Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Eleven.A Fight with Fate.“Aren’t had a drop, sir. Swear I aren’t,” cried Smith.“Silence man, silence,” said Panton, as he sat upon the burnt-up earth, holding his head with both hands, while Wriggs staggered about close at hand, laughing idiotically.“But I can’t, sir,” cried Smith, in a whimpering tone. “If I’d been ashore somewhere and met mates, and we’d been standing treat to one another, I wouldn’t keer, but I’m sober as a hundred judges, that I am.”“Will you be silent, man? I want to think,” said Panton, as he rocked himself to and fro.“Yes, sir, d’reckly, sir, but don’t you go thinking that of a man. I know I can’t stand straight, for all the bones has gone out of my legs, and soon as I move I go wobble-wobble like cold glue.”“Yes, yes, I know, I’m unsteady, too,” said Panton impatiently.“But is it fits, sir? And do they take you like that?”“No, no, my man, I suppose it’s the gas.”“Gas, sir,” cried Smith, looking round stupidly. “What’s it been escaping again? Gammon, sir: they aren’t got no gas out here. I say, Billy Wriggs, don’t make a hexibition of yourself. Keep quiet, will yer?”“I can’t, mate. It’s a rum ’un, it is. What have the guvnors been givin’ of us to drink?”“I d’know, Billy. But do stand still.”“I can’t, mate, my legs will keep going and gettin’ tangle up like one along o’ the other, and knocking themselves together.”“Then lie down afore I hits yer.”“You won’t hit me, Tommy,” said the man, with a silly laugh.“Tell yer I shall. You aggravate me so, doing that there.”“Will you two men leave off talking?” cried Panton, angrily. “I can’t think. Your words buzz in my brains like a swarm of bees. Ah, I have it now. Where is Mr Lane?”“Mr Lane, sir?” said Smith, feebly, as he looked round, and then with his eyes staring and blank, he began to feel in his pockets.“Yes, yes, man. Where is he?”“I d’know sir. I aren’t seen him. Where’s Mr Lane, Billy? You got him?”Wriggs chuckled as if he had been asked the most ridiculously comic question he had ever heard.“I d’know, matey,” he said. “It’s o’ no use to ask me.”Smith lurched at him with his fists clenched, as if about to strike, but the intention was stronger than the power, and resulted in the sailor blundering up against his mate, and both going down together, and then sitting up and staring at each other in a puzzled way as if they found it impossible to comprehend their position.At that moment Drew came staggering toward them out of the mist with his gun over his shoulder and his head down as he gazed at the ground, looking as if at any moment he would fall.“Ah!” cried Panton, excitedly. “I had quite forgotten you, Drew.”“Eh?” said the botanist, stopping short. “Someone call?”“Yes; I—Panton. Come here.”“He’s got it, too, Billy,” said Smith. “I say, what’s the matter with all on us? Was it that water we drunk?”“No, I aren’t drunk!” cried Wriggs, suddenly dropping his good-tempered idiotic manner. “If you says I’m drunk, Tommy Smith, I shall hit yer. Smell that!”He placed a big tarry fist close under his messmate’s nose, and then, as if amused thereat, he began to laugh again.“I never said such a word, Billy,” said Smith, taking the big fist, opening it out again, and clapping his hand into it loudly before pumping it affectionately up and down. “I said it was the wa—tlat tlat tlat—Oh, I say, matey, I am thirsty.”“Eh?” said Drew, dreamingly, in answer to a question. “Where’s Lane? Yes, where’s Lane?”“Ah!” cried Panton, starting up now, and looking wildly round. “Yes, I understand, I think. It was the gas—the volcanic gas in that mist. For heaven’s sake rouse yourself, Drew. Lane’s in there still, and we must fetch him out. Here, all of you come and help.”He made for the pale, misty curtain before them, but only tottered a few steps, and then fell heavily upon his face with a groan.“He’s deal worse than us is,” said Smith, who was now beginning to think more clearly. “Billy, old man, it was that water we drank, and the natives have been pysoning it to kill the fishes, and killed us instead.”“Eh! What!”“Native savages been trying to pyson the fishes, and pysoned us instead, matey. I said it afore, Billy Wriggs—I says it again, and I’ll go on saying on it for a week if that’ll do you any good.”“I’m all right, matey. I’m all right, Tommy. But what do the native savages want to pyson the fishes for? Never did the savages any harm.”“Billy Wriggs, you’d better get a noo head, mate, and send this one to be cleaned.”“Ay! You’re right, mate, for this here one won’t go at all. Feels as if some’un had been sifting sea-sand into the works. But what had the fishes done?”“Nothing. Pyson ’em to float atop, and ketch ’em to eat. Now come and help sooperior officers as have tumbled down all of a heap.”As he spoke, Smith rose from the ground to which he had fallen, and reeled toward Panton and Drew, slowly, and as if he could only see them dimly at a distance, while Wriggs followed his example, and came on in a zigzag, idiotic way.Suddenly Smith stood up erect, and uttered a hoarse cry, as he stared wildly at his companions.“Here!” he yelled. “Help! I know now. Mr Lane. He went in there with us, and he aren’t been out. Come on!”His strength and honest manly feeling had come back with the flash of light which had illumined his brain, and rushing straight for the mist, they saw him begin to grow bigger as if looked at through a magnifying glass, increasing in size till he was monstrous, indistinct and blurred, and then completely disappear.The man’s cry and subsequent action roused them, and all staggered after him with their power of thinking clearly returning, and with it a feeling of horror as they grasped the fact that two of their party were now lost in the strange belt of vapour, whose fumes had so strangely overcome them.“We must help them,” cried Panton wildly. “Come on: follow me.”He started for the mist before them, but before he could reach it, Smith staggered and reeled out, striking against him, and then catching his breath as if he had been held under water, or as a man rises to the surface after being nearly drowned.“Stop!” he panted, with his eyes seeming to start out of his head. “You can’t go. A man can’t breathe in there. I’ll try again, d’reckly, gentlemen, but—but! oh, the poor, brave, handsome lad! I—I—”The big, strong, rough fellow’s voice became indistinct, and the sobs rose to his throat, nearly choking him in the weakness he vainly strove to hide.“Come, come,” said Panton hoarsely, as he supported the man, Drew trying hard the while to shake off the effects of the vapour and be of some service.“He liked him, gents,” growled Wriggs, an the strange intoxication seemed now to have passed off.“Yes,” cried Smith, hysterically. “Course I did, gentlemen, and I’m going in again to try and fetch the poor lad out. But,” he continued feebly, “you can’t breathe in there, and it takes hold on yer somehow and sucks the strength out of yer. It’s like when poor Joe Noble went down in the hold among the foul air, and it killed him right off at wunst.”“There, hold up,” said Panton, firmly now. “I’ll go this time.”“Yes, sir, and we’ll go together and take hold of hands,” cried Smith.“Ay, all on us,” growled Wriggs, “and take hold o’ hands and fetch him out afore we’ve done.”Drew said nothing, but as Wriggs caught hold of Smith’s hand, he seized Panton’s, and, moved as if by one mind, they stepped quickly forward, feeling at the end of a dozen paces that there was a difference in the air they breathed, which grew thicker as their sight became less clear and their motions more heavy.But hand clenched hand with more convulsive violence, and in step they kept on till first one and then another reeled and staggered, and it was only by turning suddenly round and stumbling back over their track that they were able to reach the free fresh air before, to a man, they staggered and fell to the ground.Panton was the first to speak.“I’d try again,” he groaned, “but I have not the strength.”“Ay, and I’d go, sir, but it’s as I said!” cried Smith piteously. “Think he can be alive yet?”“Heaven only knows,” sighed Panton, as he tried to sit up, but sank back again, while Drew turned his face toward them and gazed at his companions with a strangely vacant expression that in its helplessness was pitiful to see.“Tommy!” gasped Wriggs suddenly, as he lay flat on his face, “hit me, will yer, matey—hit me hard. That there feeling’s come all over me again, and I don’t know what I’m a doing, or what I’m a saying. It’s just as if I’d been struck silly and my legs had run away.”“Try—try again, Smith,” groaned Panton. “Give me your hand. I think I am stronger now.”“Not you, sir,” replied the sailor. “Here, hi! Billy Wriggs, whatcher doing on?”For the man had slowly raised himself upon his feet again, and was tottering toward the mist.“I’m a-going, matey, to fetch that there young natooralist out o’ yonder if I dies for it: that’s what I’m a-going to do.”He spoke in a low muttering growl, and the man’s looks and actions as he reeled and groped his way along were those of one stupefied by some strong narcotic.“But yer can’t do it, lad,” cried Smith, rising to his knees. “Come back.”“I’m a-going to fetch out that there young natooralist,” muttered Wriggs, as he staggered on.“But I tell yer yer can’t,” shouted Smith.“Quick, let’s try again,” said Panton, struggling to his feet once more, and now with Smith also erect and grasping his hand, they two came on in Wriggs’ track, just as Drew rolled over quite insensible.They did not advance a dozen paces, for Wriggs, who had tottered on strong in his determination to do that which his nature forbade, gave a sudden lurch and fell heavily, head in advance, and the others knew that he must be within the influence of the mephitic vapour.It was hard work to think this, for, as Smith afterwards said, it was like using your brain through so much solid wood; but in a blind helpless fashion they tottered on, and, bending down, each caught one of the man’s ankles, and dragged him back by their weight more than by any mechanical action of their own, each movement being a kind of fall forward and the natural recovery. The result was that step by step Wriggs was dragged from where the vapour was inhaled till Drew was reached, and they sank upon the bare burnt earth again, bewildered, and lacking the power to think, as if the mists had gathered thickly in their brains, and they could do nothing else but lie and wait for the return of strength.

“Aren’t had a drop, sir. Swear I aren’t,” cried Smith.

“Silence man, silence,” said Panton, as he sat upon the burnt-up earth, holding his head with both hands, while Wriggs staggered about close at hand, laughing idiotically.

“But I can’t, sir,” cried Smith, in a whimpering tone. “If I’d been ashore somewhere and met mates, and we’d been standing treat to one another, I wouldn’t keer, but I’m sober as a hundred judges, that I am.”

“Will you be silent, man? I want to think,” said Panton, as he rocked himself to and fro.

“Yes, sir, d’reckly, sir, but don’t you go thinking that of a man. I know I can’t stand straight, for all the bones has gone out of my legs, and soon as I move I go wobble-wobble like cold glue.”

“Yes, yes, I know, I’m unsteady, too,” said Panton impatiently.

“But is it fits, sir? And do they take you like that?”

“No, no, my man, I suppose it’s the gas.”

“Gas, sir,” cried Smith, looking round stupidly. “What’s it been escaping again? Gammon, sir: they aren’t got no gas out here. I say, Billy Wriggs, don’t make a hexibition of yourself. Keep quiet, will yer?”

“I can’t, mate. It’s a rum ’un, it is. What have the guvnors been givin’ of us to drink?”

“I d’know, Billy. But do stand still.”

“I can’t, mate, my legs will keep going and gettin’ tangle up like one along o’ the other, and knocking themselves together.”

“Then lie down afore I hits yer.”

“You won’t hit me, Tommy,” said the man, with a silly laugh.

“Tell yer I shall. You aggravate me so, doing that there.”

“Will you two men leave off talking?” cried Panton, angrily. “I can’t think. Your words buzz in my brains like a swarm of bees. Ah, I have it now. Where is Mr Lane?”

“Mr Lane, sir?” said Smith, feebly, as he looked round, and then with his eyes staring and blank, he began to feel in his pockets.

“Yes, yes, man. Where is he?”

