Such were the historical souvenirs which Captain Nemo’s inscription called up in my mind. Thus, led by the strangest destiny, I was standing upon one of the mountains of that continent; I was touching these ruins, a thousand centuries old, and of the geological epoch; I was walking in the places where the contemporaries of the first man had walked; I was crushing under foot the skeletons of animals of a fabulous age, which the trees, now mineralised, once covered with their shade.
Ah! If time had not failed me, I should have descended those steep hills and explored the whole continent—which, no doubt, unites Africa to America—and visited the grand antediluvian cities. Here lived those gigantic races of old, who were able to move those blocks which still resisted the action of the water. Some day, perhaps, a convulsion of nature will heave these ruins up again. Many submarine volcanoes have been reported in this portion of the ocean; and many ships have felt extraordinary shocks in passing over these disturbed depths. The whole of the soil, to the equator, is still rent by these Platonian forces; and who knows but that at some distant day the summits of these volcanic mountains will appear once more above the surface of the Atlantic!
As I was musing thus, and endeavouring to fix the details on my memory, Captain Nemo remained immovable, and as if petrified. Was he thinking of those former generations, and endeavouring to elucidate the secret of human destiny. Was it to this place he came to revel in historical memories, and to revive the ancient life—he to whom a modern one was distasteful. What would I not have given to have known his thoughts, to share them, to understand them!
We remained in the same place for a whole hour, con- �
