Fenton Ash

The Temple of Fire

Or, The Mysterious Island

Warsaw 2022

Contents

PREFACE

I. THE MAN WITH WEBBED FEET

II. CAPTAIN WARREN'S MISGIVINGS

III. THE GREAT LIZARD OF THE POOL

IV. A NARROW ESCAPE

V. THE DOCTOR'S PERIL

VI. A MYSTERIOUS CRAFT

VII. ATTACKED IN THE NIGHT

VIII. THE FUGITIVE'S STRANGE STORY

IX. THE AMBUSCADE

X. WHY THE BOATS TURNED BACK

XI. "WOLVES OF THE WEED"

XII. THE STRANGE CHIEFTAIN

XIII. A DARING ADVENTURE

XIV. THE TEMPLE OF FIRE

XV. THE MONSTER IN THE GOLDEN CAGE

XVI. IN THE UNDERGROUND RIVER

XVII. A FUTILE CHASE

XVIII. THE LAKE WITHIN THE MOUNTAIN

XIX. THE RED GALLEYS

XX. PLANTS THAT WALKED

XXI. THE SECRET TREASURE-CAVE

XXII. FIGHTING THE DWARFS

XXIII. TRAITORS IN THE CAMP

XXIV. DR. STRONGFOLD'S STATEMENT

XXV. PRINCE LOROYAH

XXVI. THE STORY OF KING RULONDA

XXVII. A GREAT NAVAL VICTORY

XXVIII. THE RED GALLEYS AGAIN

XXIX. THE PURSUIT

XXX. TRAPPED IN THE TUNNEL

XXXI. A TIGHT CORNER

XXXII. THE FATE OF THE TRAITORS

XXXIII. CAUGHT IN THE FLOOD

XXXIV. THE CAPTURE OF CASHIA

XXXV. SUSPENSE

XXXVI. THE LAST TRAGEDY IN THE TEMPLE

XXXVII. CONCLUSION

NOTES

PREFACE

THE up-to-date, quasi-scientific romance or adventure story is so well known in these days as a distinct type of juvenile fiction, that no remarks would be called for by way of introduction to the present effort, were it not that it happens to be the first of my tales of the kind to be issued in book form.

My previous “fanciful flights” in this field have been printed only in the boys’ magazines for which they were written; but if one may judge by the favour with which they have been received by the youthful readers of those publications, then I should have the best of reasons for hoping that this new venture may prove popular and successful.

We all know, however, that boys do not choose their own books to the same extent that they choose their weekly magazines. Their books are, for the most part, probably, bought for them as gifts by their friends and relatives, who are sometimes a little shy of a “new writer.” A few words to them, therefore, may not be out of place.

I would like to say, for their satisfaction, that they will not find in my imaginative creations anything which is unsuitable for healthy, manly boys to read; they are neither “ornamented” with vulgar slang, nor loaded up with a preposterous amount of “battle, murder, and sudden death.” Indeed, so far is this from being the case, that I would like to claim that they have a distinct educational value, were it not that I am aware that here one must tread lightly, lest young readers should scent suspiciously something of that bête noireof the juvenile mind–the “instructive” story-book.

As a matter of fact, however, there is nothing in the following pages which is not scientifically possible, or which goes beyond what may be fairly termed, the Romance of Science and Natural History.

–The Author

I. THE MAN WITH WEBBED FEET

“YONDER lies the so-called island, Mr. Ray. I’ve brought my ship to the place, and so have fulfilled my part. What’s going to be the good of it all is another matter. But there! you’ve known my opinion of this crack-brained voyage all along!”

“You say ‘so-called’ island, Captain Warren. Isn’t it an island, then, after all?”

“Pooh! You can’t call a place an island unless you knowthere’s land there–real, hard, solid land. Now, so far as is known there’s no real land here at all–nothing but a great tract of sea covered with tangled vegetation; just a vast, steaming swamp, in fact. Ye may sail round and round it, and ye’ll find it everywhere the same; and you may struggle into it–as far as you can, and that’s not far–and ye’ll find it all just the same–no sign or trace of dry land can you actually touch, so to speak. In the distance, ’tis true, you can see something which may be rising ground–but you can’t get near enough to make quite sure.”

“How far have people penetrated into this swamp, then?”

“Oh, not very far–you can’t get far. This marine growth is too dense to allow any boat to navigate it. No ship dare sail into it, while as for a steamer, well, of course, her propeller’d get tangled up in no time. Between you and me, Mr. Ray, I should have thought that a matter-of-fact, hard-headed scientist, as Dr. Strongfold is supposed to be, would have had more common sense than to bring us all sweltering here into the tropics on a wild- goose chase o’ this sort!”

