It was soon a cliff, a mountain steep, on whose peak the white flagstaff was sticking up like a weather-vane.
In order not to fall he had to grasp a rope, a bit of wood, any fixed object.

But the effort was useless.

He felt himself dragged down, overturned, lashed about in a moaning and whirling darkness.

A deadly chill paralyzed his limbs.

His closed eyes saw a red heaven, a sky of blood with black stars.