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A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER I

MY UNCLE MAKES A DISCOVERY

     Looking back to all that has occurred to me since that eventful day, I am
scarcely able to believe in the reality of my adventures. They were truly so
wonderful that even now I am bewildered when I think of them.

     My uncle was a German, having married my mother's sister, an Englishwoman.
Being very much attached to his fatherless nephew, he invited me to study under
him in his home in the fatherland. This home was in a large town, and my uncle
a professor of philosophy, chemistry, geology, mineralogy, and many other
ologies.

     One day, after passing some hours in the laboratory--my uncle being absent
at the time--I suddenly felt the necessity of renovating the tissues--i.e., I
was hungry, and was about to rouse up our old French cook, when my uncle,
Professor Von Hardwigg, suddenly opened the street door, and came rushing
upstairs.

     Now Professor Hardwigg, my worthy uncle, is by no means a bad sort of man;
he is, however, choleric and original. To bear with him means to obey; and
scarcely had his heavy feet resounded within our joint domicile than he shouted
for me to attend upon him.

     "Harry--Harry--Harry--"

     I hastened to obey, but before I could reach his room, jumping three steps
at a time, he was stamping his right foot upon the landing.

     "Harry!" he cried, in a frantic tone, "are you coming up?"

     Now to tell the truth, at that moment I was far more interested in the
question as to what was to constitute our dinner than in any problem of
science; to me soup was more interesting than soda, an omelette more tempting
than arithmetic, and an artichoke of ten times more value than any amount of
asbestos.

     But my uncle was not a man to be kept waiting; so adjourning therefore all
minor questions, I presented myself before him.

     He was a very learned man. Now most persons in this category supply
themselves with information, as peddlers do with goods, for the benefit of
others, and lay up stores in order to diffuse them abroad for the benefit of
society in general. Not so my excellent uncle, Professor Hardwigg; he studied,
he consumed the midnight oil, he pored over heavy tomes, and digested huge
quartos and folios in order to keep the knowledge acquired to himself.

     There was a reason, and it may be regarded as a good one, why my uncle
objected to display his learning more than was absolutely necessary: he
stammered; and when intent upon explaining the phenomena of the heavens, was
apt to find himself at fault, and allude in such a vague way to sun, moon, and
stars that few were able to comprehend his meaning. To tell the honest truth,
when the right word would not come, it was generally replaced by a very
powerful adjective.

     In connection with the sciences there are many almost unpronounceable
names--names very much resembling those of Welsh villages; and my uncle being
very fond of using them, his habit of stammering was not thereby improved. In
fact, there were periods in his discourse when he would finally give up and
swallow his discomfiture--in a glass of water.

     As I said, my uncle, Professor Hardwigg, was a very learned man; and I now
add a most kind relative. I was bound to him by the double ties of affection
and interest. I took deep interest in all his doings, and hoped some day to be
almost as learned myself. It was a rare thing for me to be absent from his
lectures. Like him, I preferred mineralogy to all the other sciences. My
anxiety was to gain real knowledge of the earth. Geology and mineralogy were to
us the sole objects of life, and in connection with these studies many a fair
specimen of stone, chalk, or metal did we break with our hammers.

     Steel rods, loadstones, glass pipes, and bottles of various acids were
oftener before us than our meals. My uncle Hardwigg was once known to classify
six hundred different geological specimens by their weight, hardness,
fusibility, sound, taste, and smell.

     He corresponded with all the great, learned, and scientific men of the
age. I was, therefore, in constant communication with, at all events the
letters of, Sir Humphry Davy, Captain Franklin, and other great men.

     But before I state the subject on which my uncle wished to confer with me,
I must say a word about his personal appearance. Alas! my readers will see a
very different portrait of him at a future time, after he has gone through the
fearful adventures yet to be related.

     My uncle was fifty years old; tall, thin, and wiry. Large spectacles hid,
to a certain extent, his vast, round, and goggle eyes, while his nose was
irreverently compared to a thin file. So much indeed did it resemble that
useful article, that a compass was said in his presence to have made
considerable N (Nasal) deviation.

     The truth being told, however, the only article really attracted to my
uncle's nose was tobacco.

     Another peculiarity of his was, that he always stepped a yard at a time,
clenched his fists as if he were going to hit you, and was, when in one of his
peculiar humors, very far from a pleasant companion.

     It is further necessary to observe that he lived in a very nice house, in
that very nice street, the Konigstrasse at Hamburg. Though lying in the center
of a town, it was perfectly rural in its aspect-- half wood, half bricks, with
old-fashioned gables--one of the few old houses spared by the great fire of
1842.

     When I say a nice house, I mean a handsome house--old, tottering, and not
exactly comfortable to English notions: a house a little off the perpendicular
and inclined to fall into the neighboring canal; exactly the house for a
wandering artist to depict; all the more that you could scarcely see it for ivy
and a magnificent old tree which grew over the door.

     My uncle was rich; his house was his own property, while he had a
considerable private income. To my notion the best part of his possessions was
his god-daughter, Gretchen. And the old cook, the young lady, the Professor and
I were the sole inhabitants.

     I loved mineralogy, I loved geology. To me there was nothing like
pebbles--and if my uncle had been in a little less of a fury, we should have
been the happiest of families. To prove the excellent Hardwigg's impatience, I
solemnly declare that when the flowers in the drawing-room pots began to grow,
he rose every morning at four o'clock to make them grow quicker by pulling the
leaves!

     Having described my uncle, I will now give an account of our interview.

     He received me in his study; a perfect museum, containing every natural
curiosity that can well be imagined--minerals, however, predominating. Every
one was familiar to me, having been catalogued by my own hand. My uncle,
apparently oblivious of the fact that he had summoned me to his presence, was
absorbed in a book. He was particularly fond of early editions, tall copies,
and unique works.

     "Wonderful!" he cried, tapping his forehead. "Wonderful--wonderful!"

     It was one of those yellow-leaved volumes now rarely found on stalls, and
to me it appeared to possess but little value. My uncle, however, was in
raptures.

     He admired its binding, the clearness of its characters, the ease with
which it opened in his hand, and repeated aloud, half a dozen times, that it
was very, very old.

     To my fancy he was making a great fuss about nothing, but it was not my
province to say so. On the contrary, I professed considerable interest in the
subject, and asked him what it was about.

     "It is the Heims-Kringla of Snorre Tarleson,"he said, "the celebrated
Icelandic author of the twelfth century--it is a true and correct account of
the Norwegian princes who reigned in Iceland."

     My next question related to the language in which it was written. I hoped
at all events it was translated into German. My uncle was indignant at the very
thought, and declared he wouldn't give a penny for a translation. His delight
was to have found the original work in the Icelandic tongue, which he declared
to be one of the most magnificent and yet simple idioms in the world--while at
the same time its grammatical combinations were the most varied known to
students.

     "About as easy as German? was my insidious remark.

     My uncle shrugged his shoulders.

     "The letters at all events," I said, "are rather difficult of
comprehension."

     "It is a Runic manuscript, the language of the original population of
Iceland, invented by Odin himself," cried my uncle, angry at my ignorance.

     I was about to venture upon some misplaced joke on the subject, when a
small scrap of parchment fell out of the leaves. Like a hungry man snatching at
a morsel of bread the Professor seized it. It was about five inches by three
and was scrawled over in the most extraordinary fashion.

     The lines shown here are an exact facsimile of what was written on the
venerable piece of parchment-and have wonderful importance, as they induced my
uncle to undertake the most wonderful series of adventures which ever fell to
the lot of human beings.

     My uncle looked keenly at the document for some moments and then declared
that it was Runic. The letters were similar to those in the book, but then what
did they mean? This was exactly what I wanted to know.

     Now as I had a strong conviction that the Runic alphabet and dialect were
simply an invention to mystify poor human nature, I was delighted to find that
my uncle knew as much about the matter as I did--which was nothing. At all
events the tremulous motion of his fingers made me think so.

     "And yet," he muttered to himself, "it is old Icelandic, I am sure of it."

     And my uncle ought to have known, for he was a perfect polyglot dictionary
in himself. He did not pretend, like a certain learned pundit, to speak the two
thousand languages and four thousand idioms made use of in different parts of
the globe, but he did know all the more important ones.

     It is a matter of great doubt to me now, to what violent measures my
uncle's impetuosity might have led him, had not the clock struck two, and our
old French cook called out to let us know that dinner was on the table.

     "Bother the dinner!" cried my uncle.

     But as I was hungry, I sallied forth to the dining room, where I took up
my usual quarters. Out of politeness I waited three minutes, but no sign of my
uncle, the Professor. I was surprised. He was not usually so blind to the
pleasure of a good dinner. It was the acme of German luxury--parsley soup, a
ham omelette with sorrel trimmings, an oyster of veal stewed with prunes,
delicious fruit, and sparkling Moselle. For the sake of poring over this musty
old piece of parchment, my uncle forbore to share our meal. To satisfy my
conscience, I ate for both.

     The old cook and housekeeper was nearly out of her mind. After taking so
much trouble, to find her master not appear at dinner was to her a sad
disappointment--which, as she occasionally watched the havoc I was making on
the viands, became also alarm. If my uncle were to come to table after all?

     Suddenly, just as I had consumed the last apple and drunk the last glass
of wine, a terrible voice was heard at no great distance. It was my uncle
roaring for me to come to him. I made very nearly one leap of it--so loud, so
fierce was his tone.


A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER II

THE MYSTERIOUS PARCHMENT

     "I declare!" cried my uncle, striking the table fiercely with his fist, "I
declare to you it is Runic--and contains some wonderful secret, which I must
get at, at any price."

     I was about to reply when he stopped me.

     "Sit down," he said, quite fiercely, "and write to my dictation."

     I obeyed.

     "I will substitute," he said, "a letter of our alphabet for that of the
Runic: we will then see what that will produce. Now, begin and make no
mistakes."

     The dictation commenced with the following incomprehensible result: --

         mm.rnlls    esreuel    seecJde

         sgtssmf     unteief    niedrke

         kt,samn     atrateS    Saodrrn

         emtnaeI     nuaect     rrilSa

         Atvaar      .nscrc     ieaabs

         ccdrmi      eeutul     frantu

         dt,iac      oseibo     KediiY --

     Scarcely giving me time to finish, my uncle snatched the document from my
hands and examined it with the most rapt and deep attention.

     "I should like to know what it means," he said, after a long period.

     I certainly could not tell him, nor did he expect me to--his conversation
being uniformly answered by himself.

     "I declare it puts me in mind of a cryptograph," he cried, "unless,
indeed, the letters have been written without any real meaning; and yet why
take so much trouble? Who knows but I may be on the verge of some great
discovery?"

     My candid opinion was that it was all rubbish! But this opinion I kept
carefully to myself, as my uncle's choler was not pleasant to bear. All this
time he was comparing the book with the parchment.

     "The manuscript volume and the smaller document are written in different
hands," he said, "the cryptograph is of much later date than the book; there is
an undoubted proof of the correctness of my surmise. [An irrefragable proof I
took it to be.] The first letter is a double M, which was only added to the
Icelandic language in the twelfth century--this makes the parchment two hundred
years posterior to the volume."

     The circumstances appeared very probable and very logical, but it was all
surmise to me.

     "To me it appears probable that this sentence was written by some owner of
the book. Now who was the owner, is the next important question. Perhaps by
great good luck it may be written somewhere in the volume."

     With these words Professor Hardwigg took off his spectacles, and, taking a
powerful magnifying glass, examined the book carefully.

     On the fly leaf was what appeared to be a blot of ink, but on examination
proved to be a line of writing almost effaced by time. This was what he sought;
and, after some considerable time, he made out these letters:

     "Arne Saknussemm!" he cried in a joyous and triumphant tone, "that is not
only an Icelandic name, but of a learned professor of the sixteenth century, a
celebrated alchemist."

     I bowed as a sign of respect.

     "These alchemists," he continued, "Avicenna, Bacon, Lully, Paracelsus,
were the true, the only learned men of the day. They made surprising
discoveries. May not this Saknussemm, nephew mine, have hidden on this bit of
parchment some astounding invention? I believe the cryptograph to have a
profound meaning--which I must make out."

     My uncle walked about the room in a state of excitement almost impossible
to describe.

     "It may be so, sir," I timidly observed, "but why conceal it from
posterity, if it be a useful, a worthy discovery?"

     "Why--how should I know? Did not Galileo make a secret of his discoveries
in connection with Saturn? But we shall see. Until I discover the meaning of
this sentence I will neither eat nor sleep."

     "My dear uncle--" I began.

     "Nor you neither," he added.

     It was lucky I had taken double allowance that day.

     "In the first place," he continued, "there must be a clue to the meaning.
If we could find that, the rest would be easy enough."

     I began seriously to reflect. The prospect of going without food and sleep
was not a promising one, so I determined to do my best to solve the mystery. My
uncle, meanwhile, went on with his soliloquy.

     "The way to discover it is easy enough. In this document there are one
hundred and thirty-two letters, giving seventy-nine consonants to fifty-three
vowels. This is about the proportion found in most southern languages, the
idioms of the north being much more rich in consonants. We may confidently
predict, therefore, that we have to deal with a southern dialect."

     Nothing could be more logical.

     "Now said Professor Hardwigg, "to trace the particular language."

     "As Shakespeare says, 'that is the question,"' was my rather satirical
reply.

     "This man Saknussemm he continued, "was a very learned man: now as he did
not write in the language of his birthplace, he probably, like most learned men
of the sixteenth century, wrote in Latin. If, however, I prove wrong in this
guess, we must try Spanish, French, Italian, Greek, and even Hebrew. My own
opinion, though, is decidedly in favor of Latin."

     This proposition startled me. Latin was my favorite study, and it seemed
sacrilege to believe this gibberish to belong to the country of Virgil.

     "Barbarous Latin, in all probability," continued my uncle, "but still
Latin."

     "Very probably," I replied, not to contradict him.

     "Let us see into the matter," continued my uncle; "here you see we have a
series of one hundred and thirty-two letters, apparently thrown pell-mell upon
paper, without method or organization. There are words which are composed
wholly of consonants, such as mm.rnlls, others which are nearly all vowels, the
fifth, for instance, which is unteief, and one of the last oseibo. This appears
an extraordinary combination. Probably we shall find that the phrase is
arranged according to some mathematical plan. No doubt a certain sentence has
been written out and then jumbled up--some plan to which some figure is the
clue. Now, Harry, to show your English wit-- what is that figure?"

     I could give him no hint. My thoughts were indeed far away. While he was
speaking I had caught sight of the portrait of my cousin Gretchen, and was
wondering when she would return.

     We were affianced, and loved one another very sincerely.But my uncle, who
never thought even of such sublunary matters, knew nothing of this. Without
noticing my abstraction, the Professor began reading the puzzling cryptograph
all sorts of ways, according to some theory of his own. Presently, rousing my
wandering attention, he dictated one precious attempt to me.

     I mildly handed it over to him. It read as follows: --

      mmessunkaSenrA.icefdoK.segnittamurtn

      ecertserrette,rotaivsadua,ednecsedsadne

      lacartniiilrJsiratracSarbmutabiledmek

      meretarcsilucoYsleffenSnI --

     I could scarcely keep from laughing, while my uncle, on the contrary, got
in a towering passion, struck the table with his fist, darted out of the room,
out of the house, and then taking to his heels was presently lost to sight.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER III

AN ASTOUNDING DISCOVERY

     "What is the matter?" cried the cook, entering the room; "when will master
have his dinner?"

     "Never."

     "And, his supper?"

     "I don't know. He says he will eat no more, neither shall I. My uncle has
determined to fast and make me fast until he makes out this abominable
inscription," I replied.

     "You will be starved to death," she said.

     I was very much of the same opinion, but not liking to say so, sent her
away, and began some of my usual work of classification. But try as I might,
nothing could keep me from thinking alternately of the stupid manuscript and of
the pretty Gretchen.

     Several times I thought of going out, but my uncle would have been angry
at my absence. At the end of an hour, my allotted task was done. How to pass
the time? I began by lighting my pipe. Like all other students, I delighted in
tobacco; and, seating myself in the great armchair, I began to think.

     Where was my uncle? I could easily imagine him tearing along some solitary
road, gesticulating, talking to himself, cutting the air with his cane, and
still thinking of the absurd bit of hieroglyphics. Would he hit upon some clue?
Would he come home in better humor? While these thoughts were passing through
my brain, I mechanically took up the execrable puzzle and tried every
imaginable way of grouping the letters. I put them together by twos, by threes,
fours, and fives-- in vain. Nothing intelligible came out, except that the
fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth made ice in English; the eighty-fourth,
eighty-fifth, and eighty-sixth, the word sir; then at last I seemed to find the
Latin words rota, mutabile, ira, nec, atra.

     "Ha! there seems to be some truth in my uncle's notion, thought I.

     Then again I seemed to find the word luco, which means sacred wood. Then
in the third line I appeared to make out labiled, a perfect Hebrew word, and at
the last the syllables mere, are, mer, which were French.

     It was enough to drive one mad. Four different idioms in this absurd
phrase. What connection could there be between ice, sir, anger, cruel, sacred
wood, changing, mother, are, and sea? The first and the last might, in a
sentence connected with Iceland, mean sea of ice. But what of the rest of this
monstrous cryptograph?

     I was, in fact, fighting against an insurmountable difficulty; my brain
was almost on fire; my eyes were strained with staring at the parchment; the
whole absurd collection of letters appeared to dance before my vision in a
number of black little groups. My mind was possessed with temporary
hallucination--I was stifling. I wanted air. Mechanically I fanned myself with
the document, of which now I saw the back and then the front.

     Imagine my surprise when glancing at the back of the wearisome puzzle, the
ink having gone through, I clearly made out Latin words, and among others
craterem and terrestre.

     I had discovered the secret!

     It came upon me like a flash of lightning. I had got the clue. All you had
to do to understand the document was to read it backwards. All the ingenious
ideas of the Professor were realized; he had dictated it rightly to me; by a
mere accident I had discovered what he so much desired.

     My delight, my emotion may be imagined, my eyes were dazzled and I
trembled so that at first I could make nothing of it. One look, however, would
tell me all I wished to know.

     "Let me read," I said to myself, after drawing a long breath.

     I spread it before me on the table, I passed my finger over each letter, I
spelled it through; in my excitement I read it out.

     What horror and stupefaction took possession of my soul. I was like a man
who had received a knock-down blow. Was it possible that I really read the
terrible secret, and it had really been accomplished! A man had dared to
do--what?

     No living being should ever know.

     "Never!" cried I, jumping up. "Never shall my uncle be made aware of the
dread secret. He would be quite capable of undertaking the terrible journey.
Nothing would check him, nothing stop him. Worse, he would compel me to
accompany him, and we should be lost forever. But no; such folly and madness
cannot be allowed."

     I was almost beside myself with rage and fury.

     "My worthy uncle is already nearly mad," I cried aloud. "This would finish
him. By some accident he may make the discovery; in which case, we are both
lost. Perish the fearful secret--let the flames forever bury it in oblivion."

     I snatched up book and parchment, and was about to cast them into the
fire, when the door opened and my uncle entered.

     I had scarcely time to put down the wretched documents before my uncle was
by my side. He was profoundly absorbed. His thoughts were evidently bent on the
terrible parchment. Some new combination had probably struck him while taking
his walk.

     He seated himself in his armchair, and with a pen began to make an
algebraical calculation. I watched him with anxious eyes. My flesh crawled as
it became probable that he would discover the secret.

     His combinations I knew now were useless, I having discovered the one only
clue. For three mortal hours he continued without speaking a word, without
raising his head, scratching, rewriting, calculating over and over again. I
knew that in time he must hit upon the right phrase. The letters of every
alphabet have only a certain number of combinations. But then years might
elapse before he would arrive at the correct solution.

     Still time went on; night came, the sounds in the streets ceased-- and
still my uncle went on, not even answering our worthy cook when she called us
to supper.

     I did not dare to leave him, so waved her away, and at last fell asleep on
the sofa.

     When I awoke my uncle was still at work. His red eyes, his pallid
countenance, his matted hair, his feverish hands, his hectically flushed
cheeks, showed how terrible had been his struggle with the impossible, and what
fearful fatigue he had undergone during that long sleepless night. It made me
quite ill to look at him. Though he was rather severe with me, I loved him, and
my heart ached at his sufferings. He was so overcome by one idea that he could
not even get in a passion! All his energies were focused on one point. And I
knew that by speaking one little word all this suffering would cease. I could
not speak it.

     My heart was, nevertheless, inclining towards him. Why, then, did I remain
silent? In the interest of my uncle himself.

     "Nothing shall make me speak," I muttered. "He will want to follow in the
footsteps of the other! I know him well. His imagination is a perfect volcano,
and to make discoveries in the interests of geology he would sacrifice his
life. I will therefore be silent and strictly keep the secret I have
discovered. To reveal it would be suicidal. He would not only rush, himself, to
destruction, but drag me with him."

     I crossed my arms, looked another way and smoked--resolved never to speak.

     When our cook wanted to go out to market, or on any other errand, she
found the front door locked and the key taken away. Was this done purposely or
not? Surely Professor Hardwigg did not intend the old woman and myself to
become martyrs to his obstinate will. Were we to be starved to death? A
frightful recollection came to my mind. Once we had fed on bits and scraps for
a week while he sorted some curiosities. It gave me the cramp even to think of
it!

     I wanted my breakfast, and I saw no way of getting it. Still my resolution
held good. I would starve rather than yield. But the cook began to take me
seriously to task. What was to be done? She could not go out; and I dared not.

     My uncle continued counting and writing; his imagination seemed to have
translated him to the skies. He neither thought of eating nor drinking. In this
way twelve o'clock came round. I was hungry, and there was nothing in the
house. The cook had eaten the last bit of bread. This could not go on. It did,
however, until two, when my sensations were terrible. After all, I began to
think the document very absurd. Perhaps it might only be a gigantic hoax.
Besides, some means would surely be found to keep my uncle back from attempting
any such absurd expedition. On the other hand, if he did attempt anything so
quixotic, I should not be compelled to accompany him. Another line of reasoning
partially decided me. Very likely he would make the discovery himself when I
should have suffered starvation for nothing. Under the influence of hunger this
reasoning appeared admirable. I determined to tell all.

     The question now arose as to how it was to be done. I was still dwelling
on the thought, when he rose and put on his hat.

     What! go out and lock us in? Never!

     "Uncle," I began.

     He did not appear even to hear me.

     "Professor Hardwigg," I cried.

     "What," he retorted, "did you speak?"

     "How about the key?"

     "What key--the key of the door?

     "No--of these horrible hieroglyphics?

     He looked at me from under his spectacles, and started at the odd
expression of my face. Rushing forward, he clutched me by the arm and keenly
examined my countenance. His very look was an interrogation.

     I simply nodded.

     With an incredulous shrug of the shoulders, he turned upon his heel.
Undoubtedly he thought I had gone mad.

     "I have made a very important discovery."

     His eyes flashed with excitement. His hand was lifted in a menacing
attitude. For a moment neither of us spoke. It is hard to say which was most
excited.

     "You don't mean to say that you have any idea of the meaning of the
scrawl?"

     "I do," was my desperate reply. "Look at the sentence as dictated by you."

     "Well," but it means nothing," was the angry answer.

     "Nothing if you read from left to right, but mark, if from right to
left--"

     "Backwards!" cried my uncle, in wild amazement. "Oh most cunning
Saknussemm; and I to be such a blockhead!"

     He snatched up the document, gazed at it with haggard eye, and read it out
as I had done.

     It read as follows: --

      In Sneffels Yoculis craterem kem delibat

      umbra Scartaris Julii intra calendas descende,

      audas viator, et terrestre centrum attinges.

      Kod feci. Arne Saknussemm --

     Which dog Latin being translated, reads as follows: --

     Descend into the crater of Yocul of Sneffels, which the shade of Scartaris
caresses, before the kalends of July, audacious traveler, and you will reach
the center of the earth. I did it.

                                            ARNE SAKNUSSEMM --

     My uncle leaped three feet from the ground with joy. He looked radiant and
handsome. He rushed about the room wild with delight and satisfaction. He
knocked over tables and chairs. He threw his books about until at last, utterly
exhausted, he fell into his armchair.

     "What's o'clock?" he asked.

     "About three."

     "My dinner does not seem to have done me much good," he observed. "Let me
have something to eat. We can then start at once. Get my portmanteau ready."

     "What for?"

     "And your own," he continued. "We start at once."

     My horror may be conceived. I resolved however to show no fear. Scientific
reasons were the only ones likely to influence my uncle. Now, there were many
against this terrible journey. The very idea of going down to the center of the
earth was simply absurd. I determined therefore to argue the point after
dinner.

     My uncle's rage was now directed against the cook for having no dinner
ready. My explanation however satisfied him, and having gotten the key, she
soon contrived to get sufficient to satisfy our voracious appetites.

     During the repast my uncle was rather gay than otherwise. He made some of
those peculiar jokes which belong exclusively to the learned. As soon, however,
as dessert was over, he called me to his study. We each took a chair on
opposite sides of the table.

     "Henry," he said, in a soft and winning voice; "I have always believed you
ingenious, and you have rendered me a service never to be forgotten. Without
you, this great, this wondrous discovery would never have been made. It is my
duty, therefore, to insist on your sharing the glory."

     "He is in a good humor," thought I; "I'll soon let him know my opinion of
glory."

     "In the first place," he continued, "you must keep the whole affair a
profound secret. There is no more envious race of men than scientific
discoverers. Many would start on the same journey. At all events, we will be
the first in the field."

     "I doubt your having many competitors," was my reply.

     "A man of real scientific acquirements would be delighted at the chance.
We should find a perfect stream of pilgrims on the traces of Arne Saknussemm,
if this document were once made public."

     "But, my dear sir, is not this paper very likely to be a hoax?" I urged.

     "The book in which we find it is sufficient proof of its authenticity," he
replied.

     "I thoroughly allow that the celebrated Professor wrote the lines, but
only, I believe, as a kind of mystification," was my answer.

     Scarcely were the words out of my mouth, when I was sorry I had uttered
them. My uncle looked at me with a dark and gloomy scowl, and I began to be
alarmed for the results of our conversation. His mood soon changed, however,
and a smile took the place of a frown.

     "We shall see," he remarked, with decisive emphasis.

     "But see, what is all this about Yocul, and Sneffels, and this Scartaris?
I have never heard anything about them."

     "The very point to which I am coming. I lately received from my friend
Augustus Peterman, of Leipzig, a map. Take down the third atlas from the second
shelf, series Z, plate 4."

     I rose, went to the shelf, and presently returned with the volume
indicated.

     "This," said my uncle, "is one of the best maps of Iceland. I believe it
will settle all your doubts, difficulties and objections."

     With a grim hope to the contrary, I stooped over the map.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER IV

WE START ON THE JOURNEY

     "You see, the whole island is composed of volcanoes," said the Professor,
"and remark carefully that they all bear the name of Yocul. The word is
Icelandic, and means a glacier. In most of the lofty mountains of that region
the volcanic eruptions come forth from icebound caverns. Hence the name applied
to every volcano on this extraordinary island."

     "But what does this word Sneffels mean?"

     To this question I expected no rational answer. I was mistaken.

     "Follow my finger to the western coast of Iceland, there you see
Reykjavik, its capital. Follow the direction of one of its innumerable fjords
or arms of the sea, and what do you see below the sixty-fifth degree of
latitude?"

     "A peninsula--very like a thighbone in shape.

     "And in the center of it?"

     "A mountain."

     "Well," that's Sneffels."

     I had nothing to say.

     "That is Sneffels--a mountain about five thousand feet in height, one of
the most remarkable in the whole island, and certainly doomed to be the most
celebrated in the world, for through its crater we shall reach the center of
the earth."

     "Impossible!" cried I, startled and shocked at the thought.

     "Why impossible?" said Professor Hardwigg in his severest tones.

     "Because its crater is choked with lava, by burning rocks--by infinite
dangers."

     "But if it be extinct?"

     "That would make a difference."

     "Of course it would. There are about three hundred volcanoes on the whole
surface of the globe--but the greater number are extinct. Of these Sneffels is
one. No eruption has occurred since 1219--in fact it has ceased to be a volcano
at all."

     After this what more could I say? Yes,--I thought of another objection.

     "But what is all this about Scartaris and the kalends of July--?"

     My uncle reflected deeply. Presently he gave forth the result of his
reflections in a sententious tone. "What appears obscure to you, to me is
light. This very phrase shows how particular Saknussemm is in his directions.
The Sneffels mountain has many craters. He is careful therefore to point the
exact one which is the highway into the Interior of the Earth. He lets us know,
for this purpose, that about the end of the month of June, the shadow of Mount
Scartaris falls upon the one crater. There can be no doubt about the matter."

     My uncle had an answer for everything.

     "I accept all your explanations" I said, "and Saknussemm is right. He
found out the entrance to the bowels of the earth, he has indicated correctly,
but that he or anyone else ever followed up the discovery is madness to
suppose."

     "Why so, young man?"

     "All scientific teaching, theoretical and practical, shows it to be
impossible."

     "I care nothing for theories," retorted my uncle.

     "But is it not well-known that heat increases one degree for every seventy
feet you descend into the earth? Which gives a fine idea of the central heat.
All the matters which compose the globe are in a state of incandescence; even
gold, platinum, and the hardest rocks are in a state of fusion. What would
become of us?"

     "Don't be alarmed at the heat, my boy."

     "How so?"

     "Neither you nor anybody else know anything about the real state of the
earth's interior. All modern experiments tend to explode the older theories.
Were any such heat to exist, the upper crust of the earth would be shattered to
atoms, and the world would be at an end."

     A long, learned and not uninteresting discussion followed, which ended in
this wise:

     "I do not believe in the dangers and difficulties which you, Henry, seem
to multiply; and the only way to learn, is like Arne Saknussemm, to go and
see."

     "Well," cried I, overcome at last, "let us go and see. Though how we can
do that in the dark is another mystery."

     "Fear nothing. We shall overcome these, and many other difficulties.
Besides, as we approach the center, I expect to find it luminous--"

     "Nothing is impossible."

     "And now that we have come to a thorough understanding, not a word to any
living soul. Our success depends on secrecy and dispatch."

     Thus ended our memorable conference, which roused a perfect fever in me.
Leaving my uncle, I went forth like one possessed. Reaching the banks of the
Elbe, I began to think. Was all I had heard really and truly possible? Was my
uncle in his sober senses, and could the interior of the earth be reached? Was
I the victim of a madman, or was he a discoverer of rare courage and grandeur
of conception?

     To a certain extent I was anxious to be off. I was afraid my enthusiasm
would cool. I determined to pack up at once. At the end of an hour, however, on
my way home, I found that my feelings had very much changed.

     "I'm all abroad," I cried; "'tis a nightmare--I must have dreamed it."

     At this moment I came face to face with Gretchen, whom I warmly embraced.

     "So you have come to meet me," she said; "how good of you. But what is the
matter?"

     Well, it was no use mincing the matter, I told her all. She listened with
awe, and for some minutes she could not speak.

     "Well?" I at last said, rather anxiously.

     "What a magnificent journey. If I were only a man! A journey worthy of the
nephew of Professor Hardwigg. I should look upon it as an honor to accompany
him."

     "My dear Gretchen, I thought you would be the first to cry out against
this mad enterprise."

     "No; on the contrary, I glory in it. It is magnificent, splendid--an idea
worthy of my father. Henry Lawson, I envy you."

     This was, as it were, conclusive. The final blow of all.

     When we entered the house we found my uncle surrounded by workmen and
porters, who were packing up. He was pulling and hauling at a bell.

     "Where have you been wasting your time? Your portmanteau is not packed--my
papers are not in order--the precious tailor has not brought my clothes, nor my
gaiters--the key of my carpet bag is gone!"

     I looked at him stupefied. And still he tugged away at the bell.

     "We are really off, then?" I said.

     "Yes--of course, and yet you go out for a stroll, unfortunate boy!"

     "And when do we go?

     "The day after tomorrow, at daybreak."

     I heard no more; but darted off to my little bedchamber and locked myself
in. There was no doubt about it now. My uncle had been hard at work all the
afternoon. The garden was full of ropes, rope ladders, torches, gourds, iron
clamps, crowbars, alpenstocks, and pickaxes-- enough to load ten men.

     I passed a terrible night. I was called early the next day to learn that
the resolution of my uncle was unchanged and irrevocable. I also found my
cousin and affianced wife as warm on the subject as was her father.

     Next day, at five o'clock in the morning, the post chaise was at the door.
Gretchen and the old cook received the keys of the house; and, scarcely pausing
to wish anyone good-by, we started on our adventurous journey into the center
of the earth.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER  V

FIRST LESSONS IN CLIMBING

     At Altona, a suburb of Hamburg, is the Chief Station of the Kiel railway,
which was to take us to the shores of the Belt. In twenty minutes from the
moment of our departure we were in Holstein, and our carriage entered the
station. Our heavy luggage was taken out, weighed, labeled, and placed in a
huge van. We then took our tickets, and exactly at seven o'clock were seated
opposite each other in a firstclass railway carriage.

     My uncle said nothing. He was too busy examining his papers, among which
of course was the famous parchment, and some letters of introduction from the
Danish consul which were to pave the way to an introduction to the Governor of
Iceland. My only amusement was looking out of the window. But as we passed
through a flat though fertile country, this occupation was slightly monotonous.
In three hours we reached Kiel, and our baggage was at once transferred to the
steamer.

     We had now a day before us, a delay of about ten hours. Which fact put my
uncle in a towering passion. We had nothing to do but to walk about the pretty
town and bay. At length, however, we went on board, and at half past ten were
steaming down the Great Belt. It was a dark night, with a strong breeze and a
rough sea, nothing being visible but the occasional fires on shore, with here
and there a lighthouse. At seven in the morning we left Korsor, a little town
on the western side of Seeland.

     Here we took another railway, which in three hours brought us to the
capital, Copenhagen, where, scarcely taking time for refreshment, my uncle
hurried out to present one of his letters of introduction. It was to the
director of the Museum of Antiquities, who, having been informed that we were
tourists bound for Iceland, did all he could to assist us. One wretched hope
sustained me now. Perhaps no vessel was bound for such distant parts.

     Alas! a little Danish schooner, the Valkyrie, was to sail on the second of
June for Reykjavik. The captain, M. Bjarne, was on board, and was rather
surprised at the energy and cordiality with which his future passenger shook
him by the hand. To him a voyage to Iceland was merely a matter of course. My
uncle, on the other hand, considered the event of sublime importance. The
honest sailor took advantage of the Professor's enthusiasm to double the fare.

     "On Tuesday morning at seven o'clock be on board," said M. Bjarne, handing
us our receipts.

     "Excellent! Capital! Glorious!" remarked my uncle as we sat down to a late
breakfast; "refresh yourself, my boy, and we will take a run through the town."

     Our meal concluded, we went to the Kongens-Nye-Torw; to the king's
magnificent palace; to the beautiful bridge over the canal near the Museum; to
the immense cenotaph of Thorwaldsen with its hideous naval groups; to the
castle of Rosenberg; and to all the other lions of the place--none of which my
uncle even saw, so absorbed was he in his anticipated triumphs.

     But one thing struck his fancy, and that was a certain singular steeple
situated on the Island of Amak, which is the southeast quarter of the city of
Copenhagen. My uncle at once ordered me to turn my steps that way, and
accordingly we went on board the steam ferry boat which does duty on the canal,
and very soon reached the noted dockyard quay.

     In the first instance we crossed some narrow streets, where we met
numerous groups of galley slaves, with particolored trousers, grey and yellow,
working under the orders and the sticks of severe taskmasters, and finally
reached the Vor-Frelser's-Kirk.

     This church exhibited nothing remarkable in itself; in fact, the worthy
Professor had only been attracted to it by one circumstance, which was, that
its rather elevated steeple started from a circular platform, after which there
was an exterior staircase, which wound round to the very summit.

     "Let us ascend," said my uncle.

     "But I never could climb church towers," I cried, "I am subject to
dizziness in my head."

     "The very reason why you should go up. I want to cure you of a bad habit."

     "But, my good sir--"

     "I tell you to come. What is the use of wasting so much valuable time?"

     It was impossible to dispute the dictatorial commands of my uncle. I
yielded with a groan. On payment of a fee, a verger gave us the key. He, for
one, was not partial to the ascent. My uncle at once showed me the way, running
up the steps like a schoolboy. I followed as well as I could, though no sooner
was I outside the tower, than my head began to swim. There was nothing of the
eagle about me. The earth was enough for me, and no ambitious desire to soar
ever entered my mind. Still things did not go badly until I had ascended 150
steps, and was near the platform, when I began to feel the rush of cold air. I
could scarcely stand, when clutching the railings, I looked upwards. The
railing was frail enough, but nothing to those which skirted the terrible
winding staircase, that appeared, from where I stood, to ascend to the skies.

     "Now then, Henry."

     "I can't do it!" I cried, in accents of despair.

     "Are you, after all, a coward, sir?" said my uncle in a pitiless tone. "Go
up, I say!"

     To this there was no reply possible. And yet the keen air acted violently
on my nervous system; sky, earth, all seemed to swim round, while the steeple
rocked like a ship. My legs gave way like those of a drunken man. I crawled
upon my hands and knees; I hauled myself up slowly, crawling like a snake.
Presently I closed my eyes, and allowed myself to be dragged upwards.

     "Look around you," said my uncle in a stern voice, "heaven knows what
profound abysses you may have to look down. This is excellent practice."

     Slowly, and shivering all the while with cold, I opened my eyes. What then
did I see? My first glance was upwards at the cold fleecy clouds, which as by
some optical delusion appeared to stand still, while the steeple, the
weathercock, and our two selves were carried swiftly along. Far away on one
side could be seen the grassy plain, while on the other lay the sea bathed in
translucent light. The Sund, or Sound as we call it, could be discovered beyond
the point of Elsinore, crowded with white sails, which, at that distance looked
like the wings of seagulls; while to the east could be made out the far-off
coast of Sweden. The whole appeared a magic panorama.

     But faint and bewildered as I was, there was no remedy for it. Rise and
stand up I must. Despite my protestations my first lesson lasted quite an hour.
When, nearly two hours later, I reached the bosom of mother earth, I was like a
rheumatic old man bent double with pain.

     "Enough for one day," said my uncle, rubbing his hands, "we will begin
again tomorrow."

     There was no remedy. My lessons lasted five days, and at the end of that
period, I ascended blithely enough, and found myself able to look down into the
depths below without even winking, and with some degree of pleasure.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER VI

OUR VOYAGE TO ICELAND

     The hour of departure came at last. The night before, the worthy Mr.
Thompson brought us the most cordial letters of introduction for Baron Trampe,
Governor of Iceland, for M. Pictursson, coadjutor to the bishop, and for M.
Finsen, mayor of the town of Reykjavik. In return, my uncle nearly crushed his
hands, so warmly did he shake them.

     On the second of the month, at two in the morning, our precious cargo of
luggage was taken on board the good ship Valkyrie. We followed, and were very
politely introduced by the captain to a small cabin with two standing bed
places, neither very well ventilated nor very comfortable. But in the cause of
science men are expected to suffer.

     "Well," and have we a fair wind?" cried my uncle, in his most mellifluous
accents.

     "An excellent wind!" replied Captain Bjarne; "we shall leave the Sound,
going free with all sails set."

     A few minutes afterwards, the schooner started before the wind, under all
the canvas she could carry, and entered the channel. An hour later, the capital
of Denmark seemed to sink into the waves, and we were at no great distance from
the coast of Elsinore. My uncle was delighted; for myself, moody and
dissatisfied, I appeared almost to expect a glimpse of the ghost of Hamlet.

     "Sublime madman thought I, "you doubtless would approve our proceedings.
You might perhaps even follow us to the center of the earth, there to resolve
your eternal doubts."

     But no ghost or anything else appeared upon the ancient walls. The fact
is, the castle is much later than the time of the heroic prince of Denmark. It
is now the residence of the keeper of the Strait of the Sound, and through that
Sound more than fifteen thousand vessels of all nations pass every year.

     The castle of Kronborg soon disappeared in the murky atmosphere, as well
as the tower of Helsinborg, which raises its head on the Swedish Bank. And here
the schooner began to feel in earnest the breezes of the Kattegat. The Valkyrie
was swift enough, but with all sailing boats there is the same uncertainty. Her
cargo was coal, furniture, pottery, woolen clothing, and a load of corn. As
usual, the crew was small, five Danes doing the whole of the work.

     "How long will the voyage last?" asked my uncle.

     "Well," I should think about ten days," replied the skipper, "unless,
indeed, we meet with some northeast gales among the Faroe Islands."

     "At all events, there will be no very considerable delay," cried the
impatient Professor.

     "No, Mr. Hardwigg," said the captain, "no fear of that. At all events, we
shall get there some day."

     Towards evening the schooner doubled Cape Skagen, the northernmost part of
Denmark, crossed the Skagerrak during the night--skirted the extreme point of
Norway through the gut of Cape Lindesnes, and then reached the Northern Seas.
Two days later we were not far from the coast of Scotland, somewhere near what
Danish sailors call Peterhead, and then the Valkyrie stretched out direct for
the Faroe Islands, between Orkney and Shetland. Our vessel now felt the full
force of the ocean waves, and the wind shifting, we with great difficulty made
the Faroe Isles. On the eighth day, the captain made out Myganness, the
westernmost of the isles, and from that moment headed direct for Portland, a
cape on the southern shores of the singular island for which we were bound.

     The voyage offered no incident worthy of record. I bore it very well, but
my uncle to his great annoyance, and even shame, was remarkably seasick! This
mal de mer troubled him the more that it prevented him from questioning Captain
Bjarne as to the subject of Sneffels, as to the means of communication, and the
facilities of transport. All these explanations he had to adjourn to the period
of his arrival. His time, meanwhile, was spent lying in bed groaning, and
dwelling anxiously on the hoped-for termination of the voyage. I didn't pity
him.

     On the eleventh day we sighted Cape Portland, over which towered Mount
Myrdals Yokul, which, the weather being clear, we made out very readily. The
cape itself is nothing but a huge mount of granite standing naked and alone to
meet the Atlantic waves. The Valkyrie kept off the coast, steering to the
westward. On all sides were to be seen whole "schools" of whales and sharks.
After some hours we came in sight of a solitary rock in the ocean, forming a
mighty vault, through which the foaming waves poured with intense fury. The
islets of Westman appeared to leap from the ocean, being so low in the water as
scarcely to be seen until you were right upon them. From that moment the
schooner was steered to the westward in order to round Cape Reykjanes, the
western point of Iceland.

     My uncle, to his great disgust, was unable even to crawl on deck, so heavy
a sea was on, and thus lost the first view of the Land of Promise. Forty-eight
hours later, after a storm which drove us far to sea under bare poles, we came
once more in sight of land, and were boarded by a pilot, who, after three hours
of dangerous navigation, brought the schooner safely to an anchor in the bay of
Faxa before Reykjavik.

     My uncle came out of his cabin pale, haggard, thin, but full of
enthusiasm, his eyes dilated with pleasure and satisfaction. Nearly the whole
population of the town was on foot to see us land. The fact was, that scarcely
any one of them but expected some goods by the periodical vessel.

     Professor Hardwigg was in haste to leave his prison, or rather as he
called it, his hospital; but before he attempted to do so, he caught hold of my
hand, led me to the quarterdeck of the schooner, took my arm with his left
hand, and pointed inland with his right, over the northern part of the bay, to
where rose a high two-peaked mountain-- a double cone covered with eternal
snow.

     "Behold he whispered in an awe-stricken voice, behold--Mount Sneffels!"

     Then without further remark, he put his finger to his lips, frowned
darkly, and descended into the small boat which awaited us. I followed, and in
a few minutes we stood upon the soil of mysterious Iceland!

     Scarcely were we fairly on shore when there appeared before us a man of
excellent appearance, wearing the costume of a military officer. He was,
however, but a civil servant, a magistrate, the governor of the island--Baron
Trampe. The Professor knew whom he had to deal with. He therefore handed him
the letters from Copenhagen, and a brief conversation in Danish followed, to
which I of course was a stranger, and for a very good reason, for I did not
know the language in which they conversed. I afterwards heard, however, that
Baron Trampe placed himself entirely at the beck and call of Professor
Hardwigg.

     My uncle was most graciously received by M. Finsen, the mayor, who as far
as costume went, was quite as military as the governor, but also from character
and occupation quite as pacific. As for his coadjutor, M. Pictursson, he was
absent on an episcopal visit to the northern portion of the diocese. We were
therefore compelled to defer the pleasure of being presented to him. His
absence was, however, more than compensated by the presence of M. Fridriksson,
professor of natural science in the college of Reykjavik, a man of invaluable
ability. This modest scholar spoke no languages save Icelandic and Latin. When,
therefore, he addressed himself to me in the language of Horace, we at once
came to understand one another. He was, in fact, the only person that I did
thoroughly understand during the whole period of my residence in this benighted
island.

     Out of three rooms of which his house was composed, two were placed at our
service, and in a few hours we were installed with all our baggage, the amount
of which rather astonished the simple inhabitants of Reykjavik.

     "Now, Harry," said my uncle, rubbing his hands, "an goes well, the worse
difficulty is now over."

     "How the worse difficulty over?" I cried in fresh amazement.

     "Doubtless. Here we are in Iceland. Nothing more remains but to descend
into the bowels of the earth."

     "Well, sir, to a certain extent you are right. We have only to go
down--but, as far as I am concerned, that is not the question. I want to know
how we are to get up again."

     "That is the least part of the business, and does not in any way trouble
me. In the meantime, there is not an hour to lose. I am about to visit the
public library. Very likely I may find there some manuscripts from the hand of
Saknussemm. I shall be glad to consult them."

     "In the meanwhile," I replied, "I will take a walk through the town. Will
you not likewise do so?"

     "I feel no interest in the subject," said my uncle. "What for me is
curious in this island, is not what is above the surface, but what is below."

     I bowed by way of reply, put on my hat and furred cloak, and went out.

     It was not an easy matter to lose oneself in the two streets of Reykjavik;
I had therefore no need to ask my way. The town lies on a flat and marshy
plain, between two hills. A vast field of lava skirts it on one side, falling
away in terraces towards the sea. On the other hand is the large bay of Faxa,
bordered on the north by the enormous glacier of Sneffels, and in which bay the
Valkyrie was then the only vessel at anchor. Generally there were one or two
English or French gunboats, to watch and protect the fisheries in the offing.
They were now, however, absent on duty.

     The longest of the streets of Reykjavik runs parallel to the shore. In
this street the merchants and traders live in wooden huts made with beams of
wood, painted red--mere log huts, such as you find in the wilds of America. The
other street, situated more to the west, runs toward a little lake between the
residences of the bishop and the other personages not engaged in commerce.

     I had soon seen all I wanted of these weary and dismal thoroughfares. Here
and there was a strip of discolored turf, like an old worn-out bit of woolen
carpet; and now and then a bit of kitchen garden, in which grew potatoes,
cabbage, and lettuce, almost diminutive enough to suggest the idea of Lilliput.

     In the center of the new commercial street, I found the public cemetery,
enclosed by an earthen wall. Though not very large, it appeared not likely to
be filled for centuries. From hence I went to the house of the Governor--a mere
hut in comparison with the Mansion House of Hamburg--but a palace alongside the
other Icelandic houses. Between the little lake and the town was the church,
built in simple Protestant style, and composed of calcined stones, thrown up by
volcanic action. I have not the slightest doubt that in high winds its red
tiles were blown out, to the great annoyance of the pastor and congregation.
Upon an eminence close at hand was the national school, in which were taught
Hebrew, English, French, and Danish.

     In three hours my tour was complete. The general impression upon my mind
was sadness. No trees, no vegetation, so to speak--on all sides volcanic
peaks--the huts of turf and earth--more like roofs than houses. Thanks to the
heat of these residences, grass grows on the roof, which grass is carefully cut
for hay. I saw but few inhabitants during my excursion, but I met a crowd on
the beach, drying, salting and loading codfish, the principal article of
exportation. The men appeared robust but heavy; fair-haired like Germans, but
of pensive mien--exiles of a higher scale in the ladder of humanity than the
Eskimos, but, I thought, much more unhappy, since with superior perceptions
they are compelled to live within the limits of the Polar Circle.

     Sometimes they gave vent to a convulsive laugh, but by no chance did they
smile. Their costume consists of a coarse capote of black wool, known in
Scandinavian countries as the "vadmel," a broad-brimmed hat, trousers of red
serge, and a piece of leather tied with strings for a shoe--a coarse kind of
moccasin. The women, though sad-looking and mournful, had rather agreeable
features, without much expression. They wear a bodice and petticoat of somber
vadmel. When unmarried they wear a little brown knitted cap over a crown of
plaited hair; but when married, they cover their heads with a colored
handkerchief, over which they tie a white scarf.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER VII

CONVERSATION AND DISCOVERY

     When I returned, dinner was ready. This meal was devoured by my worthy
relative with avidity and voracity. His shipboard diet had turned his interior
into a perfect gulf. The repast, which was more Danish than Icelandic, was in
itself nothing, but the excessive hospitality of our host made us enjoy it
doubly.

     The conversation turned upon scientific matters, and M. Fridriksson asked
my uncle what he thought of the public library.

     "Library, sir?" cried my uncle; "it appears to me a collection of useless
odd volumes, and a beggarly amount of empty shelves."

     "What!" cried M. Fridriksson; "why, we have eight thousand volumes of most
rare and valuable works--some in the Scandinavian language, besides all the new
publications from Copenhagen."

     "Eight thousand volumes, my dear sir--why, where are they?" cried my
uncle.

     "Scattered over the country, Professor Hardwigg. We are very studious, my
dear sir, though we do live in Iceland. Every farmer, every laborer, every
fisherman can both read and write--and we think that books instead of being
locked up in cupboards, far from the sight of students, should be distributed
as widely as possible. The books of our library are therefore passed from hand
to hand without returning to the library shelves perhaps for years."

     "Then when foreigners visit you, there is nothing for them to see?"

     "Well," sir, foreigners have their own libraries, and our first
consideration is, that our humbler classes should be highly educated.
Fortunately, the love of study is innate in the Icelandic people. In 1816 we
founded a Literary Society and Mechanics' Institute; many foreign scholars of
eminence are honorary members; we publish books destined to educate our people,
and these books have rendered valuable services to our country. Allow me to
have the honor, Professor Hardwigg, to enroll you as an honorary member?"

