Chapter Thirty Five.How the Sulphur Cavern was found.For a few seconds every one stood still as if petrified by the horror of the scene. Then with a hoarse cry the captain dashed to the opening, slipped, and would also have gone down, had he not made a leap and thrown himself headlong across to the other side.Mark stopped short, with a horrified expression on his face, for in those brief moments he suffered all the agony of having seen his father disappear, but almost before the captain had regained his legs the men uttered a warning shout, for there was the gurgling roaring below, a vibration in the earth, and the hot fountain played again to the height of twenty or thirty feet, descended almost as rapidly, and those on one side of the basin, as the water descended, saw the captain on the other side holding Billy Widgeon by the jacket, dragging him from the very edge of the hole to some half a dozen yards away.The next minute all were gathered round where the little sailor lay apparently lifeless.“Is he dead?” whispered Mark, catching at his father’s arm.“Not he,” cried Small, stooping down and shaking the prostrate man. “Billy, old chap; here, wake up, I say! How goes it?”Billy Widgeon opened his eyes, stared, choked, spat out some water, looked round, and shook his head to get rid of some more.“Eh?” he said at last.“How are you, my man?” said the captain.Billy Widgeon stared at him, then looked all round, rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, stared again, rose, and trotted slowly to the basin, into which he stepped cautiously, and before he could be stopped peered down the hole.He came away directly thereafter shaking his head.“It’s a rum un,” he said, rubbing one ear, and slowly taking off and wringing his jacket to get rid of the water.“You’re not hurt, then?” said the captain, anxiously.“Hurt, sir? No, I don’t know as I’m hurt, sir, but I’m precious wet.”“How far did you go down?” cried Mark.“How far did I go down?” said Billy, sulkily. “Miles!”“Was it very hot, my man?” said the major.“Hot! Well, if tumbling down a well like that there, and then being shot up again like a pellet out of a pop-gun aren’t getting it hot, I should like to know what is?”“I mean was the water very hot?” said the major, as the men, now that there was no danger, began to grin.“’Bout as hot as I likes it, sir; just tidy,” replied Billy.“But what did it feel like?” said Mark; “I mean falling down there.”“Oh, there warn’t no time to feel, Mr Mark, sir. I went down so quickly.”“Well, what did it seem like?” said Mark.“Don’t know, sir. I was in such a hurry,” said Billy.There was a laugh at this, in which Billy joined.“You can’t give us any description, then?” said the captain smiling.“No, sir. I only found out one thing—I didn’t seem to be wanted down there, being in the way, as you may say, and likely to stop the pipes. And now, Mr Small, sir, I’d take it kindly if you’d come in the wood there with me and lend a hand while I wring all the wet I can out o’ my things, as’ll make ’em dry more handy.”The boatswain nodded, and the pair went in among the trees, leaving the others discussing the narrow escapes and sending a stone or two down, and then a great dead dry stump of a tree-fern, all of which were shot up again, the stones after an interval, the fern stump, which was as long as Billy Widgeon and thicker round, coming up again directly.“Why, major,” said the captain at last, “if you had told me all this some day after dinner back in England, I’m afraid I shouldn’t have believed you.”“I’m sure I should not have believed you,” said the major laughing. “It sounds like a sea-serpent story, and I don’t think I shall ever venture to tell it unless I can produce the man.”At that moment Billy came back out of the jungle, looking very ill-tempered, and his first act as the fount played again, was to go close to the edge of the basin and try the temperature of the water.“Just tidy,” he said, as they descended from the level shelf where the geysers were clustered, and along by the little gurgling rocky stream which carried off their overflowings before reaching the slope of the mountain, and beginning to climb with fresh and unexpected wonders on every hand.It was nervous work, for as they climbed the earth trembled beneath their feet; low, muttering, thunderous sounds could be heard, while here and there from crevices puffs of sulphurous, throat-stinging vapour escaped.Then a bubbling hot spring was reached, not a geyser like those on the shelf across the long valley, but a little gurgling fount of the most beautifully pure water, but so heated that it was impossible to thrust a hand therein.“Are we going much higher, Mr Mark?” said Billy Widgeon at last. “Feels to me as if we should go through before we knowed where we was.”“Going to the top, I suppose,” said Mark, smiling at the man’s face, though he could not help feeling some slight trepidation as strange volcanic suggestions of what was beneath them in the mountain kept manifesting themselves at every step.“Oh, all right!” said Billy in a tone of resignation; “but I do purtest, if I am to die, agin being biled.”The climb up the mountain side was continued for some time, fresh wonders being disclosed at every step. The jungle grew less thick, with the result that flowers were more plentiful, and if not more abundant the birds and gloriously-painted insects were easier to see. Hot springs were plentiful, and formed basins surrounded by the deposit from the water, a petrifaction of the most delicate tints, while the water was of the most exquisite blue.A little higher, and in a narrow ravine among the rocks a perfect chasm, into which they descended till the sides almost shut out the light of day, so closely did they approach above their heads, Mark, who was in advance, made a find of a deposit of a delicate greenish yellow.“Why, here’s sulphur!” he exclaimed, picking up a beautifully crystallised lump, while the rock above was incrusted with angular pieces of extreme beauty.“Yes, sulphur,” said the captain; “and I don’t think we’ll go any farther here. It may be risky.”“I’ll just see how soon this cleft ends,” said the major, approaching what seemed to be the termination of the gorge—quite a jagged rift, cut or split in the side of the mountain.The major went on cautiously, for, as he proceeded, it grew darker, the rift rapidly becoming a cavern.“It runs right into the mountain!” he cried, and his voice echoed strangely. “Here, Mark, my lad, if you want to see some specimens of sulphur, there are some worth picking here.”There was something so weirdly attractive in the cavern that Mark followed, and in setting his feet down cautiously on the rocky floor his eyes soon became accustomed to the gloom, and he found that the rock joined about a dozen feet above their head, and was glittering as if composed of pale golden crystals of the most wonderful form.Before him, at the distance of a dozen feet, he could dimly make out the figure of the major, while behind stood the group formed by their companions, looking like so many silhouettes in black against the pale light sent down the chasm from above.“Mind what you’re doing,” said the captain. “Don’t go in too far.”“All right!” cried the major; “there’s good bottom. It’s a lovely sulphur cave. Coming in?”“No,” said the captain, sitting down; “I’ll wait for you. Make haste, and then we’ll go back another way.”“Can you see the sides, Mark?” said the major.“Yes, sir. Lovely!” replied the lad. “I should like to take a basketful. I’ll break a piece or two off.”“Wait a bit,” said the major; “there is a lovely piece here. What’s that?”Mark listened, as he stood close to the major, where the cavern went right in like a narrow triangle with curved sides.A low hissing noise saluted their ears, apparently coming from a great distance off.“Snakes!” whispered Mark.“Steam!” said the major. “Why, Mark, this passage must lead right into the centre of the mountain. There, listen again! You can hear a dull rumbling sound.”“Yes, I can hear it,” said Mark in an awe-stricken whisper.“I dare say if we went on we should see some strange sights.”“Without lights?” said the captain, who had approached them silently.“Perhaps we should get subterranean fire to show us the interior of the mountain. What do you say?—shall we explore a little further? One does not get a chance like this every day.”“I’m willing to come another time with lights, but it would be madness to go on in the dark. How do you know how soon you might step into some terrible chasm?”“Without the slightest chance of being shot out again, like Billy Widgeon!” said the major. “You are quite right; it would be a terribly risky proceeding.”They listened, and this time there came a low boom and a roar as if there had been an explosion somewhere in the mountain, and the roar was the reverberation of the noise as it ran through endless passages and rocky ways echoing out to the light of day.“No, it does not sound tempting,” said the major. “I don’t want to go far. But I must get a specimen or two of this sulphur for the ladies to see.”He walked on cautiously.“Mind!” said the captain.“Oh, yes, I’ll take care,” came back out of the darkness. “I can see my way yet, and the sulphur is wonderful. These will do.”A tapping noise followed from about fifty feet away; then the fall of a piece or two of stone, followed by a low hissing sound.“Hear the steam escaping, Mark?” said the captain. “Ah, that’s a good bit, as far as I can see. Come, major.”There was no answer.“O’Halloran!” cried the captain, and his voice went echoing away into the distance, the name being partly repeated far in, as if whispered, mockingly by some strange denizen of the cavern.“Major O’Halloran!” shouted Mark excitedly. “What’s that?”“What, my lad?” cried the captain.“That curious choking sour smell. Ah!”“Back, boy, for your life!” cried the captain, snatching at his son’s arm and half dragging him towards where the cave was open to the sky. “Are you all right?”“Yes, yes, father,” panted Mark, who was coughing violently. “Is—is—Oh, father! the major.”The captain had taken a handkerchief from his pocket and loosely doubled it, and this he tied over his mouth and nostrils.“Hold my gun, Mark,” he whispered; and then hoarsely, as if to himself, “I can’t leave him like that, come what may.”He paused for a moment to breathe hard and thoroughly inflate his lungs, and then, regardless of the risk of falling, he ran rapidly in, while Mark stood horror-stricken listening to his retiring footsteps.His next act saved the lives of the two men.“Small!—Widgeon!” he cried. “Here, quick!”The two men ran to his side, ready to help.“My father has gone in to help the major. As soon—as he comes—near enough—go and help.”The men stood listening; and then, as they heard the coming steps, made a dart in, but returned.“You can’t breathe. It chokes you,” cried Billy Widgeon.“Take a long mouthful, my lad, and hold your breath,” growled the boatswain. “Ha, he’s down! Come on!”
For a few seconds every one stood still as if petrified by the horror of the scene. Then with a hoarse cry the captain dashed to the opening, slipped, and would also have gone down, had he not made a leap and thrown himself headlong across to the other side.
Mark stopped short, with a horrified expression on his face, for in those brief moments he suffered all the agony of having seen his father disappear, but almost before the captain had regained his legs the men uttered a warning shout, for there was the gurgling roaring below, a vibration in the earth, and the hot fountain played again to the height of twenty or thirty feet, descended almost as rapidly, and those on one side of the basin, as the water descended, saw the captain on the other side holding Billy Widgeon by the jacket, dragging him from the very edge of the hole to some half a dozen yards away.
The next minute all were gathered round where the little sailor lay apparently lifeless.
“Is he dead?” whispered Mark, catching at his father’s arm.
