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twg_000000037100 | about. I slipped nearer the door, imagining that in their riveted interest I saw my opportunity. To my surprise I caught a glimpse of legs disappearing up the companion. I took stock. Pulz had gone on deck. This surprised me, for I should have thought every man interested enough in the supposed treasure to wish to be present at its | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037101 | uncovering; and it annoyed me still more--the success of my plan demanded a clear deck. However, there was nothing for it now but to trust that Pulz had wished to visit the forecastle, and that I might find the afterworks empty. I paused at the foot of the companion and looked back. A breathlessness of excitement held the pirates in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037102 | a vise. From above, the hanging lamp threw strong shadows across their faces, bringing out the deep lines, accentuating the dominant passions. With their rags and blood, their unshaven faces, their firearms, their filth, they showed in violent antithesis to the immaculate white of Old Scrubs's cabin, its glittering brass, and its shining leather. I darted up the steps. The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037103 | contrast of the starry night with the glare of the cabin lamp dazzled my eyes. I stood stock still for a moment, during which the only sounds audible were the singing of the winds through the rigging, the wash of the sea, and the small, sharp click of Perdosa's instrument as he worked at the chest. Presently I could see | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037104 | better. I looked forward and aft for Pulz, but could see nothing of him, and had just about concluded that he had gone forward when I happened to glance aloft. There, to my astonishment, I made him out, huddled in silhouette against the stars, close to the main truck. What he was doing there I could not imagine. However, I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037105 | did not have time to bother my head about him, further than to rejoice that he could not obstruct me. I should very much have liked to get hold of a rifle and ammunition, or at least to lay in biscuit and water, but for this there was no time. It was not absolutely essential. The dull glow of the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037106 | island was still visible. I had my pillar of fire and smoke to guide me. Without further delay I jerked loose the painter and drew the extra dory alongside. I had proceeded just so far in my movements, when the most extraordinary thing happened. I shall try to tell you of it as accurately as possible, and in the exact | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037107 | order of its occurrence. First a long, straight shaft of white light shot straight up through the cabin roof to a great height. It shone through the wooden planks as an ordinary light shines through glass. By contrast the surrounding blackness was thrown into a deeper shade, and yet the shaft itself was so brilliant as almost to scotch the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037108 | sight. Curiously enough, it was defined accurately, being exactly in shape like one of the rectangular tin air-shafts you see so often in city hotels. At the instant of its appearance, the wind fell quite calm. Almost immediately the rectangle on the roof through which the light made its passage began to splay out, like lighted oil, although the column | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037109 | retained still the integrity of its outline. The fire, if such it could be called, ran with incredible rapidity along the seams between the planks, forward and aft, until the entire deck was sketched like a pyrotechnic display in thin, vivid lines of incandescence. From each of these lines then the fire began again to spread, as though soaking through | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037110 | the planks. All took place practically in an instant of time. I had no opportunity to move nor to cry out; indeed, my perceptions were inadequate to the task of mere observation. Up to now there had been no sound. The wind had fallen; the waters passed unnoticed. A stillness of death seemed to have descended on the ship. It | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037111 | was broken by a sharp double report, one as of the fall of a metallic substance, the other caused by the body of Pulz, which, shaken loose from the truck by a heavy roll, smashed against the rail of the ship and splashed overboard. Someone cried out sharply. An instant later the entire crew struggled out from the companionway, rushed | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037112 | in grim silence to the side of the vessel, and threw themselves into the sea. My own ideas were somewhat confused. The fire had practically enveloped the ship. I thought to feel it; and yet my skin was cool to the touch. The ship's outlines became blurred. A dizziness overtook me; and then all at once a great desire