Meanwhile the whole island was rocking like a floating ship. Showers of fire, roaring thunder, flew from the volcanic peak.
The natives looked at each other. Presently the chief spoke.
"The islee will be swallowed in fire," said he; "the spirit which spoke, did not tell right. It is a bad spirit, which Islander must not mind. It said if Islander spare white men's life, no harm come. See! here is harm. The island will be lost before Islander can find all their foes."
Such was the purport of the chief's words, uttered however, in a more incomprehensible manner than we have shown.
"Yes," continued the speaker, "so we say we must killee! killee," pointing at the two prisoners; "must killee quickee, no slow now."
He held a brief consultation with some of his men, four of whom now advanced toward the girl and Brand, each of which was lifted between a couple.
"Quickee—go!" screamed the chief, when each of the pair, with their burdens commenced rapidly scaling the sides of the steep ascent.
Good need it now seemed, was there of their making swift speed.
They kept on with all possible dispatch, eventually pausing upon a lofty spire, far up on the very top of the mountain.
This spur, rising to a height of about forty feet from the edge of the volcanic crater, overlooked the chasm of fire, which, like the infernal lake itself, lay at its base, shooting its forked tongues of roaring, hissing flame high in air!