Т. C. Бриджес
Приключенията на Мартин Крузо (26)

T. C. Bridges
Martin Crusoe (26)

Пленници на водораслите

Няколко минути тримата мъже стояха втрещени. Те безмълвно гледаха черната разпенена вода в тунела. От време на време на повърхността се показваха трески, но от самолета-амфибия и моторната лодка нямаше и следа. Нещастието беше толкова неочаквано, че доведе всички до отчаяние. Пръв заговори професорът:

— Страхувам се, че това е краят.

Мартин поклати глава.

— Не — каза той, — не трябва да губим кураж. Лемурите ни изпратиха един кораб.

— Кораб? — смаяно повтори професорът.

— Да. Те вече са наши приятели. Ще ви разкажа по-късно как стана всичко. Тя тръгна преди мен. По пътя я задминах. Не вярвам да намери пътя в тъмнината, но предполагам, че утре сутринта ще бъде тук. Трябва да намерим удобно място, където да прекараме нощта. Щом съмне, галерата ще бъде тук.

— Аз не мисли остров дочака утре — жално въздъхна Сципион. — Професор казва всичко направи бум като буре барут, кога тури кибрит.

— Не въздишай — сърдито го прекъсна Мартин. — Той още не е направил бум. Трябва да решим — тук ли ще останем, или ще потърсим убежище навън. Какво мислите, професоре?

— Навън ще бъдем в по-голяма безопасност — вяло каза професорът. — Изригване като последното ще стовари свода на пещерата право върху нас.

— Имате право, професоре — каза Мартин. — Мисля, че ще бъде най-добре да излезем по пътя към градината.

Мартин пръв изкачи стъпалата.

Електрическите лампи още горяха и осветяваха отломките, които покриваха пода на залата. Непрекъснато се ронеха малки камъчета. В това нямаше нищо чудно, защото стените и сводът непрекъснато се тресяха, а изригванията бяха непрекъснати.

Те преминаха прохода, който водеше към градината. Като стигнаха до вратата, бученето на вулкана стана оглушително.

Професорът отключи вратата. Те излязоха в тъмнината. През натежалия от прах и дим въздух едва се различаваше огнената бездна, която се намираше на две мили от тях. Нови трусове посрещнаха излизането им. Огромни пламъци лумнаха към небето.

— Планина хвърля големи камъни — уплашено каза Сципион.

— Сципион е прав! — произнесе професорът. — По-добре ще бъде да се скрием в тунела.

Те се върнаха и се настаниха на голата скала в прохода. Мартин погледна часовника си. Оставаха още седем часа до сутринта. Трябваше да чакат.

Опитаха се да си приказват, но задушливите газове пареха гърлата и пресушаваха устата им. От време на време глътваха по малко топла вода. Никой дори не помисляше за ядене.

Призори жълтеникава светлина прониза пъкления мрак. Мартин побутна професора.

— Време е да тръгваме — тихо каза той.

Дистън с мъка се изправи. Нощните произшествия го бяха изтощили. Мартин го хвана и му помогна да тръгне.

Тримата мъже се придвижваха с мъка по дебелия пласт прах.

Островът изцяло се беше променил. Не се виждаше нито стръкче трева. На места прахът стигаше до колене. Земята бе покрита с големи черни, обгорели скали. По-страшни обаче бяха пукнатините, които прорязваха земята във всички посоки. Някои бяха широки не по-малко от два метра.

Трябваше на всяка крачка да се опипва почвата с тояга, защото някои цепнатини бяха пълни с прах и човек можеше да пропадне в тях.

Професорът вдигна очи и тъжно погледна склона на долината. Там стърчаха само няколко голи дървета.

— Бедната ми градина! — въздъхна той.

Сърцето на Мартин се късаше от жалост. Дългогодишният труд на стареца беше унищожен за няколко часа.

— Морето — каза Мартин, като посочи с ръка.