     My uncle, who already belonged to nearly every literary and scientific
institution in Europe, immediately yielded to the amiable wishes of good M.
Fridriksson.

     "And now," he said, after many expressions of gratitude and good will, "if
you will tell me what books you expected to find, perhaps I may be of some
assistance to you."

     I watched my uncle keenly. For a minute or two he hesitated, as if
unwilling to speak; to speak openly was, perhaps, to unveil his projects.
Nevertheless, after some reflection, he made up his mind.

     "Well," M. Fridriksson," he said in an easy, unconcerned kind of way, "I
was desirous of ascertaining, if among other valuable works, you had any of the
learned Arne Saknussemm."

     "Arne Saknussemm!" cried the Professor of Reykjavik; "you speak of one of
the most distinguished scholars of the sixteenth century, of the great
naturalist, the great alchemist, the great traveler."

     "Exactly so."

     "One of the most distinguished men connected with Icelandic science and
literature."

     "As you say, sir--"

     "A man illustrious above all."

     "Yes, sir, all this is true, but his works?"

     "We have none of them."

     "Not in Iceland?"

     "There are none in Iceland or elsewhere," answered the other, sadly.

     "Why so?"

     "Because Arne Saknussemm was persecuted for heresy, and in 1573 his works
were publicly burnt at Copenhagen, by the hands of the common hangman."

     "Very good! capital!" murmured my uncle, to the great astonishment of the
worthy Icelander.

     "You said, sir--"

     "Yes, yes, all is clear, I see the link in the chain; everything is
explained, and I now understand why Arne Saknussemm, put out of court, forced
to hide his magnificent discoveries, was compelled to conceal beneath the veil
of an incomprehensible cryptograph, the secret--"

     "What secret?"

     "A secret--which," stammered my uncle.

     "Have you discovered some wonderful manuscript?" cried M. Fridriksson.

     "No! no, I was carried away by my enthusiasm. A mere supposition."

     "Very good, sir. But, really, to turn to another subject, I hope you will
not leave our island without examining into its mineralogical riches."

     "Well," the fact is, I am rather late. So many learned men have been here
before me."

     "Yes, yes, but there is still much to be done," cried M. Fridriksson.

     "You think so," said my uncle, his eyes twinkling with hidden
satisfaction.

     "Yes, you have no idea how many unknown mountains, glaciers, volcanoes
there are which remain to be studied. Without moving from where we sit, I can
show you one. Yonder on the edge of the horizon, you see Sneffels."

     "Oh yes, Sneffels," said my uncle.

     "One of the most curious volcanoes in existence, the crater of which has
been rarely visited."

     "Extinct?"

     "Extinct, any time these five hundred years," was the ready reply.

     "Well," said my uncle, who dug his nails into his flesh, and pressed his
knees tightly together to prevent himself leaping up with joy. "I have a great
mind to begin my studies with an examination of the geological mysteries of
this Mount Seffel--Feisel--what do you call it?"

     "Sneffels, my dear sir."

     This portion of the conversation took place in Latin, and I therefore
understood all that had been said. I could scarcely keep my countenance when I
found my uncle so cunningly concealing his delight and satisfaction. I must
confess that his artful grimaces, put on to conceal his happiness, made him
look like a new Mephistopheles.

     "Yes, yes," he continued, "your proposition delights me. I will endeavor
to climb to the summit of Sneffels, and, if possible, will descend into its
crater."

     "I very much regret," continued M. Fridriksson, "that my occupation will
entirely preclude the possibility of my accompanying you. It would have been
both pleasurable and profitable if I could have spared the time."

     "No, no, a thousand times no," cried my uncle. "I do not wish to disturb
the serenity of any man. I thank you, however, with all my heart. The presence
of one so learned as yourself, would no doubt have been most useful, but the
duties of your office and profession before everything."

     In the innocence of his simple heart, our host did not perceive the irony
of these remarks.

     "I entirely approve your project," continued the Icelander after some
further remarks. "It is a good idea to begin by examining this volcano. You
will make a harvest of curious observations. In the first place, how do you
propose to get to Sneffels?"

     "By sea. I shall cross the bay. Of course that is the most rapid route."

     "Of course. But still it cannot be done."

     "Why?"

     "We have not an available boat in all Reykjavik," replied the other.

     "What is to be done?"

     "You must go by land along the coast. It is longer, but much more
interesting."

     "Then I must have a guide."

     "Of course; and I have your very man."

     "Somebody on whom I can depend."

     "Yes, an inhabitant of the peninsula on which Sneffels is situated. He is
a very shrewd and worthy man, with whom you will be pleased. He speaks Danish
like a Dane."

     "When can I see him--today?"

     "No, tomorrow; he will not be here before."

     "Tomorrow be it," replied my uncle, with a deep sigh.

     The conversation ended by compliments on both sides. During the dinner my
uncle had learned much as to the history of Arne Saknussemm, the reasons for
his mysterious and hieroglyphical document. He also became aware that his host
would not accompany him on his adventurous expedition, and that next day we
should have a guide.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER VIII

OFF AT LAST

     That evening I took a brief walk on the shore near Reykjavik, after which
I returned to an early sleep on my bed of coarse planks, where I slept the
sleep of the just. When I awoke I heard my uncle speaking loudly in the next
room. I rose hastily and joined him. He was talking in Danish with a man of
tall stature, and of perfectly Herculean build. This man appeared to be
possessed of very great strength. His eyes, which started rather prominently
from a very large head, the face belonging to which was simple and naive,
appeared very quick and intelligent. Very long hair, which even in England
would have been accounted exceedingly red, fell over his athletic shoulders.
This native of Iceland was active and supple in appearance, though he scarcely
moved his arms, being in fact one of those men who despise the habit of
gesticulation common to southern people.

     Everything in this man's manner revealed a calm and phlegmatic
temperament. There was nothing indolent about him, but his appearance spoke of
tranquillity. He was one of those who never seemed to expect anything from
anybody, who liked to work when he thought proper, and whose philosophy nothing
could astonish or trouble.

     I began to comprehend his character, simply from the way in which he
listened to the wild and impassioned verbiage of my worthy uncle. While the
excellent Professor spoke sentence after sentence, he stood with folded arms,
utterly still, motionless to all my uncle's gesticulations. When he wanted to
say No he moved his head from left to right; when he acquiesced he nodded, so
slightly that you could scarcely see the undulation of his head. This economy
of motion was carried to the length of avarice.

     Judging from his appearance I should have been a long time before I had
suspected him to be what he was, a mighty hunter. Certainly his manner was not
likely to frighten the game. How, then, did he contrive to get at his prey?

     My surprise was slightly modified when I knew that this tranquil and
solemn personage was only a hunter of the eider duck, the down of which is,
after all, the greatest source of the Icelanders' wealth.

     In the early days of summer, the female of the eider, a pretty sort of
duck, builds its nest amid the rocks of the fjords--the name given to all
narrow gulfs in Scandinavian countries--with which every part of the island is
indented. No sooner has the eider duck made her nest than she lines the inside
of it with the softest down from her breast. Then comes the hunter or trader,
taking away the nest, the poor bereaved female begins her task over again, and
this continues as long as any eider down is to be found.

     When she can find no more the male bird sets to work to see what he can
do. As, however, his down is not so soft, and has therefore no commercial
value, the hunter does not take the trouble to rob him of his nest lining. The
nest is accordingly finished, the eggs are laid, the little ones are born, and
next year the harvest of eider down is again collected.

     Now, as the eider duck never selects steep rocks or aspects to build its
nest, but rather sloping and low cliffs near to the sea, the Icelandic hunter
can carry on his trade operations without much difficulty. He is like a farmer
who has neither to plow, to sow, nor to harrow, only to collect his harvest.

     This grave, sententious, silent person, as phlegmatic as an Englishman on
the French stage, was named Hans Bjelke. He had called upon us in consequence
of the recommendation of M. Fridriksson. He was, in fact, our future guide. It
struck me that had I sought the world over, I could not have found a greater
contradiction to my impulsive uncle.

     They, however, readily understood one another. Neither of them had any
thought about money; one was ready to take all that was offered him, the other
ready to offer anything that was asked. It may readily be conceived, then, that
an understanding was soon come to between them.

     Now, the understanding was, that he was to take us to the village of
Stapi, situated on the southern slope of the peninsula of Sneffels, at the very
foot of the volcano. Hans, the guide, told us the distance was about twenty-two
miles, a journey which my uncle supposed would take about two days.

     But when my uncle came to understand that they were Danish miles, of eight
thousand yards each, he was obliged to be more moderate in his ideas, and,
considering the horrible roads we had to follow, to allow eight or ten days for
the journey.

     Four horses were prepared for us, two to carry the baggage, and two to
bear the important weight of myself and uncle. Hans declared that nothing ever
would make him climb on the back of any animal. He knew every inch of that part
of the coast, and promised to take us the very shortest way.

     His engagement with my uncle was by no means to cease with our arrival at
Stapi; he was further to remain in his service during the whole time required
for the completion of his scientific investigations, at the fixed salary of
three rix-dollars a week, being exactly fourteen shillings and twopence, minus
one farthing, English currency. One stipulation, however, was made by the
guide--the money was to be paid to him every Saturday night, failing which, his
engagement was at an end.

     The day of our departure was fixed. My uncle wished to hand the eider-down
hunter an advance, but he refused in one emphatic word--

     "Efter."

     Which being translated from Icelandic into plain English means-- "After."

     The treaty concluded, our worthy guide retired without another word.

     "A splendid fellow," said my uncle; "only he little suspects the marvelous
part he is about to play in the history of the world."

     "You mean, then," I cried in amazement, "that he should accompany us?"

     "To the interior of the earth, yes," replied my uncle. "Why not?"

     There were yet forty-eight hours to elapse before we made our final start.
To my great regret, our whole time was taken up in making preparations for our
journey. All our industry and ability were devoted to packing every object in
the most advantageous manner--the instruments on one side, the arms on the
other, the tools here and the provisions there. There were, in fact, four
distinct groups.

     The instruments were of course of the best manufacture:

     1. A centigrade thermometer of Eigel, counting up to 150 degrees, which to
me did not appear half enough--or too much. Too hot by half, if the degree of
heat was to ascend so high--in which case we should certainly be cooked--not
enough, if we wanted to ascertain the exact temperature of springs or metal in
a state of fusion.

     2. A manometer worked by compressed air, an instrument used to ascertain
the upper atmospheric pressure on the level of the ocean. Perhaps a common
barometer would not have done as well, the atmospheric pressure being likely to
increase in proportion as we descended below the surface of the earth.

     3. A first-class chronometer made by Boissonnas, of Geneva, set at the
meridian of Hamburg, from which Germans calculate, as the English do from
Greenwich, and the French from Paris.

     4. Two compasses, one for horizontal guidance, the other to ascertain the
dip.

     5. A night glass.

     6. Two Ruhmkorff coils, which, by means of a current of electricity, would
ensure us a very excellent, easily carried, and certain means of obtaining
light.* --

     *The Ruhmkorff coil is used to obtain currents of induced electricity of
great intensity. It consists of a coil of copper wire, insulated by being
covered with silk, surrounded by another coil of fine wire, also insulated, in
which a momentary current is induced when a current is passed through the inner
coil from a voltaic battery. When the apparatus is in action, the gas becomes
luminous, and produces a white and continued light. The battery and wire are
carried in a leather bag, which the traveler fastens by a strap to his
shoulders. The lantern is in front, and enables the benighted wanderer to see
in the most profound obscurity. He may venture without fear of explosion into
the midst of the most inflammable gases, and the lantern will burn beneath the
deepest waters. H. D. Ruhmkorff, an able and learned chemist, discovered the
induction coil. In 1864 he won the quinquennial French prize of L2,000 for this
ingenious application of electricity. A voltaic battery, so called from Volta,
its designed, is an apparatus consisting of a series of metal plates arranged
in pairs and subjected to the action of saline solutions for producing currents
of electricity. --

     7. A voltaic battery on the newest principle.

     Our arms consisted of two rifles, with two revolving six-shooters. Why
these arms were provided it was impossible for me to say. I had every reason to
believe that we had neither wild beasts nor savage natives to fear. My uncle,
on the other hand, was quite as devoted to his arsenal as to his collection of
instruments, and above all was very careful with his provision of fulminating
or gun cotton, warranted to keep in any climate, and of which the expansive
force was known to be greater than that of ordinary gunpowder.

     Our tools consisted of two pickaxes, two crowbars, a silken ladder, three
iron-shod Alpine poles, a hatchet, a hammer, a dozen wedges, some pointed
pieces of iron, and a quantity of strong rope. You may conceive that the whole
made a tolerable parcel, especially when I mention that the ladder itself was
three hundred feet long!

     Then there came the important question of provisions. The hamper was not
very large but tolerably satisfactory, for I knew that in concentrated essence
of meat and biscuit there was enough to last six months. The only liquid
provided by my uncle was Schiedam. Of water, not a drop. We had, however, an
ample supply of gourds, and my uncle counted on finding water, and enough to
fill them, as soon as we commenced our downward journey. My remarks as to the
temperature, the quality, and even as to the possibility of none being found,
remained wholly without effect.

     To make up the exact list of our traveling gear--for the guidance of
future travelers--add, that we carried a medicine and surgical chest with all
apparatus necessary for wounds, fractures and blows; lint, scissors,
lancets--in fact, a perfect collection of horrible looking instruments; a
number of vials containing ammonia, alcohol, ether, Goulard water, aromatic
vinegar, in fact, every possible and impossible drug--finally, all the
materials for working the Ruhmkorff coil!

     My uncle had also been careful to lay in a goodly supply of tobacco,
several flasks of very fine gunpowder, boxes of tinder, besides a large belt
crammed full of notes and gold. Good boots rendered watertight were to be found
to the number of six in the tool box.

     "My boy, with such clothing, with such boots, and such general equipment,"
said my uncle, in a state of rapturous delight, "we may hope to travel far."

     It took a whole day to put all these matters in order. In the evening we
dined with Baron Trampe, in company with the Mayor of Reykjavik, and Doctor
Hyaltalin, the great medical man of Iceland. M. Fridriksson was not present,
and I was afterwards sorry to hear that he and the governor did not agree on
some matters connected with the administration of the island. Unfortunately,
the consequence was, that I did not understand a word that was said at
dinner--a kind of semiofficial reception. One thing I can say, my uncle never
left off speaking.

     The next day our labor came to an end. Our worthy host delighted my uncle,
Professor Hardwigg, by giving him a good map of Iceland, a most important and
precious document for a mineralogist.

     Our last evening was spent in a long conversation with M. Fridriksson,
whom I liked very much--the more that I never expected to see him or anyone
else again. After this agreeable way of spending an hour or so, I tried to
sleep. In vain; with the exception of a few dozes, my night was miserable.

     At five o'clock in the morning I was awakened from the only real half
hour's sleep of the night by the loud neighing of horses under my window. I
hastily dressed myself and went down into the street. Hans was engaged in
putting the finishing stroke to our baggage, which he did in a silent, quiet
way that won my admiration, and yet he did it admirably well. My uncle wasted a
great deal of breath in giving him directions, but worthy Hans took not the
slightest notice of his words.

     At six o'clock all our preparations were completed, and M. Fridriksson
shook hands heartily with us. My uncle thanked him warmly, in the Icelandic
language, for his kind hospitality, speaking truly from the heart.

     As for myself I put together a few of my best Latin phrases and paid him
the highest compliments I could. This fraternal and friendly duty performed, we
sallied forth and mounted our horses.

     As soon as we were quite ready, M. Fridriksson advanced, and by way of
farewell, called after me in the words of Virgil--words which appeared to have
been made for us, travelers starting for an uncertain destination:

     "Et quacunque viam dederit fortuna sequamur."

     ("And whichsoever way thou goest, may fortune follow!")

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER IX

WE MEET WITH ADVENTURES

     The weather was overcast but settled, when we commenced our adventurous
and perilous journey. We had neither to fear fatiguing heat nor drenching rain.
It was, in fact, real tourist weather.

     As there was nothing I liked better than horse exercise, the pleasure of
riding through an unknown country caused the early part of our enterprise to be
particularly agreeable to me.

     I began to enjoy the exhilarating delight of traveling, a life of desire,
gratification and liberty. The truth is, that my spirits rose so rapidly, that
I began to be indifferent to what had once appeared to be a terrible journey.

     "After all," I said to myself, "what do I risk? Simply to take a journey
through a curious country, to climb a remarkable mountain, and if the worst
comes to the worst, to descend into the crater of an extinct volcano."

     There could be no doubt that this was all this terrible Saknussemm had
done. As to the existence of a gallery, or of subterraneous passages leading
into the interior of the earth, the idea was simply absurd, the hallucination
of a distempered imagination. All, then, that may be required of me I will do
cheerfully, and will create no difficulty.

     It was just before we left Reykjavik that I came to this decision.

     Hans, our extraordinary guide, went first, walking with a steady, rapid,
unvarying step. Our two horses with the luggage followed of their own accord,
without requiring whip or spur. My uncle and I came behind, cutting a very
tolerable figure upon our small but vigorous animals.

     Iceland is one of the largest islands in Europe. It contains thirty
thousand square miles of surface, and has about seventy thousand inhabitants.
Geographers have divided it into four parts, and we had to cross the southwest
quarter which in the vernacular is called Sudvestr Fjordungr.

     Hans, on taking his departure from Reykjavik, had followed the line of the
sea. We took our way through poor and sparse meadows, which made a desperate
effort every year to show a little green. They very rarely succeed in a good
show of yellow.

     The rugged summits of the rocky hills were dimly visible on the edge of
the horizon, through the misty fogs; every now and then some heavy flakes of
snow showed conspicuous in the morning light, while certain lofty and pointed
rocks were first lost in the grey low clouds, their summits clearly visible
above, like jagged reefs rising from a troublous sea.

     Every now and then a spur of rock came down through the arid ground,
leaving us scarcely room to pass. Our horses, however, appeared not only well
acquainted with the country, but by a kind of instinct, knew which was the best
road. My uncle had not even the satisfaction of urging forward his steed by
whip, spur, or voice. It was utterly useless to show any signs of impatience. I
could not help smiling to see him look so big on his little horse; his long
legs now and then touching the ground made him look like a six-footed centaur.

     "Good beast, good beast," he would cry. "I assure you, "Good beast, good
beast, Henry, that I begin to think no animal is more intelligent than an
Icelandic horse. Snow, tempest, impracticable roads, rocks, icebergs--nothing
stops him. He is brave; he is sober; he is safe; he never makes a false step;
never glides or slips from his path. I dare to say that if any river, any fjord
has to be crossed--and I have no doubt there will be many--you will see him
enter the water without hesitation like an amphibious like an amphibious
animal, and reach the opposite side in safety. We must not, however, attempt to
hurry him; we must allow him to have his own way, and I will undertake to say
that between us we shall do our ten leagues a day."

     "We may do so," was my reply, "but what about our worthy guide?"

     "I have not the slightest anxiety about him: that sort of people go ahead
without knowing even what they are about. Look at Hans. He moves so little that
it is impossible for him to become fatigued. Besides, if he were to complain of
weariness, he could have the loan of my horse. I should have a violent attack
of the cramp if I were not to have some sort of exercise. My arms are
right--but my legs are getting a little stiff."

     All this while we were advancing at a rapid pace. The country we had
reached was already nearly a desert. Here and there could be seen an isolated
farm, some solitary bur, or Icelandic house, built of wood, earth, fragments of
lava--looking like beggars on the highway of life. These wretched and miserable
huts excited in us such pity that we felt half disposed to leave alms at every
door. In this country there are no roads, paths are nearly unknown, and
vegetation, poor as it was, slowly as it reached perfection, soon obliterated
all traces of the few travelers who passed from place to place.

     Nevertheless, this division of the province, situated only a few miles
from the capital, is considered one of the best cultivated and most thickly
peopled in all Iceland. What, then, must be the state of the less known and
more distant parts of the island? After traveling fully half a Danish mile, we
had met neither a farmer at the door of his hut, nor even a wandering shepherd
with his wild and savage flock.

     A few stray cows and sheep were only seen occasionally. What, then, must
we expect when we come to the upheaved regions--to the districts broken and
roughened from volcanic eruptions and subterraneous commotions?

     We were to learn this all in good time. I saw, however, on consulting the
map, that we avoided a good deal of this rough country, by following the
winding and desolate shores of the sea. In reality, the great volcanic movement
of the island, and all its attendant phenomena, are concentrated in the
interior of the island; there, horizontal layers or strata of rocks, piled one
upon the other, eruptions of basaltic origin, and streams of lava, have given
this country a kind of supernatural reputation.

     Little did I expect, however, the spectacle which awaited us when we
reached the peninsula of Sneffels, where agglomerations of nature's ruins form
a kind of terrible chaos.

     Some two hours or more after we had left the city of Reykjavik, we reached
the little town called Aoalkirkja, or the principal church. It consists simply
of a few houses--not what in England or Germany we should call a hamlet.

     Hans stopped here one half hour. He shared our frugal breakfast, answered
Yes, and No to my uncle's questions as to the nature of the road, and at last
when asked where we were to pass the night was as laconic as usual.

     "Gardar!" was his one-worded reply.

     I took occasion to consult the map, to see where Gardar was to be found.
After looking keenly I found a small town of that name on the borders of the
Hvalfjord, about four miles from Reykjavik. I pointed this out to my uncle, who
made a very energetic grimace.

     "Only four miles out of twenty-two? Why it is only a little walk."

     He was about to make some energetic observation to the guide, but Hans,
without taking the slightest notice of him, went in front of the horses, and
walked ahead with the same imperturbable phlegm he had always exhibited.

     Three hours later, still traveling over those apparently interminable and
sandy prairies, we were compelled to go round the Kollafjord, an easier and
shorter cut than crossing the gulfs. Shortly after we entered a place of
communal jurisdiction called Ejulberg, and the clock of which would then have
struck twelve, if any Icelandic church had been rich enough to possess so
valuable and useful an article. These sacred edifices are, however, very much
like these people, who do without watches--and never miss them.

     Here the horses were allowed to take some rest and refreshment, then
following a narrow strip of shore between high rocks and the sea, they took us
without further halt to the Aoalkirkja of Brantar, and after another mile to
Saurboer Annexia, a chapel of ease, situated on the southern bank of the
Hvalfjord.

     It was four o'clock in the evening and we had traveled four Danish miles,
about equal to twenty English.

     The fjord was in this place about half a mile in width. The sweeping and
broken waves came rolling in upon the pointed rocks; the gulf was surrounded by
rocky walls--a mighty cliff, three thousand feet in height, remarkable for its
brown strata, separated here and there by beds of tufa of a reddish hue. Now,
whatever may have been the intelligence of our horses, I had not the slightest
reliance upon them, as a means of crossing a stormy arm of the sea. To ride
over salt water upon the back of a little horse seemed to me absurd.

     "If they are really intelligent," I said to myself, "they will certainly
not make the attempt. In any case, I shall trust rather to my own intelligence
than theirs."

     But my uncle was in no humor to wait. He dug his heels into the sides of
his steed, and made for the shore. His horse went to the very edge of the
water, sniffed at the approaching wave and retreated.

     My uncle, who was, sooth to say, quite as obstinate as the beast he
bestrode, insisted on his making the desired advance. This attempt was followed
by a new refusal on the part of the horse which quietly shook his head. This
demonstration of rebellion was followed by a volley of words and a stout
application of whipcord; also followed by kicks on the part of the horse, which
threw its head and heels upwards and tried to throw his rider. At length the
sturdy little pony, spreading out his legs, in a stiff and ludicrous attitude,
got from under the Professor's legs, and left him standing, with both feet on a
separate stone, like the Colossus of Rhodes.

     "Wretched animal!" cried my uncle, suddenly transformed into a foot
passenger--and as angry and ashamed as a dismounted cavalry officer on the
field of battle.

     "Farja," said the guide, tapping him familiarly on the shoulder.

     "What, a ferry boat!

     "Der," answered Hans, pointing to where lay the boat in question--"there."

     "Well," I cried, quite delighted with the information; "so it is."

     "Why did you not say so before," cried my uncle; "why not start at once?"

     "Tidvatten," said the guide.

     "What does he say?" I asked, considerably puzzled by the delay and the
dialogue.

     "He says tide," replied my uncle, translating the Danish word for my
information.

     "Of course I understand--we must wait till the tide serves."

     "For bida?" asked my uncle.

     "Ja," replied Hans.

     My uncle frowned, stamped his feet and then followed the horses to where
the boat lay.

     I thoroughly understood and appreciated the necessity for waiting, before
crossing the fjord, for that moment when the sea at its highest point is in a
state of slack water. As neither the ebb nor flow can then be felt, the ferry
boat was in no danger of being carried out to sea, or dashed upon the rocky
coast.

     The favorable moment did not come until six o'clock in the evening. Then
my uncle, myself, and guide, two boatmen and the four horses got into a very
awkward flat-bottom boat. Accustomed as I had been to the steam ferry boats of
the Elbe, I found the long oars of the boatmen but sorry means of locomotion.
We were more than an hour in crossing the fjord; but at length the passage was
concluded without accident.

     Half an hour later we reached Gardar.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER X

TRAVELING IN ICELAND

     It ought, one would have thought, to have been night, even in the
sixty-fifth parallel of latitude; but still the nocturnal illumination did not
surprise me. For in Iceland, during the months of June and July, the sun never
sets.

     The temperature, however, was very much lower than I expected. I was cold,
but even that did not affect me so much as ravenous hunger. Welcome indeed,
therefore, was the hut which hospitably opened its doors to us.

     It was merely the house of a peasant, but in the matter of hospitality, it
was worthy of being the palace of a king. As we alighted at the door the master
of the house came forward, held out his hand, and without any further ceremony,
signaled to us to follow him.

     We followed him, for to accompany him was impossible. A long, narrow,
gloomy passage led into the interior of this habitation, made from beams
roughly squared by the ax. This passage gave ingress to every room. The
chambers were four in number--the kitchen, the workshop, where the weaving was
carried on, the general sleeping chamber of the family, and the best room, to
which strangers were especially invited. My uncle, whose lofty stature had not
been taken into consideration when the house was built, contrived to knock his
head against the beams of the roof.

     We were introduced into our chamber, a kind of large room with a hard
earthen floor, and lighted by a window, the panes of which were made of a sort
of parchment from the intestines of sheep--very far from transparent.

     The bedding was composed of dry hay thrown into two long red wooden boxes,
ornamented with sentences painted in Icelandic. I really had no idea that we
should be made so comfortable. There was one objection to the house, and that
was, the very powerful odor of dried fish, of macerated meat, and of sour milk,
which three fragrances combined did not at all suit my olfactory nerves.

     As soon as we had freed ourselves from our heavy traveling costume, the
voice of our host was heard calling to us to come into the kitchen, the only
room in which the Icelanders ever make any fire, no matter how cold it may be.

     My uncle, nothing loath, hastened to obey this hospitable and friendly
invitation. I followed.

     The kitchen chimney was made on an antique model. A large stone standing
in the middle of the room was the fireplace; above, in the roof, was a hole for
the smoke to pass through. This apartment was kitchen, parlor and dining room
all in one.

     On our entrance, our worthy host, as if he had not seen us before,
advanced ceremoniously, uttered a word which means "be happy," and then kissed
both of us on the cheek.

     His wife followed, pronounced the same word, with the same ceremonial,
then the husband and wife, placing their right hands upon their hearts, bowed
profoundly.

     This excellent Icelandic woman was the mother of nineteen children, who,
little and big, rolled, crawled, and walked about in the midst of volumes of
smoke arising from the angular fireplace in the middle of the room. Every now
and then I could see a fresh white head, and a slightly melancholy expression
of countenance, peering at me through the vapor.

     Both my uncle and myself, however, were very friendly with the whole
party, and before we were aware of it, there were three or four of these little
ones on our shoulders, as many on our boxes, and the rest hanging about our
legs. Those who could speak kept crying out saellvertu in every possible and
impossible key. Those who did not speak only made all the more noise.

     This concert was interrupted by the announcement of supper. At this moment
our worthy guide, the eider-duck hunter, came in after seeing to the feeding
and stabling of the horses--which consisted in letting them loose to browse on
the stunted green of the Icelandic prairies. There was little for them to eat,
but moss and some very dry and innutritious grass; next day they were ready
before the door, some time before we were.

     "Welcome," said Hans.

     Then tranquilly, with the air of an automaton, without any more expression
in one kiss than another, he embraced the host and hostess and their nineteen
children.

     This ceremony concluded to the satisfaction of all parties, we all sat
down to table, that is twenty-four of us, somewhat crowded. Those who were best
off had only two juveniles on their knees.

     As soon, however, as the inevitable soup was placed on the table, the
natural taciturnity, common even to Icelandic babies, prevailed over all else.
Our host filled our plates with a portion of lichen soup of Iceland moss, of by
no means disagreeable flavor, an enormous lump of fish floating in sour butter.
After that there came some skyr, a kind of curds and whey, served with biscuits
and juniper-berry juice. To drink, we had blanda, skimmed milk with water. I
was hungry, so hungry, that by way of dessert I finished up with a basin of
thick oaten porridge.

     As soon as the meal was over, the children disappeared, whilst the grown
people sat around the fireplace, on which was placed turf, heather, cow dung
and dried fish-bones. As soon as everybody was sufficiently warm, a general
dispersion took place, all retiring to their respective couches. Our hostess
offered to pull off our stockings and trousers, according to the custom of the
country, but as we graciously declined to be so honored, she left us to our bed
of dry fodder.

     Next day, at five in the morning, we took our leave of these hospitable
peasants. My uncle had great difficulty in making them accept a sufficient and
proper remuneration.

     Hans then gave the signal to start.

     We had scarcely got a hundred yards from Gardar, when the character of the
country changed. The soil began to be marshy and boggy, and less favorable to
progress. To the right, the range of mountains was prolonged indefinitely like
a great system of natural fortifications, of which we skirted the glacis. We
met with numerous streams and rivulets which it was necessary to ford, and that
without wetting our baggage. As we advanced, the deserted appearance increased,
and yet now and then we could see human shadows flitting in the distance. When
a sudden turn of the track brought us within easy reach of one of these
specters, I felt a sudden impulse of disgust at the sight of a swollen head,
with shining skin, utterly without hair, and whose repulsive and revolting
wounds could be seen through his rags. The unhappy wretches never came forward
to beg; on the contrary, they ran away; not so quick, however, but that Hans
was able to salute them with the universal saellvertu.

     "Spetelsk," said he.

     "A leper," explained my uncle.

     The very sound of such a word caused a feeling of repulsion. The horrible
affliction known as leprosy, which has almost vanished before the effects of
modern science, is common in Iceland. It is not contagious but hereditary, so
that marriage is strictly prohibited to these unfortunate creatures.

     These poor lepers did not tend to enliven our journey, the scene of which
was inexpressibly sad and lonely. The very last tufts of grassy vegetation
appeared to die at our feet. Not a tree was to be seen, except a few stunted
willows about as big as blackberry bushes. Now and then we watched a falcon
soaring in the grey and misty air, taking his flight towards warmer and sunnier
regions. I could not help feeling a sense of melancholy come over me. I sighed
for my own Native Land, and wished to be back with Gretchen.

     We were compelled to cross several little fjords, and at last came to a
real gulf. The tide was at its height, and we were able to go over at once, and
reach the hamlet of Alftanes, about a mile farther.

     That evening, after fording the Alfa and the Heta, two rivers rich in
trout and pike, we were compelled to pass the night in a deserted house, worthy
of being haunted by all the fays of Scandinavian mythology. The King of Cold
had taken up his residence there, and made us feel his presence all night.

     The following day was remarkable by its lack of any particular incidents.
Always the same damp and swampy soil; the same dreary uniformity; the same sad
and monotonous aspect of scenery. In the evening, having accomplished the half
of our projected journey, we slept at the Annexia of Krosolbt.

     For a whole mile we had under our feet nothing but lava. This disposition
of the soil is called hraun: the crumbled lava on the surface was in some
instances like ship cables stretched out horizontally, in others coiled up in
heaps; an immense field of lava came from the neighboring mountains, all
extinct volcanoes, but whose remains showed what once they had been. Here and
there could be made out the steam from hot water springs.

     There was no time, however, for us to take more than a cursory view of
these phenomena. We had to go forward with what speed we might. Soon the soft
and swampy soil again appeared under the feet of our horses, while at every
hundred yards we came upon one or more small lakes. Our journey was now in a
westerly direction; we had, in fact, swept round the great bay of Faxa, and the
twin white summits of Sneffels rose to the clouds at a distance of less than
five miles.

     The horses now advanced rapidly. The accidents and difficulties of the
soil no longer checked them. I confess that fatigue began to tell severely upon
me; but my uncle was as firm and as hard as he had been on the first day. I
could not help admiring both the excellent Professor and the worthy guide; for
they appeared to regard this rugged expedition as a mere walk!

     On Saturday, the 20th June, at six o'clock in the evening, we reached
Budir, a small town picturesquely situated on the shore of the ocean; and here
the guide asked for his money. My uncle settled with him immediately. It was
now the family of Hans himself, that is to say, his uncles, his cousins-german,
who offered us hospitality. We were exceedingly well received, and without
taking too much advantage of the goodness of these worthy people, I should have
liked very much to have rested with them after the fatigues of the journey. But
my uncle, who did not require rest, had no idea of anything of the kind; and
despite the fact that next day was Sunday, I was compelled once more to mount
my steed.

     The soil was again affected by the neighborhood of the mountains, whose
granite peered out of the ground like tops of an old oak. We were skirting the
enormous base of the mighty volcano. My uncle never took his eyes from off it;
he could not keep from gesticulating, and looking at it with a kind of sullen
defiance as much as to say "That is the giant I have made up my mind to
conquer."

     After four hours of steady traveling, the horses stopped of themselves
before the door of the presbytery of Stapi.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XI

WE REACH MOUNT SNEFFELS

     Stapi is a town consisting of thirty huts, built on a large plain of lava,
exposed to the rays of the sun, reflected from the volcano. It stretches its
humble tenements along the end of a little fjord, surrounded by a basaltic wall
of the most singular character.

     Basalt is a brown rock of igneous origin. It assumes regular forms, which
astonish by their singular appearance. Here we found Nature proceeding
geometrically, and working quite after a human fashion, as if she had employed
the plummet line, the compass and the rule. If elsewhere she produces grand
artistic effects by piling up huge masses without order or connection--if
elsewhere we see truncated cones, imperfect pyramids, with an odd succession of
lines; here, as if wishing to give a lesson in regularity, and preceding the
architects of the early ages, she has erected a severe order of architecture,
which neither the splendors of Babylon nor the marvels of Greece ever
surpassed.

     I had often heard of the Giant's Causeway in Ireland, and of Fingal's Cave
in one of the Hebrides, but the grand spectacle of a real basaltic formation
had never yet come before my eyes.

     This at Stapi gave us an idea of one in all its wonderful beauty and
grace.

     The wall of the fjord, like nearly the whole of the peninsula, consisted
of a series of vertical columns, in height about thirty feet. These upright
pillars of stone, of the finest proportions, supported an archivault of
horizontal columns which formed a kind of half-vaulted roof above the sea. At
certain intervals, and below this natural basin, the eye was pleased and
surprised by the sight of oval openings through which the outward waves came
thundering in volleys of foam. Some banks of basalt, torn from their fastenings
by the fury of the waves, lay scattered on the ground like the ruins of an
ancient temple--ruins eternally young, over which the storms of ages swept
without producing any perceptible effect!

     This was the last stage of our journey. Hans had brought us along with
fidelity and intelligence, and I began to feel somewhat more comfortable when I
reflected that he was to accompany us still farther on our way.

     When we halted before the house of the Rector, a small and incommodious
cabin, neither handsome nor more comfortable than those of his neighbors, I saw
a man in the act of shoeing a horse, a hammer in his hand, and a leathern apron
tied round his waist.

     "Be happy," said the eider-down hunter, using his national salutation in
his own language.

     "God dag--good day!" replied the former, in excellent Danish.

     "Kyrkoherde," cried Hans, turning round and introducing him to my uncle.

     "The Rector," repeated the worthy Professor; "it appears, my dear Harry,
that this worthy man is the Rector, and is not above doing his own work."

     During the speaking of these words the guide intimated to the Kyrkoherde
what was the true state of the case. The good man, ceasing from his occupation,
gave a kind of halloo, upon which a tall woman, almost a giantess, came out of
the hut. She was at least six feet high, which in that region is something
considerable.

     My first impression was one of horror. I thought she had come to give us
the Icelandic kiss. I had, however, nothing to fear, for she did not even show
much inclination to receive us into her house.

     The room devoted to strangers appeared to me to be by far the worst in the
presbytery; it was narrow, dirty and offensive. There was, however, no choice
about the matter. The Rector had no notion of practicing the usual cordial and
antique hospitality. Far from it. Before the day was over, I found we had to
deal with a blacksmith, a fisherman, a hunter, a carpenter, anything but a
clergyman. It must be said in his favor that we had caught him on a weekday;
probably he appeared to greater advantage on the Sunday.

     These poor priests receive from the Danish Government a most ridiculously
inadequate salary, and collect one quarter of the tithe of their parish--not
more than sixty marks current, or about L3 10s. sterling. Hence the necessity
of working to live. In truth, we soon found that our host did not count
civility among the cardinal virtues.

     My uncle soon became aware of the kind of man he had to deal with. Instead
of a worthy and learned scholar, he found a dull ill-mannered peasant. He
therefore resolved to start on his great expedition as soon as possible. He did
not care about fatigue, and resolved to spend a few days in the mountains.

     The preparations for our departure were made the very next day after our
arrival at Stapi; Hans now hired three Icelanders to take the place of the
horses--which could no longer carry our luggage. When, however, these worthy
islanders had reached the bottom of the crater, they were to go back and leave
us to ourselves. This point was settled before they would agree to start.

     On this occasion, my uncle partly confided in Hans, the eider-duck hunter,
and gave him to understand that it was his intention to continue his
exploration of the volcano to the last possible limits.

     Hans listened calmly, and then nodded his head. To go there, or elsewhere,
to bury himself in the bowels of the earth, or to travel over its summits, was
all the same to him! As for me, amused and occupied by the incidents of travel,
I had begun to forget the inevitable future; but now I was once more destined
to realize the actual state of affairs. What was to be done? Run away? But if I
really had intended to leave Professor Hardwigg to his fate, it should have
been at Hamburg and not at the foot of Sneffels.

     One idea, above all others, began to trouble me: a very terrible idea, and
one calculated to shake the nerves of a man even less sensitive than myself.

     "Let us consider the matter," I said to myself; "we are going to ascend
the Sneffels mountain. Well and good. We are about to pay a visit to the very
bottom of the crater. Good, still. Others have done it and did not perish from
that course.

     "That, however, is not the whole matter to be considered. If a road does
really present itself by which to descend into the dark and subterraneous
bowels of Mother Earth, if this thrice unhappy Saknussemm has really told the
truth, we shall be most certainly lost in the midst of the labyrinth of
subterraneous galleries of the volcano. Now, we have no evidence to prove that
Sneffels is really extinct. What proof have we that an eruption is not shortly
about to take place? Because the monster has slept soundly since 1219, does it
follow that he is never to wake?

     "If he does wake what is to become of us?"

     These were questions worth thinking about, and upon them I reflected long
and deeply. I could not lie down in search of sleep without dreaming of
eruptions. The more I thought, the more I objected to be reduced to the state
of dross and ashes.

     I could stand it no longer; so I determined at last to submit the whole
case to my uncle, in the most adroit manner possible, and under the form of
some totally irreconcilable hypothesis.

     I sought him. I laid before him my fears, and then drew back in order to
let him get his passion over at his ease.

     "I have been thinking about the matter," he said, in the quietest tone in
the world.

     What did he mean? Was he at last about to listen to the voice of reason?
Did he think of suspending his projects? It was almost too much happiness to be
true.

     I however made no remark. In fact, I was only too anxious not to interrupt
him, and allowed him to reflect at his leisure. After some moments he spoke
out.

     "I have been thinking about the matter," he resumed. "Ever since we have
been at Stapi, my mind has been almost solely occupied with the grave question
which has been submitted to me by yourself--for nothing would be unwiser and
more inconsistent than to act with imprudence."

     "I heartily agree with you, my dear uncle," was my somewhat hopeful
rejoinder.

     "It is now six hundred years since Sneffels has spoken, but though now
reduced to a state of utter silence, he may speak again. New volcanic eruptions
are always preceded by perfectly well-known phenomena. I have closely examined
the inhabitants of this region; I have carefully studied the soil, and I beg to
tell you emphatically, my dear Harry, there will be no eruption at present."

     As I listened to his positive affirmations, I was stupefied and could say
nothing.

     "I see you doubt my word," said my uncle; "follow me."

     I obeyed mechanically.

     Leaving the presbytery, the Professor took a road through an opening in
the basaltic rock, which led far away from the sea. We were soon in open
country, if we could give such a name to a place all covered with volcanic
deposits. The whole land seemed crushed under the weight of enormous stones--of
trap, of basalt, of granite, of lava, and of all other volcanic substances.

     I could see many spouts of steam rising in the air. These white vapors,
called in the Icelandic language "reykir," come from hot water fountains, and
indicate by their violence the volcanic activity of the soil. Now the sight of
these appeared to justify my apprehension. I was, therefore, all the more
surprised and mortified when my uncle thus addressed me.

     "You see all this smoke, Harry, my boy?"

     "Yes, sir."

     "Well, as long as you see them thus, you have nothing to fear from the
volcano."

     "How can that be?"

     "Be careful to remember this," continued the Professor. "At the approach
of an eruption these spouts of vapor redouble their activity-- to disappear
altogether during the period of volcanic eruption; for the elastic fluids, no
longer having the necessary tension, seek refuge in the interior of the crater,
instead of escaping through the fissures of the earth. If, then, the steam
remains in its normal or habitual state, if their energy does not increase, and
if you add to this, the remark that the wind is not replaced by heavy
atmospheric pressure and dead calm, you may be quite sure that there is no fear
of any immediate eruption."

     "But--"

     "Enough, my boy. When science has sent forth her fiat--it is only to hear
and obey."

     I came back to the house quite downcast and disappointed. My uncle had
completely defeated me with his scientific arguments. Nevertheless, I had still
one hope, and that was, when once we were at the bottom of the crater, that it
would be impossible in default of a gallery or tunnel, to descend any deeper;
and this, despite all the learned Saknussemms in the world.

     I passed the whole of the following night with a nightmare on my chest!
and, after unheard-of miseries and tortures, found myself in the very depths of
the earth, from which I was suddenly launched into planetary space, under the
form of an eruptive rock!

     Next day, June 23d, Hans calmly awaited us outside the presbytery with his
three companions loaded with provisions, tools, and instruments. Two iron-shod
poles, two guns, and two large game bags, were reserved for my uncle and
myself. Hans, who was a man who never forgot even the minutest precautions, had
added to our baggage a large skin full of water, as an addition to our gourds.
This assured us water for eight days.

     It was nine o'clock in the morning when we were quite ready. The rector
and his huge wife or servant, I never knew which, stood at the door to see us
off. They appeared to be about to inflict on us the usual final kiss of the
Icelanders. To our supreme astonishment their adieu took the shape of a
formidable bill, in which they even counted the use of the pastoral house,
really and truly the most abominable and dirty place I ever was in. The worthy
couple cheated and robbed us like a Swiss innkeeper, and made us feel, by the
sum we had to pay, the splendors of their hospitality.

     My uncle, however, paid without bargaining. A man who had made up his mind
to undertake a voyage into the Interior of the Earth, is not the man to haggle
over a few miserable rix-dollars.

     This important matter settled, Hans gave the signal for departure, and
some few moments later we had left Stapi.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XII

THE ASCENT OF MOUNT SNEFFELS

     The huge volcano which was the first stage of our daring experiment is
above five thousand feet high. Sneffels is the termination of a long range of
volcanic mountains, of a different character to the system of the island
itself. One of its peculiarities is its two huge pointed summits. From whence
we started it was impossible to make out the real outlines of the peak against
the grey field of sky. All we could distinguish was a vast dome of white, which
fell downwards from the head of the giant.

     The commencement of the great undertaking filled me with awe. Now that we
had actually started, I began to believe in the reality of the undertaking!

     Our party formed quite a procession. We walked in single file, preceded by
Hans, the imperturbable eider-duck hunter. He calmly led us by narrow paths
where two persons could by no possibility walk abreast. Conversation was wholly
impossible. We had all the more opportunity to reflect and admire the awful
grandeur of the scene around.

     Beyond the extraordinary basaltic wall of the fjord of Stapi we found
ourselves making our way through fibrous turf, over which grew a scanty
vegetation of grass, the residuum of the ancient vegetation of the swampy
peninsula. The vast mass of this combustible, the field of which as yet is
utterly unexplored, would suffice to warm Iceland for a whole century. This
mighty turf pit, measured from the bottom of certain ravines, is often not less
than seventy feet deep, and presents to the eye the view of successive layers
of black burned-up rocky detritus, separated by thin streaks of porous
sandstone.

     The grandeur of the spectacle was undoubted, as well as its arid and
deserted air.

     As a true nephew of the great Professor Hardwigg, and despite my
preoccupation and doleful fears of what was to come, I observed with great
interest the vast collection of mineralogical curiosities spread out before me
in this vast museum of natural history. Looking back to my recent studies, I
went over in thought the whole geological history of Iceland.

     This extraordinary and curious island must have made its appearance from
out of the great world of waters at a comparatively recent date. Like the coral
islands of the Pacific, it may, for aught we know, be still rising by slow and
imperceptible degrees.

     If this really be the case, its origin can be attributed to only one
cause--that of the continued action of subterranean fires.

     This was a happy thought.

     If so, if this were true, away with the theories of Sir Humphry Davy; away
with the authority of the parchment of Arne Saknussemm; the wonderful
pretensions to discovery on the part of my uncle--and to our journey!

     All must end in smoke.

     Charmed with the idea, I began more carefully to look about me. A serious
study of the soil was necessary to negative or confirm my hypothesis. I took in
every item of what I saw, and I began to comprehend the succession of phenomena
which had preceded its formation.

     Iceland, being absolutely without sedimentary soil, is composed
exclusively of volcanic tufa; that is to say, of an agglomeration of stones and
of rocks of a porous texture. Long before the existence of volcanoes, it was
composed of a solid body of massive trap rock lifted bodily and slowly out of
the sea, by the action of the centrifugal force at work in the earth.

     The internal fires, however, had not as yet burst their bounds and flooded
the exterior cake of Mother Earth with hot and raging lava.

     My readers must excuse this brief and somewhat pedantic geological
lecture. But it is necessary to the complete understanding of what follows.

     At a later period in the world's history, a huge and mighty fissure must,
reasoning by analogy, have been dug diagonally from the southwest to the
northeast of the island, through which by degrees flowed the volcanic crust.
The great and wondrous phenomenon then went on without violence--the outpouring
was enormous, and the seething fused matter, ejected from the bowels of the
earth, spread slowly and peacefully in the form of vast level plains, or what
are called mamelons or mounds.

     It was at this epoch that the rocks called feldspars, syenites, and
porphyries appeared.

     But as a natural consequence of this overflow, the depth of the island
increased. It can readily be believed what an enormous quantity of elastic
fluids were piled up within its center, when at last it afforded no other
openings, after the process of cooling the crust had taken place.

     At length a time came when despite the enormous thickness and weight of
the upper crust, the mechanical forces of the combustible gases below became so
great, that they actually upheaved the weighty back and made for themselves
huge and gigantic shafts. Hence the volcanoes which suddenly arose through the
upper crust, and next the craters, which burst forth at the summit of these new
creations.

     It will be seen that the first phenomena in connection with the formation
of the island were simply eruptive; to these, however, shortly succeeded the
volcanic phenomena.

     Through the newly formed openings, escaped the marvelous mass of basaltic
stones with which the plain we were now crossing was covered. We were trampling
our way over heavy rocks of dark grey color, which, while cooling, had been
moulded into six-sided prisms. In the "back distance" we could see a number of
flattened cones, which formerly were so many fire-vomiting mouths.

     After the basaltic eruption was appeased and set at rest, the volcano, the
force of which increased with that of the extinct craters, gave free passage to
the fiery overflow of lava, and to the mass of cinders and pumice stone, now
scattered over the sides of the mountain, like disheveled hair on the shoulders
of a Bacchante.

     Here, in a nutshell, I had the whole history of the phenomena from which
Iceland arose. All take their rise in the fierce action of interior fires, and
to believe that the central mass did not remain in a state of liquid fire,
white hot, was simply and purely madness.

     This being satisfactorily proved (Q.E.D.), what insensate folly to pretend
to penetrate into the interior of the mighty earth!

     This mental lecture delivered to myself while proceeding on a journey, did
me good. I was quite reassured as to the fate of our enterprise; and therefore
went, like a brave soldier mounting a bristling battery, to the assault of old
Sneffels.

     As we advanced, the road became every moment more difficult. The soil was
broken and dangerous. The rocks broke and gave way under our feet, and we had
to be scrupulously careful in order to avoid dangerous and constant falls.

     Hans advanced as calmly as if he had been walking over Salisbury Plain;
sometimes he would disappear behind huge blocks of stone, and we momentarily
lost sight of him. There was a little period of anxiety and then there was a
shrill whistle, just to tell us where to look for him.

     Occasionally he would take it into his head to stop to pick up lumps of
rock, and silently pile them up into small heaps, in order that we might not
lose our way on our return.

     He had no idea of the journey we were about to undertake.

     At all events, the precaution was a good one; though how utterly useless
and unnecessary--but I must not anticipate.

     Three hours of terrible fatigue, walking incessantly, had only brought us
to the foot of the great mountain. This will give some notion of what we had
still to undergo.

     Suddenly, however, Hans cried a halt--that is, he made signs to that
effect--and a summary kind of breakfast was laid out on the lava before us. My
uncle, who now was simply Professor Hardwigg, was so eager to advance, that he
bolted his food like a greedy clown. This halt for refreshment was also a halt
for repose. The Professor was therefore compelled to wait the good pleasure of
his imperturbable guide, who did not give the signal for departure for a good
hour.

