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Updated: June 19, 2025
As they crossed it, he noted how the great arch rung to his horse's hoofs; he noted the bushes growing low down to the tunnel's edge; he noted how majestic was the current as it swept into the vast dark opening below, how stately the trees on either bank.
We had a long, low, rakish ship lying in the river just off the tunnel's mouth; black-bearded ruffians, with knives between their teeth, stealing ashore and disappearing within the dark underground passage; the great stone table down there heaped with Spanish gold; good Jamaica rum pouring down wicked throats; the dark tunnels ever echoing the rollicking chorus, "Six men sat on the dead man's chest" when suddenly it occurred to us that we were somewhat compromising the old colonial grandee, Colonel Byrd.
"Here's three candles gone a'ready, an' only three more left us, yet the tunnel's the same as it was when we started. An' how long it's goin' to keep up, no one knows." "Couldn't we walk without a light?" asked Trot. "The way seems safe enough." "It does right now," was the reply, "but we can't tell when we are likely to come to another gulf, or somethin' jes' as dangerous.
How long he crept on thus he could not guess; but at last, feeling that the tunnel's length was interminable, and exhausted by his efforts, by terror, and loss of sleep, he determined to lie down and rest before proceeding farther. When he awoke there was no change in the surrounding blackness.
Between the fright, the altitude, and the hill I had no breath left to speak with as I pounded on the door of the miner's hut. Mountaineers sleep lightly and do not make toilets, so it was barely ten minutes from the time of the cave-in when three men were working at the tunnel's mouth with pickaxes and shovels.
"All my ammunition is on him." "Chiu-Ming's taking care of that," I gasped. We darted out of the gateway. A good five hundred yards away were Ruth and Drake, running straight to the green tunnel's mouth. Between them and us was Chiu-Ming urging on the pony. As we sped after him I looked back. The horsemen had recovered, were now a scant half-mile from where the road swept past the fortress.
But everything is quite different when you walk into a tunnel on your own feet, and tread on shifting, sliding stones and gravel on a path that curves downwards from the shining metals to the wall. Then you see slimy, oozy trickles of water running down the inside of the tunnel, and you notice that the bricks are not red or brown, as they are at the tunnel's mouth, but dull, sticky, sickly green.
When Cuba's weeds have quite forgot The power of suction to resist, And claret-bottles harbor not Such dimples as would hold your fist, When publishers no longer steal, And pay for what they stole before, When the first locomotive's wheel Rolls through the Hoosac tunnel's bore;
As I stood in the dark shadow of the tunnel's end racking my brain for a feasible plan the while I watched, catlike, the old man's every move, he took up the money-pouch and crossed to one end of the apartment, where, bending to his knees, he fumbled with a panel in the wall.
He then noticed that Silent Poll was not among the rest; and he was unwilling to trust himself to the mercies of this creature. 'I shall not descend till the girl joins the rest; and he now stood in such a manner as to have a view of the robbers and the old woman, as well as of the tunnel's mouth. The chief shouted, and Silent Poll came forth with an extremely hang-dog expression.
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