Something floated from the side of the boat and shone a while in the wake, and then was lost in the darkness as the boat moved slowly on.
"Keep her west," whispered a voice in the boat.
"We're keeping west," whispered another voice in the boat. The noise of the oars in the rowlocks clanked in the echoes like the complainings of a gigantic wheel whose bearings were dry. The whispers came back from the echoes like the whispers of a Titan whose teeth were gone, and whose tongue was thick with age or clumsy with disease. The voice of the giant seemed near--on a level with the head. It stirred the hair.
The torch went out.
"Light--give us light," whispered a voice in the boat.
"Wait. Watch astern," whispered another voice.
"Astern," whispered the awful, almost inarticulate voice close to the ear, in the hair.
Then all was still. The oars stopped. All eyes were, unseeing, turned in the direction whence the boat had come. The faintest glimmer indicated the opening to the cave. All was black as the heart of unhewn granite.
"Now watch," whispered a voice in the boat.
"Now watch," whispered the echo against the throat and neck.