Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 135: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

126 the fissure—the steam no doubt of some underground geyser. The carcass of the great whale that had been stranded by the volcanic wave had slidden down the incline of smooth rock almost into the center of the basin. I reflected with dissatisfaction that the stench of this offal so close to our headquarters would be by no means pleasant. My eyes wandered to the cliff top. where we had stood the night before, dwelling. upon it with half painful, halt pleasurable reminiscence. How sweet Gwen had looked, and how unattain- able. I began the everlasting fight with my inner self that was new and old every morning, thrusting forward to my soul’s attention every possible ar- gument why I should think of her no more, and doing so naturally with the same pain and the same enjoyment as ever. Into the midst of my musings came a sudden jar of unfamiliarity as I stared at the edge of the crags. I blinked un- believingly. A black breadth of shadow intersect- ed the rocks as if a knife had carved them rigidly to line. I rubbed my eyes. There was no doubt about it. A clean cut cleft was in the rocks, some twenty feet broad. How deep I could not tell. I clambered down the ledges softly from hold to hold, avoiding noise that the others might have their fill of health- ful sleep. I crossed the bare flat be- tween mie and the new made fissure, and stood upon the edge. [ peered in. The gash was driven deep into the bosom of the cliff, reaching to within twenty feet of the tide line. A lump or two of granite had fallen from the part- ing edges «nd lay in the nip of the angle below. As I looked, one of them slipped in the vice-like hold, and settled nearer the bottom. A few seconds later an- other did the same. Then I understood that the gap was widening before me as clay cracks in the June sunshine. THE ARGOSY. I hung over the pit, gazing into it with hopeful eyes. Would the cliff be riven to its base, and the sea be let in upon us? Then, by Jove, we'd have the old Raccoon afloat again. We should escape from this land of desola- tion like rats from an open trap. Into a slow opening like this the sea would pour gently. It would not over- whelm the ship with a sudden cascade. Such luck would be too stupendous— I assured myself of it most deter- minedly. Yet—yet—what a joyous awakening it would be for my companions 1f so outrageous a thing could come about. How melodramatically we should sweep out into the free spread of waters be- yond! My chain of cheerful prophecy here got a sudden setback. As I looked at the largest stone in the crack, it split across. In spider-like ramifications cracks multiplied upon it. It fell apart into rubble. Finally only dust filled the crevice. The rocks were closing even as they had opened. A stratum cleavage was here. It worked uneasily in the travail of the mountain behind—yawning in- weariness of the constant convulsions. Now in the rest following the upheaval it was settling together again. As I stood and pondered these things another eruption roared in the crater mouth. The ground rocked uneasily beneath my feet; I stumbled to my knees. With a snap the jaws of the cliff closed, nothing remaining but the ragged dent where the edges had been riven. : We proceeded to breakfast, with cer- tain apprehensions of what might hap- pen in the way of further earthquakes, but still with moderate appetite. There was one slight rocking of the ground, but it did not so much as upset a tumbler, and we concluded that the worst was, for the present, over. As the morning drew on we descend- ed to the ship to examine her plight. She was leaning over a¢ ani argiz of « eo