But not so. It extended over the southwestern spur and descended to the

arid plateau which ended that fantastic wall of basalt. Every now and

then one or other of the party stooped and took the direction of the

wire. There could be no doubt that it ran directly to the sea. There,

doubtless, in some profound chasm in the igneous rocks, was the

dwelling so vainly sought for until now.

At a few minutes before 10, the colonists arrived upon the high coast

overhanging the ocean. Here the wire wound among the rocks, following a

steep slope down a narrow ravine.

The colonists followed it, at the risk of bringing down upon themselves

a shower of rocks or of being precipitated into the sea. The descent

was extremely perilous, but they thought not of the danger; they were

attracted to this mysterious place as the needle is drawn to the

magnet.

At length, the wire making a sudden turn, touched the shore rocks,

which were beaten by the sea. The colonists had reached the base of the

granite wall.

Here there was a narrow projection running parallel and horizontal to

the sea. The thread led along this point, and the colonists followed.

They had not proceeded more than a hundred paces, when this projection,

by a south inclination, sloped down into the water.

The engineer seized the wire and saw that it led down into the sea.

His companions stood, stupefied, beside him.

Then a cry of disappointment, almost of despair, escaped them! Must

they throw themselves into the water and search some submarine cavern?

In their present state of excitement, they would not have hesitated to

have done it.

An observation made by the engineer stopped them. He led his companions

to the shelter of a pile of rocks and said:——

“Let as wait here. The tide is up. At low water the road will be open.”

“But how do you think—” began Pencroff.

“He would not have called us, unless the means of reaching him had been

provided.”

Smith had spoken with an air of conviction, and, moreover, his

observation was logical. It was, indeed, quite possible that an opening

existed at low water which was covered at present.

It was necessary to wait some hours. The colonists rested in silence

under their shelter. The rain began to fall in torrents. The echoes

repeated the roaring of the thunder in sonorous reverberations.

At midnight the engineer took the lantern and went down to the water’s

edge. It was still two hours before low tide.

Smith had not been mistaken. The entrance to a vast excavation began to

be visible, and the wire, turning at a right angle, entered this

yawning mouth.

Smith returned to his companions and said:——

“In an hour the opening will be accessible.”

“Then there is one,” said Pencroff.

“Do you doubt it?” replied Smith.

“But it will be half full of water,” said Herbert.

“Either it will be perfectly dry,” answered the engineer, “in which

case we will walk, or it will not be dry, and some means of transport

will be furnished us.”

An hour passed. All went down through the rain to the sea. In these

hours the tide had fallen fifteen feet. The top of the mouth of the

opening rose eight feet above the water, like the arch of a bridge.

Looking in, the engineer saw a black object floating on the surface. He

drew it toward him. It was a canoe made of sheet-iron bolted together.

It was tied to a projecting rock inside the cavern wall. A pair of oars

were under the seats.

“Get in,” said Smith.

The colonists entered the boat, Neb and Ayrton took the oars, Pencroff

the tiller, and Smith, in the bows holding the lantern, lit the way.

The vault, at first very low, rose suddenly; but the darkness was too

great for them to recognize the size of this cavern, its heighth and

depth. An imposing silence reigned throughout this granite chamber. No

sound, not even the pealing of the thunder penetrated its massive

walls.

In certain parts of the world there are immense caves, a sort of

natural crypts which date back to the geologic epoch. Some are invaded

by the sea; others contain large lakes within their walls. Such is

Fingal’s Cave, in the Island of Staffa; such are the caves of Morgat on

the Bay of Douarnenez in Brittany; the caves of Bonifacio, in Corsica;

those of Lyse-Fjord, in Norway; such is that immense cavern, the

Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, which is 500 feet high and more than twenty

miles long!

As to this cavern which the colonists were exploring, did it not reach

to the very centre of the island? For a quarter of an hour the canoe

advanced under the directions of the engineer. At a certain moment he

said:——

“Go over to the right.”

The canoe, taking this direction, brought up beside the wall. The

engineer wished to observe whether the wire continued along this side.

It was there fastened to the rock.

“Forward!” said Smith.

The canoe kept on a quarter of an hour longer, and it must have been

half a mile from the entrance, when Smith’s voice was heard again.

“Halt!” he exclaimed.

The canoe stopped, and the colonists saw a brilliant light illuminating

the enormous crypt, so profoundly hidden in the bowels of the earth.

They were now enabled to examine this cavern of whose existence they

had had no suspicion.

A vault, supported on basaltic shafts, which might all have been cast

in the same mould, rose to a height of 100 feet. Fantastic arches

sprung at irregular intervals from these columns, which Nature had

placed here by thousands. They rose to a height of forty or fifty feet,

and the water, in despite of the tumult without, quietly lapped their

base. The light noticed by the engineer seized upon each prismatic

point and tipped it with fire; penetrated, so to speak, the walls as if

they had been diaphanous, and changed into sparkling jewels the least

projections of the cavern.

Following a phenomenon of reflection, the water reproduced these

different lights upon its surface, so that the canoe seemed to float

between two sparkling zones.

They had not yet thought of the nature of irradiation projected by the

luminous centre whose rays, straight and clear, were broken on all the

angles and mouldings of the crypt. The white color of this light

betrayed its origin. It was electric. It was the sun of this cavern.

On a sign from Smith, the oars fell again into the water, and the canoe

proceeded towards the luminous fire, which was half a cable’s length

distant.

In this place, the sheet of water measured some 300 feet across, and an

enormous basaltic wall, closing all that side, was visible beyond the

luminous centre. The cavern had become much enlarged, and the sea here

formed a little lake. But the vault, the side walls, and those of the

apsis, all the prisms, cylinders, cones, were bathed in the electric

fluid.

In the centre of the lake a long fusiform object floated on the surface

of the water, silent, motionless. The light escaped from its sides as

from two ovens heated to a white heat. This machine, looking like the

body of an enormous cetacea, was 250 feet long, and rose ten to twelve

feet above the water.

The canoe approached softly. In the bows stood Smith. He was greatly

excited. Suddenly he seized the arm of the reporter.

“It is he! It can be no other than he.” he cried. “He!——”

Then he fell back upon the seat murmuring a name which Spilett alone

heard.

Doubtless the reporter knew this name, for it affected him strangely,

and he answered in a hoarse voice:——

“He! a man outlawed!”

“The same!” said Smith.

Under the engineer’s direction the canoe approached this singular

floating machine, and came up to it on its left side, from which

escaped a gleam of light through a thick glass.

Smith and his companions stepped on to the platform. An open hatchway

was there, down which all descended.

At the bottom of the ladder appeared the waist of the vessel lit up by

electric light. At the end of the waist was a door, which Smith pushed

open.

A richly ornamented library, flooded with light, was rapidly crossed by

the colonists. Beyond, a large door, also closed, was pushed open by

the engineer.

A vast saloon, a sort of museum, in which were arranged all the

treasures of the mineral world, works of art, marvels of industry,

appeared before the eyes of the colonists, who seemed to be transported

to the land of dreams.

Extended upon a rich divan they saw a man, who seemed unaware of their

presence.

Then Smith raised his voice, and, to the extreme surprise of his

companions, pronounced these words:——

“Captain Nemo, you have called us. Here we are.’

CHAPTER LVIII.

CAPTAIN NEMO—HIS FIRST WORDS—HISTORY OF A HERO OF LIBERTY—HATRED OF THE

INVADERS—HIS COMPANIONS—THE LIFE UNDER WATER—ALONE—THE LAST REFUGE OF

THE NAUTILUS—THE MYSTERIOUS GENIUS OF THE ISLAND.

At these words the man arose, and the light shone full upon his face: a

magnificent head, with abundance of hair thrown back from a high

forehead, a white beard, and an expression of haughtiness.

This man stood, resting one hand upon the divan, from which he had

risen. One could see that a slow disease had broken him down, but his

voice was still powerful, when he said in English, and in a tone of

extreme surprise:——

“I have no name, sir!”

“I know you!” answered Smith.

Captain Nemo looked at the engineer as if he would have annihilated

him. Then, falling back upon the cushions, he murmured:——

“After all, what does it matter; I am dying!”

Smith approached Captain Nemo, and Spilett took his hand, which was hot

with fever. The others stood respectfully in a corner of the superb

saloon, which was flooded with light.

Captain Nemo withdrew his hand, and signed to Smith and the reporter to

be seated.

All looked at him with lively emotion. Here was the being whom they had

called the “genius of the island,” the being whose intervention had

been so efficacious, the benefactor to whom they owed so much. Before

their eyes, here where Pencroff and Neb had expected to find some

godlike creature, was only a man-a dying man!

But how did Smith know Captain Nemo? Why had the latter sprung up on

hearing that name pronounced?

The Captain had taken his seat upon the divan, and, leaning upon his

arm, he regarded the engineer, who was seated near him.

“You know the name I bore?” he asked.

“I know it as well as I know the name of this admirable submarine

apparatus.”

“The Nautilus,” said the Captain, with a half smile.

“The Nautilus.”

“But do you know-do you know, who I am?”

“I do.”

“For thirty years I have had no communication with the inhabited world,

for thirty years have I lived in the depths of the sea, the only place

where I have found freedom! Who, now, has betrayed my secret?”

“A man who never pledged you his word, Captain Nemo, one who,

therefore, cannot be accused of betraying you.”

“The Frenchman whom chance threw in my way?”

“The same.”

“Then this man and his companions did not perish in the maelstrom into

which the Nautilus had been drawn?”

“They did not, and there has appeared under the title of _Twenty

Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_, a work which contains your history.”

“The history of but a few months of my life, sir,” answered the

Captain, quickly.

“True,” replied Smith, “but a few months of that strange life sufficed

to make you known—”

“As a great criminal, doubtless,” said Captain Nemo, smiling

disdainfully. “Yes, a revolutionist, a scourge to humanity.”

The engineer did not answer.

“Well, sir?”

“I am unable to judge Captain Nemo,” said Smith, “at least in what

concerns his past life. I, like the world at large, am ignorant of the

motives for this strange existence, and I am unable to judge of the

effects without knowing the causes, but what I do know is that a

beneficent hand has been constantly extended to us since our arrival

here, that we owe everything to a being good, generous, and powerful,

and that this being, powerful, generous, and good, is you, Captain

Nemo!”

“It is I,” answered the captain, quietly.

The engineer and the reporter had risen, the others had drawn near, and

the gratitude which swelled their hearts would have sought expression

in words and gesture, when Captain Nemo signed to them to be silent,

and in a voice more moved, doubtless, than he wished:—

“When you have heard me,” he said. And then, in a few short, clear

sentences, he told them the history of his life.

The history was brief. Nevertheless, it took all his remaining strength

to finish it. It was evident that he struggled against an extreme

feebleness. Many times Smith urged him to take some rest, but he shook

his head, like one who knew that for him there would be no to-morrow,

and when the reporter offered his services—

“They are useless,” he answered, “my hours are numbered.”

