Then he was silent, and we lay in that awful darkness, which in, spite of my efforts, I kept peopling with multitudinous horrors.
Then I seemed to lose consciousness; in spite of hard rock, cold, and damp, sleeping heavily, and dreaming now of Lilla, who seemed to be in some terrible peril from which I could not save her. I wanted to reach her, but something kept me away, while the danger she was in, as it floated before my distempered imagination, was somehow connected with Garcia, and Indians, and fire, or a mingling of all three. I felt ready to cry out as I struggled against the power that held me back; but at last I saw what it was that stayed me; it was the gold for which I had been seeking—piled-up, heavy masses of gold—holding me down, crushing me almost, while Lilla’s sweet imploring face was turned to me as if asking my help. I strained, I longed to release myself, but in vain; and at last one great ponderous mass began to move towards me slowly, with a heavy, roaring noise, till it rested upon my chest, and with a start I woke to find one of Tom’s arms thrown across my throat and him snoring loudly.
For a few minutes I lay aghast, unable to make out where I was; but by degrees recollection brought back all the horrors of our position, and with a sigh I managed to rid myself of Tom’s arm.
I settled myself to try and sleep once more, so as to be ready for what would, I knew, prove an arduous, wearying task, tiring alike to body and spirit; when my blood seemed to be frozen in my veins, for there came a soft, fluttering noise, the air seemed to fan my cheeks as I lay, and then there echoed through the place three wild, appalling cries, followed by profound silence.
“Who’s that a-calling? It won’t do, Muster Garcia! You left her to drown, eh? What! Hilloa! Say, Mas’r Harry, was I dreaming or did you call?”
“I did not call, Tom,” I whispered; “but there is some one in here besides us. Hark!”
Again, as I spoke, and heard plainly above the distant roar, three more cries came sweeping along, and once more there was silence.
“All right, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom; “better chance for us to get out. If some one else can come in that only shows that there’s another way; and when it’s time to get up, why, up we get, for I don’t feel a bit disposed to try any more sleep here—it’s too much like hard work!”
“I don’t think the cries were human, Tom,” I said.
“Never mind that, Mas’r Harry, they weren’t ghosts’ cries. I’ll bet that. Now, if my old mother was here she’d stick out as it was a spirit as couldn’t—Oh, Mas’r Harry, though, what a horrid screech!” he whispered, as again a long-drawn, hollow, echoing cry ran through the passages.