“Not he,” cried Small, stooping down and shaking the prostrate man. “Billy, old chap; here, wake up, I say! How goes it?”
Billy Widgeon opened his eyes, stared, choked, spat out some water, looked round, and shook his head to get rid of some more.
“Eh?” he said at last.
“How are you, my man?” said the captain.
Billy Widgeon stared at him, then looked all round, rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, stared again, rose, and trotted slowly to the basin, into which he stepped cautiously, and before he could be stopped peered down the hole.
He came away directly thereafter shaking his head.
“It’s a rum un,” he said, rubbing one ear, and slowly taking off and wringing his jacket to get rid of the water.
“You’re not hurt, then?” said the captain, anxiously.
“Hurt, sir? No, I don’t know as I’m hurt, sir, but I’m precious wet.”
“How far did you go down?” cried Mark.
“How far did I go down?” said Billy, sulkily. “Miles!”
“Was it very hot, my man?” said the major.
“Hot! Well, if tumbling down a well like that there, and then being shot up again like a pellet out of a pop-gun aren’t getting it hot, I should like to know what is?”
“I mean was the water very hot?” said the major, as the men, now that there was no danger, began to grin.
“’Bout as hot as I likes it, sir; just tidy,” replied Billy.
“But what did it feel like?” said Mark; “I mean falling down there.”
“Oh, there warn’t no time to feel, Mr Mark, sir. I went down so quickly.”
“Well, what did it seem like?” said Mark.
“Don’t know, sir. I was in such a hurry,” said Billy.
There was a laugh at this, in which Billy joined.
“You can’t give us any description, then?” said the captain smiling.
“No, sir. I only found out one thing—I didn’t seem to be wanted down there, being in the way, as you may say, and likely to stop the pipes. And now, Mr Small, sir, I’d take it kindly if you’d come in the wood there with me and lend a hand while I wring all the wet I can out o’ my things, as’ll make ’em dry more handy.”
The boatswain nodded, and the pair went in among the trees, leaving the others discussing the narrow escapes and sending a stone or two down, and then a great dead dry stump of a tree-fern, all of which were shot up again, the stones after an interval, the fern stump, which was as long as Billy Widgeon and thicker round, coming up again directly.
“Why, major,” said the captain at last, “if you had told me all this some day after dinner back in England, I’m afraid I shouldn’t have believed you.”
“I’m sure I should not have believed you,” said the major laughing. “It sounds like a sea-serpent story, and I don’t think I shall ever venture to tell it unless I can produce the man.”
At that moment Billy came back out of the jungle, looking very ill-tempered, and his first act as the fount played again, was to go close to the edge of the basin and try the temperature of the water.
“Just tidy,” he said, as they descended from the level shelf where the geysers were clustered, and along by the little gurgling rocky stream which carried off their overflowings before reaching the slope of the mountain, and beginning to climb with fresh and unexpected wonders on every hand.
It was nervous work, for as they climbed the earth trembled beneath their feet; low, muttering, thunderous sounds could be heard, while here and there from crevices puffs of sulphurous, throat-stinging vapour escaped.
Then a bubbling hot spring was reached, not a geyser like those on the shelf across the long valley, but a little gurgling fount of the most beautifully pure water, but so heated that it was impossible to thrust a hand therein.
“Are we going much higher, Mr Mark?” said Billy Widgeon at last. “Feels to me as if we should go through before we knowed where we was.”
“Going to the top, I suppose,” said Mark, smiling at the man’s face, though he could not help feeling some slight trepidation as strange volcanic suggestions of what was beneath them in the mountain kept manifesting themselves at every step.
“Oh, all right!” said Billy in a tone of resignation; “but I do purtest, if I am to die, agin being biled.”
The climb up the mountain side was continued for some time, fresh wonders being disclosed at every step. The jungle grew less thick, with the result that flowers were more plentiful, and if not more abundant the birds and gloriously-painted insects were easier to see. Hot springs were plentiful, and formed basins surrounded by the deposit from the water, a petrifaction of the most delicate tints, while the water was of the most exquisite blue.
A little higher, and in a narrow ravine among the rocks a perfect chasm, into which they descended till the sides almost shut out the light of day, so closely did they approach above their heads, Mark, who was in advance, made a find of a deposit of a delicate greenish yellow.
“Why, here’s sulphur!” he exclaimed, picking up a beautifully crystallised lump, while the rock above was incrusted with angular pieces of extreme beauty.
“Yes, sulphur,” said the captain; “and I don’t think we’ll go any farther here. It may be risky.”
“I’ll just see how soon this cleft ends,” said the major, approaching what seemed to be the termination of the gorge—quite a jagged rift, cut or split in the side of the mountain.
The major went on cautiously, for, as he proceeded, it grew darker, the rift rapidly becoming a cavern.
“It runs right into the mountain!” he cried, and his voice echoed strangely. “Here, Mark, my lad, if you want to see some specimens of sulphur, there are some worth picking here.”
There was something so weirdly attractive in the cavern that Mark followed, and in setting his feet down cautiously on the rocky floor his eyes soon became accustomed to the gloom, and he found that the rock joined about a dozen feet above their head, and was glittering as if composed of pale golden crystals of the most wonderful form.
Before him, at the distance of a dozen feet, he could dimly make out the figure of the major, while behind stood the group formed by their companions, looking like so many silhouettes in black against the pale light sent down the chasm from above.
“Mind what you’re doing,” said the captain. “Don’t go in too far.”
“All right!” cried the major; “there’s good bottom. It’s a lovely sulphur cave. Coming in?”
“No,” said the captain, sitting down; “I’ll wait for you. Make haste, and then we’ll go back another way.”
“Can you see the sides, Mark?” said the major.
“Yes, sir. Lovely!” replied the lad. “I should like to take a basketful. I’ll break a piece or two off.”
“Wait a bit,” said the major; “there is a lovely piece here. What’s that?”
Mark listened, as he stood close to the major, where the cavern went right in like a narrow triangle with curved sides.
A low hissing noise saluted their ears, apparently coming from a great distance off.
“Snakes!” whispered Mark.
“Steam!” said the major. “Why, Mark, this passage must lead right into the centre of the mountain. There, listen again! You can hear a dull rumbling sound.”
“Yes, I can hear it,” said Mark in an awe-stricken whisper.
“I dare say if we went on we should see some strange sights.”
“Without lights?” said the captain, who had approached them silently.
“Perhaps we should get subterranean fire to show us the interior of the mountain. What do you say?—shall we explore a little further? One does not get a chance like this every day.”
“I’m willing to come another time with lights, but it would be madness to go on in the dark. How do you know how soon you might step into some terrible chasm?”
“Without the slightest chance of being shot out again, like Billy Widgeon!” said the major. “You are quite right; it would be a terribly risky proceeding.”
They listened, and this time there came a low boom and a roar as if there had been an explosion somewhere in the mountain, and the roar was the reverberation of the noise as it ran through endless passages and rocky ways echoing out to the light of day.
“No, it does not sound tempting,” said the major. “I don’t want to go far. But I must get a specimen or two of this sulphur for the ladies to see.”
He walked on cautiously.
“Mind!” said the captain.
“Oh, yes, I’ll take care,” came back out of the darkness. “I can see my way yet, and the sulphur is wonderful. These will do.”
A tapping noise followed from about fifty feet away; then the fall of a piece or two of stone, followed by a low hissing sound.
“Hear the steam escaping, Mark?” said the captain. “Ah, that’s a good bit, as far as I can see. Come, major.”
There was no answer.
“O’Halloran!” cried the captain, and his voice went echoing away into the distance, the name being partly repeated far in, as if whispered, mockingly by some strange denizen of the cavern.
“Major O’Halloran!” shouted Mark excitedly. “What’s that?”
“What, my lad?” cried the captain.
“That curious choking sour smell. Ah!”
“Back, boy, for your life!” cried the captain, snatching at his son’s arm and half dragging him towards where the cave was open to the sky. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, father,” panted Mark, who was coughing violently. “Is—is—Oh, father! the major.”
The captain had taken a handkerchief from his pocket and loosely doubled it, and this he tied over his mouth and nostrils.
“Hold my gun, Mark,” he whispered; and then hoarsely, as if to himself, “I can’t leave him like that, come what may.”
He paused for a moment to breathe hard and thoroughly inflate his lungs, and then, regardless of the risk of falling, he ran rapidly in, while Mark stood horror-stricken listening to his retiring footsteps.
His next act saved the lives of the two men.
“Small!—Widgeon!” he cried. “Here, quick!”
The two men ran to his side, ready to help.
“My father has gone in to help the major. As soon—as he comes—near enough—go and help.”
The men stood listening; and then, as they heard the coming steps, made a dart in, but returned.
“You can’t breathe. It chokes you,” cried Billy Widgeon.
“Take a long mouthful, my lad, and hold your breath,” growled the boatswain. “Ha, he’s down! Come on!”
