Part 48

Captain Nemo was not suffering, but he was declining. His noble features, pale from the approaches of death, were calm. From his lips there sometimes escaped almost imperceptible words that referred to various incidents of his strange existence. One felt that life was gradually withdrawing from this body, whose extremities were already cold. Once or twice more he addressed the colonists gathered near him, and he smiled at them with that last smile which continues even into death. Finally, a little after midnight, Captain Nemo made a supreme movement, and he managed to cross his arms upon his chest, as if he wished to die in that posture.

Toward one in the morning, all life had taken refuge solely in his gaze. A last fire shone in that pupil from which so many flames had once burst forth. Then, murmuring these words: “God and country!” he gently expired.

Cyrus Smith, bowing then, closed the eyes of him who had been Prince Dakkar and who was no longer even Captain Nemo.

Harbert and Pencroff were weeping. Ayrton wiped away a furtive tear. Nab was on his knees near the reporter, changed into a statue.

Cyrus Smith, raising his hand above the head of the dead man:

“May God have his soul!” said he, and, turning toward his friends, he added:

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

A few hours later, the colonists fulfilled the promise made to the captain; they accomplished the last wishes of the dead man.

Cyrus Smith and his companions left the Nautilus, after carrying away the only keepsake their benefactor had bequeathed them—that coffer which enclosed a hundred fortunes.

The marvelous saloon, still flooded with light, had been carefully closed. The iron door of the hatch was then bolted, so that not a drop of water could penetrate inside the chambers of the Nautilus.

Then the colonists descended into the canoe, which was moored to the side of the submarine boat.

This canoe was taken to the stern. There, at the waterline, opened two large cocks which communicated with the reservoirs intended to determine the immersion of the apparatus.

These cocks were opened, the reservoirs filled, and the Nautilus, sinking little by little, disappeared beneath the liquid sheet.

But the colonists could still follow it through the deep layers. Its powerful light illuminated the transparent waters, while the crypt became dark again. Then that vast outpouring of electric effulgence faded at last, and soon the Nautilus, become the coffin of Captain Nemo, rested at the bottom of the seas.

CHAPTER XVIII

At daybreak, the colonists had silently regained the entrance of the cavern, to which they gave the name “Dakkar crypt,” in memory of Captain Nemo. The tide was low then, and they could easily pass under the archway, whose foot was beaten by the basaltic right pier.

The iron canoe remained in that place, and in such a way that it was sheltered from the waves. By way of further precaution, Pencroff, Nab, and Ayrton hauled it onto the little beach bordering one side of the crypt, to a spot where it ran no danger.

The storm had ceased with the night. The last rollings of thunder were vanishing in the west.

It no longer rained, but the sky was still charged with clouds. On the whole, this month of October, the beginning of the austral spring, was not announcing itself in a satisfactory manner, and the wind had a tendency to jump from one point of the compass to another, which did not permit counting on settled weather.

Cyrus Smith and his companions, on leaving the Dakkar crypt, had taken the road to the corral.

On the way, Nab and Harbert took care to free the wire that had been stretched by the captain between the corral and the crypt, and which might be used later. As they walked, the colonists spoke little. The various incidents of this night of the 15th to the 16th of October had vividly impressed them. That unknown man whose influence so effectively protected them, that man whom their imagination made a genius, Captain Nemo, was no more. His Nautilus and he were buried at the bottom of an abyss. It seemed to each one that they were more isolated than before. They had, so to speak, grown accustomed to counting on that powerful intervention which was lacking to them today, and Gideon Spilett and Cyrus Smith himself were not exempt from this impression. So they all kept a deep silence as they followed the road to the corral.

Toward nine in the morning, the colonists had returned to Granite-House.

