IN THE CRATER OF VESUVIUS.
Lord Harry Hawbury had been wandering for three months on the
Continent, and had finally found himself in Naples. It was always a
favorite place of his, and he had established himself in comfortable
quarters on the Strada Nuova, from the windows of which there was a
magnificent view of the whole bay, with Vesuvius, Capri, Baiæ, and all
the regions round about. Here an old friend had unexpectedly turned up
in the person of Scone Dacres. Their friendship had been formed some
five or six years before in South America, where they had made a
hazardous journey in company across the continent, and had thus
acquired a familiarity with one another which years of ordinary
association would have failed to give. Scone Dacres was several years
older than Lord Hawbury.
One evening Lord Hawbury had just finished his dinner, and was
dawdling about in a listless way, when Dacres entered, quite
unceremoniously, and flung himself into a chair by one of the windows.
"Any Bass, Hawbury?" was his only greeting, as he bent his head down,
and ran his hand through his bushy hair.
"Lachryma Christi?" asked Hawbury, in an interrogative tone.
"No, thanks. That wine is a humbug. I'm beastly thirsty, and as dry as
a cinder."
Hawbury ordered the Bass, and Dacres soon was refreshing himself with
copious draughts.
The two friends presented a singular contrast. Lord Hawbury was tall
and slim, with straight flaxen hair and flaxen whiskers, whose long,
pendent points hung down to his shoulders. His thin face, somewhat
pale, had an air of high refinement; and an ineradicable habit of
lounging, together with a drawling intonation, gave him the appearance
of being the laziest mortal alive. Dacres, on the other hand, was the
very opposite of all this. He was as tall as Lord Hawbury, but was
broad-shouldered and massive. He had a big head, a big mustache, and a
thick beard. His hair was dark, and covered his head in dense, bushy
curls. His voice was loud, his manner abrupt, and he always sat bolt
upright.
"Any thing up, Sconey?" asked Lord Hawbury, after a pause, during
which he had been languidly gazing at his friend.
"Well, no, nothing, except that I've been up Vesuvius."
Lord Hawbury gave a long whistle.
"And how did you find the mountain?" he asked; "lively?"
"Rather so. In fact, infernally so," added Dacres, thoughtfully. "Look
here, Hawbury, do you detect any smell of sulphur about me?"
"Sulphur! What in the name of--sulphur! Why, now that you mention it,
I _do_ notice something of a brimstone smell. Sulphur! Why, man,
you're as strong as a lighted match. What have you been doing with
yourself? Down inside, eh?"
Dacres made no answer for some time, but sat stroking his beard with
his left hand, while his right held a cigar which he had just taken
out of a box at his elbow. His eyes were fixed upon a point in the sky
exactly half-way between Capri and Baiæ, and about ten degrees above
the horizon.
"Hawbury," said he, solemnly, after about two minutes of portentous
silence.
"Well, old man?"
"I've had an adventure."
"An adventure! Well, don't be bashful. Breathe forth the tale in this
confiding ear."
"You see," said Dacres, "I started off this morning for a ride, and
had no more intention of going to Vesuvius than to Jericho."
"I should hope not. What business has a fellow like you with
Vesuvius--a fellow that has scaled Cotopaxi, and all that sort of
thing? Not you."
Dacres put the cigar thoughtfully in his mouth, struck a light, and
tried to light it, but couldn't. Then he bit the end off, which he had
forgotten to do before. Then he gave three long, solemn, and
portentous puffs. Then he took the cigar between his first and second
fingers, and stretched his hand out toward Hawbury.
"Hawbury, my boy," said he again.
"All right."
"You remember the time when I got that bullet in Uruguay?"
"Yes."
"Well, I had a shot to-day."
"A shot! The deuce you had. Cool, too. Any of those confounded bandits
about? I thought that was all rot."
"It wasn't a real shot; only figurative."
"Figurative!"
"Yes; it was a--a girl."
"By Jove!" cried Hawbury, starting up from an easy posture which he
had secured for himself after fifteen minutes shifting and changing.
"A girl! You, Dacres, spooney! A fellow like you, and a girl! By
Jove!"
Hawbury fell back again, and appeared to be vainly trying to grapple
with the thought. Dacres put his cigar between his lips again, and gave
one or two puffs at it, but it had gone out. He pitched it out of the
window, and struck his hand heavily on the arm of his chair.
