Chapter 9. Beyond The Curtain

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_ CHAPTER NINE. BEYOND THE CURTAIN

Oliver Lane's sensations were for the moment horrible. He knew now that the steamy vapour into which they had penetrated must be full of gas perilous to human life--that the emanations from the volcanic soil were asphyxiating, and he completely lost his head, and tottered feebly here and there.

But in a few moments this passed off, for he made a desperate effort to command himself, knowing full well that if he did not act his case was hopeless. His only chance was, he knew, to rush out through the mist into pure air. But which way? He had lost all idea of the direction by which he had come; he dare not stoop down, and try to trace his foot-prints, because of the vapour being certainly more dense and dangerous closer to the surface, and all that was feasible was to make a rush, chancing whether it was forward into greater danger, to right or left, hoping only that his instinct would lead him back by the way he came.

Strong now in his intention, he drew a hot stifling breath, set his teeth and ran for a few yards; then staggered a few more, growing blind, and feeling that his senses were fast leaving him. Then his brain throbbed, a peculiar trembling weakness came over him, and, almost unconsciously, he tottered along a few steps more, reeled, and fell heavily upon the ground.

His senses did not quite leave him, for he knew that he was trying to crawl through what seemed to him to be something like soft liquid opal, with its wonderfully bright tints before his eyes, bluish, golden, creamy, fiery, and pale, then there was a darkening around them as if he were crawling into shadow; and again, directly after, as it appeared, he could see a bright glow, toward which he involuntarily struggled, for it was an instinctive effort now to preserve his life. And as he crawled onward, the glow grew brighter, he could breathe more freely, and the light gradually assumed the hue of bright sunshine, where he fell passive beneath the dense foliage of a huge tree.

Everything was very dreamy now for a time. His head throbbed and felt confused, and a sickly, deathly sensation made his brain reel. By degrees this passed away, and he lay gazing at the strange opalescent something through which he felt that he had passed, and by degrees he realised that he was watching the great curtain of mist made glorious by the sunshine, and easily understood now why, in his strange semi-insensibility, this had seemed to be a liquid through which he had crawled while breathing the strange mephitic air.

"Then I did go in the right direction," was his next thought, as he still lay feeble and languid, and as if regaining his senses after taking some powerful opiate.

He felt a kind of satisfaction at this, and luxuriously drew in great draughts of soft warm air. For it was a delight to breathe freely, and lie there without making any exertion. The trees were so green and bright, and the flowers of such delicious tints, especially those he could see climbing up and up, and spreading their wealth of blossoms in one spot, till that was one lovely sheet of colour.

"It doesn't matter."

These words pretty well expressed Oliver Lane's thoughts for some time before he attempted to move. The past, save and except the dim memory of his having been in some trouble in a mist and losing his way, had no existence for him, and the young man lay there in a state of the most intense egotism, utterly prostrate, but supremely content.

Then all at once there was a change.

He felt a sensation of discomfort, and his hand began to stray about him, and he found that his double-barrelled gun, slung by a strap across his shoulders, was beneath his back, and the lock was pressing against his ribs.

He changed his position so as to lay the gun beside him, and the movement shot an acute pain through his head.

It did more; it sent a pang of mental agony through his brain; and he scrambled up to his knees, to bend down, pressing his hands to the sides of his head as if to keep it from splitting apart as he recalled all now, and stared wildly about him in search of his companions.

The sensation of selfish enjoyment had all passed away, and he was in full possession of his faculties.

He had found his way back, then, out of the mist, but where were they?

No; he was wrong; he had not found his way back as he fancied at first, for where they entered the land around was burned up and bare; here everything was glorious with tropic growth; there were lovely butterflies, inches across the wing, and metallic in tint; brightly plumaged birds, too, were darting past his eyes. He must have passed right through the mist to the farther side and reached the place they sought.

He involuntarily turned, and there, about a couple of miles away apparently, and rising far up in the clear blue sky, with a huge ball-like cloud suspended above the conical top, was the great volcano, bare, stern, and repellent, without a scrap of verdure to relieve the eye. It stood up tremendous in height, and in his rapid glance Oliver Lane could see how all round had been blackened, or charred into a greyish ash-colour, save in two places, where broad blackish bands reached from a chasm near the top of the crater, right down the sides, till they were hidden by the tall trees still standing, and apparently spreading from the gentle eminence upon which he knelt for about a mile.

Where, then, were his friends, he asked himself, and recovering his feet now, he had to seize the nearest bough and hold on, for a sudden giddiness assailed him, and he nearly fell. But this passed off in a few moments, and he stood looking round to see if they too had passed through.

But as far as he could see, he was alone in an open jungly spot, teeming with all that was bright and beautiful in nature, and shut off from his companions by the curtain of mist they had set out to pierce.

He hailed and hailed again as loudly as he could, and a faint cry answered him, but a few repetitions made him aware of the fact that it was only his own voice, echoed back from the mountain-side, and a strange sense of loneliness and despair attacked him now.

For as he recalled his own adventure, it was evident to him that he had had a very narrow escape from suffocation, the mist being evidently a volcanic exhalation, rising from the earth in a long low portion extending for miles in a curve, perhaps being the extent to which the mountain had reached in some far-off time; in fact, there might have been an old crater here only a little raised above the sea.

But he shook off the despondency, and fought back the idea that his companions might have been overcome by the escaping gases, and forced himself to believe that if they were not somewhere on his side hidden from him by the trees, they had safely made their way back to the side from which they had started.

