A JOURNEY TO THE CENTRE OF THE EARTH
By Jules Verne
CHAPTER 31
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had been withdrawn from his absorbing reveries by the novel incidents of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 sea 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 centre,
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 centre 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.