Chapter Thirty Six.How Mark and Billy Widgeon went wrong.Mark did as the others did; inflated his lungs and rushed into the darkness, till they nearly fell over the captain; and then how it was done the lad hardly knew, but the two insensible men were dragged out to where there was pure air to breathe, and the rescuers sank down beside them, panting and exhausted. “Too late!” groaned Mark.“Not we, my lad,” growled Small. “I know. It’s bad gas.”“It’s the sulphur,” cried Mark piteously.“Well, aren’t that bad gas? I know. They’re just the same as if they was drowned, and we’ve got to pump their chesties full of wind till they begins to breathe as they ought to.”Small’s ideas were doubtless quite correct, and fortunately but little effort was needed to bring the sufferers to their senses, for the fresh air soon recovered them, and they sat up looking wild and confused.With the help of an arm to each they were soon able to walk back to the open mountain side, and after a rest declared themselves ready to proceed.“I think we’ll go back away north of the hot springs,” the captain said.“Certainly,” exclaimed the major with quite a sound of contrition in his voice.“The jungle is dense, but I think with a little managing we can find our way.”“Well, yes, perhaps so,” said the major. “It’s down hill, and half our way will be fairly open.”“If it proves too dense we can but turn to the right and go back as we came,” said the captain. “There, Mark, you need not look so anxious. There is nothing worse the matter than a bad headache. How are you, major?”“Horrible!” he said. “I have a bad headache, and a bad mental pain, for being so absurdly obstinate and running all that risk for the sake of a few crystals of sulphur.”“Which, after all, you had to leave behind.”“Not all,” said the major; “I had put a couple of lumps in my pocket when that overpowering vapour struck me down. My impression is—yes, of course, I remember clearly now—that where I broke the crystals away I must have opened a hole for the escape of the vapour.”“I heard the hissing noise,” said Mark eagerly.“Strong,” said the major, “I know you will forgive me; but, believe me, it will be a long time before I forgive myself. I can’t say much to you about thanks,” he whispered in a hoarse voice; “but I shall never forget this.”“Nonsense, man, nonsense!” cried the captain warmly. “You would have done the same for me.”No more was said, for there was plenty to do to keep together, and the various sights and sounds as they bore away to the east of the hot springs set the whole party well upon thequi vive.For on every side there were traces of volcanic action. Now they had to climb over or round some mass of lava that looked comparatively new as seen beside fragments that were moss-grown and fringed with orchids and ferns. In one place on the steep descent all would be one tangled growth of creepers, while a little farther on the ground would be sharply inclined and as bare and burned as if fire had lately issued from the earth. Every now and then they came, too, upon soft patches of mud firm enough to walk over and like india-rubber beneath their feet; but it was nervous work, and they crossed with care, feeling, as they did, a curious vibration going on beneath their feet.Then came an exceedingly rugged descent of quite a precipitous nature, but lovely in the extreme, so clothed was it with tropic verdure, though this was more beautiful to the eye than to the feet, for it often concealed treacherous crevices between blocks of scoria, and ugly cracks and rifts, some of which were dangerous, while others were awful from their depth and the low, hissing, murmuring sounds which came from their inmost recesses.At last the descent became so precipitous that they were brought to a stand-still and all progress seemed to be at an end, till, searching about, Mark and Billy Widgeon came upon a broad gash in the mountain side at the bottom of which there seemed to be a long slope of the smooth, hard-surfaced mud apparently running downward toward the spot they sought.The captain declared the descent practicable with care, and Mark took the lead, going down with plenty of agility, and closely followed by the little sailor.At the end of a quarter of an hour they were all on the stony brink of what seemed to be a mud-stream which at some time had flowed down from out of a huge yawning chasm high up above their heads, and perfectly inaccessible from where they stood. According to all appearances, this mud in a thin state must have come down in a perfect cataract till it filled up the space beneath the chasm, which resembled a huge basin, as level as so much water, and when this had become full the stream had begun to form, and down this mud-stream they proposed to go, though how far it extended and would help them on their way experience alone could show.They stood just at the edge of the pool to find that a walk upon its surface would be dangerous in the extreme, for though the top was elastic a stick was easily driven through, with the result that a jet of steam rushed out with a noise like that of a railway whistle, but the surface of the stream on being tested proved firmer, and they began to descend.Again the same sense of insecurity was felt, the india-rubber-like film giving way easily and springing up again, while the old muttering and murmuring noises thrilled beneath their feet.But so long as it would hold it proved to be a capital road, for while there was a wall of dense verdure on either side, not so much as a scrap of moss had taken root on the surface of the smooth slope, which wound in and out with the ravine, acting in fact as a stream of water does which runs down some mountain scar, save that here there was no progress. The mud had once been hot and fluid, and doubtless was still so, to some extent, below; but, after filling up every inequality, it kept to one regular level, forming what Mark at once dubbed Gutta-percha Lane.It was now long past mid-day, and as they walked steadily on, growing more confident as the toughness of the bituminous mud, for such it proved to be, proved itself worthy of the trust it was called upon to bear, the question arose where the stream would end.As far as the captain could make out, in spite of its zigzagging and abrupt curves, the course of the stream was decidedly towards the camp, but as they descended lower one thing was very plain, and that was that they were getting into thicker jungle, which grew taller and darker with every hundred feet of descent.“How do you account for it?” Captain Strong said at last to the major, as they now found themselves walking down a winding road some fifteen to twenty feet wide, and with dense walls of verdure rising fully two hundred feet in height.“I think there must have been a stream here, and at some time there has been an eruption and the mud has flowed down it and filled it up.”“If there had been a stream,” the captain said, “we should have seen some sign of its outlet near the camp.”“Then you have a theory of your own?”“Yes,” said the captain; “it seems to me that first of all this was merely a jagged ravine, running from the mountain’s shoulder right down to the sea.”“That’s what I thought. With a stream at the bottom.”“No stream,” said the captain. “Nothing but vegetation. Down this a stream of red-hot lava must have flowed and burned the vegetation clean away, leaving a place for the mud to come down and harden as you have it now. It may have been a year after the eruption—twenty, fifty, or a hundred years, but there it is.”“If you are right, we should see traces of the burning on the trees,” said the major.“That does not follow. These trees may have sprung up since, right to the very edge of the stream, but no farther.”“Then under this mud or bitumen there ought to be lava according to your ideas. How shall we prove it?”“If I am right,” said the captain, “we shall find that this stream ends all at once, just as the lava hardened when the flow ceased, for there was no stream of volcanic matter right down to the shore.”“And there is no stream of mud any further,” said Mark laughing; “for there’s the end.”Mark was quite right, for about a couple of hundred yards below them the mighty walls of verdure suddenly came together and blocked out further progress, while, when they reached the spot, it was to find that the bituminous mud spread out here into a pool, further progress being, as it were, stopped by a dam of blackish rock which resembled so much solidified sponge, so full was it of air-holes and bubble-like cells.“I am no geologist,” said the major, “so I give in to you, Strong. You must be right.”“I think I am,” said the captain, quietly examining the rocky dam and the surface of the mud. “Yes, I should say that here is the explanation of this curious stream.”“Then all I can say is,” said the major wiping his forehead, “that I wish the eruption had been a little bigger, and the lava stream had ended on the sands exactly one hundred yards from camp.”“And the mud had flowed over it and made our road?” said Mark laughing.“That goes without saying,” cried the major. “Now, then, I propose a halt and food.”There was plenty of shade close at hand, but unfortunately no water. Still, a good rest and a hearty meal proved most grateful, and as soon as it was done the major lit a cigar, the captain, Small, and two of the men seemed to be dozing, and Mark and Billy Widgeon looked at them and then at each other.“Going to do a bit o’ hammock work, Mr Mark, sir?” said Billy.“I’m not sleepy.”“More am I, sir. Let’s see if we can’t get some fruit.”“All right!” cried Mark, jumping up.“Don’t go far, my boy,” said the captain; and Mark started, for he had thought his father was asleep, while on looking at him he still lay back in the same position with his eyes closed.“No, father, I won’t go far,” he said.“Keep within range of a shout—well within range, for it’s very easy to get lost in one of these jungles, and we shall be too tired to hunt for you now.”“I won’t go far,” said Mark; and he and Billy Widgeon began to walk slowly back along the stream, looking to left and right for a way between the trees into the jungle.“You thought the skipper was asleep?” said Billy in a whisper. “Never ketches him asleep, as we all knows. It’s always t’other. So soon as one o’ us as ought to be awake goes off, he finds us out, and no mistake.”Mark did not answer, and Billy went on:“It’s my belief that when the skipper shuts his eyes he sets his ears to work to see and hear too. Ah, here we are! Here’s a place where we can go in. I say, Mr Mark, did you eat any o’ that cold treacle pooden?”“No? Bill, I did not.”“Good job, too, sir. It was cooked in one o’ they hot springs, and I’m blest if it didn’t taste like brimstone and treacle. Lor’, how thirsty I am! Wish I could find one o’ them wooden-box fruit.”“What? cocoa-nuts?”“No, sir: durings. They are good after all. Give’s your hand, my lad.” He bent down from a mass of basalt, which seemed to be the end of a rugged wall which penetrated the trees, and along which it was possible to climb more easily than to force a way through the dense growth which wove the trees together.“I can manage, Billy,” said Mark. “Go on.”Billy turned, and, apparently as active as if he had just started, he climbed on, parting the bushes that grew out of the interstices and holding them aside for Mark to clear them, and then on and on, without the sign of a fruit-tree or berry-bearing bush. The sun beat down through the overshadowing boughs, but the two had risen so high that the forest monarchs had become as it were dwarfed, and it was evident that they would soon be above them and able to look down on their tops.“Why, Billy,” exclaimed Mark, “if we go on, we shall soon be able to see the sea, and the best way down to the camp.”“Sure we shall, Mr Mark, sir,” said the little sailor, descending a sudden slope and helping Mark to follow, after which they wound in and out for about a quarter of an hour, thoroughly eager in their quest for a way to simplify the descent of the rest of the party.All at once the captain’s final words came to memory, and Mark exclaimed:“Here; we mustn’t go any farther, Billy. We’ll turn back now.”“All right! Mr Mark, sir, we’ll soon do that; and then we can all come on this way together. We can show ’em now, eh?”“Yes,” said Mark; “but let’s see, which way did we come? Along there, wasn’t it?”“’Long there, Mr Mark, sir? No, not it. Why, we come this way, down by these rocks.”“No, that couldn’t be right, Billy, because the sun was on our left when we turned round, and you helped me down that rock.”“Was it, sir? Then it must be down here.”Billy led the way and Mark followed; but at the end of a few minutes he called a halt.“No, no; this can’t be right,” he cried, as he gazed about a wilderness of huge rocks and trees, where bushes sprang up on every hand.“Well, do you know, Mr Mark, sir, that’s just what I was a-thinking,” said Billy. “I’ve been a-puzzling my head over that there block o’ stone as is standing atop o’ that tother one, and couldn’t recollect seeing of ’em afore.”“No; it must be this way,” said Mark uneasily. “How stupid, to be sure! We must find our way back.”“Why, of course, Mr Mark, sir; and we will; but it aren’t us as is stupid, it’s these here rocks and trees as is all alike, just as if they was brothers and sisters, or peas in a pod.”“Don’t talk so,” said Mark angrily, as he realised more fully their position; and a sense of confusion made him petulant. “Let’s act and find our way. Now, then, which way does the mud-stream lie?”Billy scratched his head, stared about, and then said softly:“Well, sir, I’ll be blest if I know.”And Mark thoroughly realised the fact that they were lost.
Mark did as the others did; inflated his lungs and rushed into the darkness, till they nearly fell over the captain; and then how it was done the lad hardly knew, but the two insensible men were dragged out to where there was pure air to breathe, and the rescuers sank down beside them, panting and exhausted. “Too late!” groaned Mark.
