My first thought, as I lay half-stunned and almost unconscious upon that
naked bed of hard black rock, was that at any rate I had caught and
fairly boxed my butterfly. My second, a much less agreeable one to
encounter, was that I had certainly broken my leg in my full to the
bottom.
I was conscious, in fact, of a dull but very deep-seated pain in my
right thigh. I tried to move it. The agony was intense. It threw me back
into my momentary faint again. For a minute or two I could hardly
realize my position. Then it slowly came home to me by gradual stages
that I was lying helpless, with a broken leg, unseen and unattended, on
the Floor of the Hawaiians, a hundred and twenty feet down the gap of
the crater.
Would anybody come to help me? I wondered. That was more than doubtful.
As a rule, the whole day passed on those lonely heights without anybody
approaching the mouth of the volcano, let alone climbing down by the
zig-zag path into the floor above me. Kalaua's household were the sole
frequenters of that solitary spot. However, Frank would at least be back
from Hilo by six o'clock, or thereabouts, and then he would be sure to
come up and look for me, when he missed me from my accustomed place on
the verandah. I took out my watch, in order to see how long I might have
to lie there in frightful pain, waiting for my brother's return to save
me. We had learnt early rising with a vengeance since we came to the
islands--breakfast at Kalaua's was at six sharp--to my horror, I found
it was even now only half-past seven!
More than ten weary, dreary hours to watch and wait, with my broken leg,
in that dismal crater!
It was an unpleasant outlook. I gazed around and tried to take in the
situation.
Above me, a steep black wall of granite rose sheer and straight towards
the open heaven. Below me, I could hear, though I could not see, the
lake of liquid fire hissing and bubbling with horrible noises in its
eternal cauldron. Around, the floor was composed of solid dark green
obsidian, as hard and transparent and sharp as bottle-glass. I must lie
as best I could, on my uneasy bed, and brave it out for ten hours
somehow.
Fortunately, I soon discovered that as long as I lay quite still, the
pain of my leg was comparatively trifling. It was only when I moved or
stirred restlessly that it hurt me much, and then, the agony was enough
to drive one frantic. I laid down my watch, to mark the time, on the
rock in front of me. Happily, being a good naval chronometer, it had not
been injured in the shock of my fall. I had nothing to do now but to
count the hours till Frank could come up and relieve me at last from my
awkward and even dangerous situation.
Ten hours is a very long time, with a broken leg, in the crater of Mauna
Loa.
The floor of the ledge, I observed, as I gazed around, was covered with
long strings of dark thread-like lava--as thin and delicate as a
spun-glass tissue. These strings are a well-known product of the
volcanic action of Mauna Loa, and the natives call them "Pélé's hair."
They look upon them as the veritable tresses of the goddess. Having
nothing else to do, I picked some up and examined it closely. No wonder
the superstitious old Hawaiians took it in their time for the actual
combings of their dread goddess's hair! I never in my life saw anything
so exactly resembling human locks, at a first rough glance: and I was
not surprised that even Kea herself should regard it as a token of the
presence of that mysterious being who dwelt, as she still half believed,
all alone among the eternal fires of the great crater.
Eight o'clock, nine o'clock, ten o'clock, passed, and I began by that
time to get most unfeignedly weary of my enforced imprisonment. It was
impossible to lie in one position all the time; and whenever I turned,
or even moved, my leg gave me the most excruciating jerks of pain and
agony. I was heartily sick now of the crater and all that belonged to
it. What on earth, I thought, made me ever take to such a trade as
vulcanology? I said to myself more than once in my despair that
henceforth I'd give up volcanoes for ever, and go in for some safe and
honest trade--like a light-house-man's or an inspector of mines--for a
livelihood.
About half-past ten however, as I lay half dozing with fatigue and pain,
an incident occurred which broke the monotony of the situation: my
attention was suddenly and vividly aroused by a noise that sounded like
the report of a pistol.
What on earth could it be? I raised myself on my arms and gazed all
round. The crater of Mauna Loa was a queer place indeed for even the
most enthusiastic sportsman to come shooting in. The only game he could
expect to find in such a spot would be surely salamanders. But firing
was without doubt going on in the crater, not indeed on the floor on
which I myself lay, but strange to say, on the other and still deeper
ledges below me. As I strained my ear to listen, I heard frequent
reports of pistols, one after another, in all directions down the hollow
of the crater.
