'The captain says it was a blow-up under the sea--a volcano,' said
Keller.

'It hasn't warmed anything,' I said. I was feeling bitterly cold, and
cold was almost unknown in those waters. I went below to change my
clothes, and when I came up everything was wiped out in clinging
white fog.

'Are there going to be any more surprises?' said Keller to the
captain.

'I don't know. Be thankful you are alive, gentlemen. That's a tidal
wave thrown up by a volcano. Probably the bottom of the sea has been
lifted a few feet somewhere or other. I can't quite understand this
cold spell. Our sea-thermometer says the surface water is 44°, and
it should be 68° at least.'

'It's abominable,' said Keller, shivering. 'But hadn't you better
attend to the fog-horn? It seems to me that I heard something.'

'Heard! Good heavens!' said the captain from the bridge, 'I should
think you did.' He pulled the string of our fog-horn, which was a
weak one. It sputtered and choked, because the stoke-hold was full of
water and the fires were half drowned, and at last gave out a moan.
It was answered from the fog by one of the most appalling steam
sirens I have ever heard. Keller turned as white as I did, for the
fog, the cold fog, was upon us, and any man may be forgiven for
fearing a death he cannot see.