“Not we, my lad,” growled Small. “I know. It’s bad gas.”
“It’s the sulphur,” cried Mark piteously.
“Well, aren’t that bad gas? I know. They’re just the same as if they was drowned, and we’ve got to pump their chesties full of wind till they begins to breathe as they ought to.”
Small’s ideas were doubtless quite correct, and fortunately but little effort was needed to bring the sufferers to their senses, for the fresh air soon recovered them, and they sat up looking wild and confused.
With the help of an arm to each they were soon able to walk back to the open mountain side, and after a rest declared themselves ready to proceed.
“I think we’ll go back away north of the hot springs,” the captain said.
“Certainly,” exclaimed the major with quite a sound of contrition in his voice.
“The jungle is dense, but I think with a little managing we can find our way.”
“Well, yes, perhaps so,” said the major. “It’s down hill, and half our way will be fairly open.”
“If it proves too dense we can but turn to the right and go back as we came,” said the captain. “There, Mark, you need not look so anxious. There is nothing worse the matter than a bad headache. How are you, major?”
“Horrible!” he said. “I have a bad headache, and a bad mental pain, for being so absurdly obstinate and running all that risk for the sake of a few crystals of sulphur.”
“Which, after all, you had to leave behind.”
“Not all,” said the major; “I had put a couple of lumps in my pocket when that overpowering vapour struck me down. My impression is—yes, of course, I remember clearly now—that where I broke the crystals away I must have opened a hole for the escape of the vapour.”
“I heard the hissing noise,” said Mark eagerly.
“Strong,” said the major, “I know you will forgive me; but, believe me, it will be a long time before I forgive myself. I can’t say much to you about thanks,” he whispered in a hoarse voice; “but I shall never forget this.”
“Nonsense, man, nonsense!” cried the captain warmly. “You would have done the same for me.”
No more was said, for there was plenty to do to keep together, and the various sights and sounds as they bore away to the east of the hot springs set the whole party well upon thequi vive.
For on every side there were traces of volcanic action. Now they had to climb over or round some mass of lava that looked comparatively new as seen beside fragments that were moss-grown and fringed with orchids and ferns. In one place on the steep descent all would be one tangled growth of creepers, while a little farther on the ground would be sharply inclined and as bare and burned as if fire had lately issued from the earth. Every now and then they came, too, upon soft patches of mud firm enough to walk over and like india-rubber beneath their feet; but it was nervous work, and they crossed with care, feeling, as they did, a curious vibration going on beneath their feet.
Then came an exceedingly rugged descent of quite a precipitous nature, but lovely in the extreme, so clothed was it with tropic verdure, though this was more beautiful to the eye than to the feet, for it often concealed treacherous crevices between blocks of scoria, and ugly cracks and rifts, some of which were dangerous, while others were awful from their depth and the low, hissing, murmuring sounds which came from their inmost recesses.
At last the descent became so precipitous that they were brought to a stand-still and all progress seemed to be at an end, till, searching about, Mark and Billy Widgeon came upon a broad gash in the mountain side at the bottom of which there seemed to be a long slope of the smooth, hard-surfaced mud apparently running downward toward the spot they sought.
The captain declared the descent practicable with care, and Mark took the lead, going down with plenty of agility, and closely followed by the little sailor.
At the end of a quarter of an hour they were all on the stony brink of what seemed to be a mud-stream which at some time had flowed down from out of a huge yawning chasm high up above their heads, and perfectly inaccessible from where they stood. According to all appearances, this mud in a thin state must have come down in a perfect cataract till it filled up the space beneath the chasm, which resembled a huge basin, as level as so much water, and when this had become full the stream had begun to form, and down this mud-stream they proposed to go, though how far it extended and would help them on their way experience alone could show.
They stood just at the edge of the pool to find that a walk upon its surface would be dangerous in the extreme, for though the top was elastic a stick was easily driven through, with the result that a jet of steam rushed out with a noise like that of a railway whistle, but the surface of the stream on being tested proved firmer, and they began to descend.
Again the same sense of insecurity was felt, the india-rubber-like film giving way easily and springing up again, while the old muttering and murmuring noises thrilled beneath their feet.
But so long as it would hold it proved to be a capital road, for while there was a wall of dense verdure on either side, not so much as a scrap of moss had taken root on the surface of the smooth slope, which wound in and out with the ravine, acting in fact as a stream of water does which runs down some mountain scar, save that here there was no progress. The mud had once been hot and fluid, and doubtless was still so, to some extent, below; but, after filling up every inequality, it kept to one regular level, forming what Mark at once dubbed Gutta-percha Lane.
It was now long past mid-day, and as they walked steadily on, growing more confident as the toughness of the bituminous mud, for such it proved to be, proved itself worthy of the trust it was called upon to bear, the question arose where the stream would end.
As far as the captain could make out, in spite of its zigzagging and abrupt curves, the course of the stream was decidedly towards the camp, but as they descended lower one thing was very plain, and that was that they were getting into thicker jungle, which grew taller and darker with every hundred feet of descent.
“How do you account for it?” Captain Strong said at last to the major, as they now found themselves walking down a winding road some fifteen to twenty feet wide, and with dense walls of verdure rising fully two hundred feet in height.
“I think there must have been a stream here, and at some time there has been an eruption and the mud has flowed down it and filled it up.”
“If there had been a stream,” the captain said, “we should have seen some sign of its outlet near the camp.”
“Then you have a theory of your own?”
“Yes,” said the captain; “it seems to me that first of all this was merely a jagged ravine, running from the mountain’s shoulder right down to the sea.”
“That’s what I thought. With a stream at the bottom.”
“No stream,” said the captain. “Nothing but vegetation. Down this a stream of red-hot lava must have flowed and burned the vegetation clean away, leaving a place for the mud to come down and harden as you have it now. It may have been a year after the eruption—twenty, fifty, or a hundred years, but there it is.”
“If you are right, we should see traces of the burning on the trees,” said the major.
“That does not follow. These trees may have sprung up since, right to the very edge of the stream, but no farther.”
“Then under this mud or bitumen there ought to be lava according to your ideas. How shall we prove it?”
“If I am right,” said the captain, “we shall find that this stream ends all at once, just as the lava hardened when the flow ceased, for there was no stream of volcanic matter right down to the shore.”
“And there is no stream of mud any further,” said Mark laughing; “for there’s the end.”
Mark was quite right, for about a couple of hundred yards below them the mighty walls of verdure suddenly came together and blocked out further progress, while, when they reached the spot, it was to find that the bituminous mud spread out here into a pool, further progress being, as it were, stopped by a dam of blackish rock which resembled so much solidified sponge, so full was it of air-holes and bubble-like cells.
“I am no geologist,” said the major, “so I give in to you, Strong. You must be right.”
“I think I am,” said the captain, quietly examining the rocky dam and the surface of the mud. “Yes, I should say that here is the explanation of this curious stream.”
“Then all I can say is,” said the major wiping his forehead, “that I wish the eruption had been a little bigger, and the lava stream had ended on the sands exactly one hundred yards from camp.”
“And the mud had flowed over it and made our road?” said Mark laughing.
“That goes without saying,” cried the major. “Now, then, I propose a halt and food.”
There was plenty of shade close at hand, but unfortunately no water. Still, a good rest and a hearty meal proved most grateful, and as soon as it was done the major lit a cigar, the captain, Small, and two of the men seemed to be dozing, and Mark and Billy Widgeon looked at them and then at each other.
“Going to do a bit o’ hammock work, Mr Mark, sir?” said Billy.
“I’m not sleepy.”
“More am I, sir. Let’s see if we can’t get some fruit.”
“All right!” cried Mark, jumping up.
“Don’t go far, my boy,” said the captain; and Mark started, for he had thought his father was asleep, while on looking at him he still lay back in the same position with his eyes closed.
“No, father, I won’t go far,” he said.
“Keep within range of a shout—well within range, for it’s very easy to get lost in one of these jungles, and we shall be too tired to hunt for you now.”
“I won’t go far,” said Mark; and he and Billy Widgeon began to walk slowly back along the stream, looking to left and right for a way between the trees into the jungle.
“You thought the skipper was asleep?” said Billy in a whisper. “Never ketches him asleep, as we all knows. It’s always t’other. So soon as one o’ us as ought to be awake goes off, he finds us out, and no mistake.”
Mark did not answer, and Billy went on:
“It’s my belief that when the skipper shuts his eyes he sets his ears to work to see and hear too. Ah, here we are! Here’s a place where we can go in. I say, Mr Mark, did you eat any o’ that cold treacle pooden?”
“No? Bill, I did not.”
“Good job, too, sir. It was cooked in one o’ they hot springs, and I’m blest if it didn’t taste like brimstone and treacle. Lor’, how thirsty I am! Wish I could find one o’ them wooden-box fruit.”
“What? cocoa-nuts?”
“No, sir: durings. They are good after all. Give’s your hand, my lad.” He bent down from a mass of basalt, which seemed to be the end of a rugged wall which penetrated the trees, and along which it was possible to climb more easily than to force a way through the dense growth which wove the trees together.
“I can manage, Billy,” said Mark. “Go on.”
Billy turned, and, apparently as active as if he had just started, he climbed on, parting the bushes that grew out of the interstices and holding them aside for Mark to clear them, and then on and on, without the sign of a fruit-tree or berry-bearing bush. The sun beat down through the overshadowing boughs, but the two had risen so high that the forest monarchs had become as it were dwarfed, and it was evident that they would soon be above them and able to look down on their tops.
“Why, Billy,” exclaimed Mark, “if we go on, we shall soon be able to see the sea, and the best way down to the camp.”
“Sure we shall, Mr Mark, sir,” said the little sailor, descending a sudden slope and helping Mark to follow, after which they wound in and out for about a quarter of an hour, thoroughly eager in their quest for a way to simplify the descent of the rest of the party.
All at once the captain’s final words came to memory, and Mark exclaimed:
“Here; we mustn’t go any farther, Billy. We’ll turn back now.”
“All right! Mr Mark, sir, we’ll soon do that; and then we can all come on this way together. We can show ’em now, eh?”
“Yes,” said Mark; “but let’s see, which way did we come? Along there, wasn’t it?”