     The three Icelanders, who were as taciturn as their comrade, did not say a
word; but went on eating and drinking very quietly and soberly.

     From this, our first real stage, we began to ascend the slopes of the
Sneffels volcano. Its magnificent snowy nightcap, as we began to call it, by an
optical delusion very common in mountains, appeared to me to be close at hand;
and yet how many long weary hours must elapse before we reached its summit.
What unheard-of fatigue must we endure!

     The stones on the mountain side, held together by no cement of soil, bound
together by no roots or creeping herbs, gave way continually under our feet,
and went rushing below into the plains, like a series of small avalanches.

     In certain places the sides of this stupendous mountain were at an angle
so steep that it was impossible to climb upwards, and we were compelled to get
round these obstacles as best we might.

     Those who understand Alpine climbing will comprehend our difficulties.
Often we were obliged to help each other along by means of our climbing poles.

     I must say this for my uncle, that he stuck as close to me as possible. He
never lost sight of me, and on many occasions his arm supplied me with firm and
solid support. He was strong, wiry, and apparently insensible to fatigue.
Another great advantage with him was that he had the innate sentiment of
equilibrium--for he never slipped or failed in his steps. The Icelanders,
though heavily loaded, climbed with the agility of mountaineers.

     Looking up, every now and then, at the height of the great volcano of
Sneffels, it appeared to me wholly impossible to reach to the summit on that
side; at all events, if the angle of inclination did not speedily change.

     Fortunately, after an hour of unheard-of fatigues, and of gymnastic
exercises that would have been trying to an acrobat, we came to a vast field of
ice, which wholly surrounded the bottom of the cone of the volcano. The natives
called it the tablecloth, probably from some such reason as the dwellers in the
Cape of Good Hope call their mountain Table Mountain, and their roads Table
Bay.

     Here, to our mutual surprise, we found an actual flight of stone steps,
which wonderfully assisted our ascent. This singular flight of stairs was, like
everything else, volcanic. It had been formed by one of those torrents of
stones cast up by the eruptions, and of which the Icelandic name is stina. If
this singular torrent had not been checked in its descent by the peculiar shape
of the flanks of the mountain, it would have swept into the sea, and would have
formed new islands.

     Such as it was, it served us admirably. The abrupt character of the slopes
momentarily increased, but these remarkable stone steps, a little less
difficult than those of the Egyptian pyramids, were the one simple natural
means by which we were enabled to proceed.

     About seven in the evening of that day, after having clambered up two
thousand of these rough steps, we found ourselves overlooking a kind of spur or
projection of the mountain--a sort of buttress upon which the conelike crater,
properly so called, leaned for support.

     The ocean lay beneath us at a depth of more than three thousand two
hundred feet--a grand and mighty spectacle. We had reached the region of
eternal snows.

     The cold was keen, searching and intense. The wind blew with extraordinary
violence. I was utterly exhausted.

     My worthy uncle, the Professor, saw clearly that my legs refused further
service, and that, in fact, I was utterly exhausted. Despite his hot and
feverish impatience, he decided, with a sigh, upon a halt. He called the
eider-duck hunter to his side. That worthy, however, shook his head.

     "Ofvanfor," was his sole spoken reply.

     "It appears," says my uncle with a woebegone look, "that we must go
higher."

     He then turned to Hans, and asked him to give some reason for this
decisive response.

     "Mistour," replied the guide.

     "Ja, mistour--yes, the mistour," cried one of the Icelandic guides in a
terrified tone.

     It was the first time he had spoken.

     "What does this mysterious word signify?" I anxiously inquired.

     "Look," said my uncle.

     I looked down upon the plain below, and I saw a vast, a prodigious volume
of pulverized pumice stone, of sand, of dust, rising to the heavens in the form
of a mighty waterspout. It resembled the fearful phenomenon of a similar
character known to the travelers in the desert of the great Sahara.

     The wind was driving it directly towards that side of Sneffels on which we
were perched. This opaque veil standing up between us and the sun projected a
deep shadow on the flanks of the mountain. If this sand spout broke over us, we
must all be infallibly destroyed, crushed in its fearful embraces. This
extraordinary phenomenon, very common when the wind shakes the glaciers, and
sweeps over the arid plains, is in the Icelandic tongue called "mistour."

     "Hastigt, hastigt!" cried our guide.

     Now I certainly knew nothing of Danish, but I thoroughly understood that
his gestures were meant to quicken us.

     The guide turned rapidly in a direction which would take us to the back of
the crater, all the while ascending slightly.

     We followed rapidly, despite our excessive fatigue.

     A quarter of an hour later Hans paused to enable us to look back. The
mighty whirlwind of sand was spreading up the slope of the mountain to the very
spot where we had proposed to halt. Huge stones were caught up, cast into the
air, and thrown about as during an eruption. We were happily a little out of
the direction of the wind, and therefore out of reach of danger. But for the
precaution and knowledge of our guide, our dislocated bodies, our crushed and
broken limbs, would have been cast to the wind, like dust from some unknown
meteor.

     Hans, however, did not think it prudent to pass the night on the bare side
of the cone. We therefore continued our journey in a zigzag direction. The
fifteen hundred feet which remained to be accomplished took us at least five
hours. The turnings and windings, the no-thoroughfares, the marches and
marches, turned that insignificant distance into at least three leagues. I
never felt such misery, fatigue and exhaustion in my life. I was ready to faint
from hunger and cold. The rarefied air at the same time painfully acted upon my
lungs.

     At last, when I thought myself at my last gasp, about eleven at night, it
being in that region quite dark, we reached the summit of Mount Sneffels! It
was in an awful mood of mind, that despite my fatigue, before I descended into
the crater which was to shelter us for the night, I paused to behold the sun
rise at midnight on the very day of its lowest declension, and enjoyed the
spectacle of its ghastly pale rays cast upon the isle which lay sleeping at our
feet!

     I no longer wondered at people traveling all the way from England to
Norway to behold this magical and wondrous spectacle.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XIII

THE SHADOW OF SCARTARIS

     Our supper was eaten with ease and rapidity, after which everybody did the
best he could for himself within the hollow of the crater. The bed was hard,
the shelter unsatisfactory, the situation painful--lying in the open air, five
thousand feet above the level of the sea!

     Nevertheless, it has seldom happened to me to sleep so well as I did on
that particular night. I did not even dream. So much for the effects of what my
uncle called "wholesome fatigue."

     Next day, when we awoke under the rays of a bright and glorious sun, we
were nearly frozen by the keen air. I left my granite couch and made one of the
party to enjoy a view of the magnificent spectacle which developed itself,
panorama-like, at our feet.

     I stood upon the lofty summit of Mount Sneffels' southern peak. Thence I
was able to obtain a view of the greater part of the island. The optical
delusion, common to all lofty heights, raised the shores of the island, while
the central portions appeared depressed. It was by no means too great a flight
of fancy to believe that a giant picture was stretched out before me. I could
see the deep valleys that crossed each other in every direction. I could see
precipices looking like sides of wells, lakes that seemed to be changed into
ponds, ponds that looked like puddles, and rivers that were transformed into
petty brooks. To my right were glaciers upon glaciers, and multiplied peaks,
topped with light clouds of smoke.

     The undulation of these infinite numbers of mountains, whose snowy summits
make them look as if covered by foam, recalled to my remembrance the surface of
a storm-beaten ocean. If I looked towards the west, the ocean lay before me in
all its majestic grandeur, a continuation as it were, of these fleecy hilltops.

     Where the earth ended and the sea began it was impossible for the eye to
distinguish.

     I soon felt that strange and mysterious sensation which is awakened in the
mind when looking down from lofty hilltops, and now I was able to do so without
any feeling of nervousness, having fortunately hardened myself to that kind of
sublime contemplation.

     I wholly forgot who I was, and where I was. I became intoxicated with a
sense of lofty sublimity, without thought of the abysses into which my daring
was soon about to plunge me. I was presently, however, brought back to the
realities of life by the arrival of the Professor and Hans, who joined me upon
the lofty summit of the peak.

     My uncle, turning in a westerly direction, pointed out to me a light cloud
of vapor, a kind of haze, with a faint outline of land rising out of the
waters.

     "Greenland!" said he.

     "Greenland?" cried I in reply.

     "Yes," continued my uncle, who always when explaining anything spoke as if
he were in a professor's chair; "we are not more than thirty-five leagues
distant from that wonderful land. When the great annual breakup of the ice
takes place, white bears come over to Iceland, carried by the floating masses
of ice from the north. This, however, is a matter of little consequence. We are
now on the summit of the great, the transcendent Sneffels, and here are its two
peaks, north and south. Hans will tell you the name by which the people of
Iceland call that on which we stand."

     My uncle turned to the imperturbable guide, who nodded, and spoke as
usual--one word.

     "Scartaris."

     My uncle looked at me with a proud and triumphant glance.

     "A crater," he said, "you hear?"

     I did hear, but I was totally unable to make reply.

     The crater of Mount Sneffels represented an inverted cone, the gaping
orifice apparently half a mile across; the depth indefinite feet. Conceive what
this hole must have been like when full of flame and thunder and lightning. The
bottom of the funnel-shaped hollow was about five hundred feet in
circumference, by which it will be seen that the slope from the summit to the
bottom was very gradual, and we were therefore clearly able to get there
without much fatigue or difficulty. Involuntarily, I compared this crater to an
enormous loaded cannon; and the comparison completely terrified me.

     "To descend into the interior of a cannon," I thought to myself, "when
perhaps it is loaded, and will go off at the least shock, is the act of a
madman."

     But there was no longer any opportunity for me to hesitate. Hans, with a
perfectly calm and indifferent air, took his usual post at the head of the
adventurous little band. I followed without uttering a syllable.

     I felt like the lamb led to the slaughter.

     In order to render the descent less difficult, Hans took his way down the
interior of the cone in rather a zigzag fashion, making, as the sailors say,
long tracks to the eastward, followed by equally long ones to the west. It was
necessary to walk through the midst of eruptive rocks, some of which, shaken in
their balance, went rolling down with thundering clamor to the bottom of the
abyss. These continual falls awoke echoes of singular power and effect.

     Many portions of the cone consisted of inferior glaciers. Hans, whenever
he met with one of these obstacles, advanced with a great show of precaution,
sounding the soil with his long iron pole in order to discover fissures and
layers of deep soft snow. In many doubtful or dangerous places, it became
necessary for us to be tied together by a long rope in order that should any
one of us be unfortunate enough to slip, he would be supported by his
companions. This connecting link was doubtless a prudent precaution, but not by
any means unattended with danger.

     Nevertheless, and despite all the manifold difficulties of the descent,
along slopes with which our guide was wholly unacquainted, we made considerable
progress without accident. One of our great parcels of rope slipped from one of
the Iceland porters, and rushed by a short cut to the bottom of the abyss.

     By midday we were at the end of our journey. I looked upwards, and saw
only the upper orifice of the cone, which served as a circular frame to a very
small portion of the sky--a portion which seemed to me singularly beautiful.
Should I ever again gaze on that lovely sunlit sky!

     The only exception to this extraordinary landscape, was the Peak of
Scartaris, which seemed lost in the great void of the heavens.

     The bottom of the crater was composed of three separate shafts, through
which, during periods of eruption, when Sneffels was in action, the great
central furnace sent forth its burning lava and poisonous vapors. Each of these
chimneys or shafts gaped open-mouthed in our path. I kept as far away from them
as possible, not even venturing to take the faintest peep downwards.

     As for the Professor, after a rapid examination of their disposition and
characteristics, he became breathless and panting. He ran from one to the other
like a delighted schoolboy, gesticulating wildly, and uttering incomprehensible
and disjointed phrases in all sorts of languages.

     Hans, the guide, and his humbler companions seated themselves on some
piles of lava and looked silently on. They clearly took my uncle for a lunatic;
and--waited the result.

     Suddenly the Professor uttered a wild, unearthly cry. At first I imagined
he had lost his footing, and was falling headlong into one of the yawning
gulfs. Nothing of the kind. I saw him, his arms spread out to their widest
extent, his legs stretched apart, standing upright before an enormous pedestal,
high enough and black enough to bear a gigantic statue of Pluto. His attitude
and mien were that of a man utterly stupefied. But his stupefaction was
speedily changed to the wildest joy.

     "Harry! Harry! come here!" he cried; "make haste--wonderful- wonderful!"

     Unable to understand what he meant, I turned to obey his commands. Neither
Hans nor the other Icelanders moved a step.

     "Look!" said the Professor, in something of the manner of the French
general, pointing out the pyramids to his army.

     And fully partaking his stupefaction, if not his joy, I read on the
eastern side of the huge block of stone, the same characters, half eaten away
by the corrosive action of time, the name, to me a thousand times accursed--

     "Arne Saknussemm!" cried my uncle, "now, unbeliever, do you begin to have
faith?"

     It was totally impossible for me to answer a single word. I went back to
my pile of lava, in a state of silent awe. The evidence was unanswerable,
overwhelming!

     In a few moments, however, my thoughts were far away, back in my German
home, with Gretchen and the old cook. What would I have given for one of my
cousin's smiles, for one of the ancient domestic's omelettes, and for my own
feather bed!

     How long I remained in this state I know not. All I can say is, that when
at last I raised my head from between my hands, there remained at the bottom of
the crater only myself, my uncle and Hans. The Icelandic porters had been
dismissed and were now descending the exterior slopes of Mount Sneffels, on
their way to Stapi. How heartily did I wish myself with them!

     Hans slept tranquilly at the foot of a rock in a kind of rill of lava,
where he had made himself a rough and ready bed. MY uncle was walking about the
bottom of the crater like a wild beast in a cage. I had no desire, neither had
I the strength, to move from my recumbent position. Taking example by the
guide, I gave way to a kind of painful somnolency, during which I seemed both
to hear and feel continued heavings and shudderings in the mountain.

     In this way we passed our first night in the interior of a crater.

     Next morning, a grey, cloudy, heavy sky hung like a funereal pall over the
summit of the volcanic cone. I did not notice it so much from the obscurity
that reigned around us, as from the rage with which my uncle was devoured.

     I fully understood the reason, and again a glimpse of hope made my heart
leap with joy. I will briefly explain the cause.

     Of the three openings which yawned beneath our steps, only one could have
been followed by the adventurous Saknussemm. According to the words of the
learned Icelander, it was only to be known by that one particular mentioned in
the cryptograph, that the shadow of Scartaris fell upon it, just touching its
mouth in the last days of the month of June.

     We were, in fact, to consider the pointed peak as the stylus of an immense
sun-dial, the shadow of which pointed on one given day, like the inexorable
finger of fate, to the yawning chasm which led into the interior of the earth.

     Now, as often happens in these regions, should the sun fail to burst
through the clouds, no shadow. Consequently, no chance of discovering the right
aperture. We had already reached the 25th June. If the kindly heavens would
only remain densely clouded for six more days, we should have to put off our
voyage of discovery for another year, when certainly there would be one person
fewer in the party. I already had sufficient of the mad and monstrous
enterprise.

     It would be utterly impossible to depict the impotent rage of Professor
Hardwigg. The day passed away, and not the faintest outline of a shadow could
be seen at the bottom of the crater. Hans the guide never moved from his place.
He must have been curious to know what we were about, if indeed he could
believe we were about anything. As for my uncle, he never addressed a word to
me. He was nursing his wrath to keep it warm! His eyes fixed on the black and
foggy atmosphere, his complexion hideous with suppressed passion. Never had his
eyes appeared so fierce, his nose so aquiline, his mouth so hard and firm.

     On the 26th no change for the better. A mixture of rain and snow fell
during the whole day. Hans very quietly built himself a hut of lava into which
he retired like Diogenes into his tub. I took a malicious delight in watching
the thousand little cascades that flowed down the side of the cone, carrying
with them at times a stream of stones into the "vasty deep" below.

     My uncle was almost frantic: to be sure, it was enough to make even a
patient man angry. He had reached to a certain extent the goal of his desires,
and yet he was likely to be wrecked in port.

     But if the heavens and the elements are capable of causing us much pain
and sorrow, there are two sides to a medal. And there was reserved for
Professor Hardwigg a brilliant and sudden surprise which was to compensate him
for all his sufferings.

     Next day the sky was still overcast, but on Sunday, the 28th, the last day
but two of the month, with a sudden change of wind and a new moon there came a
change of weather. The sun poured its beaming rays to the very bottom of the
crater.

     Each hillock, every rock, every stone, every asperity of the soil had its
share of the luminous effulgence, and its shadow fell heavily on the soil.
Among others, to his insane delight, the shadow of Scartaris was marked and
clear, and moved slowly with the radiant start of day.

     My uncle moved with it in a state of mental ecstasy.

     At twelve o'clock exactly, when the sun had attained its highest altitude
for the day, the shadow fell upon the edge of the central pit!

     "Here it is," gasped the Professor in an agony of joy, "here it is--we
have found it. Forward, my friends, into the Interior of the Earth."

     I looked curiously at Hans to see what reply he would make to this
terrific announcement.

     "Forut," said the guide tranquilly.

     "Forward it is," answered my uncle, who was now in the seventh heaven of
delight.

     When we were quite ready, our watches indicated thirteen minutes past one!

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XIV

THE REAL JOURNEY COMMENCES

     Our real journey had now commenced. Hitherto our courage and determination
had overcome all difficulties. We were fatigued at times; and that was all. Now
we were about to encounter unknown and fearful dangers.

     I had not as yet ventured to take a glimpse down the horrible abyss into
which in a few minutes more I was about to plunge. The fatal moment had,
however, at last arrived. I had still the option of refusing or accepting a
share in this foolish and audacious enterprise. But I was ashamed to show more
fear than the eider-duck hunter. Hans seemed to accept the difficulties of the
journey so tranquilly, with such calm indifference, with such perfect
recklessness of all danger, that I actually blushed to appear less of a man
than he!

     Had I been alone with my uncle, I should certainly have sat down and
argued the point fully; but in the presence of the guide I held my tongue. I
gave one moment to the thought of my charming cousin, and then I advanced to
the mouth of the central shaft.

     It measured about a hundred feet in diameter, which made about three
hundred in circumference. I leaned over a rock which stood on its edge, and
looked down. My hair stood on end, my teeth chattered, my limbs trembled. I
seemed utterly to lose my center of gravity, while my head was in a sort of
whirl, like that of a drunken man. There is nothing more powerful than this
attraction towards an abyss. I was about to fall headlong into the gaping well,
when I was drawn back by a firm and powerful hand. It was that of Hans. I had
not taken lessons enough at the Frelser's-Kirk of Copenhagen in the art of
looking down from lofty eminences without blinking!

     However, few as the minutes were during which I gazed down this tremendous
and even wondrous shaft, I had a sufficient glimpse of it to give me some idea
of its physical conformation. Its sides, which were almost as perpendicular as
those of a well, presented numerous projections which doubtless would assist
our descent.

     It was a sort of wild and savage staircase, without bannister or fence. A
rope fastened above, near the surface, would certainly support our weight and
enable us to reach the bottom, but how, when we had arrived at its utmost
depth, were we to loosen it above? This was, I thought, a question of some
importance.

     My uncle, however, was one of those men who are nearly always prepared
with expedients. He hit upon a very simple method of obviating this difficulty.
He unrolled a cord about as thick as my thumb, and at least four hundred feet
in length. He allowed about half of it to go down the pit and catch in a hitch
over a great block of lava which stood on the edge of the precipice. This done,
he threw the second half after the first.

     Each of us could now descend by catching the two cords in one hand. When
about two hundred feet below, all the explorer had to do was to let go one end
and pull away at the other, when the cord would come falling at his feet. In
order to go down farther, all that was necessary was to continue the same
operation.

     This was a very excellent proposition, and no doubt, a correct one. Going
down appeared to me easy enough; it was the coming up again that now occupied
my thoughts.

     "Now," said my uncle, as soon as he had completed this important
preparation, "let us see about the baggage. It must be divided into three
separate parcels, and each of us must carry one on his back. I allude to the
more important and fragile articles."

     My worthy and ingenious uncle did not appear to consider that we came
under the denomination.

     "Hans," he continued, "you will take charge of the tools and some of the
provisions; you, Harry, must take possession of another third of the provisions
and of the arms. I will load myself with the rest of the eatables, and with the
more delicate instruments."

     "But," I exclaimed, "our clothes, this mass of cord and ladders--who will
undertake to carry them down?

     "They will go down of themselves."

     "And how so?" I asked.

     "You shall see."

     My uncle was not fond of half measures, nor did he like anything in the
way of hesitation. Giving his orders to Hans he had the whole of the nonfragile
articles made up into one bundle; and the packet, firmly and solidly fastened,
was simply pitched over the edge of the gulf.

     I heard the moaning of the suddenly displaced air, and the noise of
falling stones. My uncle leaning over the abyss followed the descent of his
luggage with a perfectly self-satisfied air, and did not rise until it had
completely disappeared from sight.

     "Now then," he cried, "it is our turn."

     I put it in good faith to any man of common sense--was it possible to hear
this energetic cry without a shudder?

     The Professor fastened his case of instruments on his back. Hans took
charge of the tools, I of the arms. The descent then commenced in the following
order: Hans went first, my uncle followed, and I went last. Our progress was
made in profound silence--a silence only troubled by the fall of pieces of
rock, which breaking from the jagged sides, fell with a roar into the depths
below.

     I allowed myself to slide, so to speak, holding frantically on the double
cord with one hand and with the other keeping myself off the rocks by the
assistance of my iron-shod pole. One idea was all the time impressed upon my
brain. I feared that the upper support would fail me. The cord appeared to me
far too fragile to bear the weight of three such persons as we were, with our
luggage. I made as little use of it as possible, trusting to my own agility and
doing miracles in the way of feats of dexterity and strength upon the
projecting shelves and spurs of lava which my feet seemed to clutch as strongly
as my hands.

     The guide went first, I have said, and when one of the slippery and frail
supports broke from under his feet he had recourse to his usual monosyllabic
way of speaking.

     "Gif akt--"

     "Attention--look out," repeated my uncle.

     In about half an hour we reached a kind of small terrace formed by a
fragment of rock projecting some distance from the sides of the shaft.

     Hans now began to haul upon the cord on one side only, the other going as
quietly upward as the other came down. It fell at last, bringing with it a
shower of small stones, lava and dust, a disagreeable kind of rain or hail.

     While we were seated on this extraordinary bench I ventured once more to
look downwards. With a sigh I discovered that the bottom was still wholly
invisible. Were we, then, going direct to the interior of the earth?

     The performance with the cord recommenced, and a quarter of an hour later
we had reached to the depth of another two hundred feet.

     I have very strong doubts if the most determined geologist would, during
that descent, have studied the nature of the different layers of earth around
him. I did not trouble my head much about the matter; whether we were among the
combustible carbon, Silurians, or primitive soil, I neither knew nor cared to
know.

     Not so the inveterate Professor. He must have taken notes all the way
down, for, at one of our halts, he began a brief lecture.

     "The farther we advance," said he, "the greater is my confidence in the
result. The disposition of these volcanic strata absolutely confirms the
theories of Sir Humphry Davy. We are still within the region of the primordial
soil, the soil in which took place the chemical operation of metals becoming
inflamed by coming in contact with the air and water. I at once regret the old
and now forever exploded theory of a central fire. At all events, we shall soon
know the truth."

     Such was the everlasting conclusion to which he came. I, however, was very
far from being in humor to discuss the matter. I had something else to think
of. My silence was taken for consent; and still we continued to go down.

     At the expiration of three hours, we were, to all appearance, as far off
as ever from the bottom of the well. When I looked upwards, however, I could
see that the upper orifice was every minute decreasing in size. The sides of
the shaft were getting closer and closer together, we were approaching the
regions of eternal night!

     And still we continued to descend!

     At length, I noticed that when pieces of stone were detached from the
sides of this stupendous precipice, they were swallowed up with less noise than
before. The final sound was sooner heard. We were approaching the bottom of the
abyss!

     As I had been very careful to keep account of an the changes of cord which
took place, I was able to tell exactly what was the depth we had reached, as
well as the time it had taken.

     We had shifted the rope twenty-eight times, each operation taking a
quarter of an hour, which in all made seven hours. To this had to be added
twenty-eight pauses; in all ten hours and a half. We started at one, it was
now, therefore, about eleven o'clock at night.

     It does not require great knowledge of arithmetic to know that
twenty-eight times two hundred feet makes five thousand six hundred feet in all
(more than an English mile).

     While I was making this mental calculation a voice broke the silence. It
was the voice of Hans.

     "Halt!" he cried.

     I checked myself very suddenly, just at the moment when I was about to
kick my uncle on the head.

     "We have reached the end of our journey," said the worthy Professor in a
satisfied tone.

     "What, the interior of the earth?" said I, slipping down to his side.

     "No, you stupid fellow! but we have reached the bottom of the well.

     "And I suppose there is no farther progress to be made?" I hopefully
exclaimed.

     "Oh, yes, I can dimly see a sort of tunnel, which turns off obliquely to
the right. At all events, we must see about that tomorrow. Let us sup now, and
seek slumber as best we may."

     I thought it time, but made no observations on that point. I was fairly
launched on a desperate course, and all I had to do was to go forward hopefully
and trustingly.

     It was not even now quite dark, the light filtering down in a most
extraordinary manner.

     We opened the provision bag, ate a frugal supper, and each did his best to
find a bed amid the pile of stones, dirt, and lava which had accumulated for
ages at the bottom of the shaft.

     I happened to grope out the pile of ropes, ladders, and clothes which we
had thrown down; and upon them I stretched myself. After such a day's labor, my
rough bed seemed as soft as down!

     For a while I lay in a sort of pleasant trance.

     Presently, after lying quietly for some minutes, I opened my eyes and
looked upwards. As I did so I made out a brilliant little dot, at the extremity
of this long, gigantic telescope.

     It was a star without scintillating rays. According to my calculation, it
must be Beta in the constellation of the Little Bear.

     After this little bit of astronomical recreation, I dropped into a sound
sleep.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XV

WE CONTINUE OUR DESCENT

     At eight o'clock the next morning, a faint kind of dawn of day awoke us.
The thousand and one prisms of the lava collected the light as it passed and
brought it to us like a shower of sparks.

     We were able with ease to see objects around us.

     "Well, Harry, my boy," cried the delighted Professor, rubbing his hands
together, "what say you now? Did you ever pass a more tranquil night in our
house in the Konigstrasse? No deafening sounds of cart wheels, no cries of
hawkers, no bad language from boatmen or watermen!

     "Well, Uncle, we are quite at the bottom of this well--but to me there is
something terrible in this calm."

     "Why," said the Professor hotly, "one would say you were already beginning
to be afraid. How will you get on presently? Do you know, that as yet, we have
not penetrated one inch into the bowels of the earth."

     "What can you mean, sir?" was my bewildered and astonished reply.

     "I mean to say that we have only just reached the soil of the island
itself. This long vertical tube, which ends at the bottom of the crater of
Sneffels, ceases here just about on a level with the sea."

     "Are you sure, sir?"

     "Quite sure. Consult the barometer."

     It was quite true that the mercury, after rising gradually in the
instrument, as long as our descent was taking place, had stopped precisely at
twenty-nine degrees.

     "You perceive," said the Professor, "we have as yet only to endure the
pressure of air. I am curious to replace the barometer by the manometer."

     The barometer, in fact, was about to become useless-as soon as the weight
of the air was greater than what was calculated as above the level of the
ocean.

     "But," said I, "is it not very much to be feared that this ever-increasing
pressure may not in the end turn out very painful and inconvenient?"

     "No," said he. "We shall descend very slowly, and our lungs will be
gradually accustomed to breathe compressed air. It is well known that aeronauts
have gone so high as to be nearly without air at all-- why, then, should we not
accustom ourselves to breathe when we have, say, a little too much of it? For
myself, I am certain I shall prefer it. Let us not lose a moment. Where is the
packet which preceded us in our descent?"

     I smilingly pointed it out to my uncle. Hans had not seen it, and believed
it caught somewhere above us: "Huppe" as he phrased it.

     "Now," said my uncle, "let us breakfast, and break fast like people who
have a long day's work before them."

     Biscuit and dried meat, washed down by some mouthfuls of water flavored
with Schiedam, was the material of our luxurious meal.

     As soon as it was finished, my uncle took from his pocket a notebook
destined to be filled by memoranda of our travels. He had already placed his
instruments in order, and this is what he wrote: --

                 Monday, June 29th
    Chronometer, 8h. 17m. morning.
    Barometer, 29.6 inches.
    Thermometer, 6 degrees [43 degrees Fahr.]
    Direction, E.S.E. --

     This last observation referred to the obscure gallery, and was indicated
to us by the compass.

     "Now, Harry," cried the Professor, in an enthusiastic tone of voice, "we
are truly about to take our first step into the Interior of the Earth; never
before visited by man since the first creation of the world. You may consider,
therefore, that at this precise moment our travels really commence."

     As my uncle made this remark, he took in one hand the Ruhmkorff coil
apparatus, which hung round his neck, and with the other he put the electric
current into communication with the worm of the lantern. And a bright light at
once illumined that dark and gloomy tunnel!

     The effect was magical!

     Hans, who carried the second apparatus, had it also put into operation.
This ingenious application of electricity to practical purposes enabled us to
move along by the light of an artificial day, amid even the flow of the most
inflammable and combustible gases.

     "Forward!" cried my uncle. Each took up his burden. Hans went first, my
uncle followed, and I going third, we entered the somber gallery!

     Just as we were about to engulf ourselves in this dismal passage, I lifted
up my head, and through the tubelike shaft saw that Iceland sky I was never to
see again!

     Was it the last I should ever see of any sky?

     The stream of lava flowing from the bowels of the earth in 1219 had forced
itself a passage through the tunnel. It lined the whole of the inside with its
thick and brilliant coating. The electric light added very greatly to the
brilliancy of the effect.

     The great difficulty of our journey now began. How were we to prevent
ourselves from slipping down the steeply inclined plane? Happily some cracks,
abrasures of the soil, and other irregularities, served the place of steps; and
we descended slowly; allowing our heavy luggage to slip on before, at the end
of a long cord.

     But that which served as steps under our feet became in other places
stalactites. The lava, very porous in certain places, took the form of little
round blisters. Crystals of opaque quartz, adorned with limpid drops of natural
glass suspended to the roof like lusters, seemed to take fire as we passed
beneath them. One would have fancied that the genii of romance were
illuminating their underground palaces to receive the sons of men.

     "Magnificent, glorious!" I cried in a moment of involuntary enthusiasm,
"What a spectacle, Uncle! Do you not admire these variegated shades of lava,
which run through a whole series of colors, from reddish brown to pale
yellow--by the most insensible degrees? And these crystals, they appear like
luminous globes."

     "You are beginning to see the charms of travel, Master Harry," cried my
uncle. "Wait a bit, until we advance farther. What we have as yet discovered is
nothing--onwards, my boy, onwards!

     It would have been a far more correct and appropriate expression, had he
said, "let us slide," for we were going down an inclined plane with perfect
ease. The compass indicated that we were moving in a southeasterly direction.
The flow of lava had never turned to the right or the left. It had the
inflexibility of a straight line.

     Nevertheless, to my surprise, we found no perceptible increase in heat.
This proved the theories of Humphry Davy to be founded on truth, and more than
once I found myself examining the thermometer in silent astonishment.

     Two hours after our departure it only marked fifty-four degrees
Fahrenheit. I had every reason to believe from this that our descent was far
more horizontal than vertical. As for discovering the exact depth to which we
had attained, nothing could be easier. The Professor as he advanced measured
the angles of deviation and inclination; but he kept the result of his
observations to himself.

     About eight o'clock in the evening, my uncle gave the signal for halting.
Hans seated himself on the ground. The lamps were hung to fissures in the lava
rock. We were now in a large cavern where air was not wanting. On the contrary,
it abounded. What could be the cause of this--to what atmospheric agitation
could be ascribed this draught? But this was a question which I did not care to
discuss just then. Fatigue and hunger made me incapable of reasoning. An
unceasing march of seven hours had not been kept up without great exhaustion. I
was really and truly worn out; and delighted enough I was to hear the word
Halt.

     Hans laid out some provisions on a lump of lava, and we each supped with
keen relish. One thing, however, caused us great uneasiness--our water reserve
was already half exhausted. My uncle had full confidence in finding
subterranean resources, but hitherto we had completely failed in so doing. I
could not help calling my uncle's attention to the circumstance.

     "And you are surprised at this total absence of springs?" he said.

     "Doubtless--I am very uneasy on the point. We have certainly not enough
water to last us five days."

     "Be quite easy on that matter," continued my uncle. "I answer for it we
shall find plenty of water--in fact, far more than we shall want."

     "But when?"

     "When we once get through this crust of lava. How can you expect springs
to force their way through these solid stone walls?"

     "But what is there to prove that this concrete mass of lava does not
extend to the center of the earth? I don't think we have as yet done much in a
vertical way."

     "What puts that into your head, my boy?" asked my uncle mildly.

     "Well, it appears to me that if we had descended very far below the level
of the sea--we should find it rather hotter than we have."

     "According to your system," said my uncle; "but what does the thermometer
say?"

     "Scarcely fifteen degrees by Reaumur, which is only an increase of nine
since our departure."

     "Well, and what conclusion does that bring you to?" inquired the
Professor.

     "The deduction I draw from this is very simple. According to the most
exact observations, the augmentation of the temperature of the interior of the
earth is one degree for every hundred feet. But certain local causes may
considerably modify this figure. Thus at Yakoust in Siberia, it has been
remarked that the heat increases a degree every thirty-six feet. The difference
evidently depends on the conductibility of certain rocks. In the neighborhood
of an extinct volcano, it has been remarked that the elevation of temperature
was only one degree in every five-and-twenty feet. Let us, then, go upon this
calculation--which is the most favorable--and calculate.

     "Calculate away, my boy."

     "Nothing easier," said I, pulling out my notebook and pencil. "Nine times
one hundred and twenty-five feet make a depth of eleven hundred and twenty-five
feet."

     "Archimedes could not have spoken more geometrically."

     "Well?"

     "Well, according to my observations, we are at least ten thousand feet
below the level of the sea."

     "Can it be possible?"

     "Either my calculation is correct, or there is no truth in figures."

     The calculations of the Professor were perfectly correct. We were already
six thousand feet deeper down in the bowels of the earth than anyone had ever
been before. The lowest known depth to which man had hitherto penetrated was in
the mines of Kitzbuhel, in the Tirol, and those of Wurttemberg.

     The temperature, which should have been eighty-one, was in this place only
fifteen. This was a matter for serious consideration.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XVI

THE EASTERN TUNNEL

     The next day was Tuesday, the 30th of June--and at six o'clock in the
morning we resumed our journey.

     We still continued to follow the gallery of lava, a perfect natural
pathway, as easy of descent as some of those inclined planes which, in very old
German houses, serve the purpose of staircases. This went on until seventeen
minutes past twelve, the precise instant at which we rejoined Hans, who, having
been somewhat in advance, had suddenly stopped.

     "At last," cried my uncle, "we have reached the end of the shaft."

     I looked wonderingly about me. We were in the center of four cross
paths--somber and narrow tunnels. The question now arose as to which it was
wise to take; and this of itself was no small difficulty.

     My uncle, who did not wish to appear to have any hesitation about the
matter before myself or the guide, at once made up his mind. He pointed quietly
to the eastern tunnel; and, without delay, we entered within its gloomy
recesses.

     Besides, had he entertained any feeling of hesitation it might have been
prolonged indefinitely, for there was no indication by which to determine on a
choice. It was absolutely necessary to trust to chance and good fortune!

     The descent of this obscure and narrow gallery was very gradual and
winding. Sometimes we gazed through a succession of arches, its course very
like the aisles of a Gothic cathedral. The great artistic sculptors and
builders of the Middle Ages might have here completed their studies with
advantage. Many most beautiful and suggestive ideas of architectural beauty
would have been discovered by them. After passing through this phase of the
cavernous way, we suddenly came, about a mile farther on, upon a square system
of arch, adopted by the early Romans, projecting from the solid rock, and
keeping up the weight of the roof.

     Suddenly we would come upon a series of low subterranean tunnels which
looked like beaver holes, or the work of foxes--through whose narrow and
winding ways we had literally to crawl!

     The heat still remained at quite a supportable degree. With an involuntary
shudder, I reflected on what the heat must have been when the volcano of
Sneffels was pouring its smoke, flames, and streams of boiling lava--all of
which must have come up by the road we were now following. I could imagine the
torrents of hot seething stone darting on, bubbling up with accompaniments of
smoke, steam, and sulphurous stench!

     "Only to think of the consequences," I mused, "if the old volcano were
once more to set to work."

     I did not communicate these rather unpleasant reflections to my uncle. He
not only would not have understood them, but would have been intensely
disgusted. His only idea was to go ahead. He walked, he slid, he clambered over
piles of fragments, he rolled down heaps of broken lava, with an earnestness
and conviction it was impossible not to admire.

     At six o'clock in the evening, after a very wearisome journey, but one not
so fatiguing as before, we had made six miles towards the southward, but had
not gone more than a mile downwards.

     My uncle, as usual, gave the signal to halt. We ate our meal in thoughtful
silence, and then retired to sleep.

     Our arrangements for the night were very primitive and simple. A traveling
rug, in which each rolled himself, was all our bedding. We had no necessity to
fear cold or any unpleasant visit. Travelers who bury themselves in the wilds
and depths of the African desert, who seek profit and pleasure in the forests
of the New World, are compelled to take it in turn to watch during the hours of
sleep; but in this region of the earth absolute solitude and complete security
reigned supreme.

     We had nothing to fear either from savages or from wild beasts.

     After a night's sweet repose, we awoke fresh and ready for action. There
being nothing to detain us, we started on our journey. We continued to burrow
through the lava tunnel as before. It was impossible to make out through what
soil we were making way. The tunnel, moreover, instead of going down into the
bowels of the earth, became absolutely horizontal.

     I even thought, after some examination, that we were actually tending
upwards. About ten o'clock in the day this state of things became so clear
that, finding the change very fatiguing, I was obliged to slacken my pace and
finally come to a halt.

     "Well," said the Professor quickly, "what is the matter?"

     "The fact is, I am dreadfully tired," was my earnest reply.

     "What," cried my uncle, "tired after a three hours' walk, and by so easy a
road?"

     "Easy enough, I dare say, but very fatiguing."

     "But how can that be, when all we have to do is to go downwards."

     "I beg your pardon, sir. For some time I have noticed that we are going
upwards."

     "Upwards," cried my uncle, shrugging his shoulders, "how can that be?"

     "There can be no doubt about it. For the last half hour the slopes have
been upward--and if we go on in this way much longer we shall find ourselves
back in Iceland."

     My uncle shook his head with the air of a man who does not want to be
convinced. I tried to continue the conversation. He would not answer me, but
once more gave the signal for departure. His silence I thought was only caused
by concentrated ill-temper.

     However this might be, I once more took up my load, and boldly and
resolutely followed Hans, who was now in advance of my uncle. I did not like to
be beaten or even distanced. I was naturally anxious not to lose sight of my
companions. The very idea of being left behind, lost in that terrible
labyrinth, made me shiver as with the ague.

     Besides, if the ascending path was more arduous and painful to clamber, I
had one source of secret consolation and delight. It was to all appearance
taking us back to the surface of the earth. That of itself was hopeful. Every
step I took confirmed me in my belief, and I began already to build castles in
the air in relation to my marriage with my pretty little cousin.

     About twelve o'clock there was a great and sudden change in the aspect of
the rocky sides of the gallery. I first noticed it from the diminution of the
rays of light which cast back the reflection of the lamp. From being coated
with shining and resplendent lava, it became living rock. The sides were
sloping walls, which sometimes became quite vertical.

     We were now in what the geological professors call a state of transition,
in the period of Silurian stones, so called because this specimen of early
formation is very common in England in the counties formerly inhabited by the
Celtic nation known as Silures.

     "I can see clearly now," I cried; "the sediment from the waters which once
covered the whole earth formed during the second period of its existence these
schists and these calcareous rocks. We are turning our backs on the granite
rocks, and are like people from Hamburg who would go to Lubeck by way of
Hanover."

     I might just as well have kept my observations to myself. My geological
enthusiasm got the better, however, of my cooler judgment, and Professor
Hardwigg heard my observations.

     "What is the matter now?" he said, in a tone of great gravity.

     "Well," cried I, "do you not see these different layers of calcareous
rocks and the first indication of slate strata?"

     "Well; what then?"

     "We have arrived at that period of the world's existence when the first
plants and the first animals made their appearance."

     "You think so?"

     "Yes, look; examine and judge for yourself."

     I induced the Professor with some difficulty to cast the light of his lamp
on the sides of the long winding gallery. I expected some exclamation to burst
from his lips. I was very much mistaken. The worthy Professor never spoke a
word.

     It was impossible to say whether he understood me or not. Perhaps it was
possible that in his pride--my uncle and a learned professor--he did not like
to own that he was wrong in having chosen the eastern tunnel, or was he
determined at any price to go to the end of it? It was quite evident we had
left the region of lava, and that the road by which we were going could not
take us back to the great crater of Mount Sneffels.

     As we went along I could not help ruminating on the whole question, and
asked myself if I did not lay too great a stress on these sudden and peculiar
modifications of the earth's crust.

     After all, I was very likely to be mistaken--and it was within the range
of probability and possibility that we were not making our way through the
strata of rocks which I believed I recognized piled on the lower layer of
granitic formation.

     "At all events, if I am right," I thought to myself, "I must certainly
find some remains of primitive plants, and it will be absolutely necessary to
give way to such indubitable evidence. Let us have a good search."

     I accordingly lost no opportunity of searching, and had not gone more than
about a hundred yards, when the evidence I sought for cropped up in the most
incontestable manner before my eyes. It was quite natural that I should expect
to find these signs, for during the Silurian period the seas contained no fewer
than fifteen hundred different animal and vegetable species. My feet, so long
accustomed to the hard and arid lava soil, suddenly found themselves treading
on a kind of soft dust, the remains of plants and shells.

     Upon the walls themselves I could clearly make out the outline, as plain
as a sun picture, of the fucus and the lycopods. The worthy and excellent
Professor Hardwigg could not of course make any mistake about the matter; but I
believe he deliberately closed his eyes, and continued on his way with a firm
and unalterable step.

     I began to think that he was carrying his obstinacy a great deal too far.
I could no longer act with prudence or composure. I stooped on a sudden and
picked up an almost perfect shell, which had undoubtedly belonged to some
animal very much resembling some of the present day. Having secured the prize,
I followed in the wake of my uncle.

     "Do you see this?" I said.

     "Well, said the Professor, with the most imperturbable tranquillity, "it
is the shell of a crustaceous animal of the extinct order of the trilobites;
nothing more, I assure you."

     "But, cried I, much troubled at his coolness, "do you draw no conclusion
from it?"

     "Well, if I may ask, what conclusion do you draw from it yourself?"

     "Well, I thought--"

     "I know, my boy, what you would say, and you are right, perfectly and
incontestably right. We have finally abandoned the crust of lava and the road
by which the lava ascended. It is quite possible that I may have been mistaken,
but I shall be unable to discover my error until I get to the end of this
gallery."

     "You are quite right as far as that is concerned"' I replied, "and I
should highly approve of your decision, if we had not to fear the greatest of
all dangers."

     "And what is that?"

     "Want of water."

     "Well, my dear Henry, it can't be helped. We must put ourselves on
rations."

     And on he went.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XVII

DEEPER AND DEEPER

     In truth, we were compelled to put ourselves upon rations. Our supply
would certainly last not more than three days. I found this out about supper
time. The worst part of the matter was that, in what is called the transition
rocks, it was hardly to be expected we should meet with water!

     I had read of the horrors of thirst, and I knew that where we were, a
brief trial of its sufferings would put an end to our adventures--and our
lives! But it was utterly useless to discuss the matter with my uncle. He would
have answered by some axiom from Plato.

     During the whole of next day we proceeded on our journey through this
interminable gallery, arch after arch, tunnel after tunnel. We journeyed
without exchanging a word. We had become as mute and reticent as Hans, our
guide.

     The road had no longer an upward tendency; at all events, if it had, it
was not to be made out very clearly. Sometimes there could be no doubt that we
were going downwards. But this inclination was scarcely to be distinguished,
and was by no means reassuring to the Professor, because the character of the
strata was in no wise modified, and the transition character of the rocks
became more and more marked.

     It was a glorious sight to see how the electric light brought out the
sparkles in the walls of the calcareous rocks, and the old red sandstone. One
might have fancied oneself in one of those deep cuttings in Devonshire, which
have given their name to this kind of soil. Some magnificent specimens of
marble projected from the sides of the gallery: some of an agate grey with
white veins of variegated character, others of a yellow spotted color, with red
veins; farther off might be seen samples of color in which cherry-tinted seams
were to be found in all their brightest shades.

     The greater number of these marbles were stamped with the marks of
primitive animals. Since the previous evening, nature and creation had made
considerable progress. Instead of the rudimentary trilobites, I perceived the
remains of a more perfect order. Among others, the fish in which the eye of a
geologist has been able to discover the first form of the reptile.

     The Devonian seas were inhabited by a vast number of animals of this
species, which were deposited in tens of thousands in the rocks of new
formation.

     It was quite evident to me that we were ascending the scale of animal life
of which man forms the summit. My excellent uncle, the Professor, appeared not
to take notice of these warnings. He was determined at any risk to proceed.

     He must have been in expectation of one of two things; either that a
vertical well was about to open under his feet, and thus allow him to continue
his descent, or that some insurmountable obstacle would compel us to stop and
go back by the road we had so long traveled. But evening came again, and, to my
horror, neither hope was doomed to be realized!

     On Friday, after a night when I began to feel the gnawing agony of thirst,
and when in consequence appetite decreased, our little band rose and once more
followed the turnings and windings, the ascents and descents, of this
interminable gallery. All were silent and gloomy. I could see that even my
uncle had ventured too far.

     After about ten hours of further progress--a progress dull and monotonous
to the last degree--I remarked that the reverberation, and reflection of our
lamps upon the sides of the tunnel, had singularly diminished. The marble, the
schist, the calcareous rocks, the red sandstone, had disappeared, leaving in
their places a dark and gloomy wall, somber and without brightness. When we
reached a remarkably narrow part of the tunnel, I leaned my left hand against
the rock.

     When I took my hand away, and happened to glance at it, it was quite
black. We had reached the coal strata of the Central Earth.

     "A coal mine!" I cried.

     "A coal mine without miners," responded my uncle, a little severely.

     "How can we tell?"

     "I can tell," replied my uncle, in a sharp and doctorial tone. "I am
perfectly certain that this gallery through successive layers of coal was not
cut by the hand of man. But whether it is the work of nature or not is of
little concern to us. The hour for our evening meal has come--let us sup.

     Hans, the guide, occupied himself in preparing food. I had come to that
point when I could no longer eat. All I cared about were the few drops of water
which fell to my share. What I suffered it is useless to record. The guide's
gourd, not quite half full, was all that was left for us three!

     Having finished their repast, my two companions laid themselves down upon
their rugs, and found in sleep a remedy for their fatigue and sufferings. As
for me, I could not sleep, I lay counting the hours until morning.

     The next morning, Saturday, at six o'clock, we started again. Twenty
minutes later we suddenly came upon a vast excavation. From its mighty extent I
saw at once that the hand of man could have had nothing to do with this coal
mine; the vault above would have fallen in; as it was, it was only held
together by some miracle of nature.

     This mighty natural cavern was about a hundred feet wide, by about a
hundred and fifty high. The earth had evidently been cast apart by some violent
subterranean commotion. The mass, giving way to some prodigious upheaving of
nature, had split in two, leaving the vast gap into which we inhabitants of the
earth had penetrated for the first time.

     The whole singular history of the coal period was written on those dark
and gloomy walls. A geologist would have been able easily to follow the
different phases of its formation. The seams of coal were separated by strata
of sandstone, a compact clay, which appeared to be crushed down by the weight
from above.

     At that period of the world which preceded the secondary epoch, the earth
was covered by a coating of enormous and rich vegetation, due to the double
action of tropical heat and perpetual humidity. A vast atmospheric cloud of
vapor surrounded the earth on all sides, preventing the rays of the sun from
ever reaching it.

     Hence the conclusion that these intense heats did not arise from this new
source of caloric.

     Perhaps even the star of day was not quite ready for its brilliant
work--to illumine a universe. Climates did not as yet exist, and a level heat
pervaded the whole surface of the globe--the same heat existing at the North
Pole as at the equator.

     Whence did it come? From the interior of the earth?

     In spite of all the learned theories of Professor Hardwigg, a fierce and
vehement fire certainly burned within the entrails of the great spheroid. Its
action was felt even to the very topmost crust of the earth; the plants then in
existence, being deprived of the vivifying rays of the sun, had neither buds,
nor flowers, nor odor, but their roots drew a strong and vigorous life from the
burning earth of early days.

     There were but few of what may be called trees--only herbaceous plants,
immense turfs, briers, mosses, rare families, which, however, in those days
were counted by tens and tens of thousands.

     It is entirely to this exuberant vegetation that coal owes its origin. The
crust of the vast globe still yielded under the influence of the seething,
boiling mass, which was forever at work beneath. Hence arose numerous fissures,
and continual falling in of the upper earth. The dense mass of plants being
beneath the waters, soon formed themselves into vast agglomerations.

     Then came about the action of natural chemistry; in the depths of the
ocean the vegetable mass at first became turf, then, thanks to the influence of
gases and subterranean fermentation, they underwent the complete process of
mineralization.

     In this manner, in early days, were formed those vast and prodigious
layers of coal, which an ever-increasing consumption must utterly use up in
about three centuries more, if people do not find some more economic light than
gas, and some cheaper motive power than steam.

     All these reflections, the memories of my school studies, came to my mind
while I gazed upon these mighty accumulations of coal, whose riches, however,
are scarcely likely to be ever utilized. The working of these mines could only
be carried out at an expense that would never yield a profit.

     The matter, however, is scarcely worthy consideration, when coal is
scattered over the whole surface of the globe, within a few yards of the upper
crust. As I looked at these untouched strata, therefore, I knew they would
remain as long as the world lasts.

