T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (10) (A Boy’s Adventure on Wizard Island)

X. The Lake of Fire

Professor Distin was silent as the launch went rushing across the lake. As for Martin, he, too, sat without speaking, watching the long trail of white foam which spread away across the dark blue water of the deep tarn.

The launch slid in under the shadow of the tall cliffs opposite. It was getting well on in the afternoon, and the sun was low. Martin looked up at the towering walls of rock and at the great peak above. He noticed the thin cloud of smoke which rose from the flank of the volcano, and began to feel curious as to the object of their trip and the nature of the Professor’s warning.

But the Professor said nothing. He sat very still, steering the launch straight in towards the foot of the tall precipice that bounded the lake.

Just as it seemed as though they were going to run hard against the cliff, Martin saw an opening, and presently they were in a deep narrow fiord similar to those which Martin had already seen on the other side of the lake. This one, however, was longer and deeper than any which Martin had seen, and its sides were so lofty that the cliffs seemed almost to meet overhead. They cut off the light, so that the calm water at the bottom looked like dark-green glass. There was no sign of life in the gloomy place.

The Professor kept straight up the center of the fiord. It curved to the right, and as the launch rounded the bend Martin became aware that there was a beach in front, and, beyond it, a long rough slope running steeply upwards.

The Professor stopped the motor. The launch, glided gently up to the beach and grounded quietly on soft, dark-looking shingle.

“We get out here,” said the Professor.

Martin followed him up the slope. It was rough walking, and at every step their feet sank ankle deep into soft, dark, powdery shale.

“Looks like ash,” said Martin under his breath.

“It is ash,” answered the Professor in an equally low voice.

Every now and then he was forced to stop and take breath. At last they left the ash slope and got on to a narrow ledge-like path running along the face of the cliff which rose to the right.

And now Martin became aware of a curious slow sound. It was like the bubbling of a giant kettle. Every now and then there was a sharp snap almost like the bursting of a bicycle tire.

The Professor stopped and took something out of his pocket which he unfolded and handed to Martin. It was a kind of mask.

“Put it on,” said the Professor. “If the draught draws down the cleft the fumes are sometimes very bad.”

He showed Martin how to tie it on, then donned one himself. It gave him the oddest appearance, but, all the same, Martin did not feel like laughing. The Professor’s looks and tone made him feel sure that this business was something really serious.

The ledge, if narrow, was better than the ash slope. They got on more quickly. But as they moved forward the bubbling sound grew louder and whiffs of sulphurous gas met them. In spite of the mask they caught Martin’s throat and nostrils and made him choke.

In half an hour they had climbed several hundred feet above the water-level. The cleft was still as narrow as ever and its coal-black walls still towered high overhead. As Martin looked up it struck him that it had not been long made. The rocks were very little worn by weather, and there was not a blade of grass or any green thing to be seen.

Meantime the bubbling grew louder and louder, and presently Martin saw that they were getting to the end of the gorge, which seemed to break off abruptly. The Professor turned and signed to Martin to go quietly. Then he himself went cautiously forward.

Presently he stopped, and beckoned Martin to come up. Martin did so, and a moment later found himself standing on the very rim of an immense bowl of rock and looking down into a sea of fire.

Although the sounds he had heard had prepared him for something of the sort, the grandeur and horror of the sight left him speechless. All he could do was to stand on that tremendous verge and stare down dumbly into the awful cauldron that yawned beneath.

The crater was about a third of a mile across, the sides were of dark volcanic rock broken by great spurs, and at the bottom, some three or four hundred feet beneath the rim rock, there heaved and bubbled a lake of lava. In the center, where the molten stuff bubbled up, the glow was so intense it hurt the eyes to look at it. Nearer the edges the stuff was cherry red. But none of the surface was at rest, even for a moment. All of it boiled and seethed like a cauldron hung over a hot fire. Every moment great bubbles rose, swelling six or eight feet high and perhaps twenty across. These, as they burst and fell, produced the popping noises which he had heard.

The whole surface smoked constantly, but the fierce heat rising from the molten mass carried up the smoke with it, so that the surface of the burning lake was very little hidden by the vapors of its burning. The spot they stood upon was at the bottom of a gap in the crater rim. Everywhere else the black cliffs towered up two or three thousand feet.

The sight was a terrible one, yet so fascinating that Martin could not take his eyes off it. He was roused at last by the Professor’s voice, and saw that he had drawn back a little and removed his mask.

“What do you think of it, Martin?”

“It’s the most wonderful sight I ever saw,” declared Martin.

“Yes, but does nothing else occur to you?”