“’Long there, Mr Mark, sir? No, not it. Why, we come this way, down by these rocks.”
“No, that couldn’t be right, Billy, because the sun was on our left when we turned round, and you helped me down that rock.”
“Was it, sir? Then it must be down here.”
Billy led the way and Mark followed; but at the end of a few minutes he called a halt.
“No, no; this can’t be right,” he cried, as he gazed about a wilderness of huge rocks and trees, where bushes sprang up on every hand.
“Well, do you know, Mr Mark, sir, that’s just what I was a-thinking,” said Billy. “I’ve been a-puzzling my head over that there block o’ stone as is standing atop o’ that tother one, and couldn’t recollect seeing of ’em afore.”
“No; it must be this way,” said Mark uneasily. “How stupid, to be sure! We must find our way back.”
“Why, of course, Mr Mark, sir; and we will; but it aren’t us as is stupid, it’s these here rocks and trees as is all alike, just as if they was brothers and sisters, or peas in a pod.”
“Don’t talk so,” said Mark angrily, as he realised more fully their position; and a sense of confusion made him petulant. “Let’s act and find our way. Now, then, which way does the mud-stream lie?”
Billy scratched his head, stared about, and then said softly:
“Well, sir, I’ll be blest if I know.”
And Mark thoroughly realised the fact that they were lost.
Chapter Thirty Seven.How Mark sought the Clue.Were you ever lost? Most probably not; and hence you will hardly be able to realise the strange sensation of loneliness, helplessness, and despair which comes over the spirit as the traveller finds that he missed his way and is probably beyond the reach of help in some wilderness, where he knows that he may go on tramping wearily until he lies down and dies.Mark Strong’s case was not so bad, but he felt it painfully for many reasons. Among others there was the knowledge that he had utterly forgotten the injunction given to him to take care and not go too far; while another was the dread that though they had been nominally searching all day for the strange beast that had caused so much alarm, and seen nothing, now that he and his companion were helpless they might possibly stumble upon its cave.“Oh, Billy, what have we been doing?” he cried impatiently.“Well, Mr Mark, sir, I don’t know as we’ve been doing o’ hanything pertickler.”“But we’ve lost our way.”“Well, yes, sir, I s’pose we’ve lost that there; but it don’t much matter—do it?”“Matter!—of course!” cried Mark angrily; and, as if born by nature to lead, he at once took the command and gave his orders. “Now, you climb to the top of that rock and see if you can make out the course we ought to take; and I’ll climb that one yonder.”“All right, Mr Mark, sir!” cried the little sailor, starting off.“And mind, we come back to this spot directly.”“Right, sir! we will.”“Then, off!”Mark slowly and painfully scaled the side of a steep sloped ravine, and when he reached the top, with the perspiration running down his cheeks, he looked round, to see trees, rocks, and the beautiful cone of the volcano.That was something; and he reasoned that if he turned his back to the mountain and walked straight down and onward, though he would not be able to join his party he would reach the shore.But no sooner had he arrived at this comforting assurance that he would have nothing to fear from starvation than all his hopes were dashed to the ground, as he realised the fact that, as soon as he descended from the giddy height at which he stood, he would lose sight of the mountain and have no guide; while to go straight on among the mighty moss-covered rocks, which were pitched helter-skelter all over the place, was as impossible as to go through the jungle without a gang of men with bill-hooks to hack a way among the dense undergrowth.Right, left, and before him he could see nothing that would suggest his having passed along there; and with his heart sinking he slowly climbed down part of the way, then reached a mossy stone which gave way beneath his feet and fell, while he followed, slipping down twenty feet, rolling another twenty; dropping sometimes into a thorny tangle of brambles, and dragging himself out, tattered, bleeding, and terribly out of temper, to walk slowly back to the spot from whence he and Billy Widgeon had started.“How thirsty I am!” he said to himself; and then he listened.All was horribly silent, and he called in a startled way, to be answered by a faint “Ahoy!”“This way, Billy!”There was again silence as Mark threw himself wearily on a mass of ferns; but after a time the rustling of boughs and breaking of twigs could be heard, and at last from apparently a long way off came Billy’s voice again:“Mr Mark, ahoy!”“Ahoy! This way!”Another pause, with the rustling of leaves and twigs continued, and Billy’s voice again:“Ahoy, my lad! Where are you?”“Here!”There was a low muttering as if Billy were talking to himself, and then another shout.“Here!” cried Mark again wearily.“Oh, there you are—are you?” cried the little sailor, struggling at last to his side. “I thought I was never going to get back. More you tries to find your way, more you loses it. I never see such a mess in my life! Why don’t they keep a gardener?”Wretched as he was, hot, weary, and smarting and stinging from scratches and pricks, Mark could not help laughing at the little sailor’s irritable manner.“Ah, you may laugh, my lad, a-lying all so comfortable there! but if you’d had such a slip as I did off a rock, and came down sitting on a thorn as big as a marlin’-spike, you wouldn’t show your white teeth like that!”“But I did, Billy,” cried Mark, going off into a wild roar of laughter; “and I’m horribly pricked and torn. But never mind that. Did you find the way back to them?”“Find your way back to ’em?—no. I never see such a muddle as the place is in. Every bit’s like every other bit; and when you mark down one tree, meaning to come back to it, and do come back to it, why it’s another tree just like the one you thought it was. I say, Mr Mark, sir, this place aren’t ’chanted—is it?”“Enchanted!—no. Why?”“I d’know, only it’s very queer like and puzzling. I can’t make it out a bit.”“Why, how do you mean?”“Mean as you can’t seem to box the compass like, and don’t know which way to steer, sir. I feels as if I should give it up.”“Give it up! What nonsense! Let’s rest a few minutes and start again.”“Oh, I don’t mind resting, sir; but I don’t want to have to sleep out here. Why, we’ve got nothing to eat, and no lights, and—no, I sha’n’t sit down, Mr Mark, sir. I don’t want to disobey orders, but seems to me as we’d better get back to what you called Gutta-percha Road.”“Now, look here, Billy, how can you be so stupid?” cried Mark pettishly. “You know I want to get back; but which way are we to go?”“Tell you what, sir, let’s cooey,” cried Billy, giving his leg a slap. “That’s the proper thing to do when you’re out in the woods.”“Well, cooey, then,” said Mark. “Go on.”“No, sir; you’d better do it,” said Billy modestly. “I aren’t practysed it much.”“Never mind; go on.”“I’d a deal rather you would, Mr Mark, sir.”“But I can’t. I never did such a thing in my life.”“Well, if it comes to that, sir, more didn’t I.”“And you said you hadn’t practised much.”“Well, sir, I haven’t,” said Billy coolly.“Billy, you’re a sham,” said Mark angrily.“All right, sir! I don’t mind.”“You get one into a muddle like this, and then are no use at all.”“No, sir. That’s about it,” said Billy coolly, and all the time as serious as a judge. “I wish we’d got Jack here!”“What’s the good of him?—to send up the trees after cocoa-nuts?”“Now, now, now, Mr Mark, sir, don’t be hard on a fellow! I did think as he’d send some down; and I believe now as he wouldn’t because I give him a cuff o’ the head that morning for sucking the end o’ my hankychy.”“Here, come along, and let’s keep together.”“All right, sir!”“Let’s get up to the top of that rock first. I think that’s where we came down.”“Nay, nay, Mr Mark, sir. I’m sure as that wasn’t the way. It was up that one.”“I’m certain it was not, Billy. It was this. Come along.”“All right, Mr Mark, sir! If you says that’s right, it’s quite enough for me. I’ll go anywheres you likes to lead; and I can’t say fairer than that—can I?”“No, Billy,” said Mark; “so come along.”He led the way, and they climbed by the help of the bushes and aerial roots of the trees right to the top of the rugged bank of rock he had marked down in his mind’s eye as being the way; and as soon as they were there they stopped and listened.“Perhaps they’re looking for us,” he said.“Shouldn’t wonder, Mr Mark, sir.”But though they listened there was no shout, no distant sound to suggest that a search was being made.“You talk about Jack,” said Mark; “I wish we had got poor old Bruff here! He would find the way home.”“But you see, Mr Mark, sir, it aren’t no use to wish. Lawk a me! sir, the number o’ things I’ve wished for in my life—’bacco, knives, a silver watch, silk hankychies, lots o’ things, but I never got ’em.”“Never mind them now. Let’s shout.”“With a will, then, sir, and put your back into it. One, two, three, and ahoy!”The peculiar duet rang out over the trees—a loud and piercing cry—and as it died away, Billy caught at Mark’s arm, and gripped it tightly; his eyes staring wildly, with the pupils dilating, as from some little distance off on one side there came a mocking “Ha—ha—ha!” and from the other direction a peculiar hoarse barking croak, which can best be expressed by the word “Wauck!”“Let’s get away from here, Mr Mark, sir,” whispered Billy. “I don’t like this.”“Get away?”“Yes, sir; they’re a-making fun of us.”“Who are?”“Oh, I don’t know who they are, sir, but it’s something. Let’s get away, sir, fast as we can.”“Which way?”“I d’know, sir, anyways as aren’t near them.”“Why, it was a couple of birds of some kind.”“What! them snorky bill birds?” said Billy, alluding to the hornbills.“Yes, I expect it was one of them, or a kingfisher.”“Birds!” said Billy in tones of disgust. “I never heerd no bird laugh at you when you was in trouble. I’m thinking as there’s things in this here place as it wouldn’t be nice to meet.”“I daresay there are, Billy; but these were birds.”“Birds! Hark at him! Would a bird shout to you to walk?”“It didn’t. It was a sort of croak.”“If we stops here I shall feel as if I’m going to croak, Mr Mark, sir. Why, them things made me feel cold all down my back.”“Nonsense! Come, shout again!”Billy shook his head.“Shout, I tell you. We don’t want to stop here all night.”“No, Mr Mark, sir; don’t, please don’t. It’s like showing ’em exactly where we are.”“Well, that’s what we want to do.”“No, sir, I don’t mean them. I meanthem.”“What! the birds?”“Them warn’t birds, Mr Mark, sir,” said Billy in a solemn whisper. “Don’t you believe it.”“What were they, then?”“Things as lives in woods, and never shows theirselves till people lies down and dies, and then they eats ’em.”“What do you mean? Vultures?”“No, no; not them. I know what a wultur is. These is different things to them. Let’s get away, sir, do.”“What do you mean, then?” persisted Mark. “Do you think there are goblins in the wood?”“Something o’ that sort, sir, but don’t speak out loud. They might hear, and not like it.”“But goblins out here wouldn’t understand English,” said Mark laughing; but all the same it was rather a forced laugh, for the little sailor’s evident dread was infectious.“I wouldn’t laugh if I was you, Mr Mark, sir. Come along.”“Shout,” cried Mark, ashamed of the shadow of cowardice which had begun to envelop him, and he gave forth a loud “Ahoy!”Ha—ha—ha!Wauck!The same two responses, but decidedly closer; and as Billy gripped the lad’s arm again they heard from out of the darkest part of the jungle close by a peculiar chuckling, as if some one were thoroughly enjoying their predicament.“Did yer hear that?” whispered Billy, whose sun-tanned visage was now quite pallid and mottled with muddy grey.“Yes, I heard it, of course,” said Mark, fighting hard with his growing alarm, “Ahoy!”Ha—ha—ha!Wauck!And then the same peculiar low chuckle.“Mr Mark, sir, this is hard on a man,” whispered Billy. “I want to run away, sir, but—”“Ugh! You coward!”“No, sir, I aren’t a coward. If I was I should run, but I can’t run and leave you alone, and that’s why it’s so hard.”“I tell you it’s the birds, Billy. Let’s shout together.”“That aren’t no birds, sir. It’s things as it’s best not to talk about. Now, look ye here, Mr Mark, sir: I’ll run away with you, and fight for you, or do anything you like, sir, or I stands by you till I drops, so don’t say I’m a coward.”“You are, to be afraid of birds. Ahoy!”Ha—ha—ha!Wauck!Chuckle—chuckle—chuckle! A regular gurgle in a hoarse throat.“I won’t stand it. You come on,” cried Billy, seizing Mark by the hand. “This way.”Mark did not resist, and the little sailor hurried him along as fast as the nature of the ground would allow; and with the full intention of going right towards where they had left the others, at the end of the bitumen river, he went right in the opposite direction, and farther and farther into the wildest recesses of the jungle.
