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_ In the office of the Works at Sardis, side by side at the table
on which stood the telegraph instrument, Margaret Raleigh and
Roland Clewe, receiving the daily reports from the Dipsey, had
found themselves in such sympathy and harmony with the party they
had sent out on this expedition that they too, in fancy, had
slowly groped their way under the grim overhanging ice out into
the open polar sea. They too had stood on the deck of the vessel
which had risen like a spectre out of the waters, and in the
cold, clear atmosphere had gazed about them at this hitherto
unknown part of the world. They had thrilled with enthusiastic
excitement when the ring on the deck of the Dipsey was placed
over the actual location of the pole; they had been filled with
anger when they heard of the conduct of Rovinski; and their souls
had swelled with a noble love of country and pride in their own
achievements when they heard that they, by their representative,
had made the north pole a part of their native land. They had
listened, scarcely breathing, to the stirring account of the
anchoring of the great buoy to one end of the earth's axis, and
they had exclaimed in amazement at the announcement that in the
lonely waters of the pole whales were still to be found, when
they were totally unknown in every other portion of the earth.
But now the stirring events in the arctic regions which had so
held and enthralled them day by day had, after a time, ceased.
Mr. Gibbs was engaged in making experiments, observations, and
explorations, the result of which he would embody in carefully
prepared reports, and Sammy's daily message promised to be rather
monotonous. Roland Clewe felt the great importance of a thorough
exploration and examination of the polar sea. The vessel he had
sent out had reached this hitherto inaccessible region, but it
was not at all certain that another voyage, even of the same
kind, would be successful. Consequently he advised those in
charge of the expedition not to attempt to return until the
results of their work were as complete as possible. Should the
arctic night overtake them before they left the polar sea, this
would not interfere with their return in the same manner in which
they had gone north, for in a submarine voyage artificial light
would be necessary at any season. So, for a tune, Roland and
Margaret withdrew in a great measure their thoughts from the
vicinity of the pole, and devoted themselves to their work at
home.
When Roland Clewe had penetrated with his Artesian ray as deeply
into the earth beneath him as the photic power of his instrument
would admit, he had applied all the available force of his
establishment--the men working in relays day and night--to the
manufacture of the instruments which should give increased power
to the penetrating light, which he hoped would make visible to
him the interior structure of the earth, up to this time as
unknown to man as had been the regions of the poles.
Roland had devoted a great deal of time to the arrangement of a
system of reflectors, by which he hoped to make it possible to
look down into the cylinder of light produced by the Artesian ray
without projecting any portion of the body of the observer into
the ray. This had been done principally to provide against the
possibility of a shock to Margaret, such as he received when he
beheld a man with the upper part of his body totally invisible,
and a section of the other portion laid bare to the eye of a
person standing in front of it. But his success had not been
satisfactory. It was quite different to look directly down into
that magical perforation at his feet, instead of studying the
reflection of the same, indistinctly and uncertainly revealed by
a system of mirrors.
Consequently the plan of reflectors was discarded, and Roland
determined that the right thing to do was to take Margaret into
his confidence and explain to her why he and she should not stand
together and look down the course of the Artesian ray. She
scolded him for not telling her all this before, and a permanent
screen was erected around the spot on which the ray was intended
to work, formed of Venetian blinds with fixed slats, so that the
person inside could readily talk and consult with others outside
without being seen by them.
As might well be supposed, this work with the "photic borer," as
Clewe now called his instrument, was of absorbing interest. For
a day or two after it was again put into operation Margaret and
Roland could scarcely tear themselves away from it long enough
for necessary sleep and meals, and several persons connected with
the Works were frequently permitted to witness its wonderful
operations.
Down, down descended that cylinder of light, until it had passed
through all the known geological strata in that part of New
Jersey, and had reached subterranean depths known to Clewe only
by comparison and theory.
