The Great Geyser

Wednesday, August 19.—Fortunately the wind blows violently, and has enabled us to flee from the scene of the late terrible struggle. Hans keeps at his post at the helm. My uncle, whom the absorbing incidents of the combat had drawn away from his contemplations, began again to look impatiently around him.

Wednesday, August 19. Fortunately, the wind is blowing hard, allowing us to escape the scene of the terrible struggle. Hans remains at the helm. The gripping events of the fight had distracted my uncle from his thoughts. Now he began looking around impatiently again.

The voyage resumes its uniform tenor, which I don't care to break with a repetition of such events as yesterday's.

The voyage returns to its usual routine, and I have no wish to interrupt it with another event like yesterday's.

Thursday, Aug. 20.—Wind N.N.E., unsteady and fitful. Temperature high. Rate three and a half leagues an hour.

Thursday, Aug. 20. The wind is from the north-northeast, unsteady and gusty. The temperature is high. Speed is three and a half leagues an hour.

About noon a distant noise is heard. I note the fact without being able to explain it. It is a continuous roar.

Around noon, I hear a distant noise. I note it, but I cannot explain it. It is a continuous roar.

"In the distance," says the Professor, "there is a rock or islet, against which the sea is breaking."

"In the distance," says the Professor, "there's a rock or small island with waves breaking against it."

Hans climbs up the mast, but sees no breakers. The ocean' is smooth and unbroken to its farthest limit.

Hans climbs the mast, but sees no breaking waves. The ocean is smooth and unbroken as far as he can see.

Three hours pass away. The roarings seem to proceed from a very distant waterfall.

Three hours pass. The roaring sounds seem to come from a waterfall far away.

I remark upon this to my uncle, who replies doubtfully: "Yes, I am convinced that I am right." Are we, then, speeding forward to some cataract which will cast us down an abyss? This method of getting on may please the Professor, because it is vertical; but for my part I prefer the more ordinary modes of horizontal progression.

I mention this to my uncle, who replies doubtfully: "Yes, I am convinced I am right." Are we speeding toward a waterfall that will plunge us into an abyss? This way of traveling may please the Professor because it is vertical. But I prefer the more ordinary ways of moving horizontally.

At any rate, some leagues to the windward there must be some noisy phenomenon, for now the roarings are heard with increasing loudness. Do they proceed from the sky or the ocean?

In any case, something noisy must be happening a few leagues upwind, because the roars are growing louder. Are they coming from the sky or the ocean?

I look up to the atmospheric vapours, and try to fathom their depths. The sky is calm and motionless. The clouds have reached the utmost limit of the lofty vault, and there lie still bathed in the bright glare of the electric light. It is not there that we must seek for the cause of this phenomenon. Then I examine the horizon, which is unbroken and clear of all mist. There is no change in its aspect. But if this noise arises from a fall, a cataract, if all this ocean flows away headlong into a lower basin yet, if that deafening roar is produced by a mass of falling water, the current must needs accelerate, and its increasing speed will give me the measure of the peril that threatens us. I consult the current: there is none. I throw an empty bottle into the sea: it lies still.

I look up at the mist overhead and try to gauge its depth. The sky is calm and still. The clouds have reached the highest point of the great dome overhead. They lie motionless there, bathed in the bright glare of the electric light. We must look elsewhere for the cause of this phenomenon. Then I examine the horizon, which is unbroken and free of mist. It looks no different. But the noise may come from a waterfall. If the whole ocean is rushing down into an even lower basin, the current must grow faster. If that deafening roar comes from a mass of falling water, the increasing speed will show me how much danger we are in. I check the current. There is none. I throw an empty bottle into the sea. It stays still.

About four Hans rises, lays hold of the mast, climbs to its top. Thence his eye sweeps a large area of sea, and it is fixed upon a point. His countenance exhibits no surprise, but his eye is immovably steady.

Around four, Hans gets up, grabs the mast, and climbs to the top. From there, he looks across a wide stretch of sea and fixes his gaze on one point. His face shows no surprise, but his gaze remains fixed.

"He sees something," says my uncle.

"He sees something," my uncle says.

"I believe he does."

"I think he does."

Hans comes down, then stretches his arm to the south, saying:

Hans comes down, then stretches his arm toward the south, saying:

"Dere nere!"

"Down there!"

"Down there?" repeated my uncle.

