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Fire Island, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 15. Plutonic Action |
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_ CHAPTER FIFTEEN. PLUTONIC ACTION It took Oliver Lane some time to pass from a sound sleep gradually through half-waking dreams to the full knowledge of his position, and then, albeit somewhat cramped and stiff, feeling rested and bright, he lay back listening to the calls and answers of the birds, and watching them with a true naturalist's intense delight. For there he was in the very position he had longed to reach, right amongst nature's gems in their own abode, full of life and vigour. He had seen these birds before, but as attractively-plumaged dry specimens. Here they were hanging, crawling, and climbing about, busy, with every feather in motion, their eyes bright, and beaks and claws all abloom with colour. Now their feathers were tightly pressed to their softly-curved bodies, now standing almost on end, giving the birds a round, plump aspect that was delightful when the sun gleamed through, and flashed from the golden green, bright scarlet, or vivid blue, with which they had been painted by nature's loving hand. Others were entirely of a beautiful green, all save their heads, which glowed with a peach bloom, while, again, others bore the same leafy uniform, and, for decoration, a dark collar, and long, pencil-like-produced feathers in their tails. There was the gun close at hand. Lane had but to take it from beneath the creeper which held it fast; but, at this time, it never occurred to him that he might secure two or three splendid specimens for the collection he sought to make, so occupied was he by the action of the flock in the tree. It was all delightful to him to watch the soft, easy, deliberate way in which the paroquets climbed with beak and claw, hooking on with the former, and then raising one foot with its soft, clasping, yoke-toes to take a firm hold before bringing up the other; then, holding on by both, and swinging gently to and fro, the beak was set at liberty, and the bird hung head downwards, to feast upon some luscious fig. "If they only had a sweet note, instead of their harsh scream," thought Lane, "what lovely creatures they would be." He sat there watching them for about an hour, but far from satiated, for there was always something fresh to see, and the birds were so tame, that he often had them within a few feet of his head, some soft, round-headed creature turning itself on one side to gaze at him with its keen eye as if in wonder, before going on with its feeding, satisfied that it would not be hurt. Then the delightful scene came to an end with the climbing birds and the foliage lit up by the horizontal rays of the sun, for, all at once, there was a deafening explosion, and, shrieking loudly, the flock took flight, while Lane sat there appalled, listening in expectation of another report, the former having evidently come from the mountain; but, as he listened, there was in place of the explosion, a loud hissing, and then a loud, heavy pattering, accompanied and followed by thud after thud, and he knew, though he could not see for the dense foliage, that a volley of heavy stones and masses of pumice had been fired into the air, to fall from various heights back to earth on the mountain slopes. "Ah, I must go and see that," he said to himself, as he seized his gun. "Not my department, but none the less interesting. I wish Panton was here." A soft, whining noise took his attention then, and, glancing beside him, he saw that the cubs which had been his companions all night were straining about, climbing over each other, and falling back, evidently wanting their morning meal. "And I suppose I have killed their mother," thought Lane, as he bent over and patted the two furry animals. "Poor little things! I must come back and get them, and take them with me to the ship, if I can cross the belt of mist. First of all, though, the mountain--I must go up that as far as I can climb." So, descending and shouldering his piece, he strode to where the ashes of his fire lay and then brought his gun down to the present, for there was a quick, rustling sound to his left, and he caught a glimpse of glossy, spotted fur, as an animal passed amongst the dense undergrowth. Then, before he had time to fire, had he felt so disposed, a huge, lithe, cat-like creature bounded on to the trunk of the tree he had just left, uttering a strange, purring cry, and disappeared in the orchids which clustered about the fork. "Then I did not shoot the mother," thought Lane. "So much the better." Then, as all was still and no danger to be apprehended there, he shouldered his gun and strode off towards the more open ground, which he reached at last, forgetful of everything but the intense desire to try and ascend the cone-shaped mountain which stood before him, capped with a dense pall of smoke and steam. After tramping about an hour, the sight of trickling water down amongst some stones suggested to him the fact that he had not broken his fast that morning, so sitting down upon a block of stone, he brought out the remains left in his wallet and ate them, stale as they were, as he looked round him, finding that he had climbed to higher ground than he expected; but though he looked eagerly toward the part where the ship must have lain in the middle of the wave-swept plain, everything was cut off by a dull, misty appearance. Not the clearly marked band of sunny haze he had seen from low down on the level therewith, but a foggy, indistinct state of the atmosphere. Away to his right, he feasted his eyes upon the enormous mass of stone and ash which towered up in a beautifully regular curve, with apparently nothing to hinder him from walking up the steep slope to the crater, into which he felt an uncontrollable desire to gaze. "I ought to get up to the top in two or three