But all these were similar to those they had before encountered, and the hiss of steam, when they stepped upon some soft spot, ceased to alarm them with dread of serpents, but merely made them avoid such spots in favour of firmer ground.
Such signs of the volcanic nature of the isle were constant, and no matter which way they dragged their weary steps it was to find tokens of the active or quiescent workings of the subterranean fires.
At last, just as they were ready to drop, and the sun was rapidly disappearing, as the ruddy sky in the west plainly showed, they staggered out of a more than usually painful part of the jungle into a rugged stony opening, with the rock rising nearly sheer for hundreds of feet, and to the intense delight of both, the ruddy light of the sky was reflected from a rock pool, which glowed as if it were brimming with molten orange gold.
“Water!” gasped Billy. “Come on.”
“Be careful!” panted Mark; “it may be bitter or hot.”
As he spoke the little sailor threw himself down, and plunged his fist within, scooped out a little, tasted it, and then uttered a shout of joy.
“Drink, my lad,” he said hoarsely, and Mark followed his example, placing his lips to the surface as he lay flat down and took in long refreshing draughts of cool sweet water that seemed the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.
“Talk about grog!” cried Billy, as he raised his face to take breath, and then he drank again; “I never had grog as come up to this,” he continued. “Ah!”
Satisfied at length, they sat there at the edge of the pool looking up at the rocky scarp before them, part of which glowed in the sunlight reflected from the sky, while the rest down by where they sat was bathed in purply shadows which were rising fast.
“Seems to me, my lad, as we must look out for a night’s lodging. What says you?”