The Day of Resis

by Lillian Frances Mentor

“No,” answered Onrai.

“Well, volcanoes, in our world,” said Mr. Bruce, “are mountains, through the sides of which great volumes of molten rocks and sand and earth come rushing and pouring.”

Onrai looked in astonishment at this, never having heard of such a thing before.

For the rest of the day nothing else was looked after or talked about but the column of smoke in the far northwest. In the evening, after the arrival at the villa in which the night was to be spent and after the party had been somewhat separated into little groups, Mr. Bruce found himself for the first time during the day, alone with Mr. Graham and immediately the conversation reverted to the column of smoke.

“What do you think of it, anyway?” asked Mr. Bruce.

“I think there can be but one answer to that question,” said Mr. Graham, “and that is that the column of smoke belongs to a volcano, that the volcano was the outcome of the earthquake and the first cause of the terrible storm.”

At this moment a song rose on the night air, which, for its brilliancy, eclipsed anything yet heard by the strangers, and immediately after Onrai came on to the terrace and stood with bowed head. Mr. Bruce and Mr. Graham watched him for a moment and then going up to him Mr. Bruce asked, “What is it, Onrai?”

“It is the song of joy,” answered Onrai, “of those who will participate in the chiefest ceremonies of the coming Day of Resis.”

The party had now been out nine days on this last stage of the journey, and to-morrow would bring them to the villa near the field of diamonds. The column of smoke had grown in size, and was much blacker at this point than when first seen. There was no longer any doubt about its coming from the top of the cliffs, or else from a point directly back of them, and there was scarcely any further doubt about its coming from a volcano, for even at this distance, some thirty-five miles, as near as Mr. Bruce could calculate, a regular storm of flying cinders began to fall, covering them completely.

They watched the great volume of smoke anxiously, and as they came nearer to it, and as it grew larger and blacker, and as they could see no real cause for it, they began to regard it with superstitious awe. Nothing else could be talked about. The great belching cliff stood directly in their pathway, and the black smoke rose some thousands of feet above it. A great shower of ashes came rolling down on them, giving them all a grayish coat.