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A Journey to the Center of the Earth xx-xx-xx BBC (2 of 8) The Shadow of Scapari
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This President's Day upgrade the look of your home without breaking your budget. Save up to 50% site wide on new window treatments@blinds.com blinds.com makes it easy with free virtual consultations on your schedule and samples delivered to your door fast and free. With over 25 million windows covered and a 100% satisfaction guarantee, you can count on blinds.com to deliver results you'll love. Shop up to 50% off sitewide plus a free professional measure during the President's Day Mega Sale happening right now@blinds.com terms apply. We present Bernard Horsfall as Harry Lawson and Jeffrey Banks as Professor von Hardwicken. A Journey to the center of the Earth the novel by Jules Verne adapted for radio in eight parts by Howard Jones. Part 2 the Shadow of Scotari. I suppose that even now there are some who will not credit that we undertook that most terrifying of all journeys, a Journey to the center of the Earth. But let me remind you who I am. My name is Harry Lawson. At the time I am speaking of, I was studying in Hamburg under my eccentric uncle, the celebrated professor von Hardwick. One day my uncle brought home a rare old book, and as I was examining it, there fluttered from its leaves a piece of parchment covered with runic characters. This proved to be a message in cipher written by Arn Saknusson, a famous Icelandic alchemist of the 16th century. In an unhappy moment, I hit upon the key to the cipher. And so we learned how, more than 300 years before, Saknussum had descended into the crater of the extinct volcano in Iceland called Snathos, and thus penetrated to the center of the earth. My impetuous uncle decided that he and I must make the same journey, and so we departed for Iceland, and there engaged faithful Hans Bjelke as our guide. With three porters to carry our baggage, Hans led the way up the slopes of snowfills. But we were still some distance from the summit when a great cloud of pumice, sand and dust threatened to engulf us. It is in this moor. We cannot stop here. Make it make keep. We are coming, Hans. Over time, over. I have never felt such misery, fatigue and exhaustion in my life. At last, when I thought myself at my last gasp, about 11 at night, we reached the summit of Mount Sn? El. We descended a little into the shelter of the crater, and lying there on a bed of granite, I fell asleep. In the morning we climbed up to look at the panorama beneath us. My uncle was enraptured. Oh, wonderful, wonderful. Look yonder over the Sea. That's a screen. Greenland. Can we see? So far? We are 5,000ft up on the summit of the great, the transcendent Sneithel. And here are its two peaks, north and south. Hans will tell you the name of the peak we are standing on. The name of this peak is Skartaris. Skartaris. Harry, do you hear? Do you remember what the great Arnus Sacnussum wrote of the peak Scartaris? Yes, I remember that splendid crater, my boy. Half a mile across, at least. A great cannon. That's what it is, uncle. And to descend inside a cannon when perhaps it is loaded and will go off at the slightest shock is the act of madness. Come. Why, we're wasting time. Forward, hunch. Forward. Hans led the way down the interior of the cone in a zigzag fashion. Some parts consisted of interior glaciers which he tested with his long iron pole. Some parts were so doubtful and dangerous that we had to be tied together. By midday, we had completed this stage of our journey. I looked up and saw only the upper orifice of the cone, like a circular frame to a very small portion of the sky, a portion that seemed to me singularly beautiful should I ever again gaze on that lovely sunlit sky. The bottom of the crater consisted of three separate shafts gaping in our path. The professor ran from one to the other like a delighted schoolboy, gesticulating wildly and uttering disjointed phrases in all sorts of languages. Presently, I heard him calling excitedly. Harry, come here. Come quickly. Do not order. I'm coming, I'm coming. What is it, Uncle? Raise your ey. You see on the wall? It looks like carving runic characters. And what do the runic characters spell out, my boy? A R. And Satanism. On Satanism, the great man's name Carls in the living rock. Do you begin to have faith? Well, do you? I could not answer a single word. The evidence was unanswerable, overwhelming. I went back to my seat, covered my face with my hands and dreamed my beloved home and my beloved cousin Gretchen. When I raised my head, there remained at the bottom of the crater only myself, my uncle and Hans. The Icelandic porters, had been dismissed. How heartily did I wish myself with them. We made ourselves as comfortable as possible for the night. In the morning, a gray, heavy sky hung like a funeral pall over the summit of the cone, and my uncle was walking about like a wild beast in a cage. He called me to his side. Harry, do you remember the words on our precious parchment? The words of honest satinism? He wrote, descend into the crater of Yokel of Snefus, which the shade of scar Paris caresses before the calends of July, audacious traveler, and you will reach the center of the earth. I did it. Arne Sacnison. Now observe. There are three shafts or paths open