It was easy to understand why snow and ice did not cling to the volcanic mountains, for the internal fires doubtless banished it. But what was beyond would have been a matter of conjecture but for Wendel’s story.
The gloom which hung over the Antarctic country had begun to increase largely, until it became certain that the Polar night was at hand.
The sun had not been seen above the horizon since entering the fiord, and there were times when it became almost necessary to use the searchlight.
But they had soon covered most of the distance to the volcanic hills. As they drew nearer, they were compelled to leave the river, as the ice melted and huge stretches of open water appeared.
But fortunately the surface of the ground was such that they had little trouble in making their way along, until finally long, level tracts of green slopes lay between them and the volcano.
An eruption was in progress, and the spectacle was a grand one.
The ground trembled even where they were, and great fiery streams of lava were seen coursing down the crater’s side.
Immense shafts of fire, smoke and ashes shot up from the crater to an enormous height.
While the eruption was in progress it was not deemed best to approach nearer. It lasted fully two hours.
When it ceased Frank sent the Scorcher ahead. Between the volcano and an adjoining mountain he saw a deep pass, and into this the machine plunged.