Voyage au centre de la terre. English

  CHAPTER XLIII.

  SHOT OUT OF A VOLCANO AT LAST!

  Yes: our compass was no longer a guide; the needle flew from pole topole with a kind of frenzied impulse; it ran round the dial, and spunhither and thither as if it were giddy or intoxicated.

  I knew quite well that according to the best received theories themineral covering of the globe is never at absolute rest; the changesbrought about by the chemical decomposition of its component parts,the agitation caused by great liquid torrents, and the magneticcurrents, are continually tending to disturb it--even when livingbeings upon its surface may fancy that all is quiet below. Aphenomenon of this kind would not have greatly alarmed me, or at anyrate it would not have given rise to dreadful apprehensions.

  But other facts, other circumstances, of a peculiar nature, came toreveal to me by degrees the true state of the case. There cameincessant and continuous explosions. I could only compare them to theloud rattle of a long train of chariots driven at full speed over thestones, or a roar of unintermitting thunder.

  Then the disordered compass, thrown out of gear by the electriccurrents, confirmed me in a growing conviction. The mineral crust ofthe globe threatened to burst up, the granite foundations to cometogether with a crash, the fissure through which we were helplesslydriven would be filled up, the void would be full of crushedfragments of rock, and we poor wretched mortals were to be buried andannihilated in this dreadful consummation.

  "My uncle," I cried, "we are lost now, utterly lost!"

  "What are you in a fright about now?" was the calm rejoinder. "Whatis the matter with you?"

  "The matter? Look at those quaking walls! look at those shiveringrocks. Don't you feel the burning heat? Don't you see how the waterboils and bubbles? Are you blind to the dense vapours and steamgrowing thicker and denser every minute? See this agitated compassneedle. It is an earthquake that is threatening us."

  My undaunted uncle calmly shook his head.

  "Do you think," said he, "an earthquake is coming?"

  "I do."

  "Well, I think you are mistaken."

  "What! don't you recognise the symptoms?"

  "Of an earthquake? no! I am looking out for something better."

  "What can you mean? Explain?"

  "It is an eruption, Axel."

  "An eruption! Do you mean to affirm that we are running up the shaftof a volcano?"

  "I believe we are," said the indomitable Professor with an air ofperfect self-possession; "and it is the best thing that couldpossibly happen to us under our circumstances."

  The best thing! Was my uncle stark mad? What did the man mean? andwhat was the use of saying facetious things at a time like this?

  "What!" I shouted. "Are we being taken up in an eruption? Our fatehas flung us here among burning lavas, molten rocks, boiling waters,and all kinds of volcanic matter; we are going to be pitched out,expelled, tossed up, vomited, spit out high into the air, along withfragments of rock, showers of ashes and scoria, in the midst of atowering rush of smoke and flames; and it is the best thing thatcould happen to us!"

  "Yes," replied the Professor, eyeing me over his spectacles, "I don'tsee any other way of reaching the surface of the earth."

  I pass rapidly over the thousand ideas which passed through my mind.My uncle was right, undoubtedly right; and never had he seemed to memore daring and more confirmed in his notions than at this momentwhen he was calmly contemplating the chances of being shot out of avolcano!

  In the meantime up we went; the night passed away in continualascent; the din and uproar around us became more and moreintensified; I was stifled and stunned; I thought my last hour wasapproaching; and yet imagination is such a strong thing that even inthis supreme hour I was occupied with strange and almost childishspeculations. But I was the victim, not the master, of my ownthoughts.

  It was very evident that we were being hurried upward upon the crestof a wave of eruption; beneath our raft were boiling waters, andunder these the more sluggish lava was working its way up in a heatedmass, together with shoals of fragments of rock which, when theyarrived at the crater, would be dispersed in all directions high andlow. We were imprisoned in the shaft or chimney of some volcano.There was no room to doubt of that.

  But this time, instead of Snaefell, an extinct volcano, we were insideone in full activity. I wondered, therefore, where could thismountain be, and in what part of the world we were to be shot out.

  I made no doubt but that it would be in some northern region. Beforeits disorders set in, the needle had never deviated from thatdirection. From Cape Saknussemm we had been carried due north forhundreds of leagues. Were we under Iceland again? Were we destined tobe thrown up out of Hecla, or by which of the seven other fierycraters in that island? Within a radius of five hundred leagues tothe west I remembered under this parallel of latitude only theimperfectly known volcanoes of the north-east coast of America. Tothe east there was only one in the 80th degree of north latitude, theEsk in Jan Mayen Island, not far from Spitzbergen! Certainly therewas no lack of craters, and there were some capacious enough to throwout a whole army! But I wanted to know which of them was to serve usfor an exit from the inner world.

