T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (24) (A Boy’s Adventure on Wizard Island)

XXIV. A Desperate Venture

Hymer looked. Behind and beyond the great cone of the volcano a dark cloud was slowly spreading. Though the other island was so far away that even the lofty mountain appeared no larger than a toy, the cloud was rising fast enough for Martin and Hymer to watch its growth. It was spouting upwards like the smoke from the explosion of a submarine mine.

“You mean that the water has reached the molten rock in the pit of which you have told me?” said Hymer.

“I am terribly afraid so,” Martin answered. “Hymer, Professor Distin assured me that if this happened the sea would turn to steam and blow the whole island to atoms. And there is the poor Professor left helpless with Scipio and that remaining Norseman—left to perish without even a boat to take them away.”

Martin paused a moment, then his face hardened.

“There is but one thing to do,” he added. “As soon as ever the Bat’s floats can be fixed, I must fly back and give what help I can.”

Hymer caught him by the arm.

“You are mad, boy,” he said in a tone which Martin had never before heard from him. “You are mad to suggest such a thing. When mountains burn the air is rent so that no bird even could fly through the whirlwinds that rise in fury to the skies. Be advised by me,” he implored. “Do not go. We will send one of our fastest ships, manned by our strongest rowers. You and I will go with the ship.”

Martin shook his head.

“The ship will take many hours; I shall take but one,” he answered. “Believe me, Hymer, it is the only chance to save my friends. Do not try to stop me.”

The priest gazed at Martin in silence for several seconds. He saw the dogged set of Martin’s jaw, and realized that nothing he could say would be of any avail. He sighed heavily, then turned to the men, and ordered them to get on with the repairs at the top of their speed. Martin himself snatched up his tools, and flung himself into the work with savage energy.

The news that Martin was leaving the island had spread far and wide, and that evening, when at last the Bat was ready, and lying upon the water alongside the great floats, a huge crowd had congregated on the broad quay.

It was a strange scene. Night had fallen, a night still, oppressively hot, and darker than Martin had ever known—a night, indeed, on which it would have been impossible to fly without landmarks of some sort. But the mark in this case was only too clear and plain. Out across the sea in the direction of Lost Island a lurid glow rose against the blackness like a pillar of molten metal. Every now and then this pillar seemed to heave and throb, and some minutes after each of these upheavals a dull thud would come to the ears of the watchers, a sound like that of some monstrous gun fired a few miles out to sea. Terrible things were happening out there, and Martin was sick with anxiety for the fate of the Professor and the kindly Scipio.

And now there was a stir in the throng of silent watchers and a gasp of amazement. All eyes were turned towards a row of torches which approached from the direction of the palace and upon the great gold-encrusted litter which a score of tall Norsemen bore down towards the quay.

Martin, sitting in the boathouse, hastily eating food which servants had brought from the palace, heard the stir and looked up.

“It is the king,” said Hymer, who sat with him—“the king who comes to say adieu and to see you start upon this journey of yours.”

Martin jumped up.

“It is more than kind of him,” he said.

“It is a great honor, my son—such an honor as never yet, within my remembrance, has been paid to any save of the royal race.”

Martin ran quickly up the broad steps to the wharf, and was in time to see the king descend from the litter. Akon was with him, and the king, still rather pale from his long illness, took the arm of his giant son and stepped forward.

He was a royal figure. The glare of the torches shed a ruddy light upon his snowy hair, his white tunic edged with purple, and the gold of his headdress and breastplate.

The crowds had made way, but all around was a sea of faces, white and brown. The people were very quiet; indeed, hardly a whisper was to be heard among them.

The king released Akon’s arm and gave Martin both his hands.

“Englishman,” he said gravely, “I have come to wish you Godspeed upon your perilous journey. I would that you could have been content to take the ship which Hymer offered you, yet I will not attempt to dissuade you from flying to the help of your friends. But this I beg of you to remember—that in this country, for which you have done so much, you and any dear to you will always find a home.”

Martin dropped upon one knee, and kissed the hand of the old man.

“King,” he answered, “in the name of my friends and of myself, I thank you. If I come through safely, I shall, I trust, be back within a few hours with my friends. If not, I shall have died with them. In any case, believe me that I am most grateful for all the kindness I have received at your hands, at those of Prince Akon, and of the chief priest Hymer.”

Akon stepped forward.

“The gold, Martin! Have you forgotten the gold which you needed? It is all ready for you.”

Martin laughed a little.

“My dear Akon,” he answered, “the gold will have to wait. I must not carry a pound extra. Indeed, I do not know whether it will be possible to carry both my friends here in the Bat. It is for that reason that Hymer has already despatched a galley to pick me up in case I cannot get back with such a weight aboard.”

Akon nodded gravely.

“I understand,” he said. “The gold shall be kept to await your return. But there is one small matter which I will ask you to take.”

As he spoke he pressed a small bag of soft leather into Martin’s hand.

“They are luck stones,” he said—“luck stones from the sea. They belonged to my mother, and she believed that they brought health and happiness. Take them, I beg of you, my friend, and may they bring you through this peril safely!”

Martin was deeply touched.

“Thank you a thousand times, Akon,” he said warmly. “I will take them gladly. And now, good-by; and if you do not see me again, be sure that I shall not forget you as long as I live.” Akon squeezed Martin’s hand in his giant grip. Martin bowed once more to the king, then, turning, hurried down to his waiting plane, and stepped into the cockpit.

Hymer stood by him.

“Good-by, my son,” he said, and his deep, rumbling voice was not quite steady. Martin could hardly believe his own eyes when he saw those of the stern old priest were wet with tears.

“Good-by, and may your God and mine preserve you,” he ended.

One last handshake, then Martin put over the switch of the self-starter. The engine broke into roaring life, sending echoes clattering through the night, and the Bat glided out on to the broad, smooth bosom of the harbor.

It was at this instant that the crowd, roused suddenly from their silence, burst out into a tremendous shout—a roar so tremendous that it drowned the deafening exhaust from the Bat’s great engines.

And, with this royal farewell ringing in his ears, Martin rose from the water, and, rushing upwards into the black starless night started out upon such an errand as never yet even flying man had attempted.