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The Expedition of Captain Flick: A Story of Adventure

Chapter XXX. The Volcano

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Chapter XXX. The Volcano.

“From the depths of the earth,
Where the fire hath birth,
It flames to the skies,
Confounding the wise;
Who said, ‘By the charm,
No danger can harm,
Nor terror be hurled
From the heart of the world.'
But lo, in a night,
The fire in its might
Jets fierce from earth's womb,
And consigns to the tomb
The just and unjust,
Till al are but dust.”

The sudden gloom was so terrible that for a moment the clamour of terrified humanity was stilled. The bravest man was appalled by the suddenness and extent of the catastrophe. In that pause we heard the artillery of the now active volcano playing against the heavens, and the ground shook incessantly with the convulsions of the mountain. I could hardly stand, but, clinging to a pillar in the murky gloom, I clasped Bertha tightly to my breast. A moment afterwards the shrieks and struggles of the negro page 341 population began again, and they hurled themselves confusedly towards the great doors of the fane, frantic to leave the temple of a divinity who could no longer protect them. Encircled by the six sailors I stood on the dals, holding fast to Bertha, and so we were saved from the terrific crush going on below.

“Keep together, men—keep together!” I shouted, “and make for the quay below the staircase. Captain Flick will put in to take us off.”

“And what am I to do with this 'ere tiger-cat, sir?” asked a sailor, who still held Basilea in his grip.

“Let her go-no, on second thoughts, don't. I do not wish a knife thrust in my back.”

Here one of the men lighted a torch which he had seen fastened to a near pillar before the darkness fell, and the red flare lit up a space in the gloom. It fell on our white faces, on the ghastly countenance of Basilea, and revealed the wild disorder of the scene.

“Why did I not kill you, white man?” muttered Basilea. “The goddess might have accepted the sacrifice, and have averted these terrors.”

“We will be killed, in any case, if we stay here,” said Bertha, who still retained her presence of mind. “I know a way out by the back.”

Leaving the tumult still going on in the shaking page 342 hall, she dragged me through the curtains at the side, whence the procession of priestesses were wont to come. The sailors followed, forcing along Basilea in accordance with my instructions. I heard, between the crashes from the volcano, the muttered imprecations of the woman at the failure of her plans. Much as I wished to rescue Myrtea, I did not see how it could be done, as the danger of remaining in the temple was too great. Basilea had shut her up somewhere, and she refused to say a word. No doubt she was pleased that one at least of her enemies—for so she regarded the girl—should be punished.

Threading the narrow passages, Bertha led our little party out by a side door, and we found ourselves on a level space of ground, whence banks of green turf sloped gently to the verge of the grove lying 'twixt quay and temple. We had not got out a moment too soon, for hardly had we emerged before a shudder of the earth shook the fane to ruins. We heard the dull thud of falling pillars, the heartrending screams of those buried amid the ruins, and looked up to see zigzag flashes of red fire playing like lightning in the dusky heart of the smoke. The whistle of the yacht was shrieking shrilly to give us notice of her whereabouts; for, strain our eyes as we might, no glimpse could we catch of her in that pitchy darkness. I began to think that we were lost.

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“Where is Myrtea-Myrtea?” I cried, gripping Basilea with my disengaged arm.

She gave a wild laugh of mingled triumph and terror, and pointed to the temple.

“She is in there, white man, buried under the stones of the shrine.”

I recoiled aghast, and Bertha uttered a sob of sorrow for her friend, whereupon Basilea, wrenching herself free from those who held her, darted into the gloom and sprang over the high bank. Whether she meant to seek safety or to kill herself I do not know, but then and there she disappeared, and only once did I set eyes on her again. Then she received the reward of her treachery in dooming Myrtea to a cruel death.

Instinctively we moved forward to follow Basilea, but hardly had we taken a step when a wonderful thing happened. The earth under our feet yawned with a ripping noise, and a great volume of sulphurous smoke was belched forth. With a curse the men recoiled. I dragged Bertha back, and then—I was too terrified to notice how—the earth seemed to gape in all directions, and for safety our party scattered. I found myself under a tree alone with Bertha, and, losing her nerve after that last awful experience, she sobbed hysterically in my arms.

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“My dear girl, don't give way,” I implored her. “We may yet escape; and if not, at least we will die together.”

Bertha kissed me with cold lips, and tried to control herself. I shouted to the men, but I suppose my voice could not be heard in the roar of the mountain, for I received no reply. It flashed across me that the sailors had been swallowed up in the chasms which opened everywhere, but I could be sure of nothing. I forgot the sailors, I forgot Myrtea, and the high priestess; all my energies were centred on getting to the quay, and saving myself and my future wife from a horrible death. Yet, at the moment, it did not seem to me that we could escape alive from that world of fire.

At that moment a thick dust began to fall through the gloom, and rendered the atmosphere so dense that we could hardly breathe. Fire flickered around us, and a poisonous vapour breathed from the craks in the ground. I recognized that it was death to remain there longer. I dragged Bertha forward, and made an attempt to scramble down the hill. She was half insensible with the fumes, and could only gasp incoherently as I staggered forward like a drunken man. The tree, underneath which we had been standing, crashed to the ground, and I caught a glimpse of a tall white obelisk near at hand, sliding page 345 into the earth as though it were being pushed down by a giant hand. Indeed, the whole mountain was heaving like the waves of the sea, and I felt terrified lest it should sink altogether, and leave the pair of us struggling with the waves.

