172 



I N A G U A 



of razor-edge cinder and cavernous pits of deep maroon. In the 

 half-light it appeared weird, unworldly, almost Martian. Baby- 

 lon is a magnified sponge acres in extent, a sponge which has 

 for its tissues the needle-edge spires of flinty stone. It is a gigan- 

 tic fiber of pitted and decayed lime, sharpened by the elements 

 into sword-thin blades of carved and jagged mineral. 



Babylon was the end of travel for the day and I withdrew 

 to the shelter of the concave cliff where I lit a fire of drift- 

 wood. Immediately beyond the aura of light cast by the flames, 

 the ancient sea cliff plunged directly into a wall of sheer stone 

 that formed an angular shelter from the wind. This was myste- 

 rious in itself. The valley and the cliff ended too abruptly and 

 gave the feehng that under the vast pile of eroded limestone that 

 was called Babylon they continued on and on, smothered under 

 an eighty foot thick blanket of rock. 



The wind that night howled louder than I had yet heard it. 

 The fire flickered and flared and weird shadows slid across 

 the ledges. Deep organ-like notes came out of the darkness, 

 different from the low whistlings and whisperings of the night 

 before; the rushing air pouring through the miUion holes and 

 crevices of the spongy rock assumed an ecclesiastical tone, a 

 low harmonious medley common to the vaulted naves of great 

 cathedrals. The sound disturbed me deeply; it was so utterly 

 mournful, penetrating; not to listen was difficult, there was 

 little else to do except tend to the fire. 



I roused myself before dawn, devoured another tin of beef— 

 this food was beginning to get monotonous— and in the light 

 of the waning moon climbed out of the valley floor. In the 

 moonlight the world was more strange than ever; pale blue light 

 edged the jagged rocks; the shadows appeared as empty black 

 holes that seemed to pierce the center of the earth. The valley 

 glistened as a long narrow ribbon between the dark rocks on 

 shore and the old sea wall. Eighty feet below a seething line 



