and patient examination, he said: "This fish, my dear boy, belongs to a family which has been extinct for ages, and of which no trace has ever been found on earth, except fossil remains in the Devonian strata."
"You do not mean to say," I cried, "that we have captured a live specimen of a fish belonging to the primitive stock that existed before the deluge?"
"We have," said the Professor, who all this time was continuing his observations, "and you may see by careful examination that these fossil fish have no identity with existing species. To hold in one's hand, therefore, a living specimen of the order, is enough to make a naturalist happy for life. Moreover this fish offers to our notice a remarkable peculiarity, never known to exist in any other fish but those which are the natives of subterranean waters, wells, lakes, in caverns, and such like hidden pools."
"And what may that be?"
"It is blind."
"Blind!" I cried, much surprised.
"Not only blind," continued the Professor, "but absolutely without organs of sight."
I now examined our discovery for myself. It was singular, to be sure, but it was really a fact. This, however, might be a solitary instance, I suggested. The hook was baited again and once more thrown into the water. This subterranean ocean must have been tolerably well supplied with fish, for in two hours we took a large number of similar fish. All, without exception were blind.
This unexpected capture enabled us to renew our stock of provisions in a very satisfactory way.
We were now convinced that this Subterranean Sea contained only fish known to us as fossil specimens—and fish and reptiles alike, were all the more perfect the farther back they dated their origin. We began to hope that we should find some of those saurians which science has succeeded in reconstructing from bits of bone or cartilage. I took up the telescope and carefully examined the horizon—looked over the whole sea; it was utterly and entirely deserted. Doubtless we were still too near the coast.
After an examination of the ocean, I looked upward, towards the strange and mysterious sky. Why should not one of the birds, reconstructed by the immortal Cuvier, flag his stupendous wings aloft in the dull strata of subterranean air? It would of course, find quite sufficient food from the fish in the sea. I gazed for some time up on the void above. It was as silent and as deserted as the shores we had but lately left.
Nevertheless, though I could neither see nor discover anything, my imagination carried me away into wild hypotheses. I was in a kind of waking dream. I thought I saw on the surface of the water those enormous antediluvian turtles as big as floating islands. Upon those dull and somber shores passed a spectral row of mammifers of early days, the great Leptotherium found in the cavernous hollow of the Brazilian hills, the Mesicotherium, a native of the glacial regions of Siberia. Farther on, the pachydermatous Lophrodon, that gigantic tapir, which concealed itself behind rocks, ready to do battle for its prey with the Anoplotherium, a singular animal partaking of the nature of the rhinoceros, the horse, the hippopotamus and the camel.
I thought—such was the effect of my imagination—that I saw this whole tribe of antediluvian creatures. I carried myself back to far ages, long before man existed—when, the earth was in too perfect a state for him to live upon it. The whole panorama of the world's life before the historic period, seemed to be born over again, and mine was the only human heart that beat in this unpeopled world! There were no more seasons; there were nor more climates; the natural heat of the world increased unceasingly, and neutralized that of the great radiant Sun.
Next, unrolled before me like a panorama, came the great and wondrous series of terrestrial transformations. Plants disappeared; the granite rocks lost all trace of solidity; the liquid state was suddenly substituted for that which had before existed. This was caused by intense heat acting on the organic matter of the earth. The waters flowed over the whole surface of the globe; they boiled; they were volatilized, or turned into vapor; a kind of steam-cloud wrapped the whole earth, the globe itself becoming at last nothing but one huge sphere of gas, indescribable in color, between white best and red, as big and as brilliant as the sun.
What an extraordinary dream! Where would it finally take me? My feverish hand began to write down the marvelous details—details more like the imaginings of a lunatic than anything sober and real. I had during this period of hallucination forgotten everything—the Professor, the guide, and the raft on which we were floating. My mind was in a state of semi-oblivion.
"What is the matter, Harry?" said my uncle, suddenly.
My eyes, which were wide opened like those of a somnambulist, were fixed upon him, but I did not see him, now could I clearly make out anything around me.
"Take care, my boy," again cried my uncle, "you will fall into the sea."
As he uttered these words, I felt myself seized on the other side by the firm hand of our devoted guide. Had it not been for the presence of mind of Hans, I must surely have fallen into the waves and been drowned.
"Have you gone mad?" cried my uncle, shaking me on the other side.
"What—what is the matter?" I said at last, coming to myself.
"Are you ill, Harry?" continued the Professor in an anxious tone.
"No—no; but I have had an extraordinary dream. But it has passed away. All now seems well," I added, looking around me with strangely puzzled eyes.
"All right," said my uncle; "a beautiful breeze, a splendid see. We are going along at the rapid rate, and if I am not out in my calculations we shall soon see land. I shall not be sorry to exchange the narrow limits of our raft for the mysterious strand of the Subterranean Ocean."
As my uncle uttered these words, I rose and carefully scanned the horizon. But the line of water was still confounded with the lowering clouds that hung aloft, and in the distance appeared to touch the edge of the water.