hours," he thought, as he mentally mapped out his course, seeing nothing likely to hinder him but rough blocks of stone dotted about in all directions. Nothing in themselves, but ominous of aspect when he took into consideration the fact that they must have been hurled upward from the mountain, and fallen back on the slope in all probability white-hot. "One will have warning," he thought, "and there may be no more fall to-day." Finishing his last mouthful, he took out an india-rubber cup, and stooping down, filled it from the trickling course, raised it to his lips, and then spurted out a mouthful in disgust, for it was hot, bitter, salt, and had a most objectionable odour. "Ugh!" he ejaculated, "mustn't depend on you." Then giving another glance round, he shouldered his gun, and commenced the ascent, leaving all vegetation behind him, and soon finding that his way lay over loose scoria and finely-powdered pumice, into which his feet sank at every step. But as the difficulties and steepness of the ascent increased, so did the desire to climb higher and see more of the volcano, and also more of the country into which fate had brought him. Once a few hundred feet higher, he felt he would be able to set all doubts at rest as to whether they were surrounded by the sea; and to get this proof Oliver Lane pressed on. After a time he got more into the knack of climbing without slipping back so much, but the sun was getting higher, and its beams grew warm, while he was conscious of a sensation as of heat striking upward from the ashy substance of which the slope was composed, and at last, to gratify his curiosity, and to clear away a doubt, Lane stooped down to lay his hand flat upon the ash, and snatch it away again, for it was quite hot. For a moment or two after this, he hesitated, but there above him rose the cone with its crest of smoke, and apparently nothing to hinder him from climbing steadily to the top, and from thence getting a bird's-eye view of the country round. That was enough to start him on, and setting himself manfully to the task, in less than half an hour he found that he had reached an atmospheric band where the breeze blew pleasantly cool and invigorating. The cloud over the summit of the cone had floated away, and all was clear and bright as he resumed the ascent, feeling now that an hour would bring him to the top, when all at once he fell upon his knees, and then threw himself at full length. For the mountain quivered beneath his feet, and produced a giddy sensation as the surface rose and fell in waves, whilst almost simultaneously there was a terrific roar, and he saw a dense cloud driven out from above, and ascending to a tremendous height, as if shot out by an internal explosion. His first feeling was, that he must turn and rush down: his second, that it would be madness to stir, for the side of the mountain was opening and shutting in a network of fissures, and the next minute, the cloud which he had seen blasted upwards proved itself not to be so much mist, but a storm of ashes and scoria mingled with huge masses of rock, which now curled over like a fountain, and were falling back in all directions. Oliver Lane tried to anchor himself to the shifting ashes as he lay there, feeling that his last hour had come, for darkness was now added to the other horrors, and the mountain-side was in strange quivering motion, gaze wildly whichever way he would. The fall of a mass of glowing cinders, so close that he could feel the scorching heat against his cheek, roused Oliver Lane to the fact that it was more dangerous to stay than to rush down-hill, running the gauntlet of the falling shower; and, after a moment's hesitation, he turned and ran for his life. The white-hot stones and cinders fell around him as he bounded down, having hard work to keep his footing, for at every leap the loose scoria gave way as he alighted, and slipped with him in an avalanche of dust and ashes from which he had to extricate himself. Once he had pretty well dragged himself out when the ashes for far enough round began to glide downward, the thick haze of volcanic dust around adding to his confusion, while every step he took in his frantic efforts to keep on the surface resulted in his sinking more deeply till he was above his waist in the loose gliding stuff and awake to the fact that it was scorchingly hot. But all at once, as despair was beginning to enfold him in a tighter hold than the ash and cinder, the gliding avalanche suddenly stopped, and as it was not like the Alpine snow ready to adhere and be compressed into ice, he was able to extricate himself and slide and roll down for some distance further. Then all at once he found that he was in the sunshine again, and that the stones had ceased to fall and the mountain to quiver; while, as he gazed upward, it was to see that the dark cloud was slowly floating away, giving him a view of the edge of the crater where it was broken down for some distance in the shape of a rugged V, and just at the bottom, every now and then, there was a bright glow of fire visible. The glow then sank completely out of sight, but only to rise up again, and this was continued as the young naturalist watched, suggesting to him the fact that the crater must be full of boiling lava which rose to the edge in its ebullitions and then dropped below the rugged wall. Ten minutes later the glowing stones which had fallen, looked black and grey; the cloud was at a distance, and there was nothing to indicate that the beautifully shaped mountain ever presented another aspect than that of peace. Oliver Lane stood looking up with the longing to ascend to the edge of the crater growing strong once more, but he was fagged by his exertions, bathed in perspiration, and aware of the fact that an intense glowing heat rose from the surface all around him, while the air he breathed seemed to produce a strange suffocating effect when he turned his