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Chapter XXXI. Afterwards.

I Awoke from my swoon, to find myself lying on the deck of the Carmen, with Harry beside me applying restoratives. The roarings of the eruption still continued, and the flare of the volcanic fires lighted the gloom at intervals. Weak and confused as I was, I felt that the yacht was moving, for the throbbing of her screws beat into my aching head. I opened my eyes to see Harry's face close to mine; it was white and worn, and bore an expression of intense misery. With a rush the cause of his sorrow came back to my mind, and I caught him weakly by the hand.

“Harry, I tried! I could not save her. Basilea!”

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“I know—I know, old fellow,” he said hurriedly. “Don't talk yet; Bertha has told me all. Here, take a nip of this brandy.”

The spirit put new life into me, and I sat up with an effort, aching all over. Luckily there were no bones broken, and with Harry's assistance I staggered to my feet.

“What of Bertha, Harry?”

“She is below, asleep. You have been insensible for over an hour, and I thought you were never coming to. Bertha wanted to watch beside you, but I made her lie down. Poor girl! she is quite worn out.”

“I don't wonder at it,” I murmured, remembering that terrible journey down to the quay, and the sinking of the island. “I thought we were lost.”

“You would have been, only we found you out by the search-light. Another ten minutes and you would have gone under.”

“What of the sailors who were with me to-night?”

“We saved three—got them off the quay—but the others are lost.”

“And the island?”

“Seems to have sunk, all but the mountain itself.”

“Where is Flick?”

“He is steering the yacht. Don't you feel she is moving?”

“Yes,” said I, with a glance around; “but I can page 353 see nothing in this darkness. Are we still in the pool?”

“No! That last convulsion sunk the ridge, and opened a passage for us.”

“I saw the waves roll over that ridge, Harry. It was a mercy the boat did not go down.”

“A mercy indeed, for which we must thank God, Denis,” he said reverently. “I thought those gigantic billows would have dashed her against the cliffs. But for Flick's skill in manoeuvring her, I have no doubt she would have been swamped.”

“Are we now out of danger?”

“I think so. We are sailing over the plains whereon stood the palace of Hesperus. The search-light is lighting up a path, and Flick himself is at the wheel. With God's mercy we may avoid all reefs and gain the open sea. I am glad Bertha is safe.”

“So am I; but oh, Harry, that fiend of a Basilea shut Myrtea up in the temple, and she was crushed under the ruins.”

“Bertha told me,” he said, turning away with a groan. “But Basilea has been punished for her evil doing. I could have wished her no more terrible death than that she met.”

“I saw her swallowed up myself, Harry; and even in that terrible hour I felt glad that she had been so page 354 rewarded for her treachery to that poor girl. Poor Myrtea!”

“Don't talk of her, Denis, or I shall go mad. Come and see Flick.”

We walked cautiously forward, and by the light of the lantern which Harry carried, I saw that the decks were inches thick with volcanic dust. It was like walking on a dusty road; and further on, part of the taffrail was smashed, where a stone hurled from the mountain had struck. Indeed, it was a wonder that the boat had not been sunk while rolling under that merciless rain of stones; the miracle was that she kept afloat at all. Surely, in those terrible hours, the hand of God was stretched out to save us.

Flick, looking bulky in a thick pea-jacket, was steering. His face wore an anxious expression as he looked up at my approach.

“Glad to see you have escaped, Sir Denis,” he said with a nod, “and still more pleased that Miss Bertha is safe.”

“Thank you, captain. Where are we now?”

“Nearing those black reefs, I guess. I'm in hopes that they have sunk with the rest of the island. I don't want to get entangled among them in this darkness. But the dawn will soon be here.”

“What's the time?”

“Close on five in the morning,” said Harry, glancing page 355 at his watch by the light of the binnacle lamp. “Where is Jenner, Flick?”

“At the bows, looking after the light.”

As the captain was indisposed to talk, by reason of his anxiety, I walked with Harry to where Jenner was attending to the search-light with the electrical engineer. Bertha was asleep, and I had no wish to disturb her. Moreover, I felt too excited and fretful to retire myself—at all events, till we were out of the circle of the eruption; so I fortified myself with another drink from Harry's flask, and remained on deck beside him.

