In Caverns Below by Stanton A. Coblentz — Read

In the course of my thirty-eight years, I have made more than one hair-raising expedition. I have clung to the slippery sides of precipices; I have rolled in a ship at sea, with the decks all awash beneath the mountainous waves; I have been lost in the burning desert and all but blistered to death; I have roamed glacial barrens, and remote caves, and serpent-infested jungles. But never have I been stricken with such fear, never have I suffered such nightmare agonies as during that journey at the end of a wire, among the clattering groups of pit-dwellers.

So bewildered was I, so frightened, and at the same time so angered, that for a long while I kept little track of where we went. I only knew that we were making our way down, down, down, among a multitude of galleries that curved, and curved again, and branched and inter-branched with baffling intricacy -- galleries illuminated with a greenish-yellow glow by the multitudes of orbs placed at regular intervals along the walls and ceiling. It seemed that we travelled for miles, while my captors, on their queer wheeled machines, rolled ahead of me and behind, but never came within yards of personal contact; and minute by minute the wire cut more deeply into my skin, checking the circulation and making it hard for me to hold back a cry of pain.