seized | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037113 | and shook my very soul. I cannot tell you the vehemence of this desire. It was a madness; nothing could stand in the way of its gratification. Whatever happened, I must have water. It was not thirst, nor yet a purpose to allay the very real physical burning of which I was now dimly conscious; but a craving for the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037114 | liquid itself as something apart from and unconnected with anything else. Without hesitation, and as though it were the most natural thing in the world, I vaulted the rail to cast myself into the ocean. I dimly remember a last flying impression of a furnace of light, then a great shock thudded through me, and I lost consciousness. PART THREE | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037115 | THE MAROON I IN THE WARDROOM Over the wardroom of the _Wolverine_ had fallen a silence. It held after Slade had finished. Captain Parkinson, stiff and erect in his chair, staring fixedly at a spot two feet above the reporter's head, seemed to weigh, as a judge weighs, the facts so picturesquely, set forth. Dr. Trendon, his sturdy frame half | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037116 | in shadow, had slouched far down into himself. Only the regard of his keen eyes fixed upon Slade's face, unwaveringly and a bit anxiously, showed that he was thinking of the narrator as well as of the narrative. The others had fallen completely under the spell of the tale. They sat, as children in a theatre, absorbed, forgetful of the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037117 | world around them, wrapped in a more vivid element. At the close, they stirred and blinked, half dazed by the abrupt fall of the curtain. Slade had told his story with fire, with something of passion, even. Now he felt the sharp reflex. He muttered uncertainly beneath his breath and glanced from one to another of the circled faces. "That's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037118 | all," he said unsteadily. There passed through the group a stir and a murmur. Someone broke into sharp coughing. Chairs, shoved back, grated on the floor. "Well, of all the extraordinary--" began a voice, ruminatingly, and broke short off, as if abashed at its own infraction of the silence. "That's all," repeated Slade, a note of insistence in his voice. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037119 | "Why don't you say something? Confound you, why don't you say something?" His speech rose husky and cracked. "Don't you believe it?" "Hold on," said the surgeon quietly. "No need to get excited." "Oh, well," muttered the reporter, with a sudden lapse. "Possibly you think I'm romancing. It doesn't matter. I don't suppose I'd believe it myself, in your place." | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037120 | "But we're heading for the island," suggested Forsythe. "That's so," cried Slade. "Well, that's all right. Believe or disbelieve as much as you like. Only get Percy Darrow off that island. Then we'll have his version. There are a few things I want to find out about, myself." "There are several that promise to be fairly interesting," said Forsythe, under | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037121 | his breath. Slade turned to the captain. "Have you any questions to put to me, sir?" he asked formally. "Just one moment," interrupted Trendon. "Boy, a pony of brandy for Mr. Slade." The reporter drank the liquor and again turned to Captain Parkinson. "Only about our men," said the commanding officer, after a little thought. Slade shook his head. "I'm | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037122 | sorry I can't help you there, sir." "Dr. Trendon said that you knew nothing about Edwards." "Edwards?" repeated Slade inquiringly. His mind, still absorbed in the events which he had been relating, groped backward. Trendon came to his aid. "Barnett asked you about him, you remember. It was when you recovered consciousness. Our ensign. Took over charge of the _Laughing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037123 | Lass_." "Oh, of course. I was a little dazed, I fancy." "We put Mr. Edwards aboard when we first picked up the deserted schooner," explained the captain. "Pardon me," said the other. "My head doesn't seem to work quite right yet. Just a moment, please." He sat silent, with closed eyes. "You say you picked up the _Laughing Lass_. When?" | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037124 | he asked presently. "Four--five--six days ago, the first time." "Then you put out the fire." The circle closed in on Slade, with an unconscious hitching forward of chairs. He had fixed his eyes on the captain. His mouth worked. Obviously he was under a tensity of endeavour in keeping his faculties set to the problem. The surgeon watched him, frowning. