Part 9 (2/2)
The cold mist struck in my face on emerging from the companion-way. It was still very foggy and damp. Such a scene! The sky was of a deep rose-color. The thick fog seemed like a sea of magenta. The deck, the bulwarks, the masts, and even Donovan, standing beside me, looked as if baptized in blood. It was as light as, even lighter than, when we had gone below. The cliffs on the island, drear and black by daylight, showed like mountains of red beef through the crimson fog.
”It was my watch,” said Donovan. ”I was all alone here. Thought I would just speak to you. Come on quite sudden. I didn't know just what to make of it.”
”No wonder you didn't.”
”I knew it couldn't be morning,” he went on. ”There must be a great fire somewhere round: don't you think so, sir?”
I was trying to think. Queer sensations came over me. I looked at my watch. It was four minutes past one. Donovan was right: it couldn't be morning. A sudden thought struck me.
”It's the northern lights, Donovan!” I exclaimed.
”So red as this?”
”Yes: it's the fog.”
”Do you really think so?” with a relieved breath.
”There's no doubt of it.”
”But it makes a funny noise.”
”Noise?”
”Yes: I heard it several times before I called you. Hark! There!”
A soft, rus.h.i.+ng sound, which was neither the wind (for there was none), nor the waves, nor the touch of ice, could be heard at brief intervals. It seemed far aloft. I am at a loss how to describe it best. It was not unlike the faint rustle of silk, and still more like the flapping of a large flag in a moderate gale of wind. Occasionally there would be a soft snap, which was much like the snapping of a flag. I take the more pains to state this fact explicitly, because I am aware that the statement that the auroral phenomena are accompanied by audible sounds has been disputed by many writers. I have only to add, that, if they could not have heard the ”rustlings” from the deck of ”The Curlew” that night, they must have been lamentably deaf.
The light wavered visibly, brightening and waning with marvellous swiftness.
”Shall we call the other young gentlemen?” Donovan asked.
”Yes; but don't tell them what it is. See what they will think of it.”
In a few moments Kit and Wade and Raed were coming out of the companion-way, rubbing their eyes in great bewilderment. They were followed by the captain.
”Heavens!” he exclaimed. ”Is the s.h.i.+p on fire?”
”Fire!” cried Wade excitedly, catching at the last word: ”did you say _fire_?”
”No, no!” exclaimed Kit. ”It's _nothing_--nothing--but daybreak!”
”It's only one o'clock,” said Donovan, willing to keep them in doubt.
Capt. Mazard was rus.h.i.+ng about, looking over the bulwarks.
”There's no fire,” said he, ”unless it's up in the sky. But, by Jove!
if you aren't a red-looking set!--redder than lobsters!”
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