Were you ever lost? Most probably not; and hence you will hardly be able to realise the strange sensation of loneliness, helplessness, and despair which comes over the spirit as the traveller finds that he missed his way and is probably beyond the reach of help in some wilderness, where he knows that he may go on tramping wearily until he lies down and dies.
Mark Strong’s case was not so bad, but he felt it painfully for many reasons. Among others there was the knowledge that he had utterly forgotten the injunction given to him to take care and not go too far; while another was the dread that though they had been nominally searching all day for the strange beast that had caused so much alarm, and seen nothing, now that he and his companion were helpless they might possibly stumble upon its cave.
“Oh, Billy, what have we been doing?” he cried impatiently.
“Well, Mr Mark, sir, I don’t know as we’ve been doing o’ hanything pertickler.”
“But we’ve lost our way.”
“Well, yes, sir, I s’pose we’ve lost that there; but it don’t much matter—do it?”
“Matter!—of course!” cried Mark angrily; and, as if born by nature to lead, he at once took the command and gave his orders. “Now, you climb to the top of that rock and see if you can make out the course we ought to take; and I’ll climb that one yonder.”
“All right, Mr Mark, sir!” cried the little sailor, starting off.
“And mind, we come back to this spot directly.”
“Right, sir! we will.”
“Then, off!”
Mark slowly and painfully scaled the side of a steep sloped ravine, and when he reached the top, with the perspiration running down his cheeks, he looked round, to see trees, rocks, and the beautiful cone of the volcano.
That was something; and he reasoned that if he turned his back to the mountain and walked straight down and onward, though he would not be able to join his party he would reach the shore.
But no sooner had he arrived at this comforting assurance that he would have nothing to fear from starvation than all his hopes were dashed to the ground, as he realised the fact that, as soon as he descended from the giddy height at which he stood, he would lose sight of the mountain and have no guide; while to go straight on among the mighty moss-covered rocks, which were pitched helter-skelter all over the place, was as impossible as to go through the jungle without a gang of men with bill-hooks to hack a way among the dense undergrowth.
Right, left, and before him he could see nothing that would suggest his having passed along there; and with his heart sinking he slowly climbed down part of the way, then reached a mossy stone which gave way beneath his feet and fell, while he followed, slipping down twenty feet, rolling another twenty; dropping sometimes into a thorny tangle of brambles, and dragging himself out, tattered, bleeding, and terribly out of temper, to walk slowly back to the spot from whence he and Billy Widgeon had started.
“How thirsty I am!” he said to himself; and then he listened.
All was horribly silent, and he called in a startled way, to be answered by a faint “Ahoy!”
“This way, Billy!”
There was again silence as Mark threw himself wearily on a mass of ferns; but after a time the rustling of boughs and breaking of twigs could be heard, and at last from apparently a long way off came Billy’s voice again:
“Mr Mark, ahoy!”
“Ahoy! This way!”
Another pause, with the rustling of leaves and twigs continued, and Billy’s voice again:
“Ahoy, my lad! Where are you?”
“Here!”
There was a low muttering as if Billy were talking to himself, and then another shout.
“Here!” cried Mark again wearily.
“Oh, there you are—are you?” cried the little sailor, struggling at last to his side. “I thought I was never going to get back. More you tries to find your way, more you loses it. I never see such a mess in my life! Why don’t they keep a gardener?”
Wretched as he was, hot, weary, and smarting and stinging from scratches and pricks, Mark could not help laughing at the little sailor’s irritable manner.
“Ah, you may laugh, my lad, a-lying all so comfortable there! but if you’d had such a slip as I did off a rock, and came down sitting on a thorn as big as a marlin’-spike, you wouldn’t show your white teeth like that!”
“But I did, Billy,” cried Mark, going off into a wild roar of laughter; “and I’m horribly pricked and torn. But never mind that. Did you find the way back to them?”
“Find your way back to ’em?—no. I never see such a muddle as the place is in. Every bit’s like every other bit; and when you mark down one tree, meaning to come back to it, and do come back to it, why it’s another tree just like the one you thought it was. I say, Mr Mark, sir, this place aren’t ’chanted—is it?”
“Enchanted!—no. Why?”
“I d’know, only it’s very queer like and puzzling. I can’t make it out a bit.”
“Why, how do you mean?”
“Mean as you can’t seem to box the compass like, and don’t know which way to steer, sir. I feels as if I should give it up.”
“Give it up! What nonsense! Let’s rest a few minutes and start again.”
“Oh, I don’t mind resting, sir; but I don’t want to have to sleep out here. Why, we’ve got nothing to eat, and no lights, and—no, I sha’n’t sit down, Mr Mark, sir. I don’t want to disobey orders, but seems to me as we’d better get back to what you called Gutta-percha Road.”
“Now, look here, Billy, how can you be so stupid?” cried Mark pettishly. “You know I want to get back; but which way are we to go?”
“Tell you what, sir, let’s cooey,” cried Billy, giving his leg a slap. “That’s the proper thing to do when you’re out in the woods.”
“Well, cooey, then,” said Mark. “Go on.”
“No, sir; you’d better do it,” said Billy modestly. “I aren’t practysed it much.”
“Never mind; go on.”
“I’d a deal rather you would, Mr Mark, sir.”
“But I can’t. I never did such a thing in my life.”
“Well, if it comes to that, sir, more didn’t I.”
“And you said you hadn’t practised much.”
“Well, sir, I haven’t,” said Billy coolly.
“Billy, you’re a sham,” said Mark angrily.
“All right, sir! I don’t mind.”
“You get one into a muddle like this, and then are no use at all.”
“No, sir. That’s about it,” said Billy coolly, and all the time as serious as a judge. “I wish we’d got Jack here!”
“What’s the good of him?—to send up the trees after cocoa-nuts?”
“Now, now, now, Mr Mark, sir, don’t be hard on a fellow! I did think as he’d send some down; and I believe now as he wouldn’t because I give him a cuff o’ the head that morning for sucking the end o’ my hankychy.”
“Here, come along, and let’s keep together.”
“All right, sir!”
“Let’s get up to the top of that rock first. I think that’s where we came down.”
“Nay, nay, Mr Mark, sir. I’m sure as that wasn’t the way. It was up that one.”
“I’m certain it was not, Billy. It was this. Come along.”
“All right, Mr Mark, sir! If you says that’s right, it’s quite enough for me. I’ll go anywheres you likes to lead; and I can’t say fairer than that—can I?”
“No, Billy,” said Mark; “so come along.”
He led the way, and they climbed by the help of the bushes and aerial roots of the trees right to the top of the rugged bank of rock he had marked down in his mind’s eye as being the way; and as soon as they were there they stopped and listened.
“Perhaps they’re looking for us,” he said.
“Shouldn’t wonder, Mr Mark, sir.”
But though they listened there was no shout, no distant sound to suggest that a search was being made.
“You talk about Jack,” said Mark; “I wish we had got poor old Bruff here! He would find the way home.”
“But you see, Mr Mark, sir, it aren’t no use to wish. Lawk a me! sir, the number o’ things I’ve wished for in my life—’bacco, knives, a silver watch, silk hankychies, lots o’ things, but I never got ’em.”
“Never mind them now. Let’s shout.”
“With a will, then, sir, and put your back into it. One, two, three, and ahoy!”
The peculiar duet rang out over the trees—a loud and piercing cry—and as it died away, Billy caught at Mark’s arm, and gripped it tightly; his eyes staring wildly, with the pupils dilating, as from some little distance off on one side there came a mocking “Ha—ha—ha!” and from the other direction a peculiar hoarse barking croak, which can best be expressed by the word “Wauck!”
“Let’s get away from here, Mr Mark, sir,” whispered Billy. “I don’t like this.”
“Get away?”
“Yes, sir; they’re a-making fun of us.”
“Who are?”
“Oh, I don’t know who they are, sir, but it’s something. Let’s get away, sir, fast as we can.”
“Which way?”
“I d’know, sir, anyways as aren’t near them.”
“Why, it was a couple of birds of some kind.”
“What! them snorky bill birds?” said Billy, alluding to the hornbills.
“Yes, I expect it was one of them, or a kingfisher.”
“Birds!” said Billy in tones of disgust. “I never heerd no bird laugh at you when you was in trouble. I’m thinking as there’s things in this here place as it wouldn’t be nice to meet.”