It had been well agreed that the construction of the vessel should be very actively pushed forward, and Cyrus Smith devoted to it more than ever his time and care. One did not know what the future held in store. Now, it was a guarantee for the colonists to have at their disposal a solid craft, able to keep the sea even in heavy weather, and large enough to attempt, if need be, a passage of some duration. If, the vessel being finished, the colonists did not yet decide to leave Lincoln Island and to make for either a Polynesian archipelago of the Pacific or the coasts of New Zealand, at least they must go as soon as possible to Tabor Island, in order to deposit there the notice relating to Ayrton. That was an indispensable precaution to take in case the Scottish yacht should reappear in these seas, and nothing must be neglected in that regard.

The work was therefore resumed. Cyrus Smith, Pencroff, and Ayrton, aided by Nab, Gideon Spilett, and Harbert, as often as some other pressing task did not claim them, worked without respite. It was necessary that the new craft should be ready in five months, that is to say by the beginning of March, if they wished to visit Tabor Island before the equinox gales had rendered that crossing impracticable. So the carpenters lost not a moment. Besides, they had not to concern themselves with manufacturing rigging, for that of the Speedy had been saved entire. It was therefore, above all, the hull of the vessel that must be completed.

The end of the year 1868 passed amid these important labors, almost to the exclusion of all others. At the end of two and a half months, the frames had been put in place, and the first planking was fitted. One could already judge that the plans given by Cyrus Smith were excellent, and that the vessel would behave well at sea. Pencroff brought to this work a devouring activity and did not hesitate to grumble when one or another abandoned the carpenter’s ax for the hunter’s rifle. It was necessary, however, to keep up the stores of Granite-House, with a view to the coming winter.

But no matter. The worthy sailor was not pleased when the workers were missing from the yard. On those occasions, and grumbling, he did—out of anger—the work of six men.

All this summer season was bad. For some days the heat was stifling, and the atmosphere, saturated with electricity, discharged only afterward in violent storms which profoundly disturbed the air layers. It was rare that distant rollings of thunder were not heard. It was like a dull but permanent murmur, such as occurs in the equatorial regions of the globe.

The 1st of January 1869 was even marked by a storm of extreme violence, and the lightning fell several times on the island. Large trees were struck by the fluid and broken, among others one of those enormous micocouliers which shaded the poultry-yard at the southern extremity of the lake. Had this meteor any connection whatever with the phenomena being accomplished in the bowels of the earth? Was a sort of connection being established between the troubles of the air and the troubles of the interior portions of the globe? Cyrus Smith was inclined to believe so, for the development of these storms was marked by a recrudescence of the volcanic symptoms.

It was on the 3rd of January that Harbert, having gone up at dawn to the Grand-View plateau to saddle one of the onaggas, caught sight of an enormous plume unfurling at the summit of the volcano.

Harbert at once warned the colonists, who came immediately to observe the top of Mount Franklin.

“Ah!” cried Pencroff, “these are not vapors this time! It seems to me the giant is no longer content with breathing, but that he is smoking!”

This image, employed by the sailor, exactly rendered the modification that had taken place at the mouth of the volcano. For three months already the crater had emitted more or less intense vapors, but which still proceeded only from an interior boiling of mineral matters. This time, to the vapors had succeeded a thick smoke, rising in the form of a grayish column, three hundred feet broad at its base, and which spread like an immense mushroom to a height of seven or eight hundred feet above the summit of Mount Franklin.

“The fire is in the chimney,” said Gideon Spilett.

“And we shall not be able to put it out!” replied Harbert.

“The volcanoes ought to be swept clean,” observed Nab, who seemed to speak in the most serious manner in the world.

“Come, Nab,” cried Pencroff, “is it you who would undertake that sweeping?”

And Pencroff burst into a great laugh.

Cyrus Smith observed with attention the thick smoke projected by Mount Franklin, and he even lent ear, as if he wished to surprise some distant rumbling. Then, returning to his companions, from whom he had somewhat drawn apart:

“Indeed, my friends, an important modification has taken place, we must not disguise it from ourselves. The volcanic matters are no longer merely boiling; they have caught fire, and, very certainly, we are threatened with a near eruption!

“Well, Mr. Smith, we shall see the eruption!” cried Pencroff. “And we shall applaud it if it is a success! I do not think there is anything there to concern us!

