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Who
had
placed
those
rocks
and
stones
like
cromlechs
of
prehistoric
times
?
Where
was
I
?
Whither
had
Captain
Nemo
's
fancy
hurried
me
?
I
would
fain
have
asked
him
;
not
being
able
to
,
I
stopped
him
--
I
seized
his
arm
.
But
,
shaking
his
head
,
and
pointing
to
the
highest
point
of
the
mountain
,
he
seemed
to
say
:
"
Come
,
come
along
;
come
higher
!
"
I
followed
,
and
in
a
few
minutes
I
had
climbed
to
the
top
,
which
for
a
circle
of
ten
yards
commanded
the
whole
mass
of
rock
.
I
looked
down
the
side
we
had
just
climbed
.
The
mountain
did
not
rise
more
than
seven
or
eight
hundred
feet
above
the
level
of
the
plain
;
but
on
the
opposite
side
it
commanded
from
twice
that
height
the
depths
of
this
part
of
the
Atlantic
.
My
eyes
ranged
far
over
a
large
space
lit
by
a
violent
fulguration
.
In
fact
,
the
mountain
was
a
volcano
.
At
fifty
feet
above
the
peak
,
in
the
midst
of
a
rain
of
stones
and
scoriae
,
a
large
crater
was
vomiting
forth
torrents
of
lava
which
fell
in
a
cascade
of
fire
into
the
bosom
of
the
liquid
mass
.
Thus
situated
,
this
volcano
lit
the
lower
plain
like
an
immense
torch
,
even
to
the
extreme
limits
of
the
horizon
.
I
said
that
the
submarine
crater
threw
up
lava
,
but
no
flames
.
Flames
require
the
oxygen
of
the
air
to
feed
upon
and
can
not
be
developed
under
water
;
but
streams
of
lava
,
having
in
themselves
the
principles
of
their
incandescence
,
can
attain
a
white
heat
,
fight
vigorously
against
the
liquid
element
,
and
turn
it
to
vapour
by
contact
.
Rapid
currents
bearing
all
these
gases
in
diffusion
and
torrents
of
lava
slid
to
the
bottom
of
the
mountain
like
an
eruption
of
Vesuvius
on
another
Terra
del
Greco
.
There
indeed
under
my
eyes
,
ruined
,
destroyed
,
lay
a
town
--
its
roofs
open
to
the
sky
,
its
temples
fallen
,
its
arches
dislocated
,
its
columns
lying
on
the
ground
,
from
which
one
would
still
recognise
the
massive
character
of
Tuscan
architecture
.
Further
on
,
some
remains
of
a
gigantic
aqueduct
;
here
the
high
base
of
an
Acropolis
,
with
the
floating
outline
of
a
Parthenon
;
there
traces
of
a
quay
,
as
if
an
ancient
port
had
formerly
abutted
on
the
borders
of
the
ocean
,
and
disappeared
with
its
merchant
vessels
and
its
war-galleys
.
Farther
on
again
,
long
lines
of
sunken
walls
and
broad
,
deserted
streets
--
a
perfect
Pompeii
escaped
beneath
the
waters
.
Such
was
the
sight
that
Captain
Nemo
brought
before
my
eyes
!
Where
was
I
?
Where
was
I
?
I
must
know
at
any
cost
.
I
tried
to
speak
,
but
Captain
Nemo
stopped
me
by
a
gesture
,
and
,
picking
up
a
piece
of
chalk-stone
,
advanced
to
a
rock
of
black
basalt
,
and
traced
the
one
word
:
ATLANTIS
