T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (25) (A Boy’s Adventure on Wizard Island)

XXV. A Night of Terror

The sound of the shouting died away, and Martin was alone, winging his way at full speed through the hot blackness of the night, guided only by the lurid glow which pulsed against the distant horizon.

There was not a breath of wind. Even at the height at which he flew, which was about two thousand feet, the atmosphere was as deadly stagnant and hot as at sea level.

Yet the air was not still. Every now and then the great plane would seem to check and stagger slightly like a ship whose keel touches the top of a sandbank. Martin did not need to be told that these air bumps were the result of the regularly recurring explosions from the great crater on Lost Island.

He knew the farther he went and the nearer he approached the scene of the eruption, the worse these shocks would affect him.

Yet he hardly gave a thought to the dangers that confronted him; it was the peril of his friend, the Professor, that filled his mind to the exclusion of everything else.

He thought of him sitting helpless in the cave rooms, the solid rock quivering under the throb of the subterranean fires, waiting for the help that might never come.

Fast as he flew, the pace was not fast enough for Martin.

His eyes were fixed on the glow on the skyline, and every minute it widened and deepened.

And, just as he had expected, the force of the explosions grew more and more heavy, until, as each air wave struck her, the Bat seemed to pitch like a ship in a heavy storm.

At the end of half an hour he was near enough to see the actual explosions—the columns of molten matter shooting up like a fountain of fire through the dull-red smoke clouds, which hung like a pall over the lower part of the island.

The twin peaks were above the worst of this smoke. Their eternal snows still gleamed rosy red in the glare of the lower fires.

Martin took some courage from the sight. At any rate, the great explosion anticipated by the Professor had not yet come.

There was still hope that the cave itself was safe. The lake lying between it and the crater itself must be some safeguard.

Far below Martin caught a glimpse of a small light in the gloom. This must be the galley sent out by Hymer. He wondered if it would ever reach Lost Island, yet the mere fact that it was trying to do so made him feel less lonely.

On he drove, but the pitching and lurching grew worse and worse; and now the loud thuds of the constant explosions became audible even above the rattling roar of his engines, and the air was so terribly disturbed that at times the big plane became almost unmanageable.

The volcanic cloud was rising, and in it and through it played lightnings, gold, green and violet—beautiful yet terrible fireworks. The heavy air was tainted with sulphur smoke, which caught Martin’s throat and made him choke.

Though he could feel no wind, some current was drifting the smoke down in his direction, and he turned northwards with the idea of circling around the worst of it, and coming in from the eastward side.

Sure enough, he soon cleared the smoke; and as soon as he had done so, the island itself opened before him. The sight was at once splendid and terrible. The crater which the Professor had showed him was in full blast, and lava was streaming in a vast river of fire through the rift into the deep tarn. Where the molten rock reached the water the lake was a seething cauldron of steam.

The intense glow flung up from the crater itself and from the great sheet of white-hot lava threw a lurid glare on the tall cliffs surrounding the tarn, and showed up everything as clear as day.

As Martin came nearer he could see that the cliffs on the cave side of the lake were still untouched, and he felt somewhat comforted. There was hope that the Professor and Scipio might still be unharmed.

But the explosions seemed to be more frequent and more furious than ever, and as he came near to the sea entrance to the loch, each air wave hit the plane with a force that sent her fluttering like a dead leaf.

To alight on that boiling lake within less than two miles of the raging crater itself seemed sheer suicide, yet Martin stuck to it. He had not come thus far to turn back.

He was within half a mile of the inlet when there came a shock more violent than any yet. Martin suddenly found the Bat dropping helplessly towards the sea. It was as though the air column beneath him had failed altogether.

He did the only thing he could, and tried to hold her in a volplane, or sliding descent. But she was barely fifty feet above the sea before he succeeded in pulling her up, and even then he could not get her nose up again. In another moment she had taken the water with a terrific splash.

For a moment Martin believed that the Bat was wrecked. But the Lemurians were good craftsmen, and the stout pontoons which they had built in beneath her stood the shock. She floated safely.

Martin switched on his engine, and found that it was working. But he did not dare to rise again. Instead he taxied in across the calm sea, and was presently between the tall cliffs which bounded the narrow passage leading into the lake.

The noise was deafening. Each separate explosion was enough to split his ear drums. The water, almost boiling hot, was covered with a thick scum of ashes and pumice, among which floated the dead bodies of countless fish and other denizens of the deep sea-lake.