“No, Pencroff,” replied Cyrus Smith, “for the old route of the lavas is still open, and, thanks to its disposition, the crater has hitherto poured them toward the north. And yet—”

“And yet, since there is no advantage to be drawn from an eruption, it would be better that this one did not occur,” said the reporter.

“Who knows?” replied the sailor. “There may be in this volcano some useful and precious matter which it will complaisantly vomit forth, and which we shall put to good use!”

Cyrus Smith shook his head like a man who expected nothing good from a phenomenon whose development was so sudden. He did not view the consequences of an eruption as lightly as Pencroff. If the lavas, by reason of the orientation of the crater, did not directly threaten the wooded and cultivated parts of the island, other complications might present themselves. Indeed, it is not rare that eruptions are accompanied by earthquakes, and an island of the nature of Lincoln Island, formed of such diverse materials—basalts on one side, granite on the other, lavas to the north, loose soil to the south, matters which, consequently, could not be solidly bound together—would run the risk of being disintegrated. So if the outpouring of volcanic substances did not constitute a very serious danger, any movement in the terrestrial framework that should shake the island might entail extremely grave consequences.

“It seems to me,” said Ayrton, who had lain down so as to place his ear against the ground, “it seems to me I hear dull rollings, such as a cart loaded with iron bars would make.”

The colonists listened with extreme attention and could ascertain that Ayrton was not mistaken. With the rollings were sometimes mingled subterranean bellowings which formed a sort of “rinforzando” and died away little by little, as if some violent breeze had passed through the depths of the globe.

But no detonation properly so called was yet heard. One could therefore conclude that the vapors and smokes found free passage through the central chimney, and that, the valve being wide enough, no dislocation would occur, no explosion need be feared.

“Well now!” said Pencroff then, “are we not going back to work? That Mount Franklin may smoke, bawl, moan, vomit fire and flame as long as it pleases, is no reason for doing nothing! Come, Ayrton, Nab, Harbert, Mr. Cyrus, Mr. Spilett, everyone must lend a hand today! We are going to fit the wales, and a dozen arms will not be too many. Within two months I want our new Bonadventure—for we shall keep that name, shall we not?—floating on the waters of Balloon Harbor! So, not an hour to lose!”

All the colonists, whose arms were claimed by Pencroff, went down to the building yard and proceeded with the placing of the wales, thick planks which form the belt of a vessel and solidly bind together the frames of its carcass. That was a heavy and painful task, in which all had to take part.

They therefore worked assiduously during all that day of the 3rd of January, without concerning themselves with the volcano, which, moreover, could not be seen from the beach of Granite-House. But once or twice great shadows, veiling the sun, which described its diurnal arc in an extremely pure sky, indicated that a thick smoke-cloud passed between its disk and the island. The wind, blowing from the open sea, carried all these vapors westward. Cyrus Smith and Gideon Spilett perfectly remarked these passing darkenings, and spoke several times of the progress evidently made by the volcanic phenomenon, but the work was not interrupted.

It was, besides, of high interest, from every point of view, that the vessel should be finished in the shortest possible time. In presence of eventualities that might arise, the security of the colonists would only be the better guaranteed. Who knows if this ship would not one day be their sole refuge?

In the evening, after supper, Cyrus Smith, Gideon Spilett, and Harbert went up again to the Grand-View plateau. Night had already fallen, and the darkness ought to permit recognizing whether, with the vapors and smokes accumulated at the mouth of the crater, were mingled either flames or incandescent matters projected by the volcano.

“The crater is on fire!” cried Harbert, who, nimbler than his companions, had arrived first at the plateau.

Mount Franklin, distant about six miles, then appeared like a gigantic torch, at whose summit writhed a few fuliginous flames. So much smoke, so many scoriae and perhaps ashes were mingled there, that their light, much attenuated, did not sharply stand out against the darkness of the night. But a sort of tawny glow spread over the island and confusedly outlined the wooded mass of the foreground. Immense whirlwinds darkened the heights of the sky, through which scintillated a few stars.

“The progress is rapid!” said the engineer.

