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01 - At The Earth's Core - Edgar Rice Burroughs · Adventure Books Library

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Chapter one, Toward the Eternal Fires. I was born in Connecticut about thirty
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years ago. My name is David Innes. My father was a wealthy mine
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owner. When I was nineteen he died. All his property was to be
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mine when I had attained my majority, provided that I had devoted the two
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years intervening in close application to the great business I was to inherit. I
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did my best to fulfill the last wishes of my parent, not because of
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the inheritance, but because I loved and honored my father. For six months
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I toiled in the mines and in the counting rooms, for I wished to
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know every minute detail of the business. Then Perry interested me in his invention.
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He was an old fellow who had devoted the better part of a long
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life to the perfection of a mechanical subterranean prospector. As relaxation, he studied
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paleontology. I looked over his plans, listened to his arguments, inspected his
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working model, and then convinced I advanced the funds necessary to construct a full
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sized practical prospector. I shall not go into the details of its construction.
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It lies out there in the desert now about two miles from here tomorrow,
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you may care to ride out and see it. Roughly. It is a
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steel cylinder one hundred feet long, and jointed so that it may turn and
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twist through solid rock if need be. At one end is a mighty revolving
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drill, operated by an engine, which Perry said generated more power to the
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cubic inch than any other engine did to the cubic foot. I remember that
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he used to claim that that invention alone would make us fabulously wealthy. We
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were going to make the whole thing public after the successful issue of our first
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secret trial, But Perry never turned from that trial trip, and I only
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after ten years I recall, as it were, but yesterday, the night
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of that momentous occasion upon which we were to test the practicality of that wondrous
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invention. It was near midnight when we repaired to the lofty tower in which
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Perry had constructed his iron mole, as he was wont to call the thing,
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the great nose rested upon the bare earth of the floor. We passed
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through the doors into the outer jacket, secured them, and then passed on
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into the cabin, which contained the controlling mechanism within the inner tube switched on
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the electric lights. Perry looked to his generator, to the great tanks that
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held the life giving chemicals with which he was to manufacture fresh air to replace
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that which we consumed in breathing, to his instruments for recording temperature, speed,
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distance, and for examining the materials through which we were to pass.
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He tested the steering device and overlook the mighty cogs which transmitted its marvelous velocity
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to the giant drill at the nose of his strange craft. Our seats into
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which we strapped ourselves were so arranged upon transverse bars that we would be upright
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whether the craft were plowing her way downward into the bowels of the earth,
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or running horizontally along some great seam of coal, or rising vertically towards the
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surface. Again. At length, all was ready, Perry bowed his head
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in prayer. For a moment we were silent, and then the old man's
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hand grasped the starting lever. There was a frightful roaring beneath us. The
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giant frame trembled and vibrated. There was a rush of sound as the loose
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earth passed up through the hollow space between the inner and outer jackets to be
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deposited in our wake. We were off. The noise was deafening, the
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sensation was frightful. For a full miname and minute, neither of us could
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do aught but cling, with that proverbial desperation of the drowning man, to
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the handrails of our swinging seats. Then Parry glanced at the thermometer. Gad,
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he cried, it cannot be possible. Quick, what does the distance
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meter read? That and the speedometer were both on my side of the cabin,
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and as I turned to take a reading from the former, I could
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see Perry muttering ten degrees rise, it cannot be possible. And then I
