There was a delicate tint of green over all the sky instead of its usual deep, steadfast blue. All around the horizon the almost constant concomitants of the Trade winds, fleecy masses of cumuli, were lying peacefully, their shape unaltered from hour to hour. Their usual snowy whiteness, however, was curiously besmirched by a shading of dirty brown which clung around their billowy outlines, giving them a stale appearance greatly at variance with the normal purity of these lovely cloud-forms. The afternoon sun, gliding swiftly down the shining slope of heaven toward the western edge of that placid sea, had an air of mystery about his usually glorious disc, a wondrous glow of unnameable tints that, streaming away from him into the clear firmament, encircled him with a halo of marvellous shades, all lacking the palpitating brightness usually inseparable from solar displays near the Equator. And over the sea-surface also was spread, as upon a vast palette, great splashes of colour, untraceable to any definite source, mysterious in their strange beauty. At irregular intervals, across that silent expanse of peaceful limpidity, came, in stately onset, an undulating throb of ocean’s heart,—a shining knoll of water one hundred leagues in length, but so mobile, so gentle in its gliding incidence, that it was beautiful as the heaving bosom of a sleeping naiad. The very silence, deep and solemn as that of the stellar spaces, was sweet,—a peaceful sweetness that fell upon the soul like the most exquisite music, and soothed as does a dreamless sleep.

And yet, in spite of the indescribable charm of that divine day, there was on board the solitary ship that gave the needed touch of human interest to that ocean Elysium a general air of expectancy, a sense of impending change which as yet could not be called uneasiness, and still was indefinably at variance with the more manifest influences that made for rest of mind and body. The animals on board, pigs and cats and fowls, were evidently ill at ease. Their finer perceptions, unbiassed by reasoning appreciation of Nature’s beauties, were palpably disturbed, and they roamed restlessly about, often composing themselves as if to sleep, only to resume their agitated prowling almost immediately. Lower sank the sun, stranger and more varied grew the colour-schemes in sky and sea. Up from the Eastern horizon crept gradually a pale glow as of a premature dawn, the breaking of an interpolated day shed by some visitant sun from another system. The moon was not yet due for six hours, so that none could attribute this unearthly radiance to her rising. Busy each with the eager questionings of his own perturbed mind, none spoke a word as the sun disappeared, but watched in suspense that was almost pain the brightening of this spectral glare. Suddenly, as if reflected from some unimaginable furnace, the zenith was all aflame. That fiery glow above turned the sea into the semblance of a lake of blood, and horror distorted every face. The still persisting silence now lay like the paralysis of a trance upon all, and an almost frantic desire for sound racked them to the core.

At last, when it seemed as if the tension of their nerves had almost reached the snapping point, there was an overwhelming sulphurous stench, followed by a muttering as of thunder beneath the sea. A tremendous concussion below the keel made the stout hull vibrate through every beam, and the tall masts quivered like willow twigs in a squall. The air was full of glancing lights, as if legions of fire-flies disported themselves. Slowly the vessel began to heave and roll, but with an uncertain staggering motion, unlike even the broken sea of a cyclone centre. Gradually that dreadful light faded from the lurid sky, and was replaced by a smoky darkness, alien to the overshadowing gloom of any ordinary tempest. Strange noises arose from the deep, not to be compared with any of the manifold voices of the ocean so well known to those who do business in great waters. And the myriad brightnesses which make oceans’ depths so incomparably lovely throughout the tropical nights were all gone. All was dark beneath as above. Not only so, but those anxious mariners could feel, though they could not see, that while the atmospheric ocean was calm almost to stagnation, the hidden deeps under them were being rent and disintegrated by such an unthinkable storm as the air had never witnessed. The fountains of the great deep were broken up, but the floods issuing therefrom were of cosmic flame, able to resolve even that immensity of superincumbent ocean into its original gases and change the unchangeable.

Tossing helplessly upon that tortured sea, face to face with those elemental forces that only to think of makes the flesh shrink on the bones like a withered leaf, the men suffered the passage of the hours. What was happening or was about to happen they could only dimly imagine. They could but endure in helplessness and hope for the day. Yet their thoughts would wander to those they loved, wondering dimly whether the catastrophe apparently impending was to be universal and the whole race of man about to be blotted out,—whether the world were dying. What they suffered could not be told, but the animals died. Perhaps the scorching heat-waves which continually arose, making mouths and nostrils crack like burnt leather, and cauterising taste and smell as if with the fumes of molten sulphur, had slain the beasts. The discovery of this ghastly detail of the night’s terrors did not add much to their fears. It could not; for the mind of man can only contain a limited amount of terror, as the body can only feel a limited amount of pain, which is something to be deeply thankful for.

Shortly after midnight there was a deafening uproar, a hissing as of the Apocalyptic Star being quenched, and immediately the gloom became filled with steam, an almost scalding fog, through which as through a veil came a red sheen. At the same time a mighty swell swept toward them from east to west, striking the ship full in the stem. Gallantly she rose to the advancing wall of water until she seemed upreared upon her stern, but in spite of her wonderful buoyancy a massive sea broke on board, clearing the decks like a besom of destruction. Down the receding slope of this gigantic billow she fled, as if plunging headlong to the sea-bed, and before she had time to recover herself was met by another almost as huge. Clinging for life to such fragments as still held on the clean-swept decks, the crew felt that at last all was over. But the good ship survived the third wave, being then granted a brief respite before another series appeared. This allowed all hands a breathing space, and an opportunity to notice that there was a healthier smell in the air, and that the terror-striking noises were fast dying away. When the next set of rollers came thundering along they were far less dangerous than before, nor, although they made a clean breach over the much-enduring ship, were they nearly as trying to the almost worn-out crew. And now, breaking through the appalling drapery that had hidden the bright face of the sky, suddenly shone the broad smile of the silver moon. Like the comforting face of a dear friend, that pleasant sight brought renewed hope and vigour to all. Again the cheery voices of the officers were heard, and all wrought manfully to repair the damage done by the terrible sea. One by one the glittering stars peeped out as the gloomy canopy melted away, revealing again the beautiful blue of the sky. A gentle breeze sprang up, but for awhile it was only possible to lay the ship’s head approximately on her course, because the compasses were useless. The needles had temporarily lost their polarity in the seismic disturbance that had taken place beneath them. But that was a small matter. As long as the celestial guides were available, the navigators could afford to wait until, with the rest of Nature’s forces, magnetism regained its normal conditions. So, during the energetic labours of the men, the morning quickly came, hailed by them as a sight they had never again expected to see. And what a dawn it was. Surely never had the abundant day been so delightful, the heaven so stainless, the air so pure. All the more because of the extraordinary contrast between sky and sea; for old ocean was utterly unlike any sea they had ever before sailed upon. As far as the eye could reach the surface was covered with floating pumice, so that the vessel grated through it as if ploughing over a pebbly beach. Wherever the water could be seen it was actually muddy, befouled like any ditch. Dead fish, floating and distorted, added to the ugliness of what overnight was so beautiful. Most pathetic of all, perhaps, upon that dead sea was the sight of an occasional spot of white, a tiny patch of ruffled feathers floating, that had been one of the fearless winged wanderers who add so much to the beauty of the sea, its joyous life quenched by the poisonous fumes of the submarine earthquake.