"Down there?" my uncle repeated.

Then, seizing his glass, he gazes attentively for a minute, which seems to me an age.

Then he grabs his glass and peers through it for a minute, which seems like an age to me.

"Yes, yes!" he cried. "I see a vast inverted cone rising from the surface."

"Yes, yes!" he cried. "I see a huge upside-down cone rising from the surface."

"Is it another sea beast?"

"Is it another sea creature?"

"Perhaps it is."

"Maybe it is."

"Then let us steer farther westward, for we know something of the danger of coming across monsters of that sort."

"Then let's steer farther west, because we know something about the danger of encountering monsters like that."

"Let us go straight on," replied my uncle.

"Let's go straight ahead," my uncle replied.

I appealed to Hans. He maintained his course inflexibly.

I pleaded with Hans. He stubbornly continued on his course.

Yet, if at our present distance from the animal, a distance of twelve leagues at the least, the column of water driven through its blowers may be distinctly seen, it must needs be of vast size. The commonest prudence would counsel immediate flight; but we did not come so far to be prudent.

Yet we are at least twelve leagues from the animal. If we can clearly see the column of water from its blowholes at that distance, it must be enormous. Even basic caution would tell us to flee at once, but we did not come so far to be cautious.

Imprudently, therefore, we pursue our way. The nearer we approach, the higher mounts the jet of water. What monster can possibly fill itself with such a quantity of water, and spurt it up so continuously?

So we recklessly continue on our way. The closer we get, the higher the jet of water rises. What monster could possibly fill itself with so much water and keep spouting it so continuously?

At eight in the evening we are not two leagues distant from it. Its body—dusky, enormous, hillocky—lies spread upon the sea like an islet. Is it illusion or fear? Its length seems to me a couple of thousand yards. What can be this cetacean, which neither Cuvier nor Blumenbach knew anything about? It lies motionless, as if asleep; the sea seems unable to move it in the least; it is the waves that undulate upon its sides. The column of water thrown up to a height of five hundred feet falls in rain with a deafening uproar. And here are we scudding like lunatics before the wind, to get near to a monster that a hundred whales a day would not satisfy!

At eight in the evening, we are less than two leagues away from it. Its dark, enormous, lumpy body lies on the sea like a small island. Is it an illusion, or am I afraid? It looks about two thousand yards long. What kind of whale is this, which neither Cuvier nor Blumenbach knew anything about? It lies motionless, as if asleep. The sea seems unable to move it at all. Instead, the waves rise and fall against its sides. A column of water shoots five hundred feet into the air. It falls like rain with a deafening roar. And here we are, racing like lunatics before the wind to get close to the monster. A hundred whales a day would not satisfy it!

Terror seizes upon me. I refuse to go further. I will cut the halliards if necessary! I am in open mutiny against the Professor, who vouchsafes no answer.

Terror grips me. I refuse to go any farther. I will cut the ropes if necessary! I openly rebel against the Professor, but he says nothing.

Suddenly Hans rises, and pointing with his finger at the menacing object, he says:

Suddenly, Hans stands up and points at the threatening object. He says:

"Holm."

"Holm."

"An island!" cries my uncle.

"An island!" my uncle cries.

"That's not an island!" I cried sceptically.

"That's not an island!" I exclaimed, doubtful.

"It's nothing else," shouted the Professor, with a loud laugh.

"It's nothing else!" shouted the Professor, laughing loudly.

"But that column of water?"

"But what about that column of water?"

"Geyser," said Hans.

"Geyser," said Hans.

"No doubt it is a geyser, like those in Iceland."

"It's definitely a geyser, like the ones in Iceland."

At first I protest against being so widely mistaken as to have taken an island for a marine monster. But the evidence is against me, and I have to confess my error. It is nothing worse than a natural phenomenon.

At first, I deny that I could have been so mistaken as to take an island for a sea monster. But the evidence is against me, and I have to admit my mistake. It is nothing worse than a natural phenomenon.

As we approach nearer the dimensions of the liquid column become magnificent. The islet resembles, with a most deceiving likeness, an enormous cetacean, whose head dominates the waves at a height of twenty yards. The geyser, a word meaning 'fury,' rises majestically from its extremity. Deep and heavy explosions are heard from time to time, when the enormous jet, possessed with more furious violence, shakes its plumy crest, and springs with a bound till it reaches the lowest stratum of the clouds. It stands alone. No steam vents, no hot springs surround it, and all the volcanic power of the region is concentrated here. Sparks of electric fire mingle with the dazzling sheaf of lighted fluid, every drop of which refracts the prismatic colours.

