“We ought to have thought of it sooner,” said Panton.
“Never mind, I’ll climb back to yonder,” said Oliver, pointing. “That seems to be the highest point. Come with me, Smith,” and he began to climb the ascent once more, closely followed by the sailor.
“Whatcher going to do, sir?” cried the man, as Oliver took out what seemed to be a good-sized gold watch.
“You’ll soon see,” replied Oliver, as he toiled upward.
“But can’t yer see what’s o’clock down where they is, sir, just as well as up yonder?”
Oliver laughed, and kept on making for a conical rock needle, evidently the remaining portion of a mass of the crater edge when it was fifty feet or so higher, and being wider had remained, when other portions were blasted away by the terrific explosions which had occurred.
“Yer not going to climb up atop there, are yer, sir?” said Smith.
“Yes, you stay below,” said Oliver. Finding that, as he had expected, it was an intensely hard miniature mountain of vitrified scoria, and tolerably easy of ascent, he began to climb.
“He aren’t my orsifer,” muttered Smith, “and I shan’t stop back. I should look well if he had an accident. So here goes.”
As Oliver mounted, he climbed after him, till they stood together, right on the conical pinnacle, with only just room for them to remain erect, the great boiling crater below on one side, the glorious view of the fairy-like isle, with its ring of foam around, and the vivid blue lagoon, circling the emerald green of the coast. There it all was stretched out with glorious clearness, and so exquisite, that for a few moments Oliver was entranced.