“I d’know sir. I aren’t seen him. Where’s Mr Lane, Billy? You got him?”

Wriggs chuckled as if he had been asked the most ridiculously comic question he had ever heard.

“I d’know, matey,” he said. “It’s o’ no use to ask me.”

Smith lurched at him with his fists clenched, as if about to strike, but the intention was stronger than the power, and resulted in the sailor blundering up against his mate, and both going down together, and then sitting up and staring at each other in a puzzled way as if they found it impossible to comprehend their position.

At that moment Drew came staggering toward them out of the mist with his gun over his shoulder and his head down as he gazed at the ground, looking as if at any moment he would fall.

“Ah!” cried Panton, excitedly. “I had quite forgotten you, Drew.”

“Eh?” said the botanist, stopping short. “Someone call?”

“Yes; I—Panton. Come here.”

“He’s got it, too, Billy,” said Smith. “I say, what’s the matter with all on us? Was it that water we drunk?”

“No, I aren’t drunk!” cried Wriggs, suddenly dropping his good-tempered idiotic manner. “If you says I’m drunk, Tommy Smith, I shall hit yer. Smell that!”

He placed a big tarry fist close under his messmate’s nose, and then, as if amused thereat, he began to laugh again.

“I never said such a word, Billy,” said Smith, taking the big fist, opening it out again, and clapping his hand into it loudly before pumping it affectionately up and down. “I said it was the wa—tlat tlat tlat—Oh, I say, matey, I am thirsty.”

“Eh?” said Drew, dreamingly, in answer to a question. “Where’s Lane? Yes, where’s Lane?”

“Ah!” cried Panton, starting up now, and looking wildly round. “Yes, I understand, I think. It was the gas—the volcanic gas in that mist. For heaven’s sake rouse yourself, Drew. Lane’s in there still, and we must fetch him out. Here, all of you come and help.”

He made for the pale, misty curtain before them, but only tottered a few steps, and then fell heavily upon his face with a groan.

“He’s deal worse than us is,” said Smith, who was now beginning to think more clearly. “Billy, old man, it was that water we drank, and the natives have been pysoning it to kill the fishes, and killed us instead.”

“Eh! What!”

“Native savages been trying to pyson the fishes, and pysoned us instead, matey. I said it afore, Billy Wriggs—I says it again, and I’ll go on saying on it for a week if that’ll do you any good.”

“I’m all right, matey. I’m all right, Tommy. But what do the native savages want to pyson the fishes for? Never did the savages any harm.”

“Billy Wriggs, you’d better get a noo head, mate, and send this one to be cleaned.”

“Ay! You’re right, mate, for this here one won’t go at all. Feels as if some’un had been sifting sea-sand into the works. But what had the fishes done?”

“Nothing. Pyson ’em to float atop, and ketch ’em to eat. Now come and help sooperior officers as have tumbled down all of a heap.”

As he spoke, Smith rose from the ground to which he had fallen, and reeled toward Panton and Drew, slowly, and as if he could only see them dimly at a distance, while Wriggs followed his example, and came on in a zigzag, idiotic way.

Suddenly Smith stood up erect, and uttered a hoarse cry, as he stared wildly at his companions.

“Here!” he yelled. “Help! I know now. Mr Lane. He went in there with us, and he aren’t been out. Come on!”

His strength and honest manly feeling had come back with the flash of light which had illumined his brain, and rushing straight for the mist, they saw him begin to grow bigger as if looked at through a magnifying glass, increasing in size till he was monstrous, indistinct and blurred, and then completely disappear.

The man’s cry and subsequent action roused them, and all staggered after him with their power of thinking clearly returning, and with it a feeling of horror as they grasped the fact that two of their party were now lost in the strange belt of vapour, whose fumes had so strangely overcome them.

“We must help them,” cried Panton wildly. “Come on: follow me.”

He started for the mist before them, but before he could reach it, Smith staggered and reeled out, striking against him, and then catching his breath as if he had been held under water, or as a man rises to the surface after being nearly drowned.

“Stop!” he panted, with his eyes seeming to start out of his head. “You can’t go. A man can’t breathe in there. I’ll try again, d’reckly, gentlemen, but—but! oh, the poor, brave, handsome lad! I—I—”

The big, strong, rough fellow’s voice became indistinct, and the sobs rose to his throat, nearly choking him in the weakness he vainly strove to hide.

“Come, come,” said Panton hoarsely, as he supported the man, Drew trying hard the while to shake off the effects of the vapour and be of some service.

“He liked him, gents,” growled Wriggs, an the strange intoxication seemed now to have passed off.

“Yes,” cried Smith, hysterically. “Course I did, gentlemen, and I’m going in again to try and fetch the poor lad out. But,” he continued feebly, “you can’t breathe in there, and it takes hold on yer somehow and sucks the strength out of yer. It’s like when poor Joe Noble went down in the hold among the foul air, and it killed him right off at wunst.”

“There, hold up,” said Panton, firmly now. “I’ll go this time.”

“Yes, sir, and we’ll go together and take hold of hands,” cried Smith.

“Ay, all on us,” growled Wriggs, “and take hold o’ hands and fetch him out afore we’ve done.”

Drew said nothing, but as Wriggs caught hold of Smith’s hand, he seized Panton’s, and, moved as if by one mind, they stepped quickly forward, feeling at the end of a dozen paces that there was a difference in the air they breathed, which grew thicker as their sight became less clear and their motions more heavy.

But hand clenched hand with more convulsive violence, and in step they kept on till first one and then another reeled and staggered, and it was only by turning suddenly round and stumbling back over their track that they were able to reach the free fresh air before, to a man, they staggered and fell to the ground.

Panton was the first to speak.

“I’d try again,” he groaned, “but I have not the strength.”

“Ay, and I’d go, sir, but it’s as I said!” cried Smith piteously. “Think he can be alive yet?”

“Heaven only knows,” sighed Panton, as he tried to sit up, but sank back again, while Drew turned his face toward them and gazed at his companions with a strangely vacant expression that in its helplessness was pitiful to see.

“Tommy!” gasped Wriggs suddenly, as he lay flat on his face, “hit me, will yer, matey—hit me hard. That there feeling’s come all over me again, and I don’t know what I’m a doing, or what I’m a saying. It’s just as if I’d been struck silly and my legs had run away.”

“Try—try again, Smith,” groaned Panton. “Give me your hand. I think I am stronger now.”

“Not you, sir,” replied the sailor. “Here, hi! Billy Wriggs, whatcher doing on?”

For the man had slowly raised himself upon his feet again, and was tottering toward the mist.

“I’m a-going, matey, to fetch that there young natooralist out o’ yonder if I dies for it: that’s what I’m a-going to do.”

He spoke in a low muttering growl, and the man’s looks and actions as he reeled and groped his way along were those of one stupefied by some strong narcotic.

“But yer can’t do it, lad,” cried Smith, rising to his knees. “Come back.”

“I’m a-going to fetch out that there young natooralist,” muttered Wriggs, as he staggered on.

“But I tell yer yer can’t,” shouted Smith.

“Quick, let’s try again,” said Panton, struggling to his feet once more, and now with Smith also erect and grasping his hand, they two came on in Wriggs’ track, just as Drew rolled over quite insensible.

They did not advance a dozen paces, for Wriggs, who had tottered on strong in his determination to do that which his nature forbade, gave a sudden lurch and fell heavily, head in advance, and the others knew that he must be within the influence of the mephitic vapour.

It was hard work to think this, for, as Smith afterwards said, it was like using your brain through so much solid wood; but in a blind helpless fashion they tottered on, and, bending down, each caught one of the man’s ankles, and dragged him back by their weight more than by any mechanical action of their own, each movement being a kind of fall forward and the natural recovery. The result was that step by step Wriggs was dragged from where the vapour was inhaled till Drew was reached, and they sank upon the bare burnt earth again, bewildered, and lacking the power to think, as if the mists had gathered thickly in their brains, and they could do nothing else but lie and wait for the return of strength.

