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Updated: June 19, 2025
The gig grated, and the tide being high, they waded to the base of the cliff, Barnett carrying his precious explosives aloft in his arms. "Here's the spot," said the captain. "See where the water goes in through those crevices." "Opening at the top, too," said Trendon. He let out his bellow, roaring Darrow's name.
"Hardly that," said the navigator. "We could guide her to some extent by the direction of wind and waves. If it was volcanic we ought certainly to have sighted it by now." "Always some electricity in volcanic eruptions," said Trendon. "Makes compass cut didoes. Seen it before." "Where?" queried Carter. "Off Martinique. Pelée eruption. Needle chased its tail like a kitten."
"Of the Laughing Lass?" cried Trendon. "Of the Laughing Lass." Such a fury of eagerness burned in the face of Barnett that Trendon cautioned him. "See here, Mr. Barnett, you're not going to fire a broadside of disturbing questions at my patient yet a while. He's in no condition." But it was from the other that the questions came. Opening his eyes he whispered, "The sailor? Where?"
"Keep your temperature down, my boy. No. You were exactly right. Not a living being aboard." "Thanks for nothing," retorted the ensign. "Neither human nor other," pursued Trendon. "What!" "Food scattered around the galley. Crumbs on the mess table. Ever see a wooden ship without cockroaches?" "Never particularly investigated the matter." "Don't believe such a thing exists," said Ives.
"Would a corpse rise to the surface soon in waters such as these, Dr. Trendon?" asked the captain. "Might, sir. Might not. No telling that." The captain ruminated. Then he beat his fist on his knee. "The other cave!" "What other cave?" asked the surgeon. "The cave where they killed the seals." "Surely!" exclaimed Trendon. "Wait, though. Didn't Slade say it was between here and the point?" "Yes.
Worse than the German, this is." The writing, beginning evenly enough at the top of a page, ran along for a line or two, then fell, sprawling in huge, ragged characters the full length. Trendon stumbled among them, indignantly. "June 1, 1904," he read. "It is done. Triumph. Es ist gefillt. Why, the old fool is crazy! And his writing is crazier. Can't make head or tail of it."
My name is Percy Darrow." "I am Captain Parkinson of the United States cruiser Wolverine," said the commander. "This is Mr. Barnett, Mr. Darrow. Dr. Trendon, Mr. Darrow." They shook hands all around. "Like some damned silly afternoon tea," Trendon said later, in retailing it to the mess. A pause followed. "Won't you step in, gentlemen?" said Darrow, "May I offer you the makings of a cigarette?"
Idea of flame might have been a retroactive hallucination." "Retroactive rot," cried the other. "I beg your pardon, Dr. Trendon. But if you'd seen her as I saw her Barnett!" He turned in appeal to his old acquaintance. "There was no fire, Slade," replied the executive officer gently. "No sign of fire that we could find, except that the starboard rail was blistered."
The boat grated on the sand. Captain Parkinson would have entered, but Barnett restrained him. "It's best to wait a minute or two," he advised. "Occasionally slides follow an explosion tardily, and the gases don't always dissipate quickly." Where they stood they could see but a short way into the cave. Trendon squatted and funnelled his hands to one eye. "There's fire inside," he said.
It was deftly caught. "Now wet that dirt well. Put it in the canvas bag yonder, and send one of the men up with it. I'm going to make a mud pie." Breaking the package open, he spread the yellow powder in a slightly curving line along the rock. With the mud he capped this over, forming a little arched roof. "To keep it from blowing away," surmised Trendon.
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