XIX

XIX

THE NEXT DAY, TUESDAY, June 30, at six in the morning, the descent began again.

We continued to follow the tunnel of lava, really a natural, gently sloping ramp like those inclined planes which are still found in old houses instead of staircases. And so we continued on until seventeen minutes past noon, the precise moment when we rejoined Hans, who had just stopped.

“Ah! here we are,” exclaimed my uncle, “at the very end of the chimney.”

I looked around me. We were standing at the intersection of two roads, both dark and narrow. Which one should we take? This was a difficulty.

But my uncle did not want to seem hesitant, either before me or the guide; he pointed to the Eastern tunnel, and all three of us were soon deep inside it.

In any case, any hesitation about this double path would have prolonged itself indefinitely, as there was no indicator to guide our choice of one or the other; we had to leave it absolutely to chance.

The slope of this tunnel was scarcely perceptible, and its sections very unequal. Sometimes we passed a series of arches succeeding each other like the majestic arcades of a gothic cathedral. Medieval artists could have studied all the forms of sacred architecture here that derive from the ogival arch. A mile farther we had to bow our heads under low arches in the Roman style, and massive pillars growing from the rock bent under the burden of the vaults. In certain places, this magnificence gave way to low structures which looked like beaver dams, and we had to crawl through narrow tubes.

The temperature remained bearable. Involuntarily I thought of the heat when the lava ejected from Snaefells was boiling and working through this now silent passage. I imagined the torrents of fire breaking at every turn in the tunnel, and the accumulation of overheated steam in this close environment!

“I only hope,” I thought, “that this old volcano doesn’t come up with any belated fantasies!”

I did not convey these fears to Professor Lidenbrock; he would not have understood them. His only idea was to move on. He walked, he slid, he even fell with a conviction that one could only admire.

By six in the evening, after an undemanding walk, we had gone two leagues south, but scarcely a quarter of a mile down.

My uncle gave the signal to rest. We ate without talking, and went to sleep without reflection.

Our arrangements for the night were very simple; a travel blanket into which we rolled ourselves was our only bedding. We had neither cold nor intrusive visits to fear. Travelers who penetrate into the wilds of central Africa, and into the pathless forests of the New World, are obliged to watch over each other by night. But here, absolute safety and utter seclusion. Savages or wild beasts, we did not need to fear any of these wicked species.

We awoke the next morning refreshed and in good spirits. We resumed the road. As on the previous day, we followed a lava path. Impossible to identify the nature of the rock it passed through. The tunnel, instead of leading down into the bowels of the globe, gradually became absolutely horizontal. I even thought I noticed that it rose again toward the surface of the earth. This tendency became so obvious at about ten in the morning, and therefore so tiring, that I was forced to slow down our pace.

“Well, Axel?” said the professor impatiently.

“Well, I can’t stand it any longer,” I replied.

“What! after three hours’ walk over such easy ground.”

“It may be easy, but it’s tiring all the same.”

“What, when we have nothing to do but keep going down!”

“Going up, if you please.”

“Going up!” said my uncle, with a shrug.

“No doubt. For the last half-hour the slopes have gone the other way, and at this rate we’ll go back to the surface of Iceland.”

The professor shook his head like a man who refuses to be convinced. I tried to resume the conversation. He answered not a word, and gave the signal for departure. I saw that his silence was nothing but concentrated bad humor.

Still I courageously shouldered my burden again, and rapidly followed Hans, whom my uncle preceded. I was anxious not to be left behind. My greatest care was not to lose sight of my companions. I shuddered at the thought of losing my way in the depths of this labyrinth.

Besides, if the ascending road became harder, I comforted myself by thinking that it was taking us closer to the surface. There was hope in this. Every step confirmed me in it, and I rejoiced at the thought of meeting my little Graüben again.

At noon there was a change in the appearance of the tunnel walls. I noticed it through a decrease in the amount of light that was reflected from the sides. Solid rock was replacing the lava coating. The mass was made up of slanted and sometimes vertical strata. We were passing through rocks of the Transition or Silurian system.ap

“It’s obvious,” I exclaimed, “marine deposits in the Secondary period have formed these shales, limestones, and sandstones! We’re turning away from the primary granite! We’re like people from Hamburg who go to Lübeck by way of Hanover!”aq

I should have kept my observations to myself. But my geological instinct was stronger than my prudence, and Uncle Lidenbrock heard my exclamation.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Look,” I said, pointing to the varied succession of sandstones and limestones, and the first indication of slate.

“And?”

“We’re now in the period when the first plants and animals appeared.”

“Do you think so?”

“Well, look, examine it, study it!”

I forced the professor to move his lamp over the walls of the tunnel. I expected some outcry on his part. But he didn’t say a word, and continued on his way.

Had he understood me or not? Did he refuse to admit, out of self-love as an uncle and a scholar, that he had made a mistake when he chose the eastern tunnel, or was he determined to explore this passage to the end? It was obvious that we had left the lava path, and that this route could not possibly lead to the fiery core of the Snaefells.

Yet I wondered if I was not attributing too much importance to this change in the rock. Was I not myself mistaken? Were we really crossing layers of rock above the granite foundation?

“If I’m right,” I thought, “I should find some residue of primitive plants, and then we’ll have to acknowledge the evidence. Let’s look.”

I had not gone a hundred paces before incontestable proofs presented themselves. It could not be otherwise, for in the Silurian age the seas contained at least fifteen hundred vegetable and animal species. My feet, which had become accustomed to the hard lava ground, suddenly touched dust composed of plant and shell residue. In the walls were distinct impressions of fucus and lycopods.ar Professor Lidenbrock must have noticed; but he closed his eyes, I imagine, and pushed on with a steady step.

This was stubbornness pushed beyond all bounds. I could not hold out any longer. I picked up a perfectly formed shell, which had belonged to an animal not unlike the woodlouse; then, joining my uncle, I said:

“Look!”

“Very well,” he replied quietly, “it’s the shell of a crustacean, of an extinct species called a trilobite. Nothing more.”

“But don’t you conclude from this ... ?”

“What you yourself conclude? Yes. I do, perfectly. We’ve left the granite and the lava. It’s possible that I made a mistake. But I can’t be sure of that until I’ve reached the end of this tunnel.”

“You’re right in doing this, Uncle, and I’d approve if there were not a more and more threatening danger.”

“Which one?”

“The lack of water.”

“Well, Axel, we’ll put ourselves on rations.”

In the walls were distinct impressions of fucus and lycopods.