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Updated: June 19, 2025
"Wouldn't you be robbing yourself?" inquired the captain, with a twinkle. "Oh, you found the diary, then," said Darrow easily. "Rather silly of me to complain so. But really, in conditions like these, tobacco becomes a serious problem." "So one might imagine," said Trendon drily. He looked closely at Darrow. The man's eyes were light and dancing. From the nostrils two livid lines ran diagonally.
"Seismic!" cried Billy Edwards, "I should say it was seismic! Why, when a native of one of these island groups sets his heart on a particular loaf of bread up his bread-fruit tree, he doesn't bother to climb after it. Just waits for some earthquake to happen along and shake it down to him." "Good boy, Billy," said Dr. Trendon, approvingly. "Do another." "It's a fact," said the ensign, heatedly.
For there was not one of the Wolverines who did not expect from this aimless traveller of desert seas at the least a leading clue to the riddle that oppressed them. "Aloft there!" "Aye, aye, sir." "Can you make out her build?" "Rides high, like a dory, sir." "Wasn't there a dory on the Laughing Lass?" cried Forsythe. "On her stern davits," answered Trendon.
And the quarter that we gave them was to sink them in the sea: Down on the coast of the high Barbaree-ee." Long-drawn, like the mockery of a wail, the minor cadence wavered through the stillness, and died away. "The High Barbaree!" cried Trendon. "You know it?" asked the captain, expectant of a clue. "One of those cursed tunes you can't forget," said the surgeon.
Lava in valley still too hot for comfort. No sign of Dr. Schermerhorn. Still sleep on beach. "Not much there," sniffed Trendon. "Go on," said the captain. "June 3. Evening. Thick and squally weather again. Local atmospheric conditions seem upset. Volcano still leading strenuous life. Climbed the headland this afternoon. Wind very shifty. Got an occasional whiff of volcanic output.
And as a cobra's head spits venom, it spat forth a thin, steel-blue stream of lucent fire. Then so swiftly it whirled that the sparks scattered from it in a tiny shower. It stopped, quivered, and curved itself upward until it rattled like a fairy drum upon the glass shield. Barnett looked at Trendon. "Volcanic?" he said.
Here's something. Look here." Trendon pointed to a small bit of wood rather neatly carved to the shape of an indicatory finger, and lashed to the staff, at the height of a man's face. The others clustered around. "Oh, the devil!" cried Trendon. "It must have got twisted. It's pointing straight down." "Strange performance," said the captain.
Without taking his binocular from his eyes, Trendon began to ruminate aloud. "If he could have got to the beach.... No vapour there.... Signal, though.... Perhaps he hadn't time.... And I'd hate to risk good men on that hell's cauldron.... Just as much risk here, perhaps. Only it seems " "There it is," cried Forsythe. "Look. The highest point."
It was like a theatric effect, unreal, unconvincing, incredible. The end fitted it." Darrow's eye roved. It fell upon a quaintly modelled ship, hung above the door. "What's that?" he cried. "Fool thing some Malay gave me," grunted Trendon. "Pretended to be grateful because I cut his foot off. No good. Go on with the story." "No good? You don't care what happens to it?"
Rest and good food quickly brought Percy Darrow back to his normal poise. One inspection satisfied Dr. Trendon that all was well with him. He asked to see the captain, and that gentleman came to Ives's room, which had been assigned to the rescued man. "I hope you've been able to make yourself comfortable," said the commander, courteously.
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