There was a rumble like thunder under ground, then a report like the discharge of musketry.
"The devils is a-firin' off their muskets to celebrate that lie of yours, Cap," remarked Turk, as he turned to his work.
The party now felt anxious. The noises under ground continued, the island shook, while increased volumes of fire shot up from the volcanic peak.
Harry now assisted Turk in his work on the boat. There had been found that morning in the schooner an old hatchet with which Turk had knocked away a large quantity of timber from the wreck to be conveyed to the spot where he intended erecting his boat.
Working all day, the men made good progress.
Brand worked as hard as the rest. It was not the danger from the volcano alone that urged him on in his efforts, but the continual harassing fear, of again beholding that fearful apparition of his drownded victim.
At night the aspect of the volcano was terrific. There were the lurid flames, apparently shooting to the very skies, while whole showers of sparks were thrown out in fiery flakes that filled all the air, floating along like millions of fireflies over the sea, in the water of which the were reflected.
Meanwhile the shocks became every moment more frequent, the ground shaking as if beneath the tramp of armed horsemen.
Harry had advanced into the thicket a short distance, when he became aware of a hissing sound, as if thousands of serpents were around him.
At the same moment, a broad, bright stream of something flashed up before him, apparently descending towards him with great rapidity.