In Caverns Below

Like many of life's crises, it was all over in a minute. Yet it seemed infinitely prolonged, seemed packed with the experience of hours, of days, almost of years. I can still relive the dagger-shaft of terror that shot through me when the earth, without warning, gave a quick convulsive lurch, like the deck of a vessel in a storm at sea; I can still hear the sharp frightened exclamation from the throat of Clay and the startled shouts of our companions from down the tunnel.

Once more I listen to the crunching, grinding, and groaning of the earth and the low rumbling from far subterranean depths; I am again pitched headlong to the floor as the ground beneath us heaves and threshes; I catch the panic-gleam in the eyes of my companion as he tries vainly to clutch a projecting spike of rock; then for an instant, as the commotion momentarily subsides, I almost succeed in regaining my feet, only to be hurled down again with a fury that leaves me bruised and bleeding.