THE WORST PERIL OF ALL
It must be confessed that hitherto things had not gone on so badly,
and that I had small reason to complain. If our difficulties became
no worse, we might hope to reach our end. And to what a height of
scientific glory we should then attain! I had become quite a
Liedenbrock in my reasonings; seriously I had. But would this state
of things last in the strange place we had come to? Perhaps it might.
For several days steeper inclines, some even frightfully near to the
perpendicular, brought us deeper and deeper into the mass of the
interior of the earth. Some days we advanced nearer to the centre by
a league and a half, or nearly two leagues. These were perilous
descents, in which the skill and marvellous coolness of Hans were
invaluable to us. That unimpassioned Icelander devoted himself with
incomprehensible deliberation; and, thanks to him, we crossed many a
dangerous spot which we should never have cleared alone.
But his habit of silence gained upon him day by day, and was
infecting us. External objects produce decided effects upon the
brain. A man shut up between four walls soon loses the power to
associate words and ideas together. How many prisoners in solitary
confinement become idiots, if not mad, for want of exercise for the
thinking faculty!
During the fortnight following our last conversation, no incident
occurred worthy of being recorded. But I have good reason for
remembering one very serious event which took place at this time, and
of which I could scarcely now forget the smallest details.
By the 7th of August our successive descents had brought us to a
depth of thirty leagues; that is, that for a space of thirty leagues
there were over our heads solid beds of rock, ocean, continents, and
towns. We must have been two hundred leagues from Iceland.
On that day the tunnel went down a gentle slope. I was ahead of the
others. My uncle was carrying one of Ruhmkorff's lamps and I the
other. I was examining the beds of granite.
Suddenly turning round I observed that I was alone.
Well, well, I thought; I have been going too fast, or Hans and my
uncle have stopped on the way. Come, this won't do; I must join them.
Fortunately there is not much of an ascent.
I retraced my steps. I walked for a quarter of an hour. I gazed into
the darkness. I shouted. No reply: my voice was lost in the midst of
the cavernous echoes which alone replied to my call.
I began to feel uneasy. A shudder ran through me.
"Calmly!" I said aloud to myself, "I am sure to find my companions
again. There are not two roads. I was too far ahead. I will return!"
For half an hour I climbed up. I listened for a call, and in that
dense atmosphere a voice could reach very far. But there was a dreary
silence in all that long gallery. I stopped. I could not believe that
I was lost. I was only bewildered for a time, not lost. I was sure I
should find my way again.
"Come," I repeated, "since there is but one road, and they are on it,
I must find them again. I have but to ascend still. Unless, indeed,
missing me, and supposing me to be behind, they too should have gone
back. But even in this case I have only to make the greater haste. I
shall find them, I am sure."
I repeated these words in the fainter tones of a half-convinced man.
Besides, to associate even such simple ideas with words, and reason
with them, was a work of time.
A doubt then seized upon me. Was I indeed in advance when we became
separated? Yes, to be sure I was. Hans was after me, preceding my
uncle. He had even stopped for a while to strap his baggage better
over his shoulders. I could remember this little incident. It was at
that very moment that I must have gone on.
Besides, I thought, have not I a guarantee that I shall not lose my
way, a clue in the labyrinth, that cannot be broken, my faithful
stream? I have but to trace it back, and I must come upon them.
This conclusion revived my spirits, and I resolved to resume my march
without loss of time.
How I then blessed my uncle's foresight in preventing the hunter from
stopping up the hole in the granite. This beneficent spring, after
having satisfied our thirst on the road, would now be my guide among
the windings of the terrestrial crust.
Before starting afresh I thought a wash would do me good. I stooped
to bathe my face in the Hansbach.
To my stupefaction and utter dismay my feet trod only--the rough dry
granite. The stream was no longer at my feet.