Той искаше да отклони мислите на професора от факта, че този така красив някога остров бе превърнат в пустиня. До където стигаше погледът, морето беше посивяло от пепел. Черни облаци бяха надвиснали над него.

— Скоро ще съмне — продължи Мартин, като се опитваше да ободри стареца. — Задуха слаб ветрец, корабът скоро ще се покаже.

— Да отидем на онзи нос, там долу — предложи професорът. — От него ще виждаме по-навътре в морето, а и ще се отдалечим малко от кратера.

Мартин се съгласи и те завиха вляво. Вървяха около час. Професорът капна от умора и седна до една скала срещу морето. Мартин му даде глътка вода.

Въздухът като че ли започна да се освежава. От северозапад задуха вятър. Изригванията намаляха и трусовете се разредиха.

Сципион се покатери на една височина и огледа морето.

— Аз види кораб, масса! Аз го види! — извика той.

Мартин веднага отиде при него. Наистина корабът беше на около шест-седем мили от острова.

— Те какво прави, масса Мартин? — намръщено попита Сципион. — Те сигурно няма да дойде тук.

— Имаш право, Сципион — бавно каза Мартин. — Нищо не разбирам. Завиха на север.

Той извади бинокъла си и се вгледа в кораба. Сега го различаваше съвсем ясно. Греблата се движеха бавно.

— Виждам причината, Сципион — тъжно каза той. — Той няма да дойде тук.

— Защо не може дойде? — попита негърът.

— Водораслите му пречат. От стихийния прилив са се приближили до острова и го обграждат от всички страни. Това е непреодолимо препятствие!

Черното лице на Сципион посивя. Големите му очи загледаха уплашено.

— Тогава, масса, ние трябва останем тук?

— Така изглежда — съкрушено отвърна Мартин.

— Ти кажеш на професор, не аз — заяви Сципион.

Без да отговори, Мартин слезе от скалата. Професорът спеше. Лицето му бе покрито с дълбоки бръчки. Защо да отлага лошата новина? Не беше ли по-добре веднага да му каже? Мартин го събуди и му разказа всичко.

Професорът изпадна в униние, но след малко отново възвърна невъзмутимия си вид.

— Бедно дете! — промълви той.

— Не се притеснявайте за мен — каза Мартин. — Аз мисля само за вас!

Професорът поклати глава.

— Няма значение какво ще стане с мен, Мартин! Аз съм живял достатъчно. Жалко е за вас. Обаче няма да се откажем от борбата. Трусовете май престанаха. Пещерите навярно не са срутени, в тях има храна. Да се върнем. Там ще обмислим всичко.

— Забравяте нещо съществено, професоре. Храна има, но вода няма. Изворът е пресъхнал, а други извори на този остров не съществуват. Ако не напуснем острова, положението ни е безнадеждно.

XXVI. The Escape from the Cave

For some moments no one spoke again. The three simply stood and stared at the dark, heaving water in the tunnel. A few shattered remains of the plane floated up amid the turmoil, but both that and the launch were gone. The catastrophe had been so sudden and overwhelming that it left them in a state of dull despair.

The Professor was the first to speak.

“I am afraid this means the end of us,” he said, very quietly.

“It’s jest de eberlasting finish,” groaned Scipio.

Martin shook himself as if trying to rouse out of a bad dream.

“No,” he said sharply. “We must not give up. The Lemurians are sending a galley for us.”

Professor Histin looked up in surprise.

“A galley?” he repeated.

“Yes. Oh, they are quite friendly now. But I’ll tell you all about that later. The galley started before I did. I passed her about halfway here. I don’t suppose she can make it in this darkness, but she ought to be here in the morning. What we have to do is to find the safest place we can, and wait until morning. As soon as it’s light she’ll reach the island.”

“If dere is any island,” put in Scipio dolefully. “De Professor, he say de whole place gwine to blow up like a gunpowder bar’l wen de match drops in.”

