tunately, this cone inclined to the north, and had fallen upon the
plain of sand and tufa stretching between the volcano and the sea. The
aperture of the crater being thus enlarged projected towards the sky a
glare so intense that by the simple effect of reflection the atmosphere
appeared red-hot. At the same time a torrent of lava, bursting from the
new summit, poured out in long cascades, like water escaping from a vase
too full, and a thousand tongues of fire crept over the sides of the
volcano.

"The corral! the corral!" exclaimed Ayrton.

It was, in fact, towards the corral that the lava was rushing, as the
new crater faced the east, and consequently the fertile portions of the
island, the springs of Red Creek and Jacamar Wood, were menaced with
instant destruction.

At Ayrton's cry the colonists rushed to the onagas' stables. The cart
was at once harnessed. All were possessed by the same thought--to
hasten to the corral and set at liberty the animals it enclosed.

Before three in the morning they arrived at the corral. The cries of
the terrified musmons and goats indicated the alarm which possessed
them. Already a torrent of burning matter and liquefied minerals fell
from the side of the mountain upon the meadows as far as the side of the
palisade. The gate was burst open by Ayrton, and the animals,
bewildered with terror, fled in all directions.

An hour afterwards the boiling lava filled the corral, converting into
vapour the water of the little rivulet which ran through it, burning up
the house like dry grass, and leaving not even a post of the palisade to
mark the spot where the corral once stood.

To contend against this disaster would have been folly--nay, madness.
In presence of Nature's grand convulsions man is powerless.

It was now daylight--the 24th of January. Cyrus Harding and his
companions, before returning to Granite House, desired to ascertain the
probable direction this inundation of lava was about to take. The soil
sloped gradually from Mount Franklin to the east coast, and it was to be
feared that, in spite of the thick Jacamar Wood, the torrent would reach
the plateau of Prospect Heights.

"The lake will cover us," said Gideon Spilett.

"I hope so!" was Cyrus Harding's only reply.

The colonists were desirous of reaching the plain upon which the
superior cone of Mount Franklin had fallen, but the lava arrested their
progress. It had followed, on one side, the valley of Red