"Silence man, silence," said Panton, as he sat upon the burnt-up earth, holding his head with both hands, while Wriggs staggered about close at hand, laughing idiotically.

"But I can't, sir," cried Smith, in a whimpering tone. "If I'd been ash.o.r.e somewhere and met mates, and we'd been standing treat to one another, I wouldn't keer, but I'm sober as a hundred judges, that I am."

"Will you be silent, man? I want to think," said Panton, as he rocked himself to and fro.

"Yes, sir, d'reckly, sir, but don't you go thinking that of a man. I know I can't stand straight, for all the bones has gone out of my legs, and soon as I move I go wobble-wobble like cold glue."

"Yes, yes, I know, I'm unsteady, too," said Panton impatiently.

"But is it fits, sir? And do they take you like that?"

"No, no, my man, I suppose it's the gas."

"Gas, sir," cried Smith, looking round stupidly. "What's it been escaping again? Gammon, sir: they aren't got no gas out here. I say, Billy Wriggs, don't make a hexibition of yourself. Keep quiet, will yer?"

"I can't, mate. It's a rum 'un, it is. What have the guvnors been givin' of us to drink?"

"I d'know, Billy. But do stand still."

"I can't, mate, my legs will keep going and gettin' tangle up like one along o' the other, and knocking themselves together."

"Then lie down afore I hits yer."

"You won't hit me, Tommy," said the man, with a silly laugh.

"Tell yer I shall. You aggravate me so, doing that there."

"Will you two men leave off talking?" cried Panton, angrily. "I can't think. Your words buzz in my brains like a swarm of bees. Ah, I have it now. Where is Mr Lane?"

"Mr Lane, sir?" said Smith, feebly, as he looked round, and then with his eyes staring and blank, he began to feel in his pockets.

"Yes, yes, man. Where is he?"

"I d'know sir. I aren't seen him. Where's Mr Lane, Billy? You got him?"

Wriggs chuckled as if he had been asked the most ridiculously comic question he had ever heard.

"I d'know, matey," he said. "It's o' no use to ask me."

Smith lurched at him with his fists clenched, as if about to strike, but the intention was stronger than the power, and resulted in the sailor blundering up against his mate, and both going down together, and then sitting up and staring at each other in a puzzled way as if they found it impossible to comprehend their position.

At that moment Drew came staggering toward them out of the mist with his gun over his shoulder and his head down as he gazed at the ground, looking as if at any moment he would fall.

"Ah!" cried Panton, excitedly. "I had quite forgotten you, Drew."

"Eh?" said the botanist, stopping short. "Someone call?"

"Yes; I--Panton. Come here."

"He's got it, too, Billy," said Smith. "I say, what's the matter with all on us? Was it that water we drunk?"

"No, I aren't drunk!" cried Wriggs, suddenly dropping his good-tempered idiotic manner. "If you says I'm drunk, Tommy Smith, I shall hit yer.

Smell that!"

He placed a big tarry fist close under his messmate's nose, and then, as if amused thereat, he began to laugh again.

"I never said such a word, Billy," said Smith, taking the big fist, opening it out again, and clapping his hand into it loudly before pumping it affectionately up and down. "I said it was the wa--_tlat tlat tlat_--Oh, I say, matey, I am thirsty."

"Eh?" said Drew, dreamingly, in answer to a question. "Where's Lane?

Yes, where's Lane?"

"Ah!" cried Panton, starting up now, and looking wildly round. "Yes, I understand, I think. It was the gas--the volcanic gas in that mist.

For heaven's sake rouse yourself, Drew. Lane's in there still, and we must fetch him out. Here, all of you come and help."

He made for the pale, misty curtain before them, but only tottered a few steps, and then fell heavily upon his face with a groan.

"He's deal worse than us is," said Smith, who was now beginning to think more clearly. "Billy, old man, it was that water we drank, and the natives have been pysoning it to kill the fishes, and killed us instead."

"Eh! What!"

"Native savages been trying to pyson the fishes, and pysoned us instead, matey. I said it afore, Billy Wriggs--I says it again, and I'll go on saying on it for a week if that'll do you any good."

"I'm all right, matey. I'm all right, Tommy. But what do the native savages want to pyson the fishes for? Never did the savages any harm."

"Billy Wriggs, you'd better get a noo head, mate, and send this one to be cleaned."

"Ay! You're right, mate, for this here one won't go at all. Feels as if some'un had been sifting sea-sand into the works. But what had the fishes done?"

"Nothing. Pyson 'em to float atop, and ketch 'em to eat. Now come and help sooperior officers as have tumbled down all of a heap."

As he spoke, Smith rose from the ground to which he had fallen, and reeled toward Panton and Drew, slowly, and as if he could only see them dimly at a distance, while Wriggs followed his example, and came on in a zigzag, idiotic way.

Suddenly Smith stood up erect, and uttered a hoa.r.s.e cry, as he stared wildly at his companions.

"Here!" he yelled. "Help! I know now. Mr Lane. He went in there with us, and he aren't been out. Come on!"

His strength and honest manly feeling had come back with the flash of light which had illumined his brain, and rushing straight for the mist, they saw him begin to grow bigger as if looked at through a magnifying gla.s.s, increasing in size till he was monstrous, indistinct and blurred, and then completely disappear.

The man's cry and subsequent action roused them, and all staggered after him with their power of thinking clearly returning, and with it a feeling of horror as they grasped the fact that two of their party were now lost in the strange belt of vapour, whose fumes had so strangely overcome them.

"We must help them," cried Panton wildly. "Come on: follow me."

He started for the mist before them, but before he could reach it, Smith staggered and reeled out, striking against him, and then catching his breath as if he had been held under water, or as a man rises to the surface after being nearly drowned.

"Stop!" he panted, with his eyes seeming to start out of his head. "You can't go. A man can't breathe in there. I'll try again, d'reckly, gentlemen, but--but! oh, the poor, brave, handsome lad! I--I--"

The big, strong, rough fellow's voice became indistinct, and the sobs rose to his throat, nearly choking him in the weakness he vainly strove to hide.