He knew he had no grounds for all this, as they must necessarily have been as much confused and overcome as he, but he came to the conclusion which he wished to be true, and after mounting to the highest bit of ground in his immediate neighbourhood, he hailed again and again, listening patiently in the intervals for some reply.

There was a musical piping whistle twice, and once he was aware of a curious grunting sound from some trees away to his right, and this was repeated on his hailing again. Then all was silent once more, and he stood, now looking round, now watching the line of mist from which he hoped to see his companions emerge.

There were moments when he felt convinced that they had reached the same side as he, and he set to work hurrying here and there as fast as the tangled growth of the pathless forest would allow, hailing from time to time, but all in vain, and at last, dripping with perspiration, panting and exhausted, he leaned against a tree.

He had something else to combat now besides weariness, a terrible feeling of depression, for the thought would keep on coming with constant recurrence that his friends had perished in the mist.

He mastered this thought as the feeling of exhaustion passed away, and was ready to laugh at the sense of dread caused by his loneliness. For, as he told himself, it was probably all imagination respecting his friends, and there was nothing to mind. He was only separated from the vessel by a comparatively short distance, and sooner or later an effort would be made to reach him. It might not be possible to pass through the foul gases, but surely the long line of mist could be circumvented; and he climbed to the highest point he could then find to try and see its ends.

There was nothing to fear, for he had his gun, plenty of ammunition, and a little provision left. The place was wonderfully beautiful, and offered a tempting number of objects to a naturalist, as soon as he could make himself sufficiently calm to begin to investigate.

And it was in the above spirit, feeling quite certain that sooner or later he would see a party coming in search of him, he began to examine, turning his attention first towards the huge volcano, which rose up grim and forbidding away to the north, with the globular cloud poised over its highest part, which seemed as if cut right across in a slope.

Once he could turn his thoughts from the idea of peril, he began to be interested and eager; for he was in the position so dear to a lover of nature, there in a land surrounded by bird and insect forms for the most part entirely fresh to him.

But there were other things to think of first. Principally, there was that important discovery to make whether they were surrounded by the sea, and to try and find this out he sought a higher point than any he had yet mounted, and, taking out his little glass, followed the face of the mist till it reached the glittering waters of the sea, and then tried to trace the coastline towards the volcano.

This he was able to do with pretty good success, but as his glass was directed to the lower and eastern slope of the mountain, he found that he was as wise as ever, for the base of the mighty cone completely shut off all view in that direction.

Turning to the mist again, he followed its edge to the west as far as he could reach, but the inequalities in the surface baulked him here, and he could not make out the sea in that direction.

He closed his little glass and turned to the mist curtain, that mysterious dim line glistening with opalescent colours, and determined as a last resource to walk quietly as close to it as he could, before the gases began to affect him, then to draw back a few yards, take a few deep inspirations, so as to fully inflate his lungs, and then rush straight through; for he argued to himself, if he could pass through once unprepared and taken by surprise, he could certainly reverse the action.

In this spirit, and so as to get a little encouragement and inspiriting for another task--in other words, so as to enjoy the feeling that a way of retreat was open to him--he walked back toward the depression along which the vapour rose, examining every step of the way, and noticing that by degrees all growth ceased as he approached, and that the ground gradually grew softer and then spongy to the tread, as if he were walking over a bog.

The air remained very clear and good to breathe as he went on nearer and nearer, seeing now that the fumes rose softly all along one jagged line such as might have been formed by the earth opening right before him. But there was no opening. As far as he could penetrate the dim mist, the earth looked perfectly level, but the vapour rose from it as it does or appears to do from a swampy meadow on a fine autumn evening; and it was evident to him that he might try and dash through without fear of running headlong into some chasm.

Just then, as he stood gazing down at the bottom of the curtain, the idea struck him that perhaps there had been a wide rift right across to right and left; that it had been filled up by volcanic matter, and the vapour was caused by this lava or hot liquid mud slowly cooling down.

Convinced that this must be so, he had full endorsement of the correctness of his theory, for on lifting one foot to go on, he found that the other was sinking slowly, and a little further investigation showed him that a faint thread of vapour was rising from the spot where his heel had been.

The meaning of this barren space, and the reason for the earth feeling spongy, was plain enough now, and he knew that he was walking over so much half-fluid volcanic pitch, whose surface was slightly hardened and formed the elastic springy band.

If it gave way!

The thought was enough to make the stoutest shudder, and feeling now that his safety lay in movement, he took a few more steps towards the vapour, finding himself, before he was aware of the fact, and without the slightest mistiness being visible, within its influence.

He started away in alarm, for he was suffering from a slight attack of vertigo, which did not pass off for a minute or two, and he walked, or rather staggered, back, with the tough elastic film over which he walked now rising and falling with an undulatory motion beneath his feet.

"Only as a last resource," he muttered, as he breathed freely once more; and he could not repress a shudder as he stepped once more on solid ground, plainly enough marked by the abounding growth, and grasping fully how horrible a quagmire of hot slime was hidden by the partially hardened crust over which he had passed.

Turning his face now toward the mountain, he hesitated for a few moments, and then determined, as the distance seemed so short, to try and do something now he was there; and in the intent of climbing a few hundred feet up its side so as to get a view beyond, he marked out what seemed to be the most open way, and started for the foot of the great slope. _

Read next: Chapter 10. A Night In The Forest

Read previous: Chapter 8. Into The Mist

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