He felt sick. He squatted there in the entrance, beside Ichi's body, his wide eyes fixed upon the dancing rim of the chasm. In his mind's eye he could see Moto falling, falling down, down, down, past black, slippery walls, down into the heart of that tremendous sound. But he was too stunned by the awful noise to feel either glad or sorry. Only horror, and a dumb wonder.
He thought, "This is death." Then, strangely, his mind inquired, "Why the sound? What is it?" Once the query was put to himself, his mind worked upon it quite independent of his will. It was a saving quest, something to keep him sane, this groping for an explanation. He watched the vapors. The windy cave seemed less dark, and the white clouds poured upward and swirled about like dancing ghosts. The hot, wet air beat upon him. He was half choked, and sopping wet. And the noise grew and grew. It was like a thousand huge boilers all blowing off at once.
Steam! The thought of boilers was the clue. He had it; he was sure he was right. It was the roar of escaping steam far, far down in that fearful hole. The vapors, the hot, wet wind—dead steam, half condensed during its long rush upward. Down there in the bowels of the mountain the sea seepage was being turned to steam. The live heart of this old volcano was nothing else than a tremendous boiler, and this chasm was the boiler's safety valve. But, God—how far down must be the fires! Miles, perhaps. He wondered if Moto had yet reached bottom.
Gradually, he became conscious that the roar was diminishing, that the vapors no longer gushed forth in such volume. He had lost track of time; he felt he had always been sitting here by the edge of the pit; he had forgotten all about the other Japs, all about the bosun and Ruth. The noise had even driven Ruth from his conscious mind. But now, with the lessening of the pressure against his ear drums, and the end of the great humming inside his head, his apathy was gone. He peered about him.
He looked out of the entrance, along the ledge. The two sailors still clung to the lifeline; there was only air between them and the chasm, and they clutched the ropes tightly and stared down into the hole. Martin could not see their faces, but their postures were eloquent of their terror. Beyond, by the light of the lantern at his feet, the remaining Jap was plainly revealed. His face was visible—and terror-stricken. But he still had the hauling line about him, and was leaning backwards keeping the saving strain upon the lifeline.
The great steam roar died away to the rhythmic, whistling wail that had preceded it. But another great noise was commencing. It was not the shattering scream of steam, but a mighty rumble that came from an immense distance. Coincidentally, the mountain itself came alive and shook, not violently, but gently, shudderingly, as if Atlas, far beneath, were hunching his burdened shoulders.
A dim light appeared, hovering over the great crack in the cave floor. It seemed a reflection of some distant glare, in color a pale green. Slowly it mounted and spread, diffusing a soft, eerie radiance, and revealing to Martin's fascinated gaze the truly vast dimensions of the cave of winds.
Something forced Martin's gaze to the other entrance. And, as his eyes rested upon the figure of the rope-holding Jap, Martin's own body stiffened convulsively with a shock of surprise. His heart skipped a beat, and then began to furiously race, while cold chills crawled up and down his spine.
For a second figure had suddenly materialized beside the figure of a Jap. Another figure—a gnome, a wraith! The unholy light from the pit painted it an unearthly greenish hue, and accentuated the haggardness of face, and the gleaming eyes, the humped body, its crookedness magnified by the crouched attitude. It looked like some demon come floating up on the wicked light from the "deep place." It crouched to leap, to strike, and a bared knife gleamed in an upraised hand; it glared balefully, fixedly, at the living anchor of the lifeline.
The yellow sailor seemed to feel that fearsome presence at his side. He did not turn his head, but he slowly rolled his eyes and regarded the menacing apparition. An expression of complete horror and despair swept into his face.