The Wall and the Wind-makers
That evening we were lodged in the city of Arvon, a moderately large
town which differed strikingly from anything we had yet seen. Its
scattered houses were huddled amid vegetation so thick that from a
distance it resembled a forest; and even at close range one could
not lose sight of its sylvan aspect, since all the buildings were
vine-covered and painted a green and brown that harmonized ideally with
the woodland colors.
But I must not devote too much space to the strange appearance of this
town--still stranger sights were to greet me on the following day. For
then I was to reach a turning-point in my journey, and to penetrate
some of the salient mysteries of Atlantis.
Even though I did not know what interesting discoveries were before me,
I had a hint of something unusual very early in the morning. We had
hardly left Arvon when I observed that the golden-lighted dome seemed
lower and nearer than usual, and curved gradually down to westward
until it appeared to merge with the ground.
“There’s where the glass wall begins,” said one of the tutors,
pointing; and I looked eagerly, hopeful that we would soon reach the
wall itself.
A little further on, the road curved abruptly southward, and for
several miles we merely paralleled the wall. Then, to my joy, a
familiar gurgling met my ears--we were back again near the Salty River.
Straight across the stream we passed on an arching bridge dominated by
a crystalline pale-blue colonnade; and, on the further side, we again
turned westward, and followed the river directly toward the green glass
wall.
As we advanced, I noticed that the waters were becoming white and
foamy, with great briny patches as if a passing steamer had churned
up the waves. Gradually these frothy expanses grew wilder and more
conspicuous, until the entire river was a seething, effervescent mass;
and troubled waves sprang to life, with turbulence that increased as
we moved upstream, until the bubbling white was mingled with the green
and gray of leaping surges, and the waters were agitated as if by a
storm-wind. Yet only the faintest breeze was blowing, and I could not
understand the source of the strange commotion.
At the some time, a disquieting sound came to my ears--the continuous
and droning sound of thunder, dull and muffled but gradually growing
louder in spite of the clamoring and roaring of the waves. So
deep-toned and voluminous was it that it reminded me of a din I never
expected to hear again--the booming of the ocean along resisting shores.
All of our party moved without a word now, moved rapidly and with
faces straining westward, as if eager for some rare and long-awaited
event. In their very speechlessness there was a contagious tension;
and, responsive to their mood, I too was expectant, though I could not
imagine what there was to be anticipated.
But I did not have long to wait. “Look! There it is!” exclaimed one of
the party, suddenly. And he paused, and pointed straight ahead; and all
his companions paused and pointed straight ahead, joining in his awed
cries of “Look! There it is!”
Of course, I strained my eyes quite as earnestly as any of them. But
at first I saw nothing to impress me. All that was visible was a
broad sheet of white looming just above the river for almost its full
width, as though there were a falls a mile or two upstream. And, in my
ignorance, I accepted this as the explanation.
But I was speedily to discover my error. Suddenly the path bent away
from the river at an acute angle; and as we followed our new course the
distant thundering grew louder--while a cold wind began to sweep over
us and the supposed waterfall took on unexpected dimensions. By degrees
it lengthened until it seemed a long jet of water shot horizontally
out of some colossal hose. Intensely white, with the whiteness of foam
and edges blurred with spray, it went hurtling with the impetuosity
and swiftness of an arrow from the nozzle of a gigantic pipe, plunging
outward hundreds of yards in a graceful parabola and giving rise to the
Salty River.
Almost as remarkable as this torrent of water was the tube from which
it was discharged. This great pipe, which may have been of a steel
alloy, was well over a mile long, and was a hundred yards across at
the opening; but it narrowed gradually as it crept westward along the
ground and disappeared where the green horizon met the earth.
Needless to say, I did not have to inquire as to the meaning. Only one
explanation was conceivable: the metallic tube was the valve through
which the X-111 had found entrance to Atlantis, the valve that admitted
the ocean water and kept the Salty River supplied. The aperture at
the ocean end was doubtless not very wide (I was later told that it
was but twenty-five feet across); but such was the pressure at these
depths that the waters burst through with the force and swiftness and
tremendous volume I had observed, and had to be diverted through a long
and gradually widening tube before their torrents could be controlled
and safely emptied into the river channel.
* * * * *
As we approached the glass wall, the hoarse and resonant roaring
was continuously in our ears, thudding and crashing with echoes that
reverberated like the combined monody of a hundred Niagaras. But,
forgetful of the tumult, I kept my eyes fastened straight ahead, where
the great green dome sloped down to meet the ground in a curve modelled
on that of the actual heavens. Except for the dark weird coloration,
I might have fancied that I was staring toward an actual horizon on
earth; and so close was the resemblance that the illusion persisted
until I was almost within a stone’s throw of the barrier. Only then
could I persuade myself that I actually beheld a solid mass; and, even
so, the curvature was so graceful and so elusive that I could not feel
that a mere wall stretched before me; but, rather, I had the sense that
it was some ultimate boundary, the dividing line between reality and
infinite nothingness.
This impression was confirmed by the fact that the wall at close range
looked opaque. Olive-green and of impenetrable thickness, it seemed
impervious to the rays of light; though, remembering my experiences on
the X-111, I knew that it was really transparent.
