CHAPTER XXV.
MOUNT HATTERAS.
After this solid conversation every one made himself as comfortable as possible in the cavern, and soon fell asleep. Every one, 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 over-stretched 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.
| "They saw the captain standing on a rock." |
"Forward!" said the doctor, who was examining him attentively,—"forward! let us explore our island; we are all ready for our last excursion."