     While we still continued our journey, I alone forgot the length of the
road, by giving myself up wholly to these geological considerations. The
temperature continued to be very much the same as while we were traveling amid
the lava and the schists. On the other hand my sense of smell was much affected
by a very powerful odor. I immediately knew that the gallery was filled to
overflowing with that dangerous gas the miners call fire damp, the explosion of
which has caused such fearful and terrible accidents, making a hundred widows
and hundreds of orphans in a single hour.

     Happily, we were able to illumine our progress by means of the Ruhmkorff
apparatus. If we had been so rash and imprudent as to explore this gallery,
torch in hand, a terrible explosion would have put an end to our travels,
simply because no travelers would be left.

     Our excursion through this wondrous coal mine in the very bowels of the
earth lasted until evening. My uncle was scarcely able to conceal his
impatience and dissatisfaction at the road continuing still to advance in a
horizontal direction.

     The darkness, dense and opaque a few yards in advance and in the rear,
rendered it impossible to make out what was the length of the gallery. For
myself, I began to believe that it was simply interminable, and would go on in
the same manner for months.

     Suddenly, at six o'clock, we stood in front of a wall. To the right, to
the left above, below, nowhere was there any passage. We had reached a spot
where the rocks said in unmistakable accents--No Thoroughfare.

     I stood stupefied. The guide simply folded his arms. My uncle was silent.

     "Well, well, so much the better," cried my uncle, at last, "I now know
what we are about. We are decidedly not upon the road followed by Saknussemm.
All we have to do is to go back. Let us take one night's good rest, and before
three days are over, I promise you we shall have regained the point where the
galleries divided."

     "Yes, we may, if our strength lasts as long," I cried, in a lamentable
voice.

     "And why not?"

     "Tomorrow, among us three, there will not be a drop of water. It is just
gone."

     "And your courage with it," said my uncle, speaking in a severe tone.

     What could I say? I turned round on my side, and from sheer exhaustion
fell into a heavy sleep disturbed by dreams of water! And I awoke unrefreshed.

     I would have bartered a diamond mine for a glass of pure spring water!

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XVIII

THE WRONG ROAD!

     Next day, our departure took place at a very early hour. There was no time
for the least delay. According to my account, we had five days' hard work to
get back to the place where the galleries divided.

     I can never tell all the sufferings we endured upon our return. My uncle
bore them like a man who has been in the wrong--that is, with concentrated and
suppressed anger; Hans, with all the resignation of his pacific character; and
I--I confess that I did nothing but complain, and despair. I had no heart for
this bad fortune.

     But there was one consolation. Defeat at the outset would probably upset
the whole journey!

     As I had expected from the first, our supply of water gave completely out
on our first day's march. Our provision of liquids was reduced to our supply of
Schiedam; but this horrible--nay, I will say it--this infernal liquor burnt the
throat, and I could not even bear the sight of it. I found the temperature to
be stifling. I was paralyzed with fatigue. More than once I was about to fall
insensible to the ground. The whole party then halted, and the worthy Icelander
and my excellent uncle did their best to console and comfort me. I could,
however, plainly see that my uncle was contending painfully against the extreme
fatigues of our journey, and the awful torture generated by the absence of
water.

     At length a time came when I ceased to recollect anything--when all was
one awfull hideous, fantastic dream!

     At last, on Tuesday, the seventh of the month of July, after crawling on
our hands and knees for many hours, more dead than alive, we reached the point
of junction between the galleries. I lay like a log, an inert mass of human
flesh on the arid lava soil. It was then ten in the morning.

     Hans and my uncle, leaning against the wall, tried to nibble away at some
pieces of biscuit, while deep groans and sighs escaped from my scorched and
swollen lips. Then I fell off into a kind of deep lethargy.

     Presently I felt my uncle approach, and lift me up tenderly in his arms.

     "Poor boy," I heard him say in a tone of deep commiseration.

     I was profoundly touched by these words, being by no means accustomed to
signs of womanly weakness in the Professor. I caught his trembling hands in
mine and gave them a gentle pressure. He allowed me to do so without
resistance, looking at me kindly all the time. His eyes were wet with tears.

     I then saw him take the gourd which he wore at his side. To my surprise,
or rather to my stupefaction, he placed it to my lips.

     "Drink, my boy," he said.

     Was it possible my ears had not deceived me? Was my uncle mad? I looked at
him, with, I am sure, quite an idiotic expression. I could not believe him. I
too much feared the counteraction of disappointment.

     "Drink"' he said again.

     Had I heard aright? Before, however, I could ask myself the question a
second time, a mouthful of water cooled my parched lips and throat--one
mouthful, but I do believe it brought me back to life.

     I thanked my uncle by clasping my hands. My heart was too full to speak.

     "Yes," said he, "one mouthful of water, the very last--do you hear, my
boy--the very last! I have taken care of it at the bottom of my bottle as the
apple of my eye. Twenty times, a hundred times, I have resisted the fearful
desire to drink it. But--no--no, Harry, I saved it for you."

     "My dear uncle," I exclaimed, and the big tears rolled down my hot and
feverish cheeks.

     "Yes, my poor boy, I knew that when you reached this place, this crossroad
in the earth, you would fall down half dead, and I saved my last drop of water
in order to restore you.

     "Thanks," I cried; "thanks from my heart."

     As little as my thirst was really quenched, I had nevertheless partially
recovered my strength. The contracted muscles of my throat relaxed--and the
inflammation of my lips in some measure subsided. At all events, I was able to
speak.

     "Well," I said, "there can be no doubt now as to what we have to do. Water
has utterly failed us; our journey is therefore at an end. Let us return."

     While I spoke thus, my uncle evidently avoided my face: he held down his
head; his eyes were turned in every possible direction but the right one.

     "Yes," I continued, getting excited by my own words, we must go back to
Sneffels. May heaven give us strength to enable us once more to revisit the
light of day. Would that we now stood on the summit of the crater."

     "Go back," said my uncle, speaking to himself, "and must it be so?"

     "Go back--yes, and without losing a single moment", I vehemently cried.

     For some moments there was silence under that dark and gloomy vault.

     "So, my dear Harry," said the Professor in a very singular tone of voice,
"those few drops of water have not sufficed to restore your energy and
courage."

     "Courage!" I cried.

     "I see that you are quite as downcast as before--and still give way to
discouragement and despair."

     What, then, was the man made of, and what other projects were entering his
fertile and audacious brain!

     "You are not discouraged, sir?"

     "What! Give up just as we are on the verge of success?" he cried. "Never,
never shall it be said that Professor Hardwigg retreated."

     "Then we must make up our minds to perish," I cried with a helpless sigh.

     "No, Harry, my boy, certainly not. Go, leave me, I am very far from
desiring your death. Take Hans with you. I will go on alone."

     "You ask us to leave you?"

     "Leave me, I say. I have undertaken this dangerous and perilous adventure.
I will carry it to the end--or I will never return to the surface of Mother
Earth. Go, Harry--once more I say to you--go!"

     My uncle as he spoke was terribly excited. His voice, which before had
been tender, almost womanly, became harsh and menacing. He appeared to be
struggling with desperate energy against the impossible. I did not wish to
abandon him at the bottom of that abyss, while, on the other hand, the instinct
of preservation told me to fly.

     Meanwhile, our guide was looking on with profound calmness and
indifference. He appeared to be an unconcerned party, and yet he perfectly well
knew what was going on between us. Our gestures sufficiently indicated the
different roads each wished to follow-and which each tried to influence the
other to undertake. But Hans appeared not to take the slightest interest in
what was really a question of life and death for us all, but waited quite ready
to obey the signal which should say go aloft, or to resume his desperate
journey into the interior of the earth.

     How then I wished with all my heart and soul that I could make him
understand my words. My representations, my sighs and groans, the earnest
accents in which I should have spoken would have convinced that cold, hard
nature. Those fearful dangers and perils of which the stolid guide had no idea,
I would have pointed them out to him-- I would have, as it were, made him see
and feel. Between us, we might have convinced the obstinate Professor. If the
worst had come to the worst, we could have compelled him to return to the
summit of Sneffels.

     I quietly approached Hans. I caught his hand in mine. He never moved a
muscle. I indicated to him the road to the top of the crater. He remained
motionless. My panting form, my haggard countenance, must have indicated the
extent of my sufferings. The Icelander gently shook his head and pointed to my
uncle.

     "Master," he said.

     The word is Icelandic as well as English.

     "The master!" I cried, beside myself with fury---"madman! no--I tell you
he is not the master of our lives; we must fly! we must drag him with us! do
you hear me? Do you understand me, I say?"

     I have already explained that I held Hans by the arm. I tried to make him
rise from his seat. I struggled with him and tried to force him away. My uncle
now interposed.

     "My good Henry, be calm," he said. "You will obtain nothing from my
devoted follower; therefore, listen to what I have to say."

     I folded my arms, as well as I could, and looked my uncle full in the
face.

     "This wretched want of water," he said, "is the sole obstacle to the
success of my project. In the entire gallery, made of lava, schist, and coal,
it is true we found not one liquid molecule. It is quite possible that we may
be more fortunate in the western tunnel."

     My sole reply was to shake my head with an air of deep incredulity.

     "Listen to me to the end," said the Professor in his well-known lecturing
voice. "While you lay yonder without life or motion, I undertook a
reconnoitering journey into the conformation of this other gallery. I have
discovered that it goes directly downwards into the bowels of the earth, and in
a few hours will take us to the old granitic formation. In this we shall
undoubtedly find innumerable springs. The nature of the rock makes this a
mathematical certainty, and instinct agrees with logic to say that it is so.
Now, this is the serious proposition which I have to make to you. When
Christopher Columbus asked of his men three days to discover the land of
promise, his men ill, terrified, and hopeless, yet gave him three days--and the
New World was discovered. Now I, the Christopher Columbus of this subterranean
region, only ask of you one more day. If, when that time is expired, I have not
found the water of which we are in search, I swear to you, I will give up my
mighty enterprise and return to the earth's surface."

     Despite my irritation and despair, I knew how much it cost my uncle to
make this proposition, and to hold such conciliatory language. Under the
circumstances, what could I do but yield?

     "Well," I cried, "let it be as you wish, and may heaven reward your
superhuman energy. But as, unless we discover water, our hours are numbered,
let us lose no time, but go ahead."

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XIX

A NEW ROUTE

     Our descent was now resumed by means of the second gallery. Hans took up
his post in front as usual. We had not gone more than a hundred yards when the
Professor carefully examined the walls.

     "This is the primitive formation--we are on the right road- onwards is our
hope!"

     When the whole earth got cool in the first hours of the world's morning,
the diminution of the volume of the earth produced a state of dislocation in
its upper crust, followed by ruptures, crevasses and fissures. The passage was
a fissure of this kind, through which, ages ago, had flowed the eruptive
granite. The thousand windings and turnings formed an inextricable labyrinth
through the ancient soil.

     As we descended, successions of layers composing the primitive soil
appeared with the utmost fidelity of detail. Geological science considers this
primitive soil as the base of the mineral crust, and it has recognized that it
is composed of three different strata or layers, all resting on the immovable
rock known as granite.

     No mineralogists had even found themselves placed in such a marvelous
position to study nature in all her real and naked beauty. The sounding rod, a
mere machine, could not bring to the surface of the earth the objects of value
for the study of its internal structure, which we were about to see with our
own eyes, to touch with our own hands.

     Remember that I am writing this after the journey.

     Across the streak of the rocks, colored by beautiful green tints, wound
metallic threads of copper, of manganese, with traces of platinum and gold. I
could not help gazing at these riches buried in the entrails of Mother Earth,
and of which no man would have the enjoyment to the end of time! These
treasures--mighty and inexhaustible, were buried in the morning of the earth's
history, at such awful depths, that no crowbar or pickax will ever drag them
from their tomb!

     The light of our Ruhmkorff's coil, increased tenfold by the myriad of
prismatic masses of rock, sent its jets of fire in every direction, and I could
fancy myself traveling through a huge hollow diamond, the rays of which
produced myriads of extraordinary effects.

     Towards six o'clock, this festival of light began sensibly and visibly to
decrease, and soon almost ceased. The sides of the gallery assumed a
crystallized tint, with a somber hue; white mica began to commingle more freely
with feldspar and quartz, to form what may be called the true rock--the stone
which is hard above all, that supports, without being crushed, the four stories
of the earth's soil.

     We were walled by an immense prison of granite!

     It was now eight o'clock, and still there was no sign of water. The
sufferings I endured were horrible. My uncle now kept at the head of our little
column. Nothing could induce him to stop. I, meanwhile, had but one real
thought. My ear was keenly on the watch to catch the sound of a spring. But no
pleasant sound of falling water fell upon my listening ear.

     But at last the time came when my limbs refused to carry me longer. I
contended heroically against the terrible tortures I endured, because I did not
wish to compel my uncle to halt. To him I knew this would be the last fatal
stroke.

     Suddenly I felt a deadly faintness come over me. My eyes could no longer
see; my knees shook. I gave one despairing cry--and fell!

     "Help, help, I am dying!

     My uncle turned and slowly retraced his steps. He looked at me with folded
arms, and then allowed one sentence to escape, in hollow accents, from his
lips:

     "All is over."

     The last thing I saw was a face fearfully distorted with pain and sorrow;
and then my eyes closed. --

     When I again opened them, I saw my companions lying near me, motionless,
wrapped in their huge traveling rugs. Were they asleep or dead? For myself,
sleep was wholly out of the question. My fainting fit over, I was wakeful as
the lark. I suffered too much for sleep to visit my eyelids--the more, that I
thought myself sick unto death--dying. The last words spoken by my uncle seemed
to be buzzing in my ears--all is over! And it was probable that he was right.
In the state of prostration to which I was reduced, it was madness to think of
ever again seeing the light of day.

     Above were miles upon miles of the earth's crust. As I thought of it, I
could fancy the whole weight resting on my shoulders. I was crushed,
annihilated! and exhausted myself in vain attempts to turn in my granite bed.

     Hours upon hours passed away. A profound and terrible silence reigned
around us--a silence of the tomb. Nothing could make itself heard through these
gigantic walls of granite. The very thought was stupendous.

     Presently, despite my apathy, despite the kind of deadly calm into which I
was cast, something aroused me. It was a slight but peculiar noise. While I was
watching intently, I observed that the tunnel was becoming dark. Then gazing
through the dim light that remained, I thought I saw the Icelander taking his
departure, lamp in hand.

     Why had he acted thus? Did Hans the guide mean to abandon us? My uncle lay
fast asleep--or dead. I tried to cry out, and arouse him. My voice, feebly
issuing from my parched and fevered lips, found no echo in that fearful place.
My throat was dry, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. The obscurity had
by this time become intense, and at last even the faint sound of the guide's
footsteps was lost in the blank distance. My soul seemed filled with anguish,
and death appeared welcome, only let it come quickly.

     "Hans is leaving us," I cried. "Hans--Hans, if you are a man, come back."

     These words were spoken to myself. They could not be heard aloud.
Nevertheless, after the first few moments of terror were over, I was ashamed of
my suspicions against a man who hitherto had behaved so admirably. Nothing in
his conduct or character justified suspicion. Moreover, a moment's reflection
reassured me. His departure could not be a flight. Instead of ascending the
gallery, he was going deeper down into the gulf. Had he had any bad design, his
way would have been upwards.

     This reasoning calmed me a little and I began to hope!

     The good, and peaceful, and imperturbable Hans would certainly not have
arisen from his sleep without some serious and grave motive. Was he bent on a
voyage of discovery? During the deep, still silence of the night had he at last
heard that sweet murmur about which we were all so anxious?

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XX

A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT

     During a long, long, weary hour, there crossed my wildly delirious brain
all sorts of reasons as to what could have aroused our quiet and faithful
guide. The most absurd and ridiculous ideas passed through my head, each more
impossible than the other. I believe I was either half or wholly mad.

     Suddenly, however, there arose, as it were from the depths of the earth, a
voice of comfort. It was the sound of footsteps! Hans was returning.

     Presently the uncertain light began to shine upon the walls of the
passage, and then it came in view far down the sloping tunnel. At length Hans
himself appeared.

     He approached my uncle, placed his hand upon his shoulder, and gently
awakened him. My uncle, as soon as he saw who it was, instantly arose.

     "Well!" exclaimed the Professor.

     "Vatten," said the hunter.

     I did not know a single word of the Danish language, and yet by a sort of
mysterious instinct I understood what the guide had said.

     "Water, water!" I cried, in a wild and frantic tone, clapping my hands,
and gesticulating like a madman.

     "Water!" murmured my uncle, in a voice of deep emotion and gratitude.
"Hvar?" ("Where?)

     "Nedat." ("Below.")

     "Where? below!" I understood every word. I had caught the hunter by the
hands, and I shook them heartily, while he looked on with perfect calmness.

     The preparations for our departure did not take long, and we were soon
making a rapid descent into the tunnel.

     An hour later we had advanced a thousand yards, and descended two thousand
feet.

     At this moment I heard an accustomed and well-known sound running along
the floors of the granite rock--a kind of dull and sullen roar, like that of a
distant waterfall.

     During the first half hour of our advance, not finding the discovered
spring, my feelings of intense suffering appeared to return. Once more I began
to lose all hope. My uncle, however, observing how downhearted I was again
becoming, took up the conversation.

     "Hans was right," he exclaimed enthusiastically; "that is the dull roaring
of a torrent."

     "A torrent," I cried, delighted at even hearing the welcome words.

     "There's not the slightest doubt about it," he replied. "A subterranean
river is flowing beside us."

     I made no reply, but hastened on, once more animated by hope. I began not
even to feel the deep fatigue which hitherto had overpowered me. The very sound
of this glorious murmuring water already refreshed me. We could hear it
increasing in volume every moment. The torrent, which for a long time could be
heard flowing over our heads, now ran distinctly along the left wall, roaring,
rushing, spluttering, and still falling.

     Several times I passed my hand across the rock hoping to find some trace
of humidity--of the slightest percolation. Alas! in vain.

     Again a half hour passed in the same weary toil. Again we advanced.

     It now became evident that the hunter, during his absence, had not been
able to carry his researches any farther. Guided by an instinct peculiar to the
dwellers in mountain regions and water finders, he "smelt" the living spring
through the rock. Still he had not seen the precious liquid. He had neither
quenched his own thirst, nor brought us one drop in his gourd.

     Moreover, we soon made the disastrous discovery that, if our progress
continued, we should soon be moving away from the torrent, the sound of which
gradually diminished. We turned back. Hans halted at the precise spot where the
sound of the torrent appeared nearest.

     I could bear the suspense and suffering no longer, and seated myself
against the wall, behind which I could hear the water seething and effervescing
not two feet away. But a solid wall of granite still separated us from it!

     Hans looked keenly at me, and, strange enough, for once I thought I saw a
smile on his imperturbable face.

     He rose from a stone on which be had been seated, and took up the lamp. I
could not help rising and following. He moved slowly along the firm and solid
granite wall. I watched him with mingled curiosity and eagerness. Presently he
halted and placed his ear against the dry stone, moving slowly along and
listening with the most extreme care and attention. I understood at once that
he was searching for the exact spot where the torrent's roar was most plainly
heard. This point he soon found in the lateral wall on the left side, about
three feet above the level of the tunnel floor.

     I was in a state of intense excitement. I scarcely dared believe what the
eider-duck hunter was about to do. It was, however, impossible in a moment more
not to both understand and applaud, and even to smother him in my embraces,
when I saw him raise the heavy crowbar and commence an attack upon the rock
itself.

     "Saved!" I cried.

     "Yes," cried my uncle, even more excited and delighted than myself; "Hans
is quite right. Oh, the worthy, excellent man! We should never have thought of
such an idea."

     And nobody else, I think, would have done so. Such a process, simple as it
seemed, would most certainly not have entered our heads. Nothing could be more
dangerous than to begin to work with pickaxes in that particular part of the
globe. Supposing while he was at work a break-up were to take place, and
supposing the torrent once having gained an inch were to take an ell, and come
pouring bodily through the broken rock!

     Not one of these dangers was chimerical. They were only too real. But at
that moment no fear of falling in of the roof, or even of inundation was
capable of stopping us. Our thirst was so intense that to quench it we would
have dug below the bed of old Ocean itself.

     Hans went quietly to work--a work which neither my uncle nor I would have
undertaken at any price. Our impatience was so great that if we had once begun
with pickax and crowbar, the rock would soon have split into a hundred
fragments. The guide, on the contrary, calm, ready, moderate, wore away the
hard rock by little steady blows of his instrument, making no attempt at a
larger hole than about six inches. As I stood, I heard, or I thought I heard,
the roar of the torrent momentarily increasing in loudness, and at times I
almost felt the pleasant sensation of water upon my parched lips.

     At the end of what appeared an age, Hans had made a hole which enabled his
crowbar to enter two feet into the solid rock. He had been at work exactly an
hour. It appeared a dozen. I was getting wild with impatience. My uncle began
to think of using more violent measures. I had the greatest difficulty in
checking him. He had indeed just got hold of his crowbar when a loud and
welcome hiss was heard. Then a stream, or rather jet, of water burst through
the wall and came out with such force as to hit the opposite side!

     Hans, the guide, who was half upset by the shock, was scarcely able to
keep down a cry of pain and grief. I understood his meaning when, plunging my
hands into the sparkling jet, I myself gave a wild and frantic cry. The water
was scalding hot!

     "Boiling," I cried, in bitter disappointment.

     "Well, never mind," said my uncle, "it will soon get cool."

     The tunnel began to be filled by clouds of vapor, while a small stream ran
away into the interior of the earth. In a short time we had some sufficiently
cool to drink. We swallowed it in huge mouthfuls.

     Oh! what exalted delight--what rich and incomparable luxury! What was this
water, whence did it come? To us what was that? The simple fact was--it was
water; and, though still with a tingle of warmth about it, it brought back to
the heart, that life which, but for it, must surely have faded away. I drank
greedily, almost without tasting it.

     When, however, I had almost quenched my ravenous thirst, I made a
discovery.

     "Why, it is chalybeate water!"

     "A most excellent stomachic," replied my uncle, "and highly mineralized.
Here is a journey worth twenty to Spa."

     "It's very good," I replied.

     "I should think so. Water found six miles under ground. There is a
peculiarly inky flavor about it, which is by no means disagreeable. Hans may
congratulate himself on having made a rare discovery. What do you say, nephew,
according to the usual custom of travelers, to name the stream after him?"

     "Good," said I. And the name of "Hansbach" ("Hans Brook") was at once
agreed upon.

     Hans was not a bit more proud after hearing our determination than he was
before. After having taken a very small modicum of the welcome refreshment, he
had seated himself in a corner with his usual imperturbable gravity.

     "Now," said I, "it is not worth while letting this water run to waste."

     "What is the use," replied my uncle, "the source from which this river
rises is inexhaustible."

     "Never mind," I continued, "let us fill our goatskin and gourds, and then
try to stop the opening up."

     My advice, after some hesitation, was followed or attempted to be
followed. Hans picked up all the broken pieces of granite he had knocked out,
and using some tow he happened to have about him, tried to shut up the fissure
he had made in the wall. All he did was to scald his hands. The pressure was
too great, and all our attempts were utter failures.

     "It is evident," I remarked, "that the upper surface of these springs is
situated at a very great height above--as we may fairly infer from the great
pressure of the jet."

     "That is by no means doubtful," replied my uncle, "if this column of water
is about thirty-two thousand feet high, the atmospheric pressure must be
something enormous. But a new idea has just struck me."

     "And what is that?"

     "Why be at so much trouble to close this aperture?"

     "Because--"

     I hesitated and stammered, having no real reason.

     "When our water bottles are empty, we are not at all sure that we shall be
able to fill them," observed my uncle.

     "I think that is very probable."

     "Well, then, let this water run. It will, of course, naturally follow in
our track, and will serve to guide and refresh us."

     "I think the idea a good one," I cried in reply, "and with this rivulet as
a companion, there is no further reason why we should not succeed in our
marvelous project."

     "Ah, my boy," said the Professor, laughing, "after all, you are coming
round."

     "More than that, I am now confident of ultimate success.

     "One moment, nephew mine. Let us begin by taking some hours of repose."

     I had utterly forgotten that it was night. The chronometer, however,
informed me of the fact. Soon we were sufficiently restored and refreshed, and
had all fallen into a profound sleep.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXI

UNDER THE OCEAN

     By the next day we had nearly forgotten our past sufferings. The first
sensation I experienced was surprise at not being thirsty, and I actually asked
myself the reason. The running stream, which flowed in rippling wavelets at my
feet, was the satisfactory reply.

     We breakfasted with a good appetite, and then drank our fill of the
excellent water. I felt myself quite a new man, ready to go anywhere my uncle
chose to lead. I began to think. Why should not a man as seriously convinced as
my uncle, succeed, with so excellent a guide as worthy Hans, and so devoted a
nephew as myself? These were the brilliant ideas which now invaded my brain.
Had the proposition now been made to go back to the summit of Mount Sneffels, I
should have declined the offer in a most indignant manner.

     But fortunately there was no question of going up. We were about to
descend farther into the interior of the earth.

     "Let us be moving," I cried, awakening the echoes of the old world.

     We resumed our march on Thursday at eight o'clock in the morning. The
great granite tunnel, as it went round by sinuous and winding ways, presented
every now and then sharp turns, and in fact all the appearance of a labyrinth.
Its direction, however, was in general towards the southwest. My uncle made
several pauses in order to consult his compass.

     The gallery now began to trend downwards in a horizontal direction, with
about two inches of fall in every furlong. The murmuring stream flowed quietly
at our feet. I could not but compare it to some familiar spirit, guiding us
through the earth, and I dabbled my fingers in its tepid water, which sang like
a naiad as we progressed. My good humor began to assume a mythological
character.

     As for my uncle he began to complain of the horizontal character of the
road. His route, he found, began to be indefinitely prolonged, instead of
"sliding down the celestial ray," according to his expression.

     But we had no choice; and as long as our road led towards the
center--however little progress we made, there was no reason to complain.

     Moreover, from time to time the slopes were much greater, the naiad sang
more loudly, and we began to dip downwards in earnest.

     As yet, however, I felt no painful sensation. I had not got over the
excitement of the discovery of water.

     That day and the next we did a considerable amount of horizontal, and
relatively very little vertical, traveling.

     On Friday evening, the tenth of July, according to our estimation, we
ought to have been thirty leagues to the southeast of Reykjavik, and about two
leagues and a half deep. We now received a rather startling surprise.

     Under our feet there opened a horrible well. My uncle was so delighted
that he actually clapped his hands--as he saw how steep and sharp was the
descent.

     "Ah, ah!" he cried, in rapturous delight; "this take us a long way. Look
at the projections of the rock. Hah!" he exclaimed, "it's a fearful staircase!"

     Hans, however, who in all our troubles had never given up the ropes, took
care so to dispose of them as to prevent any accidents. Our descent then began.
I dare not call it a perilous descent, for I was already too familiar with that
sort of work to look upon it as anything but a very ordinary affair.

     This well was a kind of narrow opening in the massive granite of the kind
known as a fissure. The contraction of the terrestrial scaffolding, when it
suddenly cooled, had been evidently the cause. If it had ever served in former
times as a kind of funnel through which passed the eruptive masses vomited by
Sneffels, I was at a loss to explain how it had left no mark. We were, in fact,
descending a spiral, something like those winding staircases in use in modern
houses.

     We were compelled every quarter of an hour or thereabouts to sit down in
order to rest our legs. Our calves ached. We then seated ourselves on some
projecting rock with our legs hanging over, and gossiped while we ate a
mouthful--drinking still from the pleasantly warm running stream which had not
deserted us.

     It is scarcely necessary to say that in this curiously shaped fissure the
Hansbach had become a cascade to the detriment of its size. It was still,
however, sufficient, and more, for our wants. Besides we knew that, as soon as
the declivity ceased to be so abrupt, the stream must resume its peaceful
course. At this moment it reminded me of my uncle, his impatience and rage,
while when it flowed more peacefully, I pictured to myself the placidity of the
Icelandic guide.

     During the whole of two days, the sixth and seventh of July, we followed
the extraordinary spiral staircase of the fissure, penetrating two leagues
farther into the crust of the earth, which put us five leagues below the level
of the sea. On the eighth, however, at twelve o'clock in the day, the fissure
suddenly assumed a much more gentle slope still trending in a southeast
direction.

     The road now became comparatively easy, and at the same time dreadfully
monotonous. It would have been difficult for matters to have turned out
otherwise. Our peculiar journey had no chance of being diversified by landscape
and scenery. At all events, such was my idea.

     At length, on Wednesday the fifteenth, we were actually seven leagues
(twenty-one miles) below the surface of the earth, and fifty leagues distant
from the mountain of Sneffels. Though, if the truth be told, we were very
tired, our health had resisted all suffering, and was in a most satisfactory
state. Our traveler's box of medicaments had not even been opened.

     My uncle was careful to note every hour the indications of the compass, of
the manometer, and of the thermometer, all which he afterwards published in his
elaborate philosophical and scientific account of our remarkable voyage. He was
therefore able to give an exact relation of the situation. When, therefore, he
informed me that we were fifty leagues in a horizontal direction distant from
our starting point, I could not suppress a loud exclamation.

     "What is the matter now?" cried my uncle.

     "Nothing very important, only an idea has entered my head," was my reply.

     "Well, out with it, My boy."

     "It is my opinion that if your calculations are correct we are no longer
under Iceland."

     "Do you think so?"

     "We can very easily find out," I replied, pulling out a map and compasses.

     "You see," I said, after careful measurement, "that I am not mistaken. We
are far beyond Cape Portland; and those fifty leagues to the southeast will
take us into the open sea."

     "Under the open sea," cried my uncle, rubbing his hands with a delighted
air.

     "Yes," I cried, "no doubt old Ocean flows over our heads!"

     "Well, my dear boy, what can be more natural! Do you not know that in the
neighborhood of Newcastle there are coal mines which have been worked far out
under the sea?"

     Now my worthy uncle, the Professor, no doubt regarded this discovery as a
very simple fact, but to me the idea was by no means a pleasant one. And yet
when one came to think the matter over seriously, what mattered it whether the
plains and mountains of Iceland were suspended over our devoted heads, or the
mighty billows of the Atlantic Ocean? The whole question rested on the solidity
of the granite roof above us. However, I soon got used to the ideal for the
passage now level, now running down, and still always to the southeast, kept
going deeper and deeper into the profound abysses of Mother Earth.

     Three days later, on the eighteenth day of July, on a Saturday, we reached
a kind of vast grotto. My uncle here paid Hans his usual six-dollars, and it
was decided that the next day should be a day of rest.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXII

SUNDAY BELOW GROUND

     I awoke on Sunday morning without any sense of hurry and bustle attendant
on an immediate departure. Though the day to be devoted to repose and
reflection was spent under such strange circumstances, and in so wonderful a
place, the idea was a pleasant one. Besides, we all began to get used to this
kind of existence. I had almost ceased to think of the sun, of the moon, of the
stars, of the trees, houses, and towns; in fact, about any terrestrial
necessities. In our peculiar position we were far above such reflections.

     The grotto was a vast and magnificent hall. Along its granitic soil the
stream flowed placidly and pleasantly. So great a distance was it now from its
fiery source that its water was scarcely lukewarm, and could be drunk without
delay or difficulty.

     After a frugal breakfast, the Professor made up his mind to devote some
hours to putting his notes and calculations in order.

     "In the first place," he said, "I have a good many to verify and prove, in
order that we may know our exact position. I wish to be able on our return to
the upper regions to make a map of our journey, a kind of vertical section of
the globe, which will be, as it were, the profile of the expedition."

     "That would indeed be a curious work, Uncle; but can you make your
observations with anything like certainty and precision?"

     "I can. I have never on any occasion failed to note with great care the
angles and slopes. I am certain as to having made no mistake. Take the compass
and examine how she points."

     I looked at the instrument with care.

     "East one quarter southeast."

     "Very good," resumed the Professor, noting the observation, and going
through some rapid calculations. "I make out that we have journeyed two hundred
and fifty miles from the point of our departure."

     "Then the mighty waves of the Atlantic are rolling over our heads?"

     "Certainly."

     "And at this very moment it is possible that fierce tempests are raging
above, and that men and ships are battling against the angry blasts just over
our heads?"

     "It is quite within the range of possibility," rejoined my uncle, smiling.

     "And that whales are playing in shoals, thrashing the bottom of the sea,
the roof of our adamantine prison?"

     "Be quite at rest on that point; there is no danger of their breaking
through. But to return to our calculations. We are to the southeast, two
hundred and fifty miles from the base of Sneffels, and, according to my
preceding notes, I think we have gone sixteen leagues in a downward direction."

     "Sixteen leagues--fifty miles!" I cried.

     "I am sure of it."

     "But that is the extreme limit allowed by science for the thickness of the
earth's crust," I replied, referring to my geological studies.

     "I do not contravene that assertion," was his quiet answer.

     "And at this stage of our journey, according to all known laws on the
increase of heat, there should be here a temperature of fifteen hundred degrees
of Reaumur."

     "There should be--you say, my boy."

     "In which case this granite would not exist, but be in a state of fusion."

     "But you perceive, my boy, that it is not so, and that facts, as usual,
are very stubborn things, overruling all theories."

     "I am forced to yield to the evidence of my senses, but I am nevertheless
very much surprised."

     "What heat does the thermometer really indicate?" continued the
philosopher.

     "Twenty-seven six-tenths."

     "So that science is wrong by fourteen hundred and seventy-four degrees and
four-tenths. According to which, it is demonstrated that the proportional
increase in temperature is an exploded error. Humphry Davy here shines forth in
all his glory. He is right, and I have acted wisely to believe him. Have you
any answer to make to this statement?"

     Had I chosen to have spoken, I might have said a great deal. I in no way
admitted the theory of Humphry Davy--I still held out for the theory of
proportional increase of heat, though I did not feel it.

     I was far more willing to allow that this chimney of an extinct volcano
was covered by lava of a kind refractory to heat--in fact a bad
conductor--which did not allow the great increase of temperature to percolate
through its sides. The hot water jet supported my view of the matter.

     But without entering on a long and useless discussion, or seeking for new
arguments to controvert my uncle, I contented myself with taking up facts as
they were.

     "Well, sir, I take for granted that all your calculations are correct, but
allow me to draw from them a rigorous and definite conclusion."

     "Go on, my boy--have your say," cried my uncle goodhumoredly.

     "At the place where we now are, under the latitude of Iceland, the
terrestrial depth is about fifteen hundred and eighty-three leagues."

     "Fifteen hundred eighty-three and a quarter."

     "Well, suppose we say sixteen hundred in round numbers. Now, out of a
voyage of sixteen hundred leagues we have completed sixteen."

     "As you say, what then?"

     "At the expense of a diagonal journey of no less than eighty-five
leagues."

     "Exactly."

     "We have been twenty days about it."

     "Exactly twenty days."

     "Now sixteen is the hundredth part of our contemplated expedition. If we
go on in this way we shall be two thousand days, that is about five years and a
half, going down."

     The Professor folded his arms, listened, but did not speak.

     "Without counting that if a vertical descent of sixteen leagues costs us a
horizontal of eighty-five, we shall have to go about eight thousand leagues to
the southeast, and we must therefore come out somewhere in the circumference
long before we can hope to reach the center."

     "Bother your calculations," cried my uncle in one of his old rages. "On
what basis do they rest? How do you know that this passage does not take us
direct to the end we require? Moreover, I have in my favor, fortunately, a
precedent. What I have undertaken to do, another has done, and he having
succeeded, why should I not be equally successful?"

     "I hope, indeed, you will, but still, I suppose I may be allowed to--"

     "You are allowed to hold your tongue," cried Professor Hardwigg, "when you
talk so unreasonably as this."

     I saw at once that the old doctorial Professor was still alive in my
uncle--and fearful to rouse his angry passions, I dropped the unpleasant
subject.

     "Now, then," he explained, "consult the manometer. What does that
indicate?"

     "A considerable amount of pressure."

     "Very good. You see, then, that by descending slowly, and by gradually
accustoming ourselves to the density of this lower atmosphere, we shall not
suffer."

     "Well, I suppose not, except it may be a certain amount of pain in the
ears," was my rather grim reply.

     "That, my dear boy, is nothing, and you will easily get rid of that source
of discomfort by bringing the exterior air in communication with the air
contained in your lungs."

     "Perfectly," said I, for I had quite made up my mind in no wise to
contradict my uncle. "I should fancy almost that I should experience a certain
amount of satisfaction in making a plunge into this dense atmosphere. Have you
taken note of how wonderfully sound is propagated?"

     "Of course I have. There can be no doubt that a journey into the interior
of the earth would be an excellent cure for deafness."

     "But then, Uncle," I ventured mildly to observe, "this density will
continue to increase."

     "Yes--according to a law which, however, is scarcely defined. It is true
that the intensity of weight will diminish just in proportion to the depth to
which we go. You know very well that it is on the surface of the earth that its
action is most powerfully felt, while on the contrary, in the very center of
the earth bodies cease to have any weight at all."

     "I know that is the case, but as we progress will not the atmosphere
finally assume the density of water?"

     "I know it; when placed under the pressure of seven hundred and ten
atmospheres," cried my uncle with imperturbable gravity.

     "And when we are still lower down?" I asked with natural anxiety.

     "Well, lower down, the density will become even greater."

     "Then how shall we be able to make our way through this atmospheric fog?"

     "Well, my worthy nephew, we must ballast ourselves by filling our pockets
with stones," said Professor Hardwigg.

     "Faith, Uncle, you have an answer for everything," was my only reply.

     I began to feel that it was unwise of me to go any farther into the wide
field of hypotheses for I should certainly have revived some difficulty, or
rather impossibility, that would have enraged the Professor.

     It was evident, nevertheless, that the air under a pressure which might be
multiplied by thousands of atmospheres, would end by becoming perfectly solid,
and that then admitting our bodies resisted the pressure, we should have to
stop, in spite of all the reasonings in the world. Facts overcome all
arguments.

     But I thought it best not to urge this argument. My uncle would simply
have quoted the example of Saknussemm. Supposing the learned Icelander's
journey ever really to have taken place--there was one simple answer to be
made:

     In the sixteenth century neither the barometer nor the manometer had been
invented--how, then, could Saknussemm have been able to discover when he did
reach the center of the earth?

     This unanswerable and learned objection I, however, kept to myself and,
bracing up my courage, awaited the course of events-little aware of how
adventurous yet were to be the incidents of our remarkable journey.

     The rest of this day of leisure and repose was spent in calculation and
conversation. I made it a point to agree with the Professor in everything; but
I envied the perfect indifference of Hans, who, without taking any such trouble
about the cause and effect, went blindly onwards wherever destiny chose to lead
him.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXIII

ALONE

     It must in all truth be confessed, things as yet had gone on well, and I
should have acted in bad taste to have complained. If the true medium of our
difficulties did not increase, it was within the range of possibility that we
might ultimately reach the end of our journey. Then what glory would be ours! I
began in the newly aroused ardor of my soul to speak enthusiastically to the
Professor. Well, was I serious? The whole state in which we existed was a
mystery--and it was impossible to know whether or not I was in earnest.

     For several days after our memorable halt, the slopes became more
rapid--some were even of a most frightful character--almost vertical, so that
we were forever going down into the solid interior mass. During some days, we
actually descended a league and a half, even two leagues towards the center of
the earth. The descents were sufficiently perilous, and while we were engaged
in them we learned fully to appreciate the marvelous coolness of our guide,
Hans. Without him we should have been wholly lost. The grave and impassible
Icelander devoted himself to us with the most incomprehensible sang-froid and
ease; and, thanks to him, many a dangerous pass was got over, where, but for
him, we should inevitably have stuck fast.

     His silence increased every day. I think that we began to be influenced by
this peculiar trait in his character. It is certain that the inanimate objects
by which you are surrounded have a direct action on the brain. It must be that
a man who shuts himself up between four walls must lose the faculty of
associating ideas and words. How many persons condemned to the horrors of
solitary confinement have gone mad--simply because the thinking faculties have
lain dormant!

     During the two weeks that followed our last interesting conversation,
there occurred nothing worthy of being especially recorded.

     I have, while writing these memoirs, taxed my memory in vain for one
incident of travel during this particular period.

     But the next event to be related is terrible indeed. Its very memory, even
now, makes my soul shudder, and my blood run cold.

     It was on the seventh of August. Our constant and successive descents had
taken us quite thirty leagues into the interior of the earth, that is to say
that there were above us thirty leagues, nearly a hundred miles, of rocks, and
oceans, and continents, and towns, to say nothing of living inhabitants. We
were in a southeasterly direction, about two hundred leagues from Iceland.

     On that memorable day the tunnel had begun to assume an almost horizontal
course.

     I was on this occasion walking on in front. My uncle had charge of one of
the Ruhmkorff coils, I had possession of the other. By means of its light I was
busy examining the different layers of granite. I was completely absorbed in my
work.

     Suddenly halting and turning round, I found that I was alone!

     "Well," thought I to myself, "I have certainly been walking too fast--or
else Hans and my uncle have stopped to rest. The best thing I can do is to go
back and find them. Luckily, there is very little ascent to tire me."

     I accordingly retraced my steps and, while doing so, walked for at least a
quarter of an hour. Rather uneasy, I paused and looked eagerly around. Not a
living soul. I called aloud. No reply. My voice was lost amid the myriad
cavernous echoes it aroused!

     I began for the first time to feel seriously uneasy. A cold shiver shook
my whole body, and perspiration, chill and terrible, burst upon my skin.

     "I must be calm," I said, speaking aloud, as boys whistle to drive away
fear. "There can be no doubt that I shall find my companions. There cannot be
two roads. It is certain that I was considerably ahead; all I have to do is to
go back."

     Having come to this determination I ascended the tunnel for at least half
an hour, unable to decide if I had ever seen certain landmarks before. Every
now and then I paused to discover if any loud appeal was made to me, well
knowing that in that dense and intensified atmosphere I should hear it a long
way off. But no. The most extraordinary silence reigned in this immense
gallery. Only the echoes of my own footsteps could be heard.

     At last I stopped. I could scarcely realize the fact of my isolation. I
was quite willing to think that I had made a mistake, but not that I was lost.
If I had made a mistake, I might find my way; if lost--I shuddered to think of
it.

     "Come, come," said I to myself, "since there is only one road, and they
must come by it, we shall at last meet. All I have to do is still to go
upwards. Perhaps, however, not seeing me, and forgetting I was ahead, they may
have gone back in search of me. Still, even in this case, if I make haste, I
shall get up to them. There can be no doubt about the matter."

     But as I spoke these last words aloud, it would have been quite clear to
any listener--had there been one--that I was by no means convinced of the fact.
Moreover in order to associate together these simple ideas and to reunite them
under the form of reasoning, required some time. I could not all at once bring
my brain to think.

     Then another dread doubt fell upon my soul. After all, was I ahead? Of
course I was. Hans was no doubt following behind preceded by my uncle. I
perfectly recollected his having stopped for a moment to strap his baggage on
his shoulder. I now remembered this trifling detail. It was, I believe, just at
that very moment that I had determined to continue My route.

     "Again," thought I, reasoning as calmly as was possible, "there is another
sure means of not losing my way, a thread to guide me through the labyrinthine
subterraneous retreat--one which I had forgotten--my faithful river."

     This course of reasoning roused my drooping spirits, and I resolved to
resume my journey without further delay. No time was to be lost.

     It was at this moment that I had reason to bless the thoughtfulness of my
uncle, when he refused to allow the eider hunter to close the orifices of the
hot spring--that small fissure in the great mass of granite. This beneficent
spring after having saved us from thirst during so many days would now enable
me to regain the right road.

     Having come to this mental decision, I made up my mind, before I started
upwards, that ablution would certainly do me a great deal of good.

     I stopped to plunge my hands and forehead in the pleasant water of the
Hansbach stream, blessing its presence as a certain consolation.

     Conceive my horror and stupefaction!--I was treading a hard, dusty,
shingly road of granite. The stream on which I reckoned had wholly disappeared!

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXIV

LOST!

     No words in any human language can depict my utter despair. I was
literally buried alive; with no other expectation before me but to die in all
the slow horrible torture of hunger and thirst.

     Mechanically I crawled about, feeling the dry and arid rock. Never to my
fancy had I ever felt anything so dry.

     But, I frantically asked myself, how had I lost the course of the flowing
stream? There could be no doubt it had ceased to flow in the gallery in which I
now was. Now I began to understand the cause of the strange silence which
prevailed when last I tried if any appeal from my companions might perchance
reach my ear.

     It so happened that when I first took an imprudent step in the wrong
direction, I did not perceive the absence of the all-important stream.

     It was now quite evident that when we halted, another tunnel must have
received the waters of the little torrent, and that I had unconsciously entered
a different gallery. To what unknown depths had my companions gone? Where was
I?

     How to get back! Clue or landmark there was absolutely none! My feet left
no signs on the granite and shingle. My brain throbbed with agony as I tried to
discover the solution of this terrible problem. My situation, after all
sophistry and reflection, had finally to be summed up in three awful words--

     Lost! Lost!! LOST!!!

     Lost at a depth which, to my finite understanding, appeared to be
immeasurable.

     These thirty leagues of the crust of the earth weighed upon my shoulders
like the globe on the shoulders of Atlas. I felt myself crushed by the awful
weight. It was indeed a position to drive the sanest man to madness!

     I tried to bring my thoughts back to the things of the world so long
forgotten. It was with the greatest difficulty that I succeeded in doing so.
Hamburg, the house on the Konigstrasse, my dear cousin Gretchen--all that world
which had before vanished like a shadow floated before my now vivid
imagination.

     There they were before me, but how unreal. Under the influence of a
terrible hallucination I saw all the incidents of our journey pass before me
like the scenes of a panorama. The ship and its inmates, Iceland, M.
Fridriksson, and the great summit of Mount Sneffels! I said to myself that, if
in my position I retained the most faint and shadowy outline of a hope, it
would be a sure sign of approaching delirium. It were better to give way wholly
to despair!

     In fact, did I but reason with calmness and philosophy, what human power
was there in existence able to take me back to the surface of the earth, and
ready, too, to split asunder, to rend in twain those huge and mighty vaults
which stand above my head? Who could enable me to find my road--and regain my
companions?

     Insensate folly and madness to entertain even a shadow of hope!

     "Oh, Uncle!" was my despairing cry.

     This was the only word of reproach which came to my lips; for I thoroughly
understood how deeply and sorrowfully the worthy Professor would regret my
loss, and how in his turn he would patiently seek for me.

     When I at last began to resign myself to the fact that no further aid was
to be expected from man, and knowing that I was utterly powerless to do
anything for my own salvation, I kneeled with earnest fervor and asked
assistance from Heaven. The remembrance of my innocent childhood, the memory of
my mother, known only in my infancy, came welling forth from my heart. I had
recourse to prayer. And little as I had a right to be remembered by Him whom I
had forgotten in the hour of prosperity, and whom I so tardily invoked, I
prayed earnestly and sincerely.

     This renewal of my youthful faith brought about a much greater amount of
calm, and I was enabled to concentrate all my strength and intelligence on the
terrible realities of my unprecedented situation.

     I had about me that which I had at first wholly forgotten--three days'
provisions. Moreover, my water bottle was quite full. Nevertheless, the one
thing which it was impossible to do was to remain alone. Try to find my
companions I must, at any price. But which course should I take? Should I go
upwards, or again descend? Doubtless it was right to retrace my steps in an
upward direction.

     By doing this with care and coolness, I must reach the point where I had
turned away from the rippling stream. I must find the fatal bifurcation or
fork. Once at this spot, once the river at my feet, I could, at all events,
regain the awful crater of Mount Sneffels. Why had I not thought of this
before? This, at last, was a reasonable hope of safety. The most important
thing, then, to be done was to discover the bed of the Hansbach.

     After a slight meal and a draught of water, I rose like a giant refreshed.
Leaning heavily on my pole, I began the ascent of the gallery. The slope was
very rapid and rather difficult. But I advanced hopefully and carefully, like a
man who at last is making his way out of a forest, and knows there is only one
road to follow.

     During one whole hour nothing happened to check my progress. As I
advanced, I tried to recollect the shape of the tunnel--to recall to my memory
certain projections of rocks--to persuade myself that I had followed certain
winding routes before. But no one particular sign could I bring to mind, and I
was soon forced to allow that this gallery would never take me back to the
point at which I had separated myself from my companions. It was absolutely
without issue--a mere blind alley in the earth.

     The moment at length came when, facing the solid rock, I knew my fate, and
fell inanimate on the arid floor!

     To describe the horrible state of despair and fear into which I then fell
would now be vain and impossible. My last hope, the courage which had sustained
me, drooped before the sight of this pitiless granite rock!

     Lost in a vast labyrinth, the sinuosities of which spread in every
direction, without guide, clue or compass, I knew it was a vain and useless
task to attempt flight. All that remained to me was to lie down and die. To lie
down and die the most cruel and horrible of deaths!

     In my state of mind, the idea came into my head that one day perhaps, when
my fossil bones were found, their discovery so far below the level of the earth
might give rise to solemn and interesting scientific discussions.

     I tried to cry aloud, but hoarse, hollow, and inarticulate sounds alone
could make themselves heard through my parched lips. I literally panted for
breath.

     In the midst of all these horrible sources of anguish and despair, a new
horror took possession of my soul. My lamp, by falling down, had got out of
order. I had no means of repairing it. Its light was already becoming paler and
paler, and soon would expire.

     With a strange sense of resignation and despair, I watched the luminous
current in the coil getting less and less. A procession of shadows moved
flashing along the granite wall. I scarcely dared to lower my eyelids, fearing
to lose the last spark of this fugitive light. Every instant it seemed to me
that it was about to vanish and to leave me forever--in utter darkness!

     At last, one final trembling flame remained in the lamp; I followed it
with all my power of vision; I gasped for breath; I concentrated upon it all
the power of my soul, as upon the last scintillation of light I was ever
destined to see: and then I was to be lost forever in Cimmerian and tenebrous
shades.

     A wild and plaintive cry escaped my lips. On earth during the most
profound and comparatively complete darkness, light never allows a complete
destruction and extinction of its power. Light is so diffuse, so subtle, that
it permeates everywhere, and whatever little may remain, the retina of the eye
will succeed in finding it. In this place nothing--the absolute obscurity made
me blind in every sense.

