I did so, and observed that from it was rushing a great cloud of steam, such as comes from a railway engine when it is standing still with too much heat in its boiler, but multiplied a millionfold. Moreover, as the engine screams in such circumstances, so did the mountain scream, or rather roar, emitting a volume of sound that was awful to hear. “What’s up now, Hans?” I shouted. “Don’t know, Baas. Think that water and fire are having a talk together inside that mountain, Baas, and saying they hate each other, just like badly married man and woman who quarrel in a small hut, Baas, and can’t get out. Hiss, spit, go woman; pop, bang, go man——” Here he paused from his nonsense, staring at the mountain top with all his eyes, then repeated in a slow voice, “Yes, pop, bang, go man! Just _look_ at him, Baas!” At this moment, with an amazing noise like to that of a magnified thunderclap, the volcano seemed to split in two and the crest of it to fly off into space. “Baas,” said Hans, “I am called Lord-of-the-Fire, am I not? Well, I am not Lord of that fire and I think that the farther off we get from it, the safer we shall be. _Allemagter!_ Look there,” and he pointed to a huge mass of flaming lava which appeared to descend from the clouds and plunge into the lake about a couple of hundred yards away, sending up a fountain of steam and foam, like a torpedo when it bursts. “Paddle for your lives!” I shouted to the Walloos, who began to get the canoe about in a very great hurry. As she came round—it seemed to take an age—I saw a strange and in a way a terrible sight. Dacha had left his ledge and was running down into the lake, followed by a stream of molten lava, dancing while he ran, as though with pain, probably because the steam had scorched him. He plunged into the water, and just then a great wave formed, driven outwards doubtless by some subterranean explosion. It rushed towards us, and on its very crest was Dacha. “I think that priest wants us to give him a row, Baas,” said Hans. “He has had enough of his happy island home, and wishes to live on the mainland.” “Does he?” I replied. “Well, there is no room in the canoe,” and I drew my pistol. The wave bore Dacha quite close to us. He reared himself in the water, or more probably was lifted up by the pressure underneath, so that almost he appeared to be standing on the crest of the wave. He saw us, he shouted curses upon us and shook his fists, apparently at Sabeela and Issicore. It was a horrible sight. Hans, however, was not affected, for by way of reply he pointed first to me, then to Sabeela and lastly to himself, after which, such was his unconquerable vulgarity, he put his thumb to his nose and as schoolboys say “cocked a snook” at the struggling high priest. The wave became a hollow and Dacha disappeared “to look for Heu-Heu,” as Hans remarked. That was the end of this cruel but able man.