“That is not surprising,” replied the reporter. “The awakening of the volcano dates from some time already. You remember, Cyrus, that the first vapors appeared about the time when we searched the foothills of the mountain to discover Captain Nemo’s retreat. It was, if I am not mistaken, about the 15th of October?

“Yes!” replied Harbert. “And that is already two and a half months ago!

“The subterranean fires have therefore smoldered for ten weeks,” resumed Gideon Spilett, “and it is not surprising that they now develop with this violence!”

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

“Indeed,” replied Gideon Spilett, “but from that to an earthquake—”

“I do not say that we are threatened with an earthquake,” replied Cyrus Smith. “God preserve us from it! No. These vibrations are due to the effervescence of the central fire. The earth’s crust is nothing else than the wall of a boiler, and you know that the wall of a boiler, under the pressure of gases, vibrates like a sounding plate. That is the effect now produced.”

“The magnificent jets of fire!” cried Harbert.

At that moment there issued from the crater a sort of bouquet of fireworks whose brightness the vapors had not been able to diminish. Thousands of luminous fragments and vivid points were projected in contrary directions. Some, surpassing the dome of smoke, pierced it with a rapid jet and left behind them a veritable incandescent dust. This outburst was accompanied by successive detonations like the tearing of a battery of mitrailleuses.

Cyrus Smith, the reporter, and the young boy, after spending an hour on the Grand-View plateau, went down again to the beach and regained Granite-House. The engineer was thoughtful, even preoccupied, to the point that Gideon Spilett thought he ought to ask him if he foresaw some near danger, of which the eruption would be the direct or indirect cause.

“Yes and no,” replied Cyrus Smith.

“However,” resumed the reporter, “the greatest misfortune that could happen to us, would it not be an earthquake that should overturn the island? Now, I do not believe that is to be feared, since the vapors and lavas have found free passage to pour outside.”

“Also,” replied Cyrus Smith, “I do not fear an earthquake in the sense ordinarily given to the convulsions of the soil provoked by the expansion of subterranean vapors. But other causes may bring great disasters.”

“Which, my dear Cyrus?”

“I do not quite know… I must see… I must visit the mountain… within a few days I shall be certain in that regard.”

Gideon Spilett did not insist, and soon, despite the detonations of the volcano, whose intensity increased and which the echoes of the island repeated, the hosts of Granite-House slept a deep sleep.

Three days passed, the 4th, 5th, and 6th of January. They still worked at the construction of the boat, and, without otherwise explaining himself, the engineer urged the work with all his power. Mount Franklin was then hooded with a dark cloud of sinister aspect, and with the flames it vomited incandescent rocks, some of which fell back into the crater itself. Which made Pencroff say, who would consider the phenomenon only by its amusing sides:

“Look! The giant playing at cup-and-ball! The giant juggling!”

And, indeed, the matters vomited fell back into the abyss, and it did not seem that the lavas, swollen by the interior pressure, had yet risen to the orifice of the crater. At least, the northeast vent, which was partly visible, poured no torrent on the northern slope of the mount.

However, urgent as were the construction works, other cares claimed the presence of the colonists at various points of the island.

Above all, it was necessary to go to the corral, where the flock of sheep and goats was enclosed, and renew the supply of fodder for these animals. It was then agreed that Ayrton should go there on the morrow, the 7th of January, and as he might suffice alone for this task, to which he was accustomed, Pencroff and the others manifested a certain surprise when they heard the engineer say to Ayrton:

“Since you are going to the corral tomorrow, I will accompany you.”

“Why, Mr. Cyrus!” cried the sailor, “our working days are numbered, and if you go too, that will make four arms the fewer!”

“We shall be back the next day,” replied Cyrus Smith, “but I need to go to the corral… I wish to ascertain the state of the eruption.”

“The eruption! The eruption!” replied Pencroff with an unsatisfied air. “Important as this eruption may be, it does not trouble me much!”

Whatever the sailor might think, the exploration projected by the engineer was maintained for the next day. Harbert would gladly have accompanied Cyrus Smith, but he would not cross Pencroff by absenting himself.

