nd. Is it illusion, or
is it fear? Its length cannot be less than a thousand fathoms. What,
then, is this cetaceous monster of which no Cuvier ever thought?

It is quite motionless and presents the appearance of sleep. The sea
seems unable to lift him upwards; it is rather the waves which break on
his huge and gigantic frame. The waterspout, rising to a height of five
hundred feet, breaks in spray with a dull, sullen roar.

We advance, like senseless lunatics, towards this mighty mass.

I honestly confess that I was abjectly afraid. I declared that I would
go no farther. I threatened in my terror to cut the sheet of the sail. I
attacked the Professor with considerable acrimony, calling him
foolhardy, mad, I know not what. He made no answer.

Suddenly the imperturbable Hans once more pointed his finger to the
menacing object:

"<i>Holme</i>!"

"An island!" cried my uncle.

"An island?" I replied, shrugging my shoulders at this poor attempt at
deception.

"Of course it is," cried my uncle, bursting into a loud and joyous
laugh.

"But the waterspout?"

"Geyser," said Hans.

"Yes, of course--a geyser," replied my uncle, still laughing, "a geyser
like those common in Iceland. Jets like this are the great wonders of
the country."

At first I would not allow that I had been so grossly deceived. What
could be more ridiculous than to have taken an island for a marine
monster? But kick as one may, one must yield to evidence, and I was
finally convinced of my error. It was nothing, after all, but a natural
phenomenon.

As we approached nearer and nearer, the dimensions of the liquid sheaf
of waters became truly grand and stupendous. The island had, at a
distance, presented the appearance of an enormous whale, whose head rose
high above the waters. The geyser, a word the Icelanders pronounce
geysir, and which signifies fury, rose majestically from its summit.
Dull detonations are heard every now and then, and the enormous jet,
taken as it were with sudden fury, shakes its plume of vapor, and bounds
into the first layer of the clouds. It is alone. Neither spurts of vapor
nor hot springs surround it, and the whole volcanic power of that region
is concentrated in one sublime column. The rays of electric light mix
with this dazzling sheaf, every drop as it falls assuming the prismatic
colors of the rainbow.

"Let us go on shore," said the Professor, after some minutes of silence.

It is necessary, however, to take