Another step forward, and I was over the bank, rolling down with Bertha in my arms. The noises around were hellish, for the mountain bellowed like some titanic monster, as it hurled fire from its entrails. When I rose to my feet I cast a glimpse upward, and saw a lurid glow brighten the gloom. Immediately afterwards a great stone crashed beside us, followed by smaller projectiles, and dreading lest we should be crushed to death, I hastily caught up the insensible Bertha in my arms and reeled down the slope towards the sacred grove, hoping there to obtain shelter. As I advanced, a flare of light flamed redly before me, and I saw that the trees were on fire, amid a mist of steam hissing in jets from the ground. Nor was that the worst. Down the mountain seethed a molten river of lava, devouring all that came in its way: so broad, so swift, that I cried aloud, thinking we should be enveloped in the fiery stream before we could escape. Happily, the burning wood cast a glow through the misty atmosphere, and I saw a kind of stone road running to the right. This, I knew, led to the second last terrace of the staircase, page 346 and with the strength of despair I ran along it, bearing Bertha in my arms. The strain on nerves and muscles was frightful in the extreme.

Hardly had I set foot on the causeway before the torrent of lava passed over the spot where we had lately been standing, and with a hiss burnt its way through the flaming grove. I hurried along as quickly as I was able with my burden, and, stumbling over dead bodies lying in all imaginable kinds of postures, I reached the staircase. Where the temple had been, a crater had opened, swallowing the whole building, and now great jets of yellow flame and volumes of smoke curled up from the gaps. A lurid glare slanted down the mighty marble stair, cumbered with the dead and the dying, but between us and the pool there hung a curtain of blinding dust, ejected from the mouth of the peak above.

The scream of the yacht's whistle sounded at intervals, and comforted me greatly, as I knew the boat was yet safe, and would prove a haven of refuge could we reach it. Stumbling forward, I tripped over the body of a white man, and by his dress I knew it to be one of our sailors. The negroes, men, women, and children, were mostly lying dead or dying, while some, idiotic with terror, lay flat on the terrace mumbling useless prayers to Venus-Venus, who could not save her shrine from the fury of the burning page 347 mountain. Down came hot rain as I descended, for the volcano was now spouting boiling water and liquid mud. I took off my coat and wrapped it round my own head and that of Bertha's, so that we might escape this horror; and still staggering, still stumbling, guided by the hand of God in that gloom lit by volcanic fires, I managed to gain the quay.

Here the dead were lying thick on the causeway, as I saw for one moment. The next down came a storm of hot dust, blotting out everything around. We gave ourselves up for lost, when a pencil of light stabbed through the gloom, and I heard the cannon of the yacht report in the intervals of noise. Flick had turned on the search-light, and had fired the gun, to let me know he was looking for us; and suddenly I saw the faint outline of the boat glimmer for a moment, then flit away behind the veil. The screws were going, but the boat was swinging round and round in that tempestuous sea, vainly looking for us, alive or dead. Even if we reached her, I had faint hope of safety, for were we not shut up in the pool? and failing the yacht being dragged down by the subterranean forces, there was every chance that she would be crushed by the projectiles hurled from the main crater. God alone could save us in this extremity.

When the yacht passed out of sight, I felt that we were lost. Worn out with the toil of that awful descent. page 348 I sank down beside Bertha amid the dead, and I verily believe I should have lost consciousness had not an awful event taken place. The volcano sent up a solid pillar of flame, which dispelled the darkness in an instant. I saw the yacht steaming along under the cliffs, riding the turbid surges of a milk-white sea. The black town of Awazil stood out distinct in the glare; and as I gazed at it, a dark figure stood before me. It was Basilea.

“Good morrow, white man,” she chuckled, with a distraught expression on her face. “Venus has loosed the powers of hell—of Hades. What use is your maiden to you now? All is gone-king, temple, country, statue—the world is ending.”

Those yet alive near at hand caught up the dreadful cry, and it echoed to the stars, glimpses of which I caught through the wreaths of eddying smoke. Basilea, elevated on a pile of dead bodies, stood tossing her arms, when unexpectedly, the ground gaped and amid a burst of smoking flame she was swallowed up, without even a cry. Then the earth closed again, and shook violently, as if it relished its prey.

I had no time to think of her miserable fate, which, indeed, shortly might be our own, for we had no power to move from that spot, when in the red glare I espied the town of Awazil burst into flames. page 349 It burned like a beacon all along the neck of land; till with a roar the flames seemed to strike the stars; and when I looked again the whole isthmus had gone down into the greedy sea. A terrific wave, white and fringed with flying spray, rolled in from the outer ocean, and burst bellowing over the place where the ridge had been, and spent its force in the pool. At that moment, with a sickening groan, the quay sank slowly downward. With the courage, born of despair, I gripped Bertha close to my breast and prepared for death. I saw, as in a dream, the yacht rise on a second giant billow, overtop it, tremble on the crest, and then slide down on the other side. The mighty wave swept towards the quay, grasped with fierce force, and enveloped us both in a whirl of spume and spray. We sank together like a stone.

But that the sting of the bitterly cold water roused Bertha from her faint, I do not know what I should have done to preserve her life and my own. The darkness reasserted itself, when Awazil sank in the empestuous waves, and I found myself swimming vaguely in the gloom, supporting Bertha as I best could. Then God helped us, for by His direction my hand struck against an empty boat that was drifting about. By a superhuman effort I lifted Bertha over the gunwale, but the craft turned turtle page 350 with her weight, and both of us clung despairingly to the streaming keel, drifting hither and thither in the whirl of waters. I deemed that the end had come.

Again the whistle of the yacht screamed through the gloom, and in answer I shouted as loudly as my exhausted strength permitted. Those on board must have heard me, for immediately afterwards the rays of the search-light picked us out. I saw the black hull of the yacht loom above us, I heard a shout, the drum of the screws, and caught a glimpse of a boat being lowered. Then I fainted, and knew no more.