It was on the 3rd of January that Herbert, having ascended at daybreak
to the plateau of Prospect Heights to harness one of the onagers,
perceived an enormous hat-shaped cloud rolling from the summit of the
volcano.
Herbert immediately apprised the colonists, who at once joined him in
watching the summit of Mount Franklin.
“Ah!” exclaimed Pencroft, “those are not vapors this time! It seems to
me that the giant is not content with breathing; he must smoke!”
This figure of speech employed by the sailor exactly expressed the
changes going on at the mouth of the volcano. Already for three months
had the crater emitted vapors more or less dense, but which were as yet
produced only by an internal ebullition of mineral substances. But
now the vapors were replaced by a thick smoke, rising in the form of a
grayish column, more than three hundred feet in width at its base, and
which spread like an immense mushroom to a height of from seven to eight
hundred feet above the summit of the mountain.
“The fire is in the chimney,” observed Gideon Spilett.
“And we can’t put it out!” replied Herbert.
“The volcano ought to be swept,” observed Neb, who spoke as if perfectly
serious.
“Well said, Neb!” cried Pencroft, with a shout of laughter; “and you’ll
undertake the job, no doubt?”
Cyrus Harding attentively observed the dense smoke emitted by Mount
Franklin, and even listened, as if expecting to hear some distant
muttering. Then, turning towards his companions, from whom he had gone
somewhat apart, he said,--
“The truth is, my friends, we must not conceal from ourselves that an
important change is going forward. The volcanic substances are no longer
in a state of ebullition, they have caught fire, and we are undoubtedly
menaced by an approaching eruption.”
“Well, captain,” said Pencroft, “we shall witness the eruption; and if
it is a good one, we’ll applaud it. I don’t see that we need concern
ourselves further about the matter.”
“It may be so,” replied Cyrus Harding, “for the ancient track of
the lava is still open; and thanks to this, the crater has hitherto
overflowed towards the north. And yet--”
“And yet, as we can derive no advantage from an eruption, it might be
better it should not take place,” said the reporter.
“Who knows?” answered the sailor. “Perhaps there may be some valuable
substance in this volcano, which it will spout forth, and which we may
turn to good account!”
Cyrus Harding shook his head with the air of a man who augured no good
from the phenomenon whose development had been so sudden. He did not
regard so lightly as Pencroft the results of an eruption. If the lava,
in consequence of the position of the crater, did not directly menace
the wooded and cultivated parts of the island, other complications might
present themselves. In fact, eruptions are not unfrequently accompanied
by earthquakes; and an island of the nature of Lincoln Island, formed of
substances so varied, basalt on one side, granite on the other, lava on
the north, rich soil on the south, substances which consequently could
not be firmly attached to each other, would be exposed to the risk
of disintegration. Although, therefore, the spreading of the volcanic
matter might not constitute a serious danger, any movement of the
terrestrial structure which should shake the island might entail the
gravest consequences.
“It seems to me,” said Ayrton, who had reclined so as to place his ear
to the ground, “it seems to me that I can hear a dull, rumbling sound,
like that of a wagon loaded with bars of iron.”
The colonists listened with the greatest attention, and were convinced
that Ayrton was not mistaken. The rumbling was mingled with a
subterranean roar, which formed a sort of rinforzando, and died slowly
away, as if some violent storm had passed through the profundities of
the globe. But no explosion properly so termed, could be heard. It might
therefore be concluded that the vapors and smoke found a free passage
through the central shaft; and that the safety-valve being sufficiently
large, no convulsion would be produced, no explosion was to be
apprehended.
“Well, then!” said Pencroft, “are we not going back to work? Let Mount
Franklin smoke, groan, bellow, or spout forth fire and flame as much as
it pleases, that is no reason why we should be idle! Come, Ayrton, Neb,
Herbert, Captain Harding, Mr. Spilett, every one of us must turn to at
our work to-day! We are going to place the keelson, and a dozen pair
of hands would not be too many. Before two months I want our new
‘Bonadventure’--for we shall keep the old name, shall we not?--to float
on the waters of Port Balloon! Therefore there is not an hour to lose!”
All the colonists, their services thus requisitioned by Pencroft,
descended to the dockyard, and proceeded to place the keelson, a thick
mass of wood which forms the lower portion of a ship and unites firmly
the timbers of the hull. It was an arduous undertaking, in which all
took part.
They continued their labors during the whole of this day, the 3rd of
January, without thinking further of the volcano, which could not,
besides, be seen from the shore of Granite House. But once or twice,
large shadows, veiling the sun, which described its diurnal arc through
an extremely clear sky, indicated that a thick cloud of smoke passed
between its disc and the island. The wind, blowing on the shore, carried
all these vapors to the westward. Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett
remarked these somber appearances, and from time to time discussed
the evident progress of the volcanic phenomena, but their work went
on without interruption. It was, besides, of the first importance from
every point of view, that the vessel should be finished with the least
possible delay. In presence of the eventualities which might arise,
the safety of the colonists would be to a great extent secured by their
ship. Who could tell that it might not prove some day their only refuge?
In the evening, after supper, Cyrus Harding, Gideon Spilett, and Herbert
again ascended the plateau of Prospect Heights. It was already dark, and
the obscurity would permit them to ascertain if flames or incandescent
matter thrown up by the volcano were mingled with the vapor and smoke
accumulated at the mouth of the crater.