face from the wind which swept over the mountain slope. In a few minutes he decided that it would be madness to persevere, and that it would be wise to wait until the volcano was in a more quiescent state, for at any minute there might come a fresh explosion from the mouth from which he might not be able to escape so easily. He looked longingly round to try and make out something of value to report as to their position, but the mountain shut everything off in the direction lying north, and he was reluctantly about to continue his descent when he felt the stones beneath his feet tremble again. Then came a report like that of a huge cannon, and what seemed to be an enormous rock shot upward for hundreds of feet, hung for a moment or two in the clear air, and then fell back into the crater. That was enough. A burning thirst and a sensation of breathing something which irritated his lungs, awakened him to the fact that he must find water, and, regardless of the heat, he once more began to hurry downward toward the level plain from which the mountain curved up in so beautiful a cone. Oliver Lane soon found that he was not returning upon his steps, and though apparently not far from where he ascended, it was plain enough that, even if they had not been obliterated by the falling ash and cinders, the fragments flowed together again like sand. A greater proof still was afforded him in the fact that about a quarter of a mile lower down his farther progress was checked by a rugged chasm running right across his path, apparently cutting him off from the lower portion and extending to right and left farther than he could see. He approached it with caution, but found that he must not risk a near approach, for he set the loose scoria in motion, and it trickled on before him, and went over out of sight with a rush. Anchoring himself as well as he could against a huge block of lava, he paused to consider whether he should go to right or left, and then shrank away with a shudder, and began to climb back as fast he could, for, slight as had been his bearing upon the block, it had been sufficient to start it off, and, to his horror, it went on gliding down about twenty yards, and then dropped over the edge. He stood listening, in the hope of hearing the block stop directly, as proof of its being only a few feet down, and passable if he lowered himself and then climbed the opposite edge; but a full minute elapsed before he heard a dull, echoing roar, which continued for some time, and, after a pause, was continued again and again, giving terrible warning of the depth, and his own insignificance upon that mountain slope. He now had his first suggestion of panic--of how easily, in the face of so much peril, anyone could lose his head, and rush into danger, instead of escaping the risks by which he was surrounded. For his strong impulse now was to start into a run, and to begin to ascend the slope diagonally. But at the first dozen steps, he found he was loosening the ashes, which began to glide toward the chasm faster and faster, and that if he continued with so much energy, there would soon be a swift rush, which would carry him with it into the awful gulf. Warned by this, he stopped, and then proceeded cautiously, going nearly parallel, but increasing his distance as far as was possible. The intense heat of the sun combined with that which radiated from the mountain-side was exhausting to a degree; his thirst grew almost unbearable, and he fully realised the imprudence of which he had been guilty in attempting the ascent alone. The only thing now was to extricate himself from his perilous position, and, after a halt or two to collect himself and try to make out how much farther the rift extended, during which he hesitated as to whether it would not be wiser to go back and try the other way, he started onward again, slowly and steadily, becoming conscious of a peculiar puff of stifling vapour, which he felt sure must come from the gaping rift below. And now the idea came to him that it was impossible that the chasm could have been there when he ascended, but had opened during the fresh eruption in which he had so nearly been overwhelmed. At last, when his sufferings from the heat were growing unbearable, and his head swam with the giddy sensation which supervened, the rift appeared to close in about fifty yards further on. He sheltered his swimming eyes, and endeavoured to steady himself, as, with sinking heart, he tried to make out whether this really were so, or only fancy. But it seemed to be fact, and, pressing cautiously on, he lessened the distance, and then stopped appalled, shrinkingly facing a way of escape to the lower part of the mountain, but one terrible enough to make the stoutest-hearted shiver. For the chasm came to a sudden end, and recommenced two or three yards farther on, leaving a jagged, narrow strip of lava extending bridge-like from side to side. "I dare not," he muttered, as he approached slowly, noting the shape, and trying to make out how far down the mass of rock extended, so as to see whether it would prove firm, or only be a crust which might give way beneath his weight, and then--He shuddered, for he knew that whoever ventured upon that narrow pathway did so facing a terrible death. He looked wildly forward to see if the gap still went on to any distance, and he could trace it till it was lost in a hot haze. "I must do it," muttered Lane, for he felt that if he kept on longer upon the upper edge, he must soon sink and perish from heat and exhaustion. Knowing that if he stopped to think, he would grow less and less disposed to venture, and taking one long eager look at the green trees far below in the distance where there would be shelter and refreshing water, he gathered himself together, and walked slowly and steadily over the yielding ash and cinders to the beginning of the bridge. _ |
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