CHAPTER XXVTHE ISLAND SINKS
Fromthe crater of the volcano a great mass of flame and smoke belched toward the sky. At the peak rivers were forming, rivers of molten lava, which, even as Bomba looked, began to flow down the sides of the mountain in every direction.
The fearful explosions still continued, and with every one, that dreadful column of flame mounted higher and the rivers of redhot lava increased in volume. The earth was rocking in the throes of an earthquake.
While Bomba was still trying to gather his wits together and determine what he should do, the house of Japazy split apart. Half of it went down in a deafening crash, and the other half, in which Bomba’s room was located, swayed crazily, threatening at every instant to fall to the ground.
Bomba slung his bow over his shoulder and rushed to the picture hanging on the wall. He took it down—even in that moment of frenzied haste he handled it reverently—and slipped thecord by which it had been suspended about his neck, covering the picture under the puma skin that stretched across his breast.
If he were doomed to die in this terrible cataclysm, he would die with that picture next his heart!
He glanced down the corridor and saw that it was blocked with debris. His only exit was the window. Luckily, it was not more than twelve feet from the ground, and Bomba dropped down safely.
He was not a moment too soon, for he had barely got out of reach before the rest of the building fell. The dwelling of Japazy, that had witnessed nobody knew how many grim tragedies, was now in ruins.
In the dim dawn that was coming up in the eastern sky, Bomba could see that most of the other houses in the town had shared the same fate. People were rushing about in fright, men, women and children, fleeing they knew not where, their only thought to get away from the fiery rivers of lava that were now pouring down rapidly toward the doomed town.
The earth was opening in great rents, which sometimes widened and at other times snapped shut, engulfing houses, trees and sometimes hapless human beings, whose screams of terror were dreadful to hear.
Apart from these more spectacular demonstrations of the unchained forces of nature, there was a sense of gradual sinking that was sickening and ominous in the extreme.
No one paid any attention to Bomba, so engrossed was every one in trying to find a path to safety.
The lad sniffed the air as a pointer does to get his sense of direction. Then, when he knew that he was headed for the north end of the island, he plunged into the woods and went as straight as an arrow to his goal.
There was terrible need for haste, as the rivers of lava were now pouring into the woods, blasting into ashes whatever they touched. If one of those rivers intercepted his path, it would be impossible to cross it.
The air was like that from a furnace, and Bomba was drenched with sweat as he made his way through the jungle. Showers of hot ashes were falling all about him. Great forest trees lay athwart his path, hurled to the ground as though they had been saplings.
Over and over came those deafening roars that seemed to split his eardrums, and ever the rivers of lava swelled in volume. The hot blasts that came from them scorched his throat and lungs and seared his eyes. He felt as though he were moving in a nightmare.
Now he was not alone. On every side the jungle was full of fleeing animals and reptiles. There were hundreds of them, the jaguars which had given the island its name, boa constrictors, dragging their huge lengths through the brush, jararacas, cooanaradis.
They brushed against Bomba, bumped into him, but not one of them gave him the slightest attention. Every hostile and venomous instinct was swallowed up in panic, in the terror to escape. They did not know where they were going. They did not care. All they thought of was to get away from that roaring mountain, from those terrible rivers of fire that threatened to overwhelm them.
Unexpectedly Bomba found himself on the edge of the river, the same surging, turbulent stream that had brought him to Jaguar Island. He was surprised at this, as he had calculated that he had at least a mile further to go before he reached its banks.
And then he knew!
The river was creeping inland. It had already covered the ground to the width of a mile. The island was sinking!
With frantic haste Bomba gathered together three logs, tore some creepers from the trees and lashed the logs together. Even in the brief time it took him to do this the water had deepened until it was up to his neck.
He pulled himself up on the rude and fragile raft and committed himself to the river. Soon the logs were in the grip of the current where they tossed about so violently that Bomba could not keep his feet. He threw himself flat and with his hands through interstices of the logs held on for his life.
He had little fear this time of the caymans. They themselves would be cowering with terror at this phenomenon that was shaking the bed of the stream as well as the dry land above its level. They would make no hostile move. Even the jaguars, whose heads now dotted the stream everywhere, could swim to the mainland without any danger from an attack by the alligators.
The current carried the raft toward the further side of the river, and before long it struck heavily against a jutting point of land. With one spring Bomba landed on the point, and a moment later stood safe on the fringe of the jungle.
As he looked toward the island there came a stupendous crash that dwarfed everything that had preceded. Once more Tamura belched forth a great torrent of flame. Then the whole island sank out of sight and where it had been were only miles of widely tossing waters.
Bomba viewed the terrible spectacle with aweand consternation. The island where he had hoped to learn so much no longer existed.
But he was safe! His life had been spared—and that counted for much.
Then another comforting thought came to him. The island of Japazy had sunk. But, as far as he knew, Japazy himself still lived. He would find the half-breed yet.
What fruit was borne by that determination will be seen in the next volumes of this series: “Bomba the Jungle Boy in the Abandoned City; or, A Treasure Ten Thousand Years Old.”
“Japazy still lives,” murmured Bomba to himself. “Bomba will seek him out.”
He took reverently from beneath the puma skin the portrait of the lovely woman. Again those beautiful eyes looked into his.
“Mother,” he whispered. “Mother!”
His eyes blurred. He pressed his lips to the picture and replaced it next his heart.
Then he struck into the jungle.
THE END