before us. One and only one, is the right road. And you shall know it when the shadow of Scatharis falls on it. Before the first of July precisely. If there's no sunshine up above, Scatharis cannot trap the shadows. And today's date, let me remind you, is the 25th of June. So that if it stays cloudy for the next six days, we shall have to put off our journey of discovery for a whole year. Yes, it is enough to drive a man out of his senses. Never had my uncle's eyes appeared so fierce, his mouth so hard and firm. On the 26th, to my delight, there was no change for the better. A mixture of rain and snow fell during the whole day. The next day and the next and the next were overcast. My uncle was almost frantic. But on the last day of the month, with a sudden change of wind and a new moon, there came a change of weather. The sun poured its beaming rays to the very bottom of the crater. At 12 o' clock exactly when the sun had attained its highest altitude, the shadow fell upon the edge of the central shaft. Here it is. Here it is. There can be no mistake. This is our road. Forward, my friends, to the center of the Earth. Forward, Hans. Come, Harry, come. Time is valuable. That's why Lowe's blueprint takeoffs turn blueprints into quotes faster. Bring us your plans and we'll generate itemized material lists to make quoting easier so you can get back to Plus. At the Lowes Pro desk, you get access to thousands of building materials not sold in store. And when your order's ready, we'll deliver everything to the job site. Improving is easy at Lowes. Our real journey had now begun. I peered over the abyss into which we were about to plunge. The sides were almost as perpendicular as those of a well. It was a sort of white, wild and savage staircase without banister or fence. One moment. There's the baggage which you must carry on our back. Say, Hans, my thoughts. You will take charge of the tools and some of the provisions. You, Harry, take another third of the provisions and our weapons. I will look after the rest of the food and our instruments. That leaves our spare clothes and this mass of cord and ladders. Who is going to carry them? I have told you that Hans have you bundled them securely? Yes, they are all secure. Good. Pitch them over the sides, down into the abyss. Very good, master. See? There you go. Now it is our turn. I shall loop a rope over any suitable block of lava and we shall go down hand over hand. You first, Hans. I will follow. Married. You bring up the reel. As you join us, pull one end of the rope and you put it forward your feet. Come now, old Hans, forward. So we went down, down, down, down. We started at 1 o', clock and at 11 o' clock at night I calculated we had descended 5,600ft. More than a mile. Hans called suddenly. We can go no further. What is it, Hans? We are at the bottle of the well. I think there is a sort of bottle here to our right. Ah, yes, yes. Well, we will see about this tomorrow. Time now to eat and sleep. We all slept soundly. Our breakfast consisted of biscuit and meat washed down with water flavored with scheidem. When we had finished, my uncle busied himself with the log of our travels. Monday, July 1. Chronometer 8 hours 17 minutes. This morning, barometer reading 29. Thermometer 43 degrees Fahrenheit. Direction east southeast. The diameter shows that we are just about unsealable, yet not penetrated one inch into the earth. Now we must have light. I will put the Ruhmkoff coil on my neck. So put the wire into the worm of the lantern and three pound electricity. Wonderful. That's why today. All right, my friend, all right. So we moved onward in the same order. For hour after hour we marched and sometimes slithered down a steep slope in a south easterly direction. My uncle was in a cheerful mood. Cheer up, my boy. We are making satisfactory progress, are we not? Why do you look so thoughtful? I'm thinking of our water supplies. Our girds are half empty. You felt sure we should strike some subterranean springs, but so far there's no sign of one. Oh, set your mind at rest. I answer for it that we shall find plenty of water once we have got through this crust of lava. Can you expect springs to force their way through these solid stone walls? Yes. We shall find water, Harry. More than we shall ever want. The next day, Tuesday, 2nd of July, we resumed our march. At 6 in the morning, at precisely 17 minutes past 12, Hans stopped. We were in the center of four cross paths, somber and narrow tunnels. Which were we to take. 1, 2, 3, 4 tunnels. Very well, we will take that one which lies furthest to the east. Bowman Hunt. All that day we marched, and for half the day Following, I became convinced that our path was ascending and not descending. And it seemed to me that the walls of the tunnel proved this. They were not lava, but rocks of the transition, as geologists say, the period of Silurian stone containing fossils. I picked up a fossil shell and showed it to my uncle. The shell of a Cretaceous animal of the extinct order, the Trilobites. Yes, Uncle. And what conclusion do you draw from it? I know, my dear boy, what you have in mind. Possibly I was mistaken in choosing the eastern tunnel, but that we shall not know until we reach the end of this gallery. You had to make a quick decision that I realize. If only we had not to fear the greatest of all dangers. And what is that? Lack of