This was a pleasant task, to tell the truth, for I found our surroundings oppressive in the extreme, though I did not voice my misgivings aloud. Morale can suffer in a small party in this way and I was experienced enough not to let my companions know my true feelings; Holden had already suffered a considerable shock and I knew his nerves were still ragged. The following afternoon we were all in the embalming gallery when Prescott accidentally dropped a hammer; the sound startled me, as the metallic crash went echoing strangely down the vast gallery but the effect on Holden was incredible.
He winced away, his hands over his ears and positively cowered against the tunnel wall. I went over to him and gently took him by the shoulder; he turned to me a face from which all colour had been drained. I did not like it and one had to face the unpleasant possibility that worse may be before us. The Professor was determined to press on to whatever destination these endless and devilish tunnels eventually led.
We could only follow and hope for the best. I must be fair and say that Scarsdale, Van Damm and even Prescott were made of sterner stuff. They alone continued with unabated enthusiasm though, as I have already indicated, there were sometimes occasions when even their zest for this adventure became temporarily eclipsed. On the third day, when the notebooks were filled and masses of data had been accumulated, Scarsdale gave the order to break camp. We left at Camp Four only a box of heavy stores the Professor had marked as being redundant and a small pennant on a metal rod, the symbol of the expedition.
We put all the heavier materials, including the machine- gun into the trolley; Prescott and I were to haul this for the morning march and neither of us were exactly impatient to tackle the long and steep steps leading to the embalming gallery. However, it was easier than we had anticipated, being largely a question of knack and before the morning was over Prescott and I were becoming quite adept at lifting the trolley over each tread of the giant steps. The packs on our backs counterbalanced to a certain extent and while the others strolled in front — a precise term under the circumstances — we heaved and pushed along behind, knowing that it would be our turn to relax in the afternoon.
So we eventually descended the large flight of steps at the other end of the gallery and were soon enveloped in the light mist which everywhere billowed and eddied in the rising wind. It was a heartening thing to leave the chamber of the embalmed creatures behind us, even if we were still heading into the unknown, and Prescott and I were several times in danger of overturning the trolley in our lighthearted descent of the steps.
Van Damm had been — keeping his records still and announced, when we were once again upon level ground that this second set of steps was an exact mathematical replica of the first, there being not a quarter of an inch difference between the two. I could not see the significance of this myself, but once again it emphasised the fantastic precision of the unknown builders of these gloomy edifices. There were exactly forty 'treads' in each staircase. Van Damm announced portentously. The whole of the embalming gallery and its two sets of staircases thus occupied a length of almost 4,000 feet, figures that must create a record in the field, Van Damm felt.
Certainly, to Prescott and I it seemed as if we had traversed those 4,000 feet not once but several times and Scarsdale kindly called a halt at midday so that I and my companion could take a much-needed break. We drank the welcome black coffee and munched our specially produced energy biscuits gratefully, sitting on our packs, our backs against the trolley. We were temporarily camped about a hundred feet beyond the exit steps, seated on a warm, dry stone floor. The light was once again brighter now that we were out of the great stone building but the roof of the cavern, still at some vast height above us, was obscured by the swirling mist which, shredded this way and that by the wind, eddied and shimmered, making everything seem as insubstantial as a dream.
Indeed, it often seemed to me, and I am sure it must have sometimes occurred to our companions, that this was some sort of dream, or even nightmare; an apocryphal vision in which we moved ever onwards through the caverns of darkest night to some awful subterranean destination at an awesome depth beneath the surface of the wholesome earth.
The wind, still warm, blew fitfully from the north but now there seemed the faintest echoing moan from it, which whispered suggestively along the hard walls of the corridors and across the plain towards us. The mist billowed, made strange patterns in the disturbed air and changed the shape in a bewildering kaleidoscope, and had it not been for the compasses carried by the party we should undoubtedly have rapidly become lost.
During the afternoon we walked onwards by compass bearing about a mile due north, up and down an undulating surface, almost gulley-like in its contours but not at all difficult to the Party, though the trolley occasionally proved a little troublesome when the wheels locked while negotiating a twisting slope. The mist continued so that we did not see much of our surroundings, but the terrain was in such marked contrast to that which we had already traversed that it appeared as remarkable to us as the change to Everest explorers who emerge from the tropical vegetation of the foothills eventually to tread the eternal snows.
Visibility was about thirty feet under these conditions and at the two o'clock break, when we consumed quite a substantial meal cooked chemically on one of the stoves, Scarsdale prevailed upon me to take a few photographs, recording some of the more striking rock contours. In the afternoon we walked on for another mile or two, necessarily groping our way, with Van Damm taking frequent compass bearings. Once we seemed to hear water from far off but we were unable to locate the source of the sound, which appeared to shift position, no doubt due to the enveloping fog. Van Damm and Scarsdale were scribbling busily in their notebooks and once or twice Prescott who, like me was relieved of his trolley duties, broke the monotony by chipping at the rocks with his little geologist's hammer but I cannot recall ever seeing him break any particles off, the formations were so hard.
This was possibly the most striking thing about the Great Northern Expedition, always excepting the two great basic absolutes of this enterprise and which we always came back to in our minds at the end of each protracted and tiring day; that the whole thing was taking place miles below the surface of the earth and approaching a hundred miles inwards; and that the scale of the great artefacts, such as the porticoed entrances; the tunnels; and the embalming gallery were on a scale stupefying in comparison with most man-made things on the earth above.
I doubted whether such works, through rock of a hardness none of us had ever before met, could have been achieved by modern engineers using the very latest earth-boring machinery then available. When one cast one's mind back only three thousand years, a comparatively modest span compared with the age of the earth, the degree of sophistication involved was almost frightening. This was not a case where the employment of mass labour would suffice; what we were then talking about was technology — the machinery — for surely no works such as that could be wrought by hand — and the knowledge to first create and then use it.
My head was full of such thoughts as we walked on, through the endless gloom, endlessly dim light, endless mist and the endless breath of the wind on our cheeks. Occasionally my feet would stumble or I would be brought to myself by a sudden sharp remark by Scarsdale or Van Damm and find myself on the brink of diverging from my companion's path and about to be lost in the mist. My mind was close to terror on such occasions and my one great fear, that amounted to a morbid crisis, was to find myself alone in these spaces of underground nightmare. Yet such was the monotony of the place and of our walk that despite my fears, and physical discomfort of the pack straps biting into my shoulders, I would time and again find my mind wandering into strange by-paths and fantasies.