Captain Nemo was an Indian prince, the Prince Dakkar, the son of the

rajah of the then independent territory of Bundelkund, and nephew of

the hero of India, Tippo Saib. His father sent him, when ten years old,

to Europe, where he received a complete education; and it was the

secret intention of the rajah to have his son able some day to engage

in equal combat with those whom he considered as the oppressors of his

country.

From ten years of age until he was thirty, the Prince Dakkar, with

superior endowments, of high heart and courage, instructed himself in

everything; pushing his investigations in science, literature, and art

to the uttermost limits.

He travelled over all Europe. His birth and fortune made his company

much sought after, but the seductions of the world possessed no charm

for him. Young and handsome, he remained serious, gloomy, with an

insatiable thirst for knowledge, with implacable anger fixed in his

heart.

He hated. He hated the only country where he had never wished to set

foot, the only nation whose advances he had refused: he hated England

more and more as he admired her. This Indian summed up in his own

person all the fierce hatred of the vanquished against the victor. The

invader is always unable to find grace with the invaded. The son of one

of those sovereigns whose submission to the United Kingdom was only

nominal, the prince of the family of Tippo-Saib, educated in ideas of

reclamation and vengeance, with a deep-seated love for his poetic

country weighed down with the chains of England, wished never to place

his foot on that land, to him accursed, that land to which India owed

her subjection.

The Prince Dakkar became an artist, with a lively appreciation of the

marvels of art; a savant familiar with the sciences; a statesman

educated in European courts. In the eyes of a superficial observer, he

passed, perhaps, for one of those cosmopolites, curious after

knowledge, but disdaining to use it; for one of those opulent

travellers, high-spirited and platonic, who go all over the world and

are of no one country.

It was not so. This artist, this savant, this man was Indian to the

heart, Indian in his desire for vengeance, Indian in the hope which he

cherished of being able some day to re-establish the rights of his

country, of driving on the stranger, of making it independent.

He returned to Bundelkund in the year 1849. He married a noble Indian

woman whose heart bled as his did at the woes of their country. He had

two children whom he loved. But domestic happiness could not make him

forget the servitude of India. He waited for an opportunity. At length

it came.

The English yoke was pressed, perhaps, too heavily upon the Indian

people. The Prince Dakkar became the mouthpiece of the malcontents. He

instilled into their spirits all the hatred he felt against the

strangers. He went over not only the independent portions of the Indian

peninsula, but into those regions directly submitted to the English

control. He recalled to them the grand days of Tippo-Saib, who died

heroically at Seringapatam for the defense of his country.

In 1857 the Sepoy mutiny broke forth. Prince Dakkar was its soul. He

organized that immense uprising. He placed his talents and his wealth

at the service of that cause. He gave himself; he fought in the first

rank; he risked his life as the humblest of those heroes who had risen

to free their country; he was wounded ten times in twenty battles, and

was unable to find death when the last soldiers of independence fell

before the English guns.

Never had British rule in India been in such danger; and, had the

Sepoys received the assistance from without which they had hoped for,

Asia would not to-day, perhaps, be under the dominion of the United

Kingdom.

At that time the name of Prince Dakkar was there illustrious. He never

hid himself, and he fought openly. A price was put upon his head, and

although he was not delivered up by any traitor, his father, mother,

wife, and children suffered for him before he knew of the dangers which

they ran on his account.

Once again right fell before might. Civilization never goes backwards,

and her laws are like those of necessity. The Sepoys were vanquished,

and the country of the ancient rajahs fell again under the strict rule

of England.

Prince Dakkar, unable to die, returned again to his mountains in

Bundelkund. There, thenceforward alone, he conceived an immense disgust

against all who bore the name of man—a hatred and a horror of the

civilized world—and wishing to fly from it, he collected the wreck of

his fortune, gathered together twenty of his most faithful companions,

and one day disappeared.

Where did Prince Dakkar seek for that independence which was refused

him upon the inhabited earth? Under the waters, in the depths of the

seas, where no one could follow him.

From a man of war he became a man of science. On a desert island of the

Pacific he established his workshops, and there he constructed a

submarine ship after plans of his own. By means which will some day be

known, he utilized electricity, that incommensurable force, for all the

necessities of his apparatus as a motor, for lighting and for heat. The

sea, with its infinite treasures, its myriads of fishes, its harvests

of varech and sargassum, its enormous mammifers, and not only all that

nature held, but all that man had lost, amply sufficed for the needs of

the Prince and his equipage;—and thus he accomplished his heart’s

desire, to have no further communication with the earth. He named his

submarine ship the Nautilus, he called himself Captain Nemo, and he

disappeared under the seas.

During many years, the Captain visited all the oceans, from one pole to

the other. Pariah of the earth, he reaped the treasures of the unknown

worlds. The millions lost in Vigo Bay, in 1702, by the Spanish

galleons, furnished him with an inexhaustible mine of wealth, which he

gave, anonymously, to people fighting for their independence.

For years he had had no communication with his kindred, when, during

the night of the 6th of November, 1866, three men were thrown upon his

deck. They were a French professor, his servant, and a Canadian

fisherman. These men had been thrown overboard by the shock of the

collision between the Nautilus and the United States frigate Abraham

Lincoln, which had given it chase.

Captain Nemo learned from the Professor that the Nautilus, sometimes

taken for a gigantic mammifer of the cetacean family, sometimes for a

submarine apparatus containing a gang of pirates, was hunted in every

sea.

Captain Nemo could have thrown these three men, whom chance had thrown

across his mysterious life, into the ocean. He did not do it, he kept

them prisoners, and, during seven months, they were able to perceive

all the marvels of a voyage of 20,000 leagues under the sea.

One day, the 22nd of June, 1867, these three men, who knew nothing of

Captain Nemo’s past life, seized the boat belonging to the Nautilus and

attempted to escape. But just then the Nautilus was upon the coast of

Norway in the eddy of the Maelstrom, and the Captain believed that the

fugitives, caught in its terrible vortex, had been swallowed up in the

gulf. He was unaware that the Frenchman and his companions had been

miraculously thrown upon the coast, that the fishermen of the Loffodin

Islands had rescued them, and that the Professor, on his return to

France, had published a book in which seven months of this strange and

adventurous navigation was narrated.

For a long time Captain Nemo continued this mode of life, traversing

the sea. One by one his companions died and found their rest in the

coral cemetery at the bottom of the Pacific, and in time Captain Nemo

was the last survivor of those who had sought refuge in the depths of

the oceans.

He was then sixty years old. As he was alone, it was necessary to take

his Nautilus to one of those submarine ports which served him in former

days as a harbor.

One of these ports was under Lincoln Island, and was the present asylum

of the Nautilus. For six years the Captain had remained there awaiting

that death which would reunite him with his companions, when chance

made him witness to the fall of the balloon which carried the

prisoners. Clothed in his impermeable jacket, he was walking under the

water, some cables’ lengths from the shore of the islet, when the

engineer was thrown into the sea. A good impulse moved Captain Nemo—and

he saved Cyrus Smith.

On the arrival of these five castaways he wished to go from them, but

his port of refuge was closed. Some volcanic action had raised up the

basalt so that the Nautilus could not cross the entrance to the crypt,

although there was still sufficient water for a boat of light draught.

Captain Nemo, therefore, remained and watched these men, thrown without

resources upon a desert island, but he did not wish to be seen. Little

by little, as he saw their honest, energetic lives, how they were bound

together in fraternal amity, he interested himself in their efforts. In

spite of himself, he found out all the secrets of their existence.

Clothed in his impermeable jacket, he could easily reach the bottom of

the well in Granite House, and climbing by the projections of the rock

to its mouth, he heard the colonists talk of their past and discuss

their present and future. He learned from them of the struggle of

America against itself, for the abolition of slavery. Yes! these men

were worthy to reconcile Captain Nemo with that humanity which they

represented so honestly on the island.

Captain Nemo had saved Smith. It was he who had led the dog to the

Chimneys, who threw Top out of the water, who stranded the box of

useful articles on Jetsam Point, who brought the canoe down the Mercy,

who threw the cord from Granite House, when it was attacked by the

monkeys, who made known the presence of Ayrton on Tabor Island by means

of the paper inclosed in the bottle, who blew up the brig by means of a

torpedo, who saved Herbert from certain death by bringing the quinine,

who, finally, killed the convicts by those electric balls which he

employed in his submarine hunting excursions. Thus was explained all

those seemingly supernatural incidents, which, all of them, attested

the generosity and the power of the Captain.

Nevertheless, this intense misanthrope thirsted to do good. He had some

useful advice to give to his proteges, and moreover, feeling the

approach of death, he had summoned, as we have seen, the colonists from

Granite House, by means of the wire which reached from the corral to

the Nautilus. Perhaps he would not have done it, had he thought that

Smith knew enough of his history to call him by his name of Nemo.

The Captain finished the recital of his life, and then Smith spoke. He

recalled all the instances of the salutary influences exercised over

the colonists, and then, in the name of his companions, and in his own,

he thanked this generous being for all that he had done.

But Captain Nemo had never dreamed of asking any return for his

services. One last thought agitated his spirit, and, before taking the

hand which the engineer held out to him, he said:—

“Now, sir, you know my life, judge of it!”

In speaking thus, the Captain evidently alluded to an incident of a

serious nature which had been witnessed by the three strangers on the

Nautilus—an incident which the French professor had necessarily

recounted in his book, an incident whose very recital was terrible.

In brief, some days before the flight of the professor and his

companions, the Nautilus, pursued by a frigate in the North Atlantic,

had rushed upon her like a battering-ram, and sunk her without mercy.

Smith, understanding this allusion, made no answer.

“It was an English frigate, sir!” cried Captain Nemo, becoming for the

moment Prince Dakkar, “an English frigate, you understand! She attacked

me! I was shut in, in a narrow and shallow bay; I had to pass out,

and—I passed!”

Then, speaking with more calmness:—

“I had right and justice on my side,” he added. “I did good when I

could, and evil when I must. All justice is not in forgiveness.”

Some moments of silence followed this response, and Captain Nemo asked

again:—

“What do you think of me?”

Smith took the hand of the Captain, and answered him in a grave voice:—

“Captain, your mistake has been in believing that you could bring back

the old order of things, and you have struggled against necessary

progress. It was one of those errors which some of us admire, others

blame, but of which God alone can judge, and which the human mind

exonerates. We can disagree with one who misleads himself in an

intention which he believes laudable, and at the same time esteem him.

Your error is of a kind which does not preclude admiration, and your

name has nothing to fear from the judgment of history. She loves heroic

follies, though she condemns the results which follow.”

The breast of Captain Nemo heaved; he raised his hand towards heaven.

“Was I wrong, or was I right?” he murmured.

Smith continued:—

“All great actions return to God, from whom they came! Captain Nemo,

the worthy men here, whom you have succored, will always weep for you!”

Herbert approached him. He knelt down and took the hand of the captain,

and kissed it.

A tear glistened in the eye of the dying man.

“My child,” he said, “bless you!”

CHAPTER LIX.