“The crater is on fire!” said Herbert, who, more active than his
companion, first reached the plateau.
Mount Franklin, distant about six miles, now appeared like a gigantic
torch, around the summit of which turned fuliginous flames. So much
smoke, and possibly scoriae and cinders were mingled with them, that
their light gleamed but faintly amid the gloom of the night. But a kind
of lurid brilliancy spread over the island, against which stood out
confusedly the wooded masses of the heights. Immense whirlwinds of vapor
obscured the sky, through which glimmered a few stars.
“The change is rapid!” said the engineer.
“That is not surprising,” answered the reporter. “The reawakening of the
volcano already dates back some time. You may remember, Cyrus, that
the first vapors appeared about the time we searched the sides of the
mountain to discover Captain Nemo’s retreat. It was, if I mistake not,
about the 15th of October.”
“Yes,” replied Herbert, “two months and a half ago!”
“The subterranean fires have therefore been smoldering for ten weeks,”
resumed Gideon Spilett, “and it is not to be wondered at that they now
break out with such violence!”
“Do not you feel a certain vibration of the soil?” asked Cyrus Harding.
“Yes,” replied Gideon Spilett, “but there is a great difference between
that and an earthquake.”
“I do not affirm that we are menaced with an earthquake,” answered Cyrus
Harding, “may God preserve us from that! No; these vibrations are due to
the effervescence of the central fire. The crust of the earth is
simply the shell of a boiler, and you know that such a shell, under the
pressure of steam, vibrates like a sonorous plate. It is this effect
which is being produced at this moment.”
“What magnificent flames!” exclaimed Herbert.
At this instant a kind of bouquet of flames shot forth from the crater,
the brilliancy of which was visible even through the vapors. Thousands
of luminous sheets and barbed tongues of fire were cast in various
directions. Some, extending beyond the dome of smoke, dissipated
it, leaving behind an incandescent powder. This was accompanied
by successive explosions, resembling the discharge of a battery of
machine-guns.
Cyrus Harding, the reporter, and Herbert, after spending an hour on the
plateau of Prospect Heights, again descended to the beach, and returned
to Granite House. The engineer was thoughtful and preoccupied, so much
so, indeed, that Gideon Spilett inquired if he apprehended any immediate
danger, of which the eruption might directly or indirectly be the cause.
“Yes, and no,” answered Cyrus Harding.
“Nevertheless,” continued the reporter, “would not the greatest
misfortune which could happen to us be an earthquake which would
overturn the island? Now, I do not suppose that this is to be feared,
since the vapors and lava have found a free outlet.”
“True,” replied Cyrus Harding, “and I do not fear an earthquake in the
sense in which the term is commonly applied to convulsions of the soil
provoked by the expansion of subterranean gases. But other causes may
produce great disasters.”
“How so, my dear Cyrus?’
“I am not certain. I must consider. I must visit the mountain. In a few
days I shall learn more on this point.”
Gideon Spilett said no more, and soon, in spite of the explosions of
the volcano, whose intensity increased, and which were repeated by the
echoes of the island, the inhabitants of Granite House were sleeping
soundly.
Three days passed by--the 4th, 5th, and 6th of January. The construction
of the vessel was diligently continued, and without offering further
explanations the engineer pushed forward the work with all his energy.
Mount Franklin was now hooded by a somber cloud of sinister aspect, and,
amid the flames, vomiting forth incandescent rocks, some of which fell
back into the crater itself. This caused Pencroft, who would only look
at the matter in the light of a joke, to exclaim,--
“Ah! the giant is playing at cup and ball; he is a conjurer.”
In fact, the substances thrown up fell back again in to the abyss, and
it did not seem that the lava, though swollen by the internal pressure,
had yet risen to the orifice of the crater. At any rate, the opening on
the northeast, which was partly visible, poured out no torrent upon the
northern slope of the mountain.
Nevertheless, however pressing was the construction of the vessel, other
duties demanded the presence of the colonists on various portions of the
island. Before everything it was necessary to go to the corral, where
the flocks of musmons and goats were enclosed, and replenish the
provision of forage for those animals. It was accordingly arranged that
Ayrton should proceed thither the next day, the 7th of January; and as
he was sufficient for the task, to which he was accustomed, Pencroft and
the rest were somewhat surprised on hearing the engineer say to Ayrton--
“As you are going to-morrow to the corral I will accompany you.”
“But, Captain Harding,” exclaimed the sailor, “our working days will not
be many, and if you go also we shall be two pair of hands short!”
“We shall return to-morrow,” replied Cyrus Harding, “but it is necessary
that I should go to the corral. I must learn how the eruption is
progressing.”
“The eruption! always the eruption!” answered Pencroft, with an air of
discontent. “An important thing, truly, this eruption! I trouble myself
very little about it.”
Whatever might be the sailor’s opinion, the expedition projected by the
engineer was settled for the next day. Herbert wished to accompany Cyrus
Harding, but he would not vex Pencroft by his absence.
The next day, at dawn, Cyrus Harding and Ayrton, mounting the cart drawn
by two onagers, took the road to the corral and set off at a round trot.
Above the forest were passing large clouds, to which the crater of Mount
Franklin incessantly added fuliginous matter. These clouds, which rolled
heavily in the air, were evidently composed of heterogeneous substances.