Chapter Twelve.The Help that Came.Hours passed, during which the little party lay utterly exhausted and overcome, sunk in a deep sleep, which partook more of the nature of a swoon. They were only a few yards away from the mist, and in such a position that, had a breeze arisen to waft it toward them, the probabilities were that they would never have awakened more.It was Panton who first slowly opened his eyes to look round and gaze wonderingly at his companions, then at the golden mist, whose deeper folds were orange and warm soft red.For it was evening, and as he turned toward the sinking sun it was some minutes before it occurred to him that it would be tropic night almost directly after, and that his companions should be roused. At the same moment came the recollection of why they were there, but without the strange confusion from which he had before suffered, the long sleep having carried it off.The others started into wakefulness at a touch, and stood staring at him helplessly.“Are you ready to try again?” he said in a low voice full of emotion.“Yes,” came spoken simultaneously.“Then come on, we must find him now.”He took a step or two forward, and the others followed, but a moment later Smith seized him by the arm.“No, sir,” he cried. “It won’t do, and I should be no man if I let you go.”“Loose my arm!” cried Panton, angrily. “Recollect, sir, who you are!”“I do, sir,” said the man stoutly; “but you’re not my officer, only a passenger; and if our poor old captain was alive, or if Mr Rimmer was here, he’d say I was quite right.”“What do you mean, sir?” cried Panton, whom the exposure to the mephitic gases had left irritable and strange.“I mean, sir, as it’s my dooty to stop you from going to sartain death, and you may say what you like, and call me what you like, but me and my mate, Billy Wriggs, is going to stop you, so there.”“Such insolence!” cried Panton angrily.“All right, sir. You’re going to do as I do, aren’t you, Billy?”“Course I am, Tommy. And you give in, sir. He’s got a horful long head has Tommy Smith, and what he says is right; we aren’t going to let you go.”“Cowards!” cried Panton angrily.“That’s right, sir, you just go on like that a bit, and call us names. It’ll ease your mind ever so. We don’t mind, do we, Billy?”“Not us,” growled Wriggs. “He’s right, sir. Give it to us.”“Brutes!” cried Panton, as the darkness began to approach with wonderful speed. “Here, Drew, we must go together. We cannot desert our comrade at a time like this.”“No,” said Drew, “it would be the act of cowards if we could do anything; but the men are right. You cannot go.”“What? You side with them? Cowards! Yes, worse. How could we ever face his friends unless we had striven to the last?”“We have striven to the last, man. Look! In a few minutes it will be black night, and to attempt to plunge into that horrible vapour would be madness, weakened and overwrought as we are.”“I thought so,” cried Panton. “The poor fellow has but one who will make a fight for him.”“Stop!” cried Drew, clinging to his arm.“Let go!”“I say you shall not.”“Let go, or take the consequences,” cried Panton furiously, and he raised his gun as if to strike at his companion with the butt.“Here, Smith, Wriggs, help me, he is half mad. He must not, he shall not go alone!”“Then come with me, cowards!” cried Panton.“No, sir, we aren’t a coming to see you die,” said Smith quickly, as he seized the hand which held the gun. “Now, Billy, ketch hold behind.”The struggle began, but it was a vain one. No one present was gifted with much strength; but it was three to one, and as the darkness fell the four shadowy forms looked dim and strange, writhing here and there, Panton striving hard to free himself from the restraining hands as he made a brave fight, but gradually growing weaker till, all at once, Wriggs, who had retained his position behind during the struggle, suddenly clasped his hands round the poor fellow’s waist, and lifted him right from the ground.“That’s got him,” he growled. “Now, Tommy, you get hold on his legs, and we’ll lie him down.”“Right!” cried Smith, and in this ignoble way Panton would the next minute have been thrown down, had not a shout suddenly come out of the gloom behind them.The effect was magical.Smith let go of Panton’s legs, and Wriggs unclasped his hands to place them to his mouth and give forth a tremendous yell.“Ahoy! Ship ahoy!” he cried.“Ahoy!” came from very near at hand, followed by a couple more distant calls, and another so faint as hardly to be heard.“Ahoy! Here away!” shouted Smith, and the next minute there were footsteps, and a familiar voice said,—“Where are you?”“Here!” cried Drew eagerly.“Thank goodness!” cried Mr Rimmer. “Found you at last. I was afraid something had happened to you, gentlemen. Ahoy!”His shout, intended to rally his followers, was echoed four times, and as soon as he had replied he turned to the breathless party.“Hallo, gentlemen, been running?” he cried. “I didn’t like to leave you longer for fear anything might have gone wrong, so I came on with half a dozen men. How plaguey dark. Hallo! Where’s Mr Lane?”There was an ominous silence and Mr Rimmer repeated his question.“Don’t say anything has happened to the lad,” he cried.Then Drew spoke and told him all.“What, and you stand there like that without making another try!” said Mr Rimmer fiercely.“There! You hear?” cried Panton. “I’ll go with you, Mr Rimmer. The poor fellow must be saved.”“By acts, Mr Panton, not by talking,” said the mate, sternly. “This way, my lads,” he cried, as first one and then another of thePlanet’screw hurried to his side. “Here’s fresh work for you, I’ve found some of the party, but young Mr Oliver Lane’s missing. Volunteers to find him?”“All on us, sir,” came eagerly.“That’s right,” said the mate. “Now, then, which way did he go in?”“Mr Rimmer, you don’t know the danger!” cried Drew.“No, sir, nor don’t want to till after the job. Now, then, point out the nearest spot as far as you can recollect.”“I think I can guide you,” said Panton.“Hold hard, please, sir, just a moment,” cried Smith. “You don’t know what it is, sir, as you’re going to do.”“Silence, sir! who spoke to you?” snapped the mate. “Wait till your advice is asked.”“Tommy Smith’s quite right, sir,” growled Wriggs.“Silence, sir.”“Right, sir, but I stands by my mate,” growled Wriggs.“Now, then, Mr Panton, I am waiting. Quick!”“I cannot let you go into that terrible danger without making another protest,” cried Drew. “Mr Rimmer, we have done everything that man could do in the way of trying to save the poor lad’s life.”“Possibly, Mr Drew, but I have not done all I mean to do. Now, then, Mr Panton, forward.”The gentleman addressed stepped forward at once, and with the mate and the six men who had accompanied him close behind entered the curtain of mist, invisible now save as increasing the darkness and shutting out the sparkling stars.“No, no, don’t you go, Smith,” cried Drew just then, as the sailor made a movement to follow the others.“But he’ll think I’m scared, sir, if I don’t go,” cried Smith.“Ay, I am coming, too, Tommy.”“No; it is utter madness,” cried Drew. “Stand here both of you, ready to help them when they come out.”“Mean it, sir?” cried Smith.“Yes, of course, man.”“Hear that, Billy. Well, the mate didn’t tell us to come arter him, and they’re safe to come back.”“Ay, they air—if they can,” said Wriggs gruffly.“Ah, if they can, mate. That’s a true word,” cried Smith, “Hi! Look out. They’ve had enough of it a’ready.”For at that moment one of the sailors ran staggering back through the darkness and fell heavily.“Help, someone, help!” came in the mate’s voice, and by a tremendous effort he too staggered out, half bearing, half supporting Panton, and both falling heavily before they could be supported.“Hi! All of you this way!” roared Smith, but his words were evidently not heard. However, they were unnecessary, for first two together and then three, the party of sailors tottered out overcome by the fumes, only one of them being sufficiently master of himself to sit down and hold his head; the others fell prone on the dry burnt ground.“They’ll believe us now,” said Smith with a dry laugh.“Man, man, don’t talk. Try and help them,” cried Drew. “Hah, look here.”“Can’t, sir! too dark.”“Feel those men whether they have water-bottles with them; Mr Rimmer here has.”“Right, sir. Here’s one.”“Give them water, then,” cried Drew, setting the example and pouring some of the cool fluid between the lips of first Panton, and then of the mate. But it was some minutes before it had the slightest effect, and there was a time when it seemed as if a fresh calamity was to be added to their other trouble.But first one and then another began to mutter incoherently before sinking into a heavy sleep, the mate, who was the most vigorous man present, having the hardest fight of all, and when he did cease babbling as he lay there in the darkness there was a coldness of hand and weakness of pulse that was startling.Then came a weary time of waiting in the darkness beneath the glittering stars till all at once Smith suggested that he should light a fire.“We don’t want it to warm ourselves, sir,” he said, “but it’ll make the place more cheery like and keep off the wild beasties if there are any about.”“Where are you going to get your wood from, matey?” growled Wriggs.“Ah, I never thought o’ that, mate. There aren’t none about here, that’s certain.”“And you don’t want none,” cried Wriggs, for suddenly the mist was lit up by a bright glare of light and above it the globular-looking cloud became illuminated as if from some burst of light below. “That’s good enough to see by, aren’t it?”Drew rose to his feet to stand gazing wildly at the bright illumination which showed plainly enough the overcome men lying in uneasy attitudes as they had fallen.The two sailors sprang to their feet, for there was a quivering motion of the earth, whose surface heaved as does a cloth held at the corners and shaken. The next moment there was a tearing, splitting sound running apparently toward them, and by the reflected light, there, plainly enough, a rift could be seen opening slowly, more and more widely, and evidently going straight for where Panton lay.“Earthquake!” shouted Drew. “Quick! help!!” But the two men stood shivering and helpless as if unable to stir, and the fate now of the young geologist and the mate seemed to be sealed.

Hours passed, during which the little party lay utterly exhausted and overcome, sunk in a deep sleep, which partook more of the nature of a swoon. They were only a few yards away from the mist, and in such a position that, had a breeze arisen to waft it toward them, the probabilities were that they would never have awakened more.

It was Panton who first slowly opened his eyes to look round and gaze wonderingly at his companions, then at the golden mist, whose deeper folds were orange and warm soft red.

For it was evening, and as he turned toward the sinking sun it was some minutes before it occurred to him that it would be tropic night almost directly after, and that his companions should be roused. At the same moment came the recollection of why they were there, but without the strange confusion from which he had before suffered, the long sleep having carried it off.

The others started into wakefulness at a touch, and stood staring at him helplessly.

“Are you ready to try again?” he said in a low voice full of emotion.

“Yes,” came spoken simultaneously.

“Then come on, we must find him now.”

He took a step or two forward, and the others followed, but a moment later Smith seized him by the arm.

“No, sir,” he cried. “It won’t do, and I should be no man if I let you go.”

“Loose my arm!” cried Panton, angrily. “Recollect, sir, who you are!”

“I do, sir,” said the man stoutly; “but you’re not my officer, only a passenger; and if our poor old captain was alive, or if Mr Rimmer was here, he’d say I was quite right.”

“What do you mean, sir?” cried Panton, whom the exposure to the mephitic gases had left irritable and strange.

“I mean, sir, as it’s my dooty to stop you from going to sartain death, and you may say what you like, and call me what you like, but me and my mate, Billy Wriggs, is going to stop you, so there.”

“Such insolence!” cried Panton angrily.

“All right, sir. You’re going to do as I do, aren’t you, Billy?”

“Course I am, Tommy. And you give in, sir. He’s got a horful long head has Tommy Smith, and what he says is right; we aren’t going to let you go.”

“Cowards!” cried Panton angrily.

“That’s right, sir, you just go on like that a bit, and call us names. It’ll ease your mind ever so. We don’t mind, do we, Billy?”

“Not us,” growled Wriggs. “He’s right, sir. Give it to us.”

“Brutes!” cried Panton, as the darkness began to approach with wonderful speed. “Here, Drew, we must go together. We cannot desert our comrade at a time like this.”

“No,” said Drew, “it would be the act of cowards if we could do anything; but the men are right. You cannot go.”

“What? You side with them? Cowards! Yes, worse. How could we ever face his friends unless we had striven to the last?”

“We have striven to the last, man. Look! In a few minutes it will be black night, and to attempt to plunge into that horrible vapour would be madness, weakened and overwrought as we are.”

“I thought so,” cried Panton. “The poor fellow has but one who will make a fight for him.”

“Stop!” cried Drew, clinging to his arm.

“Let go!”

“I say you shall not.”

“Let go, or take the consequences,” cried Panton furiously, and he raised his gun as if to strike at his companion with the butt.

“Here, Smith, Wriggs, help me, he is half mad. He must not, he shall not go alone!”

“Then come with me, cowards!” cried Panton.

“No, sir, we aren’t a coming to see you die,” said Smith quickly, as he seized the hand which held the gun. “Now, Billy, ketch hold behind.”

The struggle began, but it was a vain one. No one present was gifted with much strength; but it was three to one, and as the darkness fell the four shadowy forms looked dim and strange, writhing here and there, Panton striving hard to free himself from the restraining hands as he made a brave fight, but gradually growing weaker till, all at once, Wriggs, who had retained his position behind during the struggle, suddenly clasped his hands round the poor fellow’s waist, and lifted him right from the ground.

“That’s got him,” he growled. “Now, Tommy, you get hold on his legs, and we’ll lie him down.”

“Right!” cried Smith, and in this ignoble way Panton would the next minute have been thrown down, had not a shout suddenly come out of the gloom behind them.

The effect was magical.

Smith let go of Panton’s legs, and Wriggs unclasped his hands to place them to his mouth and give forth a tremendous yell.

“Ahoy! Ship ahoy!” he cried.

“Ahoy!” came from very near at hand, followed by a couple more distant calls, and another so faint as hardly to be heard.

“Ahoy! Here away!” shouted Smith, and the next minute there were footsteps, and a familiar voice said,—“Where are you?”

“Here!” cried Drew eagerly.

“Thank goodness!” cried Mr Rimmer. “Found you at last. I was afraid something had happened to you, gentlemen. Ahoy!”

His shout, intended to rally his followers, was echoed four times, and as soon as he had replied he turned to the breathless party.

“Hallo, gentlemen, been running?” he cried. “I didn’t like to leave you longer for fear anything might have gone wrong, so I came on with half a dozen men. How plaguey dark. Hallo! Where’s Mr Lane?”

There was an ominous silence and Mr Rimmer repeated his question.

“Don’t say anything has happened to the lad,” he cried.

Then Drew spoke and told him all.

“What, and you stand there like that without making another try!” said Mr Rimmer fiercely.

“There! You hear?” cried Panton. “I’ll go with you, Mr Rimmer. The poor fellow must be saved.”

“By acts, Mr Panton, not by talking,” said the mate, sternly. “This way, my lads,” he cried, as first one and then another of thePlanet’screw hurried to his side. “Here’s fresh work for you, I’ve found some of the party, but young Mr Oliver Lane’s missing. Volunteers to find him?”

“All on us, sir,” came eagerly.

“That’s right,” said the mate. “Now, then, which way did he go in?”

“Mr Rimmer, you don’t know the danger!” cried Drew.

“No, sir, nor don’t want to till after the job. Now, then, point out the nearest spot as far as you can recollect.”

“I think I can guide you,” said Panton.

“Hold hard, please, sir, just a moment,” cried Smith. “You don’t know what it is, sir, as you’re going to do.”

“Silence, sir! who spoke to you?” snapped the mate. “Wait till your advice is asked.”

“Tommy Smith’s quite right, sir,” growled Wriggs.

“Silence, sir.”

“Right, sir, but I stands by my mate,” growled Wriggs.