All the members of our party approached the wall almost breathlessly,
then held out their hands and touched it in silence--a procedure which
may have had some ceremonial importance, or may have been akin to the
actions of persons who, seeing the ocean for the first time, gravely
dip their hands in the salt water. At any rate, I lost no time in
following their example, and found that the surface of the wall was
just as I had expected--smooth and polished, and of a substance that
would have been apparent to a blind man.
After the twenty students had duly inspected the wall, one of the
tutors lifted his voice so as to be heard by the entire party.
“My friends,” said he, “we have now reached the border-land between
Atlantis and the outside world. A rim of glass fifty feet thick
divides us from the ocean; and that glass, as you know, is composed of
dozens of layers, one above the other, several of them strengthened
with interwoven strands of fine wire, and all composed of a special
pressure-resisting glass devised at the orders of Agripides. You
understand, of course, that the wall does not end where you see it, but
penetrates five hundred feet underground, lest the ocean overwhelm us
from beneath; you also understand that the glass is ribbed with steel,
which holds it together in a sort of latticed framework, with girders,
beams and stanchions at measured intervals like the metallic skeleton
of a great building.
“The erection of the wall represents the supreme accomplishment of
Atlantean engineering, and required the labor of thirty thousand men
for thirty-four years. But Agripides, with his usual foresight, planned
it so, that the work, once done, would never require renewal, for glass
is one of the most durable of substances, and is virtually immune to
dissolution by the ocean waters. We have our immersible vessels, of
course, which regularly range the seas around the glass dome in search
of any possible fault or fissure; but no serious damage has ever yet
been discovered, and it is safe to say that the present edifice will
serve us and our descendants for a hundred thousand generations.”
The speaker paused, as if for effect; then, noting that his audience
remained silent, he concluded, “Is there anyone that would like to ask
a question?”
“Yes, I would,” I surprised myself by saying.
All eyes were bent curiously upon me, and I was forced to continue,
“Glass is, as you say, an exceedingly durable substance, but it is also
extremely fragile. Is there no possibility that the wall will ever be
cracked?”
“Cracked?” echoed the tutor, with a surprised smile. “Do you think
that, if there had been such a possibility, Atlantis would not have
been inundated long ago? Granted, if any very heavy object were to
collide with the wall, it might be broken and we would be flooded out
like ants. But how could there be any such heavy object here in the
deep sea? Certainly, the fishes couldn’t break through.”
“No, of course not,” I conceded, feeling that I had made myself
ridiculous--and with that the discussion ended. But my words were often
to be recalled to me in the tempestuous days that followed; and more
than one of my hearers was to speak of them as strangely prophetic.
For the next hour we followed a little path that clung close to the
glass wall. And, as we proceeded, my impression of its opaqueness
was dissipated, for from time to time a little flickering light was
momentarily visible beyond the green thicknesses; and I had disturbing
remembrances of the lantern-bearing fishes that had haunted us on our
way to Atlantis.
We had covered not more than a mile or two when we met with a new
surprise. A brisk breeze began to blow over us; and the farther we
walked the sharper the breeze grew, until it assumed the fury of a
gale, and for the first time since reaching Atlantis I felt cold,
almost as if I were back on earth. Why we continued in the face of this
strange blast I could not understand, nor whence it proceeded nor how
it had been produced. But while I was wondering and fighting my way
through the wind, a singular whirring sound came to my ears, a buzzing
as of gigantic flies; and gradually that sound grew louder, until
from resembling the murmuring of insects it came to remind me of the
flapping of colossal wings. That this noise was somehow connected with
the quickening wind was apparent from the first; and the relationship
became evident when the path swerved abruptly away from the wall and I
glanced back, to behold a series of queer-looking machines supported
on stone pedestals high up against the glass. It would be impossible
to say just what the machines were like, for they were in such rapid
motion that the parts were not visible; but there were six or eight of
them, and they were round, and probably each a hundred yards across;
and so swiftly were they rotating that they formed each a gray blur
through which the green of the wall was vaguely discernible.
“Those are the electro-intra-atomic wind generators,” explained
one of the tutors. “By means of these great fans and others like
them stationed at various points around the wall, the atmosphere of
Atlantis is kept in constant circulation. Without them the air would
be stagnant and the climate sultry and unhealthy. These generators are
in action at all times, with great air-wheels that make from ten to
fifteen revolutions a second; and it is estimated that the daily energy
consumed by each of them would be sufficient to boil a thousand tons of
ice water.”
We did not linger long in the vicinity of the great fans, for the
strong wind was most annoying and the temperature too low for comfort.
But we set out at a brisk pace across a moss-covered plain away from
the wall; and we did not pause again until we had reached the city of
Lerenon, which was our destination for the day.
This town, which was located some miles from the wall and yet was
constantly fanned by cool breezes from the wind generators, had one
striking feature all its own: it was dominated by two colossal bronze
figures, one of a man, the other of a woman, which reached far above
the city domes and towers halfway to the green-glass sky. Both these
statues were carved with an irresistible majesty, the man’s face that
of an Apollo, the woman’s that of a Diana; and their right hands were
extended high over the city roofs and joined in a firm clasp, so
lifelike that I might almost have expected them to move and speak. At
first I thought that they represented mythological characters, but an
inscription at their base informed me of my error, for the man was
meant to typify Wisdom, and the woman Beauty; and in their union above
the spires and columns of Atlantis I thought I could read the meaning
and purpose of the entire land.