THE LAST HOURS OF CAPTAIN NEMO—HIS DYING WISHES—A SOUVENIR FOR HIS

FRIENDS—HIS TOMB—SOME COUNSEL TO THE COLONISTS—THE SUPREME MOMENT—AT

THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA.

It was morning, though no ray of daylight penetrated the vault. The

sea, at this moment high, covered the outlet. But the artificial light

escaping in long rays from the sides of the Nautilus, had not

diminished, and the sheet of water around the vessel glowed

resplendent.

Captain Nemo, overcome by an extreme fatigue, fell back upon the divan.

They did not dream of transporting him to Granite House, as he had

shown a wish to remain among the priceless treasures of the Nautilus,

awaiting that death which could not be long in coming.

Smith and Spilett observed with great attention his prostration. They

saw that he was slowly sinking. His strength, formerly so great, was

almost gone, and his body was but a frail envelope for the spirit about

escaping. All life was concentrated at the heart and brain.

The engineer and the reporter consulted together in low tones. Could

they do anything for the dying man? Could they, if not save him, at

least prolong his life for a few days? He himself had said that there

was no remedy, and he awaited death calmly and without fear.

“We can do nothing,” said Spilett.

“What is he dying of?” asked Pencroff.

“Of exhaustion,” answered the reporter.

“Supposing we take him out into the open air, into the sunlight,

perhaps he would revive?”

“No, Pencroff,” responded the engineer, “there is nothing to do.

Moreover, Captain Nemo would not be willing to leave here. He has lived

on the Nautilus for thirty years, and on the Nautilus he wishes to

die.”

Doubtless Captain Nemo heard Smith’s words, for, raising himself up a

little, and speaking in a feeble but intelligible voice, he said:—

“You are right. I wish to die here. And I have a request to make.”

Smith and his companions had gathered round the divan, and they

arranged the cushions so that the dying man was more comfortably

placed.

They saw that his gaze was fixed upon the marvels of the saloon, lit up

by the rays of electric light sifting through the arabesques of the

luminous ceiling. He looked upon the pictures, those _chefs d’œuvre_ of

Italian, Flemish, French, and Spanish masters, which hung on the

tapestried walls, upon the marbles and bronzes, upon the magnificent

organ at the opposite end of the saloon, upon the glasses arranged

around a central vase in which were disposed the rarest products of the

seas, marine plants, zoophytes, chaplets of pearls of an inappreciable

value, and at length his attention was fixed upon this device, the

device of the Nautilus inscribed upon the front of this museum:—

MOBILIS IN MOBILI.

It seemed as if he wished to caress with his regard, one last time,

those _chefs d’oeuvre_ of art and nature which had been ever visible to

him in the years of his sojourn in the depths of the sea!

Smith respected Captain Nemo’s silence. He waited for him to speak.

After some moments, during which passed before him, doubtless, his

whole life, Cap-Nemo turned to the colonists and said:—

“You wish to do me a favor?”

“Captain, we would give our lives to prolong yours!”

“Well, then, promise me that you will execute my last wishes, and I

will be repaid for all that I have done for you.”

“We promise,” answered Smith, speaking for his companions and himself.

“To-morrow,” said the Captain, “to-morrow I will be dead.”

He made a sign to Herbert, who was about to protest.

“To-morrow I will be dead, and I wish for no other tomb than the

Nautilus. It is my coffin! All my friends rest at the bottom of the

sea, and I wish to rest there also.”

A profound silence followed the words of Captain Nemo.

“Attend to what I say,” he continued. “The Nautilus is imprisoned in

this grotto. But if she cannot leave this prison, she can at least sink

herself in the abyss, which will cover her and guard my mortal

remains.”

The colonists listened religiously to the words of the dying man.

“To-morrow, after I am dead, Mr. Smith,” continued the Captain, “you

and your companions will leave the Nautilus, all of whose riches are to

disappear with me. One single remembrance of Prince Dakkar, whose

history you now know, will remain to you. That coffer, there, encloses

diamonds worth many millions, most of them souvenirs of the time when,

a husband and father, I almost believed in happiness, and a collection

of pearls gathered by my friends and myself from the bottom of the sea.

With this treasure, you will be able, some time, to accomplish good. In

your hands and those of your companions, Mr. Smith, wealth will not be

dangerous. I shall be ever present with you in your works.”

After some moments of rest, necessitated by his extreme feebleness,

Captain Nemo continued as follows:—

“To-morrow, you will take this coffer, you will leave this saloon, and

close the door; then you will ascend to the platform of the Nautilus

and you will bolt down the hatchway.”

“We will do it, sir,” replied Smith.

“Very well. You will then embark in the boat which brought you here.

But, before abandoning the Nautilus, go to the stern, and there, open

two large cocks which you will find at the water-line. The water will

penetrate and the Nautilus will sink beneath the waves and rest upon

the bottom of the abyss.”

Then, upon a gesture from Smith, the Captain added:—

“Fear nothing! you will only be burying the dead!”

Neither Smith nor his companions could say a word to Captain Nemo.

These were his last wishes, and they had nothing else to do but obey

them.

“I have your promise?” asked Captain Nemo.

“You have it, sir,” answered the engineer.

The Captain made a sign thanking them, and then motioned to be left

alone for a few hours. Spilett insisted on remaining with him, in case

of an emergency, but the other refused, saying:—

“I will live till morning, sir.”

All left the salon, passing through the library, the dining-room, and

reached the forward part of the vessel, where the electric apparatus,

furnishing heat, light, and motive power to the Nautilus was placed.

The Nautilus was a _chef-d’oeuvre_ containing _chefs-d’oeuvre_, which

filled the engineer with amazement.

The colonists mounted the platform, which rose seven or eight feet

above the water. Then they saw a thick lenticular glass closing up a

sort of bull’s-eye, through which penetrated a ray of light. Behind

this bull’s-eye was the wheel-house, where the steersman stood when

directing the Nautilus under the sea, by means of the electric light.

Smith and his companions stood here in silence, impressed by what they

saw, and what they had heard, and their hearts bled to think that he,

their protector, whose arm had been so often raised to aid them, would

soon be counted among the dead.

Whatever would be the judgment of posterity upon this, so to say,

extra-human existence, Prince Dakkar would always remain one of those

strange characters who cannot be forgotten.

“What a man!” said Pencroff. “Is it credible that he has lived so at

the bottom of the ocean! And to think that he has not found rest even

there!”

“The Nautilus,” observed Ayrton, “would, perhaps, have served us to

leave Lincoln Island and gain some inhabited country.”

“A thousand devils!” cried Pencroff. “You couldn’t get me to steer such

a craft. To sail over the seas is all very well, but under the

seas,—no, sir!”

“I think, Pencroff,” said the reporter, “that it would be easy to

manage a submarine apparatus like the Nautilus, and that we would soon

get accustomed to it. No storms, no boarding to fear. At some little

distance under the waves the waters are as calm as those of a lake.”

“That’s likely enough,” answered the sailor, “but give me a stiff

breeze and a well rigged ship. A ship is made to go on the water and

not under it.”

“My friends,” said the engineer, “it is useless, at least as far as the

Nautilus is concerned, to discuss this question of submarine vessels.

The Nautilus is not ours, and we have no right to dispose of it. It

could not, moreover, serve us under any circumstances. Aside from the

fact that it cannot get out of this cavern, Captain Nemo wishes it to

be engulfed with him after his death. His wish is law, and we will obey

it.”

Smith and his companions, after talking for a while longer, descended

into the interior of the Nautilus. There they ate some food and

returned to the salon.

Captain Nemo had recovered from his prostration, and his eyes had

regained their brilliancy. They saw a smile upon his lips.

The colonists approached him. “Sirs,” said the Captain, “you are brave

men, and good and honest. You have given yourselves up to the common

cause. I have often watched you. I have loved you. I do love you!—Give

me your hand, Mr. Smith.”

Smith gave his hand to the Captain, who pressed it affectionately.

“That is well!” he murmured. Then he added:—

“But I have said enough about myself. I wish to speak of yourselves and

of Lincoln Island, on which you have found refuge. You want to leave

it?”.

“To come back again!” said Pencroff eagerly.

“To return?—Oh! yes, Pencroff,” answered the Captain, smiling, “I know

how much you love this island. It has been improved by your care, and

it is, indeed, yours.”

“Our project, Captain,” added Smith, “would be to make it over to the

United States, and to establish a station, which would be well situated

here in this part of the Pacific.”

“You think of your country,” replied the Captain. “You work for her

prosperity, for her glory. You are right. The Fatherland! It is there

we wish to return! It is there we wish to die! And I, I die far from

everything that I have loved!”

“Have you no last wish to have executed,” asked the engineer earnestly,

“no souvenir to send to those friends you left in the mountains of

India?”

“No, Mr. Smith, I have no friends! I am the last of my race—and I die

long after those whom I have known.—But to return to yourselves.

Solitude, isolation are sorrowful things, beyond human endurance. I die

from having believed that man could live alone!—You wish to leave

Lincoln Island and to return to your country. I know that these

wretches have destroyed your boat-”

“We are building a ship,” said Spilett, “a ship large enough to take us

to the nearest country; but if sooner or later we leave the island, we

will come back again. Too many associations attach us to the place, for

us ever to forget it.”

“Here we met Captain Nemo,” said Smith.

“Here only will we find the perfect remembrance of you!” added

Herbert.”

“It is here that I will rest in an eternal sleep, if—” answered the

Captain.

He hesitated, and, instead of finishing his sentence, said:—

“Mr. Smith, I wish to speak with you,—with you alone.”

The companions of the engineer retired, and Smith remained for some

time alone with Captain Nemo. He soon called back his friends, but said

nothing to them of the secrets which the dying prince had confided to

him.

Spilett observed the Captain with extreme attention. He was evidently

living by the strength of his will, which could not long hold out

against his physical weakness.

The day ended without any change manifesting itself. The colonists did

not leave the Nautilus. Night came, although unseen in this crypt.

Captain Nemo did not suffer pain, but sunk slowly. His noble face, pale

by the approach of death, was perfectly calm. Now and then he spoke,

incoherently, of events in his strange existence.—All saw that life was

retreating. His feet and hands were already cold.

Once or twice, he spoke a word to the colonists who were about him, and

he looked upon them with that smile which remained when he was no more.

At last, just after midnight, Captain Nemo made a supreme effort, and

crossed his arms upon his breast, as if he wished to die in that

attitude.

Towards 1 o’clock all the life that was left was concentrated in his

expression. One last spark burned in that eye which had formerly

flashed fire! Then, murmuring these words, “God and Fatherland,” he

expired quietly.

Smith, stooping down, closed the eyes of him who had been Prince

Dakkar, who was no more even Captain Nemo.

Herbert and Pencroff wept. Ayrton wiped away a furtive tear. Neb was on

his knees near the reporter, who was immobile as a statue.

Smith raising his hand above the head of the dead man:—

“May God receive his soul!” he said, and then, turning towards his

friends, he added:—

“Let us pray for him whom we have lost!”

