An Electric Storm

Friday, August 21.—On the morrow the magnificent geyser has disappeared. The wind has risen, and has rapidly carried us away from Axel Island. The roarings become lost in the distance.

Friday, August 21. The next day, the magnificent geyser has disappeared. The wind has picked up and quickly carried us away from Axel Island. The roaring fades in the distance.

The weather—if we may use that term—will change before long. The atmosphere is charged with vapours, pervaded with the electricity generated by the evaporation of saline waters. The clouds are sinking lower, and assume an olive hue. The electric light can scarcely penetrate through the dense curtain which has dropped over the theatre on which the battle of the elements is about to be waged.

The weather, if we can call it that, will change soon. The air is full of vapor and electricity generated by the evaporation of salt water. The clouds are sinking lower and turning olive green. The electric light can barely penetrate the thick curtain that has fallen over the stage where the elements are about to battle.

I feel peculiar sensations, like many creatures on earth at the approach of violent atmospheric changes. The heavily voluted cumulus clouds lower gloomily and threateningly; they wear that implacable look which I have sometimes noticed at the outbreak of a great storm. The air is heavy; the sea is calm.

I feel strange sensations, as many creatures do when violent weather approaches. Thick, swirling cumulus clouds hang low, dark and threatening. They have the same unforgiving look I have sometimes noticed at the start of a great storm. The air is heavy, and the sea is calm.

In the distance the clouds resemble great bales of cotton, piled up in picturesque disorder. By degrees they dilate, and gain in huge size what they lose in number. Such is their ponderous weight that they cannot rise from the horizon; but, obeying an impulse from higher currents, their dense consistency slowly yields. The gloom upon them deepens; and they soon present to our view a ponderous mass of almost level surface. From time to time a fleecy tuft of mist, with yet some gleaming light left upon it, drops down upon the dense floor of grey, and loses itself in the opaque and impenetrable mass.

In the distance, the clouds look like great bales of cotton piled up in a picturesque jumble. Gradually they spread and grow larger as their numbers decrease. They are so heavy that they cannot rise above the horizon. But the dense clouds slowly give way to the force of higher air currents. They grow darker and soon form a heavy mass with an almost level surface. From time to time, a fleecy tuft of mist, still touched by a glimmer of light, drops onto the dense grey floor. There it disappears into the opaque, impenetrable mass.

The atmosphere is evidently charged and surcharged with electricity. My whole body is saturated; my hair bristles just as when you stand upon an insulated stool under the action of an electrical machine. It seems to me as if my companions, the moment they touched me, would receive a severe shock like that from an electric eel.

The air is clearly charged and overloaded with electricity. My whole body is saturated with it. My hair stands on end, as if I were standing on an insulated stool under an electrical machine. I feel as if my companions would get a severe shock the moment they touched me, like a shock from an electric eel.

At ten in the morning the symptoms of storm become aggravated. The wind never lulls but to acquire increased strength; the vast bank of heavy clouds is a huge reservoir of fearful windy gusts and rushing storms.

At ten in the morning, the signs of a storm grew worse. The wind died down only to return with greater force. The vast bank of heavy clouds held a huge store of fierce gusts and raging storms.

I am loth to believe these atmospheric menaces, and yet I cannot help muttering:

I am reluctant to believe these threats from the weather, yet I cannot help muttering:

"Here's some very bad weather coming on."

"Some very bad weather is coming."

The Professor made no answer. His temper is awful, to judge from the working of his features, as he sees this vast length of ocean unrolling before him to an indefinite extent. He can only spare time to shrug his shoulders viciously.

The Professor did not answer. His face twists with terrible anger as he sees the vast ocean stretching endlessly before him. He can only spare a moment to shrug his shoulders angrily.

"There's a heavy storm coming on," I cried, pointing towards the horizon. "Those clouds seem as if they were going to crush the sea."

"There's a big storm coming," I cried, pointing toward the horizon. "Those clouds look as if they're going to crush the sea."

A deep silence falls on all around. The lately roaring winds are hushed into a dead calm; nature seems to breathe no more, and to be sinking into the stillness of death. On the mast already I see the light play of a lambent St. Elmo's fire; the outstretched sail catches not a breath of wind, and hangs like a sheet of lead. The rudder stands motionless in a sluggish, waveless sea. But if we have now ceased to advance why do we yet leave that sail loose, which at the first shock of the tempest may capsize us in a moment?

