Night came.

I do not remember that we made any stops at all; if we did, I have forgotten them.

The night on that stage-coach can be better imagined than described.

I do not know of any adjectives that I could apply to it.
Just before dawn, we stopped to change horses and driver, and as the day began to break, we felt ourselves going down somewhere at a terrific speed.
The great Concord coach slipped and slid and swayed on its huge springs as we rounded the curves.
The road was narrow and appeared to be cut out of solid rock, which seemed to be as smooth as soapstone; the four horses were put to their speed, and down and around and away we went.

I drew in my breath as I looked out and over into the abyss on my left.