ght hand to the entablature before us and
began to whistle most distinctly, yet most musically, a low monody,
which resembled the cadencial rise and fall of the voice in reading
poetry. Occasionally, his tones would almost die entirely away, then
rise very high, and then modulate themselves with the strictest regard
to rhythmical measure. His finger ran rapidly over the hieroglyphics,
first from left to right, and then from right to left.

In the utmost amazement I turned toward Pio, and demanded what he meant.
Is this a musical composition, exclaimed I, that you seem to be reading?
My companion uttered no reply, but proceeded rapidly with his task. For
more than half an hour he was engaged in whistling down the double
column of hieroglyphics engraved upon the entablature before me. So soon
as his task was accomplished, and without offering the slightest
explanation, he seized my hand and made a signal for me to follow.

Having provided himself with a box of lucifer matches and a fresh
candle, he placed the same implements in my possession, and started in
advance. I obeyed almost instinctively.

We passed into the innermost apartments of _El Palacio_, and approached
a cavernous opening into which Mr. Stephens had descended, and which he
supposed had been used as a tomb.

It was scarcely high enough in the pitch to enable me to stand erect,
and I felt a cool damp breeze pass over my brow, such as we sometimes
encounter upon entering a vault.

Pio stopped and deliberately lighted his candle and beckoned me to do
the same. As soon as this was effected, he advanced into the darkest
corner of the dungeon, and stooping with his mouth to the floor, gave a
long, shrill whistle. The next moment, one of the paving-stones was
raised _from within_, and I beheld an almost perpendicular stone
staircase leading down still deeper under ground. Calling me to his
side, he pointed to the entrance and made a gesture for me to descend.
My feelings at this moment may be better imagined than described. My
memory ran back to the information given me by the Alcalde, that Pio was
a Carib, and I felt confident that he had confederates close at hand.
The Caribs, I well know, had never been christianized nor subdued, but
roved about the adjacent swamps and fastnesses in their aboriginal
state. I had frequently read of terrible massacres perpetrated by them,
and the dreadful fate of William Beanham, so thrillingly told by Mr.
Stephens in his se