Fire Island | Page 3

though the vessel was labouring as much as ever.
Then he managed to grasp the fact that it was some time since the deck had been flooded by a wave, and with a faint gleam of hope crossing the darkness which had enshrouded them, he said with an effort--
"Lulling a little?"
"Lulling?" cried the mate. "You couldn't have talked to me like that a couple of hours ago."
"Then we have escaped?"
"I don't know yet. All that I know is that we are getting through the storm, and the sooner it is daylight the better I shall be pleased."
Some hours passed. The wind had died out and the sea was rapidly going down, but a strange feeling of uneasiness had come upon the occupants of the little vessel. Visit after visit had been paid to the cabins, and the watches which had been consulted and doubted were now acknowledged to be trusty and truth-telling, for the chronometers supported their evidence and announced that it was well on toward noon of the next day. Though to all appearance it was midnight of the blackest, dense clouds shutting out the sky, while the long-continued darkness had a singularly depressing effect upon men worn out by their struggle with the storm.
Arthur Panton, the mineralogist of the little expedition, had pretty well recovered from the battering he had received, and he at once gave his opinion as to the cause of the darkness.
"I cannot speak learnedly upon the subject," he said, "but these terrible storms, as Mr Rimmer says, do appear to be somehow connected with electric disturbances, and often enough these latter seem to be related to volcanic eruptions."
"And you think there is a volcanic eruption somewhere near?" asked Lane.
"I do not say somewhere near, for the wind may have brought this dense blackness from hundreds of miles distant but certainly I should say that one of the many volcanoes in this region is in eruption."
"If it were, sir, we should be having fine ashes coming down upon us," said the mate, gruffly, "and--"
"What's that?" cried Panton, holding up his hand.
"Thunder," said the mate, as a deep, apparently distant concussion was heard.
"No, the explosion from some crater," said Panton. "Hark!"
Another deep muttering report was heard, and soon after another and another.
"Only a bad thunderstorm," cried the mate. "There, let's go and get some food, gentlemen, and see how our friends are. I daresay we shall be having a deluge of rain before long, and then the sun will come out and I can take an observation."
He led the way to the cabin, where the steward had prepared a meal and retrimmed the lamps, going about with a scared look on his countenance, and turning his eyes appealingly from one to the other as the thunderlike reports kept on; but, getting no sympathy from those to whom he appealed silently, for they were as nervous as himself, he sought his opportunity and, following Oliver Lane into a corner, he began,--
"Oh, sir, the destruction's awful."
"But the ship is sound yet, and making no water."
"I mean my china and glass, sir," said the man, "I shan't have a whole thing left."
"Never mind that if our lives are saved."
"No, sir, I don't; but will they be saved?"
"Oh, yes, I hope so."
"But it's so dark, sir. Oh, why did I leave London with its safety and its gas? Why am I here, sir? I want to know why I am here?"
"Because you were not a coward," said Lane.
"Eh? You're not joking me, sir."
"No, I am serious."
"Then thank you, sir. You're quite right. That's it, I'm not a coward, and I won't say another word."
The man nodded and smiled and went about his work, while Lane turned to a young man of seven or eight and twenty, who sat evidently suffering and looking pale and strange in the sickly light.
"I say, Lane," he said, "is this the end of the world?"
"Not to-day, Mr Drew," cried the mate: "Is no end to the world, it's round."
"To-day! It's noon, and as black as night."
"Mr Rimmer thinks we are going to have a tremendous rain storm now," said Oliver Lane, wincing with pain as he sat down.
"Then it is going to be a rain of black ink."
"Oh, no, sir, heavy thunderstorm and then the light will come. The clouds look almost solid."
"But surely that cannot be thunder," cried Oliver Lane, excitedly. "Hark!"
"No need to, sir," said the mate, smiling. "It makes itself heard plainly enough. By George!"
He sprang from the table and hurried out on deck, for a roar like that of some terrific explosion close at hand was heard, and Lane and Panton followed, expecting to see the lurid light of a fire or the flash of lightning forerunning the next roar.
But all was blacker than ever, and the sailing lights and a ship's