The Day of Resis

by Lillian Frances Mentor

One week had passed away since the fearful eruption, and our friends had convalesced rapidly under the care of the attendants, until now all were entirely recovered. The sun had shown brightly for a week, its light unobstructed by any further shower of ashes. The fire and smoke from the volcano had subsided, until now but a faint blue line was seen slowly ascending into the heavens from the summit of the mountain. All about the villa, as far as could be seen, was a bed of ashes, or not so much a bed of ashes now as it was a cinder soil. But the trees had been stripped of their verdure and no green thing was seen. If it were not so excessively hot, our friends could have easily believed that they were in some temperate zone and winter was on them.

But the cooling of the thick mass had made the air hot and humid, almost suffocating; still, notwithstanding this, the air had not seemed unhealthful, for our friends declared that they had never felt better in their lives, with the exception of the stiffness and the soreness, which was the direct outcome of the bruises and the burns. But if the eruption had lasted but a few hours, its consequences had been fearful.

The slaughter of human beings and beasts had been terrible. On that fateful morning, five thousand men, one hundred elephants and nearly as many zebras, had left the villa, strong in perfect health and vigor; but a few hours later, and but one elephant and five men were left to tell the fearful tale. Those who had not been killed in battle, had been slaughtered or had been buried beneath the hot shower of cinders and steam. And fully as many of the negroes had perished also, in all making a fearful total.

It had had an awful effect on the King for a few days. He had wandered about the villa like one demented, and had spoken to no one, keeping well to himself, his head bowed and face pale, and eyes sunken. One could hardly imagine that this was the great and powerful King of On. But Enola had been persevering in her efforts to draw his mind away from the saddening events, and he could not long remain insensible to her pleadings, to try and forget. She would tell him pleasing stories of the life in her own world; would relate strange tales of adventure and daring, which, for the time, would blot out the thought of his fearful loss. And when he would turn to Enola with words of love, she would no longer turn from him, but would encourage him in this. She had wanted to make him forget, knowing that if his mind brooded on these events, he would surely go mad, and then what would become of her and her friends?

Such fears had already taken possession of them, for they knew that such an occurrence as this would impress the Onians fearfully, and this impression might be as it had once been before, namely: that they were in some way the cause of the fearful event. If such a belief should become fully established in their minds, nothing could save them they knew, unless it would be the interference of the King, whose desires they held in high regard.

So Enola, although now determined never to marry the great King, would, to save her friends and herself, humor him in the belief that she loved him. It was a deception which was loathsome to her, but so much depended on it that she could not help herself.

It was one week ago to-day that the volcano had belched forth, and the few survivors were sitting at their morning meal.

“Well, shall we venture to the volcano, to-day?” said Mr. Bruce.

“Yes, we must go to-day, or give it up altogether,” replied the King, “for our provisions are fast giving out and we must get back to the country that has not been devastated by the eruption.”

“Yes, let us leave this horrible place as soon as possible,” added Mrs. Graham.