"BretHarte-LegendsAndTales" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harte Bret)

The Father turned, and, as the fog broke away before the waving
plume, he saw that the sun was rising. Issuing with its bright
beams through the passes of the snowy mountains beyond, appeared a
strange and motley crew. Instead of the dark and romantic visages
of his last phantom train, the Father beheld with strange concern
the blue eyes and flaxen hair of a Saxon race. In place of martial
airs and musical utterance, there rose upon the ear a strange din
of harsh gutturals and singular sibilation. Instead of the
decorous tread and stately mien of the cavaliers of the former
vision, they came pushing, bustling, panting, and swaggering. And
as they passed, the good Father noticed that giant trees were
prostrated as with the breath of a tornado, and the bowels of the
earth were torn and rent as with a convulsion. And Father Jose
looked in vain for holy cross or Christian symbol; there was but
one that seemed an ensign, and he crossed himself with holy horror
as he perceived it bore the effigy of a bear.

"Who are these swaggering Ishmaelites?" he asked, with something of
asperity in his tone.

The stranger was gravely silent.

"What do they here, with neither cross nor holy symbol?" he again
demanded.

"Have you the courage to see, Sir Priest?" responded the stranger,
quietly.

Father Jose felt his crucifix, as a lonely traveller might his
rapier, and assented.

"Step under the shadow of my plume," said the stranger.

Father Jose stepped beside him, and they instantly sank through the
earth.

When he opened his eyes, which had remained closed in prayerful
meditation during his rapid descent, he found himself in a vast
vault, bespangled overhead with luminous points like the starred
firmament. It was also lighted by a yellow glow that seemed to
proceed from a mighty sea or lake that occupied the centre of the
chamber. Around this subterranean sea dusky figures flitted,
bearing ladles filled with the yellow fluid, which they had
replenished from its depths. From this lake diverging streams of
the same mysterious flood penetrated like mighty rivers the
cavernous distance. As they walked by the banks of this glittering
Styx, Father Jose perceived how the liquid stream at certain places
became solid. The ground was strewn with glittering flakes. One
of these the Padre picked up and curiously examined. It was virgin