T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (3) (A Boy’s Adventure on Wizard Island)

III. The Mysterious Island

Fifty minutes later, and the Bat was shooting like a meteor towards a vast dark mass of land surrounded by a wide belt of shining sea. Martin was near enough to see plainly the enormous cliffs and frowning precipices which bounded it.

The island was about twenty miles long and nearly as wide. In the centre rose a mountain with twin peaks white with snow, and from one of which a thin coil of smoke drifting lazily across the blue proclaimed it to be a volcano not yet extinct.

Here and there were patches of vivid green, but whether forest or bush, or merely grassland he was not yet near enough to see. To the west, so far away as to be merely a blur on the horizon, was what appeared to be another island.

As Martin drew nearer he was more and more impressed by the savage grandeur of the scenery. This was no coral island, but a great volcanic mass, clearly a survival of some continent long since whelmed in the depths of the sea.

He stared hard, but could see no sign of life upon the land. The only smoke was the faint curl from the tall peak. There was no sign of house or building nor, as far as he could see, of any cultivated land.

The next thing that struck him—and struck him very unpleasantly—was that there did not seem to be any place to make a landing. There was the sea, of course, but if he alighted on the sea he was faced with those enormous cliffs, up which there appeared to be no way of climbing. There was not a yard of beach anywhere. Even the deepest inlets seemed to be mere fiords faced with grim precipices.

Rising again, he circled higher, the roar of his engine coming back in rattling echoes from the wilderness of crags below. The higher he rose the less he liked the look of things. It seemed certain that he must either land upon the sea, or else turn and fly back to where he had come from.

Martin was one of those lucky people whose brains always work most quickly in an emergency, and like a flash it came to him that, even if he could not see the nameless inhabitant of this mysterious island, it was probable that the other was aware of his approach. He remembered his wireless.

While it is still rare for any ’plane to carry a wireless sending installation, all the larger types of aircraft are fitted with receiving apparatus. It was the work of a moment to clap the telephones to ears and release the wire.

Instantly came the whistling notes in sequence, and presently he was reading out a message repeated time and time again:

“Pass twin peak to north. Land on lake beyond!”

Instantly obeying the order, he opened his throttle to its widest and went rushing round the shoulder of the northern peak. He gave it a wide berth. As it was, the hot air from below, mingling with the cold breath from the snow-capped heights, made wild eddies which swung his big ’plane giddily. But the giant power of his engines carried him safely through this peril and, sure enough, beyond and beneath lay the lake that the message had told of.

It was a mountain tarn, perhaps three miles long and a mile wide, and rimmed with precipices looking every bit as savage and inaccessible as the sea-cliffs themselves.

Yet Martin did not hesitate. He had every confidence in the mysterious guidance which had brought him so far, and, besides, he had no choice in the matter. Cutting out his engines, he glided down in a long, silent volplane, to land, light as a homing sea-bird, upon the dark surface of the lonely lake.

He had now been flying for more than four hours, and it was a relief to his tired nerves to release the controls and lie back a moment and look around him. The lake, as he had observed already, was long and narrow. It was evidently of enormous depth, and, from the black basalt cliffs which bordered it, he gathered that its bed must be the crater of an old fissure eruption.

Martin was not left long to consider his surroundings. All of a sudden the quick beat of a motor engine reached his ears, and, looking behind him, he saw a small launch shooting towards him at great speed. Where it came from he had not the slightest idea, for so far he had seen no possible landing-place. Yet there it was, and in the stern sat a man who steered his smart craft straight towards the flying boat.

Martin’s heart throbbed with excitement. Here was the stranger who had called to him across all those thousands of miles of ocean.

Soon the launch was near enough for Martin to see the face and figure of the solitary steersman. The first thing of which Martin was conscious was that the stranger was a man of great height and magnificent physique, the second that he was old beyond belief.

His hair, still thick, was white as the ice-cap of the peak above, and so were his beard and mustache. The skin of his face was brown as parchment and seamed with a million wrinkles, and his cheekbones stood out prominent like those of a mummy. Yet his eyes were dark and piercing and there was still an air of power and strength about him, which was intensely impressive. Martin stared at him as though fascinated. He felt himself in the presence of an unusual personality.

The launch came alongside, and Martin found himself waiting breathlessly for the other to speak.

He had not long to wait. The white-haired giant raised his soft hat courteously.

“Welcome to Lost Island,” he said in a deep voice. “My name is Julius Distin, and I wish to assure you that I am very grateful to you for coming to my help.”

“I am Martin Vaile,” Martin answered simply. “I consider myself very lucky to have been the one to pick up your message.”

Julius Distin looked at Martin thoughtfully.

“You took it yourself?” he questioned quietly.

“Yes,” replied Martin. “I was trying some extra wave lengths, and I just chanced on your signals.”

Distin nodded. “The true spirit,” he said. “You are young to have it. You are young, too, to have made such a flight unaided. So that is an aeroplane? I have never seen one.”

Martin gasped. He could not say a word. The idea that this wonderful old man had never so much as set eyes upon an aeroplane struck him as the most amazing thing he had ever heard.

Distin smiled. “Yes, I have no doubt you are surprised. But it is nineteen years since I last visited the outer world. Still, the shape is familiar to me. I know of all the latest experiments, from the Wrights onwards.”

“By your wireless, sir?”

“No, I have books.”

Again Martin could only stare, and again the old man smiled. It was a pleasing smile, Martin thought.

“Wait a while,” went on Distin. “I will tell you all about these things a little later on. But first we must get in. We have sharp storms here sometimes, and it would never do to risk this beautiful machine of yours. Give me your tow-rope.”

“I can taxi in,” said Martin.

“No, you must not waste your gasoline. I can tow you easily.”

He took the rope, made it fast, restarted his engine, and turned back. As they neared the cliff on the north side of the lake, Martin saw a great rift open, a sort of fiord only a few yards wide, but very deep. The towering cliffs nearly met overhead. They passed straight down it, and as they went it grew narrower, until at last they were moving in deep gloom under an arch of rock resembling the aisle of a giant cathedral.

Distin stopped the launch.

“Here we are,” he said; and Martin realized that they were floating in deep water at the foot of a low quay of rock. The old man rose to his feet and stepped out. There was the click of a switch, and Martin blinked in the dazzle of huge arc-lamps which shed a glare of white light over a monstrous staircase hewn in the living rock and stretching away up into the heart of the mountain.

Before Martin could recover from his astonishment, Distin stepped to one side and pulled over a lever. There came a sound like the fireproof curtain dropping in a theatre, and Martin saw a real curtain of metal bars descending behind them from the roof of the cave. It dropped to the water and below it.

Martin turned amazed eyes upon his guide.

“W-hat—” he began.

“We have our enemies,” said the old man, gravely. “It is as well to be on the safe side.”

Martin stared at his companion.

“Then you are not alone on the island,” he said quickly. “There are natives?”

Professor Distin smiled.

“I am quite alone except for my servant Scipio and yourself,” he answered. “The enemies I speak of come from that other island which you must have seen from your plane.”

“The one to the west?”

“Yes. It is called Lemuria; it is much larger than this, and has a good many people upon it.”

“Who are they?” inquired Martin eagerly. “Caribs?”

“Oh, no! A much older race. To the best of my belief they are the survivors of the ancient Atlanteans, but they are not of pure blood. There is a Norse strain in them. I discovered this island from an old Norse chart.”

“A Norse chart?” repeated Martin, in astonishment.

“Yes; but, Mr. Vaile, I must not keep you standing here. We have very much to talk over, you and I, and I am sure you are tired and hungry. Come with me, and over supper I will tell you my story and hear yours.”