Some hours later, the colonists, in fulfillment of their promise,

carried out the last wishes of the dead.

They left the Nautilus, taking with them the sole souvenir of their

benefactor, the coffer containing a hundred fortunes.

The marvellous salon, still flooded with light, was carefully closed.

The cover to the hatchway was bolted down in such a manner that not a

drop of water could penetrate to the inner chambers of the Nautilus.

Then the colonists entered the boat, which was moored beside the

submarine ship.

The boat was taken to the stern. There, at the water-line, they opened

the two large cocks which communicated with the reservoirs designed to

immerse the apparatus.

The cocks were opened, the reservoirs filled, and the Nautilus, sinking

slowly, disappeared beneath the sea.

But the colonists were able still to follow her coarse through the

lower depths. Her strong light lit up the transparent waters, as the

crypt became darkened. Then at length the vast effusion of electric

effulgence was effaced, and the Nautilus, the tomb of Captain Nemo,

rested upon the bottom of the sea.

CHAPTER LX.

THE REFLECTIONS OF THE COLONISTS—RENEWAL OF WORK—THE 1ST OF JANUARY,

1869—A SMOKE FROM THE VOLCANO—SYMPTOMS OF AN ERUPTION AYRTON AND SMITH

AT THE CORRAL—EXPLORATION OF THE CRYPT DAKKAR —WHAT CAPTAIN NEMO HAD

SAID TO THE ENGINEER.

In the early morning the colonists reached the entrance of the cavern,

which they called Crypt Dakkar, in remembrance of Captain Nemo. The

tide was low, and they easily passed under the archway, whose piers

were washed by the waves.

The iron boat could remain in this place without danger from the sea;

but as additional precaution they drew it up on a little beach on one

side of the crypt.

The storm had ceased during the night. The last mutterings of the

thunder were dying away in the west. It was not raining, although the

sky was still clouded. In short, this month of October, the beginning

of the southern spring, did not come in good fashion, and the wind had

a tendency to shift from one point of the compass to another, so that

it was impossible to say what the weather would be.

Smith and his companions, on leaving Crypt Dakkar, went towards the

corral. On the way Neb and Herbert took care to take up the wire which

had been stretched by Captain Nemo, as it might be useful in the

future.

While walking the colonists spoke but little. The incidents of this

night had made a vivid impression upon them. This unknown, whose

influence had protected them so well, this man whom they imagined a

genii, Captain Nemo, was no more. His Nautilus and himself were buried

in the depths of the abyss. It seemed to each one of them that they

were more isolated than before. They were, so to speak, accustomed to

count upon this powerful intervention which to-day was wanting, and

Spilett, and even Smith, did not escape this feeling. So, without

speaking, they followed the road to the corral.

By 9 o’clock the colonists were in Granite House again.

It had been agreed that the construction of the ship should be pushed

forward as rapidly as possible, and Smith gave the work more of his

time and care than ever before. They did not know what the future might

bring forth, and it would be a guarantee of safety for them to have a

strong vessel, able to stand rough weather, and large enough to carry

them, if need be, a long distance. If, when it was finished, the

colonists decided not to leave the island they could at least make the

voyage to Tabor Island and leave a notice there. This was an

indispensable precaution in case the Scotch yacht returned to these

seas, and it must on no account be neglected.

The work was undertaken at once. All worked at it without ceasing,

except to prosecute other necessary work. It was important to have the

new ship finished in five months, if they wished to make the voyage to

Tabor Island before the equinoxial storms would render it

impracticable. All the sails of the Speedy had been saved, so that they

need not trouble themselves about making rigging.

The year ended in the midst of this work. At the end of two months and

a half the ribs had been put in place and the planking began, so that

they were able to see that Smith’s plans were excellent. Pencroff

worked with ardor, and always grumbled when any of the others left off

work to go hunting. It was, nevertheless, necessary to lay in a stock

of provisions for the approaching winter. But that made no difference.

The honest sailor was unhappy unless every one was at work in the

ship-yard. At these times he grumbled and did—he was so put out—the

work of half a dozen men.

All this summer season was bad. The heat was overpowering, and the

atmosphere, charged with electricity, discharged itself in violent

storms. It was seldom that the distant muttering of the thunder was

unheard. It was like a dull, but permanent murmur, such as is produced

in the equatorial regions of the globe.

On the 1st of January, 1869, a terrific storm burst over the island,

and the lightning struck in many places. Tall trees were shattered, and

among them was one of the enormous micocouliers which shaded the

poultry-yard. Had this meteoric storm any relation to the phenomena

which were occurring In the bowels of the earth? Was there a sort of

connection between the disturbances in the air and those in the

interior of the globe. Smith believed it to be so, since the

development of these storms was marked by a recrudescence of the

volcanic symptoms.

On the 3d of January, Herbert, who had gone at daybreak to Prospect

Plateau to saddle one of the onagers, saw an immense black cloud

rolling out from the summit of the volcano.

Herbert hastened to inform the others, who came at once to look at the

mountain.

“Ah!” said Pencroff, “it is not vapor this time! It seems to me that

the giant is not content to breathe, he must smoke!”

The image employed by the sailor expressed with exactness the change

which had taken place at the mouth of the volcano. For three months the

crater had been emitting vapors more or less intense, but there had

been no ebullition of mineral matters. This time, instead of vapors, a

thick column of smoke rose, like an immense mushroom, above the summit

of the mountain.

“The chimney is on fire!” said Spilett.

“And we cannot put it out!” answered Herbert.

“It would be well to sweep the volcanoes,” said Neb, in good earnest.

“All right, Neb,” said Pencroff, laughing. “Will you undertake the

job?”

Smith looked attentively at the thick smoke, and at the same time he

listened as if he expected to detect some distant rumbling. Then,

turning towards his companions, who were at some little distance, he

said:—

“In truth, my friends, it cannot be denied that an important change has

taken place. The volcanic matters are not only in a state of

ebullition, they have taken fire, and, without doubt, we are threatened

with an eruption!”

“Very well, sir; we will witness this eruption,” cried Pencroff, “and

we will applaud it if it is a success! I don’t think that anything over

there need worry us!”

“No, Pencroff,” answered Smith, “for the old course of the lava is

open, and, thanks to its position, the crater has heretofore discharged

towards the north. Nevertheless—”

“Nevertheless, since there is nothing to be gained by an eruption, it

would be better not to have it,” said the reporter.

“Who knows?” replied the sailor. “There may be some useful and precious

matter in the volcano, which it will be good enough to throw up, which

will be advantageous for us!”

Smith shook his head, as a man who anticipated nothing good from this

phenomenon. He did not think so lightly of the consequences of an

eruption. If the lava, on account of the position of the crater, did

not menace the wooded and cultivated portions of the island, other

complications might arise. Eruptions are often accompanied by

earthquakes, and an island formed, like Lincoln Island, of such

different materials: basalt on one side, granite on another, lavas to

the north, a mixed soil inland, material which, therefore, could not be

solidly bound together, ran the risk of being torn asunder. If,

therefore, the outpouring of volcanic substances did not threaten

serious results, any movement in the framework upholding the island

might be followed by the gravest consequences.

“It seems to me,” said Ayrton, who was kneeling down, with his ear to

the ground, “it seems to me that I hear a noise, like the rattling of a

wagon, loaded with iron bars.”

The colonists listened carefully, and were convinced that Ayrton was

not mistaken. With the rumbling mingled subterranean roaring, making a

sort of “rinfordzando,” which died away slowly, as if from some violent

cleavage in the interior of the globe. But no detonation was heard, and

it was fair to conclude that the smoke and vapor found a free passage

through the central chimney, and, if the escape-pipe was sufficiently

large, no explosion need be feared.

“Come,” said Pencroff at length, “shall we not go back to work? Let

Mount Franklin smoke, brawl, moan, and vomit fire and flames as much as

it chooses, but that is no excuse for us to quit work! Come, Ayrton,

Neb, all of you, we want all hands to-day! I want our new Good Luck—we

will keep the name, will we not?—to be moored in Balloon Harbor before

two months are passed! So there is not an hour to be lost!”

All the colonists went down to the shipyard and worked steadily all day

without giving too much thought to the volcano, which could not be seen

from the beach before Granite House. But once or twice heavy shadows

obscured the sunlight, and, as the was day perfectly clear, it was

evident that thick clouds of smoke were passing between the sun’s disc

and the island. Smith and Spilett noticed these sombre voyagers, and

talked of the progress that the volcanic phenomenon was making, but

they did not cease work. It was, moreover, of great importance, in

every sense, that the ship should be finished with as little delay as

possible. In the presence of events which might happen, the security of

the colonists would be better assured. Who could say but that this ship

might not, some day, be their sole refuge?

That evening, after supper, Smith, Spilett, and Herbert climbed to the

plateau. It was already dark, and they would be able to distinguish

whether flames or incandescent matter was mingled with the smoke and

vapor of the volcano.

“The crater is on fire!” cried Herbert, who, more active than his

companions, had reached the plateau the first.

Mount Franklin, six miles distant, appeared like a gigantic torch, with

fuliginous flames twisting about its summit. So much smoke, such

quantities of scoriæ and cinders, perhaps, were mingled with the

flames, that their light did not glare upon the shades of night. But a

sort of dull yellow glow spread over the island, making dimly visible

the higher masses of forest. Enormous clouds obscured the heavens,

between which glittered a few stars.

“The progress is rapid,” said the engineer.

“It is not astonishing,” answered the reporter. “The volcano has been

awake for some time already. You remember, Cyrus, that the first vapors

appeared about the time we were searching the mountain for the retreat

of Captain Nemo. That was, if I am not mistaken, about the 15th of

October.

“Yes” replied Herbert, “two months and a half ago.”

“The subterranean fires have been brooding for ten weeks,” continued

Spilett, “and it is not astonishing that they develop now with this

violence.”

“Do not you feel certain vibrations in the ground?” asked Smith.

“I think so,” replied Spilett, “but an earthquake—”

“I did not say that we were menaced by an earthquake,” said Smith, “and

Heaven preserve us from one! No. These vibrations are due to the

effervesence of the central fire. The crust of the earth is nothing

more than the covering of a boiler, and you know how the covering of a

boiler, under pressure, vibrates like a sonorous plate. That is what is

happening at this moment.”

“What magnificent flames!” cried Herbert, as a sheaf of fire shot up,

unobscured by the vapors, from the crater. From its midst luminous

fragments and bright scintillations were thrown in every direction.

Some of them pierced the dome of smoke, leaving behind them a perfect

cloud of incandescent dust. This outpouring was accompanied by rapid

detonations like the discharge of a battery of mitrailleuses.

Smith, the reporter, and the lad, after having passed an hour on

Prospect Plateau, returned to Granite House. The engineer was pensive,

and so much preoccupied that Spilett asked him if he anticipated any

near danger.

“Yes and no,” responded Smith.

“But the worst that could happen,” said the reporter, “would be an

earthquake, which would overthrow the island. And I don’t think that is

to be feared, since the vapors and lava have a free passage of escape.”