“Now, then, Mr Panton, I am waiting. Quick!”

“I cannot let you go into that terrible danger without making another protest,” cried Drew. “Mr Rimmer, we have done everything that man could do in the way of trying to save the poor lad’s life.”

“Possibly, Mr Drew, but I have not done all I mean to do. Now, then, Mr Panton, forward.”

The gentleman addressed stepped forward at once, and with the mate and the six men who had accompanied him close behind entered the curtain of mist, invisible now save as increasing the darkness and shutting out the sparkling stars.

“No, no, don’t you go, Smith,” cried Drew just then, as the sailor made a movement to follow the others.

“But he’ll think I’m scared, sir, if I don’t go,” cried Smith.

“Ay, I am coming, too, Tommy.”

“No; it is utter madness,” cried Drew. “Stand here both of you, ready to help them when they come out.”

“Mean it, sir?” cried Smith.

“Yes, of course, man.”

“Hear that, Billy. Well, the mate didn’t tell us to come arter him, and they’re safe to come back.”

“Ay, they air—if they can,” said Wriggs gruffly.

“Ah, if they can, mate. That’s a true word,” cried Smith, “Hi! Look out. They’ve had enough of it a’ready.”

For at that moment one of the sailors ran staggering back through the darkness and fell heavily.

“Help, someone, help!” came in the mate’s voice, and by a tremendous effort he too staggered out, half bearing, half supporting Panton, and both falling heavily before they could be supported.

“Hi! All of you this way!” roared Smith, but his words were evidently not heard. However, they were unnecessary, for first two together and then three, the party of sailors tottered out overcome by the fumes, only one of them being sufficiently master of himself to sit down and hold his head; the others fell prone on the dry burnt ground.

“They’ll believe us now,” said Smith with a dry laugh.

“Man, man, don’t talk. Try and help them,” cried Drew. “Hah, look here.”

“Can’t, sir! too dark.”

“Feel those men whether they have water-bottles with them; Mr Rimmer here has.”

“Right, sir. Here’s one.”

“Give them water, then,” cried Drew, setting the example and pouring some of the cool fluid between the lips of first Panton, and then of the mate. But it was some minutes before it had the slightest effect, and there was a time when it seemed as if a fresh calamity was to be added to their other trouble.

But first one and then another began to mutter incoherently before sinking into a heavy sleep, the mate, who was the most vigorous man present, having the hardest fight of all, and when he did cease babbling as he lay there in the darkness there was a coldness of hand and weakness of pulse that was startling.

Then came a weary time of waiting in the darkness beneath the glittering stars till all at once Smith suggested that he should light a fire.

“We don’t want it to warm ourselves, sir,” he said, “but it’ll make the place more cheery like and keep off the wild beasties if there are any about.”

“Where are you going to get your wood from, matey?” growled Wriggs.

“Ah, I never thought o’ that, mate. There aren’t none about here, that’s certain.”

“And you don’t want none,” cried Wriggs, for suddenly the mist was lit up by a bright glare of light and above it the globular-looking cloud became illuminated as if from some burst of light below. “That’s good enough to see by, aren’t it?”

Drew rose to his feet to stand gazing wildly at the bright illumination which showed plainly enough the overcome men lying in uneasy attitudes as they had fallen.

The two sailors sprang to their feet, for there was a quivering motion of the earth, whose surface heaved as does a cloth held at the corners and shaken. The next moment there was a tearing, splitting sound running apparently toward them, and by the reflected light, there, plainly enough, a rift could be seen opening slowly, more and more widely, and evidently going straight for where Panton lay.

“Earthquake!” shouted Drew. “Quick! help!!” But the two men stood shivering and helpless as if unable to stir, and the fate now of the young geologist and the mate seemed to be sealed.

Chapter Thirteen.Billy Wriggs’ Baccy-Box.It was dull, heavy, slow-going Billy Wriggs who saved their lives. One moment he stood scratching his head, the next he had made a rush like a bull, thrown himself down on his side, and somehow managing to get a good grip of the mate’s waistband, had swung him over towards Smith.“Run him farder away,” cried Wriggs, and he shuffled himself then to Panton just as the rift opened widely.There was a quick rustling sound, and a dull thud as Panton was gripped hard—flesh as well as clothes, and swung over the sailor into comparative safety.But it was at the man’s own expense, for he began to glide downward in a slow, gradual way, first his legs, then his body, till only his chest was visible as he dug his fingers into the ground and tried to hold on.At such a time it might have been expected that the man would shriek out in agony and despair, slowly subsiding as he was into a rift which promised a death so horrible, that those who looked on were paralysed for the moment beyond affording help; but Billy Wriggs’ words did not indicate suffering or terror, only a good-hearted friendly remembrance of his messmate, for he shouted out as if by way of farewell,—“Tommy, old mate, I leave yer my brass baccy-box.”The words galvanised Smith into action. He had seized and dragged Panton away in time, but as he saw his companion sinking into the crack which grew slowly longer and wider, he stood with his eyes staring and jaw dropped till the words “baccy-box” reached his ears. Then he made a rush to where Wriggs’ head and shoulders only remained above ground, stooped quickly, and seized him by his thin garment, and held on, checking further descent and gazing wildly at his messmate, whose rugged features upturned to the red glow of light appeared to be singularly calm and placid.“Steady, mate,” he said mildly. “Don’t tear my shirt.”“Won’t I!” cried Smith, savagely. “Where’s that theer box?”“Breeches’ pocket, mate.”“That’s you all over,” snarled Smith, as his hands got a better grip, first one and then the other, and his voice sounded like an angry growl between his set teeth. “Promise—a chap—a box—and then—going to take it with yer. Yer would, would yer? But yer just won’t.”“Let me take my skin, then,” cried Wriggs. “Don’t tear it all off,” as he winced beneath the savage grip which checked his descent.“Nay I weant, mate,” growled Smith. “I wants it, too, and hold tight, Billy, the deck’s giving way. Heave ho!”Smith threw himself backward as he made a tremendous heave, and none too soon, for a great patch of the earth at the side gave way where he stood. But he had thrown all a strong man’s force into one mighty effort, and as Drew stood trembling and helpless, he saw the two men clasped in each other’s arms, rolling over and over into safety, just as a horrible fume rose from the rift which now ran on in a zigzag split, like a flash of lightning in shape, and as rapid. Then followed a sharp report as of subterranean thunder and the earth closed again.“Would yer bite—would yer bite!” grumbled Wriggs, as he stared at the earth.“Well, of all the onsartain dangerous places as ever I was in,” said Smith, in a low growl, “this here’s about the worst.”“Ay, ’tis mate,” said Wriggs. “Sea’s safest arter all. I say, though,” he continued as he softly rubbed himself about the ribs, “might ha’ took hold of a fellow a bit easier, Tommy. You’ve made me feel all loose.”“Sarve yer right, chucking yerself down like that. Why, if it hadn’t been for me, you’d ha’ been nipped fast there. Now, then, where’s that there ’bacco-box? Hand over.”“Nay, I said I’d leave it to yer, mate. I was making o’ my will. Going to use it a bit longer, mate, but I’ll give yer a quid.”“What an escape, my lads,” panted Drew, who now came up and shook hands with them both warmly.“Well, it weer pretty close, sir,” said Wriggs, as he went on gently rubbing his sides. “But I’m beginning to think as Tommy Smith had better ha’ left me alone. His fingers is as hard as a brass statoo’s. But there, mate, I forgives yer. How’s the gents, sir?”Drew shook his head, and after the mate and Panton had been carried some little distance from where the earth had split open and re-closed, the party seated themselves in a despondent state to watch the golden cloud which hung high in air, like a huge ball of liquid fire, and lit up the place while they waited for morn.Panton and Mr Rimmer both seemed to be sleeping heavily, and one of the sailors remained similarly affected, but their state did not appear now to be so alarming after the past experience, and Drew contented himself with satisfying himself from time to time that they were breathing comfortably, while he waited and thought sadly about their young companion.“If I could only feel satisfied that we had done everything possible to save him,” he said to himself, for his conscience reproached him for idling there when he might have perhaps schemed some way of dragging him out from the mist.Just about the time when his spirits were at the lowest ebb he became conscious of the fact that the two sailors, Smith and Wriggs, were engaged in an argument with one of the rescue party, and he listened to what was said.“Look-ye here,” growled Smith, “what’s the good o’ you talking that way? You see how it was; yer couldn’t hardly breathe, and what yer could breathe warn’t fresh hair, but a rum sort o’ stuff as comes out o’ the earth and knocks yer over ’fore you knows where you are. I never felt nowt like it, did you, Billy?”“No; and never wants to smell it again. Yer didn’t feel it, yer smelt it, lads, and then you was nowheres. Say, Tommy.”“What is it?”“Wonder what it’s like down below, inside like. You hauled me out ’fore I’d half a chance to find out.”“Why didn’t yer say yer wanted to see? Then I’d ha’ let yer go.”“Nay, you wouldn’t, Tommy,” said Wriggs, with a chuckle. “Be too warm, wouldn’t it?”“But what I was saying, mates, was as I don’t think we tried hard enough to find Mr Lane. We ought to have done something.”“Ay; but how are you going to do it?” said Wriggs, shortly, just as the man’s words had gone like a pang through Drew’s breast, making him feel that even the men were judging him adversely. “That’s the worst o’ you clever ones: you says, says you, ‘We ought to do some’at,’ but you don’t say what.”“That’s a true word, Billy Wriggs,” cried Smith, clapping his messmate on the shoulder, “they don’t say what. Why, ’fore you chaps come, Mr Panton and Mr Drew—”“And Tommy Smith,” growled Wriggs.“Well, I did try a bit, mate, and so did you, till we couldn’t do no more. I don’t believe a hangel could ha’ done more than Billy did.”“Oh, I say, mate,” grumbled Wriggs, modestly.“I says it again, ‘could ha’ done more than Billy did.’ But it’s like this here, mates, the onpossible’s just a bit too hard for a man to do, and whether he likes it or whether he don’t, he’s got to put up with it, and that’s what clever people calls flossify.”“And quite rightly, my man,” said Drew, coming close up. “Smith and Wriggs behaved like brave, true men, my lads.”“Easy, sir, please. We only tried same as you did.”“You think, then, that we tried everything that was possible to save my friend?”“Think, sir? Why, Billy and me’s sure on it, eh, Billy?”“Sartain.”“Hah!” ejaculated Drew, “you have done me good, my lads, for my heart felt very sore and my conscience reproached me cruelly for not doing more.”“It’s all right, sir,” cried Smith, cheerily. “You wait till the morning comes, and then we shall see a way o’ sarcumventing this gas, as you calls it, and I daresay we shall find Mr Lane somewhere all right on t’other side.”“If I could only feel that, I could rest till morning,” said Drew.“Then just you feel it, sir,” said Smith. “It’s what I feels strong.”“So do I, sir, now,” put in Wriggs. “If Tommy Smith mays so, it’s all right.”Drew tried to think that it was, but the pleasant, hopeful sensation would not come, and he sat now with the men, now beside the mate and his friend Panton, waiting for the morning, the first hints of its approach being in the gradual paling of the golden light from the cloud over the volcano, and the appearance of the softer, more natural glow, that came in the east, bringing with it a more diffused light, and the hope that rides in with the dazzling rays of a new day.

It was dull, heavy, slow-going Billy Wriggs who saved their lives. One moment he stood scratching his head, the next he had made a rush like a bull, thrown himself down on his side, and somehow managing to get a good grip of the mate’s waistband, had swung him over towards Smith.

“Run him farder away,” cried Wriggs, and he shuffled himself then to Panton just as the rift opened widely.

