The inky clouds, which seemed to heave like black masses of
cotton wool far down in the abyss, left the imagination to perform
acrobatic feats as it attempted to picture the possible depths that lay
below. The thing was weird, terrible, fear-inspiring. It looked like a
mighty crucible in which infernal things might have been manufactured in
the days when the world was taking shape.
The rays of the westering sun beat upon the sides directly opposite our
point of observation, and the colours seemed to leap from the rock. It
glowed in a manner that was indescribable. Sudden flashes came from it
as if the vermilion mass was studded with blazing carbuncles, but the
fascinating beauty of the part that was exposed to the rays was in
violent contrast to the cold depths where the mind pictured a body
falling through leagues of space.
For about five minutes no one spoke. The awful suddenness with which the
thing had appeared in our path throttled conversation. An inner self
connected the pit with the singular feeling of depression which had
gripped us the moment we landed upon the island, and we stood
breathless, wondering stupidly how we had sensed the vermilion-lined
horror into which the path led.
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