Chapter 38

THE DRUNKARDS’ DEN.

As we progressed the voices in our rear became more faint, and yet the whistling volleys of screeching voice bombs passed us as before. I shuddered in anticipation of the sight that was surely to meet our gaze, and could not but tremble for fear. Then I stopped and recoiled, for at my very feet I beheld a huge, living human head. It rested on the solid rock, and had I not stopped suddenly when I did, I would have kicked it at the next leap. The eyes of the monster were fixed in supplication on my face; the great brow indicated intelligence, the finely-cut mouth denoted refinement, the well-modeled head denoted brain, but the whole constituted a monster. The mouth opened, and a whizzing, arrow voice swept past, and was lost in the distance.

“What is this?” I gasped.

“The fate of a drunkard,” my guide replied. “This was once an intelligent man, but now he has lost his body, and enslaved his soul, in the den of drink beyond us, and has been brought here by his comrades, who thus rid themselves of his presence. Here he must rest eternally. He can not move, he has but one desire, drink, and that craving, deeper than life, can not be satiated.”

“But he desires to speak; speak lower, man, or head of man, if you wish me to know your wants,” I said, and leaned toward him.

Then the monster whispered, and I caught the words:

“Back, back, go thou back!”

I made no reply.

“Back I say, back to earth or--”

Still I remained silent.

“Then go on,” he said; “on to your destiny, unhappy man.”

“This is horrible,” I muttered.

“Come,” said the guide, “let us proceed.”

And we moved onward.

Now I perceived many such heads about us, all resting upright on the stony floor. Some were silent, others were shouting, others still were whispering and endeavoring to attract my attention. As we hurried on I saw more and more of these abnormal creatures. Some were in rows, resting against each other, leaving barely room for us to pass between, but at last, much to my relief, we left them behind us.

But I found that I had no cause for congratulation, when I felt myself clutched by a powerful hand--a hand as large as that of a man fifty feet in height. I looked about expecting to see a gigantic being, but instead beheld a shrunken pigmy. The whole man seemed but a single hand--a Brobdingnag hand affixed to the body of a Liliputian.

“Do not struggle,” said the guide; “listen to what he wishes to impart.”

I leaned over, placing my ear close to the mouth of the monstrosity.

“Back, back, go thou back,” it whispered.

“What have I to fear?” I asked.

“Back, I say, back to earth, or--”

“Or what?” I said.

“Then go on; on to your destiny, unhappy man,” he answered, and the hand loosed its grasp.

My guide drew me onward.

Then, from about us, huge hands arose; on all sides they waved in the air; some were closed and were shaken as clenched fists, others moved aimlessly with spread fingers, others still pointed to the passage we had traversed, and in a confusion of whispers I heard from the pigmy figures a babble of cries, “Back, back, go thou back.” Again I hesitated, the strain upon my nerves was becoming unbearable; I glanced backward and saw a swarm of misshaped diminutive forms, each holding up a monstrous arm and hand. The passage behind us was closed against retreat. Every form possessed but one hand, the other and the entire body seemingly had been drawn into this abnormal member. While I thus meditated, momentarily, as by a single thought each hand closed, excepting the index finger, and in unison each finger pointed towards the open way in front, and like shafts from a thousand bows I felt the voices whiz past me, and then from the rear came the reverberation as a complex echo, “Then go on; on to your destiny, unhappy man.”