of a mountain all but submerged. Whatever it was, it was agreed

that its true character must be ascertained, not only to gratify
their own curiosity, but for the benefit of all future navigators.

The schooneraccordingly was steered directly towards it,
and in less than an hour had cast anchor within a few cables'

lengths of the shore.
The little island proved to be nothing more than an arid

rock rising abruptly about forty feet above the water.
It had no outlying reefs, a circumstance that seemed to suggest

the probability that in the recent convulsion it had sunk gradually,
until it had reached its present position of equilibrium.

Without removing his eye from his telescope, Servadac exclaimed:
"There is a habitation on the place; I can see an erection of some

kind quite distinctly. Who can tell whether we shall not come across
a human being?"

Lieutenant Procope looked doubtful. The island had all the appearance
of being deserted, nor did a cannon-shot fired from the schooner have

the effect of bringing any resident to the shore. Nevertheless, it was
undeniable that there was a stone building situated on the top of the rock,

and that this building had much the character of an Arabian mosque.
The boat was lowered and manned by the four sailors;

Servadac, Timascheff and Procope were quickly rowed ashore,
and lost no time in commencing their ascent of the steep acclivity.

Upon reaching the summit, they found their progress arrested
by a kind of wall, or rampart of singular construction,

its materials consisting mainly of vases, fragments of columns,
carved bas-reliefs, statues, and portions of broken stelae, all piled

promiscuously together without any pretense to artistic arrangement.
They made their way into the enclosure, and finding an open door,

they passed through and soon came to a second door,
also open, which admitted them to the interior of the mosque,

consisting of a single chamber, the walls of which were ornamented
in the Arabian style by sculptures of indifferent execution.

In the center was a tomb of the very simplest kind, and above
the tomb was suspended a large silver lamp with a capacious

reservoir of oil, in which floated a long lighted wick,
the flame of which was evidently the light that had attracted

Servadac's attention on the previous night.
"Must there not have been a custodian of the shrine?" they mutually asked;

but if such there had ever been, he must, they concluded, either have fled
or have perished on that eventful night. Not a soul was there in charge,

and the sole living occupants were a flock of wild cormorants which,
startled at the entrance of the intruders, rose on wing, and took a rapid

flight towards the south.
An old French prayer-book was lying on the corner of the tomb;

the volume was open, and the page exposed to view was that
which contained the office for the celebration of the 25th

of August. A sudden revelation dashed across Servadac's mind.
The solemnisolation of the island tomb, the open breviary,

the ritual of the ancient anniversary, all combined to apprise
him of the sanctity of the spot upon which he stood.

"The tomb of St. Louis!" he exclaimed, and his companions
involuntarily followed his example, and made a reverential

obeisance to the venerated monument.
It was, in truth, the very spot on which tradition asserts that

the canonized monarch came to die, a spot to which for six centuries
and more his countrymen had paid the homage of a pious regard.

The lamp that had been kindled at the memorialshrine of a saint
was now in all probability the only beacon that threw a light

across the waters of the Mediterranean, and even this ere long
must itself expire.

There was nothing more to explore. The three together quitted the mosque,
and descended the rock to the shore, whence their boat re-conveyed

them to the schooner, which was soon again on her southward voyage;
and it was not long before the tomb of St. Louis, the only spot that had

survived the mysterious shock, was lost to view.
CHAPTER XII

AT THE MERCY OF THE WINDS
As the affrighted cormorants had winged their flight towards the south,

there sprang up a sanguine hope on board the schooner that land might be
discovered in that direction. Thither, accordingly, it was determined

to proceed, and in a few hours after quitting the island of the tomb,
the _Dobryna_ was traversing the shallow waters that now covered

the peninsula of Dakhul, which had separated the Bay of Tunis from
the Gulf of Hammamet. For two days she continued an undeviating course,

and after a futile search for the coast of Tunis, reached the latitude
of 34 degrees.

Here, on the 11th of February, there suddenly arose the cry of "Land!"
and in the extremehorizon, right ahead, where land had never been before,

it was true enough that a shore was distinctly to be seen.
What could it be? It could not be the coast of Tripoli; for not only

would that low-lying shore be quite invisible at such a distance,
but it was certain, moreover, that it lay two degrees at least still

further south. It was soon observed that this newly discovered land
was of very irregularelevation, that it extended due east and west

across the horizon, thus dividing the gulf into two separate sections
and completely concealing the island of Jerba, which must lie behind.

Its position was duly traced on the _Dobryna_'s chart.
"How strange," exclaimed Hector Servadac, "that after sailing all this

time over sea where we expected to find land, we have at last come upon
land where we thought to find sea!"

"Strange, indeed," replied Lieutenant Procope; "and what appears
to me almost as remarkable is that we have never once caught sight

either of one of the Maltese tartans or one of the Levantine xebecs
that traffic so regularly on the Mediterranean."

"Eastwards or westwards," asked the count--"which shall be our course?
All farther progress to the south is checked."

"Westwards, by all means," replied Servadac quickly.
"I am longing to know whether anything of Algeria is left

beyond the Shelif; besides, as we pass Gourbi Island we might
take Ben Zoof on board, and then make away for Gibraltar,

where we should be sure to learn something, at least,
of European news."

With his usual air of statelycourtesy, Count Timascheff
begged the captain to consider the yacht at his own disposal,

and desired him to give the lieutenant instructions accordingly.
Lieutenant Procope, however, hesitated, and after revolving

matters for a few moments in his mind, pointed out that as
the wind was blowing directly from the west, and seemed likely

to increase, if they went to the west in the teeth of the weather,
the schooner would be reduced to the use of her engine only,

and would have much difficulty in making any headway;
on the other hand, by taking an eastward course, not only would

they have the advantage of the wind, but, under steam and canvas,
might hope in a few days to be off the coast of Egypt, and from

Alexandria or some other port they would have the same opportunity
of getting tidings from Europe as they would at Gibraltar.

Intensely anxious as he was to revisit the province of Oran, and eager,
too, to satisfy himself of the welfare of his faithful Ben Zoof, Servadac

could not but own the reasonableness of the lieutenant's objections,
and yielded to the proposal that the eastward course should be adopted.

The wind gave signs only too threatening of the breeze rising to a gale;
but, fortunately, the waves did not culminate in breakers, but rather

in a long swell which ran in the same direction as the vessel.
During the last fortnight the high temperature had been gradually

diminishing, until it now reached an average of 20 degrees Cent.
(or 68 degrees Fahr.), and sometimes descended as low as 15 degrees.

That this diminution was to be attributed to the change in
the earth's orbit was a question that admitted of little doubt.

After approaching so near to the sun as to cross the orbit of Venus,
the earth must now have receded so far from the sun that its normal

distance of ninety-one millions of miles was greatly increased,
and the probability was great that it was approximating to the orbit of Mars,

that planet which in its physicalconstitution most nearly resembles
our own. Nor was this supposition suggested merely by the lowering

of the temperature; it was strongly corroborated by the reduction
of the apparentdiameter of the sun's disc to the precise dimensions

which it would assume to an observeractually stationed on the surface
of Mars. The necessary inference that seemed to follow from these

phenomena was that the earth had been projected into a new orbit,
which had the form of a very elongated ellipse.

Very slight, however, in comparison was the regard which these astronomical
wonders attracted on board the _Dobryna_. All interest there was too much

absorbed in terrestrial matters, and in ascertaining what changes had taken
place in the configuration of the earth itself, to permit much attention

to be paid to its erratic movements through space.
The schooner kept bravely on her way, but well out to sea,