CHAPTER XLIII.

SHOT OUT OF A VOLCANO AT LAST!

Yes: our compass was no longer a guide; the needle flew from pole to

pole with a kind of frenzied impulse; it ran round the dial, and spun

hither and thither as if it were giddy or intoxicated.

I knew quite well that according to the best received theories the

mineral covering of the globe is never at absolute rest; the changes

brought about by the chemical decomposition of its component parts,

the agitation caused by great liquid torrents, and the magnetic

currents, are continually tending to disturb it--even when living

beings upon its surface may fancy that all is quiet below. A

phenomenon of this kind would not have greatly alarmed me, or at any

rate it would not have given rise to dreadful apprehensions.

But other facts, other circumstances, of a peculiar nature, came to

reveal to me by degrees the true state of the case. There came

incessant and continuous explosions. I could only compare them to the

loud rattle of a long train of chariots driven at full speed over the

stones, or a roar of unintermitting thunder.

Then the disordered compass, thrown out of gear by the electric

currents, confirmed me in a growing conviction. The mineral crust of

the globe threatened to burst up, the granite foundations to come

together with a crash, the fissure through which we were helplessly

driven would be filled up, the void would be full of crushed

fragments of rock, and we poor wretched mortals were to be buried and

annihilated in this dreadful consummation.

"My uncle," I cried, "we are lost now, utterly lost!"

"What are you in a fright about now?" was the calm rejoinder. "What

is the matter with you?"

"The matter? Look at those quaking walls! look at those shivering

rocks. Don't you feel the burning heat? Don't you see how the water

boils and bubbles? Are you blind to the dense vapours and steam

growing thicker and denser every minute? See this agitated compass

needle. It is an earthquake that is threatening us."

My undaunted uncle calmly shook his head.

"Do you think," said he, "an earthquake is coming?"

"I do."

"Well, I think you are mistaken."

"What! don't you recognise the symptoms?"

"Of an earthquake? no! I am looking out for something better."

"What can you mean? Explain?"

"It is an eruption, Axel."

"An eruption! Do you mean to affirm that we are running up the shaft

of a volcano?"

"I believe we are," said the indomitable Professor with an air of

perfect self-possession; "and it is the best thing that could

possibly happen to us under our circumstances."

The best thing! Was my uncle stark mad? What did the man mean? and

what was the use of saying facetious things at a time like this?

"What!" I shouted. "Are we being taken up in an eruption? Our fate

has flung us here among burning lavas, molten rocks, boiling waters,

and all kinds of volcanic matter; we are going to be pitched out,

expelled, tossed up, vomited, spit out high into the air, along with

fragments of rock, showers of ashes and scoria, in the midst of a

towering rush of smoke and flames; and it is the best thing that

could happen to us!"

"Yes," replied the Professor, eyeing me over his spectacles, "I don't

see any other way of reaching the surface of the earth."

I pass rapidly over the thousand ideas which passed through my mind.

My uncle was right, undoubtedly right; and never had he seemed to me

more daring and more confirmed in his notions than at this moment

when he was calmly contemplating the chances of being shot out of a

volcano!

In the meantime up we went; the night passed away in continual

ascent; the din and uproar around us became more and more

intensified; I was stifled and stunned; I thought my last hour was

approaching; and yet imagination is such a strong thing that even in

this supreme hour I was occupied with strange and almost childish

speculations. But I was the victim, not the master, of my own

thoughts.

It was very evident that we were being hurried upward upon the crest

of a wave of eruption; beneath our raft were boiling waters, and

under these the more sluggish lava was working its way up in a heated

mass, together with shoals of fragments of rock which, when they

arrived at the crater, would be dispersed in all directions high and

low. We were imprisoned in the shaft or chimney of some volcano.

There was no room to doubt of that.

But this time, instead of Snæfell, an extinct volcano, we were inside

one in full activity. I wondered, therefore, where could this

mountain be, and in what part of the world we were to be shot out.

I made no doubt but that it would be in some northern region. Before

its disorders set in, the needle had never deviated from that

direction. From Cape Saknussemm we had been carried due north for

hundreds of leagues. Were we under Iceland again? Were we destined to

be thrown up out of Hecla, or by which of the seven other fiery

craters in that island? Within a radius of five hundred leagues to

the west I remembered under this parallel of latitude only the

imperfectly known volcanoes of the north-east coast of America. To

the east there was only one in the 80th degree of north latitude, the

Esk in Jan Mayen Island, not far from Spitzbergen! Certainly there

was no lack of craters, and there were some capacious enough to throw

out a whole army! But I wanted to know which of them was to serve us

for an exit from the inner world.