A deep silence falls over everything. The winds that roared so recently have died away. Nature seems to have stopped breathing and is sinking into the stillness of death. I can already see the flickering glow of St. Elmo's fire on the mast. The outstretched sail catches no wind and hangs like a sheet of lead. The rudder is motionless in the sluggish, waveless sea. But if we have stopped moving, why do we leave the sail loose? The first shock of the storm may capsize us in a moment.

"Let us reef the sail and cut the mast down!" I cried. "That will be safest."

"Let's shorten the sail and cut down the mast!" I shouted. "That will be safest."

"No, no! Never!" shouted my impetuous uncle. "Never! Let the wind catch us if it will! What I want is to get the least glimpse of rock or shore, even if our raft should be smashed into shivers!"

"No, no! Never!" shouted my impulsive uncle. "Never! Let the wind catch us if it wants to! All I want is the slightest glimpse of rock or shore, even if our raft is smashed to pieces!"

The words were hardly out of his mouth when a sudden change took place in the southern sky. The piled-up vapours condense into water; and the air, put into violent action to supply the vacuum left by the condensation of the mists, rouses itself into a whirlwind. It rushes on from the farthest recesses of the vast cavern. The darkness deepens; scarcely can I jot down a few hurried notes. The helm makes a bound. My uncle falls full length; I creep close to him. He has laid a firm hold upon a rope, and appears to watch with grim satisfaction this awful display of elemental strife.

He had hardly finished speaking when the southern sky suddenly changed. The piled-up vapors condensed into water. Air rushed violently to fill the vacuum left by the condensed mist, forming a whirlwind. It swept in from the farthest reaches of the vast cavern. The darkness deepened, and I could hardly jot down a few hurried notes. The helm jumped. My uncle fell flat, and I crawled close to him. He had gripped a rope firmly and seemed to watch the terrible clash of the elements with grim satisfaction.

Hans stirs not. His long hair blown by the pelting storm, and laid flat across his immovable countenance, makes him a strange figure; for the end of each lock of loose flowing hair is tipped with little luminous radiations. This frightful mask of electric sparks suggests to me, even in this dizzy excitement, a comparison with pre-adamite man, the contemporary of the ichthyosaurus and the megatherium.¹³

Hans does not move. The driving storm blows his long hair flat across his motionless face, making him look strange. The end of each loose lock glows with tiny rays of light. Even in my dizzy excitement, this terrifying mask of electric sparks reminds me of pre-adamite man, who lived alongside the ichthyosaurus and the megatherium.¹³

The mast yet holds firm. The sail stretches tight like a bubble ready to burst. The raft flies at a rate that I cannot reckon, but not so fast as the foaming clouds of spray which it dashes from side to side in its headlong speed.

The mast still holds firm. The sail is stretched tight like a bubble ready to burst. The raft flies at a speed I cannot measure. But it moves slower than the foaming clouds of spray it throws to either side as it races along.

"The sail! the sail!" I cry, motioning to lower it.

"The sail! The sail!" I shout, gesturing to lower it.

"No!" replies my uncle.

"No!" my uncle replies.

"Nej!" repeats Hans, leisurely shaking his head.

"Nej!" Hans repeats, slowly shaking his head.

But now the rain forms a rushing cataract in front of that horizon toward which we are running with such maddening speed. But before it has reached us the rain cloud parts asunder, the sea boils, and the electric fires are brought into violent action by a mighty chemical power that descends from the higher regions. The most vivid flashes of lightning are mingled with the violent crash of continuous thunder. Ceaseless fiery arrows dart in and out amongst the flying thunder-clouds; the vaporous mass soon glows with incandescent heat; hailstones rattle fiercely down, and as they dash upon our iron tools they too emit gleams and flashes of lurid light. The heaving waves resemble fiery volcanic hills, each belching forth its own interior flames, and every crest is plumed with dancing fire. My eyes fail under the dazzling light, my ears are stunned with the incessant crash of thunder. I must be bound to the mast, which bows like a reed before the mighty strength of the storm.

