The sea has its rivers as a continent. These are the special currents recognisable by their temperature and their colour, of which the most remarkable is the Gulf Stream. Science has determined the direction of five principal currents on the globe. One in the North Atlantic, one in the South Atlantic, a third in the North Pacific, a fourth in the South Pacific, and a fifth in the Southern Indian Ocean. It is even probable that a sixth current existed formerly in the Northern Indian Ocean, since the Caspian and Aral seas, united with the great Asian lakes, only formed one and the same sheet of water.
Now, at the point indicated on the map, one of these currents started—the Kuro Scivo, of the Japanese—the Black River, which, leaving the Bay of Bengal, warmed by a tropical sun, traverses the Strait of Malacca, extends along the coast of Asia, flows into the North Pacific near the Aleutian Islands, bearing trunks of the camphor-tree and other indigenous products, and contrasting the pure indigo of its warm waters with the waves of the ocean. This was the current that the Nautilus was about to follow. I traced it up and perceived that it was lost in the vastness of the Pacific, and I felt myself “carried away” by it, when Ned Land and Conseil appeared at the door of the apartment.
My two brave companions appeared petrified at the sight of the marvels presented to their gaze.
“Where are we?” cried the Canadian. “In the Quebec Museum?”
“If Monsieur has no objection, this may rather be the Hôtel of the Sommerard!”
“My friends,” I said, as I signed for them to enter,