It was not alone from the volcano that they derived their strange
opacity and weight. Scoriae, in a state of dust, like powdered
pumice-stone, and grayish ashes as small as the finest feculae, were
held in suspension in the midst of their thick folds. These ashes are so
fine that they have been observed in the air for whole months. After
the eruption of 1783 in Iceland for upwards of a year the atmosphere was
thus charged with volcanic dust through which the rays of the sun were
only with difficulty discernible.
But more often this pulverized matter falls, and this happened on the
present occasion. Cyrus Harding and Ayrton had scarcely reached the
corral when a sort of black snow like fine gunpowder fell, and instantly
changed the appearance of the soil. Trees, meadows, all disappeared
beneath a covering several inches in depth. But, very fortunately,
the wind blew from the northeast, and the greater part of the cloud
dissolved itself over the sea.
“This is very singular, Captain Harding,” said Ayrton.
“It is very serious,” replied the engineer. “This powdered pumice-stone,
all this mineral dust, proves how grave is the convulsion going forward
in the lower depths of the volcano.”
“But can nothing be done?”
“Nothing, except to note the progress of the phenomenon. Do you,
therefore, Ayrton, occupy yourself with the necessary work at the
corral. In the meantime I will ascend just beyond the source of Red
Creek and examine the condition of the mountain upon its northern
aspect. Then--”
“Well, Captain Harding?”
“Then we will pay a visit to Dakkar Grotto. I wish to inspect it. At any
rate I will come back for you in two hours.”
Ayrton then proceeded to enter the corral, and, while awaiting the
engineer’s return, busied himself with the musmons and goats which
seemed to feel a certain uneasiness in presence of these first signs of
an eruption.
Meanwhile Cyrus Harding ascended the crest of the eastern spur, passed
Red Creek, and arrived at the spot where he and his companions had
discovered a sulphurous spring at the time of their first exploration.
How changed was everything! Instead of a single column of smoke he
counted thirteen, forced through the soil as if violently propelled by
some piston. It was evident that the crust of the earth was subjected
in this part of the globe to a frightful pressure. The atmosphere was
saturated with gases and carbonic acid, mingled with aqueous vapors.
Cyrus Harding felt the volcanic tufa with which the plain was strewn,
and which was but pulverized cinders hardened into solid blocks by time,
tremble beneath him, but he could discover no traces of fresh lava.
The engineer became more assured of this when he observed all the
northern part of Mount Franklin. Pillars of smoke and flame escaped from
the crater; a hail of scoriae fell on the ground; but no current of
lava burst from the mouth of the volcano, which proved that the volcanic
matter had not yet attained the level of the superior orifice of the
central shaft.
“But I would prefer that it were so,” said Cyrus Harding to himself. “At
any rate, I should then know that the lava had followed its accustomed
track. Who can say that it may not take a new course? But the danger
does not consist in that! Captain Nemo foresaw it clearly! No, the
danger does not lie there!”
Cyrus Harding advanced towards the enormous causeway whose prolongation
enclosed the narrow Shark Gulf. He could now sufficiently examine on
this side the ancient channels of the lava. There was no doubt in his
mind that the most recent eruption had occurred at a far-distant epoch.
He then returned by the same way, listening attentively to the
subterranean mutterings which rolled like long-continued thunder,
interrupted by deafening explosions. At nine in the morning he reached
the corral.
Ayrton awaited him.
“The animals are cared for, Captain Harding,” said Ayrton.
“Good, Ayrton.”
“They seem uneasy, Captain Harding.”
“Yes, instinct speaks through them, and instinct is never deceived.”
“Are you ready?”
“Take a lamp, Ayrton,” answered the engineer; “we will start at once.”
Ayrton did as desired. The onagers, unharnessed, roamed in the corral.
The gate was secured on the outside, and Cyrus Harding, preceding
Ayrton, took the narrow path which led westward to the shore.
The soil they walked upon was choked with the pulverized matter fallen
from the cloud. No quadruped appeared in the woods. Even the birds had
fled. Sometimes a passing breeze raised the covering of ashes, and the
two colonists, enveloped in a whirlwind of dust, lost sight of each
other. They were then careful to cover their eyes and mouths with
handkerchiefs, for they ran the risk of being blinded and suffocated.
It was impossible for Cyrus Harding and Ayrton, with these impediments,
to make rapid progress. Moreover, the atmosphere was close, as if the
oxygen had been partly burned up, and had become unfit for respiration.
At every hundred paces they were obliged to stop to take breath. It was
therefore past ten o’clock when the engineer and his companion reached
the crest of the enormous mass of rocks of basalt and porphyry which
composed the northwest coast of the island.
Ayrton and Cyrus Harding commenced the descent of this abrupt declivity,
following almost step for step the difficult path which, during that
stormy night, had led them to Dakkar Grotto. In open day the descent was
less perilous, and, besides, the bed of ashes which covered the polished
surface of the rock enabled them to make their footing more secure.
The ridge at the end of the shore, about forty feet in height, was soon
reached. Cyrus Harding recollected that this elevation gradually sloped
towards the level of the sea. Although the tide was at present low, no
beach could be seen, and the waves, thickened by the volcanic dust, beat
upon the basaltic rocks.
Cyrus Harding and Ayrton found without difficulty the entrance to Dakkar
Grotto, and paused for a moment at the last rock before it.
“The iron boat should be there,” said the engineer.
“It is here, Captain Harding,” replied Ayrton, drawing towards him the
fragile craft, which was protected by the arch of the vault.
“On board, Ayrton!”