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037125 | "There was no fire," said the captain. Slade leaped in his chair. "No fire! But I saw her, I tell you. When I went overboard she was one living flame!" "You landed in the small boat. Knocked you senseless," said Trendon. "Concussion of the brain. Idea of flame might have been a retroactive hallucination." "Retroactive rot," cried the other. "I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037126 | beg your pardon, Dr. Trendon. But if you'd seen her as I saw her--Barnett!" He turned in appeal to his old acquaintance. "There was no fire, Slade," replied the executive officer gently. "No sign of fire that we could find, except that the starboard rail was blistered." "Oh, that was from the volcano," said Slade. "That was nothing." "It was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037127 | all there was," returned Barnett. "Just let me run this thing over," said the free lance slowly. "You found the schooner. She wasn't afire. She didn't even seem to have been afire. You put a crew aboard under your ensign, Edwards. Storm separated you from her. You picked her up again deserted. Is that right?" "Day before yesterday morning." "Then," | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037128 | cried the other excitedly, "the fire was smouldering all the time. It broke out and your men took to the water." "Impossible," said Barnett. "Fiddlesticks!" said the more downright surgeon. "I hardly think Mr. Edwards would be driven overboard by a fire which did not even scorch his ship," suggested the captain mildly. "It drove our lot overboard," insisted Slade. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037129 | "Do you think we were a pack of cowards? I tell you, when that hellish thing broke loose, you had to go. It wasn't fear. It wasn't pain. It was--What's the use. You can't explain a thing like that." "We certainly saw the glow the night Billy Edwards was--disappeared," mused Forsythe. "And again, night before last," said the captain. "What's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037130 | that!" cried Slade. "Where is the _Laughing Lass_?" "I'd give something pretty to know," said Barnett. "Isn't she in tow?" "In tow?" said Forsythe. "No, indeed. We hadn't adequate facilities for towing her. Didn't you tell him, Mr. Barnett?" "Where is she, then?" Slade fired the question at them like a cross- examiner. "Why, we shipped another crew under Ives | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037131 | and McGuire that noon. We were parted again, and haven't seen them since." "God forgive you!" said the reporter. "After the warnings you'd had, too. It was--it was--" "My orders, Mr. Slade," said Captain Parkinson, with quiet dignity. "Of course, sir. I beg your pardon," returned the other. "But--you say you saw the light again?" "The first night they were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037132 | out," said Barnett, in a low voice. "Then your second crew is with your first crew," said Slade, shakily. "And they're with Thrackles, and Pulz and Solomon, and many another black- hearted scoundrel and brave seaman. Down there!" He pointed under foot. Captain Parkinson rose and went to his cabin. Slade rose, too, but his knees were unsteady. He tottered, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037133 | and but for the swift aid of Barnett's arm, would have fallen. "Overdone," said Dr. Trendon, with some irritation. "Cost you something in strength. Foolish performance. Turn in now." Slade tried to protest, but the surgeon would not hear of it, and marched him incontinently to his berth. Returning, Trendon reported, with growls of discontent, that his patient was in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037134 | a fever. "Couldn't expect anything else," he fumed. "Pack of human interrogation points hounding him all over the place." "What do you think of his story?" asked Forsythe. The grizzled surgeon drew out a cigar, lighted it, took three deliberate puffs, turned it about, examined the ash end with concentration, and replied: "Man's telling a straight story." "You think it's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037135 | all true?" cried Forsythe. "Humph!" grunted the other. "_He thinks it's all true_." An orderly appeared and knocked at the captain's cabin. "Beg pardon, sir," they heard him say. "Mr. Carter would like to know how close in to run. Volcano's acting up pretty bad, sir." Captain Parkinson went on deck, followed by the rest. II THE JOLLY ROGER Feeling | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037136 | the way forward, the cruiser was soon caught in a maze of cross currents. Hither and thither she was borne, a creature bereft of volition. Order followed order like the rattle of quick-fire, and was obeyed with something more than the _Wolverine's_ customary smartness. From the bridge Captain Parkinson himself directed his ship. His face was placid: his bearing steady | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037137 | and confident. This in itself was sufficient earnest that the cruiser was in ticklish case. For it was an axiom of the men who sailed under Parkinson that the calmer that nervous man grew, the more cause was there for nervousness on the part of others. The approach was from the south, but suspicious