"Yes, Hawbury, a girl; and spooney, too--as spooney as blazes; but
I'll swear there isn't such another girl upon the whole face of the
earth; and when you bear in mind the fact that my observation, with
extended view, has surveyed mankind from China to Peru, you'll be able
to appreciate the value of my statement."
"All right, old man; and now for the adventure."
"The adventure? Well, you see, I started for a ride. Had a misty idea
of going to Sorrento, and was jogging along among a million pigs or so
at Portici, when I overtook a carriage that was going slowly along.
There were three ladies in it. The backs of two of them were turned
toward me, and I afterward saw that one was old--no doubt the
chaperon--and the other was young. But the third lady, Hawbury--Well,
it's enough to say that I, who have seen all women in all lands, have
never seen any thing like her. She was on the front seat, with her
face turned toward me. She was small, a perfect blonde; hair short and
curling; a round, girlish face; dimpled cheeks, and little mouth. Her
eyes were large and blue; and, as she looked at me, I saw such a
bewitching innocence, such plaintive entreaty, such pathetic trust,
such helpless, childlike--I'll be hanged if I can find words to
express what I want to say. The English language doesn't contain
them."
"Do it in Latin, then, or else skip the whole description. All the
same. I know the whole story by heart. Love's young dream, and all
that sort of thing, you know."
"Well," continued Dacres, "there was something so confoundedly
bewitching in the little girl's face that I found myself keeping on at
a slow pace in the rear of the carriage, and feasting on her looks. Of
course I wasn't rude about it or demonstrative."
"Oh, of course. No demonstration. It's nothing to ride behind a
carriage for several hours, and 'feast' one's self on a pretty girl's
looks! But go on, old man."
"Oh, I managed it without giving offense. You see, there was such a
beastly lot of pigs, peasants, cows, dirty children, lazaroni, and all
that sort of thing, that it was simply impossible to go any faster; so
you see I was compelled to ride behind. Sometimes, indeed, I fell a
good distance back."
"And then caught up again to resume the 'feast?'"
"Well--yes."
"But I don't see what this has to do with your going to Vesuvius."
"It has every thing to do. You see, I started without any fixed
purpose, and after I saw this carriage, I kept on insensibly after
it."
"Oh, I see--yes. By Jove!"
"And they drove up as far as they could."
"Yes?"
"And I followed. You see, I had nothing else to do--and that little
girl! Besides, it was the most natural thing in the world for me to be
going up; and the fact that I was bent on the same errand as
themselves was sufficient to account for my being near the carriage,
and would prevent them from supposing that I was following them. So,
you see, I followed, and at length they stopped at the Hermitage. I
left my horse there, and strolled forward, without going very far
away; my only idea was to keep the girl in sight. I had no idea that
they would go any further. To ascend the cone seemed quite out of the
question. I thought they would rest at the Hermitage, drink some
Lachryma Christi, and go back. But to my surprise, as I was walking
about, I saw the two young ladies come out and go toward the cone.
"I kept out of the way, as you may suppose, and watched them,
wondering what idea they had. As they passed I heard the younger
one--the child-angel, you know, _my_ girl--teasing the other to make
the ascent of the cone, and the other seemed to be quite ready to
agree to the proposal.
"Now, as far as the mere ascent is concerned, of course you know
_that_ is not much. The guides were there with straps and chairs, and
that sort of thing, all ready, so that there was no difficulty about
that. The real difficulty was in these girls going off unattended; and
I could only account for it by supposing that the chaperon knew
nothing whatever about their proposal. No doubt the old lady was
tired, and the young ones went out, as _she_ supposed, for a stroll;
and now, as _they_ proposed, this stroll meant nothing less than an
ascent of the cone. After all, there is nothing surprising in the fact
that a couple of active and spirited girls should attempt this. From
the Hermitage it does not seem to be at all difficult, and they had no
idea of the actual nature of the task.
"What made it worse, however, was the state of the mountain at this
particular time. I don't know whether you have taken the trouble to
raise your eyes so high as the top of Vesuvius--"
Hawbury languidly shook his head.
"Well, I supposed not; but if you had taken the trouble, you would
have noticed an ugly cloud which is generally regarded here as
ominous. This morning, you know, there was an unusually large canopy
of very dirty smoke overhead. I knew by the look of things that it was
not a very pleasant place to go to. But of course they could not be
supposed to know any thing of the kind, and their very ignorance made
them rash.
