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A JOURNEY TO THE CENTRE OF THE EARTH - 31

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had been withdrawn from his absorbing reveries by the novel incidents of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.