Paganel and Captain Mangles consulted the maps on board. Exactly on the thirty-seventh parallel was an island, generally known by the name of Maria Theresa, a lone rock in the midst of the Pacific, three thousand five hundred miles from the American coast, and one thousand five hundred miles from New Zealand. No ship ever came within hail of this solitary isle; no tidings from the world ever reached it. Only the storm-birds rested here during their long flights, and many maps do not even indicate its position.
If anywhere absolute isolation was to be found on earth, it was here, afar from the ocean's traveled highways. Its situation was made known to Ayrton, who consented to live there; and the vessel was accordingly headed towards the island. Two days later the lookout hailed land on the horizon. It was Maria Theresa, low, long, and scarcely emerging from the waves, appearing like some enormous sea-monster. Thirty miles still lay between it and the yacht, whose prow cut the waves with such speed that soon the island grew distinct. The sun, now sinking towards the west, defined its outlines in glowing light. Several slight elevations were tinged with the last rays of the day.
At five o'clock Captain Mangles thought he distinguished a faint smoke rising towards the sky.
"Is that a volcano?" he inquired of Paganel, who, with his telescope, was examining the land.
"I do not know what to think," replied the geographer. "Maria Theresa is a point little known. However, I should not be surprised if its origin was due to some volcanic upheaval."
"But then," said Glenarvan, "if an eruption created it, may we not fear that the same agency will destroy it?"
"That is scarcely probable," answered Paganel. "Its existence has been known for several centuries; and this seems a guarantee for its continuance."
"Well," continued Glenarvan, "do you think, captain, that we can land before night?"
ANOTHER ARTIFICIAL VOLCANO.