“What!” exclaimed Johnson, seriously; “have we not the same weight everywhere?”
“No, Johnson; according to Newton’s law, bodies attract one another directly as their masses, and inversely to the square of their distances. Here I weigh more, because I am nearer the centre of attraction; and on another planet I should weigh more or less according to the mass of the planet.”
“What!” said Bell, “in the moon—”
“In the moon my weight, which is two hundred pounds at Liverpool, would be only thirty-two pounds.”
“And in the sun?”
“Oh, in the sun I should weigh more than five thousand pounds!”
“Heavens!” said Bell; “you’d need a derrick to move your legs.”
“Probably,” answered the doctor, laughing at Bell’s amazement; “but here the difference is imperceptible, and by an equal effort of the muscles Bell would leap as high as on the docks at Liverpool.”
“Yes, but in the sun?” urged Bell.
“My friend,” answered the doctor, “the upshot of it all is that we are well off where we are, and need not want to go elsewhere.”
“You said just now,” resumed Altamont, “that perhaps it would be worth while to make a journey to the centre of the world; has such an undertaking ever been thought of?”
“Yes, and this is all I’m going to say about the Pole. There is no point in the world which has given rise to more chimeras and hypotheses. The ancients, in their ignorance, placed the garden of the Hesperides there. In the Middle Ages it was supposed that the earth was upheld on axles placed at the poles, on which it revolved; but when comets were seen moving freely, that idea had to be given up. Later, there was a French astronomer, Bailly, who said that the lost people mentioned by Plato, the Atlantides, lived here. Finally, it has been asserted in our own time that there was an immense opening at the poles, from which came the Northern Lights, and through which one could reach the inside of the earth; since in the hollow sphere two planets, Pluto and Proserpine, were said to move, and the air was luminous in consequence of the strong pressure it felt.”
“That has been maintained?” asked Altamont.
“Yes, it has been written about seriously. Captain Symmes, a countryman of ours, proposed to Sir Humphry Davy, Humboldt, and Arago, to undertake the voyage! But they declined.”
“And they did well.”
“I think so. Whatever it may be, you see, my friends, that the imagination has busied itself about the Pole, and that sooner or later we must come to the reality.”
“At any rate, we shall see for ourselves,” said Johnson, who clung to his idea.
“Then, tomorrow we’ll start,” said the doctor, smiling at seeing the old sailor but half convinced; “and if there is any opening to the centre of the earth, we shall go there together.”
XXV
Mount Hatteras
After this solid conversation everyone made himself as comfortable as possible in the cavern, and soon fell asleep. Everyone, that is, except Hatteras. Why did not this strange man sleep?
Was not the object of his life attained? Had he not accomplished the bold projects which lay so near his heart? Why did not calmness succeed the agitation in his ardent mind? Would not one suppose that, when he had accomplished this end, Hatteras would fall into a sort of dejection, and that his overstretched nerves would seek repose? After succeeding, it would seem natural that he should be seized with the feeling of sadness, which always follows satisfied desires.
But no. He was only more excited. It was not, however, the thought of returning which agitated him so. Did he wish to go farther? Was there no limit to his ambition, and did he find the world too small, because he had been around it? However this may have been, he could not sleep. And yet this first night spent at the pole of the world was pleasant and quiet. The island was absolutely uninhabited. There was not a bird in its fire-impregnated atmosphere, not an animal on the soil of cinders, not a fish in its boiling waters. Only afar off the dull murmur of the mountain, from the summit of which arose puffs of hot smoke.
When Bell, Johnson, Altamont, and the doctor awoke, Hatteras was not to be seen near them. Being anxious, they left the cave, and saw the captain standing on a rock. His eyes were fixed on the top of the volcano. He held his instruments in his hands, having evidently been calculating the exact height of the mountain. The doctor went up to him and spoke to him several times before he could rouse him from his revery. At last the captain seemed to understand him.
“Forward!” said the doctor, who was examining him attentively—“forward! let us explore our island; we are all ready for our last excursion.”
“Our last,” said Hatteras, with the intonation of people who are dreaming aloud; “yes, the last, indeed. But also,” he continued with great animation, “the most wonderful!”
He spoke in this way, rubbing his hands over his brow as if to allay its throbbing. At that moment, Altamont, Johnson, and Bell joined him; Hatteras appeared to awaken from his revery.
“My friends,” he said with emotion, “thanks for your courage, thanks for your perseverance, thanks for your superhuman efforts, which have allowed us to set foot on this land!”
“Captain!” said Johnson, “we have only obeyed; all the honor is due to you alone!”
“No, no!” resumed Hatteras with emotion; “to you as much as to me! to Altamont as well as to all of us! as to the doctor himself—Oh, let my heart well over in your hands!
