The first upheavals produced some curious phenomena in the honeycombed hillsides containing the jars and baskets. After being buried for a quarter century, many of the former were thrown up on the surface with such force as to break and scatter their contents hopelessly. The baskets were also tossed and rolled about in a surprising manner.
By right of seniority, Setos assumed command of the land forces, while Hanabusa coöperated heartily from the sea.
The Observatory tower was a complete wreck, and there was no way of predicting changes of weather, the knowledge of which added much to the horror of the situation. It was a nameless, undefined dread—a something they could not determine, which appalled and overwhelmed even the stout-hearted.
For the first time since his bereavement, Yermah showed an interest in his surroundings. His heart was wrung by the scenes about him, but it was no longer a self-centered grief.
“Our Dorado is beginning to share the woes of his fellows,” said one of the bystanders as he approached. “He no longer walks apart speechless with sorrow. Let us greet him as of old.”
The crowd uncovered and shouted: “Haille! Haille! Haille!” so weak and feebly that the sound seemed to die in their throats. Yermah was too much moved for words, but he made a pitiful effort to smile, as he raised his hands in benediction in return.
“Peace be with thee!” they answered, trying manfully to conceal their anxieties and fears.
“Yermah!” called a familiar voice. “Give thy servant greeting.”
“Orondo! Brother in all save blood—”
The Dorado staggered and would have fallen had not Orondo caught and embraced him.