It was a weird sight, that long ray of white light shining on the grey sea. Every now and then Jenner took soundings, and the comforting cry of “No bottom” echoed along the decks. All the men looked haggard by reason of their late experiences and the deaths of their comrades, and I saw that they were thankful for even this degree of safety. At all events, we had escaped from the pool by the way opened up by Providence, and as the yacht, at quarter speed, crept across the turbid waste, every stroke of the screws bore us further from danger. Yet we were still enveloped in the smoke and dust of the volcano; we had still the lava reefs to negotiate, unless they also had sunk; so it was not to be wondered at that every soul on board, with the exception of page 356 Bertha, who was sound asleep, felt terribly anxious and strung up. It was the last episode of our adventurous expedition, and by no means the least exciting.

In another hour or so the gloom dispersed, the smoke thinned, and the sulphurous atmosphere grew lighter, so that we could smell the cold tang of the sea. We were now on the spot where the longtoothed reefs had ripped the waters to foam, but, to our heartfeit joy, there was no sign of them. The dawn was breaking, and in the clearer air there was now light enough to see our surroundings. The ocean was quite smooth, no line of foam betrayed hidden rocks, and by the time the sun leaped over the rim of the sea, we had passed the dangerous part, and were riding the deep waters of the Indian Ocean. Behind lay Isk, enveloped in black smoke streaked with pale fire, and we could hear the explosions faintly in the distance. But before us lay the broad breast of the main, the glitter of the rising sun, and safety from all perils. Then, and not till then, did Captain Flick resign the wheel into the hands of Jenner, and come forward to join Harry and me in congratulations on our miraculous escape. For the first time for many days I breathed freely.

“Well, lads,” said Flick, grasping a hand of each of us, “here we are, where I never thought we'd be. page 357 Bound for Plymouth, with the objects of our expedition accomplished. Sir Denis here has his future bride, and I have the famous statue.”

“But I have not Myrtea!” said Harry sadly.

“I'm truly sorry, lad—truly sorry; but there's as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it, and you'll no doubt meet the future Mrs. Greenvile in England.”

“No,” replied Harry decidedly, “I shall never marry; I shall never love any one as I did Myrtea.”

“You only knew her a few weeks,” argued Flick doubtfully, “so your love can't have grown very strong in that time.”

“It was strong enough to last a lifetime, as you shall see,” replied the young man vehemently, and he turned away to conceal his emotion.

The captain looked at him thoughtfully and shook his head. Then he nodded to me, and stepped briskly towards the great case which had been sent on board by Basilea.

“Call some of the men, Sir Denis,” he said, tapping this with his hand.

“Are you going to have it open now?”

“Yes; and afterwards we'll wash and brush up for breakfast. But I must see the statue with my own eyes before I eat a mouthful; for, between you and me, Sir Denis, I rather mistrusted Basilea.”

“You can't, with that before your eyes,” said I, page 358 pointing to the case; “and when the silver veil was rent by the earthquake, the statue was gone.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Flick, with a satisfied nod and a sigh of relief, “then it's in that case without a doubt. Come, men, get to work.”

Harry came back, and stood beside us as we watched the sailors prising off the lid of the great box. It was secured by pegs of wood, so there was not much difficulty in removing it. Then we received a surprise.

“Great heavens!” cried Flick, who had pulled away the cloth which, as he thought, covered the statue of Venus; “it is Myrtea.”

It was, indeed, the beautiful priestess with whom Harry was in love. She lay swathed in white linen, with her hands crossed on her bosom, and a look of quiet on her waxen face. With a cry of mingled horror and delight Harry flung himself on his knees before this coffin—for so it might be called—which contained his lost love.

“Is she—is she dead?” he gasped.

Flick was too astonished to answer, and he could only stare helplessly at the silent figure. Seeing this, I stepped forward, and placed my hand on Myrtea's breast; her heart was beating faintly.

“She is not dead!” said I, gladly. “I think she has been drugged.”

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“Thank God!” cried Harry, the colour coming back to his face. “Oh, thank God for that!”

Aided by Flick, who had now recovered the use of his body, if not of his tongue, we took the girl out of the case and carried her down to the cabin. I woke Bertha, who could scarcely believe her eyes when she saw Myrtea lying on the divan in the saloon. She examined her closely, and then begged that she should be left to her.

