Part 11 (1/2)

Sandy was doubly engaged--he was talking musingly, and aloud; but at the same time he was doing ample justice to the venison pie that lay so confidingly on his knee, for Sandy was a bit of a philosopher in his own quiet way.

”Mount Hekla,” he was saying; ”is it any wonder that these Nors.e.m.e.n, these superst.i.tious sons of the ancient Vikings, look upon it as the entrance-gate to the terrible abode of fire and brimstone, gloom and woe, where are confined the souls of the unhappy dead? Hekla, round thy snow-capped summit the thunders never cease to roll--”

”Hark,” said Rory, holding up his hand; ”talk about thunder, list to that.”

Both leant over the car and looked earthwards. What could it mean, that low, deep, long-continued thunderpeal? Was a storm raging beneath them?

Yes, but not of the kind they at first imagined. For see, from where yonder hill starts abruptly from the glen, rise immense clouds of silvery white, and roll slowly adown the valley. The balloon hangs suspended right above the great _geyser_, which is now in full eruption.

”It is as I thought,” said De Vere; ”let us descend a little way;” and he opened the valve as he spoke.

The balloon made a downward rush as he did so, as if she meant to plunge herself and all her occupants into the very midst of the boiling cauldron. The steam from the geyser had almost reached their feet; the car thrilled beneath them, while the never-ceasing thunder pealed louder and louder.

”My conscience!” roared honest Sandy, losing all control over himself; ”we'll be boiled alive like so many partans!”

[Partans: Scottish, crabs.]

De Vere coolly threw overboard a bag or two of sand, and the balloon mounted again like a skylark. And not too soon either, for, awful, to relate, in his sudden terror Sandy had made a grab at the valve-rope, as if to check her downward speed. Had not Rory speedily pulled him back, the consequences would have been too dreadful to think of.

De Vere only laughed; but he held up one finger by way of admonis.h.i.+ng the doctor as he said, ”Neever catch hold of de reins ven anoder man is driving.”

”But,” said Rory, ”didn't you go a trifle too near that time, Mister de Vere?”

”A leetle,” said the Frenchman, coolly. ”It was noding.”

”Ach! sure no,” says Rory; ”it was nothing at all; and yet, Mister de Vere, it isn't the pleasantest thing in the world to imagine yourself being played at pitch and toss with on the top of a mighty geyser, for all the world like a nut-gall on the top of a twopenny fountain!”

Sandy resumed the dissection of his venison pie. He would have a long entry for his diary to-night, he thought.

Luck does not always attend the aeronaut, albeit fortune favours the brave, and the current of air that was carrying the balloonists so merrily back to Reikjavik, ceased entirely when they were still within ten miles of that quaint wee place. It was determined, therefore, to make a descent. Happily, they were over a glen. Close by the sea and around the bay were many small farms, and so adroitly did De Vere manage to attach an anchor to the roof of an old barn, that descent was easy in the extreme.

Perhaps the happiest man in the universe at the moment Sandy McFlail's feet touched mother earth again was Sandy himself. ”Man!” he cried to Rory, rubbing his hands and laughing with glee, ”I thought gettin' out meant a broken leg at the vera least, and I haven't even bled my nose.”

There was some commotion, I can tell you, among the feathered inmates of the barnyard when the balloonists popped down among them; as for the farm folks, they had shut themselves up in the dwelling-house. The geese were particularly noisy. Geese, reader, always remind me of those people we call sceptics: they are sure to gabble their loudest at things they can't understand.

But convinced at last that the aeronauts were neither evil spirits nor inhabitants of the moon, the good farmer made them heartily welcome at his fireside, and a.s.sisted them to pack, so that, by the aid of men and ponies, they found themselves late that evening safely on board the _Arrandoon_; and right glad were their comrades to see them again, you may be sure, and to listen to a narration by Rory of all their adventures, interlarded by Sandy's queer, dry remarks, which only served to render it all the more funny.

But before they sat down to the ample supper that Peter had prepared for them, Rory reported to the captain his great discovery.

McBain's eyes sparkled like live coals as he heard of it, but he said little. He sent quietly for the engineer and the mate. ”How soon,” he asked the former, ”can you get up steam?”

”In an hour, sir--easy.”

”That will do,” said the captain. ”Mr Stevenson, when will the moon rise?”

”She is rising now, sir.”

”All right, Mr Stevenson. Have all ready to weigh anchor in two hours'

time.”