As before described, the hot springs of Melnos somewhat resembled the geysers of Iceland, save that they were less active, and did not send up jets of water to any great height from their uncanny mouths. On this day, however, when the Demarch approached the desolate gorge where they had hitherto rested as slightly bubbling pools of water, he was astonished and dismayed to find them in full activity. Clouds of thin steam almost obscured the yellow, red, and green lava of the rocks behind, and amid this ominous vapor the springs were spouting furiously at intervals. Thick jets of boiling water would gush up from the ragged clefts in the sulphur-streaked blocks to a considerable height, and, after expending their fury, would sink down again into the bowels of the earth. After a time the muttered bellowing of the monsters would be heard, and amid groanings and gurglings, which told of the colossal forces at work beneath, the great columns of water would again shoot skyward with hideous roars.
The Demarch noticed this unusual disturbance of the springs with great uneasiness, as during his whole forty years’ residence on the island never had there been such signs of danger. Even where he stood, the earth was cracked in many places, and little jets of steam escaped with a whistling noise, which could be heard shrilly when the bellowing of the geysers ceased. All the Melnosians were in a terrible state of alarm, and it took all Justinian’s eloquence to persuade them that this was simply a local disturbance caused by the earthquake, and that there was no danger of an outbreak on the part of the long-sleeping volcano.
Truth to tell, in spite of his speech, he was not at all easy in his mind as he climbed up the staircase to the Acropolis, for these ominous signs boded but ill for the safety of the island, and he dreaded lest without further warning the crater should burst out into full fury, in which case every being therein would certainly be killed. He was unwilling, however, to communicate his fears to Helena or to Maurice, and thus disturb their minds at this critical period of the siege; but, feeling that he must have some one with whom to talk, awoke Crispin from his siesta, and, taking him into his own room, gave him a description of the geysers’ activity.
“The deuce!” said Crispin in dismay, when he heard this unpleasant recital. “I hope we are not going to have the destruction of Pompeii over again; but I must say it looks uncommonly like it!”
“Do you think Melnos will break out again?”
“Those spouting geysers certainly don’t bode any good, sir, nor that earthquake either. Perhaps it is a warning from Hephaistos that we had better leave the island.”
“I won’t leave the island,” said Justinian obstinately, drawing his iron-gray brows together: “after forty years of incessant toil, I would indeed be a coward to leave Melnos simply because things look a trifle ominous.”
“Yes; but volcanoes are delicate things to deal with. These signs are slight; but who knows but what they may be followed by a blowing up of the crater’s crust, in which case I am afraid everything in connection with Melnos will be at an end.”
“But the volcano has been extinct for thousands of years!”
“So was Vesuvius,” replied Crispin coolly, “and that mountain in New Zealand—Tarawera, was it not?—that awoke to activity after centuries of quiescence. You can’t trust volcanoes, sir. They are most treacherous monsters, and when least expected break out in full fury.”