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"
But
,
friend
Ned
,
"
said
Conseil
,
"
if
the
passage
had
not
been
under
the
sea
,
the
Nautilus
could
not
have
gone
through
it
.
"
We
continued
ascending
.
The
steps
became
more
and
more
perpendicular
and
narrow
.
Deep
excavations
,
which
we
were
obliged
to
cross
,
cut
them
here
and
there
;
sloping
masses
had
to
be
turned
.
We
slid
upon
our
knees
and
crawled
along
.
But
Conseil
's
dexterity
and
the
Canadian
's
strength
surmounted
all
obstacles
.
At
a
height
of
about
31
feet
the
nature
of
the
ground
changed
without
becoming
more
practicable
.
To
the
conglomerate
and
trachyte
succeeded
black
basalt
,
the
first
dispread
in
layers
full
of
bubbles
,
the
latter
forming
regular
prisms
,
placed
like
a
colonnade
supporting
the
spring
of
the
immense
vault
,
an
admirable
specimen
of
natural
architecture
.
Between
the
blocks
of
basalt
wound
long
streams
of
lava
,
long
since
grown
cold
,
encrusted
with
bituminous
rays
;
and
in
some
places
there
were
spread
large
carpets
of
sulphur
.
A
more
powerful
light
shone
through
the
upper
crater
,
shedding
a
vague
glimmer
over
these
volcanic
depressions
for
ever
buried
in
the
bosom
of
this
extinguished
mountain
.
But
our
upward
march
was
soon
stopped
at
a
height
of
about
two
hundred
and
fifty
feet
by
impassable
obstacles
.
There
was
a
complete
vaulted
arch
overhanging
us
,
and
our
ascent
was
changed
to
a
circular
walk
.
At
the
last
change
vegetable
life
began
to
struggle
with
the
mineral
.
Some
shrubs
,
and
even
some
trees
,
grew
from
the
fractures
of
the
walls
.
I
recognised
some
euphorbias
,
with
the
caustic
sugar
coming
from
them
;
heliotropes
,
quite
incapable
of
justifying
their
name
,
sadly
drooped
their
clusters
of
flowers
,
both
their
colour
and
perfume
half
gone
.
Here
and
there
some
chrysanthemums
grew
timidly
at
the
foot
of
an
aloe
with
long
,
sickly-looking
leaves
.
But
between
the
streams
of
lava
,
I
saw
some
little
violets
still
slightly
perfumed
,
and
I
admit
that
I
smelt
them
with
delight
.
Perfume
is
the
soul
of
the
flower
,
and
sea-flowers
have
no
soul
.
We
had
arrived
at
the
foot
of
some
sturdy
dragon-trees
,
which
had
pushed
aside
the
rocks
with
their
strong
roots
,
when
Ned
Land
exclaimed
:
"
Ah
!
sir
,
a
hive
!
a
hive
!
"
"
A
hive
!
"
I
replied
,
with
a
gesture
of
incredulity
.
"
Yes
,
a
hive
,
"
repeated
the
Canadian
,
"
and
bees
humming
round
it
.
"
I
approached
,
and
was
bound
to
believe
my
own
eyes
.
There
at
a
hole
bored
in
one
of
the
dragon-trees
were
some
thousands
of
these
ingenious
insects
,
so
common
in
all
the
Canaries
,
and
whose
produce
is
so
much
esteemed
.
Naturally
enough
,
the
Canadian
wished
to
gather
the
honey
,
and
I
could
not
well
oppose
his
wish
.
A
quantity
of
dry
leaves
,
mixed
with
sulphur
,
he
lit
with
a
spark
from
his
flint
,
and
he
began
to
smoke
out
the
bees
.
The
humming
ceased
by
degrees
,
and
the
hive
eventually
yielded
several
pounds
of
the
sweetest
honey
,
with
which
Ned
Land
filled
his
haversack
.
"
When
I
have
mixed
this
honey
with
the
paste
of
the
bread-fruit
,
"
said
he
,
"
I
shall
be
able
to
offer
you
a
succulent
cake
.
"
"
`
Pon
my
word
,
"
said
Conseil
,
"
it
will
be
gingerbread
.
"