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saw him tug frantically upon the steering wheel. As I finally found the tiny
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needle in the dim light, I translated Perry's evident excitement, and my heart
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sank within me. But when I spoke, I hid the fear which haunted
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me. It will be seven hundred feet, Parry, I said, But
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by the time you can turn her into the horizontal, you'd better give me
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a hand, then, my boy, he replied, for I cannot budge
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her out of the vertical alone. God give that our combined strength may be
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equal to the task, for else we are lost. I wormed my way
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to the old man's side with never a doubt but that the great wheel would
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yield on the instant to the power of my young and vigorous muscles. Nor
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was my belief mere vanity. For always had my physique been the envy and
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despair of my fellows, And for that very reason it had waxed even greater
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than nature had intended. Since my natural pride in my great strength, had
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led me to care for and develop my body and my muscles by every means
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within my power, what with boxing, football, and baseball. I had
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been in training since childhood, and so it was with the utmost confidence that
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I laid hold of the huge iron rim. But though I threw every ounce
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of my strength into it, my best effort was as unavailing as Perry's had
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been. The thing would not budge the grim, insensate, horrible thing that
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was holding us upon the straight road to death. At length, I gave
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up the useless struggle, and without a word, returned my seat. There
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was no need for words, at least none that I could imagine, Unless
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Perry desired to pray and I was quite sure that he would, for he
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never left an opportunity neglected where he might sandwich in a prayer. He prayed
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when he arose in the morning, he prayed before he ate, he prayed
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when he had finished eating, and before he went to bed at night he
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prayed again. In between he often found excuses to pray, even when the
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provocation seemed far fetched to my worldly eyes. Now that he was about to
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die, I felt positive that I should witness a perfect orgy of prayer,
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if one may allude with such assembly to so solemn act. But to my
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astonishment I discovered that, with death staring him in the face, Abner Perry
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was transformed into a new being. From his lips there flowed not prayer,
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but a clear and limpid stream of undeluded profanity. And it was all directed
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at that quietly, stubborn peace, of unyielding mechanism. I should think,
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Perry. I chided that a man of your professed religiousness would rather be at
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his prayers than cursing in the presence of imminent death. Death, he cried,
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death is it that appalls you? That is nothing by comparison with the
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loss the world must suffer why, David, Within this iron cylinder, we
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have demonstrated possibilities that science has scarce dreamed. We have harnessed a new principle,
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and with it animated a piece of steel with the power of ten thousand
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men. That two lives will be snuffed out is nothing to the world.
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Calamity that entombs in the bowels of the earth. The discoveries that I have
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made and proved in the successful construction of the thing that is now carrying us
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farther and farther towards the eternal central fires. I am frank to admit that
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for myself, I was much more concerned with our own immediate future than with
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any problematic loss which the world might be about to suffer. The world was
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at least ignorant of its bereavement, while to me it was a real and
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terrible actuality. What can we do, I asked, hiding my perturbation beneath
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the mask of a low and level voice. We may stop here and die
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of asphyxiation when our atmospheric tanks are empty, replied Perry. Or we may
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continue on with the slight hope that we may later sufficiently deflect the prospector from
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the vertical to carry us along the arc of a great circle, which must
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eventually return us to the surface. If we succeed in doing so, before
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we reach the higher internal temperatures, we may even yet survive. There would
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seem to me to be about one chance in several million that we shall succeed.
