When thus well away, they stood in the tossing boat, and gazed long, in mute anguish, for the island though ceasing to rock, had sunk far down in the water—was still sinking. Then their exhausted frames insisted upon support. So they broke their fast, refreshing themselves with the bread, dried meat, pulse, fruit, and wine. “Soon shall we need our strength,” said Deucalion. “For the end is near.”
By judicious use of the oil, the tempestuous waves were kept in abeyance. Thus they watched until the early morning, amidst the din of the rumblings underneath, explosions of gases, burstings of waterspouts, and crashings of thunderbolts. The island was scarcely visible for the great white waves leaping high upon it. The heavens were lurid with the volcano’s flames; and two broad torrents of molten, fiery matter were springing from the island to the sea, that answered in tornadoes of spray. Whilst the dense vapors rolling toward them threatened to shut off the spectacle entirely.
Through all, the doomed mass was slowly, determinedly sinking down—down—into the mad waters, the consolidating thunderbolts seeming to press upon it to hasten its descent. The vapors, in their thickening, obliged Deucalion to move the boat from point to point in order to retain the view of what was now but the elevated portions of the island. A few times had this been done when there came a shaking so excessive in its length and severity that the two shrieked and closed their eyes. When they looked, the island was disappearing even to the peaks. In an instant more it vanished! And the waters lashed over it in a vortex threatening all things—a vortex flame, steam, and smoke mounted!
“Now will we fly,” shouted Deucalion, “or we shall follow the island. Scarce will the oil be of use!”
Though Sensel continued to drop, as Deucalion began his management. The boat bounded over the water, hardly touching it. It seemed to fly. As Sensel watched, he became awed, so bird-like, so sentient were the movements of the slender frame! The water frothing madly about them might be the verge of the vortex! Would its terrific suction seize them, bear them down to share the fate of the vanished island? As they labored, they scarce breathed of their dread.
But the boat continued to respond to the promptings—bounding, skimming, flying over the turbid, grasping waters. A half hour’s intensity of labor brought them relief. The sea was certainly less violent. At times, the boat could even rest. With hope, they began to regard each other as they relaxed a little in their efforts. Though hardly could they dare to accept it, when there was no longer any impetuosity of movement, but merely the rocking and rolling of rough contact. Shortly, there was not even rocking or rolling, but rather a gliding. Then fell they on their knees.
And that night, slept peacefully, in turn,—as the boat made good time, in the morning coming upon a region of sunshine.
Past island after island they speeded, keeping ever to the east by means of Deucalion’s knowledge of the heavens, as well as by a kind of rude compass known even in those days. This was a magnetized needle floating in water crosswise upon a reed.[[23]] For well were the properties of the loadstone understood, and utilized.
On the morning of the second day, they sighted the vessels, that, with some escaped vessels of Chimo, lay moored in a cove of the island indicated by Deucalion. And then upon the two came a mighty dread. How were they to tell these Atlanteans, these Atlanteans already signaling to them gladly. Thus, in telltale manner, did they slacken their oncoming, to the quick appreciation of the impatient islanders. The waiting vessels showed only despairing faces, as the boat more and more reluctantly approached. Then, when within earshot, a few would-be hopeful ones began to cry out welcomings and inquiries.
Standing mute, downcast, Deucalion and Sensel moved in among them. Though this was not enough; for there came the cries, “The island—is it well?” “Tell us the good word!” And so on.