"Well, I walked along after them, not knowing what might turn up, but
determined to keep them in sight. Those beggars with chairs were not
to be trusted, and the ladies had gold enough about them to tempt
violence. What a reckless old devil of a chaperon she was, to let
those young girls go! So I walked on, cursing all the time the
conventionalities of civilization that prevented me from giving them
warning. They were rushing straight on into danger, and I had to keep
silent.
"On reaching the foot of the cone a lot of fellows came up to them,
with chairs and straps, and that sort of thing. They employed some of
them, and, mounting the chairs, they were carried up, while I walked
up by myself at a distance from which I could observe all that was
going on. The girls were quite merry, appeared to be enchanted with
their ride up the cone, enjoyed the novelty of the sensation, and I
heard their lively chatter and their loud peals of ringing laughter,
and longed more than ever to be able to speak to them.
"Now the little girl that I had first seen--the child-angel, you
know--seemed, to my amazement, to be more adventurous than the other.
By her face you would suppose her to be as timid as a dove, and yet on
this occasion she was the one who proposed the ascent, urged on her
companion, and answered all her objections. Of course she could not
have really been so plucky as she seemed. For my part, I believe the
other one had more real pluck of the two, but it was the child-angel's
ignorance that made her so bold. She went up the cone as she would
have gone up stairs, and looked at the smoke as she would have looked
at a rolling cloud.
"At length the bearers stopped, and signified to the girls that they
could not go any further. The girls could not speak Italian, or any
other language apparently than English, and therefore could not very
well make out what the bearers were trying to say, but by their
gestures they might have known that they were warning them against
going any further. One might have supposed that no warning would have
been needed, and that one look upward would have been enough. The top
of the cone rose for upward of a hundred feet above them, its soil
composed of lava blocks and ashes intermingled with sulphur. In this
soil there were a million cracks and crevices, from which sulphurous
smoke was issuing; and the smoke, which was but faint and thin near
where they stood, grew denser farther up, till it intermingled with
the larger volumes that rolled up from the crater.
"Now, as I stood there, I suddenly heard a wild proposal from the
child-angel.
"'Oh, Ethel,' she said, 'I've a great mind to go up--'"
Here Hawbury interrupted his friend:
"What's that? Was that her friend's name?" he asked, with some
animation. "Ethel?--odd, too. Ethel? H'm. Ethel? Brunette, was she?"
"Yes."
"Odd, too; infernally odd. But, pooh! what rot! Just as though there
weren't a thousand Ethels!"
"What's that you're saying about Ethel?" asked Dacres.
"Oh, nothing, old man. Excuse my interrupting you. Go ahead. How did
it end?"
"Well, the child-angel said, 'Ethel, I've a great mind to go up.'
"This proposal Ethel scouted in horror and consternation.
"'You must not--you shall not!' she cried.
"'Oh, it's nothing, it's nothing,' said the child-angel. 'I'm dying to
take a peep into the crater. It must be awfully funny. Do come; do, do
come, Ethel darling.'
"'Oh, Minnie, don't,' cried the other, in great alarm. And I now
learned that the child-angel's name was Minnie. 'Minnie,' she cried,
clinging to the child-angel, 'you must not go. I would not have come
up if I had thought you would be so unreasonable.'
"'Ethel,' said the other, 'you are really getting to be quite a scold.
How ridiculous it is in you to set yourself up in this place as a
duenna! How can I help going up? and only one peep. And I never saw a
crater in my life, and I'm dying to know what it looks like. I know
it's awfully funny; and it's horrid in you to be so unkind about it.
And I really must go. Won't you come? Do, do, dear--dearest darling,
do--do--do!'
"Ethel was firm, however, and tried to dissuade the other, but to no
purpose; for at length, with a laugh, the child-angel burst away, and
skipped lightly up the slope toward the crater.
"'Just one peep,' she said. 'Come, Ethel, I must, I really must, you
know.'
"She turned for an instant as she said this, and I saw the glory of
her child-face as it was irradiated by a smile of exquisite sweetness.
The play of feature, the light of her eyes, and the expression of
innocence and ignorance unconscious of danger, filled me with profound
sadness. And there was I, standing alone, seeing that sweet child
flinging herself to ruin, and yet unable to prevent her, simply
because I was bound hand and foot by the infernal restrictions of a
miserable and a senseless conventionality. Dash it, I say!"