But now the rain forms a rushing waterfall across the horizon, toward which we are racing at maddening speed. Before the rain reaches us, the cloud splits apart and the sea boils. A mighty chemical force descends from above, stirring the electric fires into violent action. Brilliant flashes of lightning mingle with the violent crash of continuous thunder. Fiery arrows dart endlessly through the flying thunderclouds, and soon the mass of vapor glows with intense heat. Hailstones rattle down fiercely, striking our iron tools and giving off flashes of lurid light. The heaving waves look like fiery volcanic hills, each belching flames from within. Every crest is crowned with dancing fire. My eyes fail in the dazzling light, and my ears are stunned by the endless thunder. I must be tied to the mast, which bends like a reed under the storm’s immense force.

(Here my notes become vague and indistinct. I have only been able to find a few which I seem to have jotted down almost unconsciously. But their very brevity and their obscurity reveal the intensity of the excitement which dominated me, and describe the actual position even better than my memory could do.)

(Here my notes become vague and unclear. I have only been able to find a few that I seem to have written down almost unconsciously. But their brevity and obscurity reveal how intensely excited I was. They describe what was happening even better than my memory could.)

Sunday, 23.—Where are we? Driven forward with a swiftness that cannot be measured.

Sunday, 23. Where are we? We are being driven forward at a speed that cannot be measured.

The night was fearful; no abatement of the storm. The din and uproar are incessant; our ears are bleeding; to exchange a word is impossible.

The night was terrifying. The storm showed no signs of letting up. The noise and chaos never stop. Our ears are bleeding. It is impossible to speak to one another.

The lightning flashes with intense brilliancy, and never seems to cease for a moment. Zigzag streams of bluish white fire dash down upon the sea and rebound, and then take an upward flight till they strike the granite vault that overarches our heads. Suppose that solid roof should crumble down upon our heads! Other flashes with incessant play cross their vivid fires, while others again roll themselves into balls of living fire which explode like bombshells, but the music of which scarcely adds to the din of the battle strife that almost deprives us of our senses of hearing and sight; the limit of intense loudness has been passed within which the human ear can distinguish one sound from another. If all the powder magazines in the world were to explode at once, we should hear no more than we do now.

The lightning flashes brilliantly and never seems to stop for a moment. Zigzag streaks of bluish white fire strike the sea and bounce upward. Then they hit the granite vault arching over our heads. What if that solid roof were to crumble down on us! Other flashes cross constantly, their vivid fires intersecting. Still others roll into balls of living fire that explode like bombs. But their sound scarcely adds to the din of the battle raging around us. It almost robs us of our hearing and sight. The noise has passed the limit at which the human ear can distinguish one sound from another. If all the world's gunpowder stores exploded at once, we would hear no more than we do now.

From the under surface of the clouds there are continual emissions of lurid light; electric matter is in continual evolution from their component molecules; the gaseous elements of the air need to be slaked with moisture; for innumerable columns of water rush upwards into the air and fall back again in white foam.

An eerie light flashes constantly from the undersides of the clouds. Electricity is constantly being generated by the molecules that make up the clouds. The gases in the air need to be quenched with moisture. For countless columns of water rush upward into the air and fall back in white foam.

Whither are we flying? My uncle lies full length across the raft.

Where are we flying? My uncle is lying stretched out across the raft.

The heat increases. I refer to the thermometer; it indicates . . . (the figure is obliterated).

The heat is increasing. I check the thermometer. It reads . . . (the figure is erased).

Monday, August 24.—Will there be an end to it? Is the atmospheric condition, having once reached this density, to become final?

Monday, August 24. Will it ever end? Now that the air has reached this density, will it stay this way?

We are prostrated and worn out with fatigue. But Hans is as usual. The raft bears on still to the south-east. We have made two hundred leagues since we left Axel Island.

We are exhausted and worn out. But Hans is his usual self. The raft continues southeast. We have traveled two hundred leagues since leaving Axel Island.

At noon the violence of the storm redoubles. We are obliged to secure as fast as possible every article that belongs to our cargo. Each of us is lashed to some part of the raft. The waves rise above our heads.

At noon, the storm grows twice as violent. We must secure every item of cargo as quickly as possible. Each of us is tied to part of the raft. The waves rise above our heads.

For three days we have never been able to make each other hear a word. Our mouths open, our lips move, but not a word can be heard. We cannot even make ourselves heard by approaching our mouth close to the ear.

For three days, we have not been able to hear a word from each other. Our mouths open and our lips move, but we cannot hear a word. We cannot even hear each other when we speak directly into each other's ears.

My uncle has drawn nearer to me. He has uttered a few words. They seem to be 'We are lost'; but I am not sure.

