Chapter 3

“Yes,” answered Tonnison, thoughtfully. “There must be a waterfall, or
something, over there. Perhaps it’s our river come to light again. Let’s
go and see.”

Down the sloping bank we made our way, and entered among the trees and
shrubberies. The bushes were matted, and the trees overhung us, so that
the place was disagreeably gloomy; though not dark enough to hide from
me the fact that many of the trees were fruit trees, and that, here and
there, one could trace indistinctly, signs of a long departed
cultivation. Thus it came to me that we were making our way through the
riot of a great and ancient garden. I said as much to Tonnison, and he
agreed that there certainly seemed reasonable grounds for my belief.

What a wild place it was, so dismal and somber! Somehow, as we went
forward, a sense of the silent loneliness and desertion of the old
garden grew upon me, and I felt shivery. One could imagine things
lurking among the tangled bushes; while, in the very air of the place,
there seemed something uncanny. I think Tonnison was conscious of this
also, though he said nothing.

Suddenly, we came to a halt. Through the trees there had grown upon our
ears a distant sound. Tonnison bent forward, listening. I could hear it
more plainly now; it was continuous and harsh–a sort of droning roar,
seeming to come from far away. I experienced a queer, indescribable,
little feeling of nervousness. What sort of place was it into which we
had got? I looked at my companion, to see what he thought of the matter;
and noted that there was only puzzlement in his face; and then, as I
watched his features, an expression of comprehension crept over them,
and he nodded his head.

“That’s a waterfall,” he exclaimed, with conviction. “I know the sound
now.” And he began to push vigorously through the bushes, in the
direction of the noise.

As we went forward, the sound became plainer continually, showing that
we were heading straight toward it. Steadily, the roaring grew louder
and nearer, until it appeared, as I remarked to Tonnison, almost to come
from under our feet–and still we were surrounded by the trees
and shrubs.

“Take care!” Tonnison called to me. “Look where you’re going.” And then,
suddenly, we came out from among the trees, on to a great open space,
where, not six paces in front of us, yawned the mouth of a tremendous
chasm, from the depths of which the noise appeared to rise, along with
the continuous, mistlike spray that we had witnessed from the top of the
distant bank.

For quite a minute we stood in silence, staring in bewilderment at the
sight; then my friend went forward cautiously to the edge of the abyss.
I followed, and, together, we looked down through a boil of spray at a
monster cataract of frothing water that burst, spouting, from the side
of the chasm, nearly a hundred feet below.

“Good Lord!” said Tonnison.

I was silent, and rather awed. The sight was so unexpectedly grand and
eerie; though this latter quality came more upon me later.

Presently, I looked up and across to the further side of the chasm.
There, I saw something towering up among the spray: it looked like a
fragment of a great ruin, and I touched Tonnison on the shoulder. He
glanced ’round, with a start, and I pointed toward the thing. His gaze
followed my finger, and his eyes lighted up with a sudden flash of
excitement, as the object came within his field of view.

“Come along,” he shouted above the uproar. “We’ll have a look at it.
There’s something queer about this place; I feel it in my bones.” And he
started off, ’round the edge of the craterlike abyss. As we neared this
new thing, I saw that I had not been mistaken in my first impression. It
was undoubtedly a portion of some ruined building; yet now I made out
that it was not built upon the edge of the chasm itself, as I had at
first supposed; but perched almost at the extreme end of a huge spur of
rock that jutted out some fifty or sixty feet over the abyss. In fact,
the jagged mass of ruin was literally suspended in midair.

Arriving opposite it, we walked out on to the projecting arm of rock,
and I must confess to having felt an intolerable sense of terror as I
looked down from that dizzy perch into the unknown depths below us–into
the deeps from which there rose ever the thunder of the falling water
and the shroud of rising spray.

Reaching the ruin, we clambered ’round it cautiously, and, on the
further side, came upon a mass of fallen stones and rubble. The ruin
itself seemed to me, as I proceeded now to examine it minutely, to be a
portion of the outer wall of some prodigious structure, it was so thick
and substantially built; yet what it was doing in such a position I
could by no means conjecture. Where was the rest of the house, or
castle, or whatever there had been?

I went back to the outer side of the wall, and thence to the edge of the
chasm, leaving Tonnison rooting systematically among the heap of stones
and rubbish on the outer side. Then I commenced to examine the surface
of the ground, near the edge of the abyss, to see whether there were not
left other remnants of the building to which the fragment of ruin
evidently belonged. But though I scrutinized the earth with the greatest
care, I could see no signs of anything to show that there had ever been
a building erected on the spot, and I grew more puzzled than ever.

Then, I heard a cry from Tonnison; he was shouting my name, excitedly,
and without delay I hurried along the rocky promontory to the ruin. I
wondered whether he had hurt himself, and then the thought came, that
perhaps he had found something.