     My head was now wholly lost. I raised my arms, trying the effects of the
feeling in getting against the cold stone wall. It was painful in the extreme.
Madness must have taken possession of me. I knew not what I did. I began to
run, to fly, rushing at haphazard in this inextricable labyrinth, always going
downwards, running wildly underneath the terrestrial crust, like an inhabitant
of the subterranean furnaces, screaming, roaring, howling, until bruised by the
pointed rocks, falling and picking myself up all covered with blood, seeking
madly to drink the blood which dripped from my torn features, mad because this
blood only trickled over my face, and watching always for this horrid wall
which ever presented to me the fearful obstacle against which I could not dash
my head.

     Where was I going? It was impossible to say. I was perfectly ignorant of
the matter.

     Several hours passed in this way. After a long time, having utterly
exhausted my strength, I fell a heavy inert mass along the side of the tunnel,
and lost consciousness.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXV

THE WHISPERING GALLERY

     WHEN at last I came back to a sense of life and being, my face was wet,
but wet, as I soon knew, with tears. How long this state of insensibility
lasted, it is quite impossible for me now to say. I had no means left to me of
taking any account of time. Never since the creation of the world had such a
solitude as mine existed. I was completely abandoned.

     After my fall I lost much blood. I felt myself flooded with the
life-giving liquid. My first sensation was perhaps a natural one. Why was I not
dead? Because I was alive, there was something left to do. I tried to make up
my mind to think no longer. As far as I was able, I drove away all ideas, and
utterly overcome by pain and grief, I crouched against the granite wall.

     I just commenced to feel the fainting coming on again, and the sensation
that this was the last struggle before complete annihilation--when, on a
sudden, a violent uproar reached my ears. It had some resemblance to the
prolonged rumbling voice of thunder, and I clearly distinguished sonorous
voices, lost one after the other, in the distant depths of the gulf.

     Whence came this noise? Naturally, it was to be supposed from new
phenomena which were taking place in the bosom of the solid mass of Mother
Earth! The explosion of some gaseous vapors, or the fall of some solid, of the
granitic or other rock.

     Again I listened with deep attention. I was extremely anxious to hear if
this strange and inexplicable sound was likely to be renewed! A whole quarter
of an hour elapsed in painful expectation. Deep and solemn silence reigned in
the tunnel. So still that I could hear the beatings of my own heart! I waited,
waited with a strange kind of hopefulness.

     Suddenly my ear, which leaned accidentally against the wall, appeared to
catch, as it were, the faintest echo of a sound. I thought that I heard vague,
incoherent and distant voices. I quivered all over with excitement and hope!

     "It must be hallucination," I cried. "It cannot be! it is not true!"

     But no! By listening more attentively, I really did convince myself that
what I heard was truly the sound of human voices. To make any meaning out of
the sound, however, was beyond my power. I was too weak even to hear
distinctly. Still it was a positive fact that someone was speaking. Of that I
was quite certain.

     There was a moment of fear. A dread fell upon my soul that it might be my
own words brought back to me by a distant echo. Perhaps without knowing it, I
might have been crying aloud. I resolutely closed my lips, and once more placed
my ear to the huge granite wall.

     Yes, for certain. It was in truth the sound of human voices.

     I now by the exercise of great determination dragged myself along the
sides of the cavern, until I reached a point where I could hear more
distinctly. But though I could detect the sound, I could only make out
uncertain, strange, and incomprehensible words. They reached my ear as if they
had been spoken in a low tone--murmured, as it were, afar off.

     At last, I made out the word forlorad repeated several times in a tone
betokening great mental anguish and sorrow.

     What could this word mean, and who was speaking it? It must be either my
uncle or the guide Hans! If, therefore, I could hear them, they must surely be
able to hear me.

     "Help," I cried at the top of my voice; "help, I am dying!"

     I then listened with scarcely a breath; I panted for the slightest sound
in the darkness--a cry, a sigh, a question! But silence reigned supreme. No
answer came! In this way some minutes passed. A whole flood of ideas flashed
through my mind. I began to fear that my voice, weakened by sickness and
suffering, could not reach my companions who were in search of me.

     "It must be they," I cried; "who else could by any possibility be buried a
hundred miles below the level of the earth?" The mere supposition was
preposterous.

     I began, therefore, to listen again with the most breathless attention. As
I moved my ears along the side of the place I was in, I found a mathematical
point as it were, where the voices appeared to attain their maximum of
intensity. The word forlorad again distinctly reached my ear. Then came again
that rolling noise like thunder which had awakened me out of torpor.

     "I begin to understand," I said to myself after some little time devoted
to reflection; "it is not through the solid mass that the sound reaches my
ears. The walls of my cavernous retreat are of solid granite, and the most
fearful explosion would not make uproar enough to penetrate them. The sound
must come along the gallery itself. The place I was in must possess some
peculiar acoustic properties of its own."

     Again I listened; and this time--yes, this time--I heard my name
distinctly pronounced: cast as it were into space.

     It was my uncle, the Professor, who was speaking. He was in conversation
with the guide, and the word which had so often reached my ears, forlorad, was
a Danish expression.

     Then I understood it all. In order to make myself heard, I too must speak
as it were along the side of the gallery, which would carry the sound of my
voice just as the wire carries the electric fluid from point to point.

     But there was no time to lose. If my companions were only to remove a few
feet from where they stood, the acoustic effect would be over, my Whispering
Gallery would be destroyed. I again therefore crawled towards the wall, and
said as clearly and distinctly as I could:

     "Uncle Hardwigg."

     I then awaited a reply.

     Sound does not possess the property of traveling with such extreme
rapidity. Besides the density of the air at that depth from light and motion
was very far from adding to the rapidity of circulation. Several seconds
elapsed, which to my excited imagination, appeared ages; and these words
reached my eager ears, and moved my wildly beating heart:

     "Harry, my boy, is that you?"

     A short delay between question and answer.

     "Yes--yes."

     . .........

     "Where are you?"

     . .........

     "Lost!"

     . .........

     "And your lamp?"

     . .........

     "Out."

     . .........

     "But the guiding stream?"

     . .........

     "Is lost!"

     . .........

     "Keep your courage, Harry. We will do our best."

     . .........

     "One moment, my uncle," I cried; "I have no longer strength to answer your
questions. But--for heaven's sake--do you--continue--to speak--to me!" Absolute
silence, I felt, would be annihilation.

     "Keep up your courage," said my uncle. "As you are so weak, do not speak.
We have been searching for you in all directions, both by going upwards and
downwards in the gallery. My dear boy, I had begun to give over all hope--and
you can never know what bitter tears of sorrow and regret I have shed. At last,
supposing you to be still on the road beside the Hansbach, we again descended,
firing off guns as signals. Now, however, that we have found you, and that our
voices reach each other, it may be a long time before we actually meet. We are
conversing by means of some extraordinary acoustic arrangement of the
labyrinth. But do not despair, my dear boy. It is something gained even to hear
each other."

     While he was speaking, my brain was at work reflecting. A certain
undefined hope, vague and shapeless as yet, made my heart beat wildly. In the
first place, it was absolutely necessary for me to know one thing. I once more,
therefore, leaned my head against the wall, which I almost touched with my
lips, and again spoke.

     "Uncle."

     . .........

     "My boy?" was his answer after a few moments.

     . .........

     "It is of the utmost consequence that we should know how far we are
asunder."

     . .........

     "That is not difficult."

     . .........

     "You have your chronometer at hand?" I asked.

     . .........

     "Certainly."

     . .........

     "Well, take it into your hand. Pronounce my name, noting exactly the
second at which you speak. I will reply as soon as I hear your words-and you
will then note exactly the moment at which my reply reaches you."

     . .........

     "Very good; and the mean time between my question and your answer will be
the time occupied by my voice in reaching you."

     . .........

     "That is exactly what I mean, Uncle," was my eager reply.

     . .........

     "Are you ready?"

     . .........

     "Yes."

     . .........

     "Well, make ready, I am about to pronounce your name," said the Professor.

     I applied my ear close to the sides of the cavernous gallery, and as soon
as the word "Harry" reached my ear, I turned round and, placing my lips to the
wall, repeated the sound.

     . .........

     "Forty seconds," said my uncle. "There has elapsed forty seconds between
the two words. The sound, therefore, takes twenty seconds to ascend. Now,
allowing a thousand and twenty feet for every second-- we have twenty thousand
four hundred feet--a league and a half and one-eighth."

     These words fell on my soul like a kind of death knell.

     "A league and a half," I muttered in a low and despairing voice.

     . .........

     "It shall be got over, my boy," cried my uncle in a cheery tone; "depend
on us."

     . .........

     "But do you know whether to ascend or descend?" I asked faintly enough.

     . .........

     "We have to descend, and I will tell you why. You have reached a vast open
space, a kind of bare crossroad, from which galleries diverge in every
direction. That in which you are now lying must necessarily bring you to this
point, for it appears that all these mighty fissures, these fractures of the
globe's interior, radiate from the vast cavern which we at this moment occupy.
Rouse yourself, then, have courage and continue your route. Walk if you can, if
not drag yourself along--slide, if nothing else is possible. The slope must be
rather rapid--and you will find strong arms to receive you at the end of your
journey. Make a start, like a good fellow."

     These words served to rouse some kind of courage in my sinking frame.

     "Farewell for the present, good uncle, I am about to take my departure. As
soon as I start, our voices will cease to commingle. Farewell, then, until we
meet again."

     . .........

     "Adieu, Harry--until we say Welcome." Such were the last words which
reached my anxious ears before I commenced my weary and almost hopeless
journey.

     This wonderful and surprising conversation which took place through the
vast mass of the earth's labyrinth, these words exchanged, the speakers being
about five miles apart--ended with hopeful and pleasant expressions. I breathed
one more prayer to Heaven, I sent up words of thanksgiving--believing in my
inmost heart that He had led me to the only place where the voices of my
friends could reach my ears.

     This apparently astounding acoustic mystery is easily explainable by
simple natural laws; it arose from the conductibility of the rock. There are
many instances of this singular propagation of sound which are not perceptible
in its less mediate positions. In the interior gallery of St. Paul's, and amid
the curious caverns in Sicily, these phenomena are observable. The most
marvelous of them all is known as the Ear of Dionysius.

     These memories of the past, of my early reading and studies, came fresh to
my thoughts. Moreover, I began to reason that if my uncle and I could
communicate at so great a distance, no serious obstacle could exist between us.
All I had to do was to follow the direction whence the sound had reached me;
and logically putting it, I must reach him if my strength did not fail.

     I accordingly rose to my feet. I soon found, however, that I could not
walk; that I must drag myself along. The slope as I expected was very rapid;
but I allowed myself to slip down.

     Soon the rapidity of the descent began to assume frightful proportions;
and menaced a fearful fall. I clutched at the sides; I grasped at projections
of rocks; I threw myself backwards. All in vain. My weakness was so great I
could do nothing to save myself.

     Suddenly earth failed me.

     I was first launched into a dark and gloomy void. I then struck against
the projecting asperities of a vertical gallery, a perfect well. My head
bounded against a pointed rock, and I lost all knowledge of existence. As far
as I was concerned, death had claimed me for his own.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXVI

A RAPID RECOVERY

     When I returned to the consciousness of existence, I found myself
surrounded by a kind of semiobscurity, lying on some thick and soft coverlets.
My uncle was watching--his eyes fixed intently on my countenance, a grave
expression on his face, a tear in his eye. At the first sigh which struggled
from my bosom, he took hold of my hand. When he saw my eyes open and fix
themselves upon his, he uttered a loud cry of loud cry of joy. "He lives! he
lives!"

     "Yes, my good uncle," I whispered.

     "My dear boy," continued the grim Professor, clasping me to his heart,
"you are saved!"

     I was deeply and unaffectedly touched by the tone in which these words
were uttered, and even more by the kindly care which accompanied them. The
Professor, however, was one of those men who must be severely tried in order to
induce any display of affection or gentle emotion. At this moment our friend
Hans, the guide, joined us. He saw my hand in that of my uncle, and I venture
to say that, taciturn as he was, his eyes beamed with lively satisfaction.

     "God dag," he said.

     "Good day, Hans, good day," I replied, in as hearty a tone as I could
assume, "and now, Uncle, that we are together, tell me where we are. I have
lost all idea of our position, as of everything else."

     "Tomorrow, Harry, tomorrow," he replied. "Today you are far too weak. Your
head is surrounded with bandages and poultices that must not be touched. Sleep,
my boy, sleep, and tomorrow you will know all that you require."

     "But," I cried, let me know what o'clock it is--what day it is?"

     "It is now eleven o'clock at night, and this is once more Sunday. It is
now the ninth of the month of August. And I distinctly prohibit you from asking
any more questions until the tenth of the same."

     I was, if the truth were told, very weak indeed, and my eyes soon closed
involuntarily. I did require a good night's rest, and I went off reflecting at
the last moment that my perilous adventure in the interior of the earth, in
total darkness, had lasted four days!

     On the morning of the next day, at my awakening, I began to look around
me. My sleeping place, made of all our traveling bedding, was in a charming
grotto, adorned with magnificent stalagmites, glittering in all the colors of
the rainbow, the floor of soft and silvery sand.

     A dim obscurity prevailed. No torch, no lamp was lighted, and yet certain
unexplained beams of light penetrated from without, and made their way through
the opening of the beautiful grotto.

     I, moreover, heard a vague and indefinite murmur, like the ebb and flow of
waves upon a strand, and sometimes I verily believed I could hear the sighing
of the wind.

     I began to believe that, instead of being awake, I must be dreaming.
Surely my brain had not been affected by my fall, and all that occurred during
the last twenty-four hours was not the frenzied visions of madness? And yet
after some reflection, a trial of my faculties, I came to the conclusion that I
could not be mistaken. Eyes and ears could not surely both deceive me.

     "It is a ray of the blessed daylight," I said to myself, "which has
penetrated through some mighty fissure in the rocks. But what is the meaning of
this murmur of waves, this unmistakable moaning of the salt-sea billows? I can
hear, too, plainly enough, the whistling of the wind. But can I be altogether
mistaken? If my uncle, during my illness, has but carried me back to the
surface of the earth! Has he, on my account, given up his wondrous expedition,
or in some strange manner has it come to an end?"

     I was puzzling my brain over these and other questions, when the Professor
joined me.

     "Good day, Harry," he cried in a joyous tone. "I fancy you are quite
well."

     "I am very much better," I replied, actually sitting up in my bed.

     "I knew that would be the end of it, as you slept both soundly and
tranquilly. Hans and I have each taken turn to watch, and every hour we have
seen visible signs of amelioration."

     "You must be right, Uncle," was my reply, "for I feel as if I could do
justice to any meal you could put before me."

     "You shall eat, my boy, you shall eat. The fever has left you. Our
excellent friend Hans has rubbed your wounds and bruises with I know not what
ointment, of which the Icelanders alone possess the secret. And they have
healed your bruises in the most marvelous manner. Ah, he's a wise fellow is
Master Hans."

     While he was speaking, my uncle was placing before me several articles of
food, which, despite his earnest injunctions, I readily devoured. As soon as
the first rage of hunger was appeased, I overwhelmed him with questions, to
which he now no longer hesitated to give answers.

     I then learned, for the first time, that my providential fall had brought
me to the bottom of an almost perpendicular gallery. As I came down, amidst a
perfect shower of stones, the least of which falling on me would have crushed
me to death, they came to the conclusion that I had carried with me an entire
dislocated rock. Riding as it were on this terrible chariot, I was cast
headlong into my uncle's arms. And into them I fell, insensible and covered
with blood.

     "It is indeed a miracle," was the Professor's final remark, "that you were
not killed a thousand times over. But let us take care never to separate; for
surely we should risk never meeting again."

     "Let us take care never again to separate."

     These words fell with a sort of chill upon my heart. The journey, then,
was not over. I looked at my uncle with surprise and astonishment. My uncle,
after an instant's examination of my countenance, said: "What is the matter,
Harry?"

     "I want to ask you a very serious question. You say that I am all right in
health?"

     "Certainly you are."

     "And all my limbs are sound and capable of new exertion?" I asked.

     "Most undoubtedly."

     "But what about my head?" was my next anxious question.

     "Well, your head, except that you have one or two contusions, is exactly
where it ought to be--on your shoulders," said my uncle, laughing.

     "Well, my own opinion is that my head is not exactly right. In fact, I
believe myself slightly delirious."

     "What makes you think so?"

     "I will explain why I fancy I have lost my senses," I cried. "Have we not
returned to the surface of Mother Earth?"

     "Certainly not."

     "Then truly I must be mad, for do I not see the light of day? do I not
hear the whistling of the wind? and can I not distinguish the wash of a great
sea?"

     "And that is all that makes you uneasy?" said my uncle, with a smile.

     "Can you explain?"

     "I will not make any attempt to explain; for the whole matter is utterly
inexplicable. But you shall see and judge for yourself. You will then find that
geological science is as yet in its infancy--and that we are doomed to
enlighten the world."

     "Let us advance, then," I cried eagerly, no longer able to restrain my
curiosity.

     "Wait a moment, my dear Harry," he responded; "you must take precautions
after your illness before going into the open air."

     "The open air?"

     "Yes, my boy. I have to warn you that the wind is rather violent-- and I
have no wish for you to expose yourself without necessary precautions."

     "But I beg to assure you that I am perfectly recovered from my illness."

     "Have just a little patience, my boy. A relapse would be inconvenient to
all parties. We have no time to lose--as our approaching sea voyage may be of
long duration."

     "Sea voyage?" I cried, more bewildered than ever.

     "Yes. You must take another day's rest, and we shall be ready to go on
board by tomorrow," replied my uncle, with a peculiar smile.

     "Go on board!" The words utterly astonished me.

     Go on board--what and how? Had we come upon a river, a lake, had we
discovered some inland sea? Was a vessel lying at anchor in some part of the
interior of the earth?

     My curiosity was worked up to the very highest pitch. My uncle made vain
attempts to restrain me. When at last, however, he discovered that my feverish
impatience would do more harm than good-- and that the satisfaction of my
wishes could alone restore me to a calm state of mind--he gave way.

     I dressed myself rapidly--and then taking the precaution to please my
uncle, of wrapping myself in one of the coverlets, I rushed out of the grotto.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXVII

THE CENTRAL SEA

     At first I saw absolutely nothing. My eyes, wholly unused to the
effulgence of light, could not bear the sudden brightness; and I was compelled
to close them. When I was able to reopen them, I stood still, far more
stupefied than astonished. Not all the wildest effects of imagination could
have conjured up such a scene! "The sea--the sea," I cried.

     "Yes," replied my uncle, in a tone of pardonable pride; "the Central Sea.
No future navigator will deny the fact of my having discovered it; and hence of
acquiring a right of giving it a name."

     It was quite true. A vast, limitless expanse of water, the end of a lake
if not of an ocean, spread before us, until it was lost in the distance. The
shore, which was very much indented, consisted of a beautiful soft golden sand,
mixed with small shells, the long-deserted home of some of the creatures of a
past age. The waves broke incessantly--and with a peculiarly sonorous murmur,
to be found in underground localities. A slight frothy flake arose as the wind
blew along the pellucid waters; and many a dash of spray was blown into my
face. The mighty superstructure of rock which rose above to an inconceivable
height left only a narrow opening--but where we stood, there was a large margin
of strand. On all sides were capes and promontories and enormous cliffs,
partially worn by the eternal breaking of the waves, through countless ages!
And as I gazed from side to side, the mighty rocks faded away like a fleecy
film of cloud.

     It was in reality an ocean, with an the usual characteristics of an inland
sea, only horribly wild--so rigid, cold and savage.

     One thing startled and puzzled me greatly. How was it that I was able to
look upon that vast sheet of water instead of being plunged in utter darkness?
The vast landscape before me was lit up like day. But there was wanting the
dazzling brilliancy, the splendid irradiation of the sun; the pale cold
illumination of the moon; the brightness of the stars. The illuminating power
in this subterranean region, from its trembling and Rickering character, its
clear dry whiteness, the very slight elevation of its temperature, its great
superiority to that of the moon, was evidently electric; something in the
nature of the aurora borealis, only that its phenomena were constant, and able
to light up the whole of the ocean cavern.

     The tremendous vault above our heads, the sky, so to speak, appeared to be
composed of a conglomeration of nebulous vapors, in constant motion. I should
originally have supposed that, under such an atmospheric pressure as must exist
in that place, the evaporation of water could not really take place, and yet
from the action of some physical law, which escaped my memory, there were heavy
and dense clouds rolling along that mighty vault, partially concealing the
roof. Electric currents produced astonishing play of light and shade in the
distance, especially around the heavier clouds. Deep shadows were cast beneath,
and then suddenly, between two clouds, there would come a ray of unusual
beauty, and remarkable intensity. And yet it was not like the sun, for it gave
no heat.

     The effect was sad and excruciatingly melancholy. Instead of a noble
firmament of blue, studded with stars, there was above me a heavy roof of
granite, which seemed to crush me.

     Gazing around, I began to think of the theory of the English captain who
compared the earth to a vast hollow sphere in the interior of which the air is
retained in a luminous state by means of atmospheric pressure, while two stars,
Pluto and Proserpine, circled there in their mysterious orbits. After all,
suppose the old fellow was right!

     In truth, we were imprisoned--bound as it were, in a vast excavation. Its
width it was impossible to make out; the shore, on either hand, widening
rapidly until lost to sight; while its length was equally uncertain. A haze on
the distant horizon bounded our view. As to its height, we could see that it
must be many miles to the roof. Looking upward, it was impossible to discover
where the stupendous roof began. The lowest of the clouds must have been
floating at an elevation of two thousand yards, a height greater than that of
terrestrial vapors, which circumstance was doubtless owing to the extreme
density of the air.

     I use the word "cavern" in order to give an idea of the place. I cannot
describe its awful grandeur; human language fails to convey an idea of its
savage sublimity. Whether this singular vacuum had or had not been caused by
the sudden cooling of the earth when in a state of fusion, I could not say. I
had read of most wonderful and gigantic caverns--but, none in any way like
this.

     The great grotto of Guachara, in Colombia, visited by the learned
Humboldt; the vast and partially explored Mammoth Cave in Kentucky-- what were
these holes in the earth to that in which I stood in speechless admiration!
with its vapory clouds, its electric light, and the mighty ocean slumbering in
its bosom! Imagination, not description, can alone give an idea of the splendor
and vastness of the cave.

     I gazed at these marvels in profound silence. Words were utterly wanting
to indicate the sensations of wonder I experienced. I seemed, as I stood upon
that mysterious shore, as if I were some wandering inhabitant of a distant
planet, present for the first time at the spectacle of some terrestrial
phenomena belonging to another existence. To give body and existence to such
new sensations would have required the coinage of new words--and here my feeble
brain found itself wholly at fault. I looked on, I thought, I reflected, I
admired, in a state of stupefaction not altogether unmingled with fear!

     The unexpected spectacle restored some color to my pallid cheeks. I seemed
to be actually getting better under the influence of this novelty. Moreover,
the vivacity of the dense atmosphere reanimated my body by inflating my lungs
with unaccustomed oxygen.

     It will be readily conceived that after an imprisonment of forty-seven
days, in a dark and miserable tunnel it was with infinite delight that I
breathed this saline air. It was like the genial, reviving influence of the
salt sea waves.

     My uncle had already got over the first surprise.

     With the Latin poet Horace his idea was that-- --

      Not to admire is all the art I know,

      To make man happy and to keep him so. --

     "Well," he said, after giving me time thoroughly to appreciate the marvels
of this underground sea, "do you feel strong enough to walk up and down?"

     "Certainly," was my ready answer, "nothing would give me greater
pleasure."

     "Well then, my boy," he said, lean on my arm, and we will stroll along the
beach."

     I accepted his offer eagerly, and we began to walk along the shores of
this extraordinary lake. To our left were abrupt rocks, piled one upon the
other--a stupendous titanic pile; down their sides leaped innumerable cascades,
which at last, becoming limpid and murmuring streams, were lost in the waters
of the lake. Light vapors, which rose here and there, and floated in fleecy
clouds from rock to rock, indicated hot springs, which also poured their
superfluity into the vast reservoir at our feet.

     Among them I recognized our old and faithful stream, the Hansbach, which,
lost in that wild basin, seemed as if it had been flowing since the creation of
the world.

     "We shall miss our excellent friend I remarked, with a deep sigh.

     "Bah!" said my uncle testily, "what matters it? That or another, it is all
the same."

     I thought the remark ungrateful, and felt almost inclined to say so; but I
forbore.

     At this moment my attention was attracted by an unexpected spectacle.
After we had gone about five hundred yards, we suddenly turned a steep
promontory, and found ourselves close to a lofty forest! It consisted of
straight trunks with tufted tops, in shape like parasols. The air seemed to
have no effect upon these trees-- which in spite of a tolerable breeze remained
as still and motionless as if they had been petrified.

     I hastened forward. I could find no name for these singular formations.
Did they not belong to the two thousand and more known trees--or were we to
make the discovery of a new growth? By no means. When we at last reached the
forest, and stood beneath the trees, my surprise gave way to admiration.

     In truth, I was simply in the presence of a very ordinary product of the
earth, of singular and gigantic proportions. My uncle unhesitatingly called
them by their real names.

     "It is only," he said, in his coolest manner, "a forest of mushrooms."

     On close examination I found that he was not mistaken. Judge of the
development attained by this product of damp hot soils. I had heard that the
Lycoperdon giganteum reaches nine feet in circumference, but here were white
mushrooms, nearly forty feet high, and with tops of equal dimensions. They grew
in countless thousands--the light could not make its way through their massive
substance, and beneath them reigned a gloomy and mystic darkness.

     Still I wished to go forward. The cold in the shades of this singular
forest was intense. For nearly an hour we wandered about in this visible
darkness. At length I left the spot, and once more returned to the shores of
the lake, to light and comparative warmth.

     But the amazing vegetation of subterraneous land was not confined to
gigantic mushrooms. New wonders awaited us at every step. We had not gone many
hundred yards, when we came upon a mighty group of other trees with discolored
leaves--the common humble trees of Mother Earth, of an exorbitant and
phenomenal size: lycopods a hundred feet high; flowering ferns as tall as
pines; gigantic grasses!

     "Astonishing, magnificent, splendid!" cried my uncle; "here we have before
us the whole flora of the second period of the world, that of transition.
Behold the humble plants of our gardens, which in the first ages of the world
were mighty trees. Look around you, my dear Harry. No botanist ever before
gazed on such a sight!"

     My uncle's enthusiasm, always a little more than was required, was now
excusable.

     "You are right, Uncle," I remarked. "Providence appears to have designed
the preservation in this vast and mysterious hothouse of antediluvian plants,
to prove the sagacity of learned men in figuring them so marvelously on paper."

     "Well said, my boy--very well said; it is indeed a mighty hothouse. But
you would also be within the bounds of reason and common sense, if you added
that it is also a vast menagerie."

     I looked rather anxiously around. If the animals were as exaggerated as
the plants, the matter would certainly be serious.

     "A menagerie?"

     "Doubtless. Look at the dust we are treading under foot--behold the bones
with which the whole soil of the seashore is covered--"

     "Bones," I replied, "yes, certainly, the bones of antediluvian animals."

     I stooped down as I spoke, and picked up one or two singular remains,
relics of a bygone age. It was easy to give a name to these gigantic bones, in
some instances as big as trunks of trees.

     "Here is, clearly, the lower jawbone of a mastodon," I cried, almost as
warmly and enthusiastically as my uncle; "here are the molars of the
Dinotherium; here is a leg bone which belonged to the Megatherium. You are
right, Uncle, it is indeed a menagerie; for the mighty animals to which these
bones once belonged, have lived and died on the shores of this subterranean
sea, under the shadow of these plants. Look, yonder are whole skeletons--and
yet--"

     "And yet, nephew?" said my uncle, noticing that I suddenly came to a full
stop.

     "I do not understand the presence of such beasts in granite caverns,
however vast and prodigious," was my reply.

     "Why not?" said my uncle, with very much of his old professional
impatience.

     "Because it is well known that animal life only existed on earth during
the secondary period, when the sedimentary soil was formed by the alluviums,
and thus replaced the hot and burning rocks of the primitive age."

     "I have listened to you earnestly and with patience, Harry, and I have a
simple and clear answer to your objections: and that is, that this itself is a
sedimentary soil."

     "How can that be at such enormous depth from the surface of the earth?"

     "The fact can be explained both simply and geologically. At a certain
period, the earth consisted only of an elastic crust, liable to alternative
upward and downward movements in virtue of the law of attraction. It is very
probable that many a landslip took place in those days, and that large portions
of sedimentary soil were cast into huge and mighty chasms."

     "Quite possible," I dryly remarked. "But, Uncle, if these antediluvian
animals formerly lived in these subterranean regions, what more likely than
that one of these monsters may at this moment be concealed behind one of yonder
mighty rocks."

     As I spoke, I looked keenly around, examining with care every point of the
horizon; but nothing alive appeared to exist on these deserted shores.

     I now felt rather fatigued, and told my uncle so. The walk and excitement
were too much for me in my weak state. I therefore seated myself at the end of
a promontory, at the foot of which the waves broke in incessant rolls. I looked
round a bay formed by projections of vast granitic rocks. At the extreme end
was a little port protected by huge pyramids of stones. A brig and three or
four schooners might have lain there with perfect ease. So natural did it seem,
that every minute my imagination induced me to expect a vessel coming out under
all sail and making for the open sea under the influence of a warm southerly
breeze.

     But the fantastic illusion never lasted more than a minute. We were the
only living creatures in this subterranean world!

     During certain periods there was an utter cessation of wind, when a
silence deeper, more terrible than the silence of the desert fell upon these
solitary and arid rocks--and seemed to hang like a leaden weight upon the
waters of this singular ocean. I sought, amid the awful stillness, to penetrate
through the distant fog, to tear down the veil which concealed the mysterious
distance. What unspoken words were murmured by my trembling lips--what
questions did I wish to ask and did not! Where did this sea end--to what did it
lead? Should we ever be able to examine its distant shores?

     But my uncle had no doubts about the matter. He was convinced that our
enterprise would in the end be successful. For my part, I was in a state of
painful indecision--I desired to embark on the journey and to succeed, and
still I feared the result.

     After we had passed an hour or more in silent contemplation of the
wondrous spectacle, we rose and went down towards the bank on our way to the
grotto, which I was not sorry to gain. After a slight repast, I sought refuge
in slumber, and at length, after many and tedious struggles, sleep came over my
weary eyes.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXVIII

LAUNCHING THE RAFT

     On the morning of the next day, to my great surprise, I awoke completely
restored. I thought a bath would be delightful after my long illness and
sufferings. So, soon after rising, I went and plunged into the waters of this
new Mediterranean. The bath was cool, fresh and invigorating.

     I came back to breakfast with an excellent appetite. Hans, our worthy
guide, thoroughly understood how to cook such eatables as we were able to
provide; he had both fire and water at discretion, so that he was enabled
slightly to vary the weary monotony of our ordinary repast.

     Our morning meal was like a capital English breakfast, with coffee by way
of a windup. And never had this delicious beverage been so welcome and
refreshing.

     My uncle had sufficient regard for my state of health not to interrupt me
in the enjoyment of the meal, but he was evidently delighted when I had
finished.

     "Now then," said he, "come with me. It is the height of the tide, and I am
anxious to study its curious phenomena."

     "What"' I cried, rising in astonishment, "did you say the tide, Uncle?"

     "Certainly I did."

     "You do not mean to say," I replied, in a tone of respectful doubt, "that
the influence of the sun and moon is felt here below."

     "And pray why not? Are not all bodies influenced by the law of universal
attraction? Why should this vast underground sea be exempt from the general
law, the rule of the universe? Besides, there is nothing like that which is
proved and demonstrated. Despite the great atmospheric pressure down here, you
will notice that this inland sea rises and falls with as much regularity as the
Atlantic itself."

     As my uncle spoke, we reached the sandy shore, and saw and heard the waves
breaking monotonously on the beach. They were evidently rising.

     "This is truly the flood," I cried, looking at the water at my feet.

     "Yes, my excellent nephew," replied my uncle, rubbing his hands with the
gusto of a philosopher, "and you see by these several streaks of foam that the
tide rises at least ten or twelve feet."

     "It is indeed marvelous."

     "By no means," he responded; "on the contrary, it is quite natural."

     "It may appear so in your eyes, my dear uncle," was my reply, "but all the
phenomena of the place appear to me to partake of the marvelous. It is almost
impossible to believe that which I see. Who in his wildest dreams could have
imagined that, beneath the crust of our earth, there could exist a real ocean,
with ebbing and flowing tides, with its changes of winds, and even its storms!
I for one should have laughed the suggestion to scorn."

     "But, Harry, my boy, why not?" inquired my uncle, with a pitying smile;
"is there any physical reason in opposition to it?

     "Well, if we give up the great theory of the central heat of the earth, I
certainly can offer no reasons why anything should be looked upon as
impossible."

     "Then you will own," he added, "that the system of Sir Humphry Davy is
wholly justified by what we have seen?"

     "I allow that it is--and that point once granted, I certainly can see no
reason for doubting the existence of seas and other wonders, even countries, in
the interior of the globe."

     "That is so--but of course these varied countries are uninhabited?"

     "Well, I grant that it is more likely than not: still, I do not see why
this sea should not have given shelter to some species of unknown fish."

     "Hitherto we have not discovered any, and the probabilities are rather
against our ever doing so," observed the Professor.

     I was losing my skepticism in the presence of these wonders.

     "Well, I am determined to solve the question. It is my intention to try my
luck with my fishing line and hook."

     "Certainly; make the experiment," said my uncle, pleased with my
enthusiasm. "While we are about it, it will certainly be only proper to
discover all the secrets of this extraordinary region."

     "But, after all, where are we now?" I asked; "all this time I have quite
forgotten to ask you a question, which, doubtless, your philosophical
instruments have long since answered."

     "Well," replied the Professor, "examining the situation from only one
point of view, we are now distant three hundred and fifty leagues from
Iceland."

     "So much?" was my exclamation.

     "I have gone over the matter several times, and am sure not to have made a
mistake of five hundred yards," replied my uncle positively.

     "And as to the direction--are we still going to the southeast?"

     "Yes, with a western declination* of nineteen degrees, forty-two minutes,
just as it is above. As for the inclination** I have discovered a very curious
fact." --

     *The declination is the variation of the needle from the true meridian of
a place.

     **Inclination is the dip of the magnetic needle with a tendency to incline
towards the earth. --

     "What may that be, Uncle? Your information interests me."

     "Why, that the needle instead of dipping towards the pole as it does on
earth, in the northern hemisphere, has an upward tendency."

     "This proves," I cried, "that the great point of magnetic attraction lies
somewhere between the surface of the earth and the spot we have succeeded in
reaching."

     "Exactly, my observant nephew," exclaimed my uncle, elated and delighted,
"and it is quite probable that if we succeed in getting toward the polar
regions--somewhere near the seventy-third degree of latitude, where Sir James
Ross discovered the magnetic pole, we shall behold the needle point directly
upward. We have therefore discovered by analogy, that this great center of
attraction is not situated at a very great depth."

     "Well," said I, rather surprised, "this discovery will astonish
experimental philosophers. It was never suspected."

     "Science, great, mighty and in the end unerring," replied my uncle
dogmatically, "science has fallen into many errors--errors which have been
fortunate and useful rather than otherwise, for they have been the
steppingstones to truth."

     After some further discussion, I turned to another matter.

     "Have you any idea of the depth we have reached?"

     "We are now," continued the Professor, "exactly thirty-five leagues--
above a hundred miles--down into the interior of the earth."

     "So," said I, after measuring the distance on the map, "we are now beneath
the Scottish Highlands, and have over our heads the lofty Grampian Hills."

     "You are quite right," said the Professor, laughing; "it sounds very
alarming, the weight being heavy--but the vault which supports this vast mass
of earth and rock is solid and safe; the mighty Architect of the Universe has
constructed it of solid materials. Man, even in his highest flights of vivid
and poetic imagination, never thought of such things! What are the finest
arches of our bridges, what the vaulted roofs of our cathedrals, to that mighty
dome above us, and beneath which floats an ocean with its storms and calms and
tides!"

     "I admire it all as much as you can, Uncle, and have no fear that our
granite sky will fall upon our heads. But now that we have discussed matters of
science and discovery, what are your future intentions? Are you not thinking of
getting back to the surface of our beautiful earth?"

     This was said more as a feeler than with any hope of success.

     "Go back, nephew," cried my uncle in a tone of alarm, "you are not surely
thinking of anything so absurd or cowardly. No, my intention is to advance and
continue our journey. We have as yet been singularly fortunate, and henceforth
I hope we shall be more so."

     "But," said I, "how are we to cross yonder liquid plain?"

     "It is not my intention to leap into it head foremost, or even to swim
across it, like Leander over the Hellespont. But as oceans are, after all, only
great lakes, inasmuch as they are surrounded by land, so does it stand to
reason, that this central sea is circumscribed by granite surroundings."

     "Doubtless," was my natural reply.

     "Well, then, do you not think that when once we reach the other end, we
shall find some means of continuing our journey?"

     "Probably, but what extent do you allow to this internal ocean?"

     "Well, I should fancy it to extend about forty or fifty leagues-- more or
less."

     "But even supposing this approximation to be a correct one--what then?" I
asked.

     "My dear boy, we have no time for further discussion. We shall embark
tomorrow."

     I looked around with surprise and incredulity. I could see nothing in the
shape of boat or vessel.

     "What!" I cried, "we are about to launch out upon an unknown sea; and
where, if I may ask, is the vessel to carry us?"

     "Well, my dear boy, it will not be exactly what you would call a vessel.
For the present we must be content with a good and solid raft."

     "A raft," I cried, incredulously, "but down here a raft is as impossible
of construction as a vessel--and I am at a loss to imagine--"

     "My good Harry--if you were to listen instead of talking so much, you
would hear," said my uncle, waxing a little impatient.

     "I should hear?"

     "Yes--certain knocks with the hammer, which Hans is now employing to make
the raft. He has been at work for many hours."

     "Making a raft?"

     "Yes."

     "But where has he found trees suitable for such a construction?"

     "He found the trees all ready to his hand. Come, and you shall see our
excellent guide at work."

     More and more amazed at what I heard and saw, I followed my uncle like one
in a dream.

     After a walk of about a quarter of an hour, I saw Hans at work on the
other side of the promontory which formed our natural port. A few minutes more
and I was beside him. To my great surprise, on the sandy shore lay a
half-finished raft. It was made from beams of a very peculiar wood, and a great
number of limbs, joints, boughs, and pieces lay about, sufficient to have
constructed a fleet of ships and boats.

     I turned to my uncle, silent with astonishment and awe.

     "Where did all this wood come from?" I cried; "what wood is it?"

     "Well, there is pinewood, fir, and the palms of the northern regions,
mineralized by the action of the sea," he replied, sententiously.

     "Can it be possible?"

     "Yes," said the learned Professor, "what you see is called fossil wood."

     "But then," cried I, after reflecting for a moment, "like the lignites, it
must be as hard and as heavy as iron, and therefore will certainly not float."

     "Sometimes that is the case. Many of these woods have become true
anthracites, but others again, like those you see before you, have only
undergone one phase of fossil transformation. But there is no proof like
demonstration," added my uncle, picking one or two of these precious waifs and
casting them into the sea.

     The piece of wood, after having disappeared for a moment, came to the
surface, and floated about with the oscillation produced by wind and tide.

     "Are you convinced?" said my uncle, with a self-satisfied smile.

     "I am convinced," I cried, "that what I see is incredible."

     The fact was that my journey into the interior of the earth was rapidly
changing all preconceived notions, and day by day preparing me for the
marvelous.

     I should not have been surprised to have seen a fleet of native canoes
afloat upon that silent sea.

     The very next evening, thanks to the industry and ability of Hans, the
raft was finished. It was about ten feet long and five feet wide. The beams
bound together with stout ropes, were solid and firm, and once launched by our
united efforts, the improvised vessel floated tranquilly upon the waters of
what the Professor had well named the Central Sea.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXIX

ON THE WATERS--A RAFT VOYAGE

     On the thirteenth of August we were up betimes. There was no time to be
lost. We now had to inaugurate a new kind of locomotion, which would have the
advantage of being rapid and not fatiguing.

     A mast, made of two pieces of wood fastened together, to give additional
strength, a yard made from another one, the sail a linen sheet from our bed. We
were fortunately in no want of cordage, and the whole on trial appeared solid
and seaworthy.

     At six o'clock in the morning, when the eager and enthusiastic Professor
gave the signal to embark, the victuals, the luggage, all our instruments, our
weapons, and a goodly supply of sweet water, which we had collected from
springs in the rocks, were placed on the raft.

     Hans had, with considerable ingenuity, contrived a rudder, which enabled
him to guide the floating apparatus with ease. He took the tiller, as a matter
of course. The worthy man was as good a sailor as he was a guide and duck
hunter. I then let go the painter which held us to the shore, the sail was
brought to the wind, and we made a rapid offing.

     Our sea voyage had at length commenced; and once more we were making for
distant and unknown regions.

     Just as we were about to leave the little port where the raft had been
constructed, my uncle, who was very strong as to geographic nomenclature,
wanted to give it a name, and among others, suggested mine.

     "Well," said I, "before you decide I have another to propose."

     "Well; out with it."

     "I should like to call it Gretchen. Port Gretchen will sound very well on
our future map."

     "Well then, Port Gretchen let it be," said the Professor.

     And thus it was that the memory of my dear girl was attached to our
adventurous and memorable expedition.

     When we left the shore the wind was blowing from the northward and
eastward. We went directly before the wind at a much greater speed than might
have been expected from a raft. The dense layers of atmosphere at that depth
had great propelling power and acted upon the sail with considerable force.

     At the end of an hour, my uncle, who had been taking careful observations,
was enabled to judge of the rapidity with which we moved. It was far beyond
anything seen in the upper world.

     "If," he said, "we continue to advance at our present rate, we shall have
traveled at least thirty leagues in twenty-four hours. With a mere raft this is
an almost incredible velocity."

     I certainly was surprised, and without making any reply went forward upon
the raft. Already the northern shore was fading away on the edge of the
horizon. The two shores appeared to separate more and more, leaving a wide and
open space for our departure. Before me I could see nothing but the vast and
apparently limitless sea--upon which we floated--the only living objects in
sight.

     Huge and dark clouds cast their grey shadows below--shadows which seemed
to crush that colorless and sullen water by their weight. Anything more
suggestive of gloom and of regions of nether darkness I never beheld. Silvery
rays of electric light, reflected here and there upon some small spots of
water, brought up luminous sparkles in the long wake of our cumbrous bark.
Presently we were wholly out of sight of land; not a vestige could be seen, nor
any indication of where we were going. So still and motionless did we seem
without any distant point to fix our eyes on that but for the phosphoric light
at the wake of the raft I should have fancied that we were still and
motionless.

     But I knew that we were advancing at a very rapid rate.

     About twelve o'clock in the day, vast collections of seaweed were
discovered surrounding us on all sides. I was aware of the extraordinary
vegetative power of these plants, which have been known to creep along the
bottom of the great ocean, and stop the advance of large ships. But never were
seaweeds ever seen, so gigantic and wonderful as those of the Central Sea. I
could well imagine how, seen at a distance, tossing and heaving on the summit
of the billows, the long lines of algae have been taken for living things, and
thus have been fertile sources of the belief in sea serpents.

     Our raft swept past great specimens of fucus or seawrack, from three to
four thousand feet in length, immense, incredibly long, looking like snakes
that stretched out far beyond our horizon. It afforded me great amusement to
gaze on their variegated ribbon-like endless lengths. Hour after hour passed
without our coming to the termination of these floating weeds. If my
astonishment increased, my patience was well-nigh exhausted.

     What natural force could possibly have produced such abnormal and
extraordinary plants? What must have been the aspect of the globe, during the
first centuries of its formation, when under the combined action of heat and
humidity, the vegetable kingdom occupied its vast surface to the exclusion of
everything else?

     These were considerations of never-ending interest for the geologist and
the philosopher.

     All this while we were advancing on our journey; and at length night came;
but as I had remarked the evening before, the luminous state of the atmosphere
was in nothing diminished. Whatever was the cause, it was a phenomenon upon the
duration of which we could calculate with certainty.

     As soon as our supper had been disposed of, and some little speculative
conversation indulged in, I stretched myself at the foot of the mast, and
presently went to sleep.

     Hans remained motionless at the tiller, allowing the raft to rise and fall
on the waves. The wind being aft, and the sail square, all he had to do was to
keep his oar in the center.

     Ever since we had taken our departure from the newly named Port Gretchen,
my worthy uncle had directed me to keep a regular log of our day's navigation,
with instructions to put down even the most minute particulars, every
interesting and curious phenomenon, the direction of the wind, our rate of
sailing, the distance we went; in a word, every incident of our extraordinary
voyage.

     From our log, therefore, I tell the story of our voyage on the Central
Sea. --

     Friday, August 14th. A steady breeze from the northwest. Raft progressing
with extreme rapidity, and going perfectly straight. Coast still dimly visible
about thirty leagues to leeward. Nothing to be seen beyond the horizon in
front. The extraordinary intensity of the light neither increases nor
diminishes. It is singularly stationary. The weather remarkably fine; that is
to say, the clouds have ascended very high, and are light and fleecy, and
surrounded by an atmosphere resembling silver in fusion.

     Thermometer, +32 degrees centigrade.

     About twelve o'clock in the day our guide Hans having prepared and baited
a hook, cast his line into the subterranean waters. The bait he used was a
small piece of meat, by means of which he concealed his hook. Anxious as I was,
I was for a long time doomed to disappointment. Were these waters supplied with
fish or not? That was the important question. No--was my decided answer. Then
there came a sudden and rather hard tug. Hans coolly drew it in, and with it a
fish, which struggled violently to escape.

     "A fish!" cried my uncle.

     "It is a sturgeon!" I cried, "certainly a small sturgeon."

     The Professor examined the fish carefully, noting every characteristic;
and he did not coincide in my opinion. The fish had a flat head, round body,
and the lower extremities covered with bony scales; its mouth was wholly
without teeth, the pectoral fins, which were highly developed, sprouted direct
from the body, which properly speaking had no tail. The animal certainly
belonged to the order in which naturalists class the sturgeon, but it differed
from that fish in many essential particulars.

     My uncle, after all, was not mistaken. After a long and patient
examination, he said:

     "This fish, my dear boy, belongs to a family which has been extinct for
ages, and of which no trace has ever been found on earth, except fossil remains
in the Devonian strata."

     "You do not mean to say," I cried, "that we have captured a live specimen
of a fish belonging to the primitive stock that existed before the deluge?"

     "We have," said the Professor, who all this time was continuing his
observations, "and you may see by careful examination that these fossil fish
have no identity with existing species. To hold in one's hand, therefore, a
living specimen of the order, is enough to make a naturalist happy for life."

     "But," cried I, "to what family does it belong?"

     "To the order of Ganoides--an order of fish having angular scales, covered
with bright enamel--forming one of the family of the Cephalaspides, of the
genus--"

     "Well, sir," I remarked, as I noticed my uncle hesitated to conclude.

     "To the genus Pterychtis--yes, I am certain of it. Still, though I am
confident of the correctness of my surmise, this fish offers to our notice a
remarkable peculiarity, never known to exist in any other fish but those which
are the natives of subterranean waters, wells, lakes, in caverns, and suchlike
hidden pools."

     "And what may that be?"

     "It is blind."

     "Blind!" I cried, much surprised.

     "Not only blind," continued the Professor, "but absolutely without organs
of sight."

     I now examined our discovery for myself. It was singular, to be sure, but
it was really a fact. This, however, might be a solitary instance, I suggested.
The hook was baited again and once more thrown into the water. This
subterranean ocean must have been tolerably well supplied with fish, for in two
hours we took a large number of Pterychtis, as well as other fish belonging to
another supposed extinct family--the Dipterides (a genus of fish, furnished
with two fins only, whence the name), though my uncle could not class it
exactly. All, without exception, however, were blind. This unexpected capture
enabled us to renew our stock of provisions in a very satisfactory way.

     We were now convinced that this subterranean sea contained only fish known
to us as fossil specimens--and fish and reptiles alike were all the more
perfect the farther back they dated their origin.

     We began to hope that we should find some of those saurians which science
has succeeded in reconstructing from bits of bone or cartilage.

     I took up the telescope and carefully examined the horizon--looked over
the whole sea; it was utterly and entirely deserted. Doubtless we were still
too near the coast.

     After an examination of the ocean, I looked upward, towards the strange
and mysterious sky. Why should not one of the birds reconstructed by the
immortal Cuvier flap his stupendous wings aloft in the dull strata of
subterranean air? It would, of course, find quite sufficient food from the fish
in the sea. I gazed for some time upon the void above. It was as silent and as
deserted as the shores we had but lately left.

     Nevertheless, though I could neither see nor discover anything, my
imagination carried me away into wild hypotheses. I was in a kind of waking
dream. I thought I saw on the surface of the water those enormous antediluvian
turtles as big as floating islands. Upon those dull and somber shores passed a
spectral row of the mammifers of early days, the great Liptotherium found in
the cavernous hollow of the Brazilian hills, the Mesicotherium, a native of the
glacial regions of Siberia.

     Farther on, the pachydermatous Lophrodon, that gigantic tapir, which
concealed itself behind rocks, ready to do battle for its prey with the
Anoplotherium, a singular animal partaking of the nature of the rhinoceros, the
horse, the hippopotamus and the camel.

     There was the giant Mastodon, twisting and turning his horrid trunk, with
which he crushed the rocks of the shore to powder, while the Megatherium--his
back raised like a cat in a passion, his enormous claws stretched out, dug into
the earth for food, at the same time that he awoke the sonorous echoes of the
whole place with his terrible roar.

     Higher up still, the first monkey ever seen on the face of the globe
clambered, gamboling and playing up the granite hills. Still farther away, ran
the Pterodactyl, with the winged hand, gliding or rather sailing through the
dense and compressed air like a huge bat.

     Above all, near the leaden granitic sky, were immense birds, more powerful
than the cassowary and the ostrich, which spread their mighty wings and
fluttered against the huge stone vault of the inland sea.

