THE ISLAND OF THE SACRED CROSS 267 



seventy feet high, the walls beautifully colored or 

 painted. From this room we pushed the boat in and 

 in until we came to a dark door or opening somewhat 

 but not much larger than the boat. As we approached, 

 a wave came rolling in, sobbing, hissing, groaning in a 

 strange uncanny manner, and I noticed that as it 

 swept in, it almost closed the entrance. It was not 

 an alluring prospect, and I did not wonder that the 

 men displayed so little curiosity. There was but one 

 thing to do. We pushed our boat as near the hole as 

 possible and waited for the next roller, and as it filled 

 the entrance we pushed in immediately after it and 

 got through before its successor came along, a proceed- 

 ing easily accomplished. At once we were in almost 

 absolute darkness, a small vivid eye of light repre- 

 senting the entrance. It has been my good fortune 

 to hear some singular noises in my day, but the pande- 

 monium, worse confounded, in this cave under the 

 mountain of Point Diablo at times exceeded any- 

 thing I had ever heard. 



We had made a flambeau of waste, and tying this 

 to a stick endeavored to see the roof or ceiling; we 

 also attempted to sound the cave, but all to no pur- 

 pose. I should imagine it was one hundred feet across. 

 I found on the side a ledge, and beyond, and under this, 

 were other caves or passages through which the water 

 went roaring, hissing, and reverberating in a series of 

 sounds which I could easily understand would demor- 

 alize any one with weak nerves. There were two 

 ladies with us. Captain Burnham and I rowed, and 

 our fair passengers were animated with a desire for 

 investigation. I am rather inclined to explorations 

 myself, yet I could not but think that if a particularly 



