I began to perceive the crawling red flames licking with hungry tongues along the sides of the huge log resting upon the altar block, and later distinguished the black figure of a priest moving silently from point to point amid the shadows, engaged upon the grewsome functions of his office, his presence ever manifested by the dismal crooning with which he worked his magic spells.

Beyond these vague suggestions of life--for they seemed scarcely more--it was like endeavoring to sound the depths of a cavern, so black, still, and void was all within and about.

Yet, even as I stood thus, peering uneasily into the gloom, I was thoroughly startled at the sudden booming forth of a voice, apparently issuing from the darkest corner.
"May the Lord God forgive ye, Master Benteen, and be merciful unto ye, for thus placing His minister in such stress.

'T is I, Ezekiel Cairnes, who hath become an abomination unto Israel." There was a tone of such utter depression in the great roaring voice, I feared some serious mishap had befallen him, and hastened to cross the room, heading toward the corner whence the sound came.

As I attained the outer edge of the platform, groping my passage through the dense gloom, I was halted in the midst of a dozen or more savages, lying prone upon the hard floor, evidently in adoration of that grotesque figure perched above, and now clearly revealed by a blazing up of the charred log.