of Hammamet. For two days she continued an undeviating course, and

after a futile search for the coast of Tunis, reached the latitude of 34

degrees.



Here, on the 11th of February, there suddenly arose the cry of "Land!"

and in the extreme horizon, right ahead, where land had never been

before, it was true enough that a shore was distinctly to be seen. What

could it be? It could not be the coast of Tripoli; for not only would

that low-lying shore be quite invisible at such a distance, but it was

certain, moreover, that it lay two degrees at least still further

south. It was soon observed that this newly discovered land was of

very irregular elevation, that it extended due east and west across

the horizon, thus dividing the gulf into two separate sections and

completely concealing the island of Jerba, which must lie behind. Its

position was duly traced on the Dobryna's chart.



"How strange," exclaimed Hector Servadac, "that after sailing all this

time over sea where we expected to find land, we have at last come upon

land where we thought to find sea!"



"Strange, indeed," replied Lieutenant Procope; "and what appears to me

almost as remarkable is that we have never once caught sight either of

one of the Maltese tartans or one of the Levantine xebecs that traffic

so regularly on the Mediterranean."



"Eastwards or westwards," asked the count--"which shall be our course?

All farther progress to the south is checked."



"Westwards, by all means," replied Servadac quickly. "I am longing to

know whether anything of Algeria is left beyond the Shelif; besides,

as we pass Gourbi Island we might take Ben Zoof on board, and then

make away for Gibraltar, where we should be sure to learn something, at

least, of European news."



With his usual air of stately courtesy, Count Timascheff begged the

captain to consider the yacht at his own disposal, and desired him to

give the lieutenant instructions accordingly.



Lieutenant Procope, however, hesitated, and after revolving matters

for a few moments in his mind, pointed out that as the wind was blowing

directly from the west, and seemed likely to increase, if they went to

the west in the teeth of the weather, the schooner would be reduced to

the use of her engine only, and would have much difficulty in making any

headway; on the other hand, by taking an eastward course, not only would

they have the advantage of the wind, but, under steam and canvas, might

hope in a few days to be off the coast of Egypt, and from Alexandria or

some other port they would have the same opportunity of getting tidings

from Europe as they would at Gibraltar.



Intensely anxious as he was to revisit the province of Oran, and

eager, too, to satisfy himself of the welfare of his faithful Ben

Zoof, Servadac could not but own the reasonableness of the lieutenant's

objections, and yielded to the proposal that the eastward course should

be adopted. The wind gave signs only too threatening of the breeze

rising to a gale; but, fortunately, the waves did not culminate in

breakers, but rather in a long swell which ran in the same direction as

the vessel.



During the last fortnight the high temperature had been gradually

diminishing, until it now reached an average of 20 degrees Cent. (or 68

degrees Fahr.), and sometimes descended as low as 15 degrees. That this

diminution was to be attributed to the change in the earth's orbit was a

question that admitted of little doubt. After approaching so near to the

sun as to cross the orbit of Venus, the earth must now have receded

so far from the sun that its normal distance of ninety-one millions of

miles was greatly increased, and the probability was great that it was

approximating to the orbit of Mars, that planet which in its physical

constitution most nearly resembles our own. Nor was this supposition

suggested merely by the lowering of the temperature; it was strongly

corroborated by the reduction of the apparent diameter of the sun's disc

to the precise dimensions which it would assume to an observer actually

stationed on the surface of Mars. The necessary inference that seemed to

follow from these phenomena was that the earth had been projected into a

new orbit, which had the form of a very elongated ellipse.



Very slight, however, in comparison was the regard which these

astronomical wonders attracted on board the Dobryna. All interest

there was too much absorbed in terrestrial matters, and in ascertaining

what changes had taken place in the configuration of the earth itself,

to permit much attention to be paid to its erratic movements through

space.



The schooner kept bravely on her way, but well out to sea, at a distance

of two miles from land. There was good need of this precaution, for so

precipitous was the shore that a vessel driven upon it must inevitably

have gone to pieces; it did not offer a single harbor of refuge, but,

smooth and perpendicular as the walls of a fortress, it rose to a height

of two hundred, and occasionally of three hundred feet. The waves dashed

violently against its base. Upon the general substratum rested a massive

conglomerate, the crystallizations of which rose like a forest of

gigantic pyramids and obelisks.