The apparent excavation had extended itself down so far that the
disk at the bottom, although so brightly illuminated, was no
longer clearly visible to the naked eye, and was rapidly
decreasing in size on account of the perspective. But the
telescopes which Clewe had provided easily overcame this
difficulty. He was sure that it would be impossible for his
light to penetrate to a depth which could not be made clearly
visible by his telescopes.
It was a wonderful and weird sensation which came over those who
stood, glass in hand, and gazed down the track of the Artesian
ray. Far, far below them they saw that illuminated disk which
revealed the character of the stratum which the light had
reached. And yet they could not see the telescope which they
held in their hands; they could not see their hands; they knew
that their heads and shoulders were invisible. All observers
except Clewe kept well back from the edge of the frightful hole
of light down which they peered; and once, when the weight of the
telescope which she held had caused Margaret to make an
involuntary step forward, she gave a fearful scream, for she was
sure she was going to fall into the bowels of the earth. Clewe,
who stood always near by, with his hand upon the lever which
controlled the ray, instantly shut off the light; and although
Margaret was thus convinced that she stood upon commonplace
ground, she came from within the screen, and did not for some
time recover from the nervous shock occasioned by this accident
of the imagination.
Clewe himself took great pleasure in making experiments connected
with the relation of the observer to the action of the Artesian
ray. For instance, he found that when standing and gazing down
into the great photic perforation below him, he could see into it
quite as well when he shut his eyes as when they were open; the
light passing through his head made his eyelids invisible. He
stood in the very centre of the circle of light and looked down
through himself.
That this application of light which he had discovered would be of
the greatest possible service in surgery, Roland Clewe well knew.
By totally eliminating from view any portion of the human body so
as to expose a section of said body which it was desirable to
examine, the interior structure of a patient could be studied as
easily as the exterior, and a surgeon would be able to dissect a
living being as easily as if the subject were a corpse. But Clewe
did not now wish to make public the extraordinary adaptations of
his discovery to the uses of the medical man and the surgeon. He
was intent upon discovering, as far as was possible, the internal
structure of the earth on which he dwelt, and he did not wish to
interfere at present with this great and absorbing object by
distracting his mind with any other application of his Artesian
ray.
It is not intended to describe in detail the various stages of
the progress of the Artesian ray into the subterranean regions.
Sometimes it revealed strata colored red, yellow, or green by the
presence of iron ore; sometimes it showed for a short distance
a glittering disk, produced by the action of the light upon a
deep-sunken reservoir of water; then it passed on, hour by hour,
down, down into the eternal rocks.
When the Artesian ray had begun to work its way through the
rocks, Margaret became less interested in observing its progress.
Nothing new presented itself; it was one continual stony disk
which she saw when she looked down into the shaft of light
beneath her. Observation was becoming more and more difficult
even to Roland Clewe, and at last he was obliged to set up a
large telescope on a stand, and mount a ladder in order to use
it.
Day after day the Artesian ray went downward, always revealing
rock, rock, rock. The appliances for increased electric energy
were working well, and Clewe was entirely satisfied with the
operation of his photic borer.
One morning he came hurriedly to Margaret at her house, and
announced with glistening eyes that his ray had now gone to a
greater degree into the earth than man had ever yet reached.
"What have you found?" she asked, excitedly. "Rock, rock, rock,"
he answered. "This little State of ours rests upon a firm
foundation."
Although Roland Clewe found his observations rather monotonous
work, he was regular and constant at his post, and gave little
opportunity to his steadily progressing cylinder of light to
reach and pass unseen anything which might be of interest.
It was nearly a week after he had announced to Margaret that he
had seen deeper into the earth than any man before him that he
mounted his ladder to take his final observation for the night.
When he looked through his telescope his eye was dazzled by a
light which obliged him suddenly to close it and lift his head.
At first he thought that he had reached the fabulous region of
eternal fire, but this he knew to be absurd; and, besides, the
light was not that of fire or heated substances. It was pale,
colorless; and although dazzling at first, he found, when very
cautiously he applied his eye again to the telescope, that it was
not blinding. In fact, he could look at it as steadily as he
could upon a clear sky.
