Our road grew lighter and lighter. The white glimmer came in rays
from the summit of a mountain about 800 feet high. But what I saw
was simply a reflection, developed by the clearness of the waters.
The source of this inexplicable light was a fire on the opposite side
of the mountain.
In the midst of this stony maze furrowing the bottom of the Atlantic,
Captain Nemo advanced without hesitation. He knew this dreary road.
Doubtless he had often travelled over it, and could not lose himself.
I followed him with unshaken confidence. He seemed to me like a genie of
the sea; and, as he walked before me, I could not help admiring his stature,
which was outlined in black on the luminous horizon.
It was one in the morning when we arrived at the first slopes of the mountain;
but to gain access to them we must venture through the difficult paths
of a vast copse.
Yes; a copse of dead trees, without leaves, without sap,
trees petrified by the action of the water and here and there
overtopped by gigantic pines. It was like a coal-pit still standing,
holding by the roots to the broken soil, and whose branches, like fine
black paper cuttings, showed distinctly on the watery ceiling.
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