The two colonists stepped into the boat. A slight undulation of the
waves carried it farther under the low arch of the crypt, and there
Ayrton, with the aid of flint and steel, lighted the lamp. He then took
the oars, and the lamp having been placed in the bow of the boat, so
that its rays fell before them, Cyrus Harding took the helm and steered
through the shades of the grotto.
The “Nautilus” was there no longer to illuminate the cavern with its
electric light. Possibly it might not yet be extinguished, but no ray
escaped from the depths of the abyss in which reposed all that was
mortal of Captain Nemo.
The light afforded by the lamp, although feeble, nevertheless enabled
the engineer to advance slowly, following the wall of the cavern. A
deathlike silence reigned under the vaulted roof, or at least in the
anterior portion, for soon Cyrus Harding distinctly heard the rumbling
which proceeded from the bowels of the mountain.
“That comes from the volcano,” he said.
Besides these sounds, the presence of chemical combinations was soon
betrayed by their powerful odor, and the engineer and his companion were
almost suffocated by sulphurous vapors.
“This is what Captain Nemo feared,” murmured Cyrus Harding, changing
countenance. “We must go to the end, notwithstanding.”
“Forward!” replied Ayrton, bending to his oars and directing the boat
towards the head of the cavern.
Twenty-five minutes after entering the mouth of the grotto the boat
reached the extreme end.
Cyrus Harding then, standing up, cast the light of the lamp upon the
walls of the cavern which separated it from the central shaft of the
volcano. What was the thickness of this wall? It might be ten feet or a
hundred feet--it was impossible to say. But the subterranean sounds were
too perceptible to allow of the supposition that it was of any great
thickness.
The engineer, after having explored the wall at a certain height
horizontally, fastened the lamp to the end of an oar, and again surveyed
the basaltic wall at a greater elevation.
There, through scarcely visible clefts and joinings, escaped a pungent
vapor, which infected the atmosphere of the cavern. The wall was broken
by large cracks, some of which extended to within two or three feet of
the water’s edge.
Cyrus Harding thought for a brief space. Then he said in a low voice,--
“Yes! the captain was right! The danger lies there, and a terrible
danger!”
Ayrton said not a word, but, upon a sign from Cyrus Harding, resumed the
oars, and half an hour later the engineer and he reached the entrance of
Dakkar Grotto.
Chapter 19
The next day, the 8th day of January, after a day and night passed
at the corral, where they left all in order, Cyrus Harding and Ayrton
arrived at Granite House.
The engineer immediately called his companions together, and informed
them of the imminent danger which threatened Lincoln Island, and from
which no human power could deliver them.
“My friends,” he said, and his voice betrayed the depth of his emotion,
“our island is not among those which will endure while this earth
endures. It is doomed to more or less speedy destruction, the cause of
which it bears within itself, and from which nothing can save it.”
The colonists looked at each other, then at the engineer. They did not
clearly comprehend him.
“Explain yourself, Cyrus!” said Gideon Spilett.
“I will do so,” replied Cyrus Harding, “or rather I will simply
afford you the explanation which, during our few minutes of private
conversation, was given me by Captain Nemo.”
“Captain Nemo!” exclaimed the colonists.
“Yes, and it was the last service he desired to render us before his
death!”
“The last service!” exclaimed Pencroft, “the last service! You will see
that though he is dead he will render us others yet!”
“But what did the captain say?” inquired the reporter.
“I will tell you, my friends,” said the engineer. “Lincoln Island does
not resemble the other islands of the Pacific, and a fact of which
Captain Nemo has made me cognizant must sooner or later bring about the
subversion of its foundation.”
“Nonsense! Lincoln Island, it can’t be!” cried Pencroft, who, in spite
of the respect he felt for Cyrus Harding, could not prevent a gesture of
incredulity.
“Listen, Pencroft,” resumed the engineer, “I will tell you what Captain
Nemo communicated to me, and which I myself confirmed yesterday, during
the exploration of Dakkar Grotto.
“This cavern stretches under the island as far as the volcano, and is
only separated from its central shaft by the wall which terminates it.
Now, this wall is seamed with fissures and clefts which already allow
the sulphurous gases generated in the interior of the volcano to
escape.”
“Well?” said Pencroft, his brow suddenly contracting.
“Well, then, I saw that these fissures widen under the internal pressure
from within, that the wall of basalt is gradually giving way and that
after a longer or shorter period it will afford a passage to the waters
of the lake which fill the cavern.”
“Good!” replied Pencroft, with an attempt at pleasantry. “The sea will
extinguish the volcano, and there will be an end of the matter!”
“Not so!” said Cyrus Harding, “should a day arrive when the sea, rushing
through the wall of the cavern, penetrates by the central shaft into the
interior of the island to the boiling lava, Lincoln Island will that day
be blown into the air--just as would happen to the island of Sicily were
the Mediterranean to precipitate itself into Mount Etna.”
The colonists made no answer to these significant words of the engineer.
They now understood the danger by which they were menaced.
It may be added that Cyrus Harding had in no way exaggerated the danger
to be apprehended. Many persons have formed an idea that it would be
possible to extinguish volcanoes, which are almost always situated on
the shores of a sea or lake, by opening a passage for the admission of
the water. But they are not aware that this would be to incur the risk
of blowing up a portion of the globe, like a boiler whose steam is
suddenly expanded by intense heat. The water, rushing into a cavity
whose temperature might be estimated at thousands of degrees, would
be converted into steam with a sudden energy which no enclosure could
resist.