My uncle has moved closer to me. He has said a few words. They sound like 'We are lost', but I am not sure.

At last I write down the words: "Let us lower the sail."

At last I write down the words: "Let's lower the sail."

He nods his consent.

He nods in agreement.

Scarcely has he lifted his head again before a ball of fire has bounded over the waves and lighted on board our raft. Mast and sail flew up in an instant together, and I saw them carried up to prodigious height, resembling in appearance a pterodactyle, one of those strong birds of the infant world.

He had barely lifted his head again when a ball of fire bounced over the waves and landed on our raft. The mast and sail flew up together in an instant. I saw them rise to an enormous height, looking like a pterodactyl, one of the powerful birds of the world's early days.

We lay there, our blood running cold with unspeakable terror. The fireball, half of it white, half azure blue, and the size of a ten-inch shell, moved slowly about the raft, but revolving on its own axis with astonishing velocity, as if whipped round by the force of the whirlwind. Here it comes, there it glides, now it is up the ragged stump of the mast, thence it lightly leaps on the provision bag, descends with a light bound, and just skims the powder magazine. Horrible! we shall be blown up; but no, the dazzling disk of mysterious light nimbly leaps aside; it approaches Hans, who fixes his blue eye upon it steadily; it threatens the head of my uncle, who falls upon his knees with his head down to avoid it. And now my turn comes; pale and trembling under the blinding splendour and the melting heat, it drops at my feet, spinning silently round upon the deck; I try to move my foot away, but cannot.

We lay there, our blood running cold with unspeakable terror. The fireball was half white and half bright blue, and the size of a ten-inch shell. It moved slowly around the raft, spinning with astonishing speed, as if driven by the whirlwind. Here it comes, there it glides. Now it climbs the ragged stump of the mast, then lightly leaps onto the bag of provisions. It bounces down and just skims the powder magazine. Horrible! We will be blown up! But no, the dazzling disk of mysterious light quickly leaps aside. It approaches Hans, who stares steadily at it with his blue eye. It threatens my uncle’s head, and he falls to his knees, bowing his head to avoid it. Now my turn comes. Pale and trembling in the blinding light and melting heat, I watch it drop at my feet. It spins silently on the deck. I try to move my foot away, but I cannot.

A suffocating smell of nitrogen fills the air, it enters the throat, it fills the lungs. We suffer stifling pains.

A suffocating smell of nitrogen fills the air. It enters our throats and fills our lungs. We suffer choking pains.

Why am I unable to move my foot? Is it riveted to the planks? Alas! the fall upon our fated raft of this electric globe has magnetised every iron article on board. The instruments, the tools, our guns, are clashing and clanking violently in their collisions with each other; the nails of my boots cling tenaciously to a plate of iron let into the timbers, and I cannot draw my foot away from the spot. At last by a violent effort I release myself at the instant when the ball in its gyrations was about to seize upon it, and carry me off my feet ….

Why can’t I move my foot? Is it riveted to the planks? Alas! The electric ball has fallen on our doomed raft and magnetized every iron object on board. The instruments, tools, and guns are clashing and clanking violently as they collide. The nails in my boots are stuck fast to an iron plate set into the timbers. I cannot pull my foot away. At last, with a great effort, I free myself. Just then, the ball is about to catch my foot as it spins and sweep me off my feet ….

Ah! what a flood of intense and dazzling light! the globe has burst, and we are deluged with tongues of fire!

Ah! What a flood of intense, dazzling light! The globe has burst, and tongues of fire are pouring over us!

Then all the light disappears. I could just see my uncle at full length on the raft, and Hans still at his helm and spitting fire under the action of the electricity which has saturated him.

Then all the light disappears. I could just see my uncle lying full length on the raft. Hans was still at the helm, spitting fire from the electricity that had saturated him.

But where are we going to? Where?

But where are we going? Where?

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Tuesday, August 25.—I recover from a long swoon. The storm continues to roar and rage; the lightnings dash hither and thither, like broods of fiery serpents filling all the air. Are we still under the sea? Yes, we are borne at incalculable speed. We have been carried under England, under the channel, under France, perhaps under the whole of Europe.

Tuesday, August 25. I wake from a long faint. The storm is still roaring and raging. Lightning flashes in every direction, like swarms of fiery snakes filling the air. Are we still under the sea? Yes, we are moving at an unimaginable speed. We have been carried under England, under the Channel, under France, perhaps under all of Europe.

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