me together--so that we can touch each
other. We grasp our guns, and get ready our knives and pistols. We
make to the edge of the rock, and, sliding down, assure ourselves of the
path. We grope our way downward, guided by the granite walls on each
side. We go not with caution, but in the very recklessness of a
desperate need. We are met by the masses of smoke still rolling
upwards. Further down, we feel the hot caloric as we come nearer to the
crackling fires. We heed them not, but rush madly forward--till we have
cleared both the cloud and the flames, and stand upon the level plain!

It is but escaping from the fires of hell to rush into the midst of its
demons. On all sides they surround us with poised spears and brandished
clubs. Amidst their wild yells, we scarcely hear the cracking of our
guns and pistols; and those who fall to our shots are soon lost to our
sight, behind the bodies of others who crowd forward to encompass us.
For a short while we keep together, and fight, back to back, facing our
foes. But we are soon separated; and each struggles with a dozen
assailants around him!

The struggle was not protracted. So far as I was concerned, it ended,
almost on the instant of my being separated from my comrades. A blow
from behind, as of a club striking me upon the skull, deprived me of
consciousness: leaving me only the one last thought--_that it was
death_!

CHAPTER SIXTY.

A CAPTIVE ON A CRUCIFIX.

Am I dead? Surely it _was_ death, or an oblivion that equalled it? But
no--I live! I am conscious that I live. Light is falling upon my
eyes--thought is returning to my soul! Am I upon earth? or is it
another world in which I awake? It is a bright world--with a sky of
blue, and a sun of gold; but are they the sky and sun of the earth?
Both may belong to a future world? I can see no earth--neither fields,
nor trees, nor rocks, nor water--nought but the blue canopy and the
golden orb. Where is the earth? It should be under and around me, but
I cannot see it. Neither around nor beneath can I look--only upward and
forward--only upon the sun and the sky! What hinders me from turning?
Is it that I sleep, and dream? Is the incubus of a horrid nightmare
upon me? Am I, like Prometheus, chained to a rock face upward? No--not
thus; I feel that I am standing--erect as if nailed against a wall! If
I am not dreaming, I am certainly in an upright attitude. I feel my
limbs beneath me; while my