And I myself am floating with wild caprice in the midst of this nebulous mass of fourteen hundred thousand times the volume of the earth into which it will one day be condensed, and carried forward amongst the planetary bodies. My body is no longer firm and terrestrial; it is resolved into its constituent atoms, subtilised, volatilised. Sublimed into imponderable vapour, I mingle and am lost in the endless foods of those vast globular volumes of vaporous mists, which roll upon their flaming orbits through infinite space.
But is it not a dream? Whither is it carrying me? My feverish hand has vainly attempted to describe upon paper its strange and wonderful details. I have forgotten everything that surrounds me. The Professor, the guide, the raft—are all gone out of my ken. An illusion has laid hold upon me.
“What is the matter?” my uncle breaks in.
My staring eyes are fixed vacantly upon him.
“Take care, Axel, or you will fall overboard.”
At that moment I felt the sinewy hand of Hans seizing me vigorously. But for him, carried away by my dream, I should have thrown myself into the sea.
“Is he mad?” cried the Professor.
“What is it all about?” at last I cried, returning to myself.
“Do you feel ill?” my uncle asked.
“No; but I have had a strange hallucination; it is over now. Is all going on right?”
“Yes, it is a fair wind and a fine sea; we are sailing rapidly along, and if I am not out in my reckoning, we shall soon land.”
At these words I rose and gazed round upon the horizon, still everywhere bounded by clouds alone.
XXXIII
A Battle of Monsters
Saturday, August 15.—The sea unbroken all round. No land in sight. The horizon seems extremely distant.
My head is still stupefied with the vivid reality of my dream.
My uncle has had no dreams, but he is out of temper. He examines the horizon all round with his glass, and folds his arms with the air of an injured man.
I remark that Professor Liedenbrock has a tendency to relapse into an impatient mood, and I make a note of it in my log. All my danger and sufferings were needed to strike a spark of human feeling out of him; but now that I am well his nature has resumed its sway. And yet, what cause was there for anger? Is not the voyage prospering as favourably as possible under the circumstances? Is not the raft spinning along with marvellous speed?
“—You seem anxious, my uncle,” I said, seeing him continually with his glass to his eye.
“Anxious! No, not at all.”
“Impatient, then?”
“One might be, with less reason than now.”
“Yet we are going very fast.”
“What does that signify? I am not complaining that the rate is slow, but that the sea is so wide.”
I then remembered that the Professor, before starting, had estimated the length of this underground sea at thirty leagues. Now we had made three times the distance, yet still the southern coast was not in sight.
“We are not descending as we ought to be,” the Professor declares. “We are losing time, and the fact is, I have not come all this way to take a little sail upon a pond on a raft.”
He called this sea a pond, and our long voyage, taking a little sail!
“But,” I remarked, “since we have followed the road that Saknussemm has shown us—”
“That is just the question. Have we followed that road? Did Saknussemm meet this sheet of water? Did he cross it? Has not the stream that we followed led us altogether astray?”
“At any rate we cannot feel sorry to have come so far. This prospect is magnificent, and—”
“But I don’t care for prospects. I came with an object, and I mean to attain it. Therefore don’t talk to me about views and prospects.”
I take this as my answer, and I leave the Professor to bite his lips with impatience. At six in the evening Hans asks for his wages, and his three rixdalers are counted out to him.
Sunday, August 16.—Nothing new. Weather unchanged. The wind freshens. On awaking, my first thought was to observe the intensity of the light. I was possessed with an apprehension lest the electric light should grow dim, or fail altogether. But there seemed no reason to fear. The shadow of the raft was clearly outlined upon the surface of the waves.
Truly this sea is of infinite width. It must be as wide as the Mediterranean or the Atlantic—and why not?
My uncle took soundings several times. He tied the heaviest of our pickaxes to a long rope which he let down two hundred fathoms. No bottom yet; and we had some difficulty in hauling up our plummet.
But when the pick was shipped again, Hans pointed out on its surface deep prints as if it had been violently compressed between two hard bodies.
I looked at the hunter.
“Tänder,” said he.
I could not understand him, and turned to my uncle who was entirely absorbed in his calculations. I had rather not disturb him while he is quiet. I return to the Icelander. He by a snapping motion of his jaws conveys his ideas to me.
“Teeth!” I cried, considering the iron bar with more attention.
Yes, indeed, those are the marks of teeth imprinted upon the metal! The jaws which they arm must be possessed of amazing strength. Is there some monster beneath us belonging to the extinct races, more voracious than the shark, more fearful in vastness than