  Towards morning the ascending movement became accelerated. If theheat increased, instead of diminishing, as we approached nearer tothe surface of the globe, this effect was due to local causes alone,and those volcanic. The manner of our locomotion left no doubt in mymind. An enormous force, a force of hundreds of atmospheres,generated by the extreme pressure of confined vapours, was driving usirresistibly forward. But to what numberless dangers it exposed us!

  Soon lurid lights began to penetrate the vertical gallery whichwidened as we went up. Right and left I could see deep channels, likehuge tunnels, out of which escaped dense volumes of smoke; tongues offire lapped the walls, which crackled and sputtered under the intenseheat.

  "See, see, my uncle!" I cried.

  "Well, those are only sulphureous flames and vapours, which one mustexpect to see in an eruption. They are quite natural."

  "But suppose they should wrap us round."

  "But they won't wrap us round."

  "But we shall be stifled."

  "We shall not be stifled at all. The gallery is widening, and if itbecomes necessary, we shall abandon the raft, and creep into acrevice."

  "But the water--the rising water?"

  "There is no more water, Axel; only a lava paste, which is bearing usup on its surface to the top of the crater."

  The liquid column had indeed disappeared, to give place to dense andstill boiling eruptive matter of all kinds. The temperature wasbecoming unbearable. A thermometer exposed to this atmosphere wouldhave marked 150 deg.. The perspiration streamed from my body. But for therapidity of our ascent we should have been suffocated.

  But the Professor gave up his idea of abandoning the raft, and it waswell he did. However roughly joined together, those planks affordedus a firmer support than we could have found anywhere else.

  About eight in the morning a new incident occurred. The upwardmovement ceased. The raft lay motionless.

  "What is this?" I asked, shaken by this sudden stoppage as if by ashock.

  "It is a halt," replied my uncle.

  "Is the eruption checked?" I asked.

  "I hope not."

  I rose, and tried to look around me. Perhaps the raft itself, stoppedin its course by a projection, was staying the volcanic torrent. Ifthis were the case we should have to release it as soon as possible.

  But it was not so. The blast of ashes, scorix, and rubbish had ceasedto rise.

  "Has the eruption stopped?" I cried.

  "Ah!" said my uncle between his clenched teeth, "you are afraid. Butdon't alarm yourself--this lull cannot last long. It has lasted nowfive minutes, and in a short time we shall resume our journey to themouth of the crater."

  As he spoke, the Professor continued to consult his chronometer, andhe was again right in his prognostications. The raft was soon hurriedand dr
iven forward with a rapid but irregular movement, which lastedabout ten minutes, and then stopped again.

  "Very good," said my uncle; "in ten minutes more we shall be offagain, for our present business lies with an intermittent volcano. Itgives us time now and then to take breath."

  This was perfectly true. When the ten minutes were over we startedoff again with renewed and increased speed. We were obliged to layfast hold of the planks of the raft, not to be thrown off. Then againthe paroxysm was over.

  I have since reflected upon this singular phenomenon without beingable to explain it. At any rate it was clear that we were not in themain shaft of the volcano, but in a lateral gallery where there werefelt recurrent tunes of reaction.

  How often this operation was repeated I cannot say. All I know is,that at each fresh impulse we were hurled forward with a greatlyincreased force, and we seemed as if we were mere projectiles. Duringthe short halts we were stifled with the heat; whilst we were beingprojected forward the hot air almost stopped my breath. I thought fora moment how delightful it would be to find myself carried suddenlyinto the arctic regions, with a cold 30 deg. below the freezing point. Myoverheated brain conjured up visions of white plains of cool snow,where I might roll and allay my feverish heat. Little by little mybrain, weakened by so many constantly repeated shocks, seemed to begiving way altogether. But for the strong arm of Hans I should morethan once have had my head broken against the granite roof of ourburning dungeon.

  I have therefore no exact recollection of what took place during thefollowing hours. I have a confused impression left of continuousexplosions, loud detonations, a general shaking of the rocks allaround us, and of a spinning movement with which our raft was oncewhirled helplessly round. It rocked upon the lava torrent, amidst adense fall of ashes. Snorting flames darted their fiery tongues atus. There were wild, fierce puffs of stormy wind from below,resembling the blasts of vast iron furnaces blowing all at one time;and I caught a glimpse of the figure of Hans lighted up by the fire;and all the feeling I had left was just what I imagine must be thefeeling of an unhappy criminal doomed to be blown away alive from themouth of a cannon, just before the trigger is pulled, and the flyinglimbs and rags of flesh and skin fill the quivering air and spatterthe blood-stained ground.