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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
I am loth to believe these atmospheric menaces, and yet I cannot help
"Here's some very bad weather coming on."
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.
"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."
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?
"Let us reef the sail and cut the mast down!" I cried. "That will be
"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!"
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.
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 preadamite
man, the contemporary of the ichthyosaurus and the megatherium. 
 Rather of the mammoth and the mastodon. (Trans.)
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 sail! the sail!" I cry, motioning to lower it.
"No!" replies my uncle.
"NEJ!" repeats Hans, leisurely 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.
(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.)
Sunday, 23. Where are we? Driven forward with a swiftness 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
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
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.
Whither are we flying? My uncle lies full length across the raft.
The heat increases. I refer to the thermometer; it indicates . . .
(the figure is obliterated).
MONDAY, AUGUST 24. Will there be an end to it? Is the atmospheric
condition, having once reached this density, to become final?
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.
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.
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
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.
At last I write down the words: "Let us lower the sail."
He nods his consent.
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.
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.
A suffocating smell of nitrogen fills the air, it enters the throat,
it fills the lungs. We suffer stifling 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
Ah! what a flood of intense and dazzling light! the globe has burst,
and we are deluged with tongues of fire!
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.
But where are we going to? Where?
* * * *
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.
* * * *
A fresh noise is heard! Surely it is the sea breaking upon the rocks!
But then . . . .