It was not therefore doubtful that the island, menaced by a frightful
and approaching convulsion, would endure only so long as the wall
of Dakkar Grotto itself should endure. It was not even a question of
months, nor of weeks, but of days; it might be of hours.
The first sentiment which the colonists felt was that of profound
sorrow. They thought not so much of the peril which menaced themselves
personally, but of the destruction of the island which had sheltered
them, which they had cultivated, which they loved so well, and had hoped
to render so flourishing. So much effort ineffectually expended, so much
labor lost.
Pencroft could not prevent a large tear from rolling down his cheek, nor
did he attempt to conceal it.
Some further conversation now took place. The chances yet in favor of
the colonists were discussed; but finally it was agreed that there was
not an hour to be lost, that the building and fitting of the vessel
should be pushed forward with their utmost energy, and that this was the
sole chance of safety for the inhabitants of Lincoln Island.
All hands, therefore, set to work on the vessel. What could it avail
to sow, to reap, to hunt, to increase the stores of Granite House?
The contents of the storehouse and outbuildings contained more than
sufficient to provide the ship for a voyage, however long might be its
duration. But it was imperative that the ship should be ready to receive
them before the inevitable catastrophe should arrive.
Their labors were now carried on with feverish ardor. By the 23rd of
January the vessel was half-decked over. Up to this time no change had
taken place on the summit of the volcano. Vapor and smoke mingled with
flames and incandescent stones were thrown up from the crater. But
during the night of the 23rd, in consequence of the lava attaining the
level of the first stratum of the volcano, the hat-shaped cone which
formed over the latter disappeared. A frightful sound was heard. The
colonists at first thought the island was rent asunder, and rushed out
of Granite House.
This occurred about two o’clock in the morning.
The sky appeared on fire. The superior cone, a mass of rock a thousand
feet in height, and weighing thousands of millions of pounds, had
been thrown down upon the island, making it tremble to its foundation.
Fortunately, this cone inclined to the north, and had fallen upon the
plain of sand and tufa stretching between the volcano and the sea. The
aperture of the crater being thus enlarged projected towards the sky a
glare so intense that by the simple effect of reflection the atmosphere
appeared red-hot. At the same time a torrent of lava, bursting from the
new summit, poured out in long cascades, like water escaping from a vase
too full, and a thousand tongues of fire crept over the sides of the
volcano.
“The corral! the corral!” exclaimed Ayrton.
It was, in fact, towards the corral that the lava was rushing as the
new crater faced the east, and consequently the fertile portions of the
island, the springs of Red Creek and Jacamar Wood, were menaced with
instant destruction.
At Ayrton’s cry the colonists rushed to the onagers’ stables. The cart
was at once harnessed. All were possessed by the same thought--to hasten
to the corral and set at liberty the animals it enclosed.
Before three in the morning they arrived at the corral. The cries of the
terrified musmons and goats indicated the alarm which possessed them.
Already a torrent of burning matter and liquefied minerals fell from
the side of the mountain upon the meadows as far as the side of the
palisade. The gate was burst open by Ayrton, and the animals, bewildered
with terror, fled in all directions.
An hour afterwards the boiling lava filled the corral, converting into
vapor the water of the little rivulet which ran through it, burning up
the house like dry grass, and leaving not even a post of the palisade to
mark the spot where the corral once stood.
To contend against this disaster would have been folly--nay, madness. In
presence of Nature’s grand convulsions man is powerless.
It was now daylight--the 24th of January. Cyrus Harding and his
companions, before returning to Granite House, desired to ascertain the
probable direction this inundation of lava was about to take. The soil
sloped gradually from Mount Franklin to the east coast, and it was to be
feared that, in spite of the thick Jacamar Wood, the torrent would reach
the plateau of Prospect Heights.
“The lake will cover us,” said Gideon Spilett.
“I hope so!” was Cyrus Harding’s only reply.
The colonists were desirous of reaching the plain upon which the
superior cone of Mount Franklin had fallen, but the lava arrested their
progress. It had followed, on one side, the valley of Red Creek, and
on the other that of Falls River, evaporating those watercourses in its
passage. There was no possibility of crossing the torrent of lava;
on the contrary, the colonists were obliged to retreat before it. The
volcano, without its crown, was no longer recognizable, terminated as it
was by a sort of flat table which replaced the ancient crater. From two
openings in its southern and eastern sides an unceasing flow of lava
poured forth, thus forming two distinct streams. Above the new crater a
cloud of smoke and ashes, mingled with those of the atmosphere, massed
over the island. Loud peals of thunder broke, and could scarcely be
distinguished from the rumblings of the mountain, whose mouth vomited
forth ignited rocks, which, hurled to more than a thousand feet, burst
in the air like shells. Flashes of lightning rivaled in intensity the
volcano’s eruption.
Towards seven in the morning the position was no longer tenable by the
colonists, who accordingly took shelter in the borders of Jacamar Wood.
Not only did the projectiles begin to rain around them, but the lava,
overflowing the bed of Red Creek, threatened to cut off the road to the
corral. The nearest rows of trees caught fire, and their sap, suddenly
transformed into vapor, caused them to explode with loud reports, while
others, less moist, remained unhurt in the midst of the inundation.
