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Wednesday, August 19. — Fortunately the wind blows violently, and has enabled us to flee from the scene of the late terrible struggle. Hans keeps at his post at the helm. My uncle, whom the absorbing incidents of the combat had drawn away from his contemplations, began again to look impatiently around him.
The voyage resumes its uniform tenor, which I don’t care to break with a repetition of such events as yesterday’s.
Thursday, Aug. 20. — Wind N.N.E., unsteady and fitful. Temperature high. Rate three and a half leagues an hour.
About noon a distant noise is heard. I note the fact without being able to explain it. It is a continuous roar.
“In the distance,” says the Professor, “there is a rock or islet, against which the sea is breaking.”
Hans climbs up the mast, but sees no breakers. The ocean’ is smooth and unbroken to its farthest limit.
Three hours pass away. The roarings seem to proceed from a very distant waterfall.
I remark upon this to my uncle, who replies doubtfully: “Yes, I am convinced that I am right.” Are we, then, speeding forward to some cataract which will cast us down an abyss? This method of getting on may please the Professor, because it is vertical; but for my part I prefer the more ordinary modes of horizontal progression.
At any rate, some leagues to the windward there must be some noisy phenomenon, for now the roarings are heard with increasing loudness. Do they proceed from the sky or the ocean?
I look up to the atmospheric vapours, and try to fathom their depths. The sky is calm and motionless. The clouds have reached the utmost limit of the lofty vault, and there lie still bathed in the bright glare of the electric light. It is not there that we must seek for the cause of this phenomenon. Then I examine the horizon, which is unbroken and clear of all mist. There is no change in its aspect. But if this noise arises from a fall, a cataract, if all this ocean flows away headlong into a lower basin yet, if that deafening roar is produced by a mass of falling water, the current must needs accelerate, and its increasing speed will give me the measure of the peril that threatens us. I consult the current: there is none. I throw an empty bottle into the sea: it lies still.
About four Hans rises, lays hold of the mast, climbs to its top. Thence his eye sweeps a large area of sea, and it is fixed upon a point. His countenance exhibits no surprise, but his eye is immovably steady.
“He sees something,” says my uncle.
“I believe he does.”
Hans comes down, then stretches his arm to the south, saying:
“Dere nere!”
“Down there?” repeated my uncle.
Then, seizing his glass, he gazes attentively for a minute, which seems to me an age.
“Yes, yes!” he cried. “I see a vast inverted cone rising from the surface.”
“Is it another sea beast?”
“Perhaps it is.”
“Then let us steer farther westward, for we know something
of the danger of coming (...)
(......)
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