Having already viewed this scene from the deck of the _Vendee_ we know that there was scant warning of this mighty outburst. From out of the depths of Pelee issued mud, lava, stones, and a gigantic volume of gas that rolled and fell directly down upon the doomed city, cutting off every particle of life-giving air and suffocating and burning wherever it landed. Men, women, and children were struck down where they stood, without being able to do anything to save themselves. The explosions of the gases, and the shock of an earthquake, made hundreds of buildings totter and fall, and the rain of fire, a thousand times thicker here than out on the ocean, soon completed the work of annihilation. St. Pierre, but a short time before so prosperous and so happy, was no longer a city of the living but had become a cemetery of the dead. It was something of this last outburst that reached Mark and Frank and the Norwegian sailor, as they clung fast to the lumber raft as it whirled and rocked in the boiling sea that raged on all sides of them. Then a cloud as black as night swept over them, so that they could scarcely see each other. “What can it be?” murmured Mark. “Is it the end of the world?” “The world is on fire!” shrieked Sven Orlaff, in his native tongue. “The Lord God have mercy on us!” And he began to pray earnestly. The boys did not understand him, but in the mind of each was likewise a prayer, that God would bring them through that terrible experience in safety. At last the cloud lifted a bit and the sea became somewhat calmer. Part of the lumber had become loosened and drifted off, so that the raft was scarcely half as big as before. In the excitement Mark had had his leg severely bruised and Frank’s left hand was much scratched and was bleeding, but neither paid attention to the hurts. “The boats--where are they?” questioned Mark, trying to clear his eyes that he might see. All had drifted out of sight but one, a craft with a single sail, which the strange current had sent close beside them. This boat was filled to overflowing with people, Frenchmen and negroes, all as terror-stricken as themselves. “Help! Help us!” called the boys, and Sven Orlaff added a similar appeal. But no help could be given--the boat was already overloaded--and soon wind and current carried her out of sight through the smoke and dust and the rolling sea. Slowly the hours passed and gradually the sky cleared, although over Mont Pelee still hung that threatening cloud of death. The sea remained hot, and as the lumber raft drifted southward it encountered numerous heaps of wreckage. Far off could be seen the ruins of buildings which still smoked and occasionally blazed up. “It’s a tremendous volcanic explosion,” said Mark, at last. “I believe Mont Pelee has blown its head off.” “Look! Look!” cried Sven Orlaff. “Da boat! We git da boat!”