A Journey to the Centre of the Earth
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.
CHAPTER 26
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 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.
CHAPTER 27
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 all 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