Swirling through this horrible mixture, the Bat ran swiftly out of the channel into the lake itself, and as she did so a wave of heat struck Martin’s face like the blast from a furnace. He swung to the right, and drove as hard as he could go for the harbor.

All over the lake itself steam clouds hung like vapor from a boiling pot. Martin could hardly see where he was going. The din, too, was so great that it confused him, while the explosions were absolutely stunning in their fury.

The black wall of the cliff loomed up overhead through the smother, and more by luck than skill Martin found that he was at the entrance of the harbor.

He breathed a sigh of thankfulness as he passed into it, and the rock arch shut out something of the appalling clamor.

The gates were wide open, and the next moment he was tying up alongside the well-remembered rock wharf. He sprang ashore. The launch was still there, but there was no sign of the Professor, and the first thing that met his eyes was a huge mass of rock which had crashed down from the roof above, and, falling in the center of the flight of stairs, had broken away the steps and covered everything with rubble and dust. It was plain that there had been a heavy earthquake already, and Martin knew that another might come at any moment.

Scrambling past the mass of broken rock, he reached the Hall of Pillars, and ran through it, shouting for the Professor.

Even here he could still feel the thud of the explosions, while the solid rock trembled constantly, and every few moments small pieces of rock fell from the vaulted roof.

He reached the great living-room. It was much as he remembered it, with the Professor’s books scattered on the table. But the great glass windows were cracked and starred, and dust was over everything.

“Professor!” he shouted again at the top of his voice. Then the curtains of the doorway were pushed aside, and there was Professor Distin standing in the opening.

He stood quite still, staring at Martin as though he saw a ghost, and Martin was grieved to see how thin and frail he looked.

Martin sprang forward. “It’s all right, Professor,” he cried. “But I was scared stiff. I couldn’t find you. I thought you were dead.”

The Professor seized Martin’s hand and wrung it hard.

“My dear lad,” he said, “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. I had given you up for lost.”

For the moment the two were so delighted at meeting again that they forgot the deadly peril in which they stood.

“But how did you get here?” went on the Professor. “Surely not in the Bat?”

“Indeed, I did. She is in the cave harbor this minute. She had been damaged, but I rushed over as soon as she was mended to get you out of this as quick as ever I could. I’d half expected you would have started in the launch when this first began.”

“So we should, Martin, but we were unable to do so. The eruption began with an earthquake, and a great piece of rock fell from the roof upon the Norseman Thur, the prisoner you left behind. He was dreadfully injured, and, even if Scipio and I could have carried him, was not fit to be moved. But we could not carry him, so had to remain with the poor fellow.”

Martin gave a low whistle of dismay. “That’s serious,” he said. “But see here, Professor, we simply dare not stay another minute. The explosions are getting worse all the time. Suppose the whole sea-bed caves in, as you said it might? That will be the end of the island and of all of us.”

“That is what I fear,” replied the Professor gravely. “Yet I know you will agree with me that we cannot leave the unfortunate man to lie here alone in his agony.” Martin was wondering what on earth he could say next when the curtain was flung aside, and in rushed Scipio.

At sight of Martin he pulled up short and stood, glaring. His mouth was wide open, and his eyes goggling. Martin laughed.

“It’s all right, Scipio,” he said. “Don’t be scared. It’s myself and nobody else.”

“Den I don’t care if dis old island blows up de next minute!” shouted Scipio in delight.

The Professor cut him short. “Why have you left Thur, Scipio?” he asked sharply.

Scipio started. “Bress my soul! I done clean forgot. De poor chap am dead, boss.”

“Dead?” cried the Professor; and ran out of the room.

He was back in less than a minute.

“You are right,” he said sorrowfully. “Perhaps it is as well. He could never have recovered. Then, Martin, we had better pack up and leave with all speed.”

“Pack up?” exclaimed Martin. “Good Heavens, sir, we can’t wait to pack. Scipio, is there food in the launch?”

“Yes, Marse Martin, plenty of grub and a barrel of water.”

“Then come on,” cried Martin; and, seizing the Professor by the arm, dragged him away through the pillared hall.

As they reached the top of the steps there came a shock as though a magazine of dynamite had exploded outside. All three were thrown down heavily.

Before they could gain their feet again there was a tremendous rushing sound, and a wave as high as the roof itself came thundering into the tunnel.

Rushing forward it flung itself with fearful force against the stone stairs, sending hot spray flying to their summit. Then it sank back, gurgling and seething.

“The Bat!” gasped Martin.

“And de launch!” groaned Scipio.

Both were gone!