There was a quick rustling sound, and a dull thud as Panton was gripped hard—flesh as well as clothes, and swung over the sailor into comparative safety.

But it was at the man’s own expense, for he began to glide downward in a slow, gradual way, first his legs, then his body, till only his chest was visible as he dug his fingers into the ground and tried to hold on.

At such a time it might have been expected that the man would shriek out in agony and despair, slowly subsiding as he was into a rift which promised a death so horrible, that those who looked on were paralysed for the moment beyond affording help; but Billy Wriggs’ words did not indicate suffering or terror, only a good-hearted friendly remembrance of his messmate, for he shouted out as if by way of farewell,—

“Tommy, old mate, I leave yer my brass baccy-box.”

The words galvanised Smith into action. He had seized and dragged Panton away in time, but as he saw his companion sinking into the crack which grew slowly longer and wider, he stood with his eyes staring and jaw dropped till the words “baccy-box” reached his ears. Then he made a rush to where Wriggs’ head and shoulders only remained above ground, stooped quickly, and seized him by his thin garment, and held on, checking further descent and gazing wildly at his messmate, whose rugged features upturned to the red glow of light appeared to be singularly calm and placid.

“Steady, mate,” he said mildly. “Don’t tear my shirt.”

“Won’t I!” cried Smith, savagely. “Where’s that theer box?”

“Breeches’ pocket, mate.”

“That’s you all over,” snarled Smith, as his hands got a better grip, first one and then the other, and his voice sounded like an angry growl between his set teeth. “Promise—a chap—a box—and then—going to take it with yer. Yer would, would yer? But yer just won’t.”

“Let me take my skin, then,” cried Wriggs. “Don’t tear it all off,” as he winced beneath the savage grip which checked his descent.

“Nay I weant, mate,” growled Smith. “I wants it, too, and hold tight, Billy, the deck’s giving way. Heave ho!”

Smith threw himself backward as he made a tremendous heave, and none too soon, for a great patch of the earth at the side gave way where he stood. But he had thrown all a strong man’s force into one mighty effort, and as Drew stood trembling and helpless, he saw the two men clasped in each other’s arms, rolling over and over into safety, just as a horrible fume rose from the rift which now ran on in a zigzag split, like a flash of lightning in shape, and as rapid. Then followed a sharp report as of subterranean thunder and the earth closed again.

“Would yer bite—would yer bite!” grumbled Wriggs, as he stared at the earth.

“Well, of all the onsartain dangerous places as ever I was in,” said Smith, in a low growl, “this here’s about the worst.”

“Ay, ’tis mate,” said Wriggs. “Sea’s safest arter all. I say, though,” he continued as he softly rubbed himself about the ribs, “might ha’ took hold of a fellow a bit easier, Tommy. You’ve made me feel all loose.”

“Sarve yer right, chucking yerself down like that. Why, if it hadn’t been for me, you’d ha’ been nipped fast there. Now, then, where’s that there ’bacco-box? Hand over.”

“Nay, I said I’d leave it to yer, mate. I was making o’ my will. Going to use it a bit longer, mate, but I’ll give yer a quid.”

“What an escape, my lads,” panted Drew, who now came up and shook hands with them both warmly.

“Well, it weer pretty close, sir,” said Wriggs, as he went on gently rubbing his sides. “But I’m beginning to think as Tommy Smith had better ha’ left me alone. His fingers is as hard as a brass statoo’s. But there, mate, I forgives yer. How’s the gents, sir?”

Drew shook his head, and after the mate and Panton had been carried some little distance from where the earth had split open and re-closed, the party seated themselves in a despondent state to watch the golden cloud which hung high in air, like a huge ball of liquid fire, and lit up the place while they waited for morn.

Panton and Mr Rimmer both seemed to be sleeping heavily, and one of the sailors remained similarly affected, but their state did not appear now to be so alarming after the past experience, and Drew contented himself with satisfying himself from time to time that they were breathing comfortably, while he waited and thought sadly about their young companion.

“If I could only feel satisfied that we had done everything possible to save him,” he said to himself, for his conscience reproached him for idling there when he might have perhaps schemed some way of dragging him out from the mist.

Just about the time when his spirits were at the lowest ebb he became conscious of the fact that the two sailors, Smith and Wriggs, were engaged in an argument with one of the rescue party, and he listened to what was said.

“Look-ye here,” growled Smith, “what’s the good o’ you talking that way? You see how it was; yer couldn’t hardly breathe, and what yer could breathe warn’t fresh hair, but a rum sort o’ stuff as comes out o’ the earth and knocks yer over ’fore you knows where you are. I never felt nowt like it, did you, Billy?”

“No; and never wants to smell it again. Yer didn’t feel it, yer smelt it, lads, and then you was nowheres. Say, Tommy.”

“What is it?”

“Wonder what it’s like down below, inside like. You hauled me out ’fore I’d half a chance to find out.”

“Why didn’t yer say yer wanted to see? Then I’d ha’ let yer go.”

“Nay, you wouldn’t, Tommy,” said Wriggs, with a chuckle. “Be too warm, wouldn’t it?”

“But what I was saying, mates, was as I don’t think we tried hard enough to find Mr Lane. We ought to have done something.”

“Ay; but how are you going to do it?” said Wriggs, shortly, just as the man’s words had gone like a pang through Drew’s breast, making him feel that even the men were judging him adversely. “That’s the worst o’ you clever ones: you says, says you, ‘We ought to do some’at,’ but you don’t say what.”

“That’s a true word, Billy Wriggs,” cried Smith, clapping his messmate on the shoulder, “they don’t say what. Why, ’fore you chaps come, Mr Panton and Mr Drew—”

“And Tommy Smith,” growled Wriggs.

“Well, I did try a bit, mate, and so did you, till we couldn’t do no more. I don’t believe a hangel could ha’ done more than Billy did.”

“Oh, I say, mate,” grumbled Wriggs, modestly.

“I says it again, ‘could ha’ done more than Billy did.’ But it’s like this here, mates, the onpossible’s just a bit too hard for a man to do, and whether he likes it or whether he don’t, he’s got to put up with it, and that’s what clever people calls flossify.”

“And quite rightly, my man,” said Drew, coming close up. “Smith and Wriggs behaved like brave, true men, my lads.”

“Easy, sir, please. We only tried same as you did.”

“You think, then, that we tried everything that was possible to save my friend?”

“Think, sir? Why, Billy and me’s sure on it, eh, Billy?”

“Sartain.”

“Hah!” ejaculated Drew, “you have done me good, my lads, for my heart felt very sore and my conscience reproached me cruelly for not doing more.”

“It’s all right, sir,” cried Smith, cheerily. “You wait till the morning comes, and then we shall see a way o’ sarcumventing this gas, as you calls it, and I daresay we shall find Mr Lane somewhere all right on t’other side.”

“If I could only feel that, I could rest till morning,” said Drew.

“Then just you feel it, sir,” said Smith. “It’s what I feels strong.”

“So do I, sir, now,” put in Wriggs. “If Tommy Smith mays so, it’s all right.”

Drew tried to think that it was, but the pleasant, hopeful sensation would not come, and he sat now with the men, now beside the mate and his friend Panton, waiting for the morning, the first hints of its approach being in the gradual paling of the golden light from the cloud over the volcano, and the appearance of the softer, more natural glow, that came in the east, bringing with it a more diffused light, and the hope that rides in with the dazzling rays of a new day.

Chapter Fourteen.Cheap Lodgings and Cats.Oliver Lane’s double gun gave forth two sharp clicks as his thumb pressed back the cocks, and then, raising it to his shoulder, he waited, with his eyes searching among the thick leaves of the fig-tree, and trying to penetrate the orchids which clustered where the trunk forked and sent forth a dozen or so of minor boughs.But the snarling sound had ceased, and there was not the slightest rustle among the leaves to indicate the spot where the animal was hidden. But in imagination he could see some big, lithe, cat-like creature crouching there in the tree-fork, ready to spring, its head looking flattened with the ears drawn down, teeth gleaming in a fierce snarl, eyes flashing with green phosphorescent-like light, and sharp claws alternately protruded and withdrawn.All this was pictured by his active brain, but there was nothing visible save a gleam here and there, where the light from a fire-fly shone faintly from some leaf.A minute passed, all eager watchfulness, and at the slightest rustle indicating action on the part of the animal Lane would have drawn trigger. But all remained still, and the young man asked himself what he had better do.There were other trees about, but not one which offered such a satisfactory lodging, so easy to reach.“One oughtn’t to mind a cat on the premises,” he laughingly said to himself at last. “It would keep away nuisances, but this is too much of a cat, and wants to have all the bed to itself.”He hesitated about firing into the tree to scare the beast, partly from the idea that it might irritate it into springing and taking him at a disadvantage, for as he stood there the light was behind him, so that he must be plain to his invisible enemy; then, in the smoke, he would be unable to make out his foe, and there would be no chance or time to take aim with the second barrel, and he knew what the result would be—the brute seizing him with teeth and claws, holding on fast while it tore him with its hind legs, as a cat does a rat.“A miserable end at the beginning of one’s life,” thought Lane. “Discretion’s the better part of valour,” he muttered. “I’ll go back and find another tree.”He stood for a few minutes longer, in the utter silence, listening for some movement from his enemy, but there was none. Then he began to hope that it had stolen away, and he moved slightly—drawing back to go in search of fresh lodgings. But at the first step there was a savage growl, such as might have been uttered by a magnified cat, and his fingers moved to press the trigger, as he stood firm, with the butt of the piece pressed to his shoulder, and his cheek against the stock.The snarling ceased and all was dead silence again, while, oddly enough, the old story of the Irish soldier came to Lane’s mind:“Please, sor, I’ve caught a Tartar prisoner.”“Bring him along, then.”“Please, sor, he won’t come.”“Then come without him.”“Please, sor, he won’t let me.”For, in spite of his excitement and its accompanying alarm, Lane could not help smiling at his predicament. He knew that if he beat a retreat the beast would spring at him, and taking into consideration the fact that he would be better off if he took the offensive and advanced, he at once acted upon the latter course.Taking a step forward, there was another savage snarl, and he aimed, as nearly as he could guess, at the spot whence it came, and waited, but the animal did not spring.He moved forward again and there was another snarl—a pause—a slight movement—another snarl and a scratching noise, which meant the tearing at the bark of the trunk upon which the animal crouched.“I must fire,” thought Lane, and bending forward again, the snarling was resumed and he drew trigger.Almost simultaneously with the shot there was a fierce yell, and the young man received a tremendous blow in the chest, which knocked him backwards right amongst the thick growth; then came a loud rustling, the sound of the animal dashing through the tangle of undergrowth, and then all was still.“Killed, or escaped wounded?” muttered: Lane, as he gathered himself up, and stood with his gun ready to deliver the contents of the second barrel. But at the end of ten minutes or so there was no sound to break the silence, save a peculiar rending, tearing noise at a distance, followed by a rumbling boom, as of thunder under ground, and a sensation as of the earth quivering beneath his feet.This passed away, and feeling safe for the moment, Lane opened the breech of his piece, threw away the empty cartridge, and replaced it with one containing heavy shot before stepping up to the tree, and climbing up the trunk easily enough by the help of the cable-like parasite which enlaced its great buttresses.He had not far to mount, for the main trunk ended about twelve feet from the ground, and after a little feeling about amongst the dense orchid growth, he soon found a position where he could sit astride, and support his back in a comfortable half-reclining posture, perfectly safe from all risk of falling, so that there was every prospect of a good night’s rest.“I hope they will not fidget about me very much,” he said to himself, as he thought of his companions. Then, utterly tired out, and with his perceptions somewhat blunted by fatigue, he gave his friends the credit of thinking that he would be able to take care of himself, and leaned back.“Jolly,” he muttered. “Cheap, comfortable lodgings if it don’t rain, and the leopard, or whatever it was, does not come back to turn out this trespasser. Hah! how restful and nice. Can’t fall: but I’m not going to cuddle this gun all night.”He began to feel about for a place where he could lay the gun down safely, and at the end of a minute his hand touched something warm and furry, which began to stir about and utter a whining, mewing noise.He snatched away his hand in dread, then extended it again to begin feeling his discovery.“Pups!” he exclaimed. “Kittens I mean! Two of them; fine fat ones, too. They’re harmless enough if their mother does not come back,” and going on patting and feeling the little animals, he fully realised now the reason for their mother’s ferocity, though he felt that it might have been their father.“No,” he said, half aloud, “it must have been the mother, for she would make her nursery somewhere in hiding, for fear that papa should want to play Saturn, and eat his children up.”The cubs whined softly a little, and nestled their soft heads against his hand. Then they sank down in the nest-like hollow of a decayed limb of the tree and went to sleep, while Oliver Lane found a tough vine-like stem behind which he was able to tuck his piece safely. And a few moments after, regardless of volcanoes, earthquakes, tidal waves, foul gases, and ferocious beasts, the young naturalist went off fast asleep, and did not stir till he heard, mingled with his dreams, the shrill shrieking of a flock of paroquets, which were climbing about among the smaller branches of the tree high overhead, and feasting upon the fast ripening figs.

