste; 1 coiii'vii finccrs of the suspended stalactites and fne .i^uuig- ijuiiiis of tiie stalagmites we c becoming more dense. The roof w.is closing m as he moved. He was finding narrower confines. At all events he was entering unfamiliar regions. The light of the match had been gently wafted m what he imagined to be an easterly direction. - His mmcl was ready to make any rash deduction. Had he breathed on that match? Or did that slight inclination of the flame suggest the draught towards which he could hope to find an exit either east or west? The match burned his fingers and Despair reigned with uncanny, supreme, silent forcefulness. Conscious, too, was he now, that his eyes were bloodshot as they burned in* their sockets. Old fears returned and passed into that region of his mind sheltering a natural philosophy.

But the latest obsession was the fear that he was silently crawling, unknowingly, to some gigantic underground precipice, where possibly, reposed the skulls of Maoris of countless generations. The caution of the blind man, made him go slower; and even slower still, because he had not the blind man's intuition. He got down on his hands and knees and crawled. His fingers groped gingerly over oozy, slowly developing limestone formations that had taken thousands and thousands of years to solidify into grand pillars under the deft engineering of Nature. Great columns, ghostly white, moist, or sinewy sepulchral fingers, built by the gradual process of dripping water —a few drops a day. A problem for the mathematician! Suddenly pausing from his laborious mode of advancement. Power became aware of a. faint light ill tllG distance. For the first time m his life he stopped to feel his heart beating while he ran a hand over his damp forehead. His eyes were almost closed with the throbbing pain and strain. And now he was creeping- as he had crept on moonlight nights m Flanders, negotiating every tiny obstacle with childish care lest he should be yet cheated Of the freedom that seemed so near. He crawled at last to the end of a great passage and found himself, weak and panting, looking up into the myriad twinkling lights of the heaven above him. He called for help. His parched throat emitted only a throaty, husky sound. "Free — thank God — night." Then he lay still. Very still. * • # Glow worms are timid little creatures. The only sound they are* accustomed to, is the musical, rhythmic dripping of water from the limestone points as the work of building the eerie fastness of the mighty underground goes on — on interminably. Startled m their miniature heaven by that weird sound from the throat of man, they silently dimmed their twinkling lights to the soon* q£ death before them.