water. Well, my dear Harry, it cannot be helped. We must put ourselves strictly unration. Now, let us march on in good heart. Come, Hay. In truth, we were compelled to ration our water. Our supplies would certainly not last more than three days, and we could not expect to strike water in the transition rocks through which we were now passing. I had read of the horrors of thirst and I knew that unless we soon struck a spring, our adventures and our lives would speedily end. But it was utterly useless to discuss the matter with my uncle. During the whole of the next day. We marched on through this interminable gallery. Arch after arch after tunnel after tunnel. We marched without exchanging a word. My uncle was determined to march on, whatever the risk. He must, I think, have been hoping for one of two possibilities. Either that we should come upon a vertical shaft that would lead us to water bearing rocks, or that insurmountable obstacles would compel us to go back. On Friday, after a night when I began to suffer the gnawing agony of thirst, we rose and once more followed the turnings and windings, the ascents and descents of this interminable gallery. After about 10 hours of marching, I noticed that the reflection of our lamps on the walls of the tunnel was greatly diminished. A little later, when we came to a very narrow part of the tunnel, a chance to. To lean my hand against the wall. It was quite black. We were in a coal mine. Yes. Aye, a coal mine without miners. I'm certain that this gallery was never cut by the hand of man. But whether it was a work of nature or not matters little to us. It is the other time. Come, let us eat. I can't eat. All I want is water. How much have you left? None. My gourd is empty. And so, I fear, is mine. Hence how much water? I have a litre. There Is up to here not quite half full. Very well. Now let us eat his bread. Hans busied himself in preparing food, but I could not eat. All I cared about was a few drops of water, which fell to my share. Having finished their supper, my companions stretched themselves on their rugs and forgot their sufferings. In sleep I lay counting the hours until morning. The next day, Saturday, we started Forward again at 6 o'. Clock. On and on we marched through the coal mine. The road continued to advance on the level and my uncle could scarcely conceal his impatience and dissatisfaction. The darkness, dense and opaque a few yards ahead and in the rear, made it impossible to estimate the length of the gallery. For myself I began to believe that it was well nigh interminable and would go on in the same manner for months. It is not time to halt. Oh, we cannot march more. There is no way. What is this you say? We cannot march forward, Master. There is no way to right or left. There is no way up or down. See, there is only this great wall. A solid wall. Well, well, so much. The river. At least I know what they're about. We are certainly not on the road taken by Suttonesses. All we have to do is to go back. Let us have one night's good rest and before three days are over, I promise we shall have reached the point where the galleries defined it. If our strength lasts as long. And why shouldn't our strength last as long? Because this time tomorrow there will not be one drop of water amongst us. It will all be gone. And your courage with it. What could I say? I turned over on my side and from sheer exhaustion fell into a heavy and troubled sleep. I dreamt of water. Water. And when I awoke, I would have bartered a diamond mine for a glass of pure spring water. In the morning we started our return journey at a very early hour. There was no time for delay. I estimated that it would take us five days to reach the spot where the gallery is divided. I cannot describe all the sufferings we endured on our journey. My uncle bore them like a man who has been in the wrong, that is, with concentrated and suppressed anger, hence with all the resignation of his gentle character. And I. Well, I confess I did nothing but complain and despair. As I expected, our walker gave out during the first day of the return march. We were reduced to our supply of scheidem. But this horrible. Nay, I will say this infernal liquor burnt my throat and I could not even bear the sight of it. I found the temperature stifling. I felt almost paralyzed with fatigue. More than once I thought I was about to fall unconscious to the ground. The worthy Icelander and my uncle did their best to revive and comfort me. I could see, however, that my uncle was battling with his own extreme fatigue and thirst. A time came when I ceased to recollect anything clearly, when all was one awful, hideous, fantastic dream. At last, on Tuesday, 18th of July, after crawling on our hands and knees for many hours, more dead than alive, we reached the junction of their galleries. I lay there like a log. Something or somebody told me that it was 10 in the morning. Hans and my uncle, leaning against the wall, tried to nibble at some pieces of biscuit. I fell into a sort of swoon and presently I felt my uncle lift me tenderly in his arms. Harry. Harry. Oh, my poor boy. I could not speak, but I was moved by his words, being unused to womanly weakness in him. I caught his trembling hands in mine and pressed them and I saw his eyes were misted with tears. He took the gourd which was slung at his side and to my bewilderment, he