CHAPTER XI.AN ISLAND TOMB.
No longer, then, could there be any doubt as to the annihilation
of a considerable portion of the colony. Not merely
had there been a submersion of the land, but the impression
was more and more confirmed that the very bowels
of the earth must have yawned and closed again upon a
large territory. Of the rocky substratum of the province
it became more evident than ever that not a trace remained,
and a new soil of unknown formation had certainly
taken the place of the old sandy sea-bottom. As it
altogether transcended the powers of those on board to
elucidate the origin of this catastrophe, it was felt to be
incumbent on them at least to ascertain its extent.
After a long and somewhat wavering discussion, it was
at length decided that the schooner should take advantage
of the favourable wind and weather, and proceed at first
towards the east, thus following the outline of what had
formerly represented the coast of Africa, until that coast
had been lost in boundless sea.
Not a vestige of it all remained; from Cape Matafuz
to Tunis it had all gone, as though it had never been. The
maritime town of Dellis, built like Algiers, amphitheatrewise,
had totally disappeared; the highest points were
quite invisible; not a trace on the horizon was left of the
Jurjura chain, the topmost point of which was known to
have an altitude of more than 7000 feet; and the town of
Bougiah, the steep declivities of Gouraya, Mount Adrar,
Didyela; the mountains of Little Kabylia, the Triton of
the ancients, that group of seven headlands, the highest
of which had been 3500 feet above the sea; Collo, the
ancient port of Constantine; Stora, the modern port of
Philippeville, and Bona with its gulf twenty-four miles
wide—all had entirely vanished. A similar fate had befallen
Cape de Garde, Cape Rosa, the mountain ridges
of Edough, the sandy flats of the coast, Mafrag, and La
Calle, once so famous for its coral fisheries; but now,
although the sounding-line was lowered for well-nigh the
hundredth time, it failed to raise a single specimen of
those beautiful zoophytes with which the Mediterranean is
known to abound.
Count Timascheff resolved to hold on his course
through the latitudes lately occupied by the coast of Tunis,
and to make his way to Cape Blanc, the most northerly
point of Africa, where the channel of the sea between the
continent and the coast of Sicily being comparatively
narrow, might present some characteristics which perchance
would help to solve their dire perplexity. The
Dobryna, therefore, having followed the direction of the
thirty-seventh parallel of north latitude, on the 7th of
February crossed the eleventh degree of east longitude.
The reason that induced the count and his two colleagues
to persevere in their investigations towards the
east was that quite recently a long-abandoned project had
been revived, and by French influence the new Sahara Sea
had been created. This great achievement, which had
refilled the Lake Tritonis, that had borne the vessel of the
Argonauts, had not only secured to France the monopoly
of the traffic between Europe and the Soudan, but had
materially improved the climate of the country. From
the gulf of Cabes, in lat. 34° N., a wide channel had been
opened for the purpose of giving the waters of the Mediterranean
access to the vast depression which comprehended
the Shotts of Kebir and of Gharsa; the isthmus
existing between an indentation of the Tritonis basin and
the sea having been cut asunder, so that the water had
once again taken possession of the ancient bed, whence,
in default of a continuous supply, it had long ago evaporated
under the influence of the Libyan sun.
What had now to be ascertained was whether the
restoration of this ancient sea had in any way contributed
towards bringing about the new order of things. Was it
not possible that the cutting of this new channel had
caused an irruption of water of which the annihilation of
a considerable portion of Africa was the result? Was it
not more than likely that beyond lat 34° the Dobryna
might sight the coast of Tripoli, which would surely prove
itself an irresistible obstacle to any wider spread of the
disaster? If, however, on reaching this point they should
find that the sea still stretched away indefinitely to the
south, it was Lieutenant Procope's opinion that they would
have no alternative but to proceed northwards, and to seek
from the shores of Europe a solution of the mystery which
seemed to become more and more inexplicable.
Unsparing of her fuel, the Dobryna made her way at
full steam towards Cape Blanc. Neither Cape Negro nor
Cape Serrat was to be seen. The town of Bizerta, once
charming in its oriental beauty, had vanished utterly; its
marabouts, or temple-tombs, shaded by magnificent palms
that fringed the gulf, which by reason of its narrow mouth
had the semblance of a lake, all had disappeared, giving
place to a vast waste of sea, the transparent 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, five weeks previously. Cape Blanc had been so conspicuous
an object, and she was now stemming the waters
of what once had been the Bay of Tunis. But bay 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, had all vanished from the view. Cape Bon,
too, the most northern promontory of Africa and the point
of the continent nearest to the island of Sicily, had been
included in the general devastation.
Before the occurrence of the recent prodigy, the bottom
of the Mediterranean just at this point had formed a
sudden ridge across the Straits of Libya. The sides of the
ridge had shelved to so great an extent that, while the
depth of water on the summit had been little more than
eleven fathoms, that on either hand of the elevation was
little short of a hundred fathoms. A formation such as
this plainly indicated that at some remote epoch Cape Bon
had been connected with Cape Furina, the extremity of
Sicily, in the same manner as Ceuta has doubtless been
connected with Gibraltar.
Lieutenant Procope was too well acquainted with the
Mediterranean to be unaware of this peculiarity, and would
not lose the opportunity of ascertaining whether the
submarine ridge still existed, or whether the sea-bottom
between Sicily and Africa had undergone any modification.
Both Timascheff and Servadac were much interested
in watching the operations. At a sign from the lieutenant,
a sailor who was stationed at the foot of the foreshrouds
dropped the sounding-lead into the water, and in
reply to Procope's inquiries, reported—“Five fathoms and
a flat bottom.”
