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Journey to the Center of the Earth
Chapter 37. THE MYSTERIOUS DAGGER
During this time, we had left the bright and clear forest far behind us.
We were silent with astonishment, overcome by a kind of feeling close to apathy.
We kept running though we didn't want to.
It was a perfect fright, like those terrible feelings we sometimes have in our dreams.
We moved by instinct toward the Central Sea.
I can't now tell what wild thoughts passed through my mind or what mistakes I might have made.
A very serious worry brought me back to practical life.
Though we walked on ground new to us, I kept noticing groups of rocks whose shapes reminded me of those near Port Gretchen.
This agreed with the compass and with our strange and unexpected and involuntary return to the north of this great Central Sea.
It looked so like our starting point that I could hardly doubt our position.
Streams and waterfalls fell in hundreds over the many rock projections.
I actually thought I could see our faithful and quiet Hans and the wonderful grotto where I came back to life after my terrible fall.
As we moved farther on, the position of the cliffs and the look of a stream made me uneasy.
The sudden outline of a rock threw me again into a state of complete doubt.
After some time, I explained my mental doubt to my uncle.
He admitted to a similar feeling, he was totally unable to decide, in the middle of this strange but uniform view.
"There can be no doubt,"
I insisted, "that we haven't landed exactly where we first left, but the storm has brought us above our starting point."
"I insisted, "I think, then, that if we follow the coast we'll find Port Gretchen again.
"In that case," cried my uncle.
"It's useless to continue our exploration. The best thing we can do is go back to the raft. Are you sure, Harry, that you aren't mistaken?"
"It's difficult," I replied, "to make any decision, for all these rocks are exactly alike."
"There's no clear difference between them," I said, "but at the same time I feel I recognize the promontory where our good Hans built the raft."
"I'm almost certain we're near the little port, if this isn't it," I added, looking carefully at a creek which seemed strangely familiar to me.
"My dear Harry, if this were the case, we'd find traces of our own footsteps, some sign that we passed this way."
"And I really can see nothing to show we came this way."
"But I see something," I cried, in an excited voice, as I rushed forward and eagerly picked up something that shone in the sand under my feet.
"What's it?" asked the astonished and puzzled Professor.
"This," I said.
And I handed to my surprised relative a rusty dagger, of a strange shape.
"What made you bring with you such a useless weapon?" he exclaimed.
"It was only getting in your way."
"I bring it? It's new to me. I never saw it before. Are you sure it isn't from your collection?"
"Not that I know of," said the Professor, puzzled.
"I have no memory of it. It was never mine."
"This is very strange," I said, thinking about the new and unusual incident.
"Not at all."
"There's a simple explanation, Harry."
"The Icelanders are known to keep using these old weapons, and this must have belonged to Hans, who dropped it without knowing."
I shook my head, that dagger had never been with the peaceful and quiet Hans.
I knew him and his habits too well.
"Then what can it be, unless it's the weapon of some very old warrior,"
I continued, "Could it be a living man, a contemporary of that great shepherd from whom we just escaped?"
"I continued, "No, mystery on mystery, this isn't a weapon from the stone age or the bronze age, it's made of fine steel.
Before I could finish, my uncle stopped me from going into a whole set of theories, and spoke in his cold and decided voice.
"Calm down, my boy, and try to use your reason."
"This weapon, which we found so unexpectedly, is a true dagger, one of those worn by gentlemen at their belts during the sixteenth century."
"Its use was to give the final blow to an enemy who wouldn't give up."
"It's clearly Spanish work."
"It belongs to neither you, nor me, nor the eider-down hunter, nor to any of the living beings who may still exist so strangely in the inside of the earth."
"What do you mean, Uncle?" I said, now lost in many guesses.
"Look at it closely," he continued.
"These jagged marks weren't made by cutting human flesh and bone."
"The blade is covered with a regular coat of iron mold and rust, which isn't a day old, not a year old, not a century old, but much older."
The Professor began to get quite excited, as usual, and was letting his rich imagination carry him away.
I could have said something, he stopped me.
"Harry," he cried, "we're now on the edge of a great discovery".
This dagger blade you so strangely found was left on the sand for more than a hundred, two hundred, even three hundred years.
It has been used to try to cut an inscription on these rocks.
"But this dagger couldn't have come here by itself," I exclaimed.
"It couldn't have twisted itself. Someone, then, must have been here before us on the shores of this strange sea."
"Yes, a man."
"But what man would be desperate enough to do such a thing?"
"A man who somewhere wrote his name with this very dagger, a man who tried once more to show the right road to the inside of the earth."
"Let us look around, my boy."
"You don't know the importance of your strange and lucky discovery."
Greatly interested, we walked along the rock wall, checking the smallest cracks, which might open into the much wanted gully or shaft.
We finally reached a place where the shore became very narrow.
The sea almost touched the foot of the rocks, which were here very high and steep.
There was hardly a path wider than two yards at any point.
At last, under a huge overhanging rock, we found the entrance of a dark and gloomy tunnel.
There, on a square slab of granite smoothed by rubbing it with another stone, we could see two mysterious and much worn letters.
These were the two initials of the bold and extraordinary traveler who had gone before us on our dangerous journey.
"A. S.!" cried my uncle.
"You see, I was right. Arne Saknussemm, always Arne Saknussemm!"