THE BLACK DAY
The 'quake was over in a very few moments; the Indians and Washington
White, however, cowered upon the ground for some time, crying out their
fear of what they considered supernatural phenomena. Jack Darrow and
Mark Sampson were not frightened in the same way as the darkey and the
Aleuts; nevertheless they were much shaken.
Professor Henderson, however, displayed naught but the keenest interest
in the scientific side of the happening. He clambered to his feet the
moment he could stand, and observed:
"A most pronounced seismic disturbance--I should say earthquake."
"I should say it was pronounced!" grunted Phineas Roebach. Being a fat
man, he had fallen heavily. He was now rubbing himself tenderly where
he had been bruised upon the hard ground. "This shock beats the one
we had the other day."
"Not a shock, my dear sir," said Professor Henderson, quickly. "An
earthquake is not, strictly speaking, a shock at all. Within the past
twenty years science has learned to measure and to study earthquakes.
If we have learned nothing else, we have learned that an earthquake
is _not_ a shock."
"It tumbled us about a whole lot, then, Professor," said Jack Darrow.
"What would you call it, if not a shock?"
The phenomena being over for the time--as all could see--they returned
to the cabin to complete their meal. Roebach had said something soothing
to his Indians, but they, like Washington White, preferred remaining
in the open. Wash sat down beside the cage of his pet rooster, and
declared to the boys when they urged him to come in again:
"No, sah! I ain't hongry, nohow. An' w'edder de professor am right dat
dese yer earthquakes ain't shockin', I kin tell yo' right now dat it
shocked _me_! Nor I ain't gwine ter gib it no secon' chance ter tumble
dat ruff down on ma haid--no, sah!"
Once more at the breakfast table, with the affrighted Indian squaw
waiting upon them, the professor took up the topic of earthquakes
again, in answer to Jack's observation.
"From the time of the ancients to the middle of the last century the
phenomena of earthquakes were observed and described upon countless
occasions," he said. "Yet even Humboldt's 'Cosmos', published as late
as 1844, which summarized the then existing knowledge on the subject,
did not suggest that earthquakes should be studied like other mechanical
motions.
"The effects of the great Neapolitan earthquake of 1857 were so studied
by Mr. Robert Mallet," continued the professor. "He disabused his mind
of all superstition, threw away all the past mysteries, and attacked
the problem from its mechanical side only. He believed that an
earthquake was a series of shocks, or blows; but what he learned led
other and later students to the discovery that an earthquake is not
made up of blows at all."
"That's all very well to say," grumbled Mr. Roebach. "I'm pretty solid
on my feet; but what was it but a shock that threw me down? Tell me
that, sir!"
"Very easily explained," said the scientist, smiling. "Which will the
quicker take you off your feet--a blow from, say, Jack's fist, or your
stepping inadvertently upon a piece of glare ice? The ice, because it
affords you so insecure a footing, is likely to throw you easier than
a pretty solid blow; eh?"
"True enough," admitted the oil hunter, smiling at Jack. "Although
Darrow looks to be a pretty husky youngster." "My point is this,"
pursued the professor. "An earthquake is a continuous series of
intricate twistings and oscillations in all possible directions, up
and down, east and west, north and south, of the greatest irregularity
both in intensity and direction. This writhing of the earth--of the
very foundations of the ground we walk on--caused our recent overthrow,"
concluded Mr. Henderson.
But the two boys were much more interested in the possibility of there
being an active volcano in the neighborhood. The volcanic ash which
covered the leaves and grass like road-dust assured them all that some
huge "blow-hole" of the earth was near.
"I wasn't looking for no such things as volcanoes," said Andy Sudds,
seriously, "when I shipped for this voyage. I reckoned volcanoes blowed
mostly in the tropics."
"Alaska is a mighty field of active volcanoes," declared Professor
Henderson. "But they have been mostly active on the Pacific coast, and
among the islands which form a barrier between that ocean and Bering
Sea. Islands have been thrown up, while others have sunk there because
of volcanic disturbances, within the last few years."
"And I presume the earthquake and the volcanic eruption are closely
connected?" suggested Mark.
"We may safely believe that," agreed the professor. "I am sorry my
instruments are not at hand. I sincerely hope none was damaged when
the _Snowbird_ made such a bad landing."
"And I'd like to give the machine an overhauling at once to see just
how badly she's damaged," Jack Darrow said, hastily. "What do you say,
Mark?"
"I'm with you," returned his chum. "Can't we take Andy and Wash, Mr.
Henderson, and go right up to that hollow and see what needs to be
done to the flying machine? Perhaps we can get off for Aleukan by
to-morrow if we hustle."
"If you boys think you can repair the damage done the machine in so
short a time," agreed the professor, doubtfully. "But you know we must
at least arrive at Aleukan in time to meet the train from Coldfoot.
If the _Snowbird_ cannot be launched again, we will have to see
if our good friend here, Mr. Roebach, can fit us out with dogs and
men."
"That I'll do to the best of my ability," said the oil man, rising.
"But I'd better get out now and set my men to work. I am boring in a
new place this week, and it looks promising. We are down a hundred and
twenty feet already." They put on their outer garments and left the
cabin. Although this was summer weather, there was a sting of frost
in the air even as it neared mid-forenoon. But the sun was strangely
overcast, and that might account for the drop in temperature.
"Disher day fo'git ter grow," complained Washington, rolling his eyes
until, as Jack suggested, they could see only the whites of them in
the dark, and the gleam of his teeth. "'Nstead o' bein' as sunshiny
as it doughter be arter dat storm, it's suah growin' night fast! 'Taint
a full-grown day, nohow!"
"Sort of stunted; is it, Wash?" chuckled Jack.
Andy Sudds here spoke decisively:
"I been tryin' to make out what it was, like feathers, a-touchin' my
face. But it ain't snow. _It's ashes_!"
"Volcanic dust!" cried Mark.
"That volcano must be active again. That's what brought about the
earthquake," said Jack. "And the darkness. What we thought was a fog
over the sun must be a cloud of ashes."
"This ain't no place for us," declared Andy. "I wish we were back at
that man's house."
"Or could find the _Snowbird_ pretty soon," added Mark.
"We're going right for it--I'm sure of that," said Jack, cheerfully.
And scarcely had he spoken when the four suddenly clung to each other,
rocking on their feet! Washington White shrieked aloud, fell upon his
knees, and it took but little to drag the boys and Andy Sudds with him.
"The whole world is done rockin' ergain!" wailed the darkey. "Dis is
de end ob de finish!"
The vibrations of the ground grew in strength. The air about them
seemed to shake. The darkness was so intense that Jack, holding a
shaking hand before his face, could not distinguish its outline. And
all the time the volcanic ash drifted down through the writhing
tree-tops, while the boys and their companions were unable to stand
erect.