Oliver Lane’s double gun gave forth two sharp clicks as his thumb pressed back the cocks, and then, raising it to his shoulder, he waited, with his eyes searching among the thick leaves of the fig-tree, and trying to penetrate the orchids which clustered where the trunk forked and sent forth a dozen or so of minor boughs.

But the snarling sound had ceased, and there was not the slightest rustle among the leaves to indicate the spot where the animal was hidden. But in imagination he could see some big, lithe, cat-like creature crouching there in the tree-fork, ready to spring, its head looking flattened with the ears drawn down, teeth gleaming in a fierce snarl, eyes flashing with green phosphorescent-like light, and sharp claws alternately protruded and withdrawn.

All this was pictured by his active brain, but there was nothing visible save a gleam here and there, where the light from a fire-fly shone faintly from some leaf.

A minute passed, all eager watchfulness, and at the slightest rustle indicating action on the part of the animal Lane would have drawn trigger. But all remained still, and the young man asked himself what he had better do.

There were other trees about, but not one which offered such a satisfactory lodging, so easy to reach.

“One oughtn’t to mind a cat on the premises,” he laughingly said to himself at last. “It would keep away nuisances, but this is too much of a cat, and wants to have all the bed to itself.”

He hesitated about firing into the tree to scare the beast, partly from the idea that it might irritate it into springing and taking him at a disadvantage, for as he stood there the light was behind him, so that he must be plain to his invisible enemy; then, in the smoke, he would be unable to make out his foe, and there would be no chance or time to take aim with the second barrel, and he knew what the result would be—the brute seizing him with teeth and claws, holding on fast while it tore him with its hind legs, as a cat does a rat.

“A miserable end at the beginning of one’s life,” thought Lane. “Discretion’s the better part of valour,” he muttered. “I’ll go back and find another tree.”

He stood for a few minutes longer, in the utter silence, listening for some movement from his enemy, but there was none. Then he began to hope that it had stolen away, and he moved slightly—drawing back to go in search of fresh lodgings. But at the first step there was a savage growl, such as might have been uttered by a magnified cat, and his fingers moved to press the trigger, as he stood firm, with the butt of the piece pressed to his shoulder, and his cheek against the stock.

The snarling ceased and all was dead silence again, while, oddly enough, the old story of the Irish soldier came to Lane’s mind:

“Please, sor, I’ve caught a Tartar prisoner.”

“Bring him along, then.”

“Please, sor, he won’t come.”

“Then come without him.”

“Please, sor, he won’t let me.”

For, in spite of his excitement and its accompanying alarm, Lane could not help smiling at his predicament. He knew that if he beat a retreat the beast would spring at him, and taking into consideration the fact that he would be better off if he took the offensive and advanced, he at once acted upon the latter course.

Taking a step forward, there was another savage snarl, and he aimed, as nearly as he could guess, at the spot whence it came, and waited, but the animal did not spring.

He moved forward again and there was another snarl—a pause—a slight movement—another snarl and a scratching noise, which meant the tearing at the bark of the trunk upon which the animal crouched.

“I must fire,” thought Lane, and bending forward again, the snarling was resumed and he drew trigger.

Almost simultaneously with the shot there was a fierce yell, and the young man received a tremendous blow in the chest, which knocked him backwards right amongst the thick growth; then came a loud rustling, the sound of the animal dashing through the tangle of undergrowth, and then all was still.

“Killed, or escaped wounded?” muttered: Lane, as he gathered himself up, and stood with his gun ready to deliver the contents of the second barrel. But at the end of ten minutes or so there was no sound to break the silence, save a peculiar rending, tearing noise at a distance, followed by a rumbling boom, as of thunder under ground, and a sensation as of the earth quivering beneath his feet.

This passed away, and feeling safe for the moment, Lane opened the breech of his piece, threw away the empty cartridge, and replaced it with one containing heavy shot before stepping up to the tree, and climbing up the trunk easily enough by the help of the cable-like parasite which enlaced its great buttresses.

He had not far to mount, for the main trunk ended about twelve feet from the ground, and after a little feeling about amongst the dense orchid growth, he soon found a position where he could sit astride, and support his back in a comfortable half-reclining posture, perfectly safe from all risk of falling, so that there was every prospect of a good night’s rest.

“I hope they will not fidget about me very much,” he said to himself, as he thought of his companions. Then, utterly tired out, and with his perceptions somewhat blunted by fatigue, he gave his friends the credit of thinking that he would be able to take care of himself, and leaned back.

“Jolly,” he muttered. “Cheap, comfortable lodgings if it don’t rain, and the leopard, or whatever it was, does not come back to turn out this trespasser. Hah! how restful and nice. Can’t fall: but I’m not going to cuddle this gun all night.”

He began to feel about for a place where he could lay the gun down safely, and at the end of a minute his hand touched something warm and furry, which began to stir about and utter a whining, mewing noise.

He snatched away his hand in dread, then extended it again to begin feeling his discovery.

“Pups!” he exclaimed. “Kittens I mean! Two of them; fine fat ones, too. They’re harmless enough if their mother does not come back,” and going on patting and feeling the little animals, he fully realised now the reason for their mother’s ferocity, though he felt that it might have been their father.

“No,” he said, half aloud, “it must have been the mother, for she would make her nursery somewhere in hiding, for fear that papa should want to play Saturn, and eat his children up.”

The cubs whined softly a little, and nestled their soft heads against his hand. Then they sank down in the nest-like hollow of a decayed limb of the tree and went to sleep, while Oliver Lane found a tough vine-like stem behind which he was able to tuck his piece safely. And a few moments after, regardless of volcanoes, earthquakes, tidal waves, foul gases, and ferocious beasts, the young naturalist went off fast asleep, and did not stir till he heard, mingled with his dreams, the shrill shrieking of a flock of paroquets, which were climbing about among the smaller branches of the tree high overhead, and feasting upon the fast ripening figs.