The colonists had again taken the road to the corral. They proceeded but
slowly, frequently looking back; but, in consequence of the inclination
of the soil, the lava gained rapidly in the east, and as its lower waves
became solidified others, at boiling heat, covered them immediately.
Meanwhile, the principal stream of Red Creek Valley became more and
more menacing. All this portion of the forest was on fire, and enormous
wreaths of smoke rolled over the trees, whose trunks were already
consumed by the lava.
The colonists halted near the lake, about half a mile from the mouth of
Red Creek. A question of life or death was now to be decided.
Cyrus Harding, accustomed to the consideration of important crises, and
aware that he was addressing men capable of hearing the truth, whatever
it might be, then said,--
“Either the lake will arrest the progress of the lava, and a part of
the island will be preserved from utter destruction, or the stream will
overrun the forests of the Far West, and not a tree or plant will
remain on the surface of the soil. We shall have no prospect but that
of starvation upon these barren rocks--a death which will probably be
anticipated by the explosion of the island.”
“In that case,” replied Pencroft, folding his arms and stamping his
foot, “what’s the use of working any longer on the vessel?”
“Pencroft,” answered Cyrus Harding, “we must do our duty to the last!”
At this instant the river of lava, after having broken a passage through
the noble trees it devoured in its course, reached the borders of the
lake. At this point there was an elevation of the soil which, had it
been greater, might have sufficed to arrest the torrent.
“To work!” cried Cyrus Harding.
The engineer’s thought was at once understood. It might be possible to
dam, as it were, the torrent, and thus compel it to pour itself into the
lake.
The colonists hastened to the dockyard. They returned with shovels,
picks, axes, and by means of banking the earth with the aid of fallen
trees they succeeded in a few hours in raising an embankment three feet
high and some hundreds of paces in length. It seemed to them, when
they had finished, as if they had scarcely been working more than a few
minutes.
It was not a moment too soon. The liquefied substances soon after
reached the bottom of the barrier. The stream of lava swelled like a
river about to overflow its banks, and threatened to demolish the sole
obstacle which could prevent it from overrunning the whole Far West. But
the dam held firm, and after a moment of terrible suspense the torrent
precipitated itself into Grant Lake from a height of twenty feet.
The colonists, without moving or uttering a word, breathlessly regarded
this strife of the two elements.
What a spectacle was this conflict between water and fire! What pen
could describe the marvelous horror of this scene--what pencil could
depict it? The water hissed as it evaporated by contact with the boiling
lava. The vapor whirled in the air to an immeasurable height, as if
the valves of an immense boiler had been suddenly opened. But, however
considerable might be the volume of water contained in the lake, it must
eventually be absorbed, because it was not replenished, while the stream
of lava, fed from an inexhaustible source, rolled on without ceasing new
waves of incandescent matter.
The first waves of lava which fell in the lake immediately solidified
and accumulated so as speedily to emerge from it. Upon their surface
fell other waves, which in their turn became stone, but a step
nearer the center of the lake. In this manner was formed a pier which
threatened to gradually fill up the lake, which could not overflow, the
water displaced by the lava being evaporated. The hissing of the water
rent the air with a deafening sound, and the vapor, blown by the wind,
fell in rain upon the sea. The pier became longer and longer, and the
blocks of lava piled themselves one on another. Where formerly stretched
the calm waters of the lake now appeared an enormous mass of smoking
rocks, as if an upheaving of the soil had formed immense shoals. Imagine
the waters of the lake aroused by a hurricane, then suddenly solidified
by an intense frost, and some conception may be formed of the aspect of
the lake three hours after the eruption of this irresistible torrent of
lava.
This time water would be vanquished by fire.
Nevertheless it was a fortunate circumstance for the colonists that the
effusion of lava should have been in the direction of Lake Grant. They
had before them some days’ respite. The plateau of Prospect Heights,
Granite House, and the dockyard were for the moment preserved. And these
few days it was necessary to employ in planking and carefully calking
the vessel, and launching her. The colonists would then take refuge on
board the vessel, content to rig her after she should be afloat on the
waters. With the danger of an explosion which threatened to destroy the
island there could be no security on shore. The walls of Granite House,
once so sure a retreat, might at any moment fall in upon them.
During the six following days, from the 25th to the 30th of January, the
colonists accomplished as much of the construction of their vessel as
twenty men could have done. They hardly allowed themselves a moment’s
repose, and the glare of the flames which shot from the crater enabled
them to work night and day. The flow of lava continued, but perhaps
less abundantly. This was fortunate, for Lake Grant was almost entirely
choked up, and if more lava should accumulate it would inevitably spread
over the plateau of Prospect Heights, and thence upon the beach.
But if the island was thus partially protected on this side, it was not
so with the western part.
In fact, the second stream of lava, which had followed the valley of
Falls River, a valley of great extent, the land on both sides of the
creek being flat, met with no obstacle. The burning liquid had then
spread through the forest of the Far West. At this period of the year,
when the trees were dried up by a tropical heat, the forest caught fire
instantaneously, in such a manner that the conflagration extended itself
both by the trunks of the trees and by their higher branches, whose
interlacement favored its progress. It even appeared that the current
of flame spread more rapidly among the summits of the trees than the
current of lava at their bases.
Thus it happened that the wild animals, jaguars, wild boars, capybaras,
koalas, and game of every kind, mad with terror, had fled to the banks
of the Mercy and to the Tadorn Marsh, beyond the road to Port Balloon.
