MOUNT HEKLA--THE GREAT GEYSER--A NARROW ESCAPE--THE SEARCH FOR THE
PIRATE--MCBAIN'S LITTLE "RUSE DE GUERRE"--THE BATTLE BEGUN.
"That puts quite another complexion on the matter," said Dr Sandy
McFlail, with a sigh of relief, when Rory explained to him that he had
spied the pirate, "quite another complexion, though, for the time bein'
ye glowered sae like a warlock that I did think ye had lost your reason;
so give me the glass, and I'll e'en take a look at her mysel'.
"Eh! sirs," he continued, with the telescope at his eye, "but she is a
big ship, and a bonnie ship. But, Rory boy, just catch a hold o' my
coat-tails, and I'll feel more secure like. I wouldn't wish to go heels
o'er head out o' the car. A fine big ship indeed--square-rigged forward
and schooner-rigged aft; a vera judeecious arrangement."
"Now," cried Rory, "the sooner we are landed on old mother earth the
better. Bend on to the valve halyards, De Vere. Down with her."
"Sirs! sirs!" cried the doctor, in great alarm; "pray don't be rash. Be
judeecious, gentlemen, be judeecious."
De Vere looked from one to the other, then laughed aloud. He was
amused at the impetuosity of the Irishman and at the canniness of the
Scot.
A very pleasant little man was this De Vere to look at, black as to hair
and moustache, dark as to eyes; thoughtful-looking as a rule were these
eyes, yet oft lit up with fun. He never spoke much, perhaps he
cogitated the more; he seldom made a joke himself, but he had a high
appreciation of humour in others. Taking him all and all he gave you
the impression of one who would be little likely to lose his presence of
mind in a time of danger.
"Gentlemen," he said, quietly, "you will leave the descent in my hands,
if you please. We are now, by my calculation, some ninety miles from
the city of Reikjavik. You see beneat' you wild mountains, ice-bound
plains, frozen lakes, rivers and waterfalls, deep ravines and gorges,
but no sign of smoke, no life. Shall I make my descent here? Shall I
pull vat Monsieur Rory call de valve halyard? Shall I land in de
regions of desolation?"
"Dinna think o't," cried Sandy. "Never mind Rory; he is only a laddie."
"It's yourself that's complimentary," quoth Rory.
"Ah! ver' well," said De Vere; "I will go on, for since you have been
gazing on de ship, de current have change, and we once more get nearer
home."
An hour went slowly by. Both the doctor and Rory were gazing at the
_far-off_ mountain, Hekla, that lay to the south and east, though
distant many miles. The vast hill looked a king among the other
mountains; a king, but a dead king, being still and quiet in the
sunshine, enrobed in a shroud of snow.
Sandy was doubly engaged--he was talking musingly, and aloud; but at the
same time he was doing ample justice to the venison pie that lay so
confidingly on his knee, for Sandy was a bit of a philosopher in his own
quiet way.
"Mount Hekla," he was saying; "is it any wonder that these Norsemen,
these superstitious sons of the ancient Vikings, look upon it as the
entrance-gate to the terrible abode of fire and brimstone, gloom and
woe, where are confined the souls of the unhappy dead? Hekla, round thy
snow-capped summit the thunders never cease to roll--"
"Hark," said Rory, holding up his hand; "talk about thunder, list to
that."
Both leant over the car and looked earthwards. What could it mean, that
low, deep, long-continued thunderpeal? Was a storm raging beneath them?
Yes, but not of the kind they at first imagined. For see, from where
yonder hill starts abruptly from the glen, rise immense clouds of
silvery white, and roll slowly adown the valley. The balloon hangs
suspended right above the great _geyser_, which is now in full eruption.
"It is as I thought," said De Vere; "let us descend a little way;" and
he opened the valve as he spoke.
The balloon made a downward rush as he did so, as if she meant to plunge
herself and all her occupants into the very midst of the boiling
cauldron. The steam from the geyser had almost reached their feet; the
car thrilled beneath them, while the never-ceasing thunder pealed louder
and louder.
"My conscience!" roared honest Sandy, losing all control over himself;
"we'll be boiled alive like so many partans!"
[Partans: Scottish, crabs.]
De Vere coolly threw overboard a bag or two of sand, and the balloon
mounted again like a skylark. And not too soon either, for, awful, to
relate, in his sudden terror Sandy had made a grab at the valve-rope, as
if to check her downward speed. Had not Rory speedily pulled him back,
the consequences would have been too dreadful to think of.
De Vere only laughed; but he held up one finger by way of admonishing
the doctor as he said, "Neever catch hold of de reins ven anoder man is
driving."
"But," said Rory, "didn't you go a trifle too near that time, Mister de
Vere?"
"A leetle," said the Frenchman, coolly. "It was noding."
