At length we passed the last pillar and the last stalagmite. All this time we had been descending at a gentle slope. The way now led into a tunnel, rather wide and lofty at first. The going was easy enough for a mile or so; the descent was still a gentle one, and the floor of the passage was but little broken. The spot was then reached where that tunnel bifurcates; and there were the packs of our Hypogeans, or, rather, their knapsacks. There were five, one for each, the men's being large and heavy.
"You see, Bill?" queried Milton. "Evidently our little hypothesis was correct."
"I see," I nodded. "We have far to go."
"Very far, I fancy."
Also, in this place were the phosphorus-lamps of the Dromans, one for each. These were somewhat similar to the ones that Rhodes and I carried, save that the Droman lamps could be darkened, whereas the only way we could conceal the light of ours was to put them into their cylinders. As was the case with our phials, the light emitted by these vessels was a feeble one. Undoubtedly, though, they would remain luminous for a long period, and hence their real, their very great value. Beside the lanterns, oil-burning, of which the Dromans had three, the phosphorus-lamps were somewhat pale and sorry things; but, when one remembered that they would shed light steadily for months perhaps, while the flames of the lanterns were dependent upon the oil-supply, those pale, ghostly lights became very wonderful things.
"The light," I said as we stood examining one of these objects, "is certainly phosphorescent. But what is that fluid in the glass?"
"I can't tell you, Bill. It may be some vegetable juice. There is, by the way, a Brazilian plant, called Euphorbia phosphorea, the juice of which is luminous. This may be something similar. Who knows?"[9]
Each of the Dromans took up his or her knapsack, and we were under way again. It was the right branch of the tunnel into which the route led us. That fact Rhodes put down in his notebook. I could see no necessity for such a record, for surely we could not forget the fact, even if we tried.
"We'll record it," said Milton, "certitude to the contrary notwithstanding. And we'll keep adding to the record as we go down, too. There's no telling, remember. It may not be so easy to find the way out of this place as it seems."
"You said," I reminded him, "that we may never want to return."