It seemed all a wild dream, as that
majestic sound moved on. There were two loud reports, followed by a
prolonged crash, occasioned by parts of the crater walls giving way;
vibrating rumblings, as if of earthquakes; and then a louder surging
of the fiery ocean, and a series of most imposing detonations.
Creeping over the sleeping forms, which never stirred even though I
had to kneel upon one of the natives while I untied the flap of the
tent, I crept cautiously into the crevasse in which the snow-water
was then hard frozen, and out upon the projecting ledge. The four
hours in which we had previously watched the volcano had passed like
one; but the lonely hours which followed might have been two minutes
or a year, for time was obliterated.
Coldly the Pole-star shivered above the frozen summit, and a blue
moon, nearly full, withdrew her faded light into infinite space.
The Southern Cross had set. Two peaks below the Pole-star, sharply
defined against the sky, were the only signs of any other world than
the world of fire and mystery around. It was light, broadly,
vividly light; the sun himself, one would have thought, might look
pale beside it. But such a light! The silver index of my
thermometer, which had fallen to 23 degrees Fahrenheit, was ruby
red; that of the aneroid, which gave the height at 13,803 feet (an
error of 43 feet in excess), was the same.
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