This
lasted for two or three minutes; they were evidently removing
those who still had life in them, for the straining breath of men
dragging or lifting burdens was plainly audible.
Gradually that, too, died away with the last reverberations of
the mysterious sound that had saved us, and we found ourselves
alone--or at least unmolested--for in the darkness we could see
nothing, except the dim outlines of the prostrate forms at our
feet.
The cavern was a shambles. The smell was that of a
slaughter-house. I had had no idea of the desperateness of our
defense until I essayed to scramble over the heap of bodies to
dry ground; I shuddered and grew faint, and Harry was in no
better case.
Worse, he had dropped his knife when we stumbled, and we were
forced to grope round in that unspeakable mess for many minutes
before we found it.
"Are you hurt, lad?" I asked when once we stood clear.
"Nothing bad, I think," he answered. "My throat is stiff, and
two or three of the brutes got their teeth in me. In the name of
Heaven, Paul, what are they? And what was that bell?"
These were foolish questions, and I told him so. My leg was
bleeding badly where I had slashed myself, and I, too, had felt
their teeth.
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