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A JOURNEY TO THE CENTRE OF THE EARTH - 23

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTRE OF THE EARTH

By Jules Verne

CHAPTER 23

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 centre 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!