Captain Servadac, with clenched teeth and knitted brow, stood sternly,
almost fiercely, regarding the boundless waste of water. His pulse beat
fast as he recalled the friends and comrades with whom he had spent the
last few years in that vanished city. All the images of his past life
floated upon his memory; his thoughts sped away to his native France,
only to return again to wonder whether the depths of ocean would reveal
any traces of the Algerian metropolis.
“Is it not impossible,” he murmured aloud, “that any city should
disappear so completely? Would not the loftiest eminences of the city
at least be visible? Surely some portion of the Casbah must still rise
above the waves? The imperial fort, too, was built upon an elevation
of 750 feet; it is incredible that it should be so totally submerged.
Unless some vestiges of these are found, I shall begin to suspect that
the whole of Africa has been swallowed in some vast abyss.”
Another circumstance was most remarkable. Not a material object of any
kind was to be noticed floating on the surface of the water; not one
branch of a tree had been seen drifting by, nor one spar belonging to
one of the numerous vessels that a month previously had been moored
in the magnificent bay which stretched twelve miles across from Cape
Matafuz to Point Pexade. Perhaps the depths might disclose what the
surface failed to reveal, and Count Timascheff, anxious that Servadac
should have every facility afforded him for solving his doubts, called
for the sounding-line. Forthwith, the lead was greased and lowered.
To the surprise of all, and especially of Lieutenant Procope, the
line indicated a bottom at a nearly uniform depth of from four to five
fathoms; and although the sounding was persevered with continuously for
more than two hours over a considerable area, the differences of level
were insignificant, not corresponding in any degree to what would be
expected over the site of a city that had been terraced like the seats
of an amphitheater. Astounding as it seemed, what alternative was left
but to suppose that the Algerian capital had been completely leveled by
the flood?
The sea-bottom was composed of neither rock, mud, sand, nor shells;
the sounding-lead brought up nothing but a kind of metallic dust, which
glittered with a strange iridescence, and the nature of which it was
impossible to determine, as it was totally unlike what had ever been
known to be raised from the bed of the Mediterranean.
“You must see, lieutenant, I should think, that we are not so near the
coast of Algeria as you imagined.”
The lieutenant shook his head. After pondering awhile, he said: “If
we were farther away I should expect to find a depth of two or three
hundred fathoms instead of five fathoms. Five fathoms! I confess I am
puzzled.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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