“H’m! Well, the doctor’s keen on exploring unknown regions, as you know, and so–But there!

what does it matter? We’ve only come on a cruise, after all; and we had to do something to pass the time until my father comes back!”

This talk took place on board the steam yacht Kestrel, then on a cruise in the Southern Seas, and the two speakers were Marcus Warren, the captain of the vessel, and young Raymond Lonsdale, son of the owner.

A tanned, grizzled, tough old veteran of the sea was Captain Warren, but in his steady grey eyes there was a glint of good- nature to be seen mingling with the shrewd, albeit somewhat stern, glance habitual to them.

His companion, Raymond–or Ray, as he was usually called–was a good-looking English lad, well grown, with broad shoulders and sturdy, muscular limbs which told of athletic training, a sun-browned face, and general gait which suggested experience of the sea, and of an outdoor life generally. And so it had been with him; he had already seen a good deal of knocking about, for he had lived much of his life on board the Kestrel. On her he had already met with more than one lively adventure, too, for his father had been mixed up in some of the civil wars which break out now and again among the restless states of South America, and had taken part in some pretty stiff fighting.

Tiring of this, and finding in it neither glory nor profit, Mr. Lonsdale had gone for a voyage in the Pacific, and finally to Australia, where at Sydney he got news of some newly-discovered gold region, and started off upon an expedition into the interior to investigate.

Ray had been left with Captain Warren and another friend of his father, Dr. Strongfold; with leave given to pass away the time in a further cruise in the Southern Seas if they wished it.

Then it was that the worthy doctor resolved to try to see something of a mysterious island of which he had been told, where, it was said, had been seen some very strange people. They were declared to be a race who had lived so long among the tangled vegetation of dense swamps, and passed so much of their time in the water, that they had developed webbed feet and hands, and become a sort of half men, half frogs.

“Travellers’ tales, my dear sir, mere travellers’ tales,” Captain Warren had declared, contemptuously, when the doctor had unfolded his plans, and asked him whether he thought he could take the Kestrelto the island, and give him the chance of discovering some members of this wonderful race. “Of course I can take you to the island–it lies not a great way from New Guinea, and I have myself already sailed round it, twenty or twenty-five years ago. But you can’t get beyond the outer fringe of it–no one has ever yet succeeded in penetrating the miles upon miles of swampy vegetation–and as for any ‘freaks’ of the sort you’ve been told of–Pooh! such ideas are travellers’ tales–the sort of thing, in fact, which we keep on board ship to be served out specially to the marines!”

However, the doctor’s scientific curiosity had been aroused, and in the end he had prevailed upon Warren to take the vessel in the direction of the mysterious island, instead of going, as had at first been intended, on a cruise to New Zealand.

So here they were, in due course, in sight of “Doubtful Island”–as the place has been called on some old charts–and Ray, taking up a pair of powerful glasses, stared through them for some time without speaking. Then he put them down with a disappointed air.

“Certainly the place doesn’t look very promising, Captain Warren,” he said. “As you say, there seems to be no sign of dry land. One can understand now why they have called it ‘Doubtful Island.’ I am sorry, for–well, I expect you know without my telling you–I was looking forward to some adventures in exploring an unknown country.”

“For the matter of that,” said the captain in a low voice, “I’m not so sure but what you may have an adventure yet–if ye mean fighting. Not very far away, on t’ other side, there are some islands inhabited by a lot o’ swabs–vile cannibals, every one of ’em; and for some reason or other they’re fond of coming over and hanging around ‘Doubtful Island.’ What their little game is I don’t rightly know. Some say that they come for fish; others that they find here amongst the swamps some curious big lizards which they kill for the skin, which is supposed to be harder and tougher than crocodile skin. May be so, may be not. But I’ve got some notions of my own about all that.”

Ray looked inquiringly at the speaker. In his manner, more than in his words, there was a suggestion of something mysterious which roused the young fellow’s curiosity.

“What do you mean, captain?” he asked eagerly. “What are the ‘notions’ you hint at? Tell me what you mean–I’m dying to know.”

“Well, perhaps it’s better you should know, Mr. Ray,” was the answer, spoken in serious fashion. “In fact I was going to tell ye on the quiet that I want you to keep a sharp look-out all the time we’re in these waters–as sharp as ye can without exactly letting anybody notice. D’ye understand?”

“Why no, I don’t,” returned Ray, frankly. “Whatever are you driving at, captain? Who is it I am not to let know? The doctor–?”

“Oh no! I didn’t refer to Dr. Strongfold, o’ course. Only it’s not much use speaking like that to him–he is too abstracted and careless–too much taken up with his scientific hobbies, and–“

“Ay, aye; I quite see that. But who, then–of whom are you afraid?”

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