“I believed she has been poisoned, as we were, by fumes from a lamp,” she said. “I have an antidote with me, which Basilea gave me. It was used on board the red ship to restore me to consciousness. You all go away, and in an hour come back. Myrtea will soon revive, Harry my dear, so don't look so scared.”

We left the cabin, and once more sought the deck, with feelings better imagined than described. Flick looked at the joyous face of Harry, and bit his lip; then his face changed, and he shook the lad by the hand.

“I've lost the statue,” said Flick, swallowing his disappointment, “but you have your bride. I congratulate you. I—I-hang that Basilea!” he exclaimed, bursting out into vexed laughter. “She tricked me after all.”

“Her trick has turned out well for me,” cried page 360 Harry gladly. “But why did she put Myrtea in that box instead of the statue?”

“I think I can guess,” was my remark after reflection. “She knew that you loved Myrtea, and therefore she determined to get rid of her. She couldn't kill her, that being against the laws of Isk, both political and sacerdotal; so when Flick made a bid for the statue, she substituted Myrtea. She naturally thought that Flick would sail away in a hurry, without opening the case, and leave you in exchange as he promised to do. Thus Basilea would find herself delivered from a dangerous rival, and have you at her mercy. Also, she would still retain the statue, which she had no idea of giving up. The volcano rather spoilt her game, but you may be sure that is how she intended to play it.”

“I dare say you are right, Sir Denis,” remarked Flick gravely. “But you say the niche was empty. Where, then, did Basilea hide the statue?”

“In another part of the temple, no doubt. She may have thought you would find out the trick, and try to take the statue by force; so, to make things safe, she concealed the palladium of Isk elsewhere. I dare say it was swallowed up with the temple, and, instead of being on its way to Europe, the famous work of Praxiteles is now in the bowels of that volcano.”

We never learned the truth, but it was agreed that page 361 my explanation was the true one; and, indeed, I cannot see what other can be suggested. When Myrtea revived, she told us that Basilea shut her up in a cell with a small lamp, and then she lost consciousness, only reviving to find herself in the cabin of the yacht. I have no doubt that the high priestess poisoned the oil of the lamp, as Dosk had done at Cythera, and so she had carried out her wicked scheme. But it turned out other than she expected, for by this means she secured the safety of Myrtea, whom we could not have rescued had she been shut up in the temple at the time of the last convulsion.

Myrtea wept greatly at the news that the island had been destroyed and the temple swallowed up, but her eyes were soon dried by Harry, and by the time we arrived at the Cape she was as merry as any one on board. She had no kindred to regret, she was glad to be out of the power of Basilea, and she was deeply in love with Harry; so with these three reasons she had every right to be joyful. From the Cape we sent a cablegram to Aunt Chrissy, telling her that we were all safe, and had rescued Bertha. I can imagine the joy with which the old lady must have received that message, as she no doubt believed that we were dead.

The last we saw of Isk was a gaunt gray peak rising out of the sea, and crowned with smoke. The page 362 whole of the island went down save the mountain itself, and I do not think a single human being was left alive. That dismal race, with their temple, their goddess, their strange superstitions and unique civilization now lie in the depths of the sea. The smoking mountain is their monument, and no king could have a more lordly memorial. Isk had passed away like the shadow of a dream.

“Well,” said Flick, shortly after we left the Cape, “you, Sir Denis, have Miss Bertha, Harry has Myrtea, but I have nothing. The object of my expedition has failed—thanks to Basilea.”

“Thanks to the volcano, rather!” retorted Harry. “Never mind, Flick; when we get home I'll make you a present of the Carmen.”

“What!” cried Bertha sceptically; “will you give up travelling and stay at home?”

“Not altogether, my dear. I dare say Flick will sometimes take us voyages, and Myrtea will be shown the wonders of the Mediterranean. I shall still travel, but no more in savage places; the experiences of the island of Isk have proved too much for me. At all events, now our troubles are over I am content, as I have gained the sweetest wife in the world.”

“And I have regained Bertha,” said I, thankfully.

“And I—nothing,” laughed Flick, with a nod.

“Don't say that, captain,” I remarked. “You have page 363 gained the glory and honour of being the leader of the strangest expedition of the nineteenth century. When I return, and we are all married and settled, I'll write a book of our adventures, and call it ‘The Expedition of Captain Flick.”’

And, in ending these pages, I have fulfilled my promise.

The End,

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