At the close of the following day the basket swung on the cables stretching from shore to the island.
Early the next morning we crossed to the island, which looked strange and more dangerous as we neared. We stood upon the shore and from the basket took the shovels, cords, hatchets and spears which we always carried now. There was a roll of blankets of straw cloth, which we had also brought to serve as shelter from heat.
We took each a couple, slung on our shoulders; took long, strong staves in our hands and climbed up the gashed sides of the cliffs.
Wondering more and more at every step at this strange rock, at the singular terror which we could but control with strong determination, we both felt like rushing even into the waters of the sea.
From the high cliffs we gazed into a round, deep cavity, half-dark even at noon with a haze of settling smoke.
“It looks like the throat of a beast,” said Regan, as we hesitated on the brink.
Looking closely, we saw a volcanic crater such as was common all over the continent. It was only faintly alive. The smoke was reddish above the crater’s mouth. Listening, like a giant’s breath we could hear the roar of the surging flames far below.
“What can be those two huge yellow spots in that vale?” I asked.
“They look like two great plates of gold,” answered Regan.
“Like little mirrors laid on the rock,” said I. “Shall we go down?”