Then, with a sudden flash of recollection it burst in upon my memory
that Frank and I had heard similar reports the year before on the slopes
of Hecla, just on the eve of a serious eruption, when we were engaged in
investigating the volcanoes of Iceland.
In a second, the appalling and terrible truth came home to me in all its
ghastly awfulness. The lava in the crater must be rising explosively!
I was never much frightened of a volcano before, but that moment, I
confess, I felt distinctly nervous.
From where I lay, I couldn't see over into the lake of liquid fire
below, and my broken leg made it almost impossible for me to move or
even to drag myself towards the steep edge, where I could gaze down into
the abyss and make sure whether the lava was really rising. But such
suspense was more than one could bear. With a supreme effort I raised
myself a second time, very cautiously, upon my two hands and my left
knee, and, trailing my right leg with difficulty behind me, I crawled or
crept with unspeakable pain over yards of rough rock to the brink of the
precipice.
An ineffable sight there met my eye. The black slaggy bottom of the huge
crater, which generally reposed in tranquil peace like a calm sea, just
broken here and there by fiery fissures, was now transformed into one
bubbling mass of flame and vapour, all alive with a horrible livid
glare, that lit up its seething and blazing billows with an awful
distinctness. Loud, snorting puffs of steam burst thick and fast from
the gaping fissures, and from many of the chinks great jets of molten
material were willing out in huge floods, and rising gradually towards
the Floor of Pélé, the third and last ledge immediately below me. If the
eruption continued for two hours longer at its present rate, by
half-past twelve, I felt fully convinced, the sea of lava would be
wildly surging and roaring above the very spot whence I now surveyed
it.
What was to be done? I lay and pondered.
Unless somebody came to my rescue meanwhile, I had only two hours more
to live on earth; and then inch by inch I would be scorched to death, in
unspeakable agony, before an advancing tide of liquid fire, by the most
awful fate ever known to humanity!
It was ghastly; it was horrible: but I had to face it.
I peered over the edge, and watched with eager and tremulous awe the
gradual approach of the devouring fire-flood. Slowly, slowly, foot by
foot, and yard by yard, my inanimate enemy rose and rose, and rose
again, by constant, cruel, crawling stages. Not always regularly, but in
fluctuating billows. At times the molten sea leapt upward with a bound;
at times it fell again, in a vast sink-hole, like some huge collapsing
bubble of metal; but all the while, in spite of every apparent
fluctuation, it mounted steadily in the long run up the black wall of
rock, as the tide rises over a shelving beach, with its hideous gas jets
hissing and groaning, and its angry flames drawing nearer and nearer
each moment to devour me.
I lay there horror-stricken, and gazed idly down.
[Illustration: "I LAY THERE HORROR-STRICKEN, AND GAZED IDLY DOWN."]
Nothing on earth that I myself could do would now avail me in any way to
escape my destiny. I tried to turn and attempt the wall behind me. I
might as well have tried to scale the naked side of a smooth and
polished granite monument. The crag was like glass. There was nothing
for it but to lie back in quiet and await my death as a brave man should
await it. Science had had many martyrs before. I felt sure, as I lay
there, that I too was to be numbered upon the increasing roll-call of
its illustrious victims.
It is easy enough to fight and die; but to lie still and be slowly
roasted to death--that, I take it, is quite a different matter.
Eleven o'clock went past on my watch. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty
minutes. The fire had mounted half way up the side of the ledge on which
I lay. I could feel its hot breath borne fiercely towards me. A jet of
steam raised itself now and then to the level of my own floor. Ashes and
cinders were falling freely around. The eruption was gathering strength
as it went. It was dangerous any longer to lie so close to the broken
edge. I must drag myself away, near the further precipice.
Frank would not return from town much before six, I felt sure. He always
loitered when he got down to Hilo. Unless somebody came to relieve me
soon I must surely be killed by slow torture.
I gazed all around me with a last despairing glance. As I did so, a cry
of relief burst on a sudden from my parched throat. On the precipice
above, leaning over the edge of the Floor of the Strangers, I saw
distinctly a man's face--a man's face, a Hawaiian's as I thought,
peering down curiously into the depths of the crater.
If only I could attract that man's attention I felt there might yet be
some small chance for me.