“I do not fear an earthquake,” answered Smith, “of the ordinary kind,

such as are brought about by the expansion of subterranean vapors. But

other causes may bring about great disaster.”

“For example?”

“I do not know exactly—I must see—I must visit the mountain. In a few

days I shall have made up my mind.”

Spilett asked no further questions, and soon, notwithstanding the

increased violence of the volcano, the inhabitants of Granite House

slept soundly.

Three days passed, the 4th 5th, and 6th of January, during which they

worked on the ship, and, without explaining himself further, the

engineer hastened the work as much as possible. Mount Franklin was

covered with a sinister cloud, and with the flames vomited forth

incandescent rocks, some of which fell back into the crater. This made

Pencroff, who wished to look upon the phenomenon from an amusing side,

say—

“Look! The giant plays at cup and ball! He is a juggler.”

And, indeed, the matters vomited forth fell back into the abyss, and it

seemed as if the lavas, swollen by the interior pressure, had not yet

risen to the mouth of the crater. At least, the fracture on the

northeast, which was partly visible, did not pour forth any torrent on

the western side of the mountain.

Meanwhile, however pressing the ship-building, other cares required the

attention of the colonists in different parts of the island. First of

all, they must go to the corral, where the moufflons and goats were

enclosed, and renew the provisions for these animals. It was,

therefore, agreed that Ayrton should go there the next day, and, as it

was customary for but one to do this work, the others were surprised to

hear the engineer say to Ayrton:——

“As you are going to the corral to-morrow, I will go with you.”

“Oh! Mr. Smith!” cried the sailor, “our time is very limited, and, if

you go off in this way, we lose just that much help!”

“We will return the next day,” answered Smith, “but I must go to the

corral—I wish to see about this eruption.”

“Eruption! Eruption!” answered Pencroff, with a dissatisfied air. “What

is there important about this eruption? It don’t bother me!”

Notwithstanding the sailor’s protest, the exploration was decided upon

for the next day. Herbert wanted to go with Smith, but he did not wish

to annoy Pencroff by absenting himself. So, early the next morning,

Smith and Ayrton started off with the wagon and onagers.

Over the forest hung huge clouds constantly supplied from Mount

Franklin with fuliginous matter. They were evidently composed of

heterogeneous substances. It was not altogether the smoke from the

volcano that made them so heavy and opaque. Scoriæ in a state of

powder, pulverized puzzolan and grey cinder as fine as the finest

fecula, were held in suspension in their thick folds. These cinders

remain in air, sometimes, for months at a time. After the eruption of

1783, in Iceland, for more than a year the atmosphere was so charged

with volcanic powder that the sun’s rays were scarcely visible.

Usually, however, these pulverized matters fall to the earth at once,

and it was so in this instance. Smith and Ayrton had hardly reached the

corral, when a sort of black cloud, like fine gunpowder, fell, and

instantly modified the whole aspect of the ground. Trees, fields,

everything was covered with a coating several fingers deep. But, most

fortunately, the wind was from the northeast, and the greater part of

the cloud was carried off to sea.

“That is very curious,” said Ayrton.

“It is very serious,” answered Smith. This puzzolan, this pulverized

pumice stone, all this mineral dust in short, shows how deep-seated is

the commotion in the volcano.

“But there is nothing to be done.”

“Nothing, but to observe the progress of the phenomenon. Employ

yourself, Ayrton, at the corral, and meanwhile I will go up to the

sources of Red Creek and examine the state of the mountain on its

western side. Then——”

“Then, sir?”

“Then we will make a visit to Crypt Dakkar—I wish to see—Well, I will

come back for you in a couple of hours.”

Ayrton went into the corral, and while waiting for the return of the

engineer occupied himself with the moufflons and goats, which showed a

certain uneasiness before these first symptoms of an eruption.

Meantime Smith had ventured to climb the eastern spurs of the mountain,

and he arrived at the place where his companions had discovered the

sulphur spring on their first exploration.

How everything was changed! Instead of a single column of smoke, he

counted thirteen escaping from the ground as if thrust upward by a

piston. It was evident that the crust of earth was subjected in this

place to a frightful pressure. The atmosphere was saturated with gases

and aqueous vapors. Smith felt the volcanic tufa, the pulverulent

cinders hardened by time, trembling beneath him, but he did not yet see

any traces of fresh lava.

It was the same with the western slope of the mountain. Smoke and

flames escaped from the crater; a hail of scoriæ fell upon the soil;

but no lava flowed from the gullet of the crater, which was another

proof that the volcanic matter had not attained the upper orifice of

the central chimney.

“And I would be better satisfied if they had!” said Smith to himself.

“At least I would be certain that the lavas had taken their accustomed

route. Who knows if they may not burst forth from some new mouth? But

that is not the danger! Captain Nemo has well foreseen it! No! the

danger is not there!”

Smith went forward as far as the enormous causeway, whose prolongation

enframed Shark Gulf. Here he was able to examine the ancient lava

marks. There could be no doubt that the last eruption had been at a far

distant epoch.

Then he returned, listening to the subterranean rumblings, which

sounded like continuous thunder, and by 9 o’clock he was at the corral.

Ayrton was waiting for him.

“The animals are attended to, sir,” said he.

“All right, Ayrton.”

“They seem to be restless, Mr. Smith.”

“Yes, it is their instinct, which does not mislead them.”

“When you are ready—”

“Take a lantern and tinder, Ayrton, and let us go.”

Ayrton did as he was told. The onagers had been unharnessed and placed

in the corral, and Smith, leading, took the route to the coast.

They walked over a soil covered with the pulverulent matter which had

fallen from the clouds. No animal appeared. Even the birds had flown

away. Sometimes a breeze passed laden with cinders, and the two

colonists, caught in the cloud, were unable to see. They had to place

handkerchiefs over their eyes and nostrils or they would have been

blinded and suffocated.

Under these circumstances they could not march rapidly. The air was

heavy, as if all the oxygen had been burned out of it, making it unfit

to breathe. Every now and then they had to stop, and it was after 10

o’clock when the engineer and his companion reached the summit of the

enormous heap of basaltic and porphyrytic rocks which formed the

northwest coast of the island.

They began to go down this abrupt descent, following the detestable

road, which, during that stormy night had led them to Crypt Dakkar. By

daylight this descent was less perilous, and, moreover, the covering of

cinders gave a firmer foothold to the slippery rocks.

The projection was soon attained, and, as the tide was low, Smith and

Ayrton found the opening to the crypt without any difficulty.

“Is the boat there?” asked the engineer.

“Yes, sir,” answered Ayrton, drawing the boat towards him.

“Let us get in, then, Ayrton,” said the engineer.

The two embarked in the boat. Ayrton lit the lantern, and, placing it

in the bow of the boat, took the oars, and Smith, taking the tiller,

steered into the darkness.

The Nautilus was no longer here to illuminate this sombre cavern.

Perhaps the electric irradiation still shone under the waters, but no

light came from the abyss where Captain Nemo reposed.

The light of the lantern was barely sufficient to permit the engineer

to advance, following the right hand wall of the crypt. A sepulchral

silence reigned in this portion of the vault, but soon Smith heard

distinctly the mutterings which came from the interior of the earth.

“It is the volcano,” he said.

Soon, with this noise, the chemical combinations betrayed themselves by

a strong odor, and sulphurous vapors choked the engineer and his

companion.

“It is as Captain Nemo feared,” murmured Smith, growing pale. “We must

go on to the end.”

Twenty-five minutes after having left the opening the two reached the

terminal wall and stopped.

Smith standing on the seat, moved the lantern about over this wall,

which separated the crypt from the central chimney of the volcano. How

thick was it? Whether 100 feet or but 10 could not be determined. But

the subterranean noises were too plainly heard for it to be very thick.

The engineer, after having explored the wall along a horizontal line,

fixed the lantern to the end of an oar and went over it again at a

greater height.

There, through scarcely visible cracks, came a pungent smoke, which

infected the air of the cavern. The wall was striped with these

fractures, and some of the larger ones came to within a few feet of the

water.

At first, Smith rested thoughtful. Then he murmured these words:—

“Yes! Captain Nemo was right! There is the danger, and it is terrible!”

Ayrton said nothing, but, on a sign from the engineer, he took up the

oars, and, a half hour later, he and Smith came out of Crypt Dakkar.

CHAPTER LXI

SMITH’S RECITAL—HASTENING THE WORK—A LAST VISIT TO THE CORRAL—THE

COMBAT BETWEEN THE FIRE AND THE WATER—THE ASPECT OF THE ISLAND—THEY

DECIDE TO LAUNCH THE SHIP—THE NIGHT OF THE 8TH OF MARCH.

The next morning, the 8th of January, after a day and night passed at

the corral, Smith and Ayrton returned to Granite House.

Then the engineer assembled his companions, and told them that Lincoln

Island was in fearful danger—a danger which no human power could

prevent.

“My friends,” said he,—and his voice betrayed great emotion,—“Lincoln

Island is doomed to destruction sooner or later; the cause is in itself

and there is no means of removing it!”

The colonists looked at each other. They did not understand him.

“Explain yourself, Cyrus,” said Spilett.

“I will, or rather I will give you the explanation which Captain Nemo

gave me, when I was alone with him.”

“Captain Nemo!” cried the colonists.

“Yes; it was the last service he rendered us before he died.”

“The last service!” cried Pencroff. “The last service! You think,

because he is dead, that he will help us no more!”

“What did he say?” asked the reporter.

“This, my friends,” answered the engineer. “Lincoln Island is not like

the other islands of the Pacific, and a particular event, made known to

me by Captain Nemo, will cause, sooner or later, the destruction of its

submarine framework.”

“Destruction of Lincoln Island! What an idea!” cried Pencroff, who, in

spite of his respect for Smith, could not help shrugging his shoulders.

“Listen to me, Pencroff,” continued the engineer. “This is what Captain

Nemo ascertained and what I verified yesterday In Crypt Dakkar. The

crypt extends under the island as far as the volcano, and is only

separated from the central chimney by the wall. Now this wall is seamed

with fractures and cracks, through which the sulphurous gas is already

escaping.”

“Well?” asked Pencroff, wrinkling his forehead.

“Well, I have ascertained that these fractures are widening under the

pressure from within, that the basalt wall la gradually bursting open,

and that, sooner or later, it will give a passage to the waters of the

sea.”

“That’s all right!” exclaimed Pencroff, trying still to make light of

the subject. “That’s all right! The sea will put out the volcano, and

that will be the end of it.”

“Yes, that will be the end of it!” answered Smith. “On the day that the

sea rushes through the wall and penetrates by the central chimney to

the bowels of the island, where the eruptive matter is boiling, on that

day, Pencroff, Lincoln Island will go up, as Sicily would go up, if the

Mediterranean was emptied into Aetna!”

The colonists made no reply. They understood the threatened danger.

It was no longer doubtful that the island was menaced by a frightful

explosion. That it would last only as long as the wall to Crypt Dakkar

remained intact. This was not a question of months, nor of weeks, bat

of days, of hours, perhaps!