The next aim was to determine the amount of depression
on either side of the ridge, and for this purpose the
Dobryna was shifted for a distance of half a mile both to
the right and left, and the soundings taken at each station.
“Five fathoms and a flat bottom” was the unvaried
announcement after each operation. Not only, therefore,
was it evident that the submerged chain between Cape
Bon and Cape Furina no longer existed, but it was equally
clear that the convulsion had caused a general levelling of
the sea-bottom, and that the soil, degenerated, as it 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
the Mediterranean had hitherto been prodigally clothed.
The Dobryna now put about and resumed her explorations
in a southerly direction. It remained, however, as
remarkable as ever how completely throughout the voyage
the sea continued to be deserted; all expectations of
hailing a vessel bearing news from Europe were entirely
falsified, so that more and more each member of the
crew began to be conscious of his isolation, 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 city of Dido, the ancient Byrsa—a Carthage,
however, which was now more completely destroyed than
ever Punic Carthage had been destroyed by Scipio
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 the heaven above, where stars
kept peeping fitfully from behind the moving clouds, his
eye wandered mechanically to the waters below, where the
long waves were rising and falling with the evening breeze.
All at once, his attention was arrested by a luminous
speck straight ahead on the southern horizon. At first,
imagining that he was the victim of some spectral
illusion, he observed it with silent attention; but when, after
some minutes, he became convinced that what he saw was
actually a distant light, he appealed to one of the sailors,
by whom his impression was fully corroborated. The
intelligence was immediately imparted 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,” said Servadac.
“No, captain,” interposed Lieutenant Procope; “we
shall know nothing until 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 are really near land, I should be afraid to
approach it in the dark.”
The count expressed his approval of the lieutenant's
caution, and thereupon all sail was shortened so as to keep
the Dobryna from making any considerable progress all
through the hours of night. Few as those hours were,
they seemed to those on board as if their end would
never come. Fearful lest the faint glimmer should at any
moment cease to be visible. Hector Servadac did not quit
his post upon the deck; but the light continued unchanged.
It shone with about the same degree of lustre as a star of
the second magnitude, and from the fact of its remaining
stationary, Procope became more and more convinced that
it was on land and did not belong to a passing vessel.
At sunrise every telescope was pointed with keenest
interest towards the centre 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 about ten miles,
there was the distinct outline of a solitary island of very
small extent; rather, as the count observed, it had the
appearance of being the projecting summit of a mountain
all but submerged. Whatever it was, it was agreed that its
true character must be ascertained, not only to gratify their
own curiosity, but for the benefit of all future navigators.
The schooner accordingly was steered directly towards
it, and in less than an hour had cast anchor within a few
cables' length of the shore.
The little island proved to be nothing more than an
arid rock rising abruptly about forty feet above the water.
It had no outlying reefs, a circumstance that seemed to
suggest the probability that in the recent convulsion it had
sunk gradually, until it had reached its present position of
equilibrium.
Without removing his eye from his telescope, Servadac
exclaimed:
“There is a habitation on the place; I can see an
erection of some kind quite distinctly. Who can tell
whether we shall not come across a human being?”
Lieutenant Procope looked doubtful. The island had
all the appearance of being deserted, nor did a cannonshot
fired from the schooner have the effect of bringing
any resident to the shore. Nevertheless, it was undeniable
that there was a stone building situated on the top of the
rock, and that this building had much the character of an
Arabian marabout.
The boat was lowered and manned by the four sailors;
Servadac, Timascheff and Procope were quickly rowed
ashore, and lost no time in commencing their ascent of
the steep acclivity. Upon reaching the summit, they found
their progress arrested by a kind of wall, or rampart of
singular construction, its materials consisting mainly of
vases, fragments of columns, carved bas-reliefs, statues, and
portions of broken stelæ, all piled promiscuously together
without any pretence to artistic arrangement. They made
their way into the enclosure, and finding an open door,
they passed through and soon came to a second door, also
open, which admitted them to the interior of the marabout,
consisting of a single chamber, the walls of which were
ornamented in the Arabian style by sculptures of indifferent
execution. In the centre was a tomb of the very
simplest kind, and above the tomb was suspended a large
silver lamp with a capacious reservoir of oil, in which
floated a long lighted wick, the flame of which was
evidently the light that had attracted Servadac's attention
on the previous night.
“Must there not have been a custodian of the marabout?”
they mutually asked; but if such there had ever
been, he must, they concluded, either have fled or have
perished on that eventful night. Not a soul was there in
charge, and the sole living occupants were a flock of wild
cormorants which, startled at the entrance of the intruders,
rose on wing, and took a rapid flight towards the south.
An old French prayer-book was lying on the corner of
the tomb; the volume was open, and the page exposed to
view was that which contained the office for the celebration
of the 25th of August. A sudden revelation flashed across
Servadac's mind. The solemn isolation of the island tomb,
the open breviary, the ritual of the ancient anniversary, all
combined to apprise him of the sanctity of the spot upon
which he stood.
“The tomb of St. Louis!” he exclaimed, and his companions
involuntarily followed his example, and made a
reverential obeisance to the venerated monument.
It was, in truth, the very spot on which tradition asserts
that the canonized monarch came to die, a spot to which
for six centuries and more his countrymen had paid the
homage of a pious regard. The lamp that had been
kindled at the memorial shrine of a saint was now in all
probability the only beacon that threw a light across the
waters of the Mediterranean, and even this ere long must
itself expire.
There was nothing more to explore. The three together
quitted the marabout, and descended the rock to the
shore, whence their boat re-conveyed them to the schooner,
which was soon again on her southward voyage; and it
was not long before the tomb of St. Louis, the only spot
that had survived the mysterious shock, was lost to view.