A. Merritt, The Face in the Abyss, novelette… (1923)
“ As they wheeled into it Graydon again felt a pang of pity. They were like doomed men marching to execution; hope less; helpless and—drugged. Nay—they were men who had once been slain and drawn inexorably on to a second death! Never speaking, never turning, with mechanical swing of feet, rifles held slack in limp arms, their march was a grotesquerie tinged with horror. The new road was darker than the old. He had an uneasy feeling that the rocks were closing high over his head; that what they were entering was a tunnel. The gray lichens rapidly dwindled on walls and underfoot. ”