The next day, at daybreak, Cyrus Smith and Ayrton, mounting the cart harnessed to the two onaggas, took the road to the corral and went thither at a great trot. Above the forest passed heavy clouds to which the crater of Mount Franklin incessantly furnished fuliginous matters. These clouds, which rolled heavily in the atmosphere, were evidently composed of heterogeneous substances. It was not to the smoke alone of the volcano that they owed their strangely opaque and heavy character. Scoriae in the state of dust, such as pulverized pozzolana and grayish ashes as fine as the finest starch, held in suspension amid their thick volutes. These ashes are so tenuous that they have been seen to remain in the air sometimes for whole months. After the eruption of 1783, in Iceland, for more than a year the atmosphere was thus charged with volcanic dust that the rays of the sun scarcely pierced it.

But, most often, these pulverized matters fall back, and that is what happened on this occasion.

Cyrus Smith and Ayrton had scarcely arrived at the corral when a sort of blackish snow similar to a light gunpowder fell and instantly modified the aspect of the soil. Trees, meadows, all disappeared under a layer several inches thick. But, very fortunately, the wind blew from the northeast, and the greater part of the cloud went to dissolve above the sea.

“That is singular, Mr. Smith,” said Ayrton.

“That is grave,” replied the engineer. “This pozzolana, these pulverized pumice-stones, all this mineral dust in a word, demonstrates how profound the disturbance is in the lower layers of the volcano.”

“But is there nothing to be done?”

“Nothing, except to ascertain the progress of the phenomenon. Occupy yourself then, Ayrton, with the care to be given the corral. Meanwhile, I shall go up beyond the sources of the Red Creek and examine the state of the mount on its northern slope. Then—”

“Then… Mr. Smith?”

“Then we shall pay a visit to the Dakkar crypt… I wish to see… in short, I shall come back for you in two hours.”

Ayrton then entered the corral yard, and, awaiting the engineer’s return, he occupied himself with the sheep and goats, which seemed to experience a certain uneasiness before these first symptoms of an eruption.

Meanwhile, Cyrus Smith, having ventured upon the crest of the eastern foothills, turned the Red Creek and arrived at the spot where he and his companions had discovered a sulfurous spring during their first exploration.

Things had greatly changed! Instead of a single column of smoke, he counted thirteen which spurted from the earth, as if violently driven by some piston. It was evident that the earth’s crust was undergoing in this part of the globe a frightful pressure. The atmosphere was saturated with sulfurous gas, hydrogen, carbonic acid, mingled with aqueous vapors. Cyrus Smith felt these volcanic tuffs tremble, with which the plain was strewn, and which were but pulverulent ashes whose time had made hard blocks, but he still saw no trace of new lavas.

That is what the engineer could more completely ascertain when he observed the whole northern reverse of Mount Franklin. Whirlwinds of smoke and flame escaped from the crater; a hail of scoriae fell on the ground; but no lava outpouring occurred through the neck of the crater, which proved that the level of the volcanic matters had not yet reached the upper orifice of the central chimney.

“And I should prefer it were so!” said Cyrus Smith to himself. “At least I should be certain that the lavas have taken their accustomed route. Who knows if they will not pour out through some new mouth? But there is not the danger! Captain Nemo well foresaw it! No! The danger is not there!”

Cyrus Smith advanced to the enormous causeway whose prolongation framed the narrow Shark Gulf. He could therefore examine sufficiently on that side the old striations of the lavas. He had no doubt that the last eruption went back to a very remote epoch.

Then he retraced his steps, lending ear to the subterranean rollings which propagated like a continuous thunder, and upon which detached themselves brilliant detonations. At nine in the morning he was back at the corral.

Ayrton awaited him.

“The animals are provided for, Mr. Smith,” said Ayrton.

“Good, Ayrton.”

“They seem uneasy, Mr. Smith.”

“Yes, instinct speaks in them, and instinct does not deceive.”

“When you wish…”

“Stories of the world, in your language.”