     I thought, such was the effect of my imagination, that I saw this whole
tribe of antediluvian creatures. I carried myself back to far ages, long before
man existed--when, in fact, the earth was in too imperfect a state for him to
live upon it.

     My dream was of countless ages before the existence of man. The mammifers
first disappeared, then the mighty birds, then the reptiles of the secondary
period, presently the fish, the crustacea, the mollusks, and finally the
vertebrata. The zoophytes of the period of transition in their turn sank into
annihilation.

     The whole panorama of the world's life before the historic period, seemed
to be born over again, and mine was the only human heart that beat in this
unpeopled world! There were no more seasons; there were no more climates; the
natural heat of the world increased unceasingly, and neutralized that of the
great radiant Sun.

     Vegetation was exaggerated in an extraordinary manner. I passed like a
shadow in the midst of brushwood as lofty as the giant trees of California, and
trod underfoot the moist and humid soil, reeking with a rank and varied
vegetation.

     I leaned against the huge column-like trunks of giant trees, to which
those of Canada were as ferns. Whole ages passed, hundreds upon hundreds of
years were concentrated into a single day.

     Next, unrolled before me like a panorama, came the great and wondrous
series of terrestrial transformations. Plants disappeared; the granitic rocks
lost all trace of solidity; the liquid state was suddenly substituted for that
which had before existed. This was caused by intense heat acting on the organic
matter of the earth. The waters flowed over the whole surface of the globe;
they boiled; they were volatilized, or turned into vapor; a kind of steam cloud
wrapped the whole earth, the globe itself becoming at last nothing but one huge
sphere of gas, indescribable in color, between white heat and red, as big and
as brilliant as the sun.

     In the very center of this prodigious mass, fourteen hundred thousand
times as large as our globe, I was whirled round in space, and brought into
close conjunction with the planets. My body was subtilized, or rather became
volatile, and commingled in a state of atomic vapor, with the prodigious
clouds, which rushed forward like a mighty comet into infinite space!

     What an extraordinary dream! Where would it finally take me? My feverish
hand began to write down the marvelous details--details more like the
imaginings of a lunatic than anything sober and real. I had during this period
of hallucination forgotten everything--the Professor, the guide, and the raft
on which we were floating. My mind was in a state of semioblivion.

     "What is the matter, Harry?" said my uncle suddenly.

     My eyes, which were wide opened like those of a somnambulist, were fixed
upon him, but I did not see him, nor could I clearly make out anything around
me.

     "Take care, my boy," again cried my uncle, "you will fall into the sea."

     As he uttered these words, I felt myself seized on the other side by the
firm hand of our devoted guide. Had it not been for the presence of mind of
Hans, I must infallibly have fallen into the waves and been drowned.

     "Have you gone mad?" cried my uncle, shaking me on the other side.

     "What--what is the matter?" I said at last, coming to myself.

     "Are you ill, Henry?" continued the Professor in an anxious tone.

     "No--no; but I have had an extraordinary dream. It, however, has passed
away. All now seems well"' I added, looking around me with strangely puzzled
eyes.

     "All right," said my uncle; "a beautiful breeze, a splendid sea. We are
going along at a rapid rate, and if I am not out in my calculations we shall
soon see land. I shall not be sorry to exchange the narrow limits of our raft
for the mysterious strand of the subterranean ocean."

     As my uncle uttered these words, I rose and carefully scanned the horizon.
But the line of water was still confounded with the lowering clouds that hung
aloft, and in the distance appeared to touch the edge of the water.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXX

TERRIFIC SAURIAN COMBAT

     Saturday, August 15th. The sea still retains its uniform monotony. The
same leaden hue, the same eternal glare from above. No indication of land being
in sight. The horizon appears to retreat before us, more and more as we
advance.

     My head, still dull and heavy from the effects of my extraordinary dream,
which I cannot as yet banish from my mind.

     The Professor, who has not dreamed, is, however, in one of his morose and
unaccountable humors. Spends his time in scanning the horizon, at every point
of the compass. His telescope is raised every moment to his eyes, and when he
finds nothing to give any clue to our whereabouts, he assumes a Napoleonic
attitude and walks anxiously.

     I remarked that my uncle, the Professor, had a strong tendency to resume
his old impatient character, and I could not but make a note of this
disagreeable circumstance in my journal. I saw clearly that it had required all
the influence of my danger and suffering, to extract from him one scintillation
of humane feeling. Now that I was quite recovered, his original nature had
conquered and obtained the upper hand.

     And, after all, what had he to be angry and annoyed about, now more than
at any other time? Was not the journey being accomplished under the most
favorable circumstances? Was not the raft progressing with the most marvelous
rapidity?

     What, then, could be the matter? After one or two preliminary hems, I
determined to inquire.

     "You seem uneasy, Uncle," said I, when for about the hundredth time he put
down his telescope and walked up and down, muttering to himself.

     "No, I am not uneasy," he replied in a dry harsh tone, "by no means."

     "Perhaps I should have said impatient," I replied, softening the force of
my remark.

     "Enough to make me so, I think."

     "And yet we are advancing at a rate seldom attained by a raft," I
remarked.

     "What matters that?" cried my uncle. "I am not vexed at the rate we go at,
but I am annoyed to find the sea so much vaster than I expected."

     I then recollected that the Professor, before our departure, had estimated
the length of this subterranean ocean as at most about thirty leagues. Now we
had traveled at least over thrice that distance without discovering any trace
of the distant shore. I began to understand my uncle's anger.

     "We are not going down," suddenly exclaimed the Professor. "We are not
progressing with our great discoveries. All this is utter loss of time. After
all, I did not come from home to undertake a party of pleasure. This voyage on
a raft over a pond annoys and wearies me."

     He called this adventurous journey a party of pleasure, and this great
inland sea a pond!

     "But," argued I, "if we have followed the route indicated by the great
Saknussemm, we cannot be going far wrong."

     "'That is the question,' as the great, the immortal Shakespeare, has it.
Are we following the route indicated by that wondrous sage? Did Saknussemm ever
fall in with this great sheet of water? If he did, did he cross it? I begin to
fear that the rivulet we adopted for a guide has led us wrong."

     "In any case, we can never regret having come thus far. It is worth the
whole journey to have enjoyed this magnificent spectacle--it is something to
have seen."

     "I care nothing about seeing, nor about magnificent spectacles. I came
down into the interior of the earth with an object, and that object I mean to
attain. Don't talk to me about admiring scenery, or any other sentimental
trash."

     After this I thought it well to hold my tongue, and allow the Professor to
bite his lips until the blood came, without further remark.

     At six o'clock in the evening, our matter-of-fact guide, Hans, asked for
his week's salary, and receiving his three rix-dollars, put them carefully in
his pocket. He was perfectly contented and satisfied. --

     Sunday, August 16th. Nothing new to record. The same weather as before.
The wind has a slight tendency to freshen up, with signs of an approaching
gale. When I awoke, My first observation was in regard to the intensity of the
light. I keep on fearing, day after day, that the extraordinary electric
phenomenon should become first obscured, and then go wholly out, leaving us in
total darkness. Nothing, however, of the kind occurs. The shadow of the raft,
its mast and sails, is clearly distinguished on the surface of the water.

     This wondrous sea is, after all, infinite in its extent. It must be quite
as wide as the Mediterranean--or perhaps even as the great Atlantic Ocean. Why,
after all, should it not be so?

     My uncle has on more than one occasion, tried deep-sea soundings. He tied
the cross of one of our heaviest crowbars to the extremity of a cord, which he
allowed to run out to the extent of two hundred fathoms. We had the greatest
difficulty in hoisting in our novel kind of lead.

     When the crowbar was finally dragged on board, Hans called my attention to
some singular marks upon its surface. The piece of iron looked as if it had
been crushed between two very hard substances.

     I looked at our worthy guide with an inquiring glance.

     "Tander," said he.

     Of course I was at a loss to understand. I turned round towards my uncle,
absorbed in gloomy reflections. I had little wish to disturb him from his
reverie. I accordingly turned once more towards our worthy Icelander.

     Hans very quietly and significantly opened his mouth once or twice, as if
in the act of biting, and in this way made me understand his meaning.

     "Teeth!" cried I, with stupefaction, as I examined the bar of iron with
more attention.

     Yes. There can be no doubt about the matter. The indentations on the bar
of iron are the marks of teeth! What jaws must the owner of such molars be
possessed of! Have well then, come upon a monster of unknown species, which
still exists within the vast waste of waters--a monster more voracious than a
shark, more terrible and bulky than the whale? I am unable to withdraw my eyes
from the bar of iron, actually half crushed!

     Is, then, my dream about to come true--a dread and terrible reality?

     All day my thoughts were bent upon these speculations, and my imagination
scarcely regained a degree of calmness and power of reflection until after a
sleep of many hours.

     This day, as on other Sundays, we observed as a day of rest and pious
meditation. --

     Monday, August 17th. I have been trying to realize from memory the
particular instincts of those antediluvian animals of the secondary period,
which succeeding to the mollusca, to the crustacea, and to the fish, preceded
the appearance of the race of mammifers. The generation of reptiles then
reigned supreme upon the earth. These hideous monsters ruled everything in the
seas of the secondary period, which formed the strata of which the Jura
mountains are composed. Nature had endowed them with perfect organization. What
a gigantic structure was theirs; what vast and prodigious strength they
possessed!

     The existing saurians, which include all such reptiles as lizards,
crocodiles, and alligators, even the largest and most formidable of their
class, are but feeble imitations of their mighty sires, the animals of ages
long ago. If there were giants in the days of old, there were also gigantic
animals.

     I shuddered as I evolved from my mind the idea and recollection of these
awful monsters. No eye of man had seen them in the flesh. They took their walks
abroad upon the face of the earth thousands of ages before man came into
existence, and their fossil bones, discovered in the limestone, have allowed us
to reconstruct them anatomically, and thus to get some faint idea of their
colossal formation.

     I recollect once seeing in the great Museum of Hamburg the skeleton of one
of these wonderful saurians. It measured no less than thirty feet from the nose
to the tail. Am I, then, an inhabitant of the earth of the present day,
destined to find myself face to face with a representative of this antediluvian
family? I can scarcely believe it possible; I can hardly believe it true. And
yet these marks of powerful teeth upon the bar of iron! Can there be a doubt
from their shape that the bite is the bite of a crocodile?

     My eyes stare wildly and with terror upon the subterranean sea. Every
moment I expect one of these monsters to rise from its vast cavernous depths.

     I fancy that the worthy Professor in some measure shares my notions, if
not my fears, for, after an attentive examination of the crowbar, he cast his
eyes rapidly over the mighty and mysterious ocean.

     "What could possess him to leave the land," I thought, "as if the depth of
this water was of any importance to us. No doubt he has disturbed some terrible
monster in his watery home, and perhaps we may pay dearly for our temerity."

     Anxious to be prepared for the worst, I examined our weapons, and saw that
they were in a fit state for use. My uncle looked on at me and nodded his head
approvingly. He, too, has noticed what we have to fear.

     Already the uplifting of the waters on the surface indicates that
something is in motion below. The danger approaches. It comes nearer and
nearer. It behooves us to be on the watch. --

     Tuesday, August 18th. Evening came at last, the hour when the desire for
sleep caused our eyelids to be heavy. Night there is not, properly speaking, in
this place, any more than there is in summer in the arctic regions. Hans,
however, is immovable at the rudder. When he snatches a moment of rest I really
cannot say. I take advantage of his vigilance to take some little repose.

     But two hours after I was awakened from a heavy sleep by an awful shock.
The raft appeared to have struck upon a sunken rock. It was lifted right out of
the water by some wondrous and mysterious power, and then started off twenty
fathoms distant.

     "Eh, what is it?" cried my uncle starting up. "Are we shipwrecked, or
what?"

     Hans raised his hand and pointed to where, about two hundred yards off, a
large black mass was moving up and down.

     I looked with awe. My worst fears were realized.

     "It is a colossal monster!" I cried, clasping my hands.

     "Yes," cried the agitated Professor, "and there yonder is a huge sea
lizard of terrible size and shape."

     "And farther on behold a prodigious crocodile. Look at his hideous jaws,
and that row of monstrous teeth. Ha! he has gone."

     "A whale! a whale!" shouted the Professor, "I can see her enormous fins.
See, see, how she blows air and water!"

     Two liquid columns rose to a vast height above the level of the sea, into
which they fell with a terrific crash, waking up the echoes of that awful
place. We stood still--surprised, stupefied, terror-stricken at the sight of
this group of fearful marine monsters, more hideous in the reality than in my
dream. They were of supernatural dimensions; the very smallest of the whole
party could with ease have crushed our raft and ourselves with a single bite.

     Hans, seizing the rudder which had flown out of his hand, puts it hard
aweather in order to escape from such dangerous vicinity; but no sooner does he
do so, than he finds he is flying from Scylla to Charybdis. To leeward is a
turtle about forty feet wide, and a serpent quite as long, with an enormous and
hideous head peering from out the waters.

     Look which way we will, it is impossible for us to fly. The fearful
reptiles advanced upon us; they turned and twisted about the raft with awful
rapidity. They formed around our devoted vessel a series of concentric circles.
I took up my rifle in desperation. But what effect can a rifle ball produce
upon the armor scales with which the bodies of these horrid monsters are
covered?

     We remain still and dumb from utter horror. They advance upon us, nearer
and nearer. Our fate appears certain, fearful and terrible. On one side the
mighty crocodile, on the other the great sea serpent. The rest of the fearful
crowd of marine prodigies have plunged beneath the briny waves and disappeared!

     I am about to fire at any risk and try the effect of a shot. Hans, the
guide, however, interfered by a sign to check me. The two hideous and ravenous
monsters passed within fifty fathoms of the raft, and then made a rush at one
another--their fury and rage preventing them from seeing us.

     The combat commenced. We distinctly made out every action of the two
hideous monsters.

     But to my excited imagination the other animals appeared about to take
part in the fierce and deadly struggle--the monster, the whale, the lizard, and
the turtle. I distinctly saw them every moment. I pointed them out to the
Icelander. But he only shook his head.

     "Tva," he said.

     "What--two only does he say. Surely he is mistaken, "I cried in a tone of
wonder.

     "He is quite right," replied my uncle coolly and philosophically,
examining the terrible duel with his telescope and speaking as if he were in a
lecture room.

     "How can that be?"

     "Yes, it is so. The first of these hideous monsters has the snout of a
porpoise, the head of a lizard, the teeth of a crocodile; and it is this that
has deceived us. It is the most fearful of all antediluvian reptiles, the
world-renowned Ichthyosaurus or great fish lizard."

     "And the other?"

     "The other is a monstrous serpent, concealed under the hard vaulted shell
of the turtle, the terrible enemy of its fearful rival, the Plesiosaurus, or
sea crocodile."

     Hans was quite right. The two monsters only, disturbed the surface of the
sea!

     At last have mortal eyes gazed upon two reptiles of the great primitive
ocean! I see the flaming red eyes of the Ichthyosaurus, each as big, or bigger
than a man's head. Nature in its infinite wisdom had gifted this wondrous
marine animal with an optical apparatus of extreme power, capable of resisting
the pressure of the heavy layers of water which rolled over him in the depths
of the ocean where he usually fed. It has by some authors truly been called the
whale of the saurian race, for it is as big and quick in its motions as our
king of the seas. This one measures not less than a hundred feet in length, and
I can form some idea of his girth when I see him lift his prodigious tail out
of the waters. His jaw is of awful size and strength, and according to the
best-informed naturalists, it does not contain less than a hundred and
eighty-two teeth.

     The other was the mighty Plesiosaurus, a serpent with a cylindrical trunk,
with a short stumpy tail, with fins like a bank of oars in a Roman galley.

     Its whole body covered by a carapace or shell, and its neck, as flexible
as that of a swan, rose more than thirty feet above the waves, a tower of
animated flesh!

     These animals attacked one another with inconceivable fury. Such a combat
was never seen before by mortal eyes, and to us who did see it, it appeared
more like the phantasmagoric creation of a dream than anything else. They
raised mountains of water, which dashed in spray over the raft, already tossed
to and fro by the waves. Twenty times we seemed on the point of being upset and
hurled headlong into the waves. Hideous hisses appeared to shake the gloomy
granite roof of that mighty cavern--hisses which carried terror to our hearts.
The awful combatants held each other in a tight embrace. I could not make out
one from the other. Still the combat could not last forever; and woe unto us,
whichsoever became the victor.

     One hour, two hours, three hours passed away, without any decisive result.
The struggle continued with the same deadly tenacity, but without apparent
result. The deadly opponents now approached, now drew away from the raft. Once
or twice we fancied they were about to leave us altogether, but instead of
that, they came nearer and nearer.

     We crouched on the raft ready to fire at them at a moment's notice, poor
as the prospect of hurting or terrifying them was. Still we were determined not
to perish without a struggle.

     Suddenly the Ichthyosaurus and the Plesiosaurus disappeared beneath the
waves, leaving behind them a maelstrom in the midst of the sea. We were nearly
drawn down by the indraft of the water!

     Several minutes elapsed before anything was again seen. Was this wonderful
combat to end in the depths of the ocean? Was the last act of this terrible
drama to take place without spectators?

     It was impossible for us to say.

     Suddenly, at no great distance from us, an enormous mass rises out of the
waters--the head of the great Plesiosaurus. The terrible monster is now wounded
unto death. I can see nothing now of his enormous body. All that could be
distinguished was his serpent-like neck, which he twisted and curled in all the
agonies of death. Now he struck the waters with it as if it had been a gigantic
whip, and then again wriggled like a worm cut in two. The water was spurted up
to a great distance in all directions. A great portion of it swept over our
raft and nearly blinded us. But soon the end of the beast approached nearer and
nearer; his movements slackened visibly; his contortions almost ceased; and at
last the body of the mighty snake lay an inert, dead mass on the surface of the
now calm and placid waters.

     As for the Ichthyosaurus, has he gone down to his mighty cavern under the
sea to rest, or will he reappear to destroy us?

     This question remained unanswered. And we had breathing time.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXXI

THE SEA MONSTER

     Wednesday, August 19th. Fortunately the wind, which for the present blows
with some violence, has allowed us to escape from the scene of the unparalleled
and extraordinary struggle. Hans with his usual imperturbable calm remained at
the helm. My uncle, who for a short time had been withdrawn from his absorbing
reveries by the novel incidents of this sea fight, fell back again apparently
into a brown study. His eyes were fixed impatiently on the widespread ocean.

     Our voyage now became monotonous and uniform. Dull as it has become, I
have no desire to have it broken by any repetition of the perils and adventures
of yesterday. --

     Thursday, August 20th. The wind is now N. N. E., and blows very
irregularly. It has changed to fitful gusts. The temperature is exceedingly
high. We are now progressing at the average rate of about ten miles and a half
per hour.

     About twelve o'clock a distant sound as of thunder fell upon our ears. I
make a note of the fact without even venturing a suggestion as to its cause. It
was one continued roar as of a sea falling over mighty rocks.

     "Far off in the distance," said the Professor dogmatically, "there is some
rock or some island against which the seal lashed to fury by the wind, is
breaking violently."

     Hans, without saying a word, clambered to the top of the mast, but could
make out nothing. The ocean was level in every direction as far as the eye
could reach.

     Three hours passed away without any sign to indicate what might be before
us. The sound began to assume that of a mighty cataract.

     I expressed my opinion on this point strongly to my uncle. He merely shook
his head. I, however, am strongly impressed by a conviction that I am not
wrong. Are we advancing towards some mighty waterfall which shall cast us into
the abyss? Probably this mode of descending into the abyss may be agreeable to
the Professor, because it would be something like the vertical descent he is so
eager to make. I entertain a very different opinion.

     Whatever be the truth, it is certain that not many leagues distant there
must be some very extraordinary phenomenon, for as we advance the roar becomes
something mighty and stupendous. Is it in the water, or in the air?

     I cast hasty glances aloft at the suspended vapors, and I seek to
penetrate their mighty depths. But the vault above is tranquil. The clouds,
which are now elevated to the very summit, appear utterly still and motionless,
and completely lost in the irradiation of electric light. It is necessary,
therefore, to seek for the cause of this phenomenon elsewhere.

     I examine the horizon, now perfectly calm, pure, and free from all haze.
Its aspect still remains unchanged. But if this awful noise proceeds from a
cataract--if, so to speak in plain English, this vast interior ocean is
precipitated into a lower basin--if these tremendous roars are produced by the
noise of falling waters, the current would increase in activity, and its
increasing swiftness would give me some idea of the extent of the peril with
which we are menaced. I consult the current. It simply does not exist: there is
no such thing. An empty bottle cast into the water lies to leeward without
motion.

     About four o'clock Hans rises, clambers up the mast, and reaches the truck
itself. From this elevated position his looks are cast around. They take in a
vast circumference of the ocean. At last, his eyes remain fixed. His face
expresses no astonishment, but his eyes slightly dilate.

     "He has seen something at last," cried my uncle.

     "I think so", I replied.

     Hans came down, stood beside us, and pointed with his right hand to the
south.

     "Der nere," he said.

     "There," replied my uncle.

     And seizing his telescope, he looked at it with great attention for about
a minute, which to me appeared an age. I knew not what to think or expect.

     "Yes, yes," he cried in a tone of considerable surprise, "there it is."

     "What?" I asked.

     "A tremendous spurt of water rising out of the waves."

     "Some other marine monster, I cried, already alarmed.

     "Perhaps."

     "Then let us steer more to the westward, for we know what we have to
expect from antediluvian animals," was my eager reply.

     "Go ahead," said my uncle.

     I turned towards Hans. Hans was at the tiller steering with his usual
imperturbable calm.

     Nevertheless, if from the distance which separated us from this creature,
a distance which must be estimated at not less than a dozen leagues, one could
see the column of water spurting from the blow-hole of the great animal, his
dimensions must be something preternatural. To fly is, therefore, the course to
be suggested by ordinary prudence. But we have not come into that part of the
world to be prudent. Such is my uncle's determination.

     We, accordingly, continued to advance. The nearer we come, the loftier is
the spouting water. What monster can fill himself with such huge volumes of
water, and then unceasingly spout them out in such lofty jets?

     At eight o'clock in the evening, reckoning as above ground, where there is
day and night, we are not more than two leagues from the mighty beast. Its
long, black, enormous, mountainous body, lies on the top of the water like an
island. But then sailors have been said to have gone ashore on sleeping whales,
mistaking them for land. Is it illusion, or is it fear? Its length cannot be
less than a thousand fathoms. What, then, is this cetaceous monster of which no
Cuvier ever thought?

     It is quite motionless and presents the appearance of sleep. The sea seems
unable to lift him upwards; it is rather the waves which break on his huge and
gigantic frame. The waterspout, rising to a height of five hundred feet, breaks
in spray with a dull, sullen roar.

     We advance, like senseless lunatics, towards this mighty mass.

     I honestly confess that I was abjectly afraid. I declared that I would go
no farther. I threatened in my terror to cut the sheet of the sail. I attacked
the Professor with considerable acrimony, calling him foolhardy, mad, I know
not what. He made no answer.

     Suddenly the imperturbable Hans once more pointed his finger to the
menacing object: "Holme!"

     "An island!" cried my uncle.

     "An island?" I replied, shrugging my shoulders at this poor attempt at
deception.

     "Of course it is," cried my uncle, bursting into a loud and joyous laugh.

     "But the waterspout?"

     "Geyser," said Hans.

     "Yes, of course--a geyser," replied my uncle, still laughing, "a geyser
like those common in Iceland. Jets like this are the great wonders of the
country."

     At first I would not allow that I had been so grossly deceived. What could
be more ridiculous than to have taken an island for a marine monster? But kick
as one may, one must yield to evidence, and I was finally convinced of my
error. It was nothing, after all, but a natural phenomenon.

     As we approached nearer and nearer, the dimensions of the liquid sheaf of
waters became truly grand and stupendous. The island had, at a distance,
presented the appearance of an enormous whale, whose head rose high above the
waters. The geyser, a word the Icelanders pronounce geysir, and which signifies
fury, rose majestically from its summit. Dull detonations are heard every now
and then, and the enormous jet, taken as it were with sudden fury, shakes its
plume of vapor, and bounds into the first layer of the clouds. It is alone.
Neither spurts of vapor nor hot springs surround it, and the whole volcanic
power of that region is concentrated in one sublime column. The rays of
electric light mix with this dazzling sheaf, every drop as it falls assuming
the prismatic colors of the rainbow.

     "Let us go on shore," said the Professor, after some minutes of silence.

     It is necessary, however, to take great precaution, in order to avoid the
weight of falling waters, which would cause the raft to founder in an instant.
Hans, however, steers admirably, and brings us to the other extremity of the
island.

     I was the first to leap on the rock. My uncle followed, while the
eider-duck hunter remained still, like a man above any childish sources of
astonishment. We were now walking on granite mixed with siliceous sandstone;
the soil shivered under our feet like the sides of boilers in which over-heated
steam is forcibly confined. It is burning. We soon came in sight of the little
central basin from which rose the geyser. I plunged a thermometer into the
water which ran bubbling from the center, and it marked a heat of a hundred and
sixty-three degrees!

     This water, therefore, came from some place where the heat was intense.
This was singularly in contradiction with the theories of Professor Hardwigg. I
could not help telling him my opinion on the subject.

     "Well," said he sharply, "and what does this prove against my doctrine?

     "Nothing," replied I dryly, seeing that I was running my head against a
foregone conclusion.

     Nevertheless, I am compelled to confess that until now we have been most
remarkably fortunate, and that this voyage is being accomplished in most
favorable conditions of temperature; but it appears evident, in fact, certain,
that we shall sooner or later arrive at one of those regions where the central
heat will reach its utmost limits, and will go far beyond all the possible
gradations of thermometers.

     Visions of the Hades of the ancients, believed to be in the center of the
earth, floated through my imagination.

     We shall, however, see what we shall see. That is the Professor's favorite
phrase now. Having christened the volcanic island by the name of his nephew,
the leader of the expedition turned away and gave the signal for embarkation.

     I stood still, however, for some minutes, gazing upon the magnificent
geyser. I soon was able to perceive that the upward tendency of the water was
irregular; now it diminished in intensity, and then, suddenly, it regained new
vigor, which I attributed to the variation of the pressure of the accumulated
vapors in its reservoir.

     At last we took our departure, going carefully round the projecting, and
rather dangerous, rocks of the southern side. Hans had taken advantage of this
brief halt to repair the raft.

     Before we took our final departure from the island, however, I made some
observations to calculate the distance we had gone over, and I put them down in
my journal. Since we left Port Gretchen, we had traveled two hundred and
seventy leagues--more than eight hundred miles--on this great inland sea; we
were, therefore, six hundred and twenty leagues from Iceland, and exactly under
England.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXXII

THE BATTLE OF THE ELEMENTS

     Friday, August 21st. This morning the magnificent geyser had wholly
disappeared. The wind had freshened up, and we were fast leaving the
neighborhood of Henry's Island. Even the roaring sound of the mighty column was
lost to the ear.

     The weather, if, under the circumstances, we may use such an expression,
is about to change very suddenly. The atmosphere is being gradually loaded with
vapors, which carry with them the electricity formed by the constant
evaporation of the saline waters; the clouds are slowly but sensibly falling
towards the sea, and are assuming a dark-olive texture; the electric rays can
scarcely pierce through the opaque curtain which has fallen like a drop scene
before this wondrous theater, on the stage of which another and terrible drama
is soon to be enacted. This time it is no fight of animals; it is the fearful
battle of the elements.

     I feel that I am very peculiarly influenced, as all creatures are on land
when a deluge is about to take place.

     The cumuli, a perfectly oval kind of cloud, piled upon the south,
presented a most awful and sinister appearance, with the pitiless aspect often
seen before a storm. The air is extremely heavy; the sea is comparatively calm.

     In the distance, the clouds have assumed the appearance of enormous balls
of cotton, or rather pods, piled one above the other in picturesque confusion.
By degrees, they appear to swell out, break, and gain in number what they lose
in grandeur; their heaviness is so great that they are unable to lift
themselves from the horizon; but under the influence of the upper currents of
air, they are gradually broken up, become much darker, and then present the
appearance of one single layer of a formidable character; now and then a
lighter cloud, still lit up from above, rebounds upon this grey carpet, and is
lost in the opaque mass.

     There can be no doubt that the entire atmosphere is saturated with
electric fluid; I am myself wholly impregnated; my hairs literally stand on end
as if under the influence of a galvanic battery. If one of my companions
ventured to touch me, I think he would receive rather a violent and unpleasant
shock.

     About ten o'clock in the morning, the symptoms of the storm became more
thorough and decisive; the wind appeared to soften down as if to take breath
for a renewed attack; the vast funereal pall above us looked like a huge
bag--like the cave of AEolus, in which the storm was collecting its forces for
the attack.

     I tried all I could not to believe in the menacing signs of the sky, and
yet I could not avoid saying, as it were involuntarily:

     "I believe we are going to have bad weather."

     The Professor made me no answer. He was in a horrible, in a detestable
humor--to see the ocean stretching interminably before his eyes. On hearing my
words he simply shrugged his shoulders.

     "We shall have a tremendous storm," I said again, pointing to the horizon.
"These clouds are falling lower and lower upon the sea, as if to crush it."

     A great silence prevailed. The wind wholly ceased. Nature assumed a dead
calm, and ceased to breathe. Upon the mast, where I noticed a sort of slight
ignis fatuus, the sail hangs in loose heavy folds. The raft is motionless in
the midst of a dark heavy sea--without undulation, without motion. It is as
still as glass. But as we are making no progress, what is the use of keeping up
the sail, which may be the cause of our perdition if the tempest should
suddenly strike us without warning.

     "Let us lower the sail," I said, "it is only an act of common prudence."

     "No--no," cried my uncle, in an exasperated tone, "a hundred times, no.
Let the wind strike us and do its worst, let the storm sweep us away where it
will--only let me see the glimmer of some coast--of some rocky cliffs, even if
they dash our raft into a thousand pieces. No! keep up the sail--no matter what
happens."

     These words were scarcely uttered when the southern horizon underwent a
sudden and violent change. The long accumulated vapors were resolved into
water, and the air required to fill up the void produced became a wild and
raging tempest.

     It came from the most distant corners of the mighty cavern. It raged from
every point of the compass. It roared; it yelled; it shrieked with glee as of
demons let loose. The darkness increased and became indeed darkness visible.

     The raft rose and fell with the storm, and bounded over the waves. My
uncle was cast headlong upon the deck. I with great difficulty dragged myself
towards him. He was holding on with might and main to the end of a cable, and
appeared to gaze with pleasure and delight at the spectacle of the unchained
elements.

     Hans never moved a muscle. His long hair driven hither and thither by the
tempest and scattered wildly over his motionless face, gave him a most
extraordinary appearance--for every single hair was illuminated by little
sparkling sprigs.

     His countenance presents the extraordinary appearance of an antediluvian
man, a true contemporary of the Megatherium.

     Still the mast holds good against the storm. The sail spreads out and
fills like a soap bubble about to burst. The raft rushes on at a pace
impossible to estimate, but still less swiftly than the body of water displaced
beneath it, the rapidity of which may be seen by the lines which fly right and
left in the wake.

     "The sail, the sail!" I cried, making a trumpet of my hands, and then
endeavoring to lower it.

     "Let it alone!" said my uncle, more exasperated than ever.

     "Nej," said Hans, gently shaking his head.

     Nevertheless, the rain formed a roaring cataract before this horizon of
which we were in search, and to which we were rushing like madmen.

     But before this wilderness of waters reached us, the mighty veil of cloud
was torn in twain; the sea began to foam wildly; and the electricity, produced
by some vast and extraordinary chemical action in the upper layer of cloud, is
brought into play. To the fearful claps of thunder are added dazzling flashes
of lightning, such as I had never seen. The flashes crossed one another, hurled
from every side; while the thunder came pealing like an echo. The mass of vapor
becomes incandescent; the hailstones which strike the metal of our boots and
our weapons are actually luminous; the waves as they rise appear to be
fire-eating monsters, beneath which seethes an intense fire, their crests
surmounted by combs of flame.

     My eyes are dazzled, blinded by the intensity of light, my ears are
deafened by the awful roar of the elements. I am compelled to hold onto the
mast, which bends like a reed beneath the violence of the storm, to which none
ever before seen by mariners bore any resemblance. --

     Here my traveling notes become very incomplete, loose and vague. I have
only been able to make out one or two fugitive observations, jotted down in a
mere mechanical way. But even their brevity, even their obscurity, show the
emotions which overcame me. --

     Sunday, August 23rd. Where have we got to? In what region are we
wandering? We are still carried forward with inconceivable rapidity.

     The night has been fearful, something not to be described. The storm shows
no signs of cessation. We exist in the midst of an uproar which has no name.
The detonations as of artillery are incessant. Our ears literally bleed. We are
unable to exchange a word, or hear each other speak.

     The lightning never ceases to flash for a single instant. I can see the
zigzags after a rapid dart strike the arched roof of this mightiest of mighty
vaults. If it were to give way and fall upon us! Other lightnings plunge their
forked streaks in every direction, and take the form of globes of fire, which
explode like bombshells over a beleaguered city. The general crash and roar do
not apparently increase; it has already gone far beyond what human ear can
appreciate. If all the powder magazines in the world were to explode together,
it would be impossible for us to hear worse noise.

     There is a constant emission of light from the storm clouds; the electric
matter is incessantly released; evidently the gaseous principles of the air are
out of order; innumerable columns of water rush up like waterspouts, and fall
back upon the surface of the ocean in foam.

     Whither are we going? My uncle still lies at full length upon the raft,
without speaking--without taking any note of time.

     The heat increases. I look at the thermometer, to my surprise it
indicates--The exact figure is here rubbed out in my manuscript. --

     Monday, August 24th. This terrible storm will never end. Why should not
this state of the atmosphere, so dense and murky, once modified, again remain
definitive?

     We are utterly broken and harassed by fatigue. Hans remains just as usual.
The raft runs to the southeast invariably. We have now already run two hundred
leagues from the newly discovered island.

     About twelve o'clock the storm became worse than ever. We are obliged now
to fasten every bit of cargo tightly on the deck of the raft, or everything
would be swept away. We make ourselves fast, too, each man lashing the other.
The waves drive over us, so that several times we are actually under water.

     We had been under the painful necessity of abstaining from speech for
three days and three nights. We opened our mouths, we moved our lips, but no
sound came. Even when we placed our mouths to each other's ears it was the
same.

     The wind carried the voice away.

     My uncle once contrived to get his head close to mine after several almost
vain endeavors. He appeared to my nearly exhausted senses to articulate some
word. I had a notion, more from intuition than anything else, that he said to
me, "We are lost."

     I took out my notebook, from which under the most desperate circumstances
I never parted, and wrote a few words as legibly as I could:

     "Take in sail."

     With a deep sigh he nodded his head and acquiesced.

     His head had scarcely time to fall back in the position from which he had
momentarily raised it than a disk or ball of fire appeared on the very edge of
the raft--our devoted, our doomed craft. The mast and sail are carried away
bodily, and I see them swept away to a prodigious height like a kite.

     We were frozen, actually shivered with terror. The ball of fire, half
white, half azure-colored, about the size of a ten-inch bombshell, moved along,
turning with prodigious rapidity to leeward of the storm. It ran about here,
there, and everywhere, it clambered up one of the bulwarks of the raft, it
leaped upon the sack of provisions, and then finally descended lightly, fell
like a football and landed on our powder barrel.

     Horrible situation. An explosion of course was now inevitable.

     By heaven's mercy, it was not so.

     The dazzling disk moved on one side, it approached Hans, who looked at it
with singular fixity; then it approached my uncle, who cast himself on his
knees to avoid it; it came towards me, as I stood pale and shuddering in the
dazzling light and heat; it pirouetted round my feet, which I endeavored to
withdraw.

     An odor of nitrous gas filled the whole air; it penetrated to the throat,
to the lungs. I felt ready to choke.

     Why is it that I cannot withdraw my feet? Are they riveted to the flooring
of the raft?

     No.

     The fall of the electric globe has turned all the iron on board into
loadstones--the instruments, the tools, the arms are clanging together with
awful and horrible noise; the nails of my heavy boots adhere closely to the
plate of iron incrustated in the wood. I cannot withdraw my foot.

     It is the old story again of the mountain of adamant.

     At last, by a violent and almost superhuman effort, I tear it away just as
the ball which is still executing its gyratory motions is about to run round it
and drag me with it--if-

     Oh, what intense stupendous light! The globe of fire bursts--we are
enveloped in cascades of living fire, which flood the space around with
luminous matter.

     Then all went out and darkness once more fell upon the deep! I had just
time to see my uncle once more cast apparently senseless on the flooring of the
raft, Hans at the helm, "spitting fire" under the influence of the electricity
which seemed to have gone through him.

     Whither are we going, I ask? and echo answers, Whither?

     . ............

     Tuesday, August 25th. I have just come out of a long fainting fit. The
awful and hideous storm still continues; the lightning has increased in
vividness, and pours out its fiery wrath like a brood of serpents let loose in
the atmosphere.

     Are we still upon the sea? Yes, and being carried along with incredible
velocity.

     We have passed under England, under the Channel, under France, probably
under the whole extent of Europe.

     Another awful clamor in the distance. This time it is certain that the sea
is breaking upon the rocks at no great distance. Then--

     . .............

     . .............

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXXIII

OUR ROUTE REVERSED

     Here ends what I call "My Journal" of our voyage on board the raft, which
journal was happily saved from the wreck. I proceed with my narrative as I did
before I commenced my daily notes.

     What happened when the terrible shock took place, when the raft was cast
upon the rocky shore, it would be impossible for me now to say. I felt myself
precipitated violently into the boiling waves, and if I escaped from a certain
and cruel death, it was wholly owing to the determination of the faithful Hans,
who, clutching me by the arm, saved me from the yawning abyss.

     The courageous Icelander then carried me in his powerful arms, far out of
the reach of the waves, and laid me down upon a burning expanse of sand, where
I found myself some time afterwards in the company of my uncle, the Professor.

     Then he quietly returned towards the fatal rocks, against which the
furious waves were beating, in order to save any stray waifs from the wreck.
This man was always practical and thoughtful. I could not utter a word; I was
quite overcome with emotion; my whole body was broken and bruised with fatigue;
it took hours before I was anything like myself.

     Meanwhile, there fell a fearful deluge of rain, drenching us to the skin.
Its very violence, however, proclaimed the approaching end of the storm. Some
overhanging rocks afforded us a slight protection from the torrents.

     Under this shelter, Hans prepared some food, which, however, I was unable
to touch; and, exhausted by the three weary days and nights of watching, we
fell into a deep and painful sleep. My dreams were fearful, but at last
exhausted nature asserted her supremacy, and I slumbered.

     Next day when I awoke the change was magical. The weather was magnificent.
Air and sea, as if by mutual consent, had regained their serenity. Every trace
of the storm, even the faintest, had disappeared. I was saluted on my awakening
by the first joyous tones I had heard from the Professor for many a day. His
gaiety, indeed, was something terrible.

     "Well, my lad," he cried, rubbing his hands together, "have you slept
soundly?

     Might it not have been supposed that we were in the old house on the
Konigstrasse; that I had just come down quietly to my breakfast; and that my
marriage with Gretchen was to take place that very day? My uncle's coolness was
exasperating.

     Alas, considering how the tempest had driven us in an easterly direction,
we had passed under the whole of Germany, under the city of Hamburg where I had
been so happy, under the very street which contained all I loved and cared for
in the world.

     It was a positive fact that I was only separated from her by a distance of
forty leagues. But these forty leagues were of hard, impenetrable granite!

     All these dreary and miserable reflections passed through my mind, before
I attempted to answer my uncle's question.

     "Why, what is the matter?" he cried. "Cannot you say whether you have
slept well or not?"

     "I have slept very well," was my reply, "but every bone in my body aches.
I suppose that will lead to nothing."

     "Nothing at all, my boy. It is only the result of the fatigue of the last
few days--that is all.

     "You appear--if I may be allowed to say so--to be very jolly this
morning," I said.

     "Delighted, my dear boy, delighted. Was never happier in my life. We have
at last reached the wished-for port."

     "The end of our expedition?" cried I, in a tone of considerable surprise.

     "No; but to the confines of that sea which I began to fear would never
end, but go round the whole world. We will now tranquilly resume our journey by
land, and once again endeavor to dive into the center of the earth."

     "My dear uncle," I began, in a hesitating kind of way, "allow me to ask
you one question."

     "Certainly, Harry; a dozen if you think proper."

     "One will suffice. How about getting back?" I asked.

     "How about getting back? What a question to ask. We have not as yet
reached the end of our journey."

     "I know that. All I want to know is how you propose we shall manage the
return voyage?"

     "In the most simple manner in the world," said the imperturbable
Professor. "Once we reach the exact center of this sphere, either we shall find
a new road by which to ascend to the surface, or we shall simply turn round and
go back by the way we came. I have every reason to believe that while we are
traveling forward, it will not close behind us."

     "Then one of the first matters to see to will be to repair the raft," was
my rather melancholy response.

     "Of course. We must attend to that above all things," continued the
Professor.

     "Then comes the all-important question of provisions," I urged. "Have we
anything like enough left to enable us to accomplish such great, such amazing,
designs as you contemplate carrying out?"

     "I have seen into the matter, and my answer is in the affirmative. Hans is
a very clever fellow, and I have reason to believe that he has saved the
greater part of the cargo. But the best way to satisfy your scruples is to come
and judge for yourself."

     Saying which, he led the way out of the kind of open grotto in which we
had taken shelter. I had almost begun to hope that which I should rather have
feared, and this was the impossibility of such a shipwreck leaving even the
slightest signs of what it had carried as freight. I was, however, thoroughly
mistaken.

     As soon as I reached the shores of this inland sea, I found Hans standing
gravely in the midst of a large number of things laid out in complete order. My
uncle wrung his hands with deep and silent gratitude. His heart was too full
for speech.

     This man, whose superhuman devotion to his employers I not only never saw
surpassed, nor even equaled, had been hard at work all the time we slept, and
at the risk of his life had succeeded in saving the most precious articles of
our cargo.

     Of course, under the circumstances, we necessarily experienced several
severe losses. Our weapons had wholly vanished. But experience had taught us to
do without them. The provision of powder had, however, remained intact, after
having narrowly escaped blowing us all to atoms in the storm.

     "Well," said the Professor, who was now ready to make the best of
everything, "as we have no guns, all we have to do is to give up all idea of
hunting."

     "Yes, my dear sir, we can do without them, but what about all our
instruments?"

     "Here is the manometer, the most useful of all, and which I gladly accept
in lieu of the rest. With it alone I can calculate the depth as we proceed; by
its means alone I shall be able to decide when we have reached the center of
the earth. Ha, ha! but for this little instrument we might make a mistake, and
run the risk of coming out at the antipodes!"

     All this was said amid bursts of unnatural laughter.

     "But the compass," I cried, "without that what can we do?"

     "Here it is, safe and sound!" he cried, with real joy, "ah, ah, and here
we have the chronometer and the thermometers. Hans the hunter is indeed an
invaluable man!"

     It was impossible to deny this fact. As far as the nautical and other
instruments were concerned, nothing was wanting. Then on further examination, I
found ladders, cords, pickaxes, crowbars, and shovels, all scattered about on
the shore.

     There was, however, finally the most important question of all, and that
was, provisions.

     "But what are we to do for food?" I asked.

     "Let us see to the commissariat department", replied my uncle gravely.

     The boxes which contained our supply of food for the voyage were placed in
a row along the strand, and were in a capital state of preservation; the sea
had in every case respected their contents, and to sum up in one sentence,
taking into consideration, biscuits, salt meat, Schiedam and dried fish, we
could still calculate on having about four months' supply, if used with
prudence and caution.

     "Four months," cried the sanguine Professor in high glee. "Then we shall
have plenty of time both to go and to come, and with what remains I undertake
to give a grand dinner to my colleagues of the Johanneum."

     I sighed. I should by this time have become used to the temperament of my
uncle, and yet this man astonished me more and more every day. He was the
greatest human enigma I ever had known.

     "Now," he, "before we do anything else, we must lay in a stock of fresh
water. The rain has fallen in abundance, and filled the hollows of the granite.
There is a rich supply of water, and we have no fear of suffering from thirst,
which in our circumstances is of the last importance. As for the raft, I shall
recommend Hans to repair it to the best of his abilities; though I have every
reason to believe we shall not require it again."

     "How is that?" I cried, more amazed than ever at my uncle's style of
reasoning.

     "I have an idea, my dear boy; it is none other than this simple fact; we
shall not come out by the same opening as that by which we entered."

     I began to look at my uncle with vague suspicion. An idea had more than
once taken possession of me; and this was, that he was going mad. And yet,
little did I think how true and prophetic his words were doomed to be.

     "And now," he said, "having seen to all these matters of detail, to
breakfast."

     I followed him to a sort of projecting cape, after he had given his last
instructions to our guide. In this original position, with dried meat, biscuit,
and a delicious cup of tea, we made a satisfactory meal--I may say one of the
most welcome and pleasant I ever remember. Exhaustion, the keen atmosphere, the
state of calm after so much agitation, all contributed to give me an excellent
appetite. Indeed, it contributed very much to producing a pleasant and cheerful
state of mind.

     While breakfast was in hand, and between the sips of warm tea, I asked my
uncle if he had any idea of how we now stood in relation to the world above.

     "For my part," I added, "I think it will be rather difficult to
determine."

     "Well, if we were compelled to fix the exact spot," said my uncle, it
might be difficult, since during the three days of that awful tempest I could
keep no account either of the quickness of our pace, or of the direction in
which the raft was going. Still, we will endeavor to approximate to the truth.
We shall not, I believe, be so very far out."

     "Well, if I recollect rightly," I replied, "our last observation was made
at the geyser island."

     "Harry's Island, my boy! Harry's Island. Do not decline the honor of
having named it; given your name to an island discovered by us, the first human
beings who trod it since the creation of the world!"

     "Let it be so, then. At Harry's Island we had already gone over two
hundred and seventy leagues of sea, and we were, I believe, about six hundred
leagues, more or less, from Iceland."

     "Good. I am glad to see that you remember so well. Let us start from that
point, and let us count four days of storm, during which our rate of traveling
must have been very great. I should say that our velocity must have been about
eighty leagues to the twenty-four hours."

     I agreed that I thought this a fair calculation. There were then three
hundred leagues to be added to the grand total.

     "Yes, and the Central Sea must extend at least six hundred leagues from
side to side. Do you know, my boy, Harry, that we have discovered an inland
lake larger than the Mediterranean?"

     "Certainly, and we only know of its extent in one way. It may be hundreds
of miles in length."

     "Very likely."

     "Then," said I, after calculating for some for some minutes, "if your
previsions are right, we are at this moment exactly under the Mediterranean
itself."

     "Do you think so?"

     "Yes, I am almost certain of it. Are we not nine hundred leagues distant
from Reykjavik?"

     "That is perfectly true, and a famous bit of road we have traveled, my
boy. But why we should be under the Mediterranean more than under Turkey or the
Atlantic Ocean can only be known when we are sure of not having deviated from
our course; and of this we know nothing."

     "I do not think we were driven very far from our course; the wind appears
to me to have been always about the same. My opinion is that this shore must be
situated to the southeast of Port Gretchen."

     "Good--I hope so. It will, however, be easy to decide the matter by taking
the bearings from our departure by means of the compass. Come along, and we
will consult that invaluable invention."

     The Professor now walked eagerly in the direction of the rock where the
indefatigable Hans had placed the instruments in safety. My uncle was gay and
lighthearted; he rubbed his hands, and assumed all sorts of attitudes. He was
to all appearance once more a young man. Since I had known him, never had he
been so amiable and pleasant. I followed him, rather curious to know whether I
had made any mistake in my estimation of our position.

     As soon as we had reached the rock, my uncle took the compass, placed it
horizontally before him, and looked keenly at the needle.

     As he had at first shaken it to give it vivacity, it oscillated
considerably, and then slowly assumed its right position under the influence of
the magnetic power.

     The Professor bent his eyes curiously over the wondrous instrument. A
violent start immediately showed the extent of his emotion.

     He closed his eyes, rubbed them, and took another and a keener survey.

     Then he turned slowly round to me, stupefaction depicted on his
countenance.

     "What is the matter?" said I, beginning to be alarmed.

     He could not speak. He was too overwhelmed for words. He simply pointed to
the instrument.

     I examined it eagerly according to his mute directions, and a loud cry of
surprise escaped my lips. The needle of the compass pointed due north--in the
direction we expected was the south!

     It pointed to the shore instead of to the high seas.

     I shook the compass; I examined it with a curious and anxious eye. It was
in a state of perfection. No blemish in any way explained the phenomenon.
Whatever position we forced the needle into, it returned invariably to the same
unexpected point.

     It was useless attempting to conceal from ourselves the fatal truth.

     There could be no doubt about it, unwelcome as was the fact, that during
the tempest, there had been a sudden slant of wind, of which we had been unable
to take any account, and thus the raft had carried us back to the shores we had
left, apparently forever, so many days before!

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXXIV

A VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY

     It would be altogether impossible for me to give any idea of the utter
astonishment which overcame the Professor on making this extraordinary
discovery. Amazement, incredulity, and rage were blended in such a way as to
alarm me.

     During the whole course of my Life I had never seen a man at first so
chapfallen; and then so furiously indignant.

     The terrible fatigues of our sea voyage, the fearful dangers we had passed
through, had all, all, gone for nothing. We had to begin them all over again.

     Instead of progressing, as we fondly expected, during a voyage of so many
days, we had retreated. Every hour of our expedition on the raft had been so
much lost time!

     Presently, however, the indomitable energy of my uncle overcame every
other consideration.

     "So," he said, between his set teeth, "fatality will play me these
terrible tricks. The elements themselves conspire to overwhelm me with
mortification. Air, fire, and water combine their united efforts to oppose my
passage. Well, they shall see what the earnest will of a determined man can do.
I will not yield, I will not retreat even one inch; and we shall see who shall
triumph in this great contest--man or nature."

     Standing upright on a rock, irritated and menacing, Professor Hardwigg,
like the ferocious Ajax, seemed to defy the fates. I, however, took upon myself
to interfere, and to impose some sort of check upon such insensate enthusiasm.

