by Jules Verne
CHAPTER XI. AN ISLAND TOMB
No longer, then, could there be any doubt as to the annihilation ofa considerable portion of the colony. Not merely had there been asubmersion of the land, but the impression was more and more confirmedthat the very bowels of the earth must have yawned and closed again upona large territory. Of the rocky substratum of the province it becamemore evident than ever that not a trace remained, and a new soilof unknown formation had certainly taken the place of the old sandysea-bottom. As it altogether transcended the powers of those on board toelucidate the origin of this catastrophe, it was felt to be incumbent onthem at least to ascertain its extent.
After a long and somewhat wavering discussion, it was at length decidedthat the schooner should take advantage of the favorable wind andweather, and proceed at first towards the east, thus following theoutline of what had formerly represented the coast of Africa, until thatcoast had been lost in boundless sea.
Not a vestige of it all remained; from Cape Matafuz to Tunis it had allgone, as though it had never been. The maritime town of Dellis, builtlike Algiers, amphitheater-wise, had totally disappeared; the highestpoints were quite invisible; not a trace on the horizon was left of theJurjura chain, the topmost point of which was known to have an altitudeof more than 7,000 feet.
Unsparing of her fuel, the _Dobryna_ made her way at full steam towardsCape Blanc. Neither Cape Negro nor Cape Serrat was to be seen. The townof Bizerta, once charming in its oriental beauty, had vanished utterly;its marabouts, or temple-tombs, shaded by magnificent palms that fringedthe gulf, which by reason of its narrow mouth had the semblance of alake, all had disappeared, giving place to a vast waste of sea, thetransparent waves of which, as still demonstrated by the sounding-line,had ever the same uniform and arid bottom.
In the course of the day the schooner rounded the point where, fiveweeks previously, Cape Blanc had been so conspicuous an object, and shewas now stemming the waters of what once had been the Bay of Tunis. Butbay there was none, and the town from which it had derived its name,with the Arsenal, the Goletta, and the two peaks of Bou-Kournein, hadall vanished from the view. Cape Bon, too, the most northern promontoryof Africa and the point of the continent nearest to the island ofSicily, had been included in the general devastation.
Before the occurrence of the recent prodigy, the bottom of theMediterranean just at this point had formed a sudden ridge across theStraits of Libya. The sides of the ridge had shelved to so great anextent that, while the depth of water on the summit had been little morethan eleven fathoms, that on either hand of the elevation was littleshort of a hundred fathoms. A formation such as this plainly indicatedthat at some remote epoch Cape Bon had been connected with Cape Furina,the extremity of Sicily, in the same manner as Ceuta has doubtless beenconnected with Gibraltar.
Lieutenant Procope was too well acquainted with the Mediterranean tobe unaware of this peculiarity, and would not lose the opportunity ofascertaining whether the submarine ridge still existed, or whether thesea-bottom between Sicily and Africa had undergone any modification.
Both Timascheff and Servadac were much interested in watching theoperations. At a sign from the lieutenant, a sailor who was stationed atthe foot of the fore-shrouds dropped the sounding-lead into the water,and in reply to Procope's inquiries, reported--"Five fathoms and a flatbottom."
The next aim was to determine the amount of depression on either side ofthe ridge, and for this purpose the _Dobryna_ was shifted for a distanceof half a mile both to the right and left, and the soundings takenat each station. "Five fathoms and a flat bottom," was the unvariedannouncement after each operation. Not only, therefore, was it evidentthat the submerged chain between Cape Bon and Cape Furina no longerexisted, but it was equally clear that the convulsion had caused ageneral leveling of the sea-bottom, and that the soil, degenerated, asit has been said, into a metallic dust of unrecognized composition,bore no trace of the sponges, sea-anemones, star-fish, sea-nettles,hydrophytes, and shells with which the submarine rocks of theMediterranean had hitherto been prodigally clothed.
The _Dobryna_ now put about and resumed her explorations in a southerlydirection. It remained, however, as remarkable as ever how completelythroughout the voyage the sea continued to be deserted; all expectationsof hailing a vessel bearing news from Europe were entirely falsified, sothat more and more each member of the crew began to be conscious of hisisolation, and to believe that the schooner, like a second Noah's ark,carried the sole survivors of a calamity that had overwhelmed the earth.
On the 9th of February the _Dobryna_ passed over the site of the cityof Dido, the ancient Byrsa--a Carthage, however, which was now morecompletely destroyed than ever Punic Carthage had been destroyed byScipio Africanus or Roman Carthage by Hassan the Saracen.
In the evening, as the sun was sinking below the eastern horizon,Captain Servadac was lounging moodily against the taffrail. From theheaven above, where stars kept peeping fitfully from behind the movingclouds, his eye wandered mechanically to the waters below, where thelong waves were rising and falling with the evening breeze.