aspects of the water had fended | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037138 | the cruiser out and around, until now she stood prow-on to a bold headland at the northwest corner of the island. Above this headland lay a dark pall of vapour. In the shifting breeze it swayed sluggishly, heavily, as if riding at anchor like a logy ship of the air. Only once did it show any marked movement. "It's spreading | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037139 | out toward us," said Barnett to his fellow officers, gathered aft. "Time to move, then," grunted Trendon. The others looked at him inquiringly. "About as healthful as prussic acid, those volcanic gases," explained the surgeon. The ship edged on and inward. Presently the sing-song of the leadsman sounded in measured distinctness through the silence. Then a sudden activity and bustle | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037140 | forward, the rattle of chains, and the _Wolverine_ was at anchor. The captain came down from the bridge. "What do you think, Dr. Trendon?" he asked. More explicit inquiry was not necessary. The surgeon understood what was in his superior's mind. "Never can tell about volcanoes, sir," he said. "Of course," agreed the captain. "But--well, do you recognise any of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037141 | the symptoms?" "Want me to diagnose a case of earthquake, sir?" grinned Trendon. "She might go off to-day, or she might behave herself for a century." "Well, it's all chance," said the other, cheerfully. "The man _might_ be alive. At any rate we must do our best on that theory. What do you make of that cloud on the peak?" | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037142 | "Poisonous vapours, I suppose. Thought we'd have a chance to make sure just now. Seemed to be coming right for us. Wind's shifted it since." "There couldn't be anything alive up there?" "Not so much as a bug," replied the doctor positively. "Yet I thought when the vapour lifted a bit that I saw something moving." "When was that, sir?" | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037143 | "Ten or fifteen minutes back." "We'll see soon enough, sir," put in Forsythe. "The wind is driving it down to the south'ard." Sullenly, reluctantly, the forbidding mass moved across the headland. All glasses were bent upon it. Without taking his binocular from his eyes, Trendon began to ruminate aloud. "If he could have got to the beach.... No vapour there.... | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037144 | Signal, though.... Perhaps he hadn't time.... And I'd hate to risk good men on that hell's cauldron.... Just as much risk here, perhaps. Only it seems--" "There it is," cried Forsythe. "Look. The highest point." Dull, gray wisps of murk, the afterguard of the gaseous cloud, were twisting and spiraling in a witch-dance across the landscape, and, seen by snatches | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037145 | and glimpses through it, something flapped darkly in the breeze. Suddenly the veil parted and fled. A flag stood forth in the sharp gust, rigid, and appalling. It was black. "The Jolly Roger, by God! They've come back!" exclaimed Forsythe. "And set up the sign of their shop," added Barnett. "If they stuck to their flag--good-bye," observed Trendon grimly. "Dr. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037146 | Trendon," said Captain Parkinson, "you will arm yourself and go with me in the gig to make a landing." "Yes, sir," responded the surgeon. "Mr. Barnett." "Yes, sir." "Should we be overtaken by the vapour while on the highland and be unable to get back to the beach, you are to send no rescuing party up there until the air | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037147 | has cleared." "But, sir, may we not--" "Do you understand?" "Yes, sir." "In case of an attack you will at once send in another boat with a howitzer." "Yes, sir." "Dr. Trendon, will you see Mr. Slade and inquire of him the best point for landing?" Trendon hesitated. "I suppose it would hardly do to take him with us?" pursued | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037148 | the commanding officer. "If he is roused now, even for a moment, I won't answer for the consequences, sir," said the surgeon bluntly. "Surely you can have him point out a landing place," said the captain. "On your responsibility," returned the other, obstinately. "He's under opiate now." "Be it so," said Captain Parkinson, after a time. Going in, they saw | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037149 | no sign of life along the shore. Even the birds had deserted it. For the time the volcano seemed to have pretermitted its activity. Now and again there was a spurtle of smoke from the cone, followed by subterranean growlings, but, on the whole, the conditions were reassuring. "Penny-pop-pinwheel of a volcano, anyhow," remarked Trendon, disparagingly. "Real man-size eruption would | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037150 | have wiped the whole thing off the map, first whack." As they drew in, it became apparent that they