SECOND PART
CHAPTER 9: A Lost Continent
(continued)
In the midst of the stone mazes furrowing this Atlantic seafloor,
Captain Nemo moved forward without hesitation. He knew this dark path.
No doubt he had often traveled it and was incapable of losing his way.
I followed him with unshakeable confidence. He seemed like some
Spirit of the Sea, and as he walked ahead of me, I marveled at his
tall figure, which stood out in black against the glowing background
of the horizon.
It was one o'clock in the morning. We arrived at the mountain's
lower gradients. But in grappling with them, we had to venture up
difficult trails through a huge thicket.
Yes, a thicket of dead trees! Trees without leaves, without sap,
turned to stone by the action of the waters, and crowned here
and there by gigantic pines. It was like a still-erect coalfield,
its roots clutching broken soil, its boughs clearly outlined
against the ceiling of the waters like thin, black, paper cutouts.
Picture a forest clinging to the sides of a peak in the Harz Mountains,
but a submerged forest. The trails were cluttered with algae
and fucus plants, hosts of crustaceans swarming among them.
I plunged on, scaling rocks, straddling fallen tree trunks,
snapping marine creepers that swayed from one tree to another,
startling the fish that flitted from branch to branch.
Carried away, I didn't feel exhausted any more. I followed a guide
who was immune to exhaustion.
What a sight! How can I describe it! How can I portray these
woods and rocks in this liquid setting, their lower parts dark
and sullen, their upper parts tinted red in this light whose
intensity was doubled by the reflecting power of the waters!
We scaled rocks that crumbled behind us, collapsing in enormous
sections with the hollow rumble of an avalanche. To our right and left
there were carved gloomy galleries where the eye lost its way.
Huge glades opened up, seemingly cleared by the hand of man,
and I sometimes wondered whether some residents of these underwater
regions would suddenly appear before me.
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