     "Listen to me, Uncle," I said, in a firm but temperate tone of voice,
"there must be some limit to ambition here below. It is utterly useless to
struggle against the impossible. Pray listen to reason. We are utterly
unprepared for a sea voyage; it is simply madness to think of performing a
journey of five hundred leagues upon a wretched pile of beams, with a
counterpane for a sail, a paltry stick for a mast, and a tempest to contend
with. As we are totally incapable of steering our frail craft, we shall become
the mere plaything of the storm, and it is acting the part of madmen if we, a
second time, run any risk upon this dangerous and treacherous Central Sea."

     These are only a few of the reasons and arguments I put together-- reasons
and arguments which to me appeared unanswerable. I was allowed to go on without
interruption for about ten minutes. The explanation to this I soon discovered.
The Professor was not even listening, and did not hear a word of all my
eloquence.

     "To the raft!" he cried in a hoarse voice, when I paused for a reply.

     Such was the result of my strenuous effort to resist his iron will. I
tried again; I begged and implored him; I got into a passion; but I had to deal
with a will more determined than my own. I seemed to feel like the waves which
fought and battled against the huge mass of granite at our feet, which had
smiled grimly for so many ages at their puny efforts.

     Hans, meanwhile, without taking part in our discussion, had been repairing
the raft. One would have supposed that he instinctively guessed at the further
projects of my uncle.

     By means of some fragments of cordage, he had again made the raft
seaworthy.

     While I had been speaking, he had hoisted a new mast and sail, the latter
already fluttering and waving in the breeze.

     The worthy Professor spoke a few words to our imperturbable guide, who
immediately began to put our baggage on board and to prepare for our departure.
The atmosphere was now tolerably clear and pure, and the northeast wind blew
steadily and serenely. It appeared likely to last for some time.

     What, then, could I do? Could I undertake to resist the iron will of two
men? It was simply impossible if even I could have hoped for the support of
Hans. This, however, was out of the question. It appeared to me that the
Icelander had set aside all personal will and identity. He was a picture of
abnegation.

     I could hope for nothing from one so infatuated with and devoted to his
master. All I could do, therefore, was to swim with the stream.

     In a mood of stolid and sullen resignation, I was about to take my
accustomed place on the raft when my uncle placed his hand upon my shoulder.

     "There is no hurry, my boy," he said, "we shall not start until tomorrow."

     I looked the picture of resignation to the dire will of fate.

     "Under the circumstances," he said, "I ought to neglect no precautions. As
fate has cast me upon these shores, I shall not leave without having completely
examined them."

     In order to understand this remark, I must explain that though we had been
driven back to the northern shore, we had landed at a very different spot from
that which had been our starting point.

     Port Gretchen must, we calculated, be very much to the westward. Nothing,
therefore, was more natural and reasonable than that we should reconnoiter this
new shore upon which we had so unexpectedly landed.

     "Let us go on a journey of discovery," I cried.

     And leaving Hans to his important operation, we started on our expedition.
The distance between the foreshore at high water and the foot of the rocks was
considerable. It would take about half an hour's walking to get from one to the
other.

     As we trudged along, our feet crushed innumerable shells of every shape
and size--once the dwelling place of animals of every period of creation.

     I particularly noticed some enormous shells--carapaces (turtle and
tortoise species) the diameter of which exceeded fifteen feet.

     They had in past ages belonged to those gigantic Glyptodons of the
Pliocene period, of which the modern turtle is but a minute specimen. In
addition, the whole soil was covered by a vast quantity of stony relics, having
the appearance of flints worn by the action of the waves, and lying in
successive layers one above the other. I came to the conclusion that in past
ages the sea must have covered the whole district. Upon the scattered rocks,
now lying far beyond its reach, the mighty waves of ages had left evident marks
of their passage.

     On reflection, this appeared to me partially to explain the existence of
this remarkable ocean, forty leagues below the surface of the earth's crust.
According to my new, and perhaps fanciful, theory, this liquid mass must be
gradually lost in the deep bowels of the earth. I had also no doubt that this
mysterious sea was fed by infiltration of the ocean above, through
imperceptible fissures.

     Nevertheless, it was impossible not to admit that these fissures must now
be nearly choked up, for if not, the cavern, or rather the immense and
stupendous reservoir, would have been completely filled in a short space of
time. Perhaps even this water, having to contend against the accumulated
subterraneous fires of the interior of the earth, had become partially
vaporized. Hence the explanation of those heavy clouds suspended over our
heads, and the superabundant display of that electricity which occasioned such
terrible storms in this deep and cavernous sea.

     This lucid explanation of the phenomena we had witnessed appeared to me
quite satisfactory. However great and mighty the marvels of nature may seem to
us, they are always to be explained by physical reasons. Everything is
subordinate to some great law of nature.

     It now appeared clear that we were walking upon a kind of sedimentary
soil, formed like all the soils of that period, so frequent on the surface of
the globe, by the subsidence of the waters. The Professor, who was now in his
element, carefully examined every rocky fissure. Let him only find an opening
and it directly became important to him to examine its depth.

     For a whole mile we followed the windings of the Central Sea, when
suddenly an important change took place in the aspect of the soil. It seemed to
have been rudely cast up, convulsionized, as it were, by a violent upheaving of
the lower strata. In many places, hollows here and hillocks there attested
great dislocations at some other period of the terrestrial mass.

     We advanced with great difficulty over the broken masses of granite mixed
with flint, quartz, and alluvial deposits, when a large field, more even than a
field, a plain of bones, appeared suddenly before our eyes! It looked like an
immense cemetery, where generation after generation had mingled their mortal
dust.

     Lofty barrows of early remains rose at intervals. They undulated away to
the limits of the distant horizon and were lost in a thick and brown fog.

     On that spot, some three square miles in extent, was accumulated the whole
history of animal life--scarcely one creature upon the comparatively modern
soil of the upper and inhabited world had not there existed.

     Nevertheless, we were drawn forward by an all-absorbing and impatient
curiosity. Our feet crushed with a dry and crackling sound the remains of those
prehistoric fossils, for which the museums of great cities quarrel, even when
they obtain only rare and curious morsels. A thousand such naturalists as
Cuvier would not have sufficed to recompose the skeletons of the organic beings
which lay in this magnificent osseous collection.

     I was utterly confounded. My uncle stood for some minutes with his arms
raised on high towards the thick granite vault which served us for a sky. His
mouth was wide open; his eyes sparkled wildly behind his spectacles (which he
had fortunately saved), his head bobbed up and down and from side to side,
while his whole attitude and mien expressed unbounded astonishment.

     He stood in the presence of an endless, wondrous, and inexhaustibly rich
collection of antediluvian monsters, piled up for his own private and peculiar
satisfaction.

     Fancy an enthusiastic lover of books carried suddenly into the very midst
of the famous library of Alexandria burned by the sacrilegious Omar, and which
some miracle had restored to its pristine splendor! Such was something of the
state of mind in which Uncle Hardwigg was now placed.

     For some time he stood thus, literally aghast at the magnitude of his
discovery.

     But it was even a greater excitement when, darting wildly over this mass
of organic dust, he caught up a naked skull and addressed me in a quivering
voice:

     "Harry, my boy--Harry--this is a human head!"

     "A human head, Uncle!" I said, no less amazed and stupefied than himself.

     "Yes, nephew. Ah! Mr. Milne--Edwards--ah! Mr. De Quatrefages--why are you
not here where I am--I, Professor Hardwigg!"

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXXV

DISCOVERY UPON DISCOVERY

     In order fully to understand the exclamation made by my uncle, and his
allusions to these illustrious and learned men, it will be necessary to enter
into certain explanations in regard to a circumstance of the highest importance
to paleontology, or the science of fossil life, which had taken place a short
time before our departure from the upper regions of the earth.

     On the 28th of March, 1863, some navigators under the direction of M.
Boucher de Perthes, were at work in the great quarries of Moulin-Quignon, near
Abbeville, in the department of the Somme, in France. While at work, they
unexpectedly came upon a human jawbone buried fourteen feet below the surface
of the soil. It was the first fossil of the kind that had ever been brought to
the light of day. Near this unexpected human relic were found stone hatchets
and carved flints, colored and clothed by time in one uniform brilliant tint of
verdigris.

     The report of this extraordinary and unexpected discovery spread not only
all over France, but over England and Germany. Many learned men belonging to
various scientific bodies, and noteworthy among others, Messrs. Milne-Edwards
and De Quatrefages, took the affair very much to heart, demonstrated the
incontestable authenticity of the bone in question, and became--to use the
phrase then recognized in England- the most ardent supporters of the "jawbone
question."

     To the eminent geologists of the United Kingdom who looked upon the fact
as certain--Messrs. Falconer, Buck, Carpenter, and others- were soon united the
learned men of Germany, and among those in the first rank, the most eager, the
most enthusiastic, was my worthy uncle, Professor Hardwigg.

     The authenticity of a human fossil of the Quaternary period seemed then to
be incontestably demonstrated, and even to be admitted by the most skeptical.

     This system or theory, call it what you will, had, it is true, a bitter
adversary in M. Elie de Beaumont. This learned man, who holds such a high place
in the scientific world, holds that the soil of Moulin-Quignon does not belong
to the diluvium but to a much less ancient stratum, and, in accordance with
Cuvier in this respect, he would by no means admit that the human species was
contemporary with the animals of the Quaternary epoch. My worthy uncle,
Professor Hardwigg, in concert with the great majority of geologists, had held
firm, had disputed, discussed, and finally, after considerable talking and
writing, M. Elie de Beaumont had been pretty well left alone in his opinions.

     We were familiar with all the details of this discussion, but were far
from being aware then that since our departure the matter had entered upon a
new phase. Other similar jawbones, though belonging to individuals of varied
types and very different natures, had been found in the movable grey sands of
certain grottoes in France, Switzerland, and Belgium; together with arms,
utensils, tools, bones of children, of men in the prime of life, and of old
men. The existence of men in the Quaternary period became, therefore, more
positive every day.

     But this was far from being all. New remains, dug up from the Pliocene or
Tertiary deposits, had enabled the more far-seeing or audacious among learned
men to assign even a far greater degree of antiquity to the human race. These
remains, it is true, were not those of men; that is, were not the bones of men,
but objects decidedly having served the human race: shinbones, thighbones of
fossil animals, regularly scooped out, and in fact sculptured--bearing the
unmistakable signs of human handiwork.

     By means of these wondrous and unexpected discoveries, man ascended
endless centuries in the scale of time; he, in fact, preceded the mastodon;
became the contemporary of the Elephas meridionalis--the southern elephant;
acquired an antiquity of over a hundred thousand years, since that is the date
given by the most eminent geologists to the Pliocene period of the earth. Such
was then the state of paleontologic science, and what we moreover knew sufficed
to explain our attitude before this great cemetery of the plains of the
Hardwigg Ocean.

     It will now be easy to understand the Professor's mingled astonishment and
joy when, on advancing about twenty yards, he found himself in the presence of,
I may say face to face with, a specimen of the human race actually belonging to
the Quaternary period!

     It was indeed a human skull, perfectly recognizable. Had a soil of very
peculiar nature, like that of the cemetery of St. Michel at Bordeaux, preserved
it during countless ages? This was the question I asked myself, but which I was
wholly unable to answer. But this head with stretched and parchmenty skin, with
the teeth whole, the hair abundant, was before our eyes as in life!

     I stood mute, almost paralyzed with wonder and awe before this dread
apparition of another age. My uncle, who on almost every occasion was a great
talker, remained for a time completely dumfounded. He was too full of emotion
for speech to be possible. After a while, however, we raised up the body to
which the skull belonged. We stood it on end. It seemed, to our excited
imaginations, to look at us with its terrible hollow eyes.

     After some minutes of silence, the man was vanquished by the Professor.
Human instincts succumbed to scientific pride and exultation. Professor
Hardwigg, carried away by his enthusiasm, forgot all the circumstances of our
journey, the extraordinary position in which we were placed, the immense cavern
which stretched far away over our heads. There can be no doubt that he thought
himself at the Institution addressing his attentive pupils, for he put on his
most doctorial style, waved his hand, and began:

     "Gentlemen, I have the honor on this auspicious occasion to present to you
a man of the Quaternary period of our globe. Many learned men have denied his
very existence, while other able persons, perhaps of even higher authority,
have affirmed their belief in the reality of his life. If the St. Thomases of
paleontology were present, they would reverentially touch him with their
fingers and believe in his existence, thus acknowledging their obstinate
heresy. I know that science should be careful in relation to all discoveries of
this nature. I am not without having heard of the many Barnums and other quacks
who have made a trade of suchlike pretended discoveries. I have, of course,
heard of the discovery of the kneebones of Ajax, of the pretended finding of
the body of Orestes by the Spartiates, and of the body of Asterius, ten spans
long, fifteen feet--of which we read in Pausanias.

     "I have read everything in relation to the skeleton of Trapani, discovered
in the fourteenth century, and which many persons chose to regard as that of
Polyphemus, and the history of the giant dug up during the sixteenth century in
the environs of Palmyra. You are well aware as I am, gentlemen, of the
existence of the celebrated analysis made near Lucerne, in 1577, of the great
bones which the celebrated Doctor Felix Plater declared belonged to a giant
about nineteen feet high. I have devoured all the treatises of Cassanion, and
all those memoirs, pamphlets, speeches, and replies published in reference to
the skeleton of Teutobochus, king of the Cimbri, the invader of Gaul, dug out
of a gravel pit in Dauphine, in 1613. In the eighteenth century I should have
denied, with Peter Campet, the existence of the preadamites of Scheuchzer. I
have had in my hands the writing called Gigans--"

     Here my uncle was afflicted by the natural infirmity which prevented him
from pronouncing difficult words in public. It was not exactly stuttering, but
a strange sort of constitutional hesitation.

     "The writing named Gigans--" he repeated.

     He, however, could get no further.

     "Giganteo--"

     Impossible! The unfortunate word would not come out. There would have been
great laughter at the Institution, had the mistake happened there.

     "Gigantosteology!" at last exclaimed Professor Hardwigg between two savage
growls.

     Having got over our difficulty, and getting more and more excited--

     "Yes, gentlemen, I am well acquainted with all these matters, and know,
also, that Cuvier and Blumenbach fully recognized in these bones the undeniable
remains of mammoths of the Quaternary period. But after what we now see, to
allow a doubt is to insult scientific inquiry. There is the body; you can see
it; you can touch it. It is not a skeleton, it is a complete and uninjured
body, preserved with an anthropological object."

     I did not attempt to controvert this singular and astounding assertion.

     "If I could but wash this corpse in a solution of sulphuric acid,"
continued my uncle, "I would undertake to remove all the earthy particles, and
these resplendent shells, which are incrusted all over this body. But I am
without this precious dissolving medium. Nevertheless, such as it is, this body
will tell its own history."

     Here the Professor held up the fossil body, and exhibited it with rare
dexterity. No professional showman could have shown more activity.

     "As on examination you will see," my uncle continued, "it is only about
six feet in length, which is a long way from the pretended giants of early
days. As to the particular race to which it belonged, it is incontestably
Caucasian. It is of the white race, that is, of our own. The skull of this
fossil being is a perfect ovoid without any remarkable or prominent development
of the cheekbones, and without any projection of the jaw. It presents no
indication of the prognathism which modifies the facial angle.* Measure the
angle for yourselves, and you will find that it is just ninety degrees. But I
will advance still farther on the road of inquiry and deduction, and I dare
venture to say that this human sample or specimen belongs to the Japhetic
family, which spread over the world from India to the uttermost limits of
western Europe. There is no occasion, gentlemen, to smile at my remarks." --

     *The facial angle is formed by two planes--one more or less vertical which
is in a straight line with the forehead and the incisors; the other,
horizontal, which passes through the organs of hearing, and the lower nasal
bone. Prognathism, in anthropological language, means that particular
projection of the jaw which modifies the facial angle. --

     Of course nobody smiled. But the excellent Professor was so accustomed to
beaming countenances at his lectures, that he believed he saw all his audience
laughing during the delivery of his learned dissertation.

     "Yes," he continued, with renewed animation, "this is a fossil man, a
contemporary of the mastodons, with the bones of which this whole amphitheater
is covered. But if I am called on to explain how he came to this place, how
these various strata by which he is covered have fallen into this vast cavity,
I can undertake to give you no explanation. Doubtless, if we carry ourselves
back to the Quaternary epoch, we shall find that great and mighty convulsions
took place in the crust of the earth; the continually cooling operation,
through which the earth had to pass, produced fissures, landslips, and chasms,
through which a large portion of the earth made its way. I come to no absolute
conclusion, but there is the man, surrounded by the works of his hands, his
hatchets and his carved flints, which belong to the stony period; and the only
rational supposition is, that, like myself, he visited the center of the earth
as a traveling tourist, a pioneer of science. At all events, there can be no
doubt of his great age, and of his being one of the oldest race of human
beings."

     The Professor with these words ceased his oration, and I burst forth into
loud and "unanimous" applause. Besides, after all, my uncle was right. Much
more learned men than his nephew would have found it rather hard to refute his
facts and arguments.

     Another circumstance soon presented itself. This fossilized body was not
the only one in this vast plain of bones--the cemetery of an extinct world.
Other bodies were found, as we trod the dusty plain, and my uncle was able to
choose the most marvelous of these specimens in order to convince the most
incredulous.

     In truth, it was a surprising spectacle, the successive remains of
generations and generations of men and animals confounded together in one vast
cemetery. But a great question now presented itself to our notice, and one we
were actually afraid to contemplate in all its bearings.

     Had these once animated beings been buried so far beneath the soil by some
tremendous convulsion of nature, after they had been earth to earth and ashes
to ashes, or had they lived here below, in this subterranean world, under this
factitious sky, borne, married, and given in marriage, and died at last, just
like ordinary inhabitants of the earth?

     Up to the present moment, marine monsters, fish, and suchlike animals had
alone been seen alive!

     The question which rendered us rather uneasy, was a pertinent one. Were
any of these men of the abyss wandering about the deserted shores of this
wondrous sea of the center of the earth?

     This was a question which rendered me very uneasy and uncomfortable. How,
should they really be in existence, would they receive us men from above?

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXXVI

WHAT IS IT?

     For a long and weary hour we tramped over this great bed of bones. We
advanced regardless of everything, drawn on by ardent curiosity. What other
marvels did this great cavern contain--what other wondrous treasures for the
scientific man? My eyes were quite prepared for any number of surprises, my
imagination lived in expectation of something new and wonderful.

     The borders of the great Central Ocean had for some time disappeared
behind the hills that were scattered over the ground occupied by the plain of
bones. The imprudent and enthusiastic Professor, who did not care whether he
lost himself or not, hurried me forward. We advanced silently, bathed in waves
of electric fluid.

     By reason of a phenomenon which I cannot explain, and thanks to its
extreme diffusion, now complete, the light illumined equally the sides of every
hill and rock. Its seat appeared to be nowhere, in no determined force, and
produced no shade whatever.

     The appearance presented was that of a tropical country at midday in
summer--in the midst of the equatorial regions and under the vertical rays of
the sun.

     All signs of vapor had disappeared. The rocks, the distant mountains, some
confused masses of far-off forests, assumed a weird and mysterious aspect under
this equal distribution of the luminous fluid!

     We resembled, to a certain extent, the mysterious personage in one of
Hoffmann's fantastic tales-the man who lost his shadow.

     After we had walked about a mile farther, we came to the edge of a vast
forest not, however, one of the vast mushroom forests we had discovered near
Port Gretchen.

     It was the glorious and wild vegetation of the Tertiary period, in all its
superb magnificence. Huge palms, of a species now unknown, superb palmacites--a
genus of fossil palms from the coal formation- pines, yews, cypress, and
conifers or cone-bearing trees, the whole bound together by an inextricable and
complicated mass of creeping plants.

     A beautiful carpet of mosses and ferns grew beneath the trees. Pleasant
brooks murmured beneath umbrageous boughs, little worthy of this name, for no
shade did they give. Upon their borders grew small treelike shrubs, such as are
seen in the hot countries on our own inhabited globe.

     The one thing wanting in these plants, these shrubs, these trees-- was
color! Forever deprived of the vivifying warmth of the sun, they were vapid and
colorless. All shade was lost in one uniform tint, of a brown and faded
character. The leaves were wholly devoid of verdure, and the flowers, so
numerous during the Tertiary period which gave them birth, were without color
and without perfume, something like paper discolored by long exposure to the
atmosphere.

     My uncle ventured beneath the gigantic groves. I followed him, though not
without a certain amount of apprehension. Since nature had shown herself
capable of producing such stupendous vegetable supplies, why might we not meet
with mammals just as large, and therefore dangerous?

     I particularly remarked, in the clearings left by trees that had fallen
and been partially consumed by time, many leguminous (beanlike) shrubs, such as
the maple and other eatable trees, dear to ruminating animals. Then there
appeared confounded together and intermixed, the trees of such varied lands,
specimens of the vegetation of every part of the globe; there was the oak near
the palm tree, the Australian eucalyptus, an interesting class of the order
Myrtaceae--leaning against the tall Norwegian pine, the poplar of the north,
mixing its branches with those of the New Zealand kauris. It was enough to
drive the most ingenious classifier of the upper regions out of his mind, and
to upset all his received ideas about botany.

     Suddenly I stopped short and restrained my uncle.

     The extreme diffuseness of the light enabled me to see the smallest
objects in the distant copses. I thought I saw--no, I really did see with my
own eyes--immense, gigantic animals moving about under the mighty trees. Yes,
they were truly gigantic animals, a whole herd of mastodons, not fossils, but
living, and exactly like those discovered in 1801, on the marshy banks of the
great Ohio, in North America.

     Yes, I could see these enormous elephants, whose trunks were tearing down
large boughs, and working in and out the trees like a legion of serpents. I
could hear the sounds of the mighty tusks uprooting huge trees!

     The boughs crackled, and the whole masses of leaves and green branches
went down the capacious throats of these terrible monsters!

     That wondrous dream, when I saw the antehistorical times revivified, when
the Tertiary and Quaternary periods passed before me, was now realized!

     And there we were alone, far down in the bowels of the earth, at the mercy
of its ferocious inhabitants!

     My uncle paused, full of wonder and astonishment.

     "Come!" he said at last, when his first surprise was over, "Come along, my
boy, and let us see them nearer."

     "No," replied I, restraining his efforts to drag me forward, "we are
wholly without arms. What should we do in the midst of that flock of gigantic
quadrupeds? Come away, Uncle, I implore you. No human creature can with
impunity brave the ferocious anger of these monsters."

     "No human creature," said my uncle, suddenly lowering his voice to a
mysterious whisper, "you are mistaken, my dear Henry. Look! look yonder! It
seems to me that I behold a human being--a being like ourselves--a man!"

     I looked, shrugging my shoulders, decided to push incredulity to its very
last limits. But whatever might have been my wish, I was compelled to yield to
the weight of ocular demonstration.

     Yes--not more than a quarter of a mile off, leaning against the trunk of
an enormous tree, was a human being--a Proteus of these subterranean regions, a
new son of Neptune keeping this innumerable herd of mastodons. --

      Immanis pecoris custos, immanior ipse!* --

     *The keeper of gigantic cattle, himself still more gigantic! --

     Yes--it was no longer a fossil whose corpse we had raised from the ground
in the great cemetery, but a giant capable of guiding and driving these
prodigious monsters. His height was above twelve feet. His head, as big as the
head of a buffalo, was lost in a mane of matted hair. It was indeed a huge
mane, like those which belonged to the elephants of the earlier ages of the
world.

     In his hand was a branch of a tree, which served as a crook for this
antediluvian shepherd.

     We remained profoundly still, speechless with surprise.

     But we might at any moment be seen by him. Nothing remained for us but
instant flight.

     "Come, come!" I cried, dragging my uncle along; and, for the first time,
he made no resistance to my wishes.

     A quarter of an hour later we were far away from that terrible monster!

     Now that I think of the matter calmly, and that I reflect upon it
dispassionately; now that months, years, have passed since this strange and
unnatural adventure befell us--what am I to think, what am I to believe?

     No, it is utterly impossible! Our ears must have deceived us, and our eyes
have cheated us! we have not seen what we believed we had seen. No human being
could by any possibility have existed in that subterranean world! No generation
of men could inhabit the lower caverns of the globe without taking note of
those who peopled the surface, without communication with them. It was folly,
folly, folly! nothing else!

     I am rather inclined to admit the existence of some animal resembling in
structure the human race--of some monkey of the first geological epochs, like
that discovered by M. Lartet in the ossiferous deposit of Sansan.

     But this animal, or being, whichsoever it was, surpassed in height all
things known to modern science. Never mind. However unlikely it may be, it
might have been a monkey--but a man, a living man, and with him a whole
generation of gigantic animals, buried in the entrails of the earth--it was too
monstrous to be believed!

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE MYSTERIOUS DAGGER

     During this time, we had left the bright and transparent forest far behind
us. We were mute with astonishment, overcome by a kind of feeling which was
next door to apathy. We kept running in spite of ourselves. It was a perfect
Right, which resembled one of those horrible sensations we sometimes meet with
in our dreams.

     Instinctively we made our way towards the Central Sea, and I cannot now
tell what wild thoughts passed through my mind, nor of what follies I might
have been guilty, but for a very serious preoccupation which brought me back to
practical life.

     Though I was aware that we were treading on a soil quite new to us, I,
however, every now and then noticed certain aggregations of rock, the shape of
which forcibly reminded me of those near Port Gretchen.

     This confirmed, moreover, the indications of the compass and our
extraordinary and unlooked-for, as well as involuntary, return to the north of
this great Central Sea. It was so like our starting point, that I could
scarcely doubt the reality of our position. Streams and cascades fell in
hundreds over the numerous projections of the rocks.

     I actually thought I could see our faithful and monotonous Hans and the
wonderful grotto in which I had come back to life after my tremendous fall.

     Then, as we advanced still farther, the position of the cliffs, the
appearance of a stream, the unexpected profile of a rock, threw me again into a
state of bewildering doubt.

     After some time, I explained my state of mental indecision to my uncle. He
confessed to a similar feeling of hesitation. He was totally unable to make up
his mind in the midst of this extraordinary but uniform panorama.

     "There can be no doubt," I insisted, "that we have not landed exactly at
the place whence we first took our departure; but the tempest has brought us
above our starting point. I think, therefore, that if we follow the coast we
shall once more find Port Gretchen."

     "In that case," cried my uncle, "it is useless to continue our
exploration. The very best thing we can do is to make our way back to the raft.
Are you quite sure, Harry, that you are not mistaken?"

     "It is difficult," was my reply, "to come to any decision, for all these
rocks are exactly alike. There is no marked difference between them. At the
same time, the impression on my mind is that I recognize the promontory at the
foot of which our worthy Hans constructed the raft. We are, I am nearly
convinced, near the little port: if this be not it," I added, carefully
examining a creek which appeared singularly familiar to my mind.

     "My dear Harry--if this were the case, we should find traces of our own
footsteps, some signs of our passage; and I can really see nothing to indicate
our having passed this way."

     "But I see something," I cried, in an impetuous tone of voice, as I rushed
forward and eagerly picked up something which shone in the sand under my feet.

     "What is it?" cried the astonished and bewildered Professor.

     "This," was my reply.

     And I handed to my startled relative a rusty dagger, of singular shape.

     "What made you bring with you so useless a weapon?" he exclaimed. "It was
needlessly hampering yourself."

     "I bring it? It is quite new to me. I never saw it before--are you sure it
is not out of your collection?"

     "Not that I know of," said the Professor, puzzled. "I have no recollection
of the circumstance. It was never my property."

     "This is very extraordinary," I said, musing over the novel and singular
incident.

     "Not at all. There is a very simple explanation, Harry. The Icelanders are
known to keep up the use of these antiquated weapons, and this must have
belonged to Hans, who has let it fall without knowing it."

     I shook my head. That dagger had never been in the possession of the
pacific and taciturn Hans. I knew him and his habits too well.

     "Then what can it be--unless it be the weapon of some antediluvian
warrior," I continued, "of some living man, a contemporary of that mighty
shepherd from whom we have just escaped? But no--mystery upon mystery--this is
no weapon of the stony epoch, nor even of the bronze period. It is made of
excellent steel--"

     Ere I could finish my sentence, my uncle stopped me short from entering
upon a whole train of theories, and spoke in his most cold and decided tone of
voice.

     "Calm yourself, my dear boy, and endeavor to use your reason. This weapon,
upon which we have fallen so unexpectedly, is a true dague, one of those worn
by gentlemen in their belts during the sixteenth century. Its use was to give
the coup de grace, the final blow, to the foe who would not surrender. It is
clearly of Spanish workmanship. It belongs neither to you, nor to me, nor the
eider-down hunter, nor to any of the living beings who may still exist so
marvelously in the interior of the earth."

     "What can you mean, Uncle?" I said, now lost in a host of surmises.

     "Look closely at it," he continued; "these jagged edges were never made by
the resistance of human blood and bone. The blade is covered with a regular
coating of iron mold and rust, which is not a day old, not a year old, not a
century old, but much more--"

     The Professor began to get quite excited, according to custom, and was
allowing himself to be carried away by his fertile imagination. I could have
said something. He stopped me.

     "Harry," he cried, "we are now on the verge of a great discovery. This
blade of a dagger you have so marvelously discovered, after being abandoned
upon the sand for more than a hundred, two hundred, even three hundred years,
has been indented by someone endeavoring to carve an inscription on these
rocks."

     "But this poniard never got here of itself," I exclaimed, "it could not
have twisted itself. Someone, therefore, must have preceded us upon the shores
of this extraordinary sea."

     "Yes, a man."

     "But what man has been sufficiently desperate to do such a thing?"

     "A man who has somewhere written his name with this very dagger--a man who
has endeavored once more to indicate the right road to the interior of the
earth. Let us look around, my boy. You know not the importance of your singular
and happy discovery."

     Prodigiously interested, we walked along the wall of rock, examining the
smallest fissures, which might finally expand into the much wished-for gully or
shaft.

     We at last reached a spot where the shore became extremely narrow. The sea
almost bathed the foot of the rocks, which were here very lofty and steep.
There was scarcely a path wider than two yards at any point. At last, under a
huge over-hanging rock, we discovered the entrance of a dark and gloomy tunnel.

     There, on a square tablet of granite, which had been smoothed by rubbing
it with another stone, we could see two mysterious, and much worn letters, the
two initials of the bold and extraordinary traveler who had preceded us on our
adventurous journey.

     "A. S.!" cried my uncle. "You see, I was right. Arne Saknussemm, always
Arne Saknussemm!"

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXXVIII

NO OUTLET--BLASTING THE ROCK

     Ever since the commencement of our marvelous journey, I had experienced
many surprises, had suffered from many illusions. I thought that I was
case-hardened against all surprises and could neither see nor hear anything to
amaze me again.

     I was like a many who, having been round the world, finds himself wholly
blase and proof against the marvelous.

     When, however, I saw these two letters, which had been engraven three
hundred years before, I stood fixed in an attitude of mute surprise.

     Not only was there the signature of the learned and enterprising alchemist
written in the rock, but I held in my hand the very identical instrument with
which he had laboriously engraved it.

     It was impossible, without showing an amount of incredulity scarcely
becoming a sane man, to deny the existence of the traveler, and the reality of
that voyage which I believed all along to have been a myth-- the mystification
of some fertile brain.

     While these reflections were passing through my mind, my uncle, the
Professor, gave way to an access of feverish and poetical excitement.

     "Wonderful and glorious genius, great Saknussemm", he cried, "you have
left no stone unturned, no resource omitted, to show to other mortals the way
into the interior of our mighty globe, and your fellow creatures can find the
trail left by your illustrious footsteps, three hundred years ago, at the
bottom of these obscure subterranean abodes. You have been careful to secure
for others the contemplation of these wonders and marvels of creation. Your
name engraved at every important stage of your glorious journey leads the
hopeful traveler direct to the great and mighty discovery to which you devoted
such energy and courage. The audacious traveler, who shall follow your
footsteps to the last, will doubtless find your initials engraved with your own
hand upon the center of the earth. I will be that audacious traveler--I, too,
will sign my name upon the very same spot, upon the central granite stone of
this wondrous work of the Creator. But in justice to your devotion, to your
courage, and to your being the first to indicate the road, let this cape, seen
by you upon the shores of this sea discovered by you, be called, of all time,
Cape Saknussemm."

     This is what I heard, and I began to be roused to the pitch of enthusiasm
indicated by those words. A fierce excitement roused me. I forgot everything.
The dangers of the voyage and the perils of the return journey were now as
nothing!

     What another man had done in ages past could, I felt, be done again; I was
determined to do it myself, and now nothing that man had accomplished appeared
to me impossible.

     "Forward--forward," I cried in a burst of genuine and hearty enthusiasm.

     I had already started in the direction of the somber and gloomy gallery
when the Professor stopped me; he, the man so rash and hasty, he, the man so
easily roused to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, checked me, and asked me to
be patient and show more calm.

     "Let us return to our good friend, Hans," he said; "we will then bring the
raft down to this place."

     I must say that though I at once yielded to my uncle's request, it was not
without dissatisfaction, and I hastened along the rocks of that wonderful
coast.

     "Do you know, my dear uncle," I said, as we walked along, "that we have
been singularly helped by a concurrence of circumstances, right up to this very
moment."

     "So you begin to see it, do you, Harry?" said the Professor with a smile.

     "Doubtless," I responded, "and strangely enough, even the tempest has been
the means of putting us on the right road. Blessings on the tempest! It brought
us safely back to the very spot from which fine weather would have driven us
forever. Supposing we had succeeded in reaching the southern and distant shores
of this extraordinary sea, what would have become of us? The name of Saknussemm
would never have appeared to us, and at this moment we should have been cast
away upon an inhospitable coast, probably without an outlet."

     "Yes, Harry, my boy, there is certainly something providential in that
wandering at the mercy of wind and waves towards the south: we have come back
exactly north; and what is better still, we fall upon this great discovery of
Cape Saknussemm. I mean to say, that it is more than surprising; there is
something in it which is far beyond my comprehension. The coincidence is
unheard of, marvelous!"

     "What matter! It is not our duty to explain facts, but to make the best
possible use of them."

     "Doubtless, my boy; but if you will allow me--" said the really delighted
Professor.

     "Excuse me, sir, but I see exactly how it will be; we shall take the
northern route; we shall pass under the northern regions of Europe, under
Sweden, under Russia, under Siberia, and who knows where-- instead of burying
ourselves under the burning plains and deserts of Africa, or beneath the mighty
waves of the ocean; and that is all, at this stage of our journey, that I care
to know. Let us advance, and Heaven will be our guide!"

     "Yes, Harry, you are right, quite right; all is for the best. Let us
abandon this horizontal sea, which could never have led to anything
satisfactory. We shall descend, descend, and everlastingly descend. Do you
know, my dear boy, that to reach the interior of the earth we have only five
thousand miles to travel!"

     "Bah!" I cried, carried away by a burst of enthusiasm, "the distance is
scarcely worth speaking about. The thing is to make a start."

     My wild, mad, and incoherent speeches continued until we rejoined our
patient and phlegmatic guide. All was, we found, prepared for an immediate
departure. There was not a single parcel but what was in its proper place. We
all took up our posts on the raft, and the sail being hoisted, Hans received
his directions, and guided the frail bark towards Cape Saknussemm, as we had
definitely named it.

     The wind was very unfavorable to a craft that was unable to sail close to
the wind. It was constructed to go before the blast. We were continually
reduced to pushing ourselves forward by means of poles. On several occasions
the rocks ran far out into deep water and we were compelled to make a long
round. At last, after three long and weary hours of navigation, that is to say,
about six o'clock in the evening, we found a place at which we could land.

     I jumped on shore first. In my present state of excitement and enthusiasm,
I was always first. My uncle and the Icelander followed. The voyage from the
port to this point of the sea had by no means calmed me. It had rather produced
the opposite effect. I even proposed to burn our vessel, that is, to destroy
our raft, in order to completely cut off our retreat. But my uncle sternly
opposed this wild project. I began to think him particularly lukewarm and
unenthusiastic.

     "At any rate, my dear uncle," I said, "let us start without delay."

     "Yes, my boy, I am quite as eager to do so as you can be. But, in the
first place, let us examine this mysterious gallery, in order to find if we
shall need to prepare and mend our ladders."

     My uncle now began to see to the efficiency of our Ruhmkorff coil, which
would doubtless soon be needed; the raft, securely fastened to a rock, was left
alone. Moreover, the opening into the new gallery was not twenty paces distant
from the spot. Our little troop, with myself at the head, advanced.

     The orifice, which was almost circular, presented a diameter of about five
feet; the somber tunnel was cut in the living rock, and coated on the inside by
the different material which had once passed through it in a state of fusion.
The lower part was about level with the water, so that we were able to
penetrate to the interior without difficulty.

     We followed an almost horizontal direction; when, at the end of about a
dozen paces, our further advance was checked by the interposition of an
enormous block of granite rock.

     "Accursed stone!" I cried furiously, on perceiving that we were stopped by
what seemed an insurmountable obstacle.

     In vain we looked to the right, in vain we looked to the left; in vain
examined it above and below. There existed no passage, no sign of any other
tunnel. I experienced the most bitter and painful disappointment. So enraged
was I that I would not admit the reality of any obstacle. I stooped to my
knees; I looked under the mass of stone. No hole, no interstice. I then looked
above. The same barrier of granite! Hans, with the lamp, examined the sides of
the tunnel in every direction.

     But all in vain! It was necessary to renounce all hope of passing through.

     I had seated myself upon the ground. My uncle walked angrily and
hopelessly up and down. He was evidently desperate.

     "But," I cried, after some moments' thought, "what about Arne Saknussemm?"

     "You are right," replied my uncle, "he can never have been checked by a
lump of rock."

     "No--ten thousand times no," I cried, with extreme vivacity. "This huge
lump of rock, in consequence of some singular concussion, or process, one of
those magnetic phenomena which have so often shaken the terrestrial crust, has
in some unexpected way closed up the passage. Many and many years have passed
away since the return of Saknussemm, and the fall of this huge block of
granite. Is it not quite evident that this gallery was formerly the outlet for
the pent-up lava in the interior of the earth, and that these eruptive matters
then circulated freely? Look at these recent fissures in the granite roof; it
is evidently formed of pieces of enormous stone, placed here as if by the hand
of a giant, who had worked to make a strong and substantial arch. One day,
after an unusually strong shock, the vast rock which stands in our way, and
which was doubtless the key of a kind of arch, fell through to a level with the
soil and has barred our further progress. We are right, then, in thinking that
this is an unexpected obstacle, with which Saknussemm did not meet; and if we
do not upset it in some way, we are unworthy of following in the footsteps of
the great discoverer; and incapable of finding our way to the center of the
earth!"

     In this wild way I addressed my uncle. The zeal of the Professor, his
earnest longing for success, had become part and parcel of my being. I wholly
forgot the past; I utterly despised the future. Nothing existed for me upon the
surface of this spheroid in the bosom of which I was engulfed, no towns, no
country, no Hamburg, no Koenigstrasse, not even my poor Gretchen, who by this
time would believe me utterly lost in the interior of the earth!

     "Well," cried my uncle, roused to enthusiasm by my words, "Let us go to
work with pickaxes, with crowbars, with anything that comes to hand--but down
with these terrible walls."

     "It is far too tough and too big to be destroyed by a pickax or crowbar,"
I replied.

     "What then?"

     "As I said, it is useless to think of overcoming such a difficulty by
means of ordinary tools."

     "What then?"

     "What else but gunpowder, a subterranean mine? Let us blow up the obstacle
that stands in our way."

     "Gunpowder!"

     "Yes; all we have to do is to get rid of this paltry obstacle."

     "To work, Hans, to work!" cried the Professor.

     The Icelander went back to the raft, and soon returned with a huge
crowbar, with which he began to dig a hole in the rock, which was to serve as a
mine. It was by no means a slight task. It was necessary for our purpose to
make a cavity large enough to hold fifty pounds of fulminating gun cotton, the
expansive power of which is four times as great as that of ordinary gunpowder.

     I had now roused myself to an almost miraculous state of excitement. While
Hans was at work, I actively assisted my uncle to prepare a long wick, made
from damp gunpowder, the mass of which we finally enclosed in a bag of linen.

     "We are bound to go through," I cried, enthusiastically.

     "We are bound to go through," responded the Professor, tapping me on the
back.

     At midnight, our work as miners was completely finished; the charge of
fulminating cotton was thrust into the hollow, and the match, which we had made
of considerable length, was ready.

     A spark was now sufficient to ignite this formidable engine, and to blow
the rock to atoms!

     "We will now rest until tomorrow."

     It was absolutely necessary to resign myself to my fate, and to consent to
wait for the explosion for six weary hours!


A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXXIX

THE EXPLOSION AND ITS RESULTS

     The next day, which was the twenty-seventh of August, was a date
celebrated in our wondrous subterranean journey. I never think of it even now,
but I shudder with horror. My heart beats wildly at the very memory of that
awful day.

     From this time forward, our reason, our judgment, our human ingenuity,
have nothing to do with the course of events. We are about to become the
plaything of the great phenomena of the earth!

     At six o'clock we were all up and ready. The dreaded moment was arriving
when we were about to seek an opening into the interior of the earth by means
of gunpowder. What would be the consequences of breaking through the crust of
the earth?

     I begged that it might be my duty to set fire to the mine. I looked upon
it as an honor. This task once performed, I could rejoin my friends upon the
raft, which had not been unloaded. As soon as we were all ready, we were to
sail away to some distance to avoid the consequences of the explosion, the
effects of which would certainly not be concentrated in the interior of the
earth.

     The slow match we calculated to burn for about ten minutes, more or less,
before it reached the chamber in which the great body of powder was confined. I
should therefore have plenty of time to reach the raft and put off to a safe
distance.

     I prepared to execute my self-allotted task--not, it must be confessed,
without considerable emotion.

     After a hearty repast, my uncle and the hunter-guide embarked on board the
raft, while I remained alone upon the desolate shore.

     I was provided with a lantern which was to enable me to set fire to the
wick of the infernal machine.

     "Go, my boy," said my uncle, "and Heaven be with you. But come back as
soon as you can. I shall be all impatience."

     "Be easy on that matter," I replied, "there is no fear of my delaying on
the road."

     Having said this, I advanced toward the opening of the somber gallery. My
heart beat wildly. I opened my lantern and seized the extremity of the wick.

     The Professor, who was looking on, held his chronometer in his hand.

     "Are you ready?" cried he.

     "Quite ready."

     "Well, then, fire away!"

     I hastened to put the light to the wick, which crackled and sparkled,
hissing and spitting like a serpent; then, running as fast as I could, I
returned to the shore.

     "Get on board, my lad, and you, Hans, shove off," cried my uncle.

     By a vigorous application of his pole Hans sent us flying over the water.
The raft was quite twenty fathoms distant.

     It was a moment of palpitating interest, of deep anxiety. My uncle, the
Professor, never took his eyes off the chronometer.

     "Only five minutes more," he said in a low tone, "only four, only three."

     My pulse went a hundred to the minute. I could hear my heart beating.

     "Only two, one! Now, then, mountains of granite, crumble beneath the power
of man!"

     What happened after that? As to the terrific roar of the explosion, I do
not think I heard it. But the form of the rocks completely changed in my
eyes--they seemed to be drawn aside like a curtain. I saw a fathomless, a
bottomless abyss, which yawned beneath the turgid waves. The sea, which seemed
suddenly to have gone mad, then became one great mountainous mass, upon the top
of which the raft rose perpendicularly.

     We were all thrown down. In less than a second the light gave place to the
most profound obscurity. Then I felt all solid support give way not to my feet,
but to the raft itself. I thought it was going bodily down a tremendous well. I
tried to speak, to question my uncle. Nothing could be heard but the roaring of
the mighty waves. We clung together in utter silence.

     Despite the awful darkness, despite the noise, the surprise, the emotion,
I thoroughly understood what had happened.

     Beyond the rock which had been blown up, there existed a mighty abyss. The
explosion had caused a kind of earthquake in this soil, broken by fissures and
rents. The gulf, thus suddenly thrown open, was about to swallow the inland
seal which, transformed into a mighty torrent, was dragging us with it.

     Only one idea filled my mind. We were utterly and completely lost!

     One hour, two hours--what more I cannot say, passed in this manner. We sat
close together, elbow touching elbow, knee touching knee! We held one another's
hands not to be thrown off the raft. We were subjected to the most violent
shocks, whenever our sole dependence, a frail wooden raft, struck against the
rocky sides of the channel. Fortunately for us, these concussions became less
and less frequent, which made me fancy that the gallery was getting wider and
wider. There could be now no doubt that we had chanced upon the road once
followed by Saknussemm, but instead of going down in a proper manner, we had,
through our own imprudence, drawn a whole sea with us!

     These ideas presented themselves to my mind in a very vague and obscure
manner. I felt rather than reasoned. I put my ideas together only confusedly,
while spinning along like a man going down a waterfall. To judge by the air
which, as it were, whipped my face, we must have been rushing at a perfectly
lightning rate.

     To attempt under these circumstances to light a torch was simply
impossible, and the last remains of our electric machine, of our Ruhmkorff
coil, had been destroyed during the fearful explosion.

     I was therefore very much confused to see at last a bright light shining
close to me. The calm countenance of the guide seemed to gleam upon me. The
clever and patient hunter had succeeded in lighting the lantern; and though, in
the keen and thorough draft, the flame Flickered and vacillated and was nearly
put out, it served partially to dissipate the awful obscurity.

     The gallery into which we had entered was very wide. I was, therefore,
quite right in that part of my conjecture. The insufficient light did not allow
us to see both of the walls at the same time. The slope of waters, which was
carrying us away, was far greater than that of the most rapid river of America.
The whole surface of the stream seemed to be composed of liquid arrows, darted
forward with extreme violence and power. I can give no idea of the impression
it made upon me.

     The raft, at times, caught in certain whirlpools, and rushed forward, yet
turned on itself all the time. How it did not upset I shall never be able to
understand. When it approached the sides of the gallery, I took care to throw
upon them the light of the lantern, and I was able to judge of the rapidity of
motion by looking at the projecting masses of rock, which as soon as seen were
again invisible. So rapid was our progress that points of rock at a
considerable distance one from the other appeared like portions of transverse
lines, which enclosed us in a kind of net, like that of a line of telegraphic
wires.

     I believe we were now going at a rate of not less than a hundred miles an
hour.

     My uncle and I looked at one another with wild and haggard eyes; we clung
convulsively to the stump of the mast, which, at the moment when the
catastrophe took place, had snapped short off. We turned our backs as much as
possible to the wind, in order not to be stifled by a rapidity of motion which
nothing human could face and live.

     And still the long monotonous hours went on. The situation did not change
in the least, though a discovery I suddenly made seemed to complicate it very
much.

     When we had slightly recovered our equilibrium, I proceeded to examine our
cargo. I then made the unsatisfactory discovery that the greater part of it had
utterly disappeared.

     I became alarmed, and determined to discover what were our resources. My
heart beat at the idea, but it was absolutely necessary to know on what we had
to depend. With this view, I took the lantern and looked around.

     Of all our former collection of nautical and philosophical instruments,
there remained only the chronometer and the compass. The ladders and ropes were
reduced to a small piece of rope fastened to the stump of the mast. Not a
pickax, not a crowbar, not a hammer, and, far worse than all, no food--not
enough for one day!

     This discovery was a prelude to a certain and horrible death.

     Seated gloomily on the raft, clasping the stump of the mast mechanically,
I thought of all I had read as to sufferings from starvation.

     I remembered everything that history had taught me on the subject, and I
shuddered at the remembrance of the agonies to be endured.

     Maddened at the prospects of enduring the miseries of starvation, I
persuaded myself that I must be mistaken. I examined the cracks in the raft; I
poked between the joints and beams; I examined every possible hole and corner.
The result was--simply nothing!

     Our stock of provisions consisted of nothing but a piece of dry meat and
some soaked and half-moldy biscuits.

     I gazed around me scared and frightened. I could not understand the awful
truth. And yet of what consequence was it in regard to any new danger?
Supposing that we had had provisions for months, and even for years, how could
we ever get out of the awful abyss into which we were being hurled by the
irresistible torrent we had let loose?

     Why should we trouble ourselves about the sufferings and tortures to be
endured from hunger when death stared us in the face under so many other
swifter and perhaps even more horrid forms?

     It was very doubtful, under the circumstances in which we were placed, if
we should have time to die of inanition.

     But the human frame is singularly constituted.

     I know not how it was; but, from some singular hallucination of the mind,
I forgot the real, serious, and immediate danger to which we were exposed, to
think of the menaces of the future, which appeared before us in all their naked
terror. Besides, after all, suggested Hope, perhaps we might finally escape the
fury of the raging torrent, and once more revisit the glimpses of the moon, on
the surface of our beautiful Mother Earth.

     How was it to be done? I had not the remotest idea. Where were we to come
out? No matter, so that we did.

     One chance in a thousand is always a chance, while death from hunger gave
us not even the faintest glimpse of hope. It left to the imagination nothing
but blank horror, without the faintest chance of escape!

     I had the greatest mind to reveal all to my uncle, to explain to him the
extraordinary and wretched position to which we were reduced, in order that,
between the two, we might make a calculation as to the exact space of time
which remained for us to live.

     It was, it appeared to me, the only thing to be done. But I had the
courage to hold my tongue, to gnaw at my entrails like the Spartan boy. I
wished to leave him all his coolness.

     At this moment, the light of the lantern slowly fell, and at last went
out!

     The wick had wholly burnt to an end. The obscurity became absolute. It was
no longer possible to see through the impenetrable darkness! There was one
torch left, but it was impossible to keep it alight. Then, like a child, I shut
my eyes, that I might not see the darkness.

     After a great lapse of time, the rapidity of our journey increased. I
could feel it by the rush of air upon my face. The slope of the waters was
excessive. I began to feel that we were no longer going down a slope; we were
falling. I felt as one does in a dream, going down bodily--falling; falling;
falling!

     I felt that the hands of my uncle and Hans were vigorously clasping my
arms.