But what struck the explorers more than anything was the appearance of

singular newness that pervaded the whole of the region. It all seemed

so recent in its formation that the atmosphere had had no opportunity of

producing its wonted effect in softening the hardness of its lines, in

rounding the sharpness of its angles, or in modifying the color of

its surface; its outline was clearly marked against the sky, and its

substance, smooth and polished as though fresh from a founder's mold,

glittered with the metallic brilliancy that is characteristic of

pyrites. It seemed impossible to come to any other conclusion but

that the land before them, continent or island, had been upheaved by

subterranean forces above the surface of the sea, and that it was mainly

composed of the same metallic element as had characterized the dust so

frequently uplifted from the bottom.



The extreme nakedness of the entire tract was likewise very

extraordinary. Elsewhere, in various quarters of the globe, there may

be sterile rocks, but there are none so adamant as to be altogether

unfurrowed by the filaments engendered in the moist residuum of the

condensed vapor; elsewhere there may be barren steeps, but none so rigid

as not to afford some hold to vegetation, however low and elementary

may be its type; but here all was bare, and blank, and desolate--not a

symptom of vitality was visible.



Such being the condition of the adjacent land, it could hardly be a

matter of surprise that all the sea-birds, the albatross, the gull, the

sea-mew, sought continual refuge on the schooner; day and night they

perched fearlessly upon the yards, the report of a gun failing to

dislodge them, and when food of any sort was thrown upon the deck,

they would dart down and fight with eager voracity for the prize. Their

extreme avidity was recognized as a proof that any land where they could

obtain a sustenance must be far remote.



Onwards thus for several days the Dobryna followed the contour of the

inhospitable coast, of which the features would occasionally change,

sometimes for two or three miles assuming the form of a simple arris,

sharply defined as though cut by a chisel, when suddenly the prismatic

lamellae soaring in rugged confusion would again recur; but all along

there was the same absence of beach or tract of sand to mark its base,

neither were there any of those shoals of rock that are ordinarily found

in shallow water. At rare intervals there were some narrow fissures,

but not a creek available for a ship to enter to replenish its supply of

water; and the wide roadsteads were unprotected and exposed to well-nigh

every point of the compass.



But after sailing two hundred and forty miles, the progress of the

Dobryna was suddenly arrested. Lieutenant Procope, who had sedulously

inserted the outline of the newly revealed shore upon the maps,

announced that it had ceased to run east and west, and had taken a turn

due north, thus forming a barrier to their continuing their previous

direction. It was, of course, impossible to conjecture how far this

barrier extended; it coincided pretty nearly with the fourteenth

meridian of east longitude; and if it reached, as probably it did,

beyond Sicily to Italy, it was certain that the vast basin of the

Mediterranean, which had washed the shores alike of Europe, Asia, and

Africa, must have been reduced to about half its original area.



It was resolved to proceed upon the same plan as heretofore, following

the boundary of the land at a safe distance. Accordingly, the head of

the Dobryna was pointed north, making straight, as it was presumed,

for the south of Europe. A hundred miles, or somewhat over, in that

direction, and it was to be anticipated she would come in sight of

Malta, if only that ancient island, the heritage in succession of

Phoenicians, Carthaginians, Sicilians, Romans, Vandals, Greeks,

Arabians, and the knights of Rhodes, should still be undestroyed.



But Malta, too, was gone; and when, upon the 14th, the sounding-line was

dropped upon its site, it was only with the same result so oftentimes

obtained before.



"The devastation is not limited to Africa," observed the count.



"Assuredly not," assented the lieutenant; adding, "and I confess I am

almost in despair whether we shall ever ascertain its limits. To what

quarter of Europe, if Europe still exists, do you propose that I should

now direct your course?"



"To Sicily, Italy, France!" ejaculated Servadac, eagerly,--"anywhere

where we can learn the truth of what has befallen us."