The first sensation the colonists experienced was one of profound

sorrow. They did not think of the peril which menaced them directly,

but of the destruction of that land which had given them asylum, of

that island which they had cultivated, which they loved, which they

wished to render so prosperous some day! All their labor uselessly

employed, all their work lost!

Pencroff did not attempt to hide the tears which rolled down his

cheeks.

They talked for some little time longer. The chances which they might

count upon were discussed; but, in conclusion, they realized that not

an hour was to be lost; that the ship must be completed as soon as

possible, as, now, it was the only chance of safety left, to the

inhabitants of Lincoln Island!

All hands were required. Where was the use, now, of sowing, or

harvesting, of hunting or increasing the reserve at Granite House? The

present contents of the magazine were sufficient to provision the ship

for as long a voyage as she could make! What was necessary was that

these should be at

the disposal of the colonists before the accomplishment of the

inevitable catastrophe.

The work was undertaken with feverish eagerness. By the 23d of January

the ship was half planked. Up to this time there had been no change in

the volcano. It was always the vapors, the smoke mixed with flames and

pierced by incandescent stones, which escaped from the crater. But

during the night of the 23d the upper cone, which formed the cap of the

volcano, was lifted off by the pressure of the lava, which had reached

the level of the lower cone. A terrible noise was heard. The colonists,

believing that the island was going to pieces, rushed out of Granite

House.

It was 2 o’clock in the morning. The heavens were on fire. The upper

cone—a mass a thousand feet high, and weighing thousands of millions of

pounds—had been thrown upon the island, making the earth tremble.

Happily, this cone leaned to the north, and it fell upon the plain of

sand and tufa which lay between the volcano and the sea. The crater, by

this means greatly widened, threw towards the sky a light so intense,

that, by the simple effect of reverberation, the atmosphere seemed to

be incandescent. At the same time a torrent of lava swelled up over

this new summit, falling in long streams, like water escaping from an

overflowing vase, and a thousand fiery serpents writhed upon the talus

of the volcano.

“The corral! The corral!” cried Ayrton.

It was, indeed, towards the corral that the lava took their way,

following the slope of the new crater, and, consequently, the fertile

parts of the island. The sources of Red Creek, and Jacamar Wood were

threatened with immediate destruction.

At the cry of Ayrton, the colonists had rushed towards the stable of

the onagers, and harnessed the animals. All had but one thought. To fly

to the corral and let loose the beasts confined there.

Before 3 o’clock they were there. Frightful cries indicated the terror

of the moufflons and goats. Already a torrent of incandescent matter,

of liquified minerals, fell over the mountain spur upon the plain,

destroying that side of the palisade. The gate was hastily opened by

Ayrton, and the animals, wild with terror, escaped in every direction.

An hour later the boiling lava filled the corral, volatilizing the

water of the little brook which traversed it, firing the house, which

burned like a bit of stubble, devouring to the last stake the

surrounding palisade. Nothing was left of the corral.

The colonists wanted to struggle against this invasion; they had tried

it, but foolishly and uselessly: man is helpless before these grand

cataclysms.

The morning of the 24th arrived. Smith and his companions, before

returning to Granite House, wished to observe the definite direction

which this inundation of lava would take. The general slope of the

ground from Mount Franklin was towards the east coast, and it was to be

feared that, notwithstanding the thick Jacamar Woods, the torrent would

extend to Prospect Plateau.

“The lake will protect us,” said Spilett.

“I hope so,” answered Smith. But that was all he said.

The colonists would have liked to have advanced as far as the place on

which the upper cone of Mount Franklin abutted, but their passage was

barred by the lavas, which followed, on the one hand, the valley of Red

Creek, and, on the other, the course of Fall River, vaporizing these

two streams in their passage. There was no possible way of crossing

this stream; it was necessary, on the contrary, to fly before it. The

flattened volcano was no longer recognizable. A sort of smooth slab

terminated it, replacing the old crater. Two outlets, broken in the

south and east sides, poured forth unceasing streams of lava, which

formed two distinct currents. Above the new crater, a cloud of smoke

and cinders mixed with the vapors of the sky, and hung over the island.

Peals of thunder mingled with the rumbling of the mountain. Burning

rocks were thrown up thousands of feet, bursting in the sky and

scattering like grape-shot. The heavens answered with lightning-flashes

the eruption of the volcano.

By 7 o’clock the colonists were no longer able to keep their position

on the edge of Jacamar Wood. Not only did the projectiles begin to fall

about them, but the lavas, overflowing the bed of Red Creek, threatened

to cut off the road from the corral. The first ranks of trees took

fire, and their sap, vaporized, made them explode like fire-crackers;

while others, less humid, remained intact in the midst of the

inundation.

The colonists started back. The torrent, owing to the slope of the

land, gained eastward rapidly, and as the lower layers of lava

hardened, others, boiling, covered them.

Meantime the principal current in the Red Creek Valley became more and

more threatening. All that part of the forest was surrounded, and

enormous clouds of smoke rolled above the trees, whose roots were

already in the lava.

The colonists stopped at the lake shore, half a mile from the mouth of

Red Creek. A question of life or death was about to be decided for

them. Smith, accustomed to think and reason in the presence of danger,

and aware that he was speaking to men who could face the truth,

whatever it might be, said to them:—

“Either the lake will arrest this current, and a part of the island

will be preserved from complete devastation, or the current will invade

the forests of the Far West, and not a tree, not a plant will be left

upon the face of the ground. We will have, upon these rocks stripped of

life, the prospect of a death which the explosion of the island may

anticipate!

“Then,” cried Pencroff, crossing his arms and stamping his foot on the

ground, “it is useless to work on the ship! Isn’t that so?”

“Pencroff,” answered Smith, “it is necessary to do one’s duty to the

end.”

At this moment, the flood of lava, after having eaten its way through

the splendid trees of the forest, neared the lake. There was a certain

depression in the ground, which, if it had been larger, might, perhaps,

suffice to hold the torrent.

“Let us try!” cried Smith.

The idea of the engineer was instantly understood by all. It was

necessary to dam, so to speak, this torrent and force it into the lake.

The colonists ran to the shipyard and brought back from there shovels,

picks, and hatchets, and by means of earthworks and hewn trees they

succeeded, in a few hours, in raising a barrier three feet high and

some hundreds of feet long. It seemed to them, when they had finished,

that they had not worked more than a few minutes!

It was time. The liquified matter already reached the extremity of the

barrier. The flood spread like a swollen river seeking to overflow its

banks and threatening to break down the only obstacle which could

prevent its devastating all the Far West. But the barrier was

sufficient to withstand it, and, after one terrible moment of

hesitation, it precipitated itself into Lake Grant by a fall twenty

feet high.

The colonists, breathless, without a word, without a gesture, looked

upon this struggle of the elements.

What a sight was this, the combat between fire and water! What pen can

describe this scene of marvellous horror; what pencil can portray it?

The water hissed and steamed at the contact of the boiling lavas. The

steam was thrown, whirling, to an immeasurable height in the air, as if

the valves of an immense boiler had been suddenly opened. But, great as

was the mass of water contained in the lake, it must, finally, be

absorbed, since it was not renewed, while the torrent, fed from an

inexhaustible source, was ceaselessly pouring in fresh floods of

incandescent matter.

The first lavas which fell into the lake solidified at once, and

accumulated in such a manner as soon to emerge above the surface. Over

these slid other lavas, which in their turn became stone, forming a

breakwater, which threatened to fill up the lake, which could not

overflow, as its surplus water was carried off in steam. Hissings and

shrivellings filled the air with a stunning noise, and the steam,

carried off by the wind, fell to the ground in rain. The jetty spread,

and where formerly had been peaceable waters appeared an enormous heap

of smoking rocks, as if some upheaval of the ground had raised these

thousands of reefs. If one can imagine these waters tossed about by a

storm, and then suddenly solidified by cold, he will have the

appearance of the lake three hours after the irresistible torrent had

poured into it.

This time the water had been overcome by the fire.

Nevertheless, it was a fortunate thing for the colonists that the lavas

had been turned into the lake. It gave them some days’ respite.

Prospect Plateau, Granite House, and the ship-yard were safe for the

moment. In these few days they must plank and caulk the vessel, launch

it, and take refuge upon it, rigging it after it was on the sea. With

the fear of the explosion menacing the destruction of the island, it

was no longer safe to remain on land. Granite House, so safe a retreat

up to this time, might, at any moment, fall!

During the next six days, the colonists worked on the ship with all

their might. Sleeping but little, the light of the flames from the

volcano permitted them to work by night as well as by day. The eruption

continued without cessation, but, perhaps, less abundantly. A fortunate

circumstance, since Lake Grant was nearly full; and if fresh lavas had

slid over the surface of the former layers, they would inevitably have

spread over Prospect Plateau and from there to the shore.

But while this part of the island was partially protected it was

otherwise with the west coast.

The second current of lava, following the valley of Fall River, met

with no obstacle. The ground on either side of the bank was low, and

the incandescent liquid was spread through the forest of the Far West.

At this season of the year the trees were dried by the warmth of the

summer and took fire instantly, and the high interlacing branches

hastened the progress of the conflagration. It seemed as if the current

of flame traversed the surface of the forest more swiftly than the

current of lavas its depths.

The beasts and birds of the woods sought refuge on the shore of the

Mercy and in the marshes of Tadorn’s Fens. But the colonists were too

busy to pay any attention to these animals. They had, moreover,

abandoned Granite House; they had not even sought refuge in the

Chimneys, but they camped in a tent near the mouth of the Mercy.

Every day Smith and Spilett climbed up to Prospect Plateau. Sometimes

Herbert went with them, but Pencroff never. The sailor did not wish to

look upon the island in its present condition of devastation.

It was, indeed, a desolate spectacle. All its wooded part was now

denuded. One single group of green trees remained on the extremity of

Serpentine Peninsula. Here and there appeared some blackened stumps.

The site of the forests was more desolate than Tadorn’s Fens. The

invasion of the lavas had been complete. Where formerly had been a

pleasant verdure, was now nothing but a waste covered with volcanic

tufa. The valleys of Fall River and Red Creek contained no water, and

if Lake Grant had been completely filled up, the colonists would have

had no means to slack their thirst. But fortunately its southern

extremity had been spared, and formed a sort of pool, which held all

the fresh water remaining on the island. To the northwest the spurs of

the mountain, in jagged outline, looked like a gigantic claw grasping

the ground. What a doleful spectacle! What a frightful aspect! How

grevious for the colonists, who, from a domain, fertile, wooded,

traversed by water-courses, enriched by harvests, found themselves, in

an instant, reduced to a devastated rock, upon which, without their

stores, they would not have had the means of living.

“It is heart-breaking!” said the reporter.

“Yes, Spilett,” answered the engineer. And pray heaven that we are

given time to finish the ship, which is now our sole refuge!”

“Does it not seem to you, Cyrus, that the volcano is subsiding? It

still vomits lava, but, I think, less freely!”