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Otherwise we shall die more quickly, but no more surely than as though
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we sat supinely waiting for the torture of a slow and horrible death. I
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glanced at the thermometer. It registered one one hundred ten degrees. While we
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were talking, the mighty iron mole had bored its way over a mile into
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the rock of the Earth's crust. Let us continue on, then, I
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replied, it should soon be over at this rate. You never intimated that
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the speed of this thing would be so high, Perry, didn't you know
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it? No, he answered, I could not figure the speed exactly,
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for I had no instrument for measuring the mighty power of my generator. I
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reasoned, however, that we should make about five hundred yards an hour,
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and we are making seven miles an hour. I concluded for him, as
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I sat with my eyes upon the distance meter, how thick is the Earth's
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crust, Perry, I asked, There are almost as many conjectures to that
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as there are geologists, was his answer. One estimate is thirty miles,
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because the internal heat, increasing at a rate of about one degree to each
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sixty or seventy feet depth, would be sufficient to fuse the most refractory substance
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at that distance beneath the Earth. Another finds that the phenomenon of precession and
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nutation require that the Earth, if not entirely solid, must at least have
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a shell not less than eight hundred to a thousand miles in thickness. So
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there you are. You may take your choice, and if it should prove
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solid, I asked, it will all be the same to us in the
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end, David replied Perry. At the best, our fuel will suffice to
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carry us but three or four days, while our atmosphere cannot last to exceed
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three. Neither then is sufficient to bear us in the safety through eight thousand
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miles of rock to the antipodes. If the crust is of sufficient thickness,
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we shall come to a final stop between six and seven hundred miles beneath the
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Earth's surface. But during the last hundred and fifty miles of our journey,
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we shall be corpses. Am I correct? I asked, quite correct,
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David, are you frightened? I do not know. It has all come
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so suddenly that I scarce believed that either of us realizes the real terrors of
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our position. I feel that I should be reduced to panic, But yet
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I am not. I imagine that the shock has been so great as to
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partially stun our sensibilities. Again, I turned to the thermometer. The mercury
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was rising with less rapidity. It was now but one hundred forty degrees,
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although we had penetrated to a depth of nearly four miles. I told Perry,
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and he smiled. We have shattered one theory at least, was his
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only comment, and then he returned to his self assumed occupation of fluently cursing
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the stirring wheel. I once heard a pirate swear, but his best efforts
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would have seemed like those of a tyro alongside of Perry's masterful and scientific imprecations.
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Once more, I tried my hand at the wheel, but I might
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as well have a say to swing the earth itself. In my suggestion,
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Perry stopped the generator, and as we came to rest, I again threw
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all my strength into a supreme effort to move the thing, even a hair's
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breath, But the results were as barren as when we had been traveling at
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top speed. I shook my head sadly and motioned to the starting lever.
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Parry pulled it toward him, and once again we were plunging downward toward eternity
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at a rate of seven miles an hour. I sat with my eyes glued
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to the thermometer and the distance meter. The mercury was rising very slowly now,
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though even at one hundred forty five degrees it was almost unbearable within the
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narrow confines of our metal prison. About noon, or twelve hours after our
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start upon this unfortunate journey, we had bored to a depth of eighty four
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miles, at which point the mercury registered one hundred fifty three degrees fahrenheit.
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Parry was becoming more hopeful, although upon what meager food he sustained his optimism.
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I could not conjecture from cursing, he had turned to singing. I
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felt that the strain had at last affected his mind. For several hours,
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we had not spoken, except as he asked me for the readings of the
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instruments from time to time, and I announced them. My thoughts were filled
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with vain regrets. I recalled numerous acts of my past life which I should
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have been glad to have had a few more years to live. Down There
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was the affair in the Latin Commons at Andover when Calhoun and I had put
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gunpowder in the stove and nearly killed one of the masters. And then,
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but what was the use? I was about to die and atone for all
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these things, and several more. Already the heat was sufficient to give me
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a foretaste of the hereafter a few more degrees, and I felt that I
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should lose consciousness. What are the readings now? David Perry's voice broke in
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upon my somber reflections. Ninety miles and one five three degrees, I replied,
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Gad, but we've knocked that thirty mile crust theory into a cocked hat.
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He cried, gleefully. Precious a lot of good it'll do us,
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I growled back. But my boy, he continued, doesn't that temperature reading
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mean anything to you? Why it hasn't gone up in six miles? Think
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of it, Son, Yes, I'm thinking of it, I answered,
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But what difference will it make when our air supply is exhausted, whether the
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temperature is one hundred fifty three degrees or one hundred and fifty three thousand will
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be just as dead, and no one will know the difference anyhow. But
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I must admit that, for some unaccountable reason, the stationary temperature did renew
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my waning hope. What I hoped for I could not have explained, nor
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did I try. The very fact as Perry took pains to explain of blasting,
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several very exact and learned scientific hypotheses made it apparent that we could not
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know what lay before us within the bowels of the earth, and so we
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might continue to hope for the best, at least until we were dead,
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when ho would no longer be essential to our happiness. It was very good
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and logical reasoning, and so I embraced it. At one hundred miles the
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temperature had dropped to one hundred fifty two and a half degrees. When I
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announced it, Perry reached over and hugged me. From then on until noon
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of the second day, it continued to drop until it became as uncomfortably cold
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as it had been unbearably hot before. At the depth of two hundred and
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forty miles, our nostrils were assailed by almost overpowering ammonia fumes, and the
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temperature had dropped to ten below zero. We suffered nearly two hours of this
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intense and bitter cold, until, at about two hundred and forty five miles
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from the surface of the earth, we entered a stratum of solid ice,
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when the mercury quickly rose to thirty two degrees. During the next three hours,
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we passed through ten miles of ice, eventually emerging into another series of
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ammonia and pregnated strata, where the mercury again fell to ten degrees below zero.