But the colonists were too much occupied with their task to pay any
attention to even the most formidable of these animals. They had
abandoned Granite House, and would not even take shelter at the
Chimneys, but encamped under a tent, near the mouth of the Mercy.
Each day Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett ascended the plateau of
Prospect Heights. Sometimes Herbert accompanied them, but never
Pencroft, who could not bear to look upon the prospect of the island now
so utterly devastated.
It was, in truth, a heart-rending spectacle. All the wooded part of the
island was now completely bare. One single clump of green trees raised
their heads at the extremity of Serpentine Peninsula. Here and there
were a few grotesque blackened and branchless stumps. The side of the
devastated forest was even more barren than Tadorn Marsh. The eruption
of lava had been complete. Where formerly sprang up that charming
verdure, the soil was now nothing but a savage mass of volcanic tufa.
In the valleys of the Falls and Mercy rivers no drop of water now
flowed towards the sea, and should Lake Grant be entirely dried up,
the colonists would have no means of quenching their thirst. But,
fortunately the lava had spared the southern corner of the lake,
containing all that remained of the drinking water of the island.
Towards the northwest stood out the rugged and well-defined outlines of
the sides of the volcano, like a gigantic claw hovering over the island.
What a sad and fearful sight, and how painful to the colonists, who,
from a fertile domain covered with forests, irrigated by watercourses,
and enriched by the produce of their toils, found themselves, as it
were, transported to a desolate rock, upon which, but for their reserves
of provisions, they could not even gather the means of subsistence!
“It is enough to break one’s heart!” said Gideon Spilett, one day.
“Yes, Spilett,” answered the engineer. “May God grant us the time to
complete this vessel, now our sole refuge!”
“Do not you think, Cyrus, that the violence of the eruption has somewhat
lessened? The volcano still vomits forth lava, but somewhat less
abundantly, if I mistake not.”
“It matters little,” answered Cyrus Harding. “The fire is still burning
in the interior of the mountain, and the sea may break in at any moment.
We are in the condition of passengers whose ship is devoured by a
conflagration which they cannot extinguish, and who know that sooner or
later the flames must reach the powder-magazine. To work, Spilett, to
work, and let us not lose an hour!”
During eight days more, that is to say until the 7th of February,
the lava continued to flow, but the eruption was confined within the
previous limits. Cyrus Harding feared above all lest the liquefied
matter should overflow the shore, for in that event the dockyard could
not escape. Moreover, about this time the colonists felt in the frame of
the island vibrations which alarmed them to the highest degree.
It was the 20th of February. Yet another month must elapse before the
vessel would be ready for sea. Would the island hold together till then?
The intention of Pencroft and Cyrus Harding was to launch the vessel
as soon as the hull should be complete. The deck, the upperworks, the
interior woodwork and the rigging might be finished afterwards, but the
essential point was that the colonists should have an assured refuge
away from the island. Perhaps it might be even better to conduct the
vessel to Port Balloon, that is to say, as far as possible from the
center of eruption, for at the mouth of the Mercy, between the islet and
the wall of granite, it would run the risk of being crushed in the event
of any convulsion. All the exertions of the voyagers were therefore
concentrated upon the completion of the hull.
Thus the 3rd of March arrived, and they might calculate upon launching
the vessel in ten days.
Hope revived in the hearts of the colonists, who had, in this fourth
year of their sojourn on Lincoln island, suffered so many trials. Even
Pencroft lost in some measure the somber taciturnity occasioned by
the devastation and ruin of his domain. His hopes, it is true, were
concentrated upon his vessel.
“We shall finish it,” he said to the engineer, “we shall finish it,
captain, and it is time, for the season is advancing and the equinox
will soon be here. Well, if necessary, we must put in to Tabor island
to spend the winter. But think of Tabor island after Lincoln Island. Ah,
how unfortunate! Who could have believed it possible?”
“Let us get on,” was the engineer’s invariable reply.
And they worked away without losing a moment.
“Master,” asked Neb, a few days later, “do you think all this could have
happened if Captain Nemo had been still alive?”
“Certainly, Neb,” answered Cyrus Harding.
“I, for one, don’t believe it!” whispered Pencroft to Neb.
“Nor I!” answered Neb seriously.
During the first week of March appearances again became menacing.
Thousands of threads like glass, formed of fluid lava, fell like rain
upon the island. The crater was again boiling with lava which overflowed
the back of the volcano. The torrent flowed along the surface of the
hardened tufa, and destroyed the few meager skeletons of trees which had
withstood the first eruption. The stream, flowing this time towards the
southwest shore of Lake Grant, stretched beyond Creek Glycerine, and
invaded the plateau of Prospect Heights. This last blow to the work of
the colonists was terrible. The mill, the buildings of the inner court,
the stables, were all destroyed. The affrighted poultry fled in all
directions. Top and Jup showed signs of the greatest alarm, as if their
instinct warned them of an impending catastrophe. A large number of the
animals of the island had perished in the first eruption. Those which
survived found no refuge but Tadorn Marsh, save a few to which the
plateau of Prospect Heights afforded asylum. But even this last retreat
was now closed to them, and the lava-torrent, flowing over the edge of
the granite wall, began to pour down upon the beach its cataracts of
fire. The sublime horror of this spectacle passed all description.
During the night it could only be compared to a Niagara of molten fluid,
with its incandescent vapors above and its boiling masses below.
The colonists were driven to their last entrenchment, and although the
upper seams of the vessel were not yet calked, they decided to launch
her at once.
