Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne (english reading book .txt) 📕

At this rate we shall be two thousand days, or nearly five years and a half, in getting to the centre.”

No answer was vouchsafed to this rational conclusion. “Without reckoning, too, that if a vertical depth of sixteen leagues can be attained only by a diagonal descent of eighty-four, it follows that we must go eight thousand miles in a southeasterly direction; so that we shall emerge from some point in the earth’s circumference instead of getting to the centre!”

“Confusion to all your figures, and all your hypotheses besides,” shouted my uncle in a sudden rage. “What is the basis of them all? How do you know that this passage does not run straight to our destination? Besides, there is a precedent. What one man has done, another may do.”

“I hope so; but, still, I may be permitted⁠—”

“You shall have my leave to hold your tongue, Axel, but not to talk in that irrational way.”

I could see the awful Professor bursting through my uncle’s skin, and I took timely warning.

“Now look at your aneroid. What does that say?”

“It says we are under considerable pressure.”

“Very good; so you see that by going gradually down, and getting accustomed to the density of the atmosphere, we don’t suffer at all.”

“Nothing, except a little pain in the ears.”

“That’s nothing, and you may get rid of even that by quick breathing whenever you feel the pain.”

“Exactly so,” I said, determined not to say a word that might cross my uncle’s prejudices. “There is even positive pleasure in living in this dense atmosphere. Have you observed how intense sound is down here?”

“No doubt it is. A deaf man would soon learn to hear perfectly.”

“But won’t this density augment?”

“Yes; according to a rather obscure law. It is well known that the weight of bodies diminishes as fast as we descend. You know that it is at the surface of the globe that weight is most sensibly felt, and that at the centre there is no weight at all.”

“I am aware of that; but, tell me, will not air at last acquire the density of water?”

“Of course, under a pressure of seven hundred and ten atmospheres.”

“And how, lower down still?”

“Lower down the density will still increase.”

“But how shall we go down then.”

“Why, we must fill our pockets with stones.”

“Well, indeed, my worthy uncle, you are never at a loss for an answer.”

I dared venture no farther into the region of probabilities, for I might presently have stumbled upon an impossibility, which would have brought the Professor on the scene when he was not wanted.

Still, it was evident that the air, under a pressure which might reach that of thousands of atmospheres, would at last reach the solid state, and then, even if our bodies could resist the strain, we should be stopped, and no reasonings would be able to get us on any farther.

But I did not advance this argument. My uncle would have met it with his inevitable Saknussemm, a precedent which possessed no weight with me; for even if the journey of the learned Icelander were really attested, there was one very simple answer, that in the sixteenth century there was neither barometer or aneroid and therefore Saknussemm could not tell how far he had gone.

But I kept this objection to myself, and waited the course of events.

The rest of the day was passed in calculations and in conversations. I remained a steadfast adherent of the opinions of Professor Liedenbrock, and I envied the stolid indifference of Hans, who, without going into causes and effects, went on with his eyes shut wherever his destiny guided him.

XXVI 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