Below, and floating along a slope of considerable angularity, the stream of eruptive matter spread away to a depth which did not give the volcano a height of three hundred fathoms.
Its base disappeared in a perfect forest of green trees, among which I perceived olives, fig trees, and vines loaded with rich grapes.
Certainly this was not the ordinary aspect of the Arctic regions. About that there could not be the slightest doubt.
When the eye was satisfied at its glimpse of this verdant expanse, it fell upon the waters of a lovely sea or beautiful lake, which made of this enchanted land an island of not many leagues in extent.
On the side of the rising sun was to be seen a little port, crowded with houses, and near which the boats and vessels of peculiar build were floating upon azure waves.
Beyond, groups of islands rose above the liquid plain, so numerous and close together as to resemble a vast beehive.
Toward the setting sun, some distant shores were to be made out on the edge of the horizon. Some presented the appearance of blue mountains of harmonious conformation; upon others, much more distant, there appeared a prodigiously lofty cone, above the summit of which hung dark and heavy clouds.
Toward the north, an immense expanse of water sparkled beneath the solar rays, occasionally allowing the extremity of a mast or the convexity of a sail bellying to the wind, to be seen.
The unexpected character of such a scene added an hundredfold to its marvelous beauties.
“Where can we be?” I asked, speaking in a low and solemn voice.
Hans shut his eyes with an air of indifference, and my uncle looked on without clearly understanding.
“Whatever this mountain may be,” he said, at last, “I must confess it is rather warm. The explosions do not leave off, and I do not think it is worthwhile to have left the interior of a volcano and remain here to receive a huge piece of rock upon one’s head. Let us carefully descend the mountain and discover the real state of the case. To confess the truth, I am dying of hunger and thirst.”
Decidedly the Professor was no longer a truly reflective character. For myself, forgetting all my necessities, ignoring my fatigues and sufferings, I should have remained still for several hours longer—but it was necessary to follow my companions.
The slope of the volcano was very steep and slippery; we slid over piles of ashes, avoiding the streams of hot lava which glided about like fiery serpents. Still, while we were advancing, I spoke with extreme volubility, for my imagination was too full not to explode in words.
“We are in Asia!” I exclaimed; “we are on the coast of India, in the great Malay islands, in the center of Oceania. We have crossed the one half of the globe to come out right at the antipodes of Europe!”
“But the compass!” exclaimed my uncle; “explain that to me!”
“Yes—the compass,” I said with considerable hesitation. “I grant that is a difficulty. According to it, we have always been going northward.”
“Then it lied.”
“Hem—to say it lied is rather a harsh word,” was my answer.
“Then we are at the North Pole—”
“The Pole—no—well—well I give it up,” was my reply.
The plain truth was, that there was no explanation possible. I could make nothing of it.
And all the while we were approaching this beautiful verdure, hunger and thirst tormented me fearfully. Happily, after two long hours’ march, a beautiful country spread out before us, covered by olives, pomegranates, and vines, which appeared to belong to anybody and everybody.
In the state of destitution into which we had fallen, we were not particular to a grape.
What delight it was to press these delicious fruits to our lips, and to bite at grapes and pomegranates fresh from the vine. Not far off, near some fresh and mossy grass, under the delicious shade of some trees, I discovered a spring of fresh water, in which we voluptuously laved our faces, hands, and feet.
While we were all giving way to the delights of new-found pleasures, a little child appeared between two tufted olive trees.