But, gaze as he would, he could see nothing--nothing but light;
subdued, soft, beautiful light. He knew the ray was passing
steadily downward, for the mechanism was working with its
accustomed regularity, but it revealed to him nothing at all. He
could not understand it; his brain was dazed. He thought there
might be something the matter with his eyesight. He got down
from the ladder and hurriedly sent for Margaret, and when she
came he begged her to look through the telescope and tell him
what she saw. She went inside the screen, ascended the ladder,
and looked down.
"It isn't anything," she called out presently. "It looks like
lighter air; it can't be that. Perhaps there is something the
matter with your telescope."
Clewe had thought of that, and as soon as she came out he
examined the instrument, but the lenses were all right. There
was nothing the matter with the telescope.
That night Roland Clewe spent in the lens-house, almost
constantly at the telescope, but nothing did he see but a disk of
soft, white light.
"The world can't be hollow!" he said to Margaret the next
morning. "It can't be filled with air, or nothing, and my ray
would not illuminate air or nothing. I cannot understand it. If
you did not see what I see, I should think I was going crazy."
"Don't talk that way," exclaimed Margaret. "This may be some
cavity which the ray will soon pass through, and then we shall
come to the good old familiar rock again."
But Clewe could not be consoled in this way. He could see no
reason why his ray acting upon the emptiness of a cavern should
produce the effect he beheld. Moreover, if the ray had revealed
a cavern of considerable extent he could not expect that it could
now pass through it, for the limit of its operations was almost
reached. His electric cumulators would cease to act in a few
hours more. The ray had now descended more than fourteen
miles--its limit was fifteen.
Margaret was greatly troubled because of the effect of this
result of the light borer upon Roland. His disappointment was
very great, and it showed itself in his face. His Artesian ray
had gone down to a distance greater than had been sometimes
estimated as the thickness of the earth's crust, and the result
was of no value. Roland did not believe that the earth had a
crust. He had no faith in the old-fashioned idea that the great
central portion was a mass of molten matter, but he could not
drive from his mind the conviction that his light had passed
through the solid portion of the earth, and had emerged into
something which was not solid, which was not liquid, which was in
fact nothing.
All his labors had come to this: he had discovered that the
various strata near the earth's surface rested upon a vast bed of
rock, and that this bed of rock rested upon nothing. Of course
it was not impossible that the arrangement of the substances
which make up this globe was peculiar at this point, and that
there was a great cavern fourteen miles below him; but why should
such a cavern be filled with a light different from that which
would be shown by his Artesian ray when shining upon any other
substances, open air or solid matter?
He could go no deeper down--at least at present. If he could
make an instrument of increased power, it would require many
months to do it.
"But I will do it," said he to Margaret. "If this is a cavern,
and if it has a bottom, I will reach it. I will go on and see
what there is beyond. On such a discovery as I have made one can
pass no conclusion whatever. If I cannot go farther, I need not
have gone down at all."
"No," said Margaret, "I don't want you to go on--at least at
present; you must wait. The earth will wait, and I want you to
be in a condition to be able to wait also. You must now stop
this work altogether. Stop doing anything; stop thinking about
it. After a time--say early in winter--we can recommence
operations with the Artesian ray; that is, if we think well to do
so. You should stop this and take up something else. You have
several enterprises which are very important and ought to be
carried on. Take up one of them, and think no more for a few
months of the nothingness which is fourteen miles below us."
It was not difficult for Roland Clewe to convince himself that
this was very good advice. He resolved to shut up his lens-house
entirely for a time, and think no more of the great work he had
done within it, but apply himself to something which he had long
neglected, and which would be a distraction and a recreation to
his disappointed mind. _
Read next: CHAPTER XV - THE AUTOMATIC SHELL
Read previous: CHAPTER XIII - LONGITUDE EVERYTHING
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