“Nothing stops them; neither trees, which they climb to the summit, nor streams, which they cross by making a suspension bridge of their own bodies, hooked together.  And numerous!  Another African traveler—­Du Chaillu—­has seen a column of these ants defile past him for twelve hours without stopping on the road.  But why be astonished at the sight of such myriads?  The fecundity of these insects is surprising; and, to return to our fighting termites, it has been proved that a female deposits as much as sixty thousand eggs in a day!  Besides, these newroptera furnish the natives with a juicy food.  Broiled ants, my friends; I know of nothing better in the world!”

“Have you then eaten them, Mr. Benedict?” asked Hercules.

“Never,” replied the wise professor; “but I shall eat some.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

“Here; we are not in Africa!” said Tom, very quickly.

“No, no!” replied Cousin Benedict; “and, thus far, these warlike termites, and their villages of ant-hills, have only been observed on the African Continent.  Ah! such travelers.  They do not know how to see!  Well! all the better, after all.  I have discovered a tsetse in America.  To the glory of this, I shall join that of having found the warlike termites on the same continent!  What matter for an article that will make a sensation in educated Europe, and, perhaps, appear in folio form, with prints and engravings, besides the text!”

It was evident that the truth had not entered Cousin Benedict’s brain.  The poor man and all his companions, Dick Sand and Tom excepted, believed themselves, and must believe themselves, where they were not!  It needed other incidents, facts still more grave than certain scientific curiosities, to undeceive them!

It was then nine o’clock in the morning.  Cousin Benedict had talked for a long time.  Did he perceive that his auditors, propped up in their cells, had gradually fallen asleep during his entomological lecture?  No; certainly not.  He lectured for himself.  Dick Sand no longer questioned him, and remained motionless, although he did not sleep.  As for Hercules, he had resisted longer than the others; but fatigue soon finished by shutting his eyes, and, with his eyes, his ears.

For some time longer Cousin Benedict continued to lecture.  However, sleep finally got the best of him, and he mounted to the upper cavity of the cone, in which he had chosen his domicile.

Deep silence fell on the interior of the cone, while the storm filled space with noise and fire.  Nothing seemed to indicate that the tempest was nearly over.

The lantern had been extinguished.  The interior of the ant-hill was plunged in complete darkness.

No doubt all slept.  However, Dick Sand, alone, did not seek in sleep the repose which was so necessary to him.  Thought absorbed him.  He dreamed of his companions, whom he would save at all hazards.  The wrecking of the “Pilgrim” had not been the end of their cruel trials, and others, still more terrible, threatened them should they fall into the hands of these natives.