vessel on the
Hanways.

The Durande, stove in by one of the sunken rocks of the group, was only
separated from the two Douvres by a few cables' lengths.

At two hundred fathoms further was a massive block of granite. Upon the
steep sides of this rock were some hollows and small projections, which
might help a man to climb. The square corners of those rude walls at
right angles indicated the existence of a plateau on the summit.

It was the height known by the name of "The Man."

"The Man Rock" rose even higher still than the Douvres. Its platform
commanded a view over their two inaccessible peaks. This platform,
crumbling at its edges, had every kind of irregularity of shape. No
place more desolate or more dangerous could be imagined. The hardly
perceptible waves of the open sea lapped gently against the square sides
of that dark enormous mass; a sort of rest-place for the vast spectres
of the sea and darkness.

All around was calm. Scarcely a breath of air or a ripple. The mind
guessed darkly the hidden life and vastness of the depths beneath that
quiet surface.

Clubin had often seen the Douvres from afar.

He satisfied himself that he was indeed there.

He could not doubt it.

A sudden and hideous change of affairs. The Douvres instead of the
Hanways. Instead of one mile, five leagues of sea! The Douvres to the
solitary shipwrecked sailor is the visible and palpable presence of
death, the extinction of all hope of reaching land.

Clubin shuddered. He had placed himself voluntarily in the jaws of
destruction. No other refuge was left to him than "The Man Rock." It was
probable that a tempest would arise in the night, and that the
long-boat, overloaded as she was, would sink. No news of the shipwreck
then would come to land. It would not even be known that Clubin had been
left upon the Douvres. No prospect was now before him but death from
cold and hunger. His seventy-five thousand francs would not purchase him
a mouthful of bread. All the scaffolding he had built up had brought him
only to this snare. He alone was the laborious architect of this
crowning catastrophe. No resource--no possible escape; his triumph
transformed into a fatal precipice. Instead of deliverance, a prison;
instead of the long prosperous future, agony. In the glance of an eye,
in the moment which the lightning occupies in passing, all his
construction had fallen into ruins. The paradise dreamed of by this
demon had changed to its tr