Chapter Fifteen.Plutonic Action.It took Oliver Lane some time to pass from a sound sleep gradually through half-waking dreams to the full knowledge of his position, and then, albeit somewhat cramped and stiff, feeling rested and bright, he lay back listening to the calls and answers of the birds, and watching them with a true naturalist’s intense delight. For there he was in the very position he had longed to reach, right amongst nature’s gems in their own abode, full of life and vigour. He had seen these birds before, but as attractively-plumaged dry specimens. Here they were hanging, crawling, and climbing about, busy, with every feather in motion, their eyes bright, and beaks and claws all abloom with colour. Now their feathers were tightly pressed to their softly-curved bodies, now standing almost on end, giving the birds a round, plump aspect that was delightful when the sun gleamed through, and flashed from the golden green, bright scarlet, or vivid blue, with which they had been painted by nature’s loving hand. Others were entirely of a beautiful green, all save their heads, which glowed with a peach bloom, while, again, others bore the same leafy uniform, and, for decoration, a dark collar, and long, pencil-like-produced feathers in their tails.There was the gun close at hand. Lane had but to take it from beneath the creeper which held it fast; but, at this time, it never occurred to him that he might secure two or three splendid specimens for the collection he sought to make, so occupied was he by the action of the flock in the tree.It was all delightful to him to watch the soft, easy, deliberate way in which the paroquets climbed with beak and claw, hooking on with the former, and then raising one foot with its soft, clasping, yoke-toes to take a firm hold before bringing up the other; then, holding on by both, and swinging gently to and fro, the beak was set at liberty, and the bird hung head downwards, to feast upon some luscious fig.“If they only had a sweet note, instead of their harsh scream,” thought Lane, “what lovely creatures they would be.”He sat there watching them for about an hour, but far from satiated, for there was always something fresh to see, and the birds were so tame, that he often had them within a few feet of his head, some soft, round-headed creature turning itself on one side to gaze at him with its keen eye as if in wonder, before going on with its feeding, satisfied that it would not be hurt.Then the delightful scene came to an end with the climbing birds and the foliage lit up by the horizontal rays of the sun, for, all at once, there was a deafening explosion, and, shrieking loudly, the flock took flight, while Lane sat there appalled, listening in expectation of another report, the former having evidently come from the mountain; but, as he listened, there was in place of the explosion, a loud hissing, and then a loud, heavy pattering, accompanied and followed by thud after thud, and he knew, though he could not see for the dense foliage, that a volley of heavy stones and masses of pumice had been fired into the air, to fall from various heights back to earth on the mountain slopes.“Ah, I must go and see that,” he said to himself, as he seized his gun. “Not my department, but none the less interesting. I wish Panton was here.”A soft, whining noise took his attention then, and, glancing beside him, he saw that the cubs which had been his companions all night were straining about, climbing over each other, and falling back, evidently wanting their morning meal.“And I suppose I have killed their mother,” thought Lane, as he bent over and patted the two furry animals. “Poor little things! I must come back and get them, and take them with me to the ship, if I can cross the belt of mist. First of all, though, the mountain—I must go up that as far as I can climb.”So, descending and shouldering his piece, he strode to where the ashes of his fire lay and then brought his gun down to the present, for there was a quick, rustling sound to his left, and he caught a glimpse of glossy, spotted fur, as an animal passed amongst the dense undergrowth. Then, before he had time to fire, had he felt so disposed, a huge, lithe, cat-like creature bounded on to the trunk of the tree he had just left, uttering a strange, purring cry, and disappeared in the orchids which clustered about the fork.“Then I did not shoot the mother,” thought Lane. “So much the better.”Then, as all was still and no danger to be apprehended there, he shouldered his gun and strode off towards the more open ground, which he reached at last, forgetful of everything but the intense desire to try and ascend the cone-shaped mountain which stood before him, capped with a dense pall of smoke and steam.After tramping about an hour, the sight of trickling water down amongst some stones suggested to him the fact that he had not broken his fast that morning, so sitting down upon a block of stone, he brought out the remains left in his wallet and ate them, stale as they were, as he looked round him, finding that he had climbed to higher ground than he expected; but though he looked eagerly toward the part where the ship must have lain in the middle of the wave-swept plain, everything was cut off by a dull, misty appearance. Not the clearly marked band of sunny haze he had seen from low down on the level therewith, but a foggy, indistinct state of the atmosphere.Away to his right, he feasted his eyes upon the enormous mass of stone and ash which towered up in a beautifully regular curve, with apparently nothing to hinder him from walking up the steep slope to the crater, into which he felt an uncontrollable desire to gaze.“I ought to get up to the top in two or three hours,” he thought, as he mentally mapped out his course, seeing nothing likely to hinder him but rough blocks of stone dotted about in all directions. Nothing in themselves, but ominous of aspect when he took into consideration the fact that they must have been hurled upward from the mountain, and fallen back on the slope in all probability white-hot.“One will have warning,” he thought, “and there may be no more fall to-day.”Finishing his last mouthful, he took out an india-rubber cup, and stooping down, filled it from the trickling course, raised it to his lips, and then spurted out a mouthful in disgust, for it was hot, bitter, salt, and had a most objectionable odour.“Ugh!” he ejaculated, “mustn’t depend on you.” Then giving another glance round, he shouldered his gun, and commenced the ascent, leaving all vegetation behind him, and soon finding that his way lay over loose scoria and finely-powdered pumice, into which his feet sank at every step.But as the difficulties and steepness of the ascent increased, so did the desire to climb higher and see more of the volcano, and also more of the country into which fate had brought him. Once a few hundred feet higher, he felt he would be able to set all doubts at rest as to whether they were surrounded by the sea; and to get this proof Oliver Lane pressed on.After a time he got more into the knack of climbing without slipping back so much, but the sun was getting higher, and its beams grew warm, while he was conscious of a sensation as of heat striking upward from the ashy substance of which the slope was composed, and at last, to gratify his curiosity, and to clear away a doubt, Lane stooped down to lay his hand flat upon the ash, and snatch it away again, for it was quite hot.For a moment or two after this, he hesitated, but there above him rose the cone with its crest of smoke, and apparently nothing to hinder him from climbing steadily to the top, and from thence getting a bird’s-eye view of the country round.That was enough to start him on, and setting himself manfully to the task, in less than half an hour he found that he had reached an atmospheric band where the breeze blew pleasantly cool and invigorating. The cloud over the summit of the cone had floated away, and all was clear and bright as he resumed the ascent, feeling now that an hour would bring him to the top, when all at once he fell upon his knees, and then threw himself at full length. For the mountain quivered beneath his feet, and produced a giddy sensation as the surface rose and fell in waves, whilst almost simultaneously there was a terrific roar, and he saw a dense cloud driven out from above, and ascending to a tremendous height, as if shot out by an internal explosion.His first feeling was, that he must turn and rush down: his second, that it would be madness to stir, for the side of the mountain was opening and shutting in a network of fissures, and the next minute, the cloud which he had seen blasted upwards proved itself not to be so much mist, but a storm of ashes and scoria mingled with huge masses of rock, which now curled over like a fountain, and were falling back in all directions.Oliver Lane tried to anchor himself to the shifting ashes as he lay there, feeling that his last hour had come, for darkness was now added to the other horrors, and the mountain-side was in strange quivering motion, gaze wildly whichever way he would.The fall of a mass of glowing cinders, so close that he could feel the scorching heat against his cheek, roused Oliver Lane to the fact that it was more dangerous to stay than to rush down-hill, running the gauntlet of the falling shower; and, after a moment’s hesitation, he turned and ran for his life. The white-hot stones and cinders fell around him as he bounded down, having hard work to keep his footing, for at every leap the loose scoria gave way as he alighted, and slipped with him in an avalanche of dust and ashes from which he had to extricate himself.Once he had pretty well dragged himself out when the ashes for far enough round began to glide downward, the thick haze of volcanic dust around adding to his confusion, while every step he took in his frantic efforts to keep on the surface resulted in his sinking more deeply till he was above his waist in the loose gliding stuff and awake to the fact that it was scorchingly hot.But all at once, as despair was beginning to enfold him in a tighter hold than the ash and cinder, the gliding avalanche suddenly stopped, and as it was not like the Alpine snow ready to adhere and be compressed into ice, he was able to extricate himself and slide and roll down for some distance further.Then all at once he found that he was in the sunshine again, and that the stones had ceased to fall and the mountain to quiver; while, as he gazed upward, it was to see that the dark cloud was slowly floating away, giving him a view of the edge of the crater where it was broken down for some distance in the shape of a rugged V, and just at the bottom, every now and then, there was a bright glow of fire visible. The glow then sank completely out of sight, but only to rise up again, and this was continued as the young naturalist watched, suggesting to him the fact that the crater must be full of boiling lava which rose to the edge in its ebullitions and then dropped below the rugged wall.Ten minutes later the glowing stones which had fallen, looked black and grey; the cloud was at a distance, and there was nothing to indicate that the beautifully shaped mountain ever presented another aspect than that of peace.Oliver Lane stood looking up with the longing to ascend to the edge of the crater growing strong once more, but he was fagged by his exertions, bathed in perspiration, and aware of the fact that an intense glowing heat rose from the surface all around him, while the air he breathed seemed to produce a strange suffocating effect when he turned his face from the wind which swept over the mountain slope.In a few minutes he decided that it would be madness to persevere, and that it would be wise to wait until the volcano was in a more quiescent state, for at any minute there might come a fresh explosion from the mouth from which he might not be able to escape so easily.He looked longingly round to try and make out something of value to report as to their position, but the mountain shut everything off in the direction lying north, and he was reluctantly about to continue his descent when he felt the stones beneath his feet tremble again. Then came a report like that of a huge cannon, and what seemed to be an enormous rock shot upward for hundreds of feet, hung for a moment or two in the clear air, and then fell back into the crater.That was enough. A burning thirst and a sensation of breathing something which irritated his lungs, awakened him to the fact that he must find water, and, regardless of the heat, he once more began to hurry downward toward the level plain from which the mountain curved up in so beautiful a cone.Oliver Lane soon found that he was not returning upon his steps, and though apparently not far from where he ascended, it was plain enough that, even if they had not been obliterated by the falling ash and cinders, the fragments flowed together again like sand. A greater proof still was afforded him in the fact that about a quarter of a mile lower down his farther progress was checked by a rugged chasm running right across his path, apparently cutting him off from the lower portion and extending to right and left farther than he could see.He approached it with caution, but found that he must not risk a near approach, for he set the loose scoria in motion, and it trickled on before him, and went over out of sight with a rush.Anchoring himself as well as he could against a huge block of lava, he paused to consider whether he should go to right or left, and then shrank away with a shudder, and began to climb back as fast he could, for, slight as had been his bearing upon the block, it had been sufficient to start it off, and, to his horror, it went on gliding down about twenty yards, and then dropped over the edge.He stood listening, in the hope of hearing the block stop directly, as proof of its being only a few feet down, and passable if he lowered himself and then climbed the opposite edge; but a full minute elapsed before he heard a dull, echoing roar, which continued for some time, and, after a pause, was continued again and again, giving terrible warning of the depth, and his own insignificance upon that mountain slope.He now had his first suggestion of panic—of how easily, in the face of so much peril, anyone could lose his head, and rush into danger, instead of escaping the risks by which he was surrounded. For his strong impulse now was to start into a run, and to begin to ascend the slope diagonally. But at the first dozen steps, he found he was loosening the ashes, which began to glide toward the chasm faster and faster, and that if he continued with so much energy, there would soon be a swift rush, which would carry him with it into the awful gulf.Warned by this, he stopped, and then proceeded cautiously, going nearly parallel, but increasing his distance as far as was possible.The intense heat of the sun combined with that which radiated from the mountain-side was exhausting to a degree; his thirst grew almost unbearable, and he fully realised the imprudence of which he had been guilty in attempting the ascent alone. The only thing now was to extricate himself from his perilous position, and, after a halt or two to collect himself and try to make out how much farther the rift extended, during which he hesitated as to whether it would not be wiser to go back and try the other way, he started onward again, slowly and steadily, becoming conscious of a peculiar puff of stifling vapour, which he felt sure must come from the gaping rift below.And now the idea came to him that it was impossible that the chasm could have been there when he ascended, but had opened during the fresh eruption in which he had so nearly been overwhelmed.At last, when his sufferings from the heat were growing unbearable, and his head swam with the giddy sensation which supervened, the rift appeared to close in about fifty yards further on. He sheltered his swimming eyes, and endeavoured to steady himself, as, with sinking heart, he tried to make out whether this really were so, or only fancy. But it seemed to be fact, and, pressing cautiously on, he lessened the distance, and then stopped appalled, shrinkingly facing a way of escape to the lower part of the mountain, but one terrible enough to make the stoutest-hearted shiver. For the chasm came to a sudden end, and recommenced two or three yards farther on, leaving a jagged, narrow strip of lava extending bridge-like from side to side.“I dare not,” he muttered, as he approached slowly, noting the shape, and trying to make out how far down the mass of rock extended, so as to see whether it would prove firm, or only be a crust which might give way beneath his weight, and then— He shuddered, for he knew that whoever ventured upon that narrow pathway did so facing a terrible death.He looked wildly forward to see if the gap still went on to any distance, and he could trace it till it was lost in a hot haze.“I must do it,” muttered Lane, for he felt that if he kept on longer upon the upper edge, he must soon sink and perish from heat and exhaustion.Knowing that if he stopped to think, he would grow less and less disposed to venture, and taking one long eager look at the green trees far below in the distance where there would be shelter and refreshing water, he gathered himself together, and walked slowly and steadily over the yielding ash and cinders to the beginning of the bridge.

It took Oliver Lane some time to pass from a sound sleep gradually through half-waking dreams to the full knowledge of his position, and then, albeit somewhat cramped and stiff, feeling rested and bright, he lay back listening to the calls and answers of the birds, and watching them with a true naturalist’s intense delight. For there he was in the very position he had longed to reach, right amongst nature’s gems in their own abode, full of life and vigour. He had seen these birds before, but as attractively-plumaged dry specimens. Here they were hanging, crawling, and climbing about, busy, with every feather in motion, their eyes bright, and beaks and claws all abloom with colour. Now their feathers were tightly pressed to their softly-curved bodies, now standing almost on end, giving the birds a round, plump aspect that was delightful when the sun gleamed through, and flashed from the golden green, bright scarlet, or vivid blue, with which they had been painted by nature’s loving hand. Others were entirely of a beautiful green, all save their heads, which glowed with a peach bloom, while, again, others bore the same leafy uniform, and, for decoration, a dark collar, and long, pencil-like-produced feathers in their tails.

There was the gun close at hand. Lane had but to take it from beneath the creeper which held it fast; but, at this time, it never occurred to him that he might secure two or three splendid specimens for the collection he sought to make, so occupied was he by the action of the flock in the tree.

It was all delightful to him to watch the soft, easy, deliberate way in which the paroquets climbed with beak and claw, hooking on with the former, and then raising one foot with its soft, clasping, yoke-toes to take a firm hold before bringing up the other; then, holding on by both, and swinging gently to and fro, the beak was set at liberty, and the bird hung head downwards, to feast upon some luscious fig.

“If they only had a sweet note, instead of their harsh scream,” thought Lane, “what lovely creatures they would be.”

He sat there watching them for about an hour, but far from satiated, for there was always something fresh to see, and the birds were so tame, that he often had them within a few feet of his head, some soft, round-headed creature turning itself on one side to gaze at him with its keen eye as if in wonder, before going on with its feeding, satisfied that it would not be hurt.

