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“I descended and as I walked along the Sacred Way I thought of the thousands, millions perhaps, of times this worn thoroughfare had been trodden in bygone ages where all was now desolate. Here was I, a grain of dust moving where kings and nobles of countless centuries before had trod, and where, for all I know, kings and nobles may again tread long years after I am still a grain of dust but moveless.

“At the brink of the well I peered into the blackness and continued to gaze into its depths, picturing in my mind’s eye the awesome ceremonies it had witnessed. The chant of death begins, swelling softly over the slow pulsing of the drums. The solemn procession leaves the holy temple of Kukul Can and the funeral cortège advances along the broad raised avenue of the Sacred Way, toward the Sacred Well, the dwelling-place of Noh-och Yum Chac, the terrible Rain God who must be placated by human sacrifice. The corn in the fields is withering, crying for rain. If the anger of Yum Chac be not appeased famine will follow and the dread Lord of Death, Ah Puch—he of the grinning, sightless skull—will walk abroad in the land.