“It matters little,” answered Smith. “The fire is still fierce in the

bowels of the mountain, and the sea may rush in there at any moment. We

are like persons on a ship devoured by a fire which they cannot

control, who know that sooner or later the flames will reach the powder

magazine. Come, Spilett, come, we have not an hour to lose!”

For eight days longer, that is to say until the 8th of February, the

lavas continued to flow, but the eruption confined itself to the limits

described. Smith feared more than anything else an overflow of the

lavas on to the beach, in which case the ship-yard would be destroyed.

But about this time the colonists felt vibrations in the ground which

gave them the greatest uneasiness.

The 20th of February arrived. A month longer was necessary to fit the

ship for sea. Would the island last that long? It was Smith’s intention

to launch her as soon as her hull should be sufficiently caulked. The

deck, lining, arranging the interior, and the rigging could be done

afterwards, but the important thing was to secure a refuge off the

island. Perhaps it would be better to take the vessel round to Balloon

Harbor, the point farthest from the eruptive centre, as, at the mouth

of the Mercy, between the islet and the granite wall, she ran the risk

of being crushed, in case of a breaking up of the island. Therefore,

all the efforts of the workmen were directed to completing the hull.

On the 3d of March they were able to calculate that the ship could be

launched in twelve days.

Hope returned to the hearts of these colonists, who had been so sorely

tried during this fourth year of their sojourn on Lincoln Island! Even

Pencroff was roused from the taciturnity into which he had been plunged

by the ruin and devastation of his domain. He thought of nothing else

but the ship, on which he concentrated all his hopes.

“We will finish her!” he said to the engineer, “we will finish her, Mr.

Smith, and it is high time, for you see how far advanced the season is,

and it will soon be the equinox. Well, if it is necessary, we will

winter at Tabor Island! But Tabor Island after Lincoln Island! Alas!

how unlucky I am! To think that I should live to see such a thing as

this!”

“Let us make haste!” was the invariable answer of the engineer.

And every one worked unceasingly.

“Master,” asked Neb, some days later, “if Captain Nemo had been alive,

do you think this would have happened?”

“Yes, Neb,” answered the engineer.

“I don’t think so!” whispered Pencroff to the negro.

“Nor I!” replied Neb.

During the first week in March Mount Franklin became again threatening.

Thousands of threads of glass, made by the fluid lavas, fell like rain

to the ground. The crater gave forth fresh torrents of lava that flowed

down every side of the volcano. These torrents flowed over the surface

of hardened lava, and destroyed the last vestiges of the trees which

had survived the first eruption. The current, this time following the

southwest shore of Lake Grant, flowed along Glycerine Creek and invaded

Prospect Plateau. This last calamity was a terrible blow to the

colonists; of the mill, the poultry-yard, the stables, nothing

remained. The frightened inhabitants of these places fled in every

direction. Top and Jup gave signs of the utmost terror, and their

instinct warned them of an impending disaster. A large number of

animals had perished in the first eruption, and those which survived

had found their only refuge in Tadorn’s Fens, and on Prospect Plateau.

But this last retreat was now closed from them, and the torrent of lava

having reached the edge of the granite wall, began to fall over on to

the shore in cataracts of fire. The sublime horror of this spectacle

passes all description. At night it looked like a Niagara of molten

matter, with its incandescent spray rising on high and its boiling

masses below!

The colonists were driven to their last refuge, and, although the upper

seams were uncaulked, they resolved to launch their ship into the sea!

Pencroff and Ayrton made the preparations for this event, which was to

take place on the morning of the next day, the 9th of March.

But, during that night, an enormous column of steam escaped from the

crater, rising in the midst of terrific detonations to a height of more

than 3,000 feet. The wall of Crypt Dakkar had given way under the

pressure of the gas, and the sea, pouring

through the central chimney into the burning gulf, was turned into

steam!

The crater was not a sufficient vent for this vapor!

An explosion, which could have been heard a hundred miles away, shook

the very heavens! Fragments of the mountain fell into the Pacific, and,

in a few minutes, the ocean covered the place where Lincoln Island had

been!

CHAPTER LXII.

AN ISOLATED ROCK IN THE PACIFIC—THE LAST REFUGE OF THE COLONISTS—THE

PROSPECT OF DEATH—UNEXPECTED SUCCOR—HOW AND WHY IT CAME—THE LAST GOOD

ACTION—AN ISLAND ON TERRA FIRMA-THE TOMB OF CAPTAIN NEMO.

An isolated rock, thirty feet long, fifteen feet wide, rising ten feet

above the surface of the water, this was the sole solid point which had

not vanished beneath the waves of the Pacific.

It was all that remained of Granite House! The wall had been thrown

over, then broken to pieces, and some of the rocks of the great hall

had been so heaped together as to form this culminating point. All else

had disappeared in the surrounding abyss: the lower cone of Mount

Franklin, torn to pieces by the explosion; the lava jaws of Shark Gulf;

Prospect Plateau, Safety Islet, the granite of Balloon Harbor; the

basalt of Crypt Dakkar; Serpentine Peninsula—had been precipitated into

the eruptive centre! All that remained of Lincoln Island was this rock,

the refuge of the six colonists and their dog Top.

All the animals had perished in the catastrophe. The birds as well as

the beasts, all were crashed or drowned, and poor Jup, alas! had been

swallowed up in some crevasse in the ground!

Smith, Spilett, Herbert, Pencroff, Neb, and Ayrton had survived,

because, being gathered together in their tent, they had been thrown

into the sea, at the moment when the debris of the island rained down

upon the water.

When they came again to the surface they saw nothing but this rock,

half a cable length away, to which they swam.

They had been here nine days! Some provisions, brought from the

magazine of Granite House before the catastrophe, a little soft water

left by the rain in the crevice of the rock—this was all that the

unfortunates possessed. Their last hope, their ship, had been broken to

pieces. They had no means of leaving this reef. No fire, nor anything

with which to make it. They were doomed to perish!

This day, the 18th of March, there remained a supply of food, which,

with the strictest care, could last but forty-eight hours longer. All

their knowledge, all their skill, could avail them nothing now. They

were entirely at God’s mercy.

Smith was calm, Spilett somewhat nervous, and Pencroff, ready to throw

himself into the sea. Herbert never left the engineer; and gazed upon

him, as if demanding the succor which he could not give. Neb and Ayrton

were resigned after their manner.

“Oh, misery! misery!” repeated Pencroff. “If we had but a walnut-shell

to take us to Tabor Island! But nothing; not a thing!”

“And Captain Nemo is dead!” said Neb.

During the five days which followed, Smith and his companions ate just

enough of the supply of food to keep them from famishing. Their

feebleness was extreme. Herbert and Neb began to show signs of

delirium.

In this situation had they a shadow of hope? No! What was their sole

chance? That a ship would pass in sight of the rock? They knew, by

experience, that ships never visited this part of the Pacific. Could

they count, then, by a coincidence which would be truly providential,

upon the Scotch yacht coming just at this time to search for Ayrton at

Tabor Island? It was not probable. And, moreover, supposing that it

came, since the colonists had placed no notice there indicating the

place where Ayrton was to be found, the captain of the yacht, after a

fruitless search of the island, would proceed at once to regain the

lower latitudes.

No! they could entertain no hope of being saved, and a horrible death,

a death by hunger and thirst, awaited them upon this rock!

Already they lay stretched out, inanimate, unconscious of what was

going on around them. Only, Ayrton, by a supreme effort, raised his

head, and cast a despairing look over this desert sea!

But, behold! on this morning of the 24th of March, Ayrton extended his

arms towards some point in space; he rose up, first to his knees, then

stood upright; he waved his hand—

A ship was in sight of the island! This ship did not sail these seas at

hap-hazard. The reef was the point towards which she directed her

course, crowding on all steam, and the unfortunates would have seen her

many hours before, had they had the strength to scan the horizon!

“The Duncan!” murmured Ayrton, and then he fell senseless upon the

rock.

When Smith and his companions regained consciousness, thanks to the

care lavished upon them, they found themselves in the cabin of a

steamer, unaware of the manner in which they had escaped death.

A word from Ayrton was sufficient to enlighten them.

“It is the Duncan,” he murmured.

“The Duncan!” answered Smith. And then, raising his arms to heaven, he

exclaimed:—

“Oh, all powerful Providence! thou hast wished that we should be

saved!”

It was, indeed, the Duncan, Lord Glenarvan’s yacht, at this time

commanded by Robert, the son of Captain Grant, who had been sent to

Tabor Island to search for Ayrton and bring him home after twelve years

of expatriation!

The colonists were saved, they were already on the homeward route!

“Captain Robert,” asked Smith, “what suggested to you the idea, after

leaving Tabor Island, where you were unable to find Ayrton, to come in

this direction?”

“It was to search, not only for Ayrton, Mr. Smith, but for you and your

companions!”

“My companions and myself?”

“Doubtless! On Lincoln Island!”

“Lincoln Island!” cried the others, greatly astonished.

“How did you know of Lincoln Island?” asked Smith. “It is not on the

maps.”

“I knew of it by the notice which you left on Tabor Island,” answered

Grant.

“The notice?” cried Spilett.

“Certainly, and here it is,” replied the other, handing him a paper

indicating the exact position of the Lincoln Island, “the actual

residence of Ayrton and of five American colonists.”

“Captain Nemo!” said Smith, after having read the notice, and

recognized that it was in the same handwriting as the paper found at

the corral.

“Ah!” said Pencroff, “it was he who took our Good Luck, he who ventured

alone to Tabor Island!”

“To place this notice there!” answered Herbert.

“Then I was right when I said,” cried the sailor, “that he would do us

a last service even after his death!”

“My friends,” said Smith, in a voice moved by emotion, “may the God of

sinners receive the soul of Captain Nemo; he was our savior!”

The colonists, uncovering as Smith spake thus, murmured the name of the

captain.

Then Ayrton, approaching the engineer, said to him, simply:—

“What shall be done with the coffer?”

Ayrton had saved this coffer at the risk of his life, at the moment

when the island was engulfed. He now faithfully returned it to the

engineer.

“Ayrton! Ayrton!” exclaimed Smith, greatly affected.

Then addressing Grant:—

“Captain,” he said, “where you left a criminal, you have found a man

whom expiation has made honest, and to whom I am proud to give my

hand!”

Thereupon Grant was informed of all the strange history of Captain Nemo

and the colonists of Lincoln Island. And then, the bearings of this

remaining reef having been taken, Captain Grant gave the order to go

about.

Fifteen days later the colonists landed in America, which they found at

peace after the terrible war which had ended in the triumph of justice

and right. Of the wealth contained in the coffer, the greater part was

employed in the purchase of a vast tract of land in Iowa. One single

pearl, the most beautiful of all, was taken from the treasure and sent

to Lady Glenarvan in the name of the castaways, who had been rescued by

the Duncan.