"Ach! sure no," says Rory; "it was nothing at all; and yet, Mister de
Vere, it isn't the pleasantest thing in the world to imagine yourself
being played at pitch and toss with on the top of a mighty geyser, for
all the world like a nut-gall on the top of a twopenny fountain!"
Sandy resumed the dissection of his venison pie. He would have a long
entry for his diary to-night, he thought.
Luck does not always attend the aeronaut, albeit fortune favours the
brave, and the current of air that was carrying the balloonists so
merrily back to Reikjavik, ceased entirely when they were still within
ten miles of that quaint wee place. It was determined, therefore, to
make a descent. Happily, they were over a glen. Close by the sea and
around the bay were many small farms, and so adroitly did De Vere manage
to attach an anchor to the roof of an old barn, that descent was easy in
the extreme.
Perhaps the happiest man in the universe at the moment Sandy McFlail's
feet touched mother earth again was Sandy himself. "Man!" he cried to
Rory, rubbing his hands and laughing with glee, "I thought gettin' out
meant a broken leg at the vera least, and I haven't even bled my nose."
There was some commotion, I can tell you, among the feathered inmates of
the barnyard when the balloonists popped down among them; as for the
farm folks, they had shut themselves up in the dwelling-house. The
geese were particularly noisy. Geese, reader, always remind me of those
people we call sceptics: they are sure to gabble their loudest at things
they can't understand.
But convinced at last that the aeronauts were neither evil spirits nor
inhabitants of the moon, the good farmer made them heartily welcome at
his fireside, and assisted them to pack, so that, by the aid of men and
ponies, they found themselves late that evening safely on board the
_Arrandoon_; and right glad were their comrades to see them again, you
may be sure, and to listen to a narration by Rory of all their
adventures, interlarded by Sandy's queer, dry remarks, which only served
to render it all the more funny.
But before they sat down to the ample supper that Peter had prepared for
them, Rory reported to the captain his great discovery.
McBain's eyes sparkled like live coals as he heard of it, but he said
little. He sent quietly for the engineer and the mate. "How soon," he
asked the former, "can you get up steam?"
"In an hour, sir--easy."
"That will do," said the captain. "Mr Stevenson, when will the moon
rise?"
"She is rising now, sir."
"All right, Mr Stevenson. Have all ready to weigh anchor in two hours'
time."
"Ay, ay, sir!"
The engineer still lingered. "I _could_ get up steam in twenty
minutes," he said; "those American hams, sir--"
"Oh, bother the hams?" said the captain, laughing. "No, no; we may be
glad of those yet when frozen in at the Pole. Bear-and-ham pie,
engineer; how will that eat, eh?" and he bowed him kindly out.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
By two bells in the middle watch the good ship _Arrandoon_ was off the
needle rocks of the Portland Huck. They stood up out of the water like
tall sheeted ghosts, with the moonlight and starlight shimmering from
their shoulders. The sea was calm, with only a gentle heave on it; and
there were but a few snowy clouds in the sky skirting the southern
horizon, so the vessel ploughed along as beautifully as any sailor could
wish, with a steady, contented throb of engine and gride of screw,
leaving in her wake a long silvery line for the moonbeams to dance in.
Save the noise of the ship's working there was not another sound to be
heard, only occasionally a gull would float past overhead emitting a
strange and mournful cry. What makes the sea-birds, I have wondered,
sometimes leave the rocks at the midnight hour, and go skimming alone
through the darkling air, emitting that weird and plaintive wail of
theirs? It is a wail that goes directly to one's heart, and you cannot
help thinking they must be bereaved ones mourning for their dead.
Our heroes walked long on deck that night, talking quietly, as became
the hour, of the prospects of their having a brush with the pirate. But
they got weary at last, and turned in. Next morning they found the
decks wet and slippery, more clouds in the sky, a fair beam wind
blowing, and a trifle of canvas displayed.
After breakfast McBain called all hands aft. In calm, dispassionate
language he told them the story of the poor girl who had risked her life
on their account, of her murdered brother and captive father, and of the
pirate he was about to try to find and capture. Then he paused; and as
he did so every one of the crew turned eyes on Ted Wilson, who strode
forward.
"Captain," said Ted, firmly, "we didn't sign articles to fight, did we,
mates?"
"No," from all hands.
"_But_," continued Ted, "for such a captain as you be, and in such a
cause, we _will_ fight, every man Jack of us, as long as the saucy
_Arrandoon_ has a timber above the water. Am I right, mates?"
A ringing cheer was all the reply, and Ted retired.
Now, reader, were I a landsman novelist I would very likely here make my
captain give the orders to "splice the main-brace," but I'm a sailor,
and I tell you this, boys, that British seamen never yet needed Dutch
courage to make them do their duty.