must scale the cliff from the boat. Farther to the south opened out a wide cove that suggested easy beaching, but over it hung a cloud of steam. "Lava pouring down," said Trendon. Fortunately at the point where the cliff looked | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037151 | easiest the seas ran low. Ropes had been brought. After some dainty manoeuvring two of the sailors gained foothold and slung the ropes so that the remainder of the disembarcation was simple. Nor was the ascent of the cliff a harsh task. Half an hour after the landing the exploring party stood on the summit of the hill, where the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037152 | black flag waved over a scene of utter desolation. The vegetation was withered to pallid rags: even the tiniest weedling in the rock crevices had been poisoned by the devastating blast. In the midst of that deathly scene, the flag seemed instinct with a sinister liveliness. Whoever had set it there had accurately chosen the highest available point on that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037153 | side of the island, the spot of all others where it would make good its signal to the eye of any chance farer upon those shipless seas. For the staff a ten-foot sapling, finely polished, served. A mound of rock-slabs supported it firmly. Upon the cloth itself was no design. It was of a dull black, the hue of soot. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037154 | Captain Parkinson, standing a few yards off, viewed it with disfavour. "Furl that flag," he ordered. Congdon, the coxswain of the gig, stepped forward and began to work at the fastenings. Presently he turned a grinning face to the captain, who was scanning the landscape through his glass. "Beggin' your pardon, sir," he said. "Well, what is it?" demanded Captain | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037155 | Parkinson. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, that ain't rightly no flag. That's what you might rightly call a garment, sir. It's an undershirt, beggin' your pardon." "Black undershirt's a new one to me," muttered Trendon. "No, sir. It ain't rightly black, look." Wrenching the object from its fastenings, he flapped it violently. A cloud of sooty dust, beaten out, spread about | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037156 | his face. With a strangled cry the sailor cast the shirt from him and rolled in agony upon the ground. "You fool!" cried Trendon. "Stand back, all of you." Opening his medicine case, he bent over the racked sufferer. Presently the man sat up, pale and abashed. "That's how poisonous volcanic gas is," said the surgeon to his commanding officer. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037157 | "Only inhaled remnants of the dust, too." "An ill outlook for the man we're seeking," the captain mused. "Dead if he's anywhere on this highland," declared Trendon. "Let's look at his flag-pole." He examined the staff. "Came from the beach," he pronounced. "Waterworn. H'm! Maybe he ain't so dead, either." "I don't quite follow you, Dr. Trendon." "Why, I guess | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037158 | our man has figured this thing all out. Brought this pole up from the beach to plant it here. Why? Because this was the best observation point. No good as a permanent residence, though. Planted his flag and went back." "Why didn't we see him on the beach, then?" "Did you notice a cave around to the north? Good refuge | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037159 | in case of fumes." "It's worth trying," said the captain, putting up his glass. "Hold on, sir. What's this? Here's something. Look here." Trendon pointed to a small bit of wood rather neatly carved to the shape of an indicatory finger, and lashed to the staff, at the height of a man's face. The others clustered around. "Oh, the devil!" | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037160 | cried Trendon. "It must have got twisted. It's pointing straight down." "Strange performance," said the captain. "However, since it points that way--heave aside those rocks, men." The first slab lifted brought to light a corner of cardboard. This, on closer examination, proved to be the cover of a book. The rocks rolled right and left, and as the flag-staff, deprived | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037161 | of its support, tottered and fell, the trove was dragged forth and handed to the captain. While the ground jarred with occasional tremors and the mountain puffed forth its vaporous threats, he and the surgeon, seated on a rock, gave themselves with complete absorption to the reading. III THE CACHE Outwardly the book accorded ill with its surroundings. In that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037162 | place of desolation and death, it typified the petty neatness of office processes. Properly placed, it should have been found on a desk, with pens, rulers, and other paraphernalia forming exact angles or parallels to it. It was a quarto, bound in marbled paper, with black leather over the hinges. No external label suggested its ownership or uses, but through | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037163 | one corner, blackened and formidable in its contrast to the peaceful purposes of the volume, a hole had been bored. The agency of perforation was obvious. A bullet had made it. "Seen something of life, I reckon," said Trendon, as the captain turned the volume about slowly in his hands. "And of death," returned Captain Parkinson solemnly. "Do you know, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037164 | Trendon, I almost dread to open this." "Pshaw!" returned the other. "What is it to us?" He threw the cover back. Neatly lettered on the inside, in the fine and slightly angular writing characteristic of the Teutonic scholar, was the legend: Karl Augustus Schermerhorn, -/ Spruce Street, Philadelphia, Pa. [Illustration: With a strangled cry the sailor cast the shirt from | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037165 | him] The opposite page was blank. Captain Parkinson turned half a dozen leaves. "German!" he cried, in a note of disappointment, "Can you read German script?" "After a fashion," replied the other. "Let's see. _Es wonnte sechs--und-- dreissig unterjacke_," he read. "Why, blast it, was the man running a haberdashery? What have three dozen undershirts to do with this?" "A | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037166 | memorandum for outfitting, probably," suggested the captain. "Try here." "Chemical formulae," said Trendon. "Pages of 'em. The devil! Can't make a thing of it." "Well, here's something in English." "Good," said the other. "_By combining the hyper-sulphate of iridium with the fumes arising from oxide of copper heated to C. and combining with picric acid in the proportions described in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037167 | formula x , a reaction, the nature of which I have not fully determined, follows. This must be performed with extreme care owing to the unstable nature of the benzene compounds._" "Picric acid? Benzene compounds? Those are high explosives," said Captain Parkinson. "We should have Barnett go over this." "Here's a name under the formula. _Dr. A. Mardenter, Ann Arbor, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037168 | Mich_. That explains its being in English. Probably copied from a letter." "This must have been one of the experiments in the valley that Slade told us of," said the captain, thoughtfully. "Why, see here," he cried, with something like exultation. "That's what Dr. Schermerhorn was doing here. He has the clue to some explosive so terrific that he goes | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037169 | far out of the world to experiment with its manufacture. For companions he chooses a gang of cutthroats that the world would never miss in case anything went wrong. Possibly it was some trial of the finished product that started the eruption, even. Do you see?" "Don't explain enough," grunted Trendon. "Deserted ship. Billy Edwards. Mysterious lights. Slade and his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037170 | story. Any explosives in those? Good enough, far as it goes. Don't go far enough." "It certainly leaves gaps," admitted the other. He turned over a few more pages. "Formulas, formulas, formulas. What's this? Here are some marginal annotations." "Unbehasslich," read Trendon. "Let's see. That means 'highly unsatisfactory,' or words to that effect. Hi! Here's where the old man loses | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037171 | his temper. Listen: _'May the devil take Carroll and Crum for careless'_--h'm--well, _'pig-dogs.'_ Now, where do Carroll and Crum come in?" "They're a firm of analytical chemists in Washington," said the captain. "When I was on the ordnance board I used to get their circulars." "Fits in. What? More English? Worse than the German, this is." The writing, beginning evenly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037172 | enough at the top of a page, ran along for a line or two, then fell, sprawling in huge, ragged characters the full length. Trendon stumbled among them, indignantly. "_June , 1904_," he read. "_It is done. Triumph_. (German word.) _Eureka. Es ist gefillt. From the_ (can't make out that word) _of the inspiration--god-like power--solution of the world-problems_. Why, the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037173 | old fool is crazy! And his writing is crazier. Can't make head or tail of it." The captain turned several more pages. They were blank. "At any rate, it seems to be the end," he said. "I should hope so," returned the other, disgustedly. He took the book on his knees, fluttering the leaves between thumb and finger. Suddenly he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037174 | checked, cast back, and threw the book wide open. "Here beginneth a new chapter," said he, quietly. No imaginable chirography could have struck the eye with more of contrast to the professor's small and nervous hand. Large, rounded, and rambling, it filled the page with few and careless words. _June , . On this date I find myself sole occupant | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037175 | and absolute monarch of this valuable island. This morning I was a member of a community, interesting if not precisely peaceful. To-night I am the last leaf. 'All his lovely companions are faded and gone,' the sprightly Solomon, the psychic Nigger, the amiable Thrackles, the cheerful Perdosa, the genial Pulz, and the high-minded Eagen. Undoubtedly the social atmosphere has cleared; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037176 | moreover, I am for the first time in my life a landed proprietor. Item: several square miles of grass land; item: several dozen head of sheep; item: a cove full of fish; item: a handsomely decorated cave; item: a sportive though somewhat unruly volcano. At times, it may be, I shall feel the lack of company. The seagulls alone are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037177 | not distrustful of me. Undoubtedly the seagull is an estimable creature, but he leaves something to be desired in the way of companionship. Hence this diary, the inevitable refuge of the empty-minded. Materially, I shall do well enough, though I face one tragic circumstance. My cigarette material, I find, is short. Upon counting up--"_ "Damn his cigarettes!" cried the surgeon. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037178 | "This must be Darrow. Finicky beast! Let's see if it's signed." He whirled the leaves over to the last sheet, glanced at it, and sprang to his feet. There, sprawled in tremulous characters, as by a hand shaken with agony or terror, was written: _Look for me in the cave. Percy Darrow._ The bullet hole in the corner furnished a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037179 | sinister period to the signature. Trendon handed the ledger back to the captain, who took one quick look, closed it, and handed it to Congdon. "Wrap that up and carry it carefully," he said. "Aye, aye, sir," said the coxswain, swathing it in his jacket and tucking it under his arm. "Now to find that cave," said Captain Parkinson to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037180 | the surgeon. "The cave in the cliff, of course," said Trendon. "Noticed it coming in, you know." "Where?" "On the north shore, about a mile to the east of here." "Then we'll cut directly across." "Beg your pardon, sir," put in Congdon, "but I don't think we can make it from this side, sir." "Why not?" "No beach, sir, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037181 | the cliff's like the side of a ship. Looks to be deep water right into the cave's mouth." "Back to the boat, then. Bring that flag along." The descent was swift, at times reckless, but the party embarked without accident. Soon they were forging through the water at racing speed, the boat leaping to the impulsion of the sailorman's strongest | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037182 | motives, curiosity and the hope of saving a life. IV THE TWIN SLABS Within half an hour the gig had reached the mouth of the cave. As the coxswain had predicted, the seas ran into the lofty entrance. Elsewhere the surf fell whitely, but through the arch the waves rolled unbroken into a heavy stillness. Only as the boat hovered | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037183 | for a moment at the face of the cliff could the exploring party hear, far within, the hollow boom that told of breakers on a distant, subterranean beach. "Run her in easy," came the captain's order. "Keep a sharp lookout for hidden rocks." To the whispering plash of the oars they moved from sunlight into twilight, from twilight into darkness. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037184 | Of a sudden the oars jerked convulsively. A great roar had broken upon the ears of the sailors; the invisible roof above them, the water heaving beneath them, the walls that hemmed them in, called, with a multiplication of resonance, upon the name of Darrow. The boat quivered with the start of its occupants. Then one or two laughed weakly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037185 | as they realised that what they had heard was no supernatural voice. It was the captain hailing for the marooned man. No vocal answer came. But an indeterminable space away they could hear a low splash followed by a second and a third. Something coughed weakly in front and to the right. Trendon's hand went to his revolver. The men | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037186 | sat, stiffened. One of them swore, in a whisper, and the oath came back upon them, echoing the name of the Saviour in hideous sibilance. "Silence in the boat," said the captain, in such buoyant tones that the men braced themselves against the expected peril. "Light the lantern and pass it to me," came the order. "Keep below the gunwale, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037187 | men." As the match spluttered: "Do you see something, a few rods to port?" asked the captain in Trendon's ear. "Pair of green lights," said Trendon. "Eyes. _Seals!_" "_Seals! Seals! Seals_!" shouted the walls, for the surgeon had suddenly released his voice. And as the mockery boomed, the green lights disappeared and there was more splashing from the distance. The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037188 | crew sat up again. The lantern spread its radiance. It was reflected from battlements of fairy beauty. Everywhere the walls were set, as with gems, in broad wales of varied and vivid hues. Dazzled at first, the explorers soon were able to discern the general nature of the subterranean world which they had entered. In most places the walls rose | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037189 | sheer and unscaleable from the water. In others, turretted rocks thrust their gleaming crags upward. Over to starboard a little beach shone with Quaker greyness in that spectacular display. The end of the cavern was still beyond the area of light. "Must have been a swimmer to get in here," commented Trendon, glancing at the walls. "Unless he had a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037190 | boat," said the captain. "But why doesn't he answer?" "Better try again. No telling how much more there is of this." The surgeon raised his ponderous bellow, and the cave roared again with the summons. Silence, formidable and unbroken, succeeded. "House to house search is now in order," he said. "Must be in here somewhere--unless the seals got him." Cautiously | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037191 | the boat moved forward. Once she grazed on a half submerged rock. Again a tiny islet loomed before her. Scattered bones glistened on the rocky shore, but they were not human relics. Occasional beaches tempted a landing, but all of these led back to precipitous cliffs except one, from the side of which opened two small caves. Into the first | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037192 | the lantern cast its glare, revealing emptiness, for the arch was wide and the cave shallow. The entrance to the other was so narrow as to send a visitor to his knees. But inside it seemed to open out. Moreover, there were fish bones at the entrance. The captain, the surgeon, and Congdon, the coxswain, landed. Captain Parkinson reached the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037193 | spot first. Stooping, he thrust his head in at the orifice. A sharp exclamation broke from him. He rose to his feet, turning a contorted face to the others. "Poisonous," he cried. "More volcano," said Trendon. He bent to the black hole and sniffed cautiously. "I'll go in, sir," volunteered Congdon. "I've had fire-practice." "My business," said Trendon, briefly. "Decomposition; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037194 | unpleasant, but not dangerous." Pushing the lantern before him, he wormed his way until the light was blotted out. Presently it shone forth from the funnel, showing that the explorer had reached the inner open space. Captain Parkinson dropped down and peered in, but the evil odour was too much for him. He retired, gagging and coughing. Trendon was gone | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037195 | for what seemed an interminable time. His superior officer fidgeted uneasily. At last he could stand it no longer. "Dr. Trendon, are you all right?" he shouted. "Yup," answered a choked voice. "Cubbing oud dow." Again the funnel was darkened. A pair of feet appeared; then the surgeon's chunky trunk, his head, and the lantern. Once, twice, and thrice he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037196 | inhaled deeply. "Phew!" he gasped. "Thought I was tough, but--Phee-ee-ee-ew!" "Did you find--" "No, sir. Not Darrow. Only a poor devil of a seal that crawled in there to die." The exploration continued. Half a mile, as they estimated, from the open, they reached a narrow beach, shut off by a perpendicular wall of rock. Skirting this, they returned on | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037197 | the other side, minutely examining every possible crevice. When they again reached the light of day, they had arrived at the certain conclusion that no living man was within those walls. "Would a corpse rise to the surface soon in waters such as these, Dr. Trendon?" asked the captain. "Might, sir. Might not. No telling that." The captain ruminated. Then | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037198 | he beat his fist on his knee. "The other cave!" "What other cave?" asked the surgeon. "The cave where they killed the seals." "Surely!" exclaimed Trendon. "Wait, though. Didn't Slade say it was between here and the point?" "Yes. Beyond the small beach." "No cave there," declared the surgeon positively. "There must be. Congdon, did you see an opening anywhere | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000037199 | in the cliff as we came along?" "No, sir. This is the only one, sir." "We'll see about that," said the captain, grimly. "Head her about. Skirt the shore as near the breakers as you safely can." The gig retraced its journey. "There's the beach, as Slade described it," said Captain Parkinson, as they came abreast of the little reach | 60 | gutenberg |
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