Mother Carey's Chicken Part 67

"The jungle is dense, but I think with a little managing we can find our way."

"Well, yes, perhaps so," said the major. "It's down hill, and half our way will be fairly open."

"If it proves too dense we can but turn to the right and go back as we came," said the captain. "There, Mark, you need not look so anxious.

There is nothing worse the matter than a bad headache. How are you, major?"

"Horrible!" he said. "I have a bad headache, and a bad mental pain, for being so absurdly obstinate and running all that risk for the sake of a few crystals of sulphur."

"Which, after all, you had to leave behind."

"Not all," said the major; "I had put a couple of lumps in my pocket when that overpowering vapour struck me down. My impression is--yes, of course, I remember clearly now--that where I broke the crystals away I must have opened a hole for the escape of the vapour."

"I heard the hissing noise," said Mark eagerly.

"Strong," said the major, "I know you will forgive me; but, believe me, it will be a long time before I forgive myself. I can't say much to you about thanks," he whispered in a hoa.r.s.e voice; "but I shall never forget this."

"Nonsense, man, nonsense!" cried the captain warmly. "You would have done the same for me."

No more was said, for there was plenty to do to keep together, and the various sights and sounds as they bore away to the east of the hot springs set the whole party well upon the _qui vive_.

For on every side there were traces of volcanic action. Now they had to climb over or round some ma.s.s of lava that looked comparatively new as seen beside fragments that were moss-grown and fringed with orchids and ferns. In one place on the steep descent all would be one tangled growth of creepers, while a little farther on the ground would be sharply inclined and as bare and burned as if fire had lately issued from the earth. Every now and then they came, too, upon soft patches of mud firm enough to walk over and like india-rubber beneath their feet; but it was nervous work, and they crossed with care, feeling, as they did, a curious vibration going on beneath their feet.

Then came an exceedingly rugged descent of quite a precipitous nature, but lovely in the extreme, so clothed was it with tropic verdure, though this was more beautiful to the eye than to the feet, for it often concealed treacherous crevices between blocks of scoria, and ugly cracks and rifts, some of which were dangerous, while others were awful from their depth and the low, hissing, murmuring sounds which came from their inmost recesses.

At last the descent became so precipitous that they were brought to a stand-still and all progress seemed to be at an end, till, searching about, Mark and Billy Widgeon came upon a broad gash in the mountain side at the bottom of which there seemed to be a long slope of the smooth, hard-surfaced mud apparently running downward toward the spot they sought.

The captain declared the descent practicable with care, and Mark took the lead, going down with plenty of agility, and closely followed by the little sailor.

At the end of a quarter of an hour they were all on the stony brink of what seemed to be a mud-stream which at some time had flowed down from out of a huge yawning chasm high up above their heads, and perfectly inaccessible from where they stood. According to all appearances, this mud in a thin state must have come down in a perfect cataract till it filled up the s.p.a.ce beneath the chasm, which resembled a huge basin, as level as so much water, and when this had become full the stream had begun to form, and down this mud-stream they proposed to go, though how far it extended and would help them on their way experience alone could show.

They stood just at the edge of the pool to find that a walk upon its surface would be dangerous in the extreme, for though the top was elastic a stick was easily driven through, with the result that a jet of steam rushed out with a noise like that of a railway whistle, but the surface of the stream on being tested proved firmer, and they began to descend.

Again the same sense of insecurity was felt, the india-rubber-like film giving way easily and springing up again, while the old muttering and murmuring noises thrilled beneath their feet.

But so long as it would hold it proved to be a capital road, for while there was a wall of dense verdure on either side, not so much as a sc.r.a.p of moss had taken root on the surface of the smooth slope, which wound in and out with the ravine, acting in fact as a stream of water does which runs down some mountain scar, save that here there was no progress. The mud had once been hot and fluid, and doubtless was still so, to some extent, below; but, after filling up every inequality, it kept to one regular level, forming what Mark at once dubbed Gutta-percha Lane.

It was now long past mid-day, and as they walked steadily on, growing more confident as the toughness of the bituminous mud, for such it proved to be, proved itself worthy of the trust it was called upon to bear, the question arose where the stream would end.

As far as the captain could make out, in spite of its zigzagging and abrupt curves, the course of the stream was decidedly towards the camp, but as they descended lower one thing was very plain, and that was that they were getting into thicker jungle, which grew taller and darker with every hundred feet of descent.

"How do you account for it?" Captain Strong said at last to the major, as they now found themselves walking down a winding road some fifteen to twenty feet wide, and with dense walls of verdure rising fully two hundred feet in height.

"I think there must have been a stream here, and at some time there has been an eruption and the mud has flowed down it and filled it up."

"If there had been a stream," the captain said, "we should have seen some sign of its outlet near the camp."

"Then you have a theory of your own?"

"Yes," said the captain; "it seems to me that first of all this was merely a jagged ravine, running from the mountain's shoulder right down to the sea."

"That's what I thought. With a stream at the bottom."

"No stream," said the captain. "Nothing but vegetation. Down this a stream of red-hot lava must have flowed and burned the vegetation clean away, leaving a place for the mud to come down and harden as you have it now. It may have been a year after the eruption--twenty, fifty, or a hundred years, but there it is."

"If you are right, we should see traces of the burning on the trees,"

said the major.

"That does not follow. These trees may have sprung up since, right to the very edge of the stream, but no farther."

"Then under this mud or bitumen there ought to be lava according to your ideas. How shall we prove it?"

"If I am right," said the captain, "we shall find that this stream ends all at once, just as the lava hardened when the flow ceased, for there was no stream of volcanic matter right down to the sh.o.r.e."

"And there is no stream of mud any further," said Mark laughing; "for there's the end."

Mark was quite right, for about a couple of hundred yards below them the mighty walls of verdure suddenly came together and blocked out further progress, while, when they reached the spot, it was to find that the bituminous mud spread out here into a pool, further progress being, as it were, stopped by a dam of blackish rock which resembled so much solidified sponge, so full was it of air-holes and bubble-like cells.

"I am no geologist," said the major, "so I give in to you, Strong. You must be right."

"I think I am," said the captain, quietly examining the rocky dam and the surface of the mud. "Yes, I should say that here is the explanation of this curious stream."

"Then all I can say is," said the major wiping his forehead, "that I wish the eruption had been a little bigger, and the lava stream had ended on the sands exactly one hundred yards from camp."

"And the mud had flowed over it and made our road?" said Mark laughing.

"That goes without saying," cried the major. "Now, then, I propose a halt and food."

There was plenty of shade close at hand, but unfortunately no water.

Still, a good rest and a hearty meal proved most grateful, and as soon as it was done the major lit a cigar, the captain, Small, and two of the men seemed to be dozing, and Mark and Billy Widgeon looked at them and then at each other.

"Going to do a bit o' hammock work, Mr Mark, sir?" said Billy.

"I'm not sleepy."

"More am I, sir. Let's see if we can't get some fruit."

"All right!" cried Mark, jumping up.

"Don't go far, my boy," said the captain; and Mark started, for he had thought his father was asleep, while on looking at him he still lay back in the same position with his eyes closed.

"No, father, I won't go far," he said.

"Keep within range of a shout--well within range, for it's very easy to get lost in one of these jungles, and we shall be too tired to hunt for you now."

"I won't go far," said Mark; and he and Billy Widgeon began to walk slowly back along the stream, looking to left and right for a way between the trees into the jungle.

"You thought the skipper was asleep?" said Billy in a whisper. "Never ketches him asleep, as we all knows. It's always t'other. So soon as one o' us as ought to be awake goes off, he finds us out, and no mistake."