As Dacres growled out this Hawbury elevated his eyebrows, and stroked
his long, pendent whiskers lazily with his left hand, while with his
right he drummed on the table near him.
"Well," resumed Dacres, "the child-angel ran up for some distance,
leaving Ethel behind. Ethel called after her for some time, and then
began to follow her up. Meanwhile the guides, who had thus far stood
apart, suddenly caught sight of the child-angel's figure, and, with a
loud warning cry, they ran after her. They seemed to me, however, to
be a lazy lot, for they scarce got up as far as the place where Ethel
was. Now, you know, all this time I was doomed to inaction. But at
this juncture I strolled carelessly along, pretending not to see any
thing in particular; and so, taking up an easy attitude, I waited for
the dénouement. It was a terrible position too. That child-angel! I
would have laid down my life for her, but I had to stand idle, and see
her rush to fling her life away. And all because I had not happened to
have the mere formality of an introduction."
[Illustration: "I SAW HER TURN AND WAVE HER HAND IN TRIUMPH."]
"Well, you know, I stood there waiting for the dénouement. Now it
happened that, as the child-angel went up, a brisk breeze had started,
which blew away all the smoke, so that she went along for some
distance without any apparent inconvenience. I saw her reach the top;
I saw her turn and wave her hand in triumph. Then I saw her rush
forward quickly and nimbly straight toward the crater. She seemed to
go down into it. And then the wind changed or died away, or both, for
there came a vast cloud of rolling smoke, black, cruel, suffocating;
and the mountain crest and the child-angel were snatched from my
sight.
"I was roused by a shriek from Ethel. I saw her rush up the slope, and
struggle in a vain endeavor to save her friend. But before she had
taken a dozen steps down came the rolling smoke, black, wrathful, and
sulphurous; and I saw her crouch down and stagger back, and finally
emerge pale as death, and gasping for breath. She saw me as I stood
there; in fact, I had moved a little nearer.
"'Oh, Sir,' she cried, 'save her! Oh, my God, she's lost!'
"This was very informal, you know, and all that sort of thing; but
_she_ had broken the ice, and had accosted _me_; so I waived all
ceremony, and considered the introduction sufficient. I took off my
hat, and told her to calm herself.
"But she only wrung her hands, and implored me to save her friend.
"And now, my boy, lucky was it for me that my experience at Cotopaxi
and Popocatepetl had been so thorough and so peculiar. My knowledge
came into play at this time. I took my felt hat and put it over my
mouth, and then tied it around my neck so that the felt rim came over
my cheeks and throat. Thus I secured a plentiful supply of air, and
the felt acted as a kind of ventilator to prevent the access to my
lungs of too much of the sulphurous vapor. Of course such a
contrivance would not be good for more than five minutes; but then,
you know, five minutes were all that I wanted.
"So up I rushed, and, as the slope was only about a hundred feet, I
soon reached the top. Here I could see nothing whatever. The
tremendous smoke-clouds rolled all about on every side, enveloping me
in their dense folds, and shutting every thing from view. I heard the
cry of the asses of guides, who were howling where I left them below,
and were crying to me to come back--the infernal idiots! The smoke was
impenetrable; so I got down on my hands and knees and groped about. I
was on her track, and knew she could not be far away. I could not
spend more than five minutes there, for my felt hat would not assist
me any longer. About two minutes had already passed. Another minute
was taken up in creeping about on my hands and knees. A half minute
more followed. I was in despair. The child-angel I saw must have run
in much further than I had supposed, and perhaps I could not find her
at all. A sickening fear came to me that she had grown dizzy, or had
slid down over the loose sand into the terrific abyss of the crater
itself. So another half minute passed; and now only one minute was
left."
"I don't see how you managed to be so confoundedly accurate in your
reckoning. How was it? You didn't carry your watch in one hand, and
feel about with the other, I suppose?"
"No; but I looked at my watch at intervals. But never mind that. Four
minutes, as I said, were up, and only one minute remained, and that
was not enough to take me back. I was at the last gasp already, and on
the verge of despair, when suddenly, as I crawled on, there lay the
child-angel full before me, within my reach.