To this domain the colonists invited to labor—that is, to fortune and

to happiness—all those whom they had counted on receiving at Lincoln

Island. Here they founded a great colony, to which they gave the name

of the island which had disappeared in the depths of the Pacific. They

found here a river which they called the Mercy, a mountain to which

they gave the name of Franklin, a little lake which they called Lake

Grant, and forests which became the forests of the Far West. It was

like an island on terra-firma.

Here, under the skillful hand of the engineer and his companions,

everything prospered. Not one of the former colonists was missing, for

they had agreed always to live together, Neb wherever his master was,

Ayrton always ready to sacrifice himself, Pencroff a better farmer than

he had been a sailor, Herbert who finished his studies under Smith’s

direction, Spilett who founded the New Lincoln _Herald_, which was the

best edited journal in the whole world.

Here Smith and his companions often received visits from Lord and Lady

Glenarvan, from Captain John Mangles and his wife, sister to Robert

Grant, from Robert Grant himself, from Major MacNabbs, from all those

who had been mixed up in the double history of Captain Grant and

Captain Nemo.

Here, finally, all were happy, united in the present as they had been

in the past; but never did they forget that island upon which they had

arrived poor and naked, that island which, for four years, had sufficed

for all their needs, and of which all that remained was a morsel of

granite, beaten by the waves of the Pacific, the tomb of him who was

Captain Nemo!

THE END.

GLOSSARY.

AGOUTI. A genus of rodent animals, the size of a rabbit, but more like

the squirrel in appearance, with the exception of the tail, which is a

short, bare stump. When at rest, they sit upon their haunches, holding

their food between their fore-paws.

ALBATROSS. A genus of large, web-footed, acquatic birds, possessing

prodigious powers of flight. Its wings, when extended, sometimes

measure 15 feet.

ALGAROBA BEANS. The seeds of the algaroba or carob tree. These seeds

were formerly used by jewellers as weights, and the sweetish honey in

the seed-pod is supposed by some to be the wild honey upon which St.

John lived in the wilderness. Animals, especially horses, are fond of

the bean.

AI. The three-toed sloth. The only animal which can neither walk nor

stand. It is herbivorous, and lives in trees, moving suspended from a

branch by its long and powerful arms.

ANTHROPOMORPHI. Animals resembling human beings in form.

APYREXY. The intermission of a fever.

ARADS. An order of plants of which dragon-root, or jack-in-the-pulpit

is a familiar example. Portland sago is made from the corms of some of

these plants.

ARGALL. A species of moufflon or wild sheep.

AZOTH. The old name for nitrogen.

BALEEN. The substance called whale-bone.

BALLISTIC. Relating to engines for throwing missiles; such as the

ancient ballista.

BANKSIA. A genus of plants remarkable for the beauty of their flowers

and their evergreen foliage. They are sometimes called honey-suckle

trees.

BUSTARD. A kind of wild turkey inhabiting the open plains of Europe,

Asia and Africa.

CABIAI. The largest known rodent. _Hystricidæ_. from its aquatic habits

it is sometimes called a water-hog.

CARAPACE. A thick, solid shell covering some reptiles, as the turtle.

CASAURINÆ. Tropical plants, so named on account of the resemblance

their leaves bear to the drooping feathers of the cassowary. For this

reason they are sometimes called cassowary trees.

CASSOWARY. A large, long-legged bird of the ostrich family, famous for

its speed in running.

CATACLYSM. An inundation or deluge.

CELLULOSE. Called also celluline. A substance which constitutes the

cellular tissue of all plants.

CEMENTATION. The process of changing the properties of bodies by

heating them in contact with the powder of other substances.

CETACEA. The name of the genus of marine animals which includes whales,

dolphins, etc.

CINCHONIA. A vegetable alkali found in the cinchona,—a genus of trees

found in Peru,—the bark of which is much used as a febrifugal, and is

known as Peruvian Bark. Cinchonia is not much used in medicine.

COCKATOO. A genus of birds of the parrot family, distinguished from all

other parrots by a crest of feathers on the head, which the bird can

raise or depress at pleasure.

CONIFERS. _Coniferæ_. An order of cone-bearing plants, including

fir-trees, pines, cedars, junipers, etc.

CO-ORDINATES. A system of lines and angles by which the position of any

point may be determined with reference to a fixed point.

CORM. The solid, underground stem of a plant, like the bulb of a tulip;

differing, however, from a bulb in being solid.

COUROUCOUS. Birds of the warbler family, which, excepting the humming

bird family, contains the smallest birds in the world. The Nightingale,

Wood wren and Golden-crests are familiar examples.

CURASSOW. A gallinaceous bird, about the size of turkeys, and capable

of domestication.

CYCAS. A genus of trees intermediate between the palms and the ferns,

cultivated in China, and valued for its pith, which furnishes a kind of

sago.

DEODAR. The Himalayan cedar. A genus of trees belonging to the order

_Pinaccæ_; the same order as the cedars of Lebanon, celebrated for its

beauty, its longevity, its magnitude, and the durability of its timber.

DUGONG. An herbivorous mammal having an elongated body, with flippers

near the head, and terminated by a crescent-shaped tail. It drags

itself along the shore and browses on the herbage that grows along the

banks of the rivers which it frequents.

ECHIDNA. A genus of ovoviparous mammals, which have the general form of

the ant-eater, but the body is covered with spines like a porcupine;

hence they are sometimes called porcupine ant-eaters.

EMUE. A species of cassowary found principally in Australia, and

sometimes called Australian cassowary.

EUCALYPTUS. A genus of plants of the myrtle family, which grow to a

prodigious height. Its leaves exude a substance resembling manna, which

falls to the ground in pieces as large as nuts. The trees are sometimes

called gum trees.

FEBRIFUGE. A medicine to drive away or allay fever.

FECULA. A term applied to the substance obtained from plants; also

called starch or farina.

FULGURITE. A vitrified sand-tube made by the action of lightning.

FULIGINOUS. Resembling smoke; smokey.

FUSIFORM. Spindle-shaped.

GARGOYLE. A projecting water-spout, often grotesquely carved, attached

to old gothic buildings.

HYDROGRAPHY. As opposed to orography; the water system of a country.

IZARD. The chamois of the Pyrenees.

JACAMAR. A genus of climbing birds, closely allied to the kingfishers,

that live in forests, feed on insects, and build in low bushes. Their

plumage has a carious metallic lustre.

JETSAM. Goods coming to land which have been thrown overboard from a

ship in distress.

KAOLINE. The Chinese name for a kind of porcelain clay.

GLOSSARY.

KOULAS. See Ai.

LARDIZABALACEÆ. An order of twining shrubs, some of which furnish our

greenhouses with pretty evergreen climbers.

LENTICULAR. Having the form of a double convex lens.

LIANA. A name used to designate the climbing, twining plants which

abound in tropical forests, often growing to an immense size, and

forming a perfect network of branches, impenetrable without the aid of

a hatchet. They are comparatively rare in our climate, but honeysuckles

may be mentioned as familiar examples.

LILIACKÆ. Plants of the order of amaryllids, growing to an enormous

size. They are commonly known as the giant Lily. The stem is leafy, 15

or 20 feet high, and bears at the top a cluster of superb large crimson

blossoms.

LITHODOMI. Molluscous animals which form holes in the solid rocks, in

which they lodge themselves. One species (_Lithodomus Lithophagus_) is

esteemed as an article of food, and is known by the name of the

_sea-date shell_.

LORIES. Birds belonging to the parrot family, remarkable for their soft

beaks.

MACAUCO. A genus of four-handed animals, resembling the monkey tribe.

MACRODACTYLS. Long-toed wading birds.

MAGOT. A small species of ape, sometimes called the Barbary ape.

MALACOLOGIST. One who treats of mollusks.

MANNIFERS. A name synonymous with mammals; meaning animals which suckle

their young.

MANATEE. A marine animal closely related to the dugong. It Is sometimes

called lamantine or sea-cow.

MARGARINE. A fatty solid matter obtained from oil.

MOUFFLON. _Caprovis Mussimon_. Resembling the mountain sheep of

Arizona. It is the size of a deer; covered with hair which assumes a

woolly character in winter.

OLEINE. The fluid portion of fats and oils.

ONAGER. Another name for the wild ass.

OROGRAPHY. As opposed to hydrography; the description of the mountain

system of a country.

PALMIPEDS. Web-footed fowl.

PECCARY. An animal resembling a hog, sometimes called Mexican hog, or

_tajacu_.

PELLICAN. A largo aquatic bird, having a long, straight and very strong

bill. It lives upon fish, which It carries for some time in a pouch or

bag attached to the lover mandible.

PIROGUE. A canoe, usually formed of a hollowed tree.

POLYPORUS. A genus of fungi, allied to mushrooms, toad-stools,

sap-balls, etc.; used in Germany to make the tinder called Amadon.

PTEROPODA. A class of mollusks which live In the open sea, and have a

pair of flippers or wings, by which they pass rapidly through the

water.

PULP. The common name for marine animals of the genus octopus, such as

the cuttle-fish. They have eight feet or arms around the head, with

which they swim, creep, and seize their prey. It is the _Pieuvre_ of

Victor Hugo.

PUZZOLAN. Fine volcanic ashes, which harden under water, forming a kind

of cement.

PYROXYLINE. Called also gun-cotton. It burns In the open air with a

flash, though without smoke or report; but It is violently explosive

when fired in a confined space.

QUADRUMANA. Animals having four hands, as apes, baboons, etc.

QUININE. The most important of the vegetable alkaloids found In the

cinchona (see CINCHONIA). It is one of the most valuable antiperiodics

and febrifuges known.

RECRUDESENCE. The state of becoming sore again.

RINFORDZANDO. A musical sign denoting an Increase of sound. Usually

expressed by the abbreviation _rf_.

RUMINANT. An animal that chews the cud.

SAGOIN. A species of sapajo. The squirrel monkey; so called on account

of its hairy tail.

SALICIN. A white and very bitter substance, obtained from the bark of

the willow and other trees.

SAPAJOS. The proper name for tailed monkeys, as distinguishing them

from apes, baboons and gorillas, which are tailless.

SEXTANT. An Instrument for measuring angles by reflection.

SPHENISCUS. Penguins; a sub-family of auks. Oceanic birds remarkable

for their short legs, very short wings—which are useful only In

swimming; and their upright position when at rest.

STEARINE. The most abundant of the solid constituents of fats and oils.

Also a popular name for stearic acid, used in candles.

SUCCEDANEOUS. Supplying the place of something else.

TALUS. A sloping heap of fragments accumulated at the foot of a steep

rock, from the face of which they have been broken off by the action of

the weather.

TETRA. _Tetraonieda_, or grouse. The bird here described resembles the

pinated grouse, or prairie-chicken.

TINAMONS. A family of birds belonging to the order _gallinæ_. They are

about the size of quail.

TOURACO-LORIES. Climbing birds of the parrot family.

TRAGOPANS. A large species of pheasant.

TUFA. A name given to volcanic dust, cemented by the Infiltration of

water into a porous rock.

[Illustration: Lincoln Island]

END OF TRANSLATION OF THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND