 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne. Part 3, Chapter 19. The next day, the eighth day of January, after a day and night passed at the corral, where they left all in order, Cyrus Harding and Ayrton arrived at Granite House. The engineer immediately called his companions together and informed them of the imminent danger which threatened Lincoln Island and from which no human power could deliver them. My friends, he said, and his voice betrayed the depth of his emotion. Our island is not among those which will endure while this earth endures. It is doomed to more or less speedy destruction, the cause of which it bears within itself and from which nothing can save it. The colonists looked at each other, then at the engineer. They did not clearly comprehend him. Explain yourself, Cyrus!" said Gideon Spillett. I will do so, replied Cyrus Harding. Or rather, I will simply afford you the explanation which, during our few minutes of private conversation, was given me by Captain Nemo. Captain Nemo exclaimed the colonists. Yes, and it was the last service he desired to render us before his death. The last service, exclaimed Pencroft, the last service! You will see that though he is dead he will render us others yet. But what did the Captain say? inquired the reporter. I will tell you, my friends, said the engineer. Lincoln Island does not resemble the other islands of the Pacific, and a fact of which Captain Nemo has made me cognizant must sooner or later bring about the subversion of its foundation. Nonsense! Lincoln Island! It can't be!" cried Pencroft, who in spite of the respect he felt for Cyrus Harding could not prevent a gesture of incredulity. Listen, Pencroft, resumed the engineer. I will tell you what Captain Nemo communicated to me and which I, myself, confirmed yesterday during the exploration of Dakar Grotto. This cavern stretches under the island as far as the volcano, and is only separated from its central shaft by the wall which terminates it. Now this wall is seamed with fissures and clefs which already allow the sulfurous gases generated in the interior of the volcano to escape. Well, said Pencroft, his brow suddenly contracting, well then I saw that these fissures widen under the internal pressure from within, that the wall of basalt is gradually giving way, and that after a longer or shorter period it will afford a passage to the waters of the lake which fill the cavern. Good! replied Pencroft with an attempt at pleasantry. The sea will extinguish the volcano, and there will be an end to the matter. Not so, said Cyrus Harding. Should a day arrive when the sea, rushing through the wall of the cavern, penetrates by the central shaft into the interior of the island to the boiling lava, Lincoln Island will that day be blown into the air, just as what happened to the island of Sicily were the Mediterranean to precipitate itself into Mount Etna. The colonists made no answer to these significant words of the engineer. They now understood the danger by which they were menaced. It may be added that Cyrus Harding had in no way exaggerated the danger to be apprehended. Many persons have formed an idea that it would be possible to extinguish volcanoes, which are almost always situated on the shores of a sea or lake, by opening a passage for the admission of the water. But they are not aware that this would be to incur the risk of blowing up a portion of the globe, like a boiler whose steam is suddenly expanded by intense heat. The water, rushing into a cavity whose temperature might be estimated at thousands of degrees, would be converted into steam with a sudden energy which no enclosure could resist. It was not therefore doubtful that the island, menaced by a frightful and approaching convulsion, would endure only so long as the wall of Dacar Grotto itself should endure. It was not even a question of months, nor of weeks, but of days. It might be of hours. The first sentiment which the colonists felt was that of profound sorrow. They thought not so much of the peril which menaced themselves personally, but of the destruction of the island which had sheltered them, which they had cultivated, which they loved so well, and had hoped to render so flourishing. So much effort, ineffectually expended, so much labor lost. Pencroft could not prevent a large tear from rolling down his cheek, nor did he attempt to conceal it. Some further conversation now took place. The chances yet in favour of the colonists were discussed, but finally it was agreed that there was not an hour to be lost, that the building and fitting of the vessel should be pushed forward with their utmost energy, and that this was the sole chance of safety for the inhabitants of Lincoln Island. All hands therefore set to work on the vessel. What could it avail to sow, to reap, to hunt, to increase the stores of Granite House? The contents of the storehouse and outbuildings contain more than sufficient to provide the ship for a voyage, however long might be its duration. But it was imperative that the ship should be ready to receive them before the inevitable catastrophe should arrive. Their labours were now carried on with feverish ardour. By the twenty-third of January the vessel was half decked over. Up to this time no change had taken place on the summit of the volcano. Paper and smoke mingled with flames and incandescent stones were thrown up from the crater. But during the night of the twenty-third, in consequence of the lava attaining the level of the first stratum of the volcano, the hat-shaped cone which formed over the ladder disappeared. A frightful sound was heard. The colonists at first thought the island was rent asunder and rushed out of Granite House. It occurred about two o'clock in the morning. The sky appeared on fire. The superior cone, a mass of rock a thousand feet in height and weighing thousands of millions of pounds, had been thrown down upon the island, making it tremble to its foundation. Fortunately this cone inclined to the north and had fallen upon the plain of sand and tufa stretching between the volcano and the sea. The aperture of the crater being thus enlarged projected towards the sky a glare so intense that by the simple effect of reflection the atmosphere appeared red-hot. At the same time a torrent of lava bursting from the new summit poured out in long cascades like water escaping from a vase too full and a thousand tongues of fire crept over the sides of the volcano. The corral! The corral! exclaimed Ayrton. It was, in fact, towards the corral that the lava was rushing as the new crater faced the east and consequently the fertile portions of the island. The springs of Red Creek and Jackomar Wood were menaced with instant destruction. At Ayrton's cry the colonists rushed to the onager's stables. The cart was at once harnessed. All were possessed by the same thought, to hasten to the corral and set at liberty the animals it enclosed. Before three in the morning they arrived at the corral. The cries of the terrified muskmen and goats indicated the alarm which possessed them. Already a torrent of burning matter and liquefied minerals fell from the side of the mountain upon the meadows as far as the side of the palisade. The gate was burst open by Ayrton and the animals bewildered with terror fled in all directions. An hour afterwards the boiling lava filled the corral, converting into vapor the water of the little rivulet which ran through it, burning up the house like dry grass, and leaving not even a post of the palisade to mark the spot where the corral once stood. To contend against this disaster would have been folly, nay madness! In presence of nature's grand convulsions man is powerless. It was now daylight the twenty-fourth of January. Cyrus Harding and his companions, before returning to Granite House, desired to ascertain the probable direction this inundation of lava was about to take. The soil sloped gradually from Mount Franklin to the east coast, and it was to be feared that, in spite of the thick Jackomar wood, the torrent would reach the plateau of prospect heights. The lake will cover us, said Gideon Spillett. I hope so, was Cyrus Harding's only reply. The colonists were desirous of reaching the plain upon which the superior cone of Mount Franklin had fallen, but the lava arrested their progress. It had followed on one side the valley of Red Creek, and on the other that of Falls River, evaporating those water-courses in its passage. There was no possibility of crossing the torrent of lava. On the contrary, the colonists were obliged to retreat before it. The volcano, without its crown, was no longer recognizable, terminated as it was by a sort of flat table which replaced the ancient crater. From two openings in its southern and eastern sides, an unceasing flow of lava poured forth, thus forming two distinct streams. Above the new crater a cloud of smoke and ashes mingled with those of the atmosphere, massed over the island. Loud peals of thunder broke, and could scarcely be distinguished from the rumblings of the mountain, whose mouth vomited forth ignited rocks, which hurled to more than a thousand feet, burst in the air like shells. Flashes of lightning rivaled in intensity the volcano's eruption. Towards seven in the morning the position was no longer tenable by the colonists, who accordingly took shelter in the borders of Jackamar Wood. Not only did the projectiles begin to rain around them, but the lava overflowing the bed of Red Creek threatened to cut off the road to the corral. The nearest rows of trees caught fire, and their sap, suddenly transformed into vapor, caused them to explode with loud reports, while others, less moist, remained unhurt in the midst of the inundation. The colonists had again taken the road to the corral. They proceeded but slowly, frequently looking back, but in consequence of the inclination of the soil, the lava gained rapidly in the east, and as its lower waves became solidified others at boiling heat covered them immediately. Meanwhile the principal stream of Red Creek Valley became more and more menacing. All this portion of the forest was on fire, and enormous wreaths of smoke rolled over the trees whose trunks were already consumed by the lava. The colonists halted near the lake, about half a mile from the mouth of Red Creek. A question of life or death was now to be decided. Cyrus Harding, accustomed to the consideration of important crises, and aware that he was addressing men capable of hearing the truth whatever it might be, then said, Either the lake will arrest the progress of the lava, and a part of the island will be preserved from utter destruction, or the stream will overrun the forests of the far west, and not a tree or plant will remain on the surface of this oil. We shall have no prospect but starvation upon these barren rocks, a death which will probably be anticipated by the explosion of the island. In that case, replied Pencroft, folding his arms and stamping his foot, what's the use of working any longer on the vessel? Pencroft answered Cyrus Harding, we must do our duty to the last. At this instant the river of lava, after having broken a passage through the noble trees it devoured in its course, reached the borders of the lake. At this point there was an elevation of the soil which, had it been greater, might have sufficed to arrest the torrent. To work! cried Cyrus Harding. The engineer's thought was at once understood. It might be possible to dam, as it were, the torrent, and thus compel it to pour itself into the lake. The colonists hastened to the dockyard. They returned with shovels, picks, axes, and by means of banking the earth with the aid of fallen trees, they succeeded in a few hours in raising an embankment three feet high and some hundreds of paces in length. It seemed to them, when they had finished, as if they had scarcely been working more than a few minutes. It was not a moment too soon. The liquefied substances soon after reached the bottom of the barrier. The stream of lava swelled like a river about to overflow its banks, and threatened to demolish the sole obstacle which could prevent it from overrunning the whole far west. But the dam held firm, and after a moment of terrible suspense the torrent precipitated itself into Grant Lake from a height of twenty feet. The colonists, without moving or uttering a word, breathlessly regarded this strife of the two elements. What a spectacle was this conflict between water and fire! What pen could describe the marvellous horror of the scene? What pencil could depict it? The water hissed as it evaporated by contact with the boiling lava. The vapor whirled in the air to an immeasurable height, as if the valves of an immense boiler had been suddenly opened. But however considerable might be the volume of water contained in the lake, it must eventually be absorbed, because it was not replenished, while the stream of lava, fed from an inexhaustible source, rolled on without ceasing new waves of incandescent matter. The first waves of lava which fell in the lake immediately solidified and accumulated so as to speedily to emerge from it. Upon their surface fell other waves, which in their turn became stone, but a step nearer the center of the lake. In this manner was formed a pier which threatened to gradually fill up the lake, which could not overflow, the water displaced by the lava being evaporated. The hissing of the water rent the air with a deafening sound, and the vapor, blown by the wind, fell in rain upon the sea. The pier became longer and longer, and the blocks of lava piled themselves one on another. Where formerly stretched the calm waters of the lake now appeared an enormous mass of smoking rocks, as if an ump heaving of the soil had formed immense shoals. Imagine the waters of the lake aroused by a hurricane, then suddenly solidified by an intense frost, and some conception may be formed of the aspect of the lake, three hours after the eruption of this irresistible torrent of lava. This time water would be vanquished by fire. Nevertheless it was a fortunate circumstance for the colonists that the effusion of lava should have been in the direction of Lake Grant. They had before them some days respite. The plateau of prospect heights, granite house, and the dockyard were for the moment preserved, and these few days it was necessary to employ in planking and carefully caulking the vessel and launching her. The colonists would then take refuge on board the vessel, content to rig her after she should be afloat on the waters. With the danger of an explosion which threatened to destroy the island there could be no security on shore. The walls of granite house, once so sure a retreat might at any moment fall in upon them. During the six following days, from the twenty-fifth to the thirtieth of January, the colonists accomplished as much of the construction of their vessel as twenty men could have done. They hardly allowed themselves a moment's repose, and the glare of the flames which shot from the crater enabled them to work night and day. The flow of lava continued, but perhaps less abundantly. This was fortunate, for Lake Grant was almost entirely choked up, and if more lava should accumulate it would inevitably spread over the plateau of prospect heights and dense upon the beach. But if the island was thus partially protected on this side it was not so with the western part. In fact the second stream of lava, which had followed the valley of Falls River, a valley of great extent, the land on both sides of the creek being flat, met with no obstacle. The burning liquid had then spread through the forest of the far west. At this period of the year, when the trees were dried up by a tropical heat, the forest caught fire instantaneously in such a manner that the conflagration extended itself both by the trunks of the trees and by their higher branches, whose interlacement favored its progress. It even appeared that the current of flames spread more rapidly among the summits of the trees than the current of lava at their bases. Thus it happened that the wild animals, jaguars, wild boars, capybaras, koalas, and game of every kind, mad with terror, had fled to the banks of the mercy and to the Tadorm Marsh, beyond the road to Port Balloon. But the colonists were too much occupied with their task to pay any attention to even the most formidable of these animals. They had abandoned Granite House and would not even take shelter at the chimneys but encamped under a tent near the mouth of the mercy. Each day Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spillett ascended the plateau of prospect heights. Sometimes Herbert accompanied them, but never Pincroft, who could not bear to look upon the prospect of the island now so utterly devastated. It was, in truth, a heart-rending spectacle. All the wooded part of the island was now completely bare. One single clump of green trees raised their heads at the extremity of Serpentine Peninsula. Here and there were a few grotesque blackened and branchless stumps. The site of the devastated forest was even more barren than Tadorm Marsh. The eruption of lava had been complete. Where formerly sprang up that charming verdure, the soil was now nothing but a savage mass of volcanic tufa. In the valleys of the falls and mercy rivers, no drop of water now flowed towards the sea, and should lake Grant be entirely dried up, the colonists would have no means of quenching their thirst. But fortunately the lava had spared the southern corner of the lake, containing all that remained of the drinking water of the island. Towards the northwest stood out the rugged and well-defined outlines of the sides of the volcano, like a gigantic claw hovering over the island. What a sad and fearful sight, and how painful to the colonists, who from a fertile domain covered with forest, irrigated by water-courses and enriched by the produce of their toils, found themselves, as it were, transported to a desolate rock, upon which, but for their reserves of provisions, they could not even gather the means of subsistence. It is enough to break one's heart, said Gideon Spillett one day. Yes, Spillett, answered the engineer. May God grant us the time to complete this vessel, now our sole refuge. Do you not think, Cyrus, that the violence of the eruption has somewhat lessened? The volcano still vomits forth for lava, but somewhat less abundantly, if I mistake not. Hit matters little, answered Cyrus Harding. The fire is still burning in the interior of the mountain, and the sea may break in at any moment. We are in the condition of passengers whose ship is devoured by a conflagration which they cannot extinguish, and who know that sooner or later the flames must reach the powder magazine. To work, Spillett, to work, and let us not lose an hour. During eight days more, that is to say, until the seventh of February, the lava continued to flow, but the eruption was confined within the previous limits. Cyrus Harding feared above all lest the liquefied matter should overflow the shore, for in that event the dockyard could not escape. Moreover, about this time the colonists felt in the frame of the island vibrations which alarmed them to the highest degree. It was the twentieth of February. Yet another month must elapse before the vessel would be ready for sea. Would the island hold together till then? The intention of Pencroft and Cyrus Harding was to launch the vessel as soon as the hull should be complete. The deck, the upper works, the interior woodwork, and the rigging might be finished afterwards, but the essential point was that the colonists should have an assured refuge away from the island. Perhaps it might be even better to conduct the vessel to Port Balloon, that is to say, as far as possible from the center of eruption, for at the mouth of the mercy, between the islet and the wall of Granite, it would run the risk of being crushed in the event of any convulsion. All the exertions of the voyages were therefore concentrated upon the completion of the hull. Thus the third of March arrived, and they might calculate upon launching the vessel in ten days. Hope revived in the hearts of the colonists, who had, in this fourth year of their sojourn on Lincoln Island, suffered so many trials. Even Pencroft lost in some measure the somber taciturnity occasioned by the devastation and ruin of his domain. His hopes, it is true, were concentrated upon his vessel. We shall finish it, he said to the engineer. We shall finish it, Captain, and it is time for the season is advancing, and the equinox will soon be here. Well, if necessary, we must put into Tabor Island to spend the winter. But think of Tabor Island after Lincoln Island. Ah, how unfortunate! Who could have believed it possible? Let us get on, was the engineer's invariable reply. And they worked away without losing a moment. Master, asked Neb a few days later, Do you think all this could have happened if Captain Nemo had been still alive? Certainly, Neb answered Cyrus Harding. I, for one, don't believe it, whispered Pencroft to Neb. Nor I answered Neb seriously. During the first week of March, appearances again became menacing. Thousands of threads like glass, formed of fluid lava, fell like rain upon the island. The crater was again boiling with lava, which overflowed the back of the volcano. The torrent flowed along the surface of the hardened tufa, and destroyed the few meager skeletons of trees which had withstood the first eruption. The stream, flowing this time towards the southwest shore of Lake Grant, stretched beyond Creek Glycerin, and invaded the plateau of Prospect Heights. This last blow to the work of the colonists was terrible. The mill, the buildings of the inner court, the stables, were all destroyed. The affrighted poultry fled in all directions. Top and jupe showed signs of the greatest alarm, as if their instinct warmed them of an impending catastrophe. A large number of the animals of the island had perished in the first eruption. Those which survived found no refuge but Tatorn Marsh, save a few to which the plateau of Prospect Heights afforded asylum. But even this last retreat was now closed to them, and the lava torrent, flowing over the edge of the granite wall, began to pour down upon the beach its cataracts of fire. The sublime horror of this spectacle passed all description. During the night it could only be compared to a Niagara of molten fluid, with its incandescent vapours above and its boiling masses below. The colonists were driven to their last entrenchment, and although the upper seams of the vessel were not yet caulked, they decided to launch her at once. Pencroft and Ayrton therefore set about the necessary preparations for the launching, which was to take place the morning of the next day, the 9th of March. But during the night of the 8th, an enormous column of vapour escaping from the crater rose with frightful explosions to a height of more than 3,000 feet. The wall of Decar Grotto had evidently given way under the pressure of gases, and the sea, rushing through the central shaft into the igneous gulf, was at once converted into vapour. But the crater could not afford a sufficient outlet for this vapour. An explosion, which might have been heard at a distance of a hundred miles, shook the air. Fragments of mountains fell into the Pacific, and in a few minutes the ocean rolled over the spot where Lincoln Island once stood. End of chapter. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Mysterious Island. By Jules Verne. Part 3. Chapter 20. This is the final chapter of the book. An isolated rock, thirty feet in length, twenty in breadth, scarcely ten from the water's edge. Such was the only solid point which the waves of the Pacific had not engulfed. It was all that remained of the structure of Granite House. The wall had fallen headlong and been then shattered to fragments, and a few of the rocks of the large room were piled one above another to form this point. All around had disappeared in the abyss. The inferior cone of Mount Franklin ran asunder by the explosion, the lava jaws of Shark Gulf, the plateau of Prospect Heights, Safety Islet, the Granite Rock Support Balloon, the basalts of Dakar Grotto, the long serpentine peninsula, so distant nevertheless from the center of the eruption. All that could now be seen of Lincoln Island was the narrow rock which now served as a refuge to the six colonists and their dog-top. The animals had also perished in the catastrophe, the birds, as well as those representing the fauna of the island, all either crushed or drowned, and the unfortunate juke himself had, alas, found his death in some crevice of the soil. If Cyrus Harding, Gideon Spillett, Herbert, Pencroft, Nebb, and Ayrton had survived, it was because, assembled under their tent, they had been hurled into the sea at the instant when the fragments of the island rained down on every side. When they reached the surface they could only perceive, at half a cable's length, this mass of rocks, towards which they swam and on which they found footing. On this barren rock they had now existed for nine days. A few provisions taken from the magazine of Granite House before the catastrophe, a little fresh water from the rain which had fallen in a hollow of the rock, was all that the unfortunate colonists possessed. Their last hope, the vessel, had been shattered to pieces. They had no means of quitting the reef, no fire, nor any means of obtaining it. It seemed that they must inevitably perish. This day, the 18th of March, they remained only provisions for two days, although they limited their consumption to the bare necessaries of life. All their science and intelligence could avail them nothing in their present position. They were in the hand of God. Cyrus Harding was calm, giddy and spillet more nervous, and Pencroft, a prey to sullen anger, walked to and fro on the rock. Herbert did not for a moment quit the engineer's side, as if demanding from him that assistance he had no power to give. Neb and Ayrton were resigned to their fate. Ah, what a misfortune! What a misfortune! often repeated Pencroft. If we had but a walnut-shell to take us to Tabor Island. But we have nothing—nothing! Captain Nemo did right to die, said Neb. During the five ensuing days, Cyrus Harding and his unfortunate companions husbanded their provisions with the most extreme care, eating only what would prevent them from dying of starvation. Their weakness was extreme. Herbert and Neb began to show symptoms of delirium. Under these circumstances was it possible for them to retain even the shadow of a hope? No. What was their sole remaining chance? That a vessel should appear in sight of the rock? But they knew only too well from experience that no ships ever visited this part of the Pacific. Could they calculate that by a truly providential coincidence, the Scotch yacht would arrive precisely at this time, in search of Ayrton at Tabor Island? It was scarcely probable. And besides, supposing she should come there, as the colonists had not been able to deposit a notice pointing out Ayrton's change of abode, the commander of the yacht, after having explored Tabor Island without result, would again set sail and return to lower latitudes. No. No hope of being saved could be retained, and a horrible death, death from hunger and thirst, awaited them upon this rock. Already they were stretched on the rock inanimate and no longer conscious of what passed around them. Ayrton alone by a supreme effort, from time to time, raised his head, and cast a despairing glance over the desert ocean. But on the morning of the twenty-fourth of March Ayrton's arms were extended towards a point on the horizon. He raised himself, at first on his knees, then upright, and his hand seemed to make a signal. A sail was in sight off the rock. She was evidently not without an object. The reef was the mark for which she was making, in a direct line, under all steam, and the unfortunate colonists might have made her out some hours before, if they had had the strength to watch the horizon. The Duncan, murmured Ayrton, and fell back without sign of life. When Cyrus Harding and his companions recovered consciousness, thanks to the attention lavished upon them, they found themselves in the cabin of a steamer, without being able to comprehend how they had escaped death. A word from Ayrton explained everything. The Duncan, he murmured. The Duncan! exclaimed Cyrus Harding. And raising his hand to heaven he said, Oh, Almighty God, mercifully hast thou preserved us. It was, in fact, the Duncan, Lord Gledarvon's yacht, now commanded by Robert, son of Captain Grant, who had been dispatched to Tabor Island to find Ayrton and bring him back to his native land after twelve years of expiation. The colonists were not only saved, but already on the way to their native country. Captain Grant, as Cyrus Harding. Who can have suggested to you the idea, after having left Tabor Island, where you did not find Ayrton, of coming a hundred miles farther northeast? Captain Harding replied Robert Grant. It was, in order to find, not only Ayrton, but yourself and your companions. My companions and myself? Doubtless at Lincoln Island. At Lincoln Island! exclaimed in a breath Gideon Spillett, Herbert, Neb, and Pencroft, in the highest degree astonished. How could you be aware of the existence of Lincoln Island? inquired Cyrus Harding. It is not even named in the charts. I knew of it from a document left by you on Tabor Island. Answered Robert Grant. A document! cried Gideon Spillett. Without doubt, and here it is. Answered Robert Grant, producing a paper which indicated the longitude and latitude of Lincoln Island, the present residence of Ayrton and five American colonists. It is Captain Nemo! cried Cyrus Harding after having read the notice, and recognized that the handwriting was similar to that of the paper found at the corral. Ah! said Pencroft. It was then he who took our Bon Adventure and hazarded himself alone to go to Tabor Island. In order to leave this notice, added Herbert. I was then right in saying, exclaimed the sailor, that even after his death the captain would render us a last service. My friends! said Cyrus Harding in a voice of the profoundest emotion. May the God of Mercy have had pity on the soul of Captain Nemo, our benefactor. The colonists uncovered themselves at these last words of Cyrus Harding, and murmured the name of Captain Nemo. Then Ayrton, approaching the engineer, said simply, Where should this coffer be deposited? It was the coffer which Ayrton had saved at the risk of his life, at the very instant that the island had been engulfed, and which he now faithfully handed to the engineer. Ayrton! Ayrton! said Cyrus Harding, deeply touched. Then addressing Robert Grant. Sir, he added, you left behind you a criminal. You find in his place a man who has become honest by penitence, and whose hand I am proud to clasp in mine. Robert Grant was now made acquainted with a strange history of Captain Nemo and the colonists of Lincoln Island. Then, observation being taken of what remained of this shoal, which must henceforward figure on the charts of the Pacific, the order was given to make all sail. A few weeks afterwards the colonists landed in America, and found their country once more at peace, after the terrible conflict in which right and justice had triumphed. Of the treasures contained in the coffer left by Captain Nemo to the colonists of Lincoln Island, the larger portion was employed in the purchase of a vast territory in the State of Iowa. One pearl alone, the finest, was reserved from the treasure and sent to Lady Glenarvon in the name of the castaways restored to their country by the Duncan. There, upon this domain, the colonists invited to labor, that is to say, to wealth and happiness, all those to whom they had hoped to offer the hospitality of Lincoln Island. There was founded a vast colony to which they gave the name of that island, sunk beneath the waters of the Pacific. A river there was called the Mercy. A mountain took the name of Mount Franklin. A small lake was named Lake Grant, and the forest became the Forest of the Far West. It might have been an island on terra firma. There, under the intelligent hands of the engineer and his companions, everything prospered. Not one of the former colonists of Lincoln Island was absent, for they had sworn to live always together. Ned was with his master. Ayrton was there ready to sacrifice himself for all. Pencroft was more a farmer than he had ever been a sailor. Herbert, who completed his studies under the superintendents of Cyrus Harding, and Gideon Spillett, who founded the New Lincoln Herald, the best informed journal in the world. There, Cyrus Harding and his companions received at intervals visits from Lord and Lady Glenarvon, Captain John Mangels and his wife, the sister of Robert Grant, Robert Grant himself, Major McNabb, and all those who had taken part in the history both of Captain Grant and Captain Nemo. There, to conclude, all were happy, united in the present as they had been in the past, but never could they forget that island upon which they had arrived poor and friendless, that island which, during four years, had supplied all their wants, and of which there now remained but a fragment of granite washed by the waves of the Pacific, the tomb of him who had borne the name of Captain Nemo. End of chapter, end of book. Thank you for listening.