"Yes," continued Dacres, after a pause, "there she lay, just in my
grasp, just at my own last gasp. One second more and it must have been
all up. She was senseless, of course. I caught her up; I rose and ran
back as quick as I could, bearing my precious burden. She was as light
as a feather--no weight at all. I carried her as tenderly as if she
was a little baby. As I emerged from the smoke Ethel rushed up to me
and set up a cry, but I told her to keep quiet and it would be all
right. Then I directed the guides to carry her down, and I myself then
carried down the child-angel.
"You see I wasn't going to give her up. I had had hard work enough
getting her. Besides, the atmosphere up there was horrible. It was
necessary, first of all, to get her down to the foot of the cone,
where she could have pure air, and then resuscitate her. Therefore I
directed the guides to take down Ethel in a chair, while I carried
down the child-angel. They had to carry her down over the lava blocks,
but I went to a part of the cone where it was all loose sand, and went
down flying. I was at the bottom a full half hour before the others.
"Then I laid her upon the loose sand; and I swear to you, Hawbury,
never in all my life have I seen such a sight. She lay there before my
eyes a picture of loveliness beyond imagination--as beautiful as a
dream--more like a child-angel than ever. Her hair clustered in golden
curls over her white brow, her little hands were folded meekly over
her breast, her lips were parted into a sweet smile, the gentle eyes
no longer looked at me with the piteous, pleading, trustful, innocent
expression which I had noticed in them before, and her hearing was
deaf to the words of love and tenderness that I lavished upon her."
"Good!" muttered Hawbury; "you talk like a novel. Drive on, old man.
I'm really beginning to feel excited."
"'The fact is," said Dacres, "I have a certain set of expressions
about the child-angel that will come whenever I begin to describe
her."
"It strikes me, though, that you are getting on pretty well. You were
speaking of 'love and tenderness.' Well?"
"Well, she lay there senseless, you know, and I gently unclasped her
hands and began to rub them. I think the motion of carrying her, and
the fresh air, had both produced a favorable effect; for I had not
rubbed her hands ten minutes when she gave a low sigh. Then I rubbed
on, and her lips moved. I bent down close so as to listen, and I heard
her say, in a low voice,
"'Am I at home?'
[Illustration: "I BENT DOWN CLOSE."]
"'Yes,' said I, gently, for I thought it was best to humor her
delirious fancy.
"Then she spoke again:
"'Is that you, papa dear?'
"'Yes, darling,' said I, in a low voice; and I kissed her in a kind of
paternal way, so as to reassure her, and comfort her, and soothe her,
and all that sort of thing, you know."
At this Hawbury burst into a shout of laughter.
"What the mischief are you making that beastly row about?" growled
Dacres.
"Excuse me, old boy. I couldn't help it. It was at the idea of your
doing the father so gravely."
"Well, am I not old enough to be her father? What else could I do? She
had such a pleading, piteous way. By Jove! Besides, how did she know
any thing about it? It wasn't as if she was in her senses. She really
thought I _was_ her father, you know. And I'm sure I almost felt as if
I was, too."
"All right, old man, don't get huffy. Drive on."
"Well, you know, she kept her eyes closed, and didn't say another word
till she heard the voice of Ethel at a distance. Then she opened her
eyes, and got up on her feet. Then there was no end of a row--kissing,
crying, congratulating, reproaching, and all that sort of thing. I
withdrew to a respectful distance and waited. After a time they both
came to me, and the child-angel gave me a look that made me long to be
a father to her again. She held out her little hand, and I took it and
pressed it, with my heart beating awfully. I was horribly embarrassed.
"'I'm awfully grateful to you,' she said; 'I'm sure I'd do any thing
in the world to repay you. I'm sure I don't know what would have
become of me if it hadn't been for you. And I hope you'll excuse me
for putting you to so much trouble. And, oh!' she concluded, half to
herself, 'what _will_ Kitty say now?'"
"Kitty! Who's Kitty?"
"I don't know."
"All right. Never mind. Drive on, old chap."
"Well, I mumbled something or other, and then offered to go and get
their carriage. But they would not hear of it. The child-angel said
she could walk. This I strongly dissuaded her from doing, and Ethel
insisted that the men should carry her. This was done, and in a short
time we got back to the Hermitage, where the old lady was in no end of
a worry. In the midst of the row I slipped away, and waited till the
carriage drove off. Then I followed at a sufficient distance not to be
observed, and saw where their house was."
[Illustration: THE MEETING.]