Then the delightful scene came to an end with the climbing birds and the foliage lit up by the horizontal rays of the sun, for, all at once, there was a deafening explosion, and, shrieking loudly, the flock took flight, while Lane sat there appalled, listening in expectation of another report, the former having evidently come from the mountain; but, as he listened, there was in place of the explosion, a loud hissing, and then a loud, heavy pattering, accompanied and followed by thud after thud, and he knew, though he could not see for the dense foliage, that a volley of heavy stones and masses of pumice had been fired into the air, to fall from various heights back to earth on the mountain slopes.

“Ah, I must go and see that,” he said to himself, as he seized his gun. “Not my department, but none the less interesting. I wish Panton was here.”

A soft, whining noise took his attention then, and, glancing beside him, he saw that the cubs which had been his companions all night were straining about, climbing over each other, and falling back, evidently wanting their morning meal.

“And I suppose I have killed their mother,” thought Lane, as he bent over and patted the two furry animals. “Poor little things! I must come back and get them, and take them with me to the ship, if I can cross the belt of mist. First of all, though, the mountain—I must go up that as far as I can climb.”

So, descending and shouldering his piece, he strode to where the ashes of his fire lay and then brought his gun down to the present, for there was a quick, rustling sound to his left, and he caught a glimpse of glossy, spotted fur, as an animal passed amongst the dense undergrowth. Then, before he had time to fire, had he felt so disposed, a huge, lithe, cat-like creature bounded on to the trunk of the tree he had just left, uttering a strange, purring cry, and disappeared in the orchids which clustered about the fork.

“Then I did not shoot the mother,” thought Lane. “So much the better.”

Then, as all was still and no danger to be apprehended there, he shouldered his gun and strode off towards the more open ground, which he reached at last, forgetful of everything but the intense desire to try and ascend the cone-shaped mountain which stood before him, capped with a dense pall of smoke and steam.

After tramping about an hour, the sight of trickling water down amongst some stones suggested to him the fact that he had not broken his fast that morning, so sitting down upon a block of stone, he brought out the remains left in his wallet and ate them, stale as they were, as he looked round him, finding that he had climbed to higher ground than he expected; but though he looked eagerly toward the part where the ship must have lain in the middle of the wave-swept plain, everything was cut off by a dull, misty appearance. Not the clearly marked band of sunny haze he had seen from low down on the level therewith, but a foggy, indistinct state of the atmosphere.

Away to his right, he feasted his eyes upon the enormous mass of stone and ash which towered up in a beautifully regular curve, with apparently nothing to hinder him from walking up the steep slope to the crater, into which he felt an uncontrollable desire to gaze.

“I ought to get up to the top in two or three hours,” he thought, as he mentally mapped out his course, seeing nothing likely to hinder him but rough blocks of stone dotted about in all directions. Nothing in themselves, but ominous of aspect when he took into consideration the fact that they must have been hurled upward from the mountain, and fallen back on the slope in all probability white-hot.

“One will have warning,” he thought, “and there may be no more fall to-day.”

Finishing his last mouthful, he took out an india-rubber cup, and stooping down, filled it from the trickling course, raised it to his lips, and then spurted out a mouthful in disgust, for it was hot, bitter, salt, and had a most objectionable odour.

“Ugh!” he ejaculated, “mustn’t depend on you.” Then giving another glance round, he shouldered his gun, and commenced the ascent, leaving all vegetation behind him, and soon finding that his way lay over loose scoria and finely-powdered pumice, into which his feet sank at every step.

But as the difficulties and steepness of the ascent increased, so did the desire to climb higher and see more of the volcano, and also more of the country into which fate had brought him. Once a few hundred feet higher, he felt he would be able to set all doubts at rest as to whether they were surrounded by the sea; and to get this proof Oliver Lane pressed on.

After a time he got more into the knack of climbing without slipping back so much, but the sun was getting higher, and its beams grew warm, while he was conscious of a sensation as of heat striking upward from the ashy substance of which the slope was composed, and at last, to gratify his curiosity, and to clear away a doubt, Lane stooped down to lay his hand flat upon the ash, and snatch it away again, for it was quite hot.

For a moment or two after this, he hesitated, but there above him rose the cone with its crest of smoke, and apparently nothing to hinder him from climbing steadily to the top, and from thence getting a bird’s-eye view of the country round.

That was enough to start him on, and setting himself manfully to the task, in less than half an hour he found that he had reached an atmospheric band where the breeze blew pleasantly cool and invigorating. The cloud over the summit of the cone had floated away, and all was clear and bright as he resumed the ascent, feeling now that an hour would bring him to the top, when all at once he fell upon his knees, and then threw himself at full length. For the mountain quivered beneath his feet, and produced a giddy sensation as the surface rose and fell in waves, whilst almost simultaneously there was a terrific roar, and he saw a dense cloud driven out from above, and ascending to a tremendous height, as if shot out by an internal explosion.

His first feeling was, that he must turn and rush down: his second, that it would be madness to stir, for the side of the mountain was opening and shutting in a network of fissures, and the next minute, the cloud which he had seen blasted upwards proved itself not to be so much mist, but a storm of ashes and scoria mingled with huge masses of rock, which now curled over like a fountain, and were falling back in all directions.

Oliver Lane tried to anchor himself to the shifting ashes as he lay there, feeling that his last hour had come, for darkness was now added to the other horrors, and the mountain-side was in strange quivering motion, gaze wildly whichever way he would.

The fall of a mass of glowing cinders, so close that he could feel the scorching heat against his cheek, roused Oliver Lane to the fact that it was more dangerous to stay than to rush down-hill, running the gauntlet of the falling shower; and, after a moment’s hesitation, he turned and ran for his life. The white-hot stones and cinders fell around him as he bounded down, having hard work to keep his footing, for at every leap the loose scoria gave way as he alighted, and slipped with him in an avalanche of dust and ashes from which he had to extricate himself.

Once he had pretty well dragged himself out when the ashes for far enough round began to glide downward, the thick haze of volcanic dust around adding to his confusion, while every step he took in his frantic efforts to keep on the surface resulted in his sinking more deeply till he was above his waist in the loose gliding stuff and awake to the fact that it was scorchingly hot.

But all at once, as despair was beginning to enfold him in a tighter hold than the ash and cinder, the gliding avalanche suddenly stopped, and as it was not like the Alpine snow ready to adhere and be compressed into ice, he was able to extricate himself and slide and roll down for some distance further.

Then all at once he found that he was in the sunshine again, and that the stones had ceased to fall and the mountain to quiver; while, as he gazed upward, it was to see that the dark cloud was slowly floating away, giving him a view of the edge of the crater where it was broken down for some distance in the shape of a rugged V, and just at the bottom, every now and then, there was a bright glow of fire visible. The glow then sank completely out of sight, but only to rise up again, and this was continued as the young naturalist watched, suggesting to him the fact that the crater must be full of boiling lava which rose to the edge in its ebullitions and then dropped below the rugged wall.

Ten minutes later the glowing stones which had fallen, looked black and grey; the cloud was at a distance, and there was nothing to indicate that the beautifully shaped mountain ever presented another aspect than that of peace.

Oliver Lane stood looking up with the longing to ascend to the edge of the crater growing strong once more, but he was fagged by his exertions, bathed in perspiration, and aware of the fact that an intense glowing heat rose from the surface all around him, while the air he breathed seemed to produce a strange suffocating effect when he turned his face from the wind which swept over the mountain slope.

In a few minutes he decided that it would be madness to persevere, and that it would be wise to wait until the volcano was in a more quiescent state, for at any minute there might come a fresh explosion from the mouth from which he might not be able to escape so easily.

He looked longingly round to try and make out something of value to report as to their position, but the mountain shut everything off in the direction lying north, and he was reluctantly about to continue his descent when he felt the stones beneath his feet tremble again. Then came a report like that of a huge cannon, and what seemed to be an enormous rock shot upward for hundreds of feet, hung for a moment or two in the clear air, and then fell back into the crater.

That was enough. A burning thirst and a sensation of breathing something which irritated his lungs, awakened him to the fact that he must find water, and, regardless of the heat, he once more began to hurry downward toward the level plain from which the mountain curved up in so beautiful a cone.

Oliver Lane soon found that he was not returning upon his steps, and though apparently not far from where he ascended, it was plain enough that, even if they had not been obliterated by the falling ash and cinders, the fragments flowed together again like sand. A greater proof still was afforded him in the fact that about a quarter of a mile lower down his farther progress was checked by a rugged chasm running right across his path, apparently cutting him off from the lower portion and extending to right and left farther than he could see.

He approached it with caution, but found that he must not risk a near approach, for he set the loose scoria in motion, and it trickled on before him, and went over out of sight with a rush.

Anchoring himself as well as he could against a huge block of lava, he paused to consider whether he should go to right or left, and then shrank away with a shudder, and began to climb back as fast he could, for, slight as had been his bearing upon the block, it had been sufficient to start it off, and, to his horror, it went on gliding down about twenty yards, and then dropped over the edge.

He stood listening, in the hope of hearing the block stop directly, as proof of its being only a few feet down, and passable if he lowered himself and then climbed the opposite edge; but a full minute elapsed before he heard a dull, echoing roar, which continued for some time, and, after a pause, was continued again and again, giving terrible warning of the depth, and his own insignificance upon that mountain slope.

He now had his first suggestion of panic—of how easily, in the face of so much peril, anyone could lose his head, and rush into danger, instead of escaping the risks by which he was surrounded. For his strong impulse now was to start into a run, and to begin to ascend the slope diagonally. But at the first dozen steps, he found he was loosening the ashes, which began to glide toward the chasm faster and faster, and that if he continued with so much energy, there would soon be a swift rush, which would carry him with it into the awful gulf.

Warned by this, he stopped, and then proceeded cautiously, going nearly parallel, but increasing his distance as far as was possible.

The intense heat of the sun combined with that which radiated from the mountain-side was exhausting to a degree; his thirst grew almost unbearable, and he fully realised the imprudence of which he had been guilty in attempting the ascent alone. The only thing now was to extricate himself from his perilous position, and, after a halt or two to collect himself and try to make out how much farther the rift extended, during which he hesitated as to whether it would not be wiser to go back and try the other way, he started onward again, slowly and steadily, becoming conscious of a peculiar puff of stifling vapour, which he felt sure must come from the gaping rift below.

And now the idea came to him that it was impossible that the chasm could have been there when he ascended, but had opened during the fresh eruption in which he had so nearly been overwhelmed.

At last, when his sufferings from the heat were growing unbearable, and his head swam with the giddy sensation which supervened, the rift appeared to close in about fifty yards further on. He sheltered his swimming eyes, and endeavoured to steady himself, as, with sinking heart, he tried to make out whether this really were so, or only fancy. But it seemed to be fact, and, pressing cautiously on, he lessened the distance, and then stopped appalled, shrinkingly facing a way of escape to the lower part of the mountain, but one terrible enough to make the stoutest-hearted shiver. For the chasm came to a sudden end, and recommenced two or three yards farther on, leaving a jagged, narrow strip of lava extending bridge-like from side to side.

“I dare not,” he muttered, as he approached slowly, noting the shape, and trying to make out how far down the mass of rock extended, so as to see whether it would prove firm, or only be a crust which might give way beneath his weight, and then— He shuddered, for he knew that whoever ventured upon that narrow pathway did so facing a terrible death.

He looked wildly forward to see if the gap still went on to any distance, and he could trace it till it was lost in a hot haze.

“I must do it,” muttered Lane, for he felt that if he kept on longer upon the upper edge, he must soon sink and perish from heat and exhaustion.

Knowing that if he stopped to think, he would grow less and less disposed to venture, and taking one long eager look at the green trees far below in the distance where there would be shelter and refreshing water, he gathered himself together, and walked slowly and steadily over the yielding ash and cinders to the beginning of the bridge.

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