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Slowly it rose once more, until we were convinced that at last we
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were nearing the molten interior of the earth. At four hundred miles, the
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temperature had reached one hundred fifty three degrees. Feverishly, I watched the thermometer.
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Slowly it rose. Perry had ceased singing, and was at last praying
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Our hopes had received such a death blow that the gradually increasing heat seemed to
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our distorted imaginations much greater than it really was. For another hour, I
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saw that pitiless column of mercury rise and rise, until at four hundred and
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ten miles it stood at one hundred fifty three degrees. Now it was that
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we began to hang upon those readings in almost breathless anxiety. One hundred and
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fifty three degrees had been the maximum temperature above the ice stratum. Would it
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stop at this point again? Or would it continue its merciless climb? We
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knew there was no hope, and yet, with the persistence of life itself,
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we continued to hope against practical certainty. Already the air tanks were at
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low ebb. There was barely enough of the precious gases to sustain us for
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another twelve hours. But would we be alive to know or care? It
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seemed incredible. At four hundred and twenty miles I took another reading. Parry,
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I shouted, Parry, man, she's going down. She's going down.
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It's one fifty two degrees again. Gad, he cried, What can
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it mean? Can the earth be cold at this center? I do not
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know, Perry, I answered, but thank God, if I am to
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die, it shall not be by fire. That is all I have feared.
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I can face the thought of any death. But that down, down
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went the mercury until it stood as low as it had seven miles from the
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surface of the earth. And then of a sudden realization broke upon us that
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death was very near. Parry was the first to discover it. I saw
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him fussing with the valves that regulated the air supply, and at the same
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time I experienced difficulty in breathing. My head felt dizzy, my limbs heavy.
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I saw Perry crumple in his seat. He gave himself a shake and
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sat erect again. Then he turned towards me. Good Bye, David,
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he said, I guess this is the end, and then he smiled and
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closed his eyes. Good Bye, Perry, and good luck to you,
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I answered, smiling back at him. But I fought off that awful lethargy.
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I was very young. I did not want to die. For an
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hour, I battled against the cruelly enveloping death that surrounded me upon all sides.
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At first I found that by climbing high into the framework above me,
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I could find more of the precious life giving elements, and for a while
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these sustained me. It must have been an hour after Perry had succumbed that
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I at last came to the realization that I could no longer carry on this
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unequal struggle against the inevitable. With my last flickering ray of consciousness, I
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turned mechanically towards the distance meter. It stood at exactly five hundred miles from
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the Earth's surface. And then of a sudden, the huge thing that bore
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us came to a stop. The rattle of hurtling rock through the hollow jacket
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ceased, the wild racing of the giant drill betokened that it was running loose
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in air. And then another truth flashed upon me. The point of the
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Prospector was above us. Slowly it dawned on me that since passing through the
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ice strata, it had been above we had turned on the ice and sped
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upwards towards the Earth's crust. Thank God, we were safe. I put
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my nose to the intake pipe through which samples were to have been taken during
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the passage of the Prospector through the Earth, and my fondest hopes were realized.
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A flood of fresh air was pouring into the iron cabin. The reaction
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left me in a state of collapse and I lost consciousness. End of chapter one,