Towards morning the ascending movement became accelerated. If the

heat increased, instead of diminishing, as we approached nearer to

the surface of the globe, this effect was due to local causes alone,

and those volcanic. The manner of our locomotion left no doubt in my

mind. An enormous force, a force of hundreds of atmospheres,

generated by the extreme pressure of confined vapours, was driving us

irresistibly forward. But to what numberless dangers it exposed us!

Soon lurid lights began to penetrate the vertical gallery which

widened as we went up. Right and left I could see deep channels, like

huge tunnels, out of which escaped dense volumes of smoke; tongues of

fire lapped the walls, which crackled and sputtered under the intense

heat.

"See, see, my uncle!" I cried.

"Well, those are only sulphureous flames and vapours, which one must

expect to see in an eruption. They are quite natural."

"But suppose they should wrap us round."

"But they won't wrap us round."

"But we shall be stifled."

"We shall not be stifled at all. The gallery is widening, and if it

becomes necessary, we shall abandon the raft, and creep into a

crevice."

"But the water--the rising water?"

"There is no more water, Axel; only a lava paste, which is bearing us

up on its surface to the top of the crater."

The liquid column had indeed disappeared, to give place to dense and

still boiling eruptive matter of all kinds. The temperature was

becoming unbearable. A thermometer exposed to this atmosphere would

have marked 150°. The perspiration streamed from my body. But for the

rapidity of our ascent we should have been suffocated.

But the Professor gave up his idea of abandoning the raft, and it was

well he did. However roughly joined together, those planks afforded

us a firmer support than we could have found anywhere else.

About eight in the morning a new incident occurred. The upward

movement ceased. The raft lay motionless.

"What is this?" I asked, shaken by this sudden stoppage as if by a

shock.

"It is a halt," replied my uncle.

"Is the eruption checked?" I asked.

"I hope not."

I rose, and tried to look around me. Perhaps the raft itself, stopped

in its course by a projection, was staying the volcanic torrent. If

this were the case we should have to release it as soon as possible.

But it was not so. The blast of ashes, scorix, and rubbish had ceased

to rise.

"Has the eruption stopped?" I cried.

"Ah!" said my uncle between his clenched teeth, "you are afraid. But

don't alarm yourself--this lull cannot last long. It has lasted now

five minutes, and in a short time we shall resume our journey to the

mouth of the crater."

As he spoke, the Professor continued to consult his chronometer, and

he was again right in his prognostications. The raft was soon hurried

and driven forward with a rapid but irregular movement, which lasted

about ten minutes, and then stopped again.

"Very good," said my uncle; "in ten minutes more we shall be off

again, for our present business lies with an intermittent volcano. It

gives us time now and then to take breath."

This was perfectly true. When the ten minutes were over we started

off again with renewed and increased speed. We were obliged to lay

fast hold of the planks of the raft, not to be thrown off. Then again

the paroxysm was over.

I have since reflected upon this singular phenomenon without being

able to explain it. At any rate it was clear that we were not in the

main shaft of the volcano, but in a lateral gallery where there were

felt recurrent tunes of reaction.

How often this operation was repeated I cannot say. All I know is,

that at each fresh impulse we were hurled forward with a greatly

increased force, and we seemed as if we were mere projectiles. During

the short halts we were stifled with the heat; whilst we were being

projected forward the hot air almost stopped my breath. I thought for

a moment how delightful it would be to find myself carried suddenly

into the arctic regions, with a cold 30° below the freezing point. My

overheated brain conjured up visions of white plains of cool snow,

where I might roll and allay my feverish heat. Little by little my

brain, weakened by so many constantly repeated shocks, seemed to be

giving way altogether. But for the strong arm of Hans I should more

than once have had my head broken against the granite roof of our

burning dungeon.

I have therefore no exact recollection of what took place during the

following hours. I have a confused impression left of continuous

explosions, loud detonations, a general shaking of the rocks all

around us, and of a spinning movement with which our raft was once

whirled helplessly round. It rocked upon the lava torrent, amidst a

dense fall of ashes. Snorting flames darted their fiery tongues at

us. There were wild, fierce puffs of stormy wind from below,

resembling the blasts of vast iron furnaces blowing all at one time;

and I caught a glimpse of the figure of Hans lighted up by the fire;

and all the feeling I had left was just what I imagine must be the

feeling of an unhappy criminal doomed to be blown away alive from the

mouth of a cannon, just before the trigger is pulled, and the flying

limbs and rags of flesh and skin fill the quivering air and spatter

the blood-stained ground.