As we draw closer, the column of water looks magnificent in its size. The islet looks strikingly like an enormous whale, its head rising twenty yards above the waves. The geyser rises majestically from its end. The word geyser means 'fury.' From time to time, deep, heavy explosions sound. Then the enormous jet surges more violently, shaking its feathery crest and leaping up to the lowest layer of clouds. The geyser stands alone. No steam vents or hot springs surround it, and all the volcanic power of the region is concentrated here. Sparks of electricity mingle with the dazzling spray of lit water. Every drop refracts the colors of the spectrum.

"Let us land," said the Professor.

"Let's land," said the Professor.

"But we must carefully avoid this waterspout, which would sink our raft in a moment."

"But we must carefully avoid this waterspout. It would sink our raft in an instant."

Hans, steering with his usual skill, brought us to the other extremity of the islet.

Hans steered with his usual skill and brought us to the other end of the islet.

I leaped up on the rock; my uncle lightly followed, while our hunter remained at his post, like a man too wise ever to be astonished.

I jumped onto the rock, and my uncle followed easily. Meanwhile, our hunter stayed at his post, like a man too wise ever to be surprised.

We walked upon granite mingled with siliceous tufa. The soil shivers and shakes under our feet, like the sides of an overheated boiler filled with steam struggling to get loose. We come in sight of a small central basin, out of which the geyser springs. I plunge a register thermometer into the boiling water. It marks an intense heat of 325°, which is far above the boiling point; therefore this water issues from an ardent furnace, which is not at all in harmony with Professor Liedenbrock's theories. I cannot help making the remark.

We walked on granite mixed with siliceous tufa. The ground trembles and shakes beneath our feet. It is like the sides of an overheated boiler filled with steam trying to escape. We come in sight of a small central basin from which the geyser erupts. I plunge a registering thermometer into the boiling water. It reads an intense 325°, far above the boiling point. So this water comes from a blazing furnace, which does not fit Professor Liedenbrock's theories at all. I cannot help pointing this out.

"Well," he replied, "how does that make against my doctrine?"

"Well," he replied, "how does that disprove my theory?"

"Oh, nothing at all," I said, seeing that I was going in opposition to immovable obstinacy.

"Oh, nothing at all," I said, seeing that I was up against stubbornness that could not be overcome.

Still I am constrained to confess that hitherto we have been wonderfully favoured, and that for some reason unknown to myself we have accomplished our journey under singularly favourable conditions of temperature. But it seems manifest to me that some day we shall reach a region where the central heat attains its highest limits, and goes beyond a point that can be registered by our thermometers.

Still, I must admit that we have been remarkably fortunate so far. For some reason unknown to me, we have traveled under unusually favorable temperature conditions. But I am convinced that one day we will reach a region where the central heat reaches its highest levels. It will be too hot for our thermometers to measure.

"That is what we shall see." So says the Professor, who, having named this volcanic islet after his nephew, gives the signal to embark again.

"That is what we will see." The Professor says this after naming the volcanic islet after his nephew. He then gives the signal to board the boat again.

For some minutes I am still contemplating the geyser. I notice that it throws up its column of water with variable force: sometimes sending it to a great height, then again to a lower, which I attribute to the variable pressure of the steam accumulated in its reservoir.

For several minutes, I continue watching the geyser. I notice that its column of water rises with varying force, sometimes reaching higher than at other times. I believe this is due to changes in the pressure of the steam trapped in its reservoir.

At last we leave the island, rounding away past the low rocks on its southern shore. Hans has taken advantage of the halt to refit his rudder.

At last, we leave the island, sailing past the low rocks on its southern shore. Hans has used the stop to refit his rudder.

But before going any farther I make a few observations, to calculate the distance we have gone over, and note them in my journal. We have crossed two hundred and seventy leagues of sea since leaving Port Gräuben; and we are six hundred and twenty leagues from Iceland, under England.¹²

But before going any farther, I take a few measurements to calculate how far we have traveled. I record them in my journal. We have crossed two hundred and seventy leagues of sea since leaving Port Gräuben. We are six hundred and twenty leagues from Iceland, beneath England.¹²