All at once, his attention was arrested by a luminous speck straightahead on the southern horizon. At first, imagining that he was thevictim of some spectral illusion, he observed it with silent attention;but when, after some minutes, he became convinced that what he saw wasactually a distant light, he appealed to one of the sailors, by whomhis impression was fully corroborated. The intelligence was immediatelyimparted to Count Timascheff and the lieutenant.
"Is it land, do you suppose?" inquired Servadac, eagerly.
"I should be more inclined to think it is a light on board some ship,"replied the count.
"Whatever it is, in another hour we shall know all about it," saidServadac.
"No, captain," interposed Lieutenant Procope; "we shall know nothinguntil to-morrow."
"What! not bear down upon it at once?" asked the count in surprise.
"No, sir; I should much rather lay to and wait till daylight. If we arereally near land, I should be afraid to approach it in the dark."
The count expressed his approval of the lieutenant's caution, andthereupon all sail was shortened so as to keep the _Dobryna_ from makingany considerable progress all through the hours of night. Few as thosehours were, they seemed to those on board as if their end would nevercome. Fearful lest the faint glimmer should at any moment cease to bevisible, Hector Servadac did not quit his post upon the deck; but thelight continued unchanged. It shone with about the same degree of lusteras a star of the second magnitude, and from the fact of its remainingstationary, Procope became more and more convinced that it was on landand did not belong to a passing vessel.
At sunrise every telescope was pointed with keenest interest towards thecenter of attraction. The light, of course, had ceased to be visible,but in the direction where it had been seen, and at a distance of aboutten miles, there was the distinct outline of a solitary island of verysmall extent; rather, as the count observed, it had the appearance ofbeing the projecting summit of a mountain all but submerged. Whatever itwas, it was agreed that its true character must be ascertained, notonly to gratify their own curiosity, but for the benefit of all futurenavigators. The schooner accordingly was steered directly towards it,and in less than an hour had cast anchor within a few cables' lengths ofthe shore.
The little island proved to be nothing more than an arid rock risingabruptly about forty feet above the water. It had no outlying reefs, acircumstance that seemed to suggest the probability that in the recentconvulsion it had sunk gradually, until it had reached its presentposition of equilibrium.
Without removing his eye from his telescope, Servadac exclaimed: "Thereis a habitation on the place; I can see an erection of some kind quitedistinctly. Who can tell whether we shall not come across a humanbeing?"
Lieutenant Procope looked doubtful. The island had all the appearance ofbeing deserted, nor did a cannon-shot fired from the schooner havethe effect of bringing any resident to the shore. Ne
vertheless, it wasundeniable that there was a stone building situated on the top ofthe rock, and that this building had much the character of an Arabianmosque.
The boat was lowered and manned by the four sailors; Servadac,Timascheff and Procope were quickly rowed ashore, and lost no timein commencing their ascent of the steep acclivity. Upon reaching thesummit, they found their progress arrested by a kind of wall, or rampartof singular construction, its materials consisting mainly of vases,fragments of columns, carved bas-reliefs, statues, and portions ofbroken stelae, all piled promiscuously together without any pretenseto artistic arrangement. They made their way into the enclosure, andfinding an open door, they passed through and soon came to a seconddoor, also open, which admitted them to the interior of the mosque,consisting of a single chamber, the walls of which were ornamented inthe Arabian style by sculptures of indifferent execution. In the centerwas a tomb of the very simplest kind, and above the tomb was suspended alarge silver lamp with a capacious reservoir of oil, in which floated along lighted wick, the flame of which was evidently the light that hadattracted Servadac's attention on the previous night.
"Must there not have been a custodian of the shrine?" they mutuallyasked; but if such there had ever been, he must, they concluded, eitherhave fled or have perished on that eventful night. Not a soul was therein charge, and the sole living occupants were a flock of wild cormorantswhich, startled at the entrance of the intruders, rose on wing, and tooka rapid flight towards the south.
An old French prayer-book was lying on the corner of the tomb; thevolume was open, and the page exposed to view was that which containedthe office for the celebration of the 25th of August. A suddenrevelation dashed across Servadac's mind. The solemn isolation of theisland tomb, the open breviary, the ritual of the ancient anniversary,all combined to apprise him of the sanctity of the spot upon which hestood.
"The tomb of St. Louis!" he exclaimed, and his companions involuntarilyfollowed his example, and made a reverential obeisance to the veneratedmonument.
It was, in truth, the very spot on which tradition asserts that thecanonized monarch came to die, a spot to which for six centuries andmore his countrymen had paid the homage of a pious regard. The lampthat had been kindled at the memorial shrine of a saint was now in allprobability the only beacon that threw a light across the waters of theMediterranean, and even this ere long must itself expire.
There was nothing more to explore. The three together quitted themosque, and descended the rock to the shore, whence their boatre-conveyed them to the schooner, which was soon again on her southwardvoyage; and it was not long before the tomb of St. Louis, the only spotthat had survived the mysterious shock, was lost to view.