Martin looked around, and stared up at the huge walls of the crater.

“Yes,” he said. “I had no idea that a crater could be so deep.”

The Professor nodded.

“Ah,” he said, “that is what I meant. If you will look again you will realize that the surface of the lava is very little above that of the lake outside. Now do you realize the danger?”

Martin drew a long breath. In a moment the real extent of the peril flashed across him.

“Krakatoa,” he breathed.

“Exactly. I see you understand. That tremendous explosion, the greatest ever known in the history of volcanic eruptions, was caused by the sea bursting in upon a vast mass of molten lava. The result was that thousands of tons of water were instantly turned to steam. Two-thirds of an island nearly as large as this were blown into the air, three hundred villages were destroyed, the wave thrown up washed all round the world, and the sound of the explosion was heard three thousand miles away. As for the dust, it hung in the upper atmosphere for three years.”

“And you think that may happen here?” gasped Martin.

“It will happen sooner or later,” replied the Professor, with deadly certainty. “This rift has been formed within the last century, and even within my recollection is deeper and wider than it used to be. The increasing severity of the earthquakes proves that the subterranean disturbances are increasing.”

Martin whistled softly.

“Then we are living on a boiler with the safety valve screwed down. Strikes me that we had best quit as soon as possible,” he said.

“Yes,” said the Professor. “I am afraid that is the case.” He paused, and shook his head.

“Martin, I am fond of this place. I had hoped to end my days here. But I have come to think that, old as I am, the catastrophe may occur before I am due to go out of this life. Yet I am most anxious to solve the problem of Lemuria and of its people. And if it be possible, I would wish to visit the other island before I return to the world of men.”

“I’ll take you there, sir,” declared Martin stoutly. “Just wait until we’ve made Akon understand what we are after. Then I’ll take him over in the Bat and come back for you. With Akon to help us, it will all be plain sailing.”

“Indeed, I hope it may be,” said the Professor earnestly. “And now, Martin, if you have seen enough, let us get back. These vapors and the heat try my old throat and lungs sorely.”

Next day Martin was up early and at work repairing the Bat, the planes of which had been badly ripped by the talons of the cliff eagles. The Professor meanwhile was with Akon, reading to him the Icelandic sagas, and doing his best to master the language himself.

The days went by quickly. When Martin had finished the repairs of the Bat, he busied himself in the garden, and in the evenings he worked at the Norse language. Akon, now quite himself again, was free to go where he liked; and it amused Martin to show him the turbines, the electric light, and other scientific apparatus.

The Bat was Akon’s principal source of wonder. He would go and stand by it and stare at it for minutes at a time, but never offer to touch it. The launch itself puzzled him a good deal, but he was able to understand that the screw drove it, though how the screw was made to work by the oil engine was a mystery to him.

Thur, the other Lemurian, was still unable to do much. He was a silent person, rather stupid, and evidently stood in awe of Akon.

One evening, when Martin came in, he found the Professor waiting for him.

“Martin,” said the old gentleman quickly, “I was right. Akon is the son of the King of Lemuria. He made me understand that today. What is more, he says that his people will certainly come after him. I gather that they have a considerable fleet of long-ships, and will probably come in force.”

“They’ve been long enough about it,” replied Martin.

“That to me makes matters look the worse,” declared the Professor. “It means that they are making great preparations. And if a large force were to invade us I do not see what we could do. I do not like the prospect at all.”

Martin considered a moment.

“Tell you what, Professor,” he said. “I’ll go and see. Tomorrow I will take the Bat and fly to Lemuria, and bring back word of what is happening.”

The Professor nodded.

“Very well, my lad. But come back as quickly as you can.”

The Bat was in first-rate order, and when, true to his promise, Martin started out soon after daylight next morning, he found her great twin engines working to perfection. He taxied out to the middle of the lake, then rose and, circling upwards until he got his height, headed due west for the mysterious island.

It was another wonderful day, so calm that the smoke from the volcano rose straight into the azure sky, spreading out into a kind of parasol at an enormous height. Beneath, the ocean lay like silk. There was very little weed in the waters which separated Lost Island from Lemuria, but out on the rim of the horizon the brown stuff lay in long dark ribs across the peaceful blue.

Very swiftly Lemuria leaped into view. It was, Martin saw, a larger but less mountainous land than Lost Island. But before he was near enough to examine any details a number of dark spots stretched in a long line across the sea caught his attention. From his dizzy height they looked no larger than water-beetles, but it did not need a second glance to tell him what they were.

The Lemurian fleet had already put to sea. Before night the long-ships would be upon Lost Island.