seemed no limit to the land, and the volcano
formed the apex of a triangle, of which the base was beyond the reach of
vision. Viewed even from this height, whence distance would do much
to soften the general asperity, the surface nevertheless seemed to
be bristling with its myriads of hexagonal lamellae, and to present
difficulties which, to an ordinary pedestrian, would be insurmountable.

"Oh for some wings, or else a balloon!" cried Servadac, as he gazed
around him; and then, looking down to the rock upon which they were
standing, he added, "We seem to have been transplanted to a soil strange
enough in its chemical character to bewilder the _savants_ at a museum."

"And do you observe, captain," asked the count, "how the convexity
of our little world curtails our view? See, how circumscribed is the
horizon!"

Servadac replied that he had noticed the same circumstance from the top
of the cliffs of Gourbi Island.

"Yes," said the count; "it becomes more and more obvious that ours is a
very tiny world, and that Gourbi Island is the sole productive spot upon
its surface. We have had a short summer, and who knows whether we
are not entering upon a winter that may last for years, perhaps for
centuries?"

"But we must not mind, count," said Servadac, smiling. "We have agreed,
you know, that, come what may, we are to be philosophers."

"Ay, true, my friend," rejoined the count; "we must be philosophers
and something more; we must be grateful to the good Protector who has
hitherto befriended us, and we must trust His mercy to the end."

For a few moments they both stood in silence, and contemplated land and
sea; then, having given a last glance over the dreary panorama, they
prepared to wend their way down the mountain. Before, however, they
commenced their descent, they resolved to make a closer examination of
the crater. They were particularly struck by what seemed to them almost
the mysterious calmness with which the eruption was effected. There was
none of the wild disorder and deafening tumult that usually accompany
the discharge of volcanic matter, but the heated lava, rising with a
uniform gentleness, quietly overran the limits of the crater, like the
flow of water from the bosom of a peaceful lake. Instead of a boiler
exposed to the action of an angry fire, the crater rather resembled a
brimming basin, of which the contents were noiselessly escaping. Nor
were there any igneous stones or red-hot cinders mingled