Pencroft and Ayrton therefore set about the necessary preparations for
the launching, which was to take place the morning of the next day, the
9th of March.
But during the night of the 8th an enormous column of vapor escaping
from the crater rose with frightful explosions to a height of more than
three thousand feet. The wall of Dakkar Grotto had evidently given way
under the pressure of gases, and the sea, rushing through the central
shaft into the igneous gulf, was at once converted into vapor. But
the crater could not afford a sufficient outlet for this vapor. An
explosion, which might have been heard at a distance of a hundred miles,
shook the air. Fragments of mountains fell into the Pacific, and, in a
few minutes, the ocean rolled over the spot where Lincoln island once
stood.
Chapter 20
An isolated rock, thirty feet in length, twenty in breadth, scarcely ten
from the water’s edge, such was the only solid point which the waves of
the Pacific had not engulfed.
It was all that remained of the structure of Granite House! The wall had
fallen headlong and been then shattered to fragments, and a few of the
rocks of the large room were piled one above another to form this point.
All around had disappeared in the abyss; the inferior cone of Mount
Franklin, rent asunder by the explosion; the lava jaws of Shark Gulf,
the plateau of Prospect Heights, Safety Islet, the granite rocks of Port
Balloon, the basalts of Dakkar Grotto, the long Serpentine Peninsula, so
distant nevertheless from the center of the eruption. All that could
now be seen of Lincoln Island was the narrow rock which now served as a
refuge to the six colonists and their dog Top.
The animals had also perished in the catastrophe; the birds, as well
as those representing the fauna of the island--all either crushed or
drowned, and the unfortunate Jup himself had, alas! found his death in
some crevice of the soil.
If Cyrus Harding, Gideon Spilett, Herbert, Pencroft, Neb, and Ayrton
had survived, it was because, assembled under their tent, they had been
hurled into the sea at the instant when the fragments of the island
rained down on every side.
When they reached the surface they could only perceive, at half a
cable’s length, this mass of rocks, towards which they swam and on which
they found footing.
On this barren rock they had now existed for nine days. A few provisions
taken from the magazine of Granite House before the catastrophe, a
little fresh water from the rain which had fallen in a hollow of the
rock, was all that the unfortunate colonists possessed. Their last hope,
the vessel, had been shattered to pieces. They had no means of quitting
the reef; no fire, nor any means of obtaining it. It seemed that they
must inevitably perish.
This day, the 18th of March, there remained only provisions for two
days, although they limited their consumption to the bare necessaries
of life. All their science and intelligence could avail them nothing in
their present position. They were in the hand of God.
Cyrus Harding was calm, Gideon Spilett more nervous, and Pencroft, a
prey to sullen anger, walked to and fro on the rock. Herbert did not
for a moment quit the engineer’s side, as if demanding from him that
assistance he had no power to give. Neb and Ayrton were resigned to
their fate.
“Ah, what a misfortune! what a misfortune!” often repeated Pencroft.
“If we had but a walnut-shell to take us to Tabor Island! But we have
nothing, nothing!”
“Captain Nemo did right to die,” said Neb.
During the five ensuing days Cyrus Harding and his unfortunate
companions husbanded their provisions with the most extreme care, eating
only what would prevent them from dying of starvation. Their weakness
was extreme. Herbert and Neb began to show symptoms of delirium.
Under these circumstances was it possible for them to retain even the
shadow of a hope? No! What was their sole remaining chance? That a
vessel should appear in sight of the rock? But they knew only too well
from experience that no ships ever visited this part of the Pacific.
Could they calculate that, by a truly providential coincidence, the
Scotch yacht would arrive precisely at this time in search of Ayrton
at Tabor Island? It was scarcely probable; and, besides, supposing
she should come there, as the colonists had not been able to deposit
a notice pointing out Ayrton’s change of abode, the commander of the
yacht, after having explored Tabor Island without results, would again
set sail and return to lower latitudes.
No! no hope of being saved could be retained, and a horrible death,
death from hunger and thirst, awaited them upon this rock.
Already they were stretched on the rock, inanimate, and no longer
conscious of what passed around them. Ayrton alone, by a supreme effort,
from time to time raised his head, and cast a despairing glance over the
desert ocean.
But on the morning of the 24th of March Ayrton’s arms were extended
toward a point in the horizon; he raised himself, at first on his knees,
then upright, and his hand seemed to make a signal.
A sail was in sight off the rock. She was evidently not without an
object. The reef was the mark for which she was making in a direct line,
under all steam, and the unfortunate colonists might have made her out
some hours before if they had had the strength to watch the horizon.
“The ‘Duncan’!” murmured Ayrton--and fell back without sign of life.
When Cyrus Harding and his companions recovered consciousness, thanks to
the attention lavished upon them, they found themselves in the cabin of
a steamer, without being able to comprehend how they had escaped death.
A word from Ayrton explained everything.
“The ‘Duncan’!” he murmured.
“The ‘Duncan’!” exclaimed Cyrus Harding. And raising his hand to Heaven,
he said, “Oh! Almighty God! mercifully hast Thou preserved us!”
It was, in fact, the “Duncan,” Lord Glenarvan’s yacht, now commanded by
Robert, son of Captain Grant, who had been despatched to Tabor Island to
find Ayrton, and bring him back to his native land after twelve years of
expiation.
The colonists were not only saved, but already on the way to their
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