     Suddenly, after a lapse of time scarcely appreciable, I felt something
like a shock. The raft had not struck a hard body, but had suddenly been
checked in its course. A waterspout, a liquid column of water, fell upon us. I
felt suffocating. I was being drowned.

     Still the sudden inundation did not last. In a few seconds I felt myself
once more able to breathe. My uncle and Hans pressed my arms, and the raft
carried us all three away.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XL

THE APE GIGANS

     IT is difficult for me to determine what was the real time, but I should
suppose, by after calculation, that it must have been ten at night.

     I lay in a stupor, a half dream, during which I saw visions of astounding
character. Monsters of the deep were side by side with the mighty elephantine
shepherd. Gigantic fish and animals seemed to form strange conjunctions.

     The raft took a sudden turn, whirled round, entered another tunnel--this
time illumined in a most singular manner. The roof was formed of porous
stalactite, through which a moonlit vapor appeared to pass, casting its
brilliant light upon our gaunt and haggard figures. The light increased as we
advanced, while the roof ascended; until at last, we were once more in a kind
of water cavern, the lofty dome of which disappeared in a luminous cloud!

     A rugged cavern of small extent appeared to offer a halting place to our
weary bodies.

     My uncle and the guide moved as men in a dream. I was afraid to waken
them, knowing the danger of such a sudden start. I seated myself beside them to
watch.

     As I did so, I became aware of something moving in the distance, which at
once fascinated my eyes. It was floating, apparently, upon the surface of the
water, advancing by means of what at first appeared paddles. I looked with
glaring eyes. One glance told me that it was something monstrous.

     But what?

     It was the great "shark-crocodile" of the early writers on geology. About
the size of an ordinary whale, with hideous jaws and two gigantic eyes, it
advanced. Its eyes fixed on me with terrible sternness. Some indefinite warning
told me that it had marked me for its own.

     I attempted to rise--to escape, no matter where, but my knees shook under
me; my limbs trembled violently; I almost lost my senses. And still the mighty
monster advanced. My uncle and the guide made no effort to save themselves.

     With a strange noise, like none other I had ever heard, the beast came on.
His jaws were at least seven feet apart, and his distended mouth looked large
enough to have swallowed a boatful of men.

     We were about ten feet distant when I discovered that much as his body
resembled that of a crocodile, his mouth was wholly that of a shark.

     His twofold nature now became apparent. To snatch us up at a mouthful it
was necessary for him to turn on his back, which motion necessarily caused his
legs to kick up helplessly in the air.

     I actually laughed even in the very jaws of death!

     But next minute, with a wild cry, I darted away into the interior of the
cave, leaving my unhappy comrades to their fate! This cavern was deep and
dreary. After about a hundred yards, I paused and looked around.

     The whole floor, composed of sand and malachite, was strewn with bones,
freshly gnawed bones of reptiles and fish, with a mixture of mammalia. My very
soul grew sick as my body shuddered with horror. I had truly, according to the
old proverb, fallen out of the frying pan into the fire. Some beast larger and
more ferocious even than the shark-crocodile inhabited this den.

     What could I do? The mouth of the cave was guarded by one ferocious
monster, the interior was inhabited by something too hideous to contemplate.
Flight was impossible!

     Only one resource remained, and that was to find some small hiding place
to which the fearful denizens of the cavern could not penetrate. I gazed wildly
around, and at last discovered a fissure in the rock, to which I rushed in the
hope of recovering my scattered senses.

     Crouching down, I waited shivering as in an ague fit. No man is brave in
presence of an earthquake, or a bursting boiler, or an exploding torpedo. I
could not be expected to feel much courage in presence of the fearful fate that
appeared to await me.

     An hour passed. I heard all the time a strange rumbling outside the cave.

     What was the fate of my unhappy companions? It was impossible for me to
pause to inquire. My own wretched existence was all I could think of.

     Suddenly a groaning, as of fifty bears in a fight, fell upon my
ears--hisses, spitting, moaning, hideous to hear--and then I saw-

     Never, were ages to pass over my head, shall I forget the horrible
apparition.

     It was the Ape Gigans!

     Fourteen feet high, covered with coarse hair, of a blackish brown, the
hair on the arms, from the shoulder to the elbow joints, pointing downwards,
while that from the wrist to the elbow pointed upwards, it advanced. Its arms
were as long as its body, while its legs were prodigious. It had thick, long,
and sharply pointed teeth-- like a mammoth saw.

     It struck its breast as it came on smelling and sniffing, reminding me of
the stories we read in our early childhood of giants who ate the Flesh of men
and little boys!

     Suddenly it stopped. My heart beat wildly, for I was conscious that,
somehow or other, the fearful monster had smelled me out and was peering about
with his hideous eyes to try and discover my whereabouts.

     My reading, which as a rule is a blessing, but which on this occasion,
seemed momentarily to prove a curse, told me the real truth. It was the Ape
Gigans, the antediluvian gorilla.

     Yes! This awful monster, confined by good fortune to the interior of the
earth, was the progenitor of the hideous monster of Africa.

     He glared wildly about, seeking something--doubtless myself. I gave myself
up for lost. No hope of safety or escape seemed to remain.

     At this moment, just as my eyes appeared to close in death, there came a
strange noise from the entrance of the cave; and turning, the gorilla evidently
recognized some enemy more worthy his prodigious size and strength. It was the
huge shark-crocodile, which perhaps having disposed of my friends, was coming
in search of further prey.

     The gorilla placed himself on the defensive, and clutching a bone some
seven or eight feet in length, a perfect club, aimed a deadly blow at the
hideous beast, which reared upwards and fell with all its weight upon its
adversary.

     A terrible combat, the details of which it is impossible to give, now
ensued. The struggle was awful and ferocious, I, however, did not wait to
witness the result. Regarding myself as the object of contention, I determined
to remove from the presence of the victor. I slid down from my hiding place,
reached the ground, and gliding against the wall, strove to gain the open mouth
of the cavern.

     But I had not taken many steps when the fearful clamor ceased, to be
followed by a mumbling and groaning which appeared to be indicative of victory.

     I looked back and saw the huge ape, gory with blood, coming after me with
glaring eyes, with dilated nostrils that gave forth two columns of heated
vapor. I could feel his hot and fetid breath on my neck; and with a horrid
jump--awoke from my nightmare sleep.

     Yes--it was all a dream. I was still on the raft with my uncle and the
guide.

     The relief was not instantaneous, for under the influence of the hideous
nightmare my senses had become numbed. After a while, however, my feelings were
tranquilized. The first of my perceptions which returned in full force was that
of hearing. I listened with acute and attentive ears. All was still as death.
All I comprehended was silence. To the roaring of the waters, which had filled
the gallery with awful reverberations, succeeded perfect peace.

     After some little time my uncle spoke, in a low and scarcely audible tone:
"Harry, boy, where are you?"

     "I am here," was my faint rejoinder.

     "Well, don't you see what has happened? We are going upwards."

     "My dear uncle, what can you mean?" was my half-delirious reply.

     "Yes, I tell you we are ascending rapidly. Our downward journey is quite
checked."

     I held out my hand, and, after some little difficulty, succeeded in
touching the wall. My hand was in an instant covered with blood. The skin was
torn from the flesh. We were ascending with extraordinary rapidity.

     "The torch--the torch!" cried the Professor, wildly; "it must be lighted."

     Hans, the guide, after many vain efforts, at last succeeded in lighting
it, and the flame, having now nothing to prevent its burning, shed a tolerably
clear light. We were enabled to form an approximate idea of the truth.

     "It is just as I thought," said my uncle, after a moment or two of silent
attention. "We are in a narrow well about four fathoms square. The waters of
the great inland sea, having reached the bottom of the gulf are now forcing
themselves up the mighty shaft. As a natural consequence, we are being cast
upon the summit of the waters."

     "That I can see," was my lugubrious reply; "but where will this shaft end,
and to what fall are we likely to be exposed?"

     "Of that I am as ignorant as yourself. All I know is, that we should be
prepared for the worst. We are going up at a fearfully rapid rate. As far as I
can judge, we are ascending at the rate of two fathoms a second, of a hundred
and twenty fathoms a minute, or rather more than three and a half leagues an
hour. At this rate, our fate will soon be a matter of certainty."

     "No doubt of it," was my reply. "The great concern I have now, however, is
to know whether this shaft has any issue. It may end in a granite roof--in
which case we shall be suffocated by compressed air, or dashed to atoms against
the top. I fancy, already, that the air is beginning to be close and condensed.
I have a difficulty in breathing."

     This might be fancy, or it might be the effect of our rapid motion, but I
certainly felt a great oppression of the chest.

     "Henry," said the Professor, "I do believe that the situation is to a
certain extent desperate. There remain, however, many chances of ultimate
safety, and I have, in my own mind, been revolving them over, during your heavy
but agitated sleep. I have come to this logical conclusion--whereas we may at
any moment perish, so at any moment we may be saved! We need, therefore,
prepare ourselves for whatever may turn up in the great chapter of accidents."

     "But what would you have us do?" I cried. "Are we not utterly helpless?"

     "No! While there is life there is hope. At all events, there is one thing
we can do--eat, and thus obtain strength to face victory or death."

     As he spoke, I looked at my uncle with a haggard glance. I had put off the
fatal communication as long as possible. It was now forced upon me, and I must
tell him the truth.

     Still I hesitated.

     "Eat," I said, in a deprecating tone as if there were no hurry.

     "Yes, and at once. I feel like a starving prisoner," he said, rubbing his
yellow and shivering hands together.

     And, turning round to the guide, he spoke some hearty, cheering words, as
I judged from his tone, in Danish. Hans shook his head in a terribly
significant manner. I tried to look unconcerned.

     "What!" cried the Professor, "you do not mean to say that all our
provisions are lost?"

     "Yes," was my lowly spoken reply, as I held out something in my hand,
"this morsel of dried meat is all that remains for us three."

     My uncle gazed at me as if he could not fully appreciate the meaning of my
words. The blow seemed to stun him by its severity. I allowed him to reflect
for some moments.

     "Well, said I, after a short pause, "what do you think now? Is there any
chance of our escaping from our horrible subterranean dangers? Are we not
doomed to perish in the great hollows of the center of the earth?"

     But my pertinent questions brought no answer. My uncle either heard me
not, or appeared not to do so.

     And in this way a whole hour passed. Neither of us cared to speak. For
myself, I began to feel the most fearful and devouring hunger. My companions,
doubtless, felt the same horrible tortures, but neither of them would touch the
wretched morsel of meat that remained. It lay there, a last remnant of all our
great preparations for the mad and senseless journey!

     I looked back, with wonderment, to my own folly. Fully was I aware that,
despite his enthusiasm, and the ever-to-be-hated scroll of Saknussemm, my uncle
should never have started on his perilous voyage. What memories of the happy
past, what previsions of the horrible future, now filled my brain!

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XLI

HUNGER

     Hunger, prolonged, is temporary madness! The brain is at work without its
required food, and the most fantastic notions fill the mind. Hitherto I had
never known what hunger really meant. I was likely to understand it now.

     And yet, three months before I could tell my terrible story of starvation,
as I thought it. As a boy I used to make frequent excursions in the
neighborhood of the Professor's house.

     My uncle always acted on system, and he believed that, in addition to the
day of rest and worship, there should be a day of recreation. In consequence, I
was always free to do as I liked on a Wednesday.

     Now, as I had a notion to combine the useful and the agreeable, my
favorite pastime was birds' nesting. I had one of the best collections of eggs
in all the town. They were classified, and under glass cases.

     There was a certain wood, which, by rising at early morn, and taking the
cheap train, I could reach at eleven in the morning. Here I would botanize or
geologize at my will. My uncle was always glad of specimens for his herbarium,
and stones to examine. When I had filled my wallet, I proceeded to search for
nests.

     After about two hours of hard work, I, one day, sat down by a stream to
eat my humble but copious lunch. How the remembrance of the spiced sausage, the
wheaten loaf, and the beer, made my mouth water now! I would have given every
prospect of worldly wealth for such a meal. But to my story.

     While seated thus at my leisure, I looked up at the ruins of an old
castle, at no great distance. It was the remains of an historical dwelling,
ivy-clad, and now falling to pieces.

     While looking, I saw two eagles circling about the summit of a lofty
tower. I soon became satisfied that there was a nest. Now, in all my
collection, I lacked eggs of the native eagle and the large owl.

     My mind was made up. I would reach the summit of that tower, or perish in
the attempt. I went nearer, and surveyed the ruins. The old staircase, years
before, had fallen in. The outer walls were, however, intact. There was no
chance that way, unless I looked to the ivy solely for support. This was, as I
soon found out, futile.

     There remained the chimney, which still went up to the top, and had once
served to carry off the smoke from every story of the tower.

     Up this I determined to venture. It was narrow, rough, and therefore the
more easily climbed. I took off my coat and crept into the chimney. Looking up,
I saw a small, light opening, proclaiming the summit of the chimney.

     Up--up I went, for some time using my hands and knees, after the fashion
of a chimney sweep. It was slow work, but, there being continual projections,
the task was comparatively easy. In this way, I reached halfway. The chimney
now became narrower. The atmosphere was close, and, at last, to end the matter,
I stuck fast. I could ascend no higher.

     There could be no doubt of this, and there remained no resource but to
descend, and give up my glorious prey in despair. I yielded to fate and
endeavored to descend. But I could not move. Some unseen and mysterious
obstacle intervened and stopped me. In an instant the full horror of my
situation seized me.

     I was unable to move either way, and was doomed to a terrible and horrible
death, that of starvation. In a boy's mind, however, there is an extraordinary
amount of elasticity and hope, and I began to think of all sorts of plans to
escape my gloomy fate.

     In the first place, I required no food just at present, having had an
excellent meal, and was therefore allowed time for reflection. My first thought
was to try and move the mortar with my hand. Had I possessed a knife, something
might have been done, but that useful instrument I had left in my coat pocket.

     I soon found that all efforts of this kind were vain and useless, and that
all I could hope to do was to wriggle downwards.

     But though I jerked and struggled, and strove to turn, it was all in vain.
I could not move an inch, one way or the other. And time flew rapidly. My early
rising probably contributed to the fact that I felt sleepy, and gradually gave
way to the sensation of drowsiness.

     I slept, and awoke in darkness, ravenously hungry.

     Night had come, and still I could not move. I was tight bound, and did not
succeed in changing my position an inch. I groaned aloud. Never since the days
of my happy childhood, when it was a hardship to go from meal to meal without
eating, had I really experienced hunger. The sensation was as novel as it was
painful. I began now to lose my head and to scream and cry out in my agony.
Something appeared, startled by my noise. It was a harmless lizard, but it
appeared to me a loathsome reptile. Again I made the old ruins resound with my
cries, and finally so exhausted myself that I fainted.

     How long I lay in a kind of trance or sleep I cannot say, but when again I
recovered consciousness it was day. How ill I felt, how hunger still gnawed at
me, it would be hard to say. I was too weak to scream now, far too weak to
struggle.

     Suddenly I was startled by a roar.

     "Are you there, Henry?" said the voice of my uncle; "are you there, my
boy?"

     I could only faintly respond, but I also made a desperate effort to turn.
Some mortar fell. To this I owed my being discovered. When the search took
place, it was easily seen that mortar and small pieces of stone had recently
fallen from above. Hence my uncle's cry.

     "Be calm, "he cried, "if we pull down the whole ruin, you shall be saved."

     They were delicious words, but I had little hope.

     Soon however, about a quarter of an hour later I heard a voice above me,
at one of the upper fireplaces.

     "Are you below or above?"

     "Below," was my reply.

     In an instant a basket was lowered with milk, a biscuit, and an egg. My
uncle was fearful to be too ready with his supply of food. I drank the milk
first, for thirst had nearly deadened hunger. I then, much refreshed, ate my
bread and hard egg.

     They were now at work at the wall. I could hear a pickax. Wishing to
escape all danger from this terrible weapon I made a desperate struggle, and
the belt, which surrounded my waist and which had been hitched on a stone, gave
way. I was free, and only escaped falling down by a rapid motion of my hands
and knees.

     In ten minutes more I was in my uncle's arms, after being two days and
nights in that horrible prison. My occasional delirium prevented me from
counting time.

     I was weeks recovering from that awful starvation adventure; and yet what
was that to the hideous sufferings I now endured?

     After dreaming for some time, and thinking of this and other matters, I
once more looked around me. We were still ascending with fearful rapidity.
Every now and then the air appeared to check our respiration as it does that of
aeronauts when the ascension of the balloon is too rapid. But if they feel a
degree of cold in proportion to the elevation they attain in the atmosphere, we
experienced quite a contrary effect. The heat began to increase in a most
threatening and exceptional manner. I cannot tell exactly the mean, but I think
it must have reached one hundred twenty-two degrees Fahrenheit.

     What was the meaning of this extraordinary change in the temperature? As
far as we had hitherto gone, facts had proved the theories of Davy and of
Lidenbrock to be correct. Until now, all the peculiar conditions of refractory
rocks, of electricity, of magnetism, had modified the general laws of nature,
and had created for us a moderate temperature; for the theory of the central
fire, remained, in my eyes, the only explainable one.

     Were we, then, going to reach a position in which these phenomena were to
be carried out in all their rigor, and in which the heat would reduce the rocks
to a state of fusion?

     Such was my not unnatural fear, and I did not conceal the fact from my
uncle. My way of doing so might be cold and heartless, but I could not help it.

     "If we are not drowned, or smashed into pancakes, and if we do not die of
starvation, we have the satisfaction of knowing that we must be burned alive."

     My uncle, in presence of this brusque attack, simply shrugged his
shoulders, and resumed his reflections--whatever they might be.

     An hour passed away, and except that there was a slight increase in the
temperature no incident modified the situation.

     My uncle at last, of his own accord, broke silence.

     "Well, Henry, my boy," he said, in a cheerful way, "we must make up our
minds."

     "Make up our minds to what?" I asked, in considerable surprise.

     "Well--to something. We must at whatever risk recruit our physical
strength. If we make the fatal mistake of husbanding our little remnant of
food, we may probably prolong our wretched existence a few hours--but we shall
remain weak to the end."

     "Yes," I growled, "to the end. That, however, will not keep us long
waiting."

     "Well, only let a chance of safety present itself--only allow that a
moment of action be necessary--where shall we find the means of action if we
allow ourselves to be reduced to physical weakness by inanition?"

     "When this piece of meat is devoured, Uncle, what hope will there remain
unto us?"

     "None, my dear Henry, none. But will it do you any good to devour it with
your eyes? You appear to me to reason like one without will or decision, like a
being without energy."

     "Then," cried I, exasperated to a degree which is scarcely to be
explained, "you do not mean to tell me--that you--that you--have not lost all
hope.

     "Certainly not," replied the Professor with consummate coolness.

     "You mean to tell me, Uncle, that we shall get out of this monstrous
subterranean shaft?"

     "While there is life there is hope. I beg to assert, Henry, that as long
as a man's heart beats, as long as a man's flesh quivers, I do not allow that a
being gifted with thought and will can allow himself to despair."

     What a nerve! The man placed in a position like that we occupied must have
been very brave to speak like this.

     "Well," I cried, "what do you mean to do?"

     "Eat what remains of the food we have in our hands; let us swallow the
last crumb. It will bel Heaven willing, our last repast. Well, never
mind--instead of being exhausted skeletons, we shall be men."

     "True," muttered I in a despairing tone, "let us take our fill."

     "We must, replied my uncle, with a deep sigh, "call it what you will."

     My uncle took a piece of the meat that remained, and some crusts of
biscuit which had escaped the wreck. He divided the whole into three parts.

     Each had one pound of food to last him as long as he remained in the
interior of the earth.

     Each now acted in accordance with his own private character.

     My uncle, the Professor, ate greedily, but evidently without appetite,
eating simply from some mechanical motion. I put the food inside my lips, and
hungry as I was, chewed my morsel without pleasure, and without satisfaction.

     Hans, the guide, just as if he had been eider-down hunting, swallowed
every mouthful, as though it were a usual affair. He looked like a man equally
prepared to enjoy superfluity or total want.

     Hans, in all probability, was no more used to starvation than ourselves,
but his hardy Icelandic nature had prepared him for many sufferings. As long as
he received his three rix-dollars every Saturday night, he was prepared for
anything.

     The fact was, Hans never troubled himself about much except his money. He
had undertaken to serve a certain man at so much per week, and no matter what
evils befell his employer or himself, he never found fault or grumbled, so long
as his wages were duly paid.

     Suddenly my uncle roused himself. He had seen a smile on the face of our
guide. I could not make it out.

     "What is the matter?" said my uncle.

     "Schiedam," said the guide, producing a bottle of this precious fluid.

     We drank. My uncle and myself will own to our dying day that hence we
derived strength to exist until the last bitter moment. That precious bottle of
Hollands was in reality only half full; but, under the circumstances, it was
nectar.

     It took some minutes for myself and my uncle to form a decided opinion on
the subject. The worthy Professor swallowed about half a pint and did not seem
able to drink any more.

     "Fortrafflig," said Hans, swallowing nearly all that was left.

     "Excellent--very good," said my uncle, with as much gusto as if he had
just left the steps of the club at Hamburg.

     I had begun to feel as if there had been one gleam of hope. Now all
thought of the future vanished!

     We had consumed our last ounce of food, and it was five o'clock in the
morning!

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XLII

THE VOLCANIC SHAFT

     Man's constitution is so peculiar that his health is purely a negative
matter. No sooner is the rage of hunger appeased than it becomes difficult to
comprehend the meaning of starvation. It is only when you suffer that you
really understand.

     As to anyone who has not endured privation having any notion of the
matter, it is simply absurd.

     With us, after a long fast, some mouthfuls of bread and meat, a little
moldy biscuit and salt beef triumphed over all our previous gloomy and
saturnine thoughts.

     Nevertheless, after this repast each gave way to his own reflections. I
wondered what were those of Hans--the man of the extreme north, who was yet
gifted with the fatalistic resignation of Oriental character. But the utmost
stretch of the imagination would not allow me to realize the truth. As for my
individual self, my thoughts had ceased to be anything but memories of the
past, and were all connected with that upper world which I never should have
left. I saw it all now, the beautiful house in the Konigstrasse, my poor
Gretchen, the good Martha; they all passed before my mind like visions of the
past. Every time any of the lugubrious groanings which were to be distinguished
in the hollows around fell upon my ears, I fancied I heard the distant murmur
of the great cities above my head.

     As for my uncle, always thinking of his science, he examined the nature of
the shaft by means of a torch. He closely examined the different strata one
above the other, in order to recognize his situation by geological theory. This
calculation, or rather this estimation, could by no means be anything but
approximate. But a learned man, a philosopher, is nothing if not a philosopher,
when he keeps his ideas calm and collected; and certainly the Professor
possessed this quality to perfection.

     I heard him, as I sat in silence, murmuring words of geological science.
As I understood his object and his meaning, I could not but interest myself
despite my preoccupation in that terrible hour.

     "Eruptive granite," he said to himself, "we are still in the primitive
epoch. But we are going up--going up, still going up. But who knows? Who
knows?"

     Then he still hoped. He felt along the vertical sides of the shaft with
his hand, and some few minutes later, he would go on again in the following
style:

     "This is gneiss. This is mica schist--siliceous mineral. Good again; this
is the epoch of transition, at all events, we are close to them--and then, and
then--"

     What could the Professor mean? Could he, by any conceivable means, measure
the thickness of the crust of the earth suspended above our heads? Did he
possess any possible means of making any approximation to this calculation? No.

     The manometer was wanting, and no summary estimation could take the place
of it.

     And yet, as we progressed, the temperature increased in the most
extraordinary degree, and I began to feel as if I were bathed in a hot and
burning atmosphere. Never before had I felt anything like it. I could only
compare it to the hot vapor from an iron foundry, when the liquid iron is in a
state of ebullition and runs over. By degrees, and one after the other, Hans,
my uncle, and myself had taken off our coats and waistcoats. They were
unbearable. Even the slightest garment was not only uncomfortable, but the
cause of extreme suffering.

     "Are we ascending to a living fire?" I cried; when, to my horror and
astonishment, the heat became greater than before.

     "No, no," said my uncle, "it is simply impossible, quite impossible."

     "And yet," said I, touching the side of the shaft with my naked hand,
"this wall is literally burning."

     At this moment, feeling as I did that the sides of this extraordinary wall
were red hot, I plunged my hands into the water to cool them. I drew them back
with a cry of despair.

     "The water is boiling!" I cried.

     My uncle, the Professor, made no reply other than a gesture of rage and
despair.

     Something very like the truth had probably struck his imagination.

     But I could take no share in either what was going on, or in his
speculations. An invincible dread had taken possession of my brain and soul. I
could only look forward to an immediate catastrophe, such a catastrophe as not
even the most vivid imagination could have thought of. An idea, at first vague
and uncertain, was gradually being changed into certainty.

     I tremulously rejected it at first, but it forced itself upon me by
degrees with extreme obstinacy. It was so terrible an idea that I scarcely
dared to whisper it to myself.

     And yet all the while certain, and as it were, involuntary observations
determined my convictions. By the doubtful glare of the torch, I could make out
some singular changes in the granitic strata; a strange and terrible phenomenon
was about to be produced, in which electricity played a part.

     Then this boiling water, this terrible and excessive heat? I determined as
a last resource to examine the compass.

     The compass had gone mad!

     Yes, wholly stark staring mad. The needle jumped from pole to pole with
sudden and surprising jerks, ran round, or as it is said, boxed the compass,
and then ran suddenly back again as if it had the vertigo.

     I was aware that, according to the best acknowledged theories, it was a
received notion that the mineral crust of the globe is never, and never has
been, in a state of complete repose.

     It is perpetually undergoing the modifications caused by the decomposition
of internal matter, the agitation consequent on the flowing of extensive liquid
currents, the excessive action of magnetism which tends to shake it
incessantly, at a time when even the multitudinous beings on its surface do not
suspect the seething process to be going on.

     Still this phenomenon would not have alarmed me alone; it would not have
aroused in my mind a terrible, an awful idea.

     But other facts could not allow my self-delusion to last.

     Terrible detonations, like Heaven's artillery, began to multiply
themselves with fearful intensity. I could only compare them with the noise
made by hundreds of heavily laden chariots being madly driven over a stone
pavement. It was a continuous roll of heavy thunder.

     And then the mad compass, shaken by the wild electric phenomena, confirmed
me in my rapidly formed opinion. The mineral crust was about to burst, the
heavy granite masses were about to rejoin, the fissure was about to close, the
void was about to be filled up, and we poor atoms to be crushed in its awful
embrace!

     "Uncle, Uncle!" I cried, "we are wholly, irretrievably lost!"

     "What, then, my young friend, is your new cause of terror and alarm?" he
said in his calmest manner. "What fear you now?"

     "What do I fear now!" I cried in fierce and angry tones. "Do you not see
that the walls of the shaft are in motion? Do you not see that the solid
granite masses are cracking? Do you not feel the terrible, torrid heat? Do you
not observe the awful boiling water on which we float? Do you not remark this
mad needle? Every sign and portent of an awful earthquake!"

     My uncle coolly shook his head.

     "An earthquake," he replied in the most calm and provoking tone.

     "Yes."

     "My nephew, I tell you that you are utterly mistaken," he continued.

     "Do you not, can you not, recognize all the well-known symtons--"

     "Of an earthquake? By no means. I am expecting something far more
important."

     "My brain is strained beyond endurance--what, what do you mean?" I cried.

     "An eruption, Harry."

     "An eruption," I gasped. "We are, then, in the volcanic shaft of a crater
in full action and vigor."

     "I have every reason to think so," said the Professor in a smiling tone,
"and I beg to tell you that it is the most fortunate thing that could happen to
us."

     The most fortunate thing! Had my uncle really and truly gone mad? What did
he mean by these awful words--what did he mean by this terrible calm, this
solemn smile?

     "What!" cried I, in the height of my exasperation, "we are on the way to
an eruption, are we? Fatality has cast us into a well of burning and boiling
lava, of rocks on fire, of boiling water, in a word, filled with every kind of
eruptive matter? We are about to be expelled, thrown up, vomited, spit out of
the interior of the earth, in common with huge blocks of granite, with showers
of cinders and scoriae, in a wild whirlwind of flame, and you say--the most
fortunate thing which could happen to us."

     "Yes, replied the Professor, looking at me calmly from under his
spectacles, "it is the only chance which remains to us of ever escaping from
the interior of the earth to the light of day."

     It is quite impossible that I can put on paper the thousand strange, wild
thoughts which followed this extraordinary announcement.

     But my uncle was right, quite right, and never had he appeared to me so
audacious and so convinced as when he looked me calmly in the face and spoke of
the chances of an eruption--of our being cast upon Mother Earth once more
through the gaping crater of a volcano!

     Nevertheless, while we were speaking we were still ascending; we passed
the whole night going up, or to speak more scientifically, in an ascensional
motion. The fearful noise redoubled; I was ready to suffocate. I seriously
believed that my last hour was approaching, and yet, so strange is imagination,
all I thought of was some childish hypothesis or other. In such circumstances
you do not choose your own thoughts. They overcome you.

     It was quite evident that we were being cast upwards by eruptive matter;
under the raft there was a mass of boiling water, and under this was a heavier
mass of lava, and an aggregate of rocks which, on reaching the summit of the
water, would be dispersed in every direction.

     That we were inside the chimney of a volcano there could no longer be the
shadow of a doubt. Nothing more terrible could be conceived!

     But on this occasion, instead of Sneffels, an old and extinct volcano, we
were inside a mountain of fire in full activity. Several times I found myself
asking, what mountain was it, and on what part of the world we should be shot
out. As if it were of any consequence!

     In the northern regions, there could be no reasonable doubt about that.
Before it went decidedly mad, the compass had never made the slightest mistake.
From the cape of Saknussemm, we had been swept away to the northward many
hundreds of leagues. Now the question was, were we once more under
Iceland--should we be belched forth on to the earth through the crater of Mount
Hecla, or should we reappear through one of the other seven fire funnels of the
island? Taking in my mental vision a radius of five hundred leagues to the
westward, I could see under this parallel only the little-known volcanoes of
the northwest coast of America.

     To the east one only existed somewhere about the eightieth degree of
latitude, the Esk, upon the island of Jan Mayen, not far from the frozen
regions of Spitsbergen.

     It was not craters that were wanting, and many of them were big enough to
vomit a whole army; all I wished to know was the particular one towards which
we were making with such fearful velocity.

     I often think now of my folly: as if I should ever have expected to
escape!

     Towards morning, the ascending motion became greater and greater. If the
degree of heat increased instead of decreasing, as we approached the surface of
the earth, it was simply because the causes were local and wholly due to
volcanic influence. Our very style of locomotion left in my mind no doubt upon
the subject. An enormous force, a force of several hundreds of atmospheres
produced by the vapors accumulated and long compressed in the interior of the
earth, was hoisting us upwards with irresistible power.

     But though we were approaching the light of day, to what fearful dangers
were we about to be exposed?

     Instant death appeared the only fate which we could expect or contemplate.

     Soon a dim, sepulchral light penetrated the vertical gallery, which became
wider and wider. I could make out to the right and left long dark corridors
like immense tunnels, from which awful and horrid vapors poured out. Tongues of
fire, sparkling and crackling, appeared about to lick us up.

     The hour had come!

     "Look, Uncle, look!" I cried.

     "Well, what you see are the great sulphurous flames. Nothing more common
in connection with an eruption."

     "But if they lap us round!" I angrily replied.

     "They will not lap us round," was his quiet and serene answer.

     "But it will be all the same in the end if they stifle us," I cried.

     "We shall not be stifled. The gallery is rapidly becoming wider and wider,
and if it be necessary, we will presently leave the raft and take refuge in
some fissure in the rock."

     "But the water, the water, which is continually ascending?" I despairingly
replied.

     "There is no longer any water, Harry," he answered, "but a kind of lava
paste, which is heaving us up, in company with itself, to the mouth of the
crater."

     In truth, the liquid column of water had wholly disappeared to give place
to dense masses of boiling eruptive matter. The temperature was becoming
utterly insupportable, and a thermometer exposed to this atmosphere would have
marked between one hundred and eighty-nine and one hundred ninety degrees
Fahrenheit.

     Perspiration rushed from every pore. But for the extraordinary rapidity of
our ascent we should have been stifled.

     Nevertheless, the Professor did not carry out his proposition of
abandoning the raft; and he did quite wisely. Those few ill-joined beams
offered, anyway, a solid surface--a support which elsewhere must have utterly
failed us.

     Towards eight o'clock in the morning a new incident startled us. The
ascensional movement suddenly ceased. The raft became still and motionless.

     "What is the matter now?" I said, querulously, very much startled by this
change.

     "A simple halt," replied my uncle.

     "Is the eruption about to fail?" I asked.

     "I hope not."

     Without making any reply, I rose. I tried to look around me. Perhaps the
raft, checked by some projecting rock, opposed a momentary resistance to the
eruptive mass. In this case, it was absolutely necessary to release it as
quickly as possible.

     Nothing of the kind had occurred. The column of cinders, of scoriae, of
broken rocks and earth, had wholly ceased to ascend.

     "I tell you, Uncle, that the eruption has stopped," was my oracular
decision.

     "Ah," said my uncle, "you think so, my boy. You are wrong. Do not be in
the least alarmed; this sudden moment of calm will not last long, be assured.
It has already endured five minutes, and before we are many minutes older we
shall be continuing our journey to the mouth of the crater."

     All the time he was speaking the Professor continued to consult his
chronometer, and he was probably right in his prognostics. Soon the raft
resumed its motion, in a very rapid and disorderly way, which lasted two
minutes or thereabout; and then again it stopped as suddenly as before.

     "Good," said my uncle, observing the hour, "in ten we shall start again."

     "In ten minutes?"

     "Yes--precisely. We have to do with a volcano, the eruption of which is
intermittent. We are compelled to breathe just as it does."

     Nothing could be more true. At the exact minute he had indicated, we were
again launched on high with extreme rapidity. Not to be cast off the raft, it
was necessary to hold on to the beams. Then the hoist again ceased.

     Many times since have I thought of this singular phenomenon without being
able to find for it any satisfactory explanation. Nevertheless, it appeared
quite clear to me, that we were not in the principal chimney of the volcano,
but in an accessory conduit, where we felt the counter shock of the great and
principal tunnel filled by burning lava.

     It is impossible for me to say how many times this maneuver was repeated.
All that I can remember is, that on every ascensional motion, we were hoisted
up with ever increasing velocity, as if we had been launched from a huge
projectile. During the sudden halts we were nearly stifled; during the moments
of projection the hot air took away our breath.

     I thought for a moment of the voluptuous joy of suddenly finding myself in
the hyperborean regions with the cold thirty degrees below zero!

     My exalted imagination pictured to itself the vast snowy plains of the
arctic regions, and I was impatient to roll myself on the icy carpet of the
North Pole.

     By degrees my head, utterly overcome by a series of violent emotions,
began to give way to hallucination. I was delirious. Had it not been for the
powerful arms of Hans, the guide, I should have broken my head against the
granite masses of the shaft.

     I have, in consequence, kept no account of what followed for many hours. I
have a vague and confused remembrance of continual detonations, of the shaking
of the huge granitic mass, and of the raft going round like a spinning top. It
floated on the stream of hot lava, amidst a falling cloud of cinders. The huge
flames roaring, wrapped us around.

     A storm of wind which appeared to be cast forth from an immense ventilator
roused up the interior fires of the earth. It was a hot, incandescent blast!

     At last I saw the figure of Hans as if enveloped in the huge halo of
burning blaze, and no other sense remained to me but that sinister dread which
the condemned victim may be supposed to feel when led to the mouth of a cannon,
at the supreme moment when the shot is fired and his limbs are dispersed into
empty space.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XLIII

DAYLIGHT AT LAST

     When I opened my eyes I felt the hand of the guide clutching me firmly by
the belt. With his other hand he supported my uncle. I was not grievously
wounded, but bruised all over in the most remarkable manner.

     After a moment I looked around, and found that I was lying down on the
slope of a mountain not two yards from a yawning gulf into which I should have
fallen had I made the slightest false step. Hans had saved me from death, while
I rolled insensible on the flanks of the crater.

     "Where are we?" dreamily asked my uncle, who literally appeared to be
disgusted at having returned to earth.

     The eider-down hunter simply shrugged his shoulders as a mark of total
ignorance.

     "In Iceland?" said I, not positively but interrogatively.

     "Nej," said Hans.

     "How do you mean?" cried the Professor; "no--what are your reasons?"

     "Hans is wrong," said I, rising.

     After all the innumerable surprises of this journey, a yet more singular
one was reserved to us. I expected to see a cone covered by snow, by extensive
and widespread glaciers, in the midst of the arid deserts of the extreme
northern regions, beneath the full rays of a polar sky, beyond the highest
latitudes.

     But contrary to all our expectations, I, my uncle, and the Icelander, were
cast upon the slope of a mountain calcined by the burning rays of a sun which
was literally baking us with its fires.

     I could not believe my eyes, but the actual heat which affected my body
allowed me no chance of doubting. We came out of the crater half naked, and the
radiant star from which we had asked nothing for two months, was good enough to
be prodigal to us of light and warmth--a light and warmth we could easily have
dispensed with.

     When our eyes were accustomed to the light we had lost sight of so long, I
used them to rectify the errors of my imagination. Whatever happened, we should
have been at Spitsbergen, and I was in no humor to yield to anything but the
most absolute proof.

     After some delay, the Professor spoke.

     "Hem!" he said, in a hesitating kind of way, "it really does not look like
Iceland."

     "But supposing it were the island of Jan Mayen?" I ventured to observe.

     "Not in the least, my boy. This is not one of the volcanoes of the north,
with its hills of granite and its crown of snow."

     "Nevertheless--

     "Look, look, my boy," said the Professor, as dogmatically as usual.

     Right above our heads, at a great height, opened the crater of a volcano
from which escaped, from one quarter of an hour to the other, with a very loud
explosion, a lofty jet of flame mingled with pumice stone, cinders, and lava. I
could feel the convulsions of nature in the mountain, which breathed like a
huge whale, throwing up from time to time fire and air through its enormous
vents.

     Below, and floating along a slope of considerable angularity, the stream
of eruptive matter spread away to a depth which did not give the volcano a
height of three hundred fathoms.

     Its base disappeared in a perfect forest of green trees, among which I
perceived olives, fig trees, and vines loaded with rich grapes.

     Certainly this was not the ordinary aspect of the arctic regions. About
that there could not be the slightest doubt.

     When the eye was satisfied at its glimpse of this verdant expanse, it fell
upon the waters of a lovely sea or beautiful lake, which made of this enchanted
land an island of not many leagues in extent.

     On the side of the rising sun was to be seen a little port, crowded with
houses, and near which the boats and vessels of peculiar build were floating
upon azure waves.

     Beyond, groups of islands rose above the liquid plain, so numerous and
close together as to resemble a vast beehive.

     Towards the setting sun, some distant shores were to be made out on the
edge of the horizon. Some presented the appearance of blue mountains of
harmonious conformation; upon others, much more distant, there appeared a
prodigiously lofty cone, above the summit of which hung dark and heavy clouds.

     Towards the north, an immense expanse of water sparkled beneath the solar
rays, occasionally allowing the extremity of a mast or the convexity of a sail
bellying to the wind, to be seen.

     The unexpected character of such a scene added a hundredfold to its
marvelous beauties.

     "Where can we be?" I asked, speaking in a low and solemn voice.

     Hans shut his eyes with an air of indifference, and my uncle looked on
without clearly understanding.

     "Whatever this mountain may be," he said, at last, "I must confess it is
rather warm. The explosions do not leave off, and I do not think it is
worthwhile to have left the interior of a volcano and remain here to receive a
huge piece of rock upon one's head. Let us carefully descend the mountain and
discover the real state of the case. To confess the truth, I am dying of hunger
and thirst."

     Decidedly the Professor was no longer a truly reflective character. For
myself, forgetting all my necessities, ignoring my fatigues and sufferings, I
should have remained still for several hours longer--but it was necessary to
follow my companions.

     The slope of the volcano was very steep and slippery; we slid over piles
of ashes, avoiding the streams of hot lava which glided about like fiery
serpents. Still, while we were advancing, I spoke with extreme volubility, for
my imagination was too full not to explode in words.

     "We are in Asia!" I exclaimed; "we are on the coast of India, in the great
Malay islands, in the center of Oceania. We have crossed the one half of the
globe to come out right at the antipodes of Europe!"

     "But the compass!" exclaimed my uncle; "explain that to me!"

     "Yes--the compass," I said with considerable hesitation. "I grant that is
a difficulty. According to it, we have always been going northward."

     "Then it lied."

     "Hem--to say it lied is rather a harsh word," was my answer.

     "Then we are at the North Pole--"

     "The Pole--no--well--well I give it up," was my reply.

     The plain truth was, that there was no explanation possible. I could make
nothing of it.

     And all the while we were approaching this beautiful verdure, hunger and
thirst tormented me fearfully. Happily, after two long hours' march, a
beautiful country spread out before us, covered by olives, pomegranates, and
vines, which appeared to belong to anybody and everybody. In any event, in the
state of destitution into which we had fallen, we were not in a mood to ponder
too scrupulously.

     What delight it was to press these delicious fruits to our lips, and to
bite at grapes and pomegranates fresh from the vine.

     Not far off, near some fresh and mossy grass, under the delicious shade of
some trees, I discovered a spring of fresh water, in which we voluptuously
laved our faces, hands, and feet.

     While we were all giving way to the delights of new-found pleasures, a
little child appeared between two tufted olive trees.

     "Ah," cried I, "an inhabitant of this happy country."

     The little fellow was poorly dressed, weak, and suffering, and appeared
terribly alarmed at our appearance. Half-naked, with tangled, matted and ragged
beards, we did look supremely ill-favored; and unless the country was a bandit
land, we were not likely to alarm the inhabitants!

     Just as the boy was about to take to his heels, Hans ran after him, and
brought him back, despite his cries and kicks.

     My uncle tried to look as gentle as possible, and then spoke in German.

     "What is the name of this mountain, my friend?"

     The child made no reply.

     "Good," said my uncle, with a very positive air of conviction, "we are not
in Germany."

     He then made the same demand in English, of which language he was an
excellent scholar.

     The child shook its head and made no reply. I began to be considerably
puzzled.

     "Is he dumb?" cried the Professor, who was rather proud of his polyglot
knowledge of languages, and made the same demand in French.

     The boy only stared in his face.

     "I must perforce try him in Italian," said my uncle, with a shrug.

     "Dove noi siamo?"

     "Yes, tell me where we are?" I added impatiently and eagerly.

     Again the boy remained silent.

     "My fine fellow, do you or do you not mean to speak?" cried my uncle, who
began to get angry. He shook him, and spoke another dialect of the Italian
language.

     "Come si noma questa isola?"---"What is the name of this island?"

     "Stromboli," replied the rickety little shepherd, dashing away from Hans
and disappearing in the olive groves.

     We thought little enough about him.

     Stromboli! What effect on the imagination did these few words produce! We
were in the center of the Mediterranean, amidst the eastern archipelago of
mythological memory, in the ancient Strongylos, where AEolus kept the wind and
the tempest chained up. And those blue mountains, which rose towards the rising
sun, were the mountains of Calabria.

     And that mighty volcano which rose on the southern horizon was Etna, the
fierce and celebrated Etna!

     "Stromboli! Stromboli!" I repeated to myself.

     My uncle played a regular accompaniment to my gestures and words. We were
singing together like an ancient chorus.

     Ah--what a journey--what a marvelous and extraordinary journey! Here we
had entered the earth by one volcano, and we had come out by another. And this
other was situated more than twelve hundred leagues from Sneffels from that
drear country of Iceland cast away on the confines of the earth. The wondrous
changes of this expedition had transported us to the most harmonious and
beautiful of earthly lands. We had abandoned the region of eternal snows for
that of infinite verdure, and had left over our heads the gray fog of the icy
regions to come back to the azure sky of Sicily!

     After a delicious repast of fruits and fresh water, we again continued our
journey in order to reach the port of Stromboli. To say how we had reached the
island would scarcely have been prudent. The superstitious character of the
Italians would have been at work, and we should have been called demons vomited
from the infernal regions. It was therefore necessary to pass for humble and
unfortunate shipwrecked travelers. It was certainly less striking and romantic,
but it was decidedly safer.

     As we advanced, I could hear my worthy uncle muttering to himself:

     "But the compass. The compass most certainly marked north. This is a fact
I cannot explain in any way."

     "Well, the fact is," said I, with an air of disdain, "we must not explain
anything. It will be much more easy."

     "I should like to see a professor of the Johanneum Institution who is
unable to explain a cosmic phenomenon--it would indeed be strange."

     And speaking thus, my uncle, half-naked, his leathern purse round his
loins, and his spectacles upon his nose, became once more the terrible
Professor of Mineralogy.

     An hour after leaving the wood of olives, we reached the fort of San
Vicenza, where Hans demanded the price of his thirteenth week of service. My
uncle paid him, with very many warm shakes of the hand.

     At that moment, if he did not indeed quite share our natural emotion, he
allowed his feelings so far to give way as to indulge in an extraordinary
expression for him.

     With the tips of two fingers he gently pressed our hands and smiled.

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

by Jules Verne

CHAPTER XXIV

THE JOURNEY ENDED

     This is the final conclusion of a narrative which will be probably
disbelieved even by people who are astonished at nothing. I am, however, armed
at all points against human incredulity.

     We were kindly received by the Strombolite fishermen, who treated us as
shipwrecked travelers. They gave us clothes and food. After a delay of
forty-eight hours, on the 30th of September a little vessel took us to Messina,
where a few days of delightful and complete repose restored us to ourselves.

     On Friday, the 4th of October, we embarked in the Volturne, one of the
postal packets of the Imperial Messageries of France; and three days later we
landed at Marseilles, having no other care on our minds but that of our
precious but erratic compass. This inexplicable circumstance tormented me
terribly. On the 9th of October, in the evening, we reached Hamburg.

     What was the astonishment of Martha, what the joy of Gretchen! I will not
attempt to define it.

     "Now then, Harry, that you really are a hero," she said, "there is no
reason why you should ever leave me again."

     I looked at her. She was weeping tears of joy.

     I leave it to be imagined if the return of Professor Hardwigg made or did
not make a sensation in Hamburg. Thanks to the indiscretion of Martha, the news
of his departure for the interior of the earth had been spread over the whole
world.

     No one would believe it--and when they saw him come back in safety they
believed it all the less.

     But the presence of Hans and many stray scraps of information by degrees
modified public opinion.

     Then my uncle became a great man and I the nephew of a great man, which,
at all events, is something. Hamburg gave a festival in our honor. A public
meeting of the Johanneum Institution was held, at which the Professor related
the whole story of his adventures, omitting only the facts in connection with
the compass.

     That same day he deposited in the archives of the town the document he had
found written by Saknussemm, and he expressed his great regret that
circumstances, stronger than his will, did not allow him to follow the
Icelandic traveler's track into the very center of the earth. He was modest in
his glory, but his reputation only increased.

     So much honor necessarily created for him many envious enemies. Of course
they existed, and as his theories, supported by certain facts, contradicted the
system of science upon the question of central heat, he maintained his own
views both with pen and speech against the learned of every country. Although I
still believe in the theory of central heat, I confess that certain
circumstances, hitherto very ill defined, may modify the laws of such natural
phenomena.

     At the moment when these questions were being discussed with interest, my
uncle received a rude shock-one that he felt very much. Hans, despite
everything he could say to the contrary, quitted Hamburg; the man to whom we
owed so much would not allow us to pay our deep debt of gratitude. He was taken
with nostalgia; a love for his Icelandic home.

     "Farval," said he, one day, and with this one short word of adieu, he
started for Reykjavik, which he soon reached in safety.

     We were deeply attached to our brave eider-duck hunter. His absence will
never cause him to be forgotten by those whose lives he saved, and I hope, at
some not distant day, to see him again.

     To conclude, I may say that our journey into the interior of the earth
created an enormous sensation throughout the civilized world. It was translated
and printed in many languages. All the leading journals published extracts from
it, which were commentated, discussed, attacked, and supported with equal
animation by those who believed in its episodes, and by those who were utterly
incredulous.

     Wonderful! My uncle enjoyed during his lifetime all the glory he deserved;
and he was even offered a large sum of money, by Mr. Barnum, to exhibit himself
in the United States; while I am credibly informed by a traveler that he is to
be seen in waxwork at Madame Tussaud's!

     But one care preyed upon his mind, a care which rendered him very unhappy.
One fact remained inexplicable--that of the compass. For a learned man to be
baffled by such an inexplicable phenomenon was very aggravating. But Heaven was
merciful, and in the end my uncle was happy.

     One day, while he put some minerals belonging to his collection in order,
I fell upon the famous compass and examined it keenly.

     For six months it had lain unnoticed and untouched.

     I looked at it with curiosity, which soon became surprise. I gave a loud
cry. The Professor, who was at hand, soon joined me.

     "What is the matter?" he cried.

     "The compass!

     "What then?"

     "Why its needle points to the south and not to the north."

     "My dear boy, you must be dreaming."

     "I am not dreaming. See--the poles are changed."

     "Changed!"

     My uncle put on his spectacles, examined the instrument, and leaped with
joy, shaking the whole house.

     A clear light fell upon our minds.

     "Here it is!" he cried, as soon as he had recovered the use of his speech,
"after we had once passed Cape Saknussemm, the needle of this compass pointed
to the southward instead of the northward."

     "Evidently."

     "Our error is now easily explained. But to what phenomenon do we owe this
alteration in the needle?"

     "Nothing more simple."

     "Explain yourself, my boy. I am on thorns."

     "During the storm, upon the Central Sea, the ball of fire which made a
magnet of the iron in our raft, turned our compass topsy-turvy."

     "Ah!" cried the Professor, with a loud and ringing laugh, "it was a trick
of that inexplicable electricity."

     From that hour my uncle was the happiest of learned men, and I the
happiest of ordinary mortals. For my pretty Virland girl, abdicating her
position as ward, took her place in the house in the Konigstrasse in the double
quality of niece and wife.

     We need scarcely mention that her uncle was the illustrious Professor
Hardwigg, corresponding member of all the scientific, geographical,
mineralogical, and geological societies of the five parts of the globe.

                                 THE END