pressed it to my lips. Drink, my boy, drink. Drink. Had I heard aright or was my uncle mad? Almost before I could think, a mouthful of water cooled my parched lips and throat. One mouthful. But I believed it saved my life. My heart was too full to speak, but I thanked my uncle by pressing his hand. Yes, Harry, a mouthful of water. The last, the very last. I have treasured it at the bottom of my gourd. Twenty times, a hundred times I have resisted the urge to drink it. My dear uncle, I knew that when we reached here you would fall half dead. Indeed you did. That's why I saved this last drop of water for you. Thank you. Thank you, Uncle. That's better, eh? It has revived you nobly, Uncle. There's no doubt what we must do. Our journey has ended. Let us get back to the surface, to Snaefelt. May Heaven give us strength and we may once more see the light of day. Go back. Go back. Yes, and without delay. So, my dear Harry, these few drops of water are not enough to restore your energy and courage. Courage? You are as downcast as ever. Still you give way to despair. But I. I will not give up. Just as we are on the verge of success. Never shall it be said that professor von Hartrick turned back. Then we must make up our minds to die. No. No. Harry, my boy. Go. Leave me. I am very far from desiring your death. Leave me, I say. And take Hans with you. I will go on alone. Alone? I have undertaken this dangerous adventure. I will see it through to the end, or I will never return to the surface of Mother Earth. Go, Hans. I tell you once more, go. My uncle's voice was now harsh and menacing. He had become terribly excited. Meanwhile, our guide looked on with profound calmness and indifference. Although he must have known perfectly well what was going on between us, it occurred to me that Hans and I might persuade the professor to turn back. If the worst came to the worst, we would compel him to return to the surface. After the time I quietly approached. Hans. Hans, listen. There is the road back. The road to snaefelt to life and freedom. We must persuade the professor. The professor says no, but we are wiser than he is. Hans. The professor says no. We do not go back. He is master. The master. He is not the master of our lives. We will drag him with us if we must. Do you hear me? Do you understand what I say? My good hands, be calm. You will get no satisfaction from my devoted hands. This wretched lack of water is the sole obstacle to our success. It is possible we shall be luckier in the western tunnel. You don't listen to me. While you lay senseless, I reconnoitred the other gallery. It goes directly downwards and in a few hours will take us to the old granite formation in which we shall certainly find water. Now this is my preposition. When Christopher Columbus asked his crew for three days to discover the land of Promise, they agreed and the New World was discovered. Now, I, the Christopher Columbus of this underworld, I ask of you one more day. If after a day I have not found water, I swear I will give up my mighty enterprise and return to the earth's surface. Very well. If we don't discover water soon, we are doomed. So let's push ahead. It is agreed. Forward, hunt. Forward. We now resumed our journey into the Western Gallery. On and on and on, towards 6 o', clock, I realized we were marching through granite. 8 o'. Clock. Still no sign of water. At last I could go no further. And I fell with a despairing cry. Oh, my poor boy. The last thing I saw was my uncle's face, distorted with pain and sorrow. When I opened my eyes again, I saw my companions lying motionless in their huge traveling rugs. Were they asleep or dead? I seemed to hear my uncle's last word. All, it's over. All, it's over. Presently I heard a slight noise. Footsteps. I thought I saw Hans leaving us. Lamp in hand, I thought, Hans is leaving us. And I cried, Hans. Hans. If you're a Man, come back. Silence during a long, long, weary hour. I believe I was half mad again. Footsteps closer, closer. I saw an uncertain light. I saw. Hans. Martin, wake up. Wake up. What? What is it? Hans. Marta, Where Hans? Below. Martha. Let us go. Ya. In the next hour, we advanced a thousand yards and descended 2,000ft. Then I heard a sound. Running, as it were, through the rock like a distant waterfall. I passed my hand over the wall, hoping to find a trace of moisture. Alas, in vain. Then Hans took up the lamp and moved slowly, pressing his ear to the wall. I saw that he was searching for the spot where the torrent's roar was loudest. Then he picked up a crowbar and attacked the rock. At the end of what seemed an age, T had made a hole two feet into the rock. He had been at work an hour and I was wild with impatience. I am sure my uncle was thinking of more violent measures. He had in fact, just grabbed hold of our other crowbar when. What a little. Master. Here is much water. No, no, do not touch. And coldest water. It's. That was part two of A Journey to the center of the Earth, adapted by Howard Jones from a novel by Jules Verne. The cast was as follows. Harry Lawson was played by Bernard Horsfall, professor von Hartfield by Geoffrey Banks and Hans Bjelke by John Daglish. It was produced in the north of England by Trevor Hill. Next Thursday at 5:25 in story time, you'll be able to hear the third installment of a Journey to the center of the Earth. And this is called Lost.