"How if we are the sole survivors?" said the count, gravely.



Hector Servadac was silent; his own secret presentiment so thoroughly

coincided with the doubts expressed by the count, that he refrained from

saying another word.



The coast, without deviation, still tended towards the north. No

alternative, therefore, remained than to take a westerly course and to

attempt to reach the northern shores of the Mediterranean. On the 16th

the Dobryna essayed to start upon her altered way, but it seemed as if

the elements had conspired to obstruct her progress. A furious tempest

arose; the wind beat dead in the direction of the coast, and the danger

incurred by a vessel of a tonnage so light was necessarily very great.



Lieutenant Procope was extremely uneasy. He took in all sail, struck

his topmasts, and resolved to rely entirely on his engine. But the peril

seemed only to increase. Enormous waves caught the schooner and carried

her up to their crests, whence again she was plunged deep into the

abysses that they left. The screw failed to keep its hold upon the

water, but continually revolved with useless speed in the vacant air;

and thus, although the steam was forced on to the extremest limit

consistent with safety, the vessel held her way with the utmost

difficulty, and recoiled before the hurricane.



Still, not a single resort for refuge did the inaccessible shore

present. Again and again the lieutenant asked himself what would become

of him and his comrades, even if they should survive the peril of

shipwreck, and gain a footing upon the cliff. What resources could

they expect to find upon that scene of desolation? What hope could they

entertain that any portion of the old continent still existed beyond

that dreary barrier?



It was a trying time, but throughout it all the crew behaved with

the greatest courage and composure; confident in the skill of their

commander, and in the stability of their ship, they performed their

duties with steadiness and unquestioning obedience.



But neither skill, nor courage, nor obedience could avail; all was in

vain. Despite the strain put upon her engine, the schooner, bare of

canvas (for not even the smallest stay-sail could have withstood the

violence of the storm), was drifting with terrific speed towards the

menacing precipices, which were only a. few short miles to leeward.

Fully alive to the hopelessness of their situation, the crew were all on

deck.



"All over with us, sir!" said Procope to the count. "I have done

everything that man could do; but our case is desperate. Nothing short

of a miracle can save us now. Within an hour we must go to pieces upon

yonder rocks."



"Let us, then, commend ourselves to the providence of Him to Whom

nothing is impossible," replied the count, in a calm, clear voice

that could be distinctly heard by all; and as he spoke, he reverently

uncovered, an example in which he was followed by all the rest.



The destruction of the vessel seeming thus inevitable, Lieutenant

Procope took the best measures he could to insure a few days' supply

of food for any who might escape ashore. He ordered several cases of

provisions and kegs of water to be brought on deck, and saw that they

were securely lashed to some empty barrels, to make them float after the

ship had gone down.



Less and less grew the distance from the shore, but no creek, no inlet,

could be discerned in the towering wall of cliff, which seemed about to

topple over and involve them in annihilation. Except a change of wind

or, as Procope observed, a supernatural rifting of the rock, nothing

could bring deliverance now. But the wind did not veer, and in a few

minutes more the schooner was hardly three cables' distance from the

fatal land. All were aware that their last moment had arrived. Servadac

and the count grasped each other's hands for a long farewell; and,

tossed by the tremendous waves, the schooner was on the very point of

being hurled upon the cliff, when a ringing shout was heard. "Quick,

boys, quick! Hoist the jib, and right the tiller!"



Sudden and startling as the unexpected orders were, they were executed

as if by magic.



The lieutenant, who had shouted from the bow, rushed astern and took

the helm, and before anyone had time to speculate upon the object of his

maneuvers, he shouted again, "Look out! sharp! watch the sheets!"



An involuntary cry broke forth from all on board. But it was no cry

of terror. Right ahead was a narrow opening in the solid rock; it was

hardly forty feet wide. Whether it was a passage or no, it mattered

little; it was at least a refuge; and, driven by wind and wave, the

Dobryna, under the dexterous guidance of the lieutenant, dashed in

between its perpendicular walls.



Had she not immured herself in a perpetual prison?