THE CONSEQUENCES
Suddenly the deck slid from beneath my feet and I fell flat upon my
face. The ship heaved and rolled as if it were tossing upon the waves of
the ocean, and her timbers creaked and groaned mournfully. At the same
time crash after crash echoed around us, accompanied by a strange
rending sound, as if all creation was being torn asunder.
Then the ship stood firm, as it had been before, trembling slightly at
times but no longer tossing at its rock anchorage. The blackness
continued, however, and our men lighted the lanterns, disclosing our
white, pallid faces as we peered at one another questioningly.
Black Nux had raised me to my feet and was even yet partially supporting
me.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“Eart’quake, Mars Sam,” he replied in a calm voice. “Guess it all over
now.”
There were a few more trembles, and then came the rain—in a deluge, as
it had rained before. We were all driven to seek shelter below, and
there we waited anxiously for the sky to clear, that we might discover
what cataclysms the quake had wrought.
It rained for two solid hours. The darkness continued for an hour or so
longer. It lightened gradually, so that the first intimation I had of it
was the clearing away of the shadows that had lurked in the corners of
the cabin, where the lamplight did not penetrate. I went on deck, where
I found Ned, with Nux and Bryonia and most of the crew, all peering
anxiously through the dim light in the direction of the sea.
“What is it, Ned?” I asked, joining them.
“The reefs!” he said, pointing with a trembling finger. “Where are they,
Sam?”
I also looked, straining my eyes to discover the two jagged lines of
rock jutting out of the sea between us and the open water, as well as
the boat patrol that had guarded them ever since the day of our
shipwreck. But through the gray atmosphere I could see nothing but the
broad expanse of ocean. The waves rolled in, one after another, and
broke against the very rocks that held the _Seagull_ a prisoner.
There was something queer about the position of the ship, too.
Heretofore we had been perched between the two points of rock, full
twenty feet above the sea. Now the waves almost lapped our sides, and
instead of the rocky points being below us, they reared themselves far
above the deck on either side.
I turned toward the island, from whence not a sound was heard. The light
had strengthened sufficiently for me to see the forest line, and
presently I was aware that some of the trees near the edge had tottered
and fallen their length upon the plain. Otherwise the landscape seemed
unchanged, and the open space between us and the forest, which had been
the scene of such deadly conflict, looked just as it had before.
Truly the earthquake had wrought wonders, and in some ways had benefited
us. The most startling change was the destruction of the reefs, leaving
the sea free before us. The boats filled with warriors, placed to guard
us from escaping, had been swallowed up with the reefs, and no vestige
of that formidable array remained except a few fragments of the canoes
which washed ashore.
Perhaps inspired by a common hope we all descended the ladders to the
ground. There we were better able to appreciate all that had happened.
Except that the sky was still gray and forbidding, we now had plenty of
light to examine our surroundings clearly.
One glance at the _Seagull_ dispelled our half formed hopes. Although
her keel was now on a level with the ocean, which even lapped her bow,
the ship was wedged fast between the two huge rocks. These must have
separated during the earthquake and allowed her to settle down into her
present position; but they still held her as in a vise.
“If another quake comes, which ain’t unlikely,” observed Uncle Naboth,
“them rocks is liable to come together again, in which case they’d crack
the _Seagull’s_ sides like a nut in the jaws of a nutcracker.”
It was quite possible, and the statement did not reassure us in the
least.
“If we could but manage to launch her,” said Alfonso, “we have now
plenty of deep water for her to slide into.”
My uncle looked at the young Colombian reproachfully.
“Them ‘ifs’ seem to excuse a lot of fool remarks,” he said. “The only
way to launch the _Seagull_ would be with dynamite, and after that she
wouldn’t be likely to float.”
It was now the middle of the afternoon, and although the sky continued
gloomy there was no air stirring and I dared not wait longer if I meant
to rescue Joe. I was very uneasy about my old chum, for the earthquake
was likely to have created as much havoc at the Pearl City as it had at
this end of the island.
My father had gone into the hold with the carpenter and Ned to examine
the condition of the ship. The little damage we had sustained from the
typhoon which had tossed the ship to her elevated perch had already been
repaired—quite foolishly we thought. But the _Seagull_ was still dear to
the heart of Captain Steele, and he took as much care of her now that
she was useless as when she was proudly riding the waves.
“What’s the programme?” asked Uncle Naboth, as I prepared to start.
“I’m going to try to get to the city and find Joe. If possible I’ll get
him aboard and fetch him back with me. That’s as far as I can plan now,
Uncle.”
“You won’t be foolhardy?”
“I’ll try not to be.”
Then I took my seat, Lucia started the motors, and a moment later I was
flying over the forest.