As we walked along single file through these long dark corridors, the roofs of which were every now and then so low that we were obliged to stoop, we were shown the graves of saints and martyrs who had been entombed within the walls, every now and then arriving at some little chapel, in the walls of which three or four popes had been buried.
The place where the altar had stood was also carved in the rock. Here we came across a tomb with an inscription, there upon some rude drawings on the wall by the early Christians, representing various sacred subjects.
Impatient at having to stand still and listen to the explanation of the monk who accompanied us and to hear the questions of this knot of English people, I felt an incontrollable impulse to strike out for myself into some new track, not meaning to content myself with the mere fashionable route shown to foreigners.
I considered that I had not come there merely to have a peep at these subterranean vaults, for the sake of being able to say when I returned to England that I had seen the catacombs, but intended whilst I was about it to investigate these mysterious haunts thoroughly and conscientiously, for the sake of discovering, if possible, some inscriptions or other relics worthy of note that I might describe in my great archæological work, and thus hand my name down to posterity.
The investigation of some unknown region, especially if accompanied by a spice of danger, has always been with me a passion. I longed to be able to do something that nobody yet had done. I could not but be aware of the danger of my resolution to explore these dusky labyrinths without a guide, yet I prepared myself in a measure against a contingency, carrying in my pocket an extra roll of paper, in case that which I bore in my hand should come to an end, and a tinder-box.
Besides this, I had filled my pockets with bread, partly in case of extreme emergency, to sustain life, and partly to drop in crumbs behind me as I went to mark the way. I had commenced dropping my breadcrumbs from the very beginning and making slight excursions by myself, then turning back to join the party of English.
Once or twice the monk called me back, and as I went and returned several times, I suppose no notice was taken when I really did strike out in an unbeaten track. I took an opportunity of starting when a stout English female was assailing our ascetic friend with trivial questions in wretched Italian.
Whilst public attention seemed engrossed I started off with my taper through a long and apparently interminable passage, which I was told led to Ostia, the ancient sea-port. No one called after me, so I suppose I was not missed.
On, and still further, on I went, groping my way until I could no longer hear the voices of the party, nor see the light of their tapers through the dim arches of the catacombs.
"Would the monk miss me and go in search of me, thus breaking short all hopes of my exploring expedition?" I asked myself.