“I daresay there are, Billy; but these were birds.”
“Birds! Hark at him! Would a bird shout to you to walk?”
“It didn’t. It was a sort of croak.”
“If we stops here I shall feel as if I’m going to croak, Mr Mark, sir. Why, them things made me feel cold all down my back.”
“Nonsense! Come, shout again!”
Billy shook his head.
“Shout, I tell you. We don’t want to stop here all night.”
“No, Mr Mark, sir; don’t, please don’t. It’s like showing ’em exactly where we are.”
“Well, that’s what we want to do.”
“No, sir, I don’t mean them. I meanthem.”
“What! the birds?”
“Them warn’t birds, Mr Mark, sir,” said Billy in a solemn whisper. “Don’t you believe it.”
“What were they, then?”
“Things as lives in woods, and never shows theirselves till people lies down and dies, and then they eats ’em.”
“What do you mean? Vultures?”
“No, no; not them. I know what a wultur is. These is different things to them. Let’s get away, sir, do.”
“What do you mean, then?” persisted Mark. “Do you think there are goblins in the wood?”
“Something o’ that sort, sir, but don’t speak out loud. They might hear, and not like it.”
“But goblins out here wouldn’t understand English,” said Mark laughing; but all the same it was rather a forced laugh, for the little sailor’s evident dread was infectious.
“I wouldn’t laugh if I was you, Mr Mark, sir. Come along.”
“Shout,” cried Mark, ashamed of the shadow of cowardice which had begun to envelop him, and he gave forth a loud “Ahoy!”
Ha—ha—ha!
Wauck!
The same two responses, but decidedly closer; and as Billy gripped the lad’s arm again they heard from out of the darkest part of the jungle close by a peculiar chuckling, as if some one were thoroughly enjoying their predicament.
“Did yer hear that?” whispered Billy, whose sun-tanned visage was now quite pallid and mottled with muddy grey.
“Yes, I heard it, of course,” said Mark, fighting hard with his growing alarm, “Ahoy!”
Ha—ha—ha!
Wauck!
And then the same peculiar low chuckle.
“Mr Mark, sir, this is hard on a man,” whispered Billy. “I want to run away, sir, but—”
“Ugh! You coward!”
“No, sir, I aren’t a coward. If I was I should run, but I can’t run and leave you alone, and that’s why it’s so hard.”
“I tell you it’s the birds, Billy. Let’s shout together.”
“That aren’t no birds, sir. It’s things as it’s best not to talk about. Now, look ye here, Mr Mark, sir: I’ll run away with you, and fight for you, or do anything you like, sir, or I stands by you till I drops, so don’t say I’m a coward.”
“You are, to be afraid of birds. Ahoy!”
Ha—ha—ha!
Wauck!
Chuckle—chuckle—chuckle! A regular gurgle in a hoarse throat.
“I won’t stand it. You come on,” cried Billy, seizing Mark by the hand. “This way.”
Mark did not resist, and the little sailor hurried him along as fast as the nature of the ground would allow; and with the full intention of going right towards where they had left the others, at the end of the bitumen river, he went right in the opposite direction, and farther and farther into the wildest recesses of the jungle.
Chapter Thirty Eight.How Mark and Billy found a strange Bed.For a good half-hour they toiled on through cane-woven thickets, in and out of wildernesses of huge tree-trunks, many of which had great flat buttresses all round, which were difficult to climb over or round, while other trees seemed to be growing with their roots all above ground, green, snaky, twisted and involved roots, that necessitated sheer climbing before they could get by. Now and then they came to an opening where the trees had been burned down by volcanic fires, and here all was light and beauty in the evening sunshine. Again rocky crevices ran through the forest, giving them terribly hard work to get over, perhaps to come at once upon some boiling spring, whose water, where it trickled away and cooled, was of a filthy bitter taste that was most objectionable. Then again there were blistering pools of mud ever rising in a high ebullition, and bursting with strange sounds.But all these were similar to those they had before encountered, and the hiss of steam, when they stepped upon some soft spot, ceased to alarm them with dread of serpents, but merely made them avoid such spots in favour of firmer ground.Such signs of the volcanic nature of the isle were constant, and no matter which way they dragged their weary steps it was to find tokens of the active or quiescent workings of the subterranean fires.At last, just as they were ready to drop, and the sun was rapidly disappearing, as the ruddy sky in the west plainly showed, they staggered out of a more than usually painful part of the jungle into a rugged stony opening, with the rock rising nearly sheer for hundreds of feet, and to the intense delight of both, the ruddy light of the sky was reflected from a rock pool, which glowed as if it were brimming with molten orange gold.“Water!” gasped Billy. “Come on.”“Be careful!” panted Mark; “it may be bitter or hot.”As he spoke the little sailor threw himself down, and plunged his fist within, scooped out a little, tasted it, and then uttered a shout of joy.“Drink, my lad,” he said hoarsely, and Mark followed his example, placing his lips to the surface as he lay flat down and took in long refreshing draughts of cool sweet water that seemed the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.“Talk about grog!” cried Billy, as he raised his face to take breath, and then he drank again; “I never had grog as come up to this,” he continued. “Ah!”Satisfied at length, they sat there at the edge of the pool looking up at the rocky scarp before them, part of which glowed in the sunlight reflected from the sky, while the rest down by where they sat was bathed in purply shadows which were rising fast.“Seems to me, my lad, as we must look out for a night’s lodging. What says you?”“Yes, Billy, we must get some shelter for the night. But let’s try one more shout.”The little sailor protested, but Mark raised his voice as loudly as he could in a stentorian “Ahoy!” and as if the occupants of the forest had kept close upon their heels there came the same sneering laugh, and the hoarse croaking cry from among the trees.“There! see what you’ve done!” groaned Billy. “Who’s to go to sleep anywhere near here if they’re arter us?”“Nonsense!” cried Mark. “They’ll go to roost directly, and we sha’n’t hear them again.”“Roost! Nay, lad, that sort o’ thing never roosts. Let’s get on.”“Get on! why, it will be dark directly, and we shall be falling down some precipice, or getting into one of those horrible bogs. We must get some shelter where we can.”There seemed to be no difficulty about that, for a few feet up the face of the rock, and where it could easily be reached, there was a depression which looked as if two huge blocks of stone had fallen together, one leaning against the other, and as, after a great deal of persuasion, Billy Widgeon climbed up to it with his companion, they found this really to be the case, save that instead of its being two blocks of stone it was two beds of strata lying together, in such a position that they formed a cavern some ten-feet high and as many wide, and with a peculiarly ribbed and cracked floor.It was rapidly growing too dark to see of what this floor was composed, the gloom being quite deep as soon as they were inside. Neither could they explore the interior, though it seemed to form a passage going in for some distance; but a careful searching of the floor and the neighbourhood of the entrance failed to show them the slightest trace of animal occupation.“But it’s very risky work, Mr Mark, sir, coming and settling down in a rat’s hole of a place like this.”“My dear Billy, if you can show me a better place, one where we shall be in shelter from the rain and the heavy dew, I shall be glad to go to it. I don’t like sleeping on stone floors.”“Well, for the matter o’ that, I daresay I can get enough o’ them big leaves, nice dry uns, to make you a bed, Mr Mark, sir, and I will. But hadn’t we better try somewheres else?”“There will not be time, man,” cried Mark angrily.“All right, Mr Mark, sir! but don’t you blame me if anything happens.”“No. Come along, and let’s be thankful for finding such a shelter. We may as well get as many leaves as we can.”They found time to collect three loads of large dry palm leaves, and as they carried the last armful into the rocky hole, the night was quite closed in, and the crescent moon shone over the trees and silvered their tops faintly, while a soft wind whispered among them and reached the nostrils of the occupants of the cave, bearing with it the peculiar salt strange odour of the sea.“Say,” said Billy, as they sat upon their heaps of palm leaves gazing out of the mouth of their resting-place, “think of our being ’bliged to stop in a hole like this when you can smell the sea.”“Not a bad place,” said Mark; “and I wouldn’t mind if I could feel sure that my father and mother were not in trouble about me.”“My father and mother wouldn’t trouble about me,” said Billy, “even if they know’d. But do you really think it was birds as made those noises, Mr Mark, sir?”“I feel sure it was.”“I wish we was birds just now. How we could fly right over the wood and get back to the camp! Wonder what’s for supper?”“Birds,” said Mark, stretching himself in a comfortable position upon the palm leaves, and gazing at the great stars in the purple sky.“Ah, yes,” said Billy, “birds! and they’ll be roasting at the fire now, and spittering and sputtering, and smelling as nice as roast birds can smell. I wish we was in camp.”He sighed and stretched himself on the leaves, grunting a little as he felt the hard rock through.“Aren’t you very hungry, Mr Mark, sir?”“No; I feel too fidgety about my father looking for us to want any food.”“Ah, it’s a bad thing to—Yah!—hah—hah—hah!”Billy finished his sentence with a tremendous yawn, and then rustled the leaves as he tucked some more of them beneath him.“Roast birds,” he muttered; “and then there’ll be some o’ them big oyster things all cooked up in their shells!”Mark did not answer, for though in his mind’s eye he saw the camp fire, he did not see the cooking, but the cooks, and thought of how anxious his mother would be.“I should have said they was mussels,” said Billy, in a low voice.“What, Billy?”“Them shell-fish, sir, more like oysterses than—I mean more like muss—muzzles—oysters—muzzles—muzzles!”Mark raised himself upon his arm and looked at his companion, who was dimly-seen in the starlight.“Why, Billy, what’s the matter?” he said. “Sleeping uneasy?”“Easy it is, sir. Eh? Sleep. No, Mr Mark, sir. What say?—sleep, sir. No; wide-awake as you are, sir.”“That’s right,” said Mark, gazing out once more at the softly glowing stars. The crescent moon had gone down in a bed of clouds, and all around the darkness seemed to grow deeper and softer, till it was as if it could be touched, and everything was wonderfully still, save when there came from the distance a sharp whistling that might have been from a bird, but was more probably escaping steam.Now and then Mark could see strange lights glowing, and then feel a tremulous motion such as would be felt at home when a vehicle was passing the house, and as if this might be thunder, it was generally after he had noticed a flashing light playing over the trees, sometimes bright enough to reveal their shapes, but as a rule so faint as to be hardly seen.He thought about his father going back wearied out with a long search. Then he wondered whether he had gone back, and at last the idea struck him as strange that the party had not fired a gun at intervals to attract their attention.He had just arrived at this point, and was considering whether a light he saw was a luminous fungus, when a strange noise saluted his ear, a sound that for the moment he supposed to have come from the forest. Then it seemed to be in the cave, and he was about to spring up, when he realised that the noise was made by Billy Widgeon, who was too tired to let his nervous and superstitious dread trouble him any more, and was now sleeping as heavily as if he were in his bunk on board thePetrel.Mark felt a curious sensation of irritation against a man who could go off to sleep so calmly at a time like this, but the man’s words came to mind about his father and mother, and at last Mark was fain to say to himself, “If the poor fellow can sleep why shouldn’t he?”For his own part he had quite come to the determination that he would get what rest he could as he lay awake watching, for he knew that, anxious as he was, it would be impossible to sleep. Besides, he wanted to listen for the possibility of a signal being made. A gun fired would, he knew, be heard an enormous distance, and it would give him an idea of the direction in which the camp lay.All this while Billy Widgeon lay snoring loudly, but by degrees, as Mark watched the stars that seemed to float over the jungle, the heavy breathing became less heavy, and by slow degrees softer and softer till it quite died away, and all was perfectly still to Mark Strong as he lay watching there.But it was only in imagination that he watched, for nature had played a trick upon the lad, and in spite of his determination to keep awake, in spite of his anxiety, had poured her drowsy medicine upon his eyes.For Mark had fallen into as deep a sleep as his companion.