“Don’t kick,” said Martin sharply. “It hasn’t blown up yet, and I dare say it will last till we are taken off. The question is, do we stay here where we are out of the way of the ash and smoke, or do we get outside somewhere? What do you say, Professor?”

“I should say that we should be distinctly safer outside,” answered the Professor in his calm, dry way. “Another shock such as the last is very likely to bring the roof down, and even if it does not fall upon us it may block our way out. Remember that we cannot leave by the harbor now that our boats are gone.”

Martin looked round, and his eyes fell on the mass of broken rock from the roof which covered the steps behind them.

“I expect you’re right, sir. Then I suppose we’d best go out by the way leading to the garden?”

“We must try that,” replied the Professor.

“Then the sooner the better,” said Martin briskly; “a narrow passage like that is easily blocked.” He led the way back up the steps, and the others followed. The electric lights were still burning, casting their clear, white glow over the rubbish strewn on the floor of the Pillared Hall. Small pieces were still falling in every direction; and no wonder, for the whole place—floor, sides and roof—quivered continually, exactly like the lid of a boiling kettle, and the explosions went on at rapid intervals. Though they could not hear, they could feel them plainly.

“We’d better get some grub,” said Martin. “There won’t be much left outside. Some water, too.”

“Dere ain’t much water, Marse Martin,” said Scipio. “De stream done stopped when de fust big shake came. And most ob de rest I put in de launch tanks. Still, I reckon dere’s some in de jug.”

He ran through the living-room into the kitchen and came out with a big bottle full of water.

“Dat’s all dere’s left,” he said. “And I got a tin ob beef an’ a few biscuits.”

“Better than nothing,” replied Martin cheerfully. He knew better than the others what was before them outside, and was anxious to keep up their spirits.

They made their way down the tunnel leading to the garden entrance. The rock quivered horribly, but happily the roof was still sound. As they got near the entrance the roaring of the volcano became dreadful.

“Sounds like some ugly great debbil was awaiting for us,” said Scipio, with a shiver of dread.

The Professor unlocked the gate, and they stepped out into a darkness that might be felt. So thick was the air with smoke and ashes that even the lurid glare from the great pit of fire, barely two miles away, was hardly visible. Just as they got outside there was another convulsion. A vast sheet of dull red flame lifted itself into the night, and the tortured island shook with the fierce shock of it. The Professor would have fallen had not Martin caught and held him.

And then—a heavy thud close by followed by a series of splintering crashes!

“My golly! Dat mountain’s a-throwing rocks at us!” gasped Scipio.

“Scipio is right,” said the Professor to Martin. “It will be best to remain under cover in the mouth of the tunnel.”

“I suppose it will,” replied Martin, and the three moved back into shelter, and sat down on the bare rock floor of the passage.

Martin looked at his wrist watch. It was a little past eleven. Seven hours to dawn, and nothing to do but wait.

It was the longest and most terrible night that any of them had ever passed. The din was frightful, the air almost unbreathable, and about two in the morning the last bit of comfort, the electric light, went out, leaving them in black darkness, lit only by the glare of explosions from the crater.

The crash and thunder of these were deafening, and at times it seemed as if the whole island was going to pieces beneath them.

They tried to talk, but the foul gases in the air caught their throats and parched their mouths so that they could hardly speak. At times each had a sip of lukewarm water from the bottle, but as this was all they had they were obliged to be very careful with it. As for food none of them could touch it.

Luckily for them the roof of the tunnel was solid rock, and in spite of the constant earthquakes did not break or fall.

The worst of things comes to an end, and at last a sickly yellow light began to break through the foul gloom, and they knew that somewhere the sun was shining. Martin touched the Professor’s arm.

“Time to be moving,” he said quietly.

The Professor staggered to his feet. The horrors of the night had left him very weak and helpless. Martin took his arm and held him firmly. “A bit stiff,” said the old man hoarsely. He was as plucky as they make them, and would not give in.

