In process of time the light began to steal in upon the darkness, and I knew that another crisis was approaching,--the most trying and formidable that I had been called to encounter. And, shortly, out I went, high up in the air,--higher--higher,--until I thought that I should never come down again. But, after a time, I felt that I was descending; and the fear came upon me that I might tumble back once more into the axis of the earth. If I had reflected a moment, I might have perceived that this would be impossible; for, as soon as I had sunk from my elevation down to a point not more than a hundred feet from the end of the pole, I met the swift current of air rushing out, and was once more hoisted up in the clouds. This was repeated several times over; and I found myself in the condition of a cork ball, sustained in the air by a stream of water from a fountain. It is a little odd, that at this time there came to my mind a vivid recollection of such a cork ball that I used to see tossing about in front of the hotel that formerly stood at the corner of Tremont and Boylston streets, in Boston. At last it occurred to me, that if at the time when I had nearly reached the highest point of my ascent, and therefore must be moving very slowly, I should fan the air with my cap, as I did before, it might waft me out of the line of the north pole; and that I might as well come down into the sea and be drowned, as to keep on bobbing up and down in this way forever. The experiment was successful; and the next time that I descended, I came gently, not into the water, but into a soft yielding drift of snow, which entirely broke the force of my fall. I felt sure now that all was right; and, scrambling out of the snow, I looked about to see where I was. All around, in every direction, there was an open sea extending to the horizon; and it was evident that I had lighted upon an iceberg, which had floated northward from a more southern region. After I had refreshed myself with a little food, I proceeded to explore the frozen island, of which I had so unexpectedly become the sole proprietor. I am afraid that some of my readers may think that there is a tone of exaggeration in my story as I proceed to narrate what I found there. Thus far, it must be allowed by all that I have kept within range of _possibility_, if not of probability; I have been careful to explain minutely and scientifically just how every thing came about; and if it should ever become as familiar a thing to travel _through_ the earth as it is now to shoot over its surface on railroads, and send messages instantaneously from one end of the world to the other, this narrative will not sound so very strange after all. But in telling what I found on the iceberg, and what happened to me there, I may have to tax somewhat the credulity of my readers. CHAPTER IV. AND LAST. HOW JOHN WHOPPER GOT ALONG AT THE NORTH POLE.