For a good half-hour they toiled on through cane-woven thickets, in and out of wildernesses of huge tree-trunks, many of which had great flat buttresses all round, which were difficult to climb over or round, while other trees seemed to be growing with their roots all above ground, green, snaky, twisted and involved roots, that necessitated sheer climbing before they could get by. Now and then they came to an opening where the trees had been burned down by volcanic fires, and here all was light and beauty in the evening sunshine. Again rocky crevices ran through the forest, giving them terribly hard work to get over, perhaps to come at once upon some boiling spring, whose water, where it trickled away and cooled, was of a filthy bitter taste that was most objectionable. Then again there were blistering pools of mud ever rising in a high ebullition, and bursting with strange sounds.
But all these were similar to those they had before encountered, and the hiss of steam, when they stepped upon some soft spot, ceased to alarm them with dread of serpents, but merely made them avoid such spots in favour of firmer ground.
Such signs of the volcanic nature of the isle were constant, and no matter which way they dragged their weary steps it was to find tokens of the active or quiescent workings of the subterranean fires.
At last, just as they were ready to drop, and the sun was rapidly disappearing, as the ruddy sky in the west plainly showed, they staggered out of a more than usually painful part of the jungle into a rugged stony opening, with the rock rising nearly sheer for hundreds of feet, and to the intense delight of both, the ruddy light of the sky was reflected from a rock pool, which glowed as if it were brimming with molten orange gold.
“Water!” gasped Billy. “Come on.”
“Be careful!” panted Mark; “it may be bitter or hot.”
As he spoke the little sailor threw himself down, and plunged his fist within, scooped out a little, tasted it, and then uttered a shout of joy.
“Drink, my lad,” he said hoarsely, and Mark followed his example, placing his lips to the surface as he lay flat down and took in long refreshing draughts of cool sweet water that seemed the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.
“Talk about grog!” cried Billy, as he raised his face to take breath, and then he drank again; “I never had grog as come up to this,” he continued. “Ah!”
Satisfied at length, they sat there at the edge of the pool looking up at the rocky scarp before them, part of which glowed in the sunlight reflected from the sky, while the rest down by where they sat was bathed in purply shadows which were rising fast.
“Seems to me, my lad, as we must look out for a night’s lodging. What says you?”
“Yes, Billy, we must get some shelter for the night. But let’s try one more shout.”
The little sailor protested, but Mark raised his voice as loudly as he could in a stentorian “Ahoy!” and as if the occupants of the forest had kept close upon their heels there came the same sneering laugh, and the hoarse croaking cry from among the trees.
“There! see what you’ve done!” groaned Billy. “Who’s to go to sleep anywhere near here if they’re arter us?”
“Nonsense!” cried Mark. “They’ll go to roost directly, and we sha’n’t hear them again.”
“Roost! Nay, lad, that sort o’ thing never roosts. Let’s get on.”
“Get on! why, it will be dark directly, and we shall be falling down some precipice, or getting into one of those horrible bogs. We must get some shelter where we can.”
There seemed to be no difficulty about that, for a few feet up the face of the rock, and where it could easily be reached, there was a depression which looked as if two huge blocks of stone had fallen together, one leaning against the other, and as, after a great deal of persuasion, Billy Widgeon climbed up to it with his companion, they found this really to be the case, save that instead of its being two blocks of stone it was two beds of strata lying together, in such a position that they formed a cavern some ten-feet high and as many wide, and with a peculiarly ribbed and cracked floor.
It was rapidly growing too dark to see of what this floor was composed, the gloom being quite deep as soon as they were inside. Neither could they explore the interior, though it seemed to form a passage going in for some distance; but a careful searching of the floor and the neighbourhood of the entrance failed to show them the slightest trace of animal occupation.
“But it’s very risky work, Mr Mark, sir, coming and settling down in a rat’s hole of a place like this.”
“My dear Billy, if you can show me a better place, one where we shall be in shelter from the rain and the heavy dew, I shall be glad to go to it. I don’t like sleeping on stone floors.”
“Well, for the matter o’ that, I daresay I can get enough o’ them big leaves, nice dry uns, to make you a bed, Mr Mark, sir, and I will. But hadn’t we better try somewheres else?”
“There will not be time, man,” cried Mark angrily.
“All right, Mr Mark, sir! but don’t you blame me if anything happens.”
“No. Come along, and let’s be thankful for finding such a shelter. We may as well get as many leaves as we can.”
They found time to collect three loads of large dry palm leaves, and as they carried the last armful into the rocky hole, the night was quite closed in, and the crescent moon shone over the trees and silvered their tops faintly, while a soft wind whispered among them and reached the nostrils of the occupants of the cave, bearing with it the peculiar salt strange odour of the sea.
“Say,” said Billy, as they sat upon their heaps of palm leaves gazing out of the mouth of their resting-place, “think of our being ’bliged to stop in a hole like this when you can smell the sea.”
“Not a bad place,” said Mark; “and I wouldn’t mind if I could feel sure that my father and mother were not in trouble about me.”
“My father and mother wouldn’t trouble about me,” said Billy, “even if they know’d. But do you really think it was birds as made those noises, Mr Mark, sir?”
“I feel sure it was.”
“I wish we was birds just now. How we could fly right over the wood and get back to the camp! Wonder what’s for supper?”
“Birds,” said Mark, stretching himself in a comfortable position upon the palm leaves, and gazing at the great stars in the purple sky.
“Ah, yes,” said Billy, “birds! and they’ll be roasting at the fire now, and spittering and sputtering, and smelling as nice as roast birds can smell. I wish we was in camp.”
He sighed and stretched himself on the leaves, grunting a little as he felt the hard rock through.
“Aren’t you very hungry, Mr Mark, sir?”
“No; I feel too fidgety about my father looking for us to want any food.”
“Ah, it’s a bad thing to—Yah!—hah—hah—hah!”
Billy finished his sentence with a tremendous yawn, and then rustled the leaves as he tucked some more of them beneath him.
“Roast birds,” he muttered; “and then there’ll be some o’ them big oyster things all cooked up in their shells!”
Mark did not answer, for though in his mind’s eye he saw the camp fire, he did not see the cooking, but the cooks, and thought of how anxious his mother would be.
“I should have said they was mussels,” said Billy, in a low voice.
“What, Billy?”
“Them shell-fish, sir, more like oysterses than—I mean more like muss—muzzles—oysters—muzzles—muzzles!”
Mark raised himself upon his arm and looked at his companion, who was dimly-seen in the starlight.
“Why, Billy, what’s the matter?” he said. “Sleeping uneasy?”
“Easy it is, sir. Eh? Sleep. No, Mr Mark, sir. What say?—sleep, sir. No; wide-awake as you are, sir.”
“That’s right,” said Mark, gazing out once more at the softly glowing stars. The crescent moon had gone down in a bed of clouds, and all around the darkness seemed to grow deeper and softer, till it was as if it could be touched, and everything was wonderfully still, save when there came from the distance a sharp whistling that might have been from a bird, but was more probably escaping steam.
Now and then Mark could see strange lights glowing, and then feel a tremulous motion such as would be felt at home when a vehicle was passing the house, and as if this might be thunder, it was generally after he had noticed a flashing light playing over the trees, sometimes bright enough to reveal their shapes, but as a rule so faint as to be hardly seen.
He thought about his father going back wearied out with a long search. Then he wondered whether he had gone back, and at last the idea struck him as strange that the party had not fired a gun at intervals to attract their attention.
He had just arrived at this point, and was considering whether a light he saw was a luminous fungus, when a strange noise saluted his ear, a sound that for the moment he supposed to have come from the forest. Then it seemed to be in the cave, and he was about to spring up, when he realised that the noise was made by Billy Widgeon, who was too tired to let his nervous and superstitious dread trouble him any more, and was now sleeping as heavily as if he were in his bunk on board thePetrel.
Mark felt a curious sensation of irritation against a man who could go off to sleep so calmly at a time like this, but the man’s words came to mind about his father and mother, and at last Mark was fain to say to himself, “If the poor fellow can sleep why shouldn’t he?”
For his own part he had quite come to the determination that he would get what rest he could as he lay awake watching, for he knew that, anxious as he was, it would be impossible to sleep. Besides, he wanted to listen for the possibility of a signal being made. A gun fired would, he knew, be heard an enormous distance, and it would give him an idea of the direction in which the camp lay.
All this while Billy Widgeon lay snoring loudly, but by degrees, as Mark watched the stars that seemed to float over the jungle, the heavy breathing became less heavy, and by slow degrees softer and softer till it quite died away, and all was perfectly still to Mark Strong as he lay watching there.
But it was only in imagination that he watched, for nature had played a trick upon the lad, and in spite of his determination to keep awake, in spite of his anxiety, had poured her drowsy medicine upon his eyes.
For Mark had fallen into as deep a sleep as his companion.