The sun was shining brilliantly; low down in the east the sky was golden, and as he raised his head above the hatchway, it was to gaze over the bulwarks at a glorious vista of green waving trees, on many of which were masses of scarlet and yellow blossom; birds were flying in flocks, screaming and shrieking; while from the trees came melodious pipings, and the trills of finches, mingled with deep-toned, organ-like notes, and the listener felt his heart swell with thankfulness, and a mist came before his eyes, as he felt how gloriously beautiful the world seemed, after the black darkness and horrors through which he had passed.
Then everything was matter-of-fact and ordinary again, for a voice said,—“Hullo! you up? Thought I was first.”
“You, Drew? I say, look here.” Sylvester Drew, botanist of the little expedition, shaded his eyes from the horizontal sunbeams, and looked round over the hatchway as he stood beside his companion, and kept on uttering disconnected words,—“Beautiful—grand—Paradise—thank God!” By one impulse they stepped on deck and went to the bulwarks, to stand there and look around, astounded at the change.
From where they had obtained their first glimpse of their surroundings they only saw the higher ground; now they were looking upon the level—a scene of devastation.
For they were both gazing upon the track of the earthquake wave, and all around them trees were lying torn-up by the roots, battered and stripped of their leafage, some piled in inextricable confusion, others half buried in mud. Some again had soft white coral sand heaped over them. Here, the surface had been swept bare to the dark rock which formed the base of the island or continent upon which they had been cast; there, mud lay in slimy waves, some of which were being disturbed at the surface by something living writhing its way through the liquid soil.
“Might have given a fellow a call,” said a voice, and Panton came up to them. “You fellows are as bad as schoolboys; must have first turn.”
“Never thought of calling you,” said Drew.
“Not surprised at you,” said Panton to Oliver Lane, “you are only a schoolboy yet; but you might have called me, Drew.”
“Don’t take any notice, Oliver, lad,” said Drew. “Panton always goes badly till he has been oiled by his breakfast.”
“My word!” cried Panton, as he grasped the scene around them. “Look here, Drew! Look at the earth bared to its very bones. Volcanic. Look at the tufa. That’s basalt there, and look where the great blocks of coral are lying. Why, they must have been swept in by the wave.”