“It’s not so bad as it was,” Martin said hopefully. “The explosions are less violent, and there are no more stones falling.”

“An’ dat’s a mighty good job, too,” put in Scipio. “De Professor say my skull mighty thick, but I jest know one of dem rocks would dent it bad.”

In spite of everything Martin laughed, and the three men moved slowly through the deep ash in the direction of the sea.

The whole face of the island was changed. Not a green thing was to be seen anywhere. The drifts of ash were knee-deep in places, while great black, burnt-looking rocks littered the ground in every direction. But the worst of it was the huge cracks and crevices which seamed the torn earth in every direction. Some gaped six feet wide, running down to fearful depths.

The little party had to probe the ground with a stick before each step, for many of these cracks were so hidden under the masses of ash that they might have walked into one without seeing it.

The Professor glanced up the slope to where some skeleton trunks stood out above the blackened waste.

“My poor garden!” he said sadly.

Martin’s heart ached for him. All these years of work gone within a few hours. And the Professor was too old to start again—at least in this life.

“There’s the sea!” said Martin, pointing. He wanted to get the Professor’s thoughts off the ruin of the once beautiful island.

There was the sea indeed—but such a sea! As far as eye could reach, it was gray with floating ash. Banks of foul vapor hung in the heavy air. The whole sky was clouded with smoke from the crater.

“It’s getting lighter,” continued Martin, trying to speak cheerfully. “And there’s a little air moving. I dare say we shall soon be able to see the galley.”

“Let us get out upon the point over there,” said the Professor. “We shall get a good view from that height, and we shall be farther from the crater, too.”

Martin nodded, and they started away to the left. It took them an hour, and the Professor was very weary before they reached it. Martin made him sit down under a projecting shelf of rock facing the sea, and gave him a little water.

By this time the air was clearer. A good breeze was blowing from the north-west, and the horizon was rapidly widening. The volcano, too, seemed to have done its worst. The eruptions were less frequent and less violent.

Scipio had climbed to the highest point, and stood watching the sea. Presently they heard him yell.

“Dere’s the ship, boss! I done see him!” Martin leaped up beside him. Sure enough there was the galley some six or seven miles away. Martin stared at her.

“What’s dem folk doing, Marse Martin?” asked Scipio, with a puzzled frown. “Dey ain’t a-coming dis way!”

“You’re right,” replied Martin, slowly. “I can’t make it out. They’re going away to the north.” His field-glasses were slung in a case at his side. He took them out and focussed them on the vessel. Now he could see her plainly. He noticed that the oars were rising and falling very slowly, and that she was moving at a mere crawl.

“Scipio, she can’t get here,” he said dully.

“For de goodness sake, why not?” demanded Scipio.

“The weed. The weed has been driven in by some freak of the current, or, more likely, by the tidal wave. It’s all round the island, a regular barrier.”

Scipio’s black face turned a slaty gray. His eyes were full of fear.

“Den we’s got to stay hyah, boss?”

“It looks like it,” replied Martin heavily.

“Who’s gwine to tell the Professor?” demanded Scipio.

For answer Martin turned and scrambled down the rock.

The Professor, tired out, was dozing in his refuge. His old face looked deeply lined and worn. But there was no use in putting off the ill tidings. Martin roused him and told him what had happened.

For a moment the Professor looked badly frightened, but only for a moment. Then he was his quiet self again.

“My poor boy!” he said quietly.

“Me! Never mind about me,” returned Martin. “It’s you I’m thinking about.”

The professor shook his head.

“It matters little about me, Martin. My race is nearly run. It is different for a boy like you. But we will not give up,” he continued. “The eruption seems to be over. The cave is still safe, and there is food in it. Let us go back and see what we can do.”

Martin shook his head.

“You forget, sir,” he said. “There may be food, but there is no water. The stream has stopped, and that was our only source of supply. If we can’t find some way of getting off the island I am afraid that we are done for.”