The same thing might happen in other parts of the island, which was
anything but reassuring. Where could they be certain of treading on firm
ground? Might not the earth give way beneath their feet at any minute?
What heart, however brave, would not have sunk at the thought of the
thin partition between them and the awful gulf of the ocean?
Sergeant Long, however, thought but little of his bath, and was ready
to begin mining in some other place. This Mrs Barnett would not allow.
A night in the open air would do her no harm; the shelter of the coppice
near would be protection enough for them all; and Sergeant Long was
obliged to submit.
The camp was, therefore, moved back some thirty yards from the beach,
to a rising ground on which grew a few clumps of pines and willows which
could scarcely be called a wood. Towards ten o’clock the disc of the
sun began to dip below the horizon, and before it disappeared for the
few hours of the night a crackling fire of dead branches was blazing at
the camp.
Long had now a fine opportunity of drying his legs, of which he gladly
availed himself. He and Hobson talked together earnestly until twilight
set in, and Mrs Barnett occasionally joined in the conversation, doing
the best she could to cheer the disheartened Lieutenant. The sky was
bright with stars, and the holy influence of the night could not fail
to calm his troubled spirit. The wind murmured softly amongst the pines;
even the sea appeared to be wrapt in slumber, its bosom slightly heaving
with the swell, which died away upon the beach with a faint rippling
sound. All creation was hushed, not even the wail of a sea bird broke
upon the ear, the crisp crackling of the dead branches was exchanged for
a steady flame, and nothing but the voices of the wanderers broke the
sublime, the awful silence of the night.
“Who would imagine,” said Mrs Barnett, “that we were floating on
the surface of the ocean! It really requires an effort to realise it,
for the sea which is carrying us along in its fatal grasp appears to be
absolutely motionless!”
“Yes, madam,” replied Hobson;” and if the floor of our carriage
were solid, if I did not know that sooner or later the keel of our boat
will be missing, that some day its hull will burst open, and finally, if
I knew where we are going, I should rather enjoy floating on the ocean
like this.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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