“Let me introduce you to the North Pole,” Silas said sarcastically; “nice cheerful location, ain’t it?”
“And this is the lodestar of the explorers!” Garth exclaimed in disgust, “to reach which so many lives have been sacrificed on the ice-fields of the Arctic Seas.”
“It is a terrible disappointment,” muttered Mervyn. “I thought to find here a habitable island, with perhaps men and beasts; but even the sense of disappointment wanes before the peril of the position into which we have been dragged by this magnetic attraction.”
“Magnetic attraction!” cried the inventor; “whatever do you mean?”
“This,” returned the scientist: “the mysterious force which is holding your engines, which prevents us opening the door, and has also jammed the steering gear, is the same power that causes the needle of the compass to point to the north!”
The inventor stared in amazement.
“Then what hope have we of ever getting away?” he asked at length.
“None whatever,” was the reply, and at that Garth relapsed into silence. Each man was busy with his own thoughts, each was striving to find some way of escape from the perilous situation in which they found themselves; but, try as they might, no gleam of hope presented itself.
The vessel on which their very existence depended was helpless as a log in the grip of the giant natural forces of the magnetic mountain; and, added to this, was the ever-increasing peril from the crater, which was now flinging out a veritable cataract of glowing stones, to the accompaniment of numerous awe-inspiring explosions.
“I’m afraid it’s a case,” Seymour said at length. “Twenty-four hours will see the last of this expedition, unless the sulphur cloud lifts so that we can get some air. How long do you reckon the air will last, Garth?”