Tempest on sea and earthquake are dreadful enough, but there is no phenomenon more portentous than that of the moving bog, when the very earth seems to become liquid lava, shifting and changing, obliterating landmarks, and swallowing up whatever stands in the way of its fatal course. Such was the phenomenon the two men were now contemplating—a whole hillside shifting from its place and moving downward like a great slow, ever-broadening stream, engulfing rocks, trees, and human dwellings, bearing fragments of these in its course, urging stones and rocks along like a river in full flood, now halting and pausing to destroy obstacles, again rolling relentlessly on.
In the present case, it was fed with the rain of a thousand torrents, which gushed along with it and hastened it along.
Louder and shriller cries soon broke upon the air, and groups of men, women, and children were seen flying down the valley, some driving before them cattle as terror-stricken as themselves, many bearing blankets, bedding, and domestic utensils, all moaning and shrieking in fear. Very slowly, but surely and terribly, the bog crept behind them, devouring and destroying, yet now and then, as if in caprice, leaving some dwelling or clump of trees untouched, like an island in a slimy, moving pool.
As emotion spreads from one to another in a crowd of living beings, so does trouble grow by some elemental sympathy of nature among inanimate things. The terror and the tumult of the scene we are describing seemed to communicate itself to the whole landscape. The very river, flowing from the opposite direction, and winding away seaward by the base of the mountains, seemed to boil up ominously, surging tumultuously along. A mile away there was a wooden bridge, over which many of the panic-stricken peasants had now crossed, gaining the open vale beyond. Suddenly, the supports of this bridge yielded to the fury of the waters; the bridge, covered with sheep and cattle, with men and women about to follow, tottered, yielded, and was swept away with its load.
All this time Feagus and Conseltine had stood fascinated, forgetful of themselves in the extraordinary scene they were contemplating; but now, as the excitement culminated, they realized their own danger.
‘We must get out of this,’ said Feagus. ‘If we don’t cross the ford, we’ll be buried alive!’
He flew rather than ran towards the river, and reached the place of crossing, only to stand in abject terror above a boiling torrent.
‘Saints save us!’ he groaned. ‘No man can cross here.’
He turned trembling, and saw Conseltine standing by his side, pale but comparatively calm.
‘What’s to be done?’ gasped Feagus.