They were on a shaky raft at the bottom of the mightiest gorge in all the world.
Even if they could reach the top, they would find themselves in the midst of an arid, trackless desert, cut up by other cañons, across which naught but the mountain eagle could pass in safety.
The hunger, ever gnawing at his vitals, kept before him the fact that their provisions were nearly out.
If by dying, Sam could save his beloved father and return to safety his companions in these trials, he would not have hesitated about facing death; but as it was, he determined to do his full duty while his strength lasted, though no eye but God's appreciated the effort he was putting forth.
The cañon through which they were now passing, had the highest walls they had yet seen. For more than a mile their glistening gray sides shot up to the thin belt of dark blue sky, their summits crowned with pinnacles that in comparison would dwarf the highest and noblest structure ever built by human hands.
As if resting after their mad dance in the whirlpool, the waters flowed calmly and silently down, yet with a speed that told Sam they were moving at the rate of about four miles an hour.
The most wonderful thing about these depths was the dim twilight, and long before the sun went down in the upper world, the stars were visible from the bottom of the cañon.
As night approached the passengers scanned the shores eagerly, and looked ahead to every bend in the tortuous river, hoping they might be able to find a strip of shore or a ledge of rocks on which to make a landing, but in vain.
"It don't look's if dar was any more shoah," said Ike, in a loud, frightened tone, that echoed from rock to rock for nearly a minute after he had spoken.
"Not within sight," said Sam, with affected cheerfulness.