“VAULTS OF PURPLE”
“All the elements
At least had gone to wreck, disturbed and torn
With violence of this conflict.”
(+Milton.+)
“What’s up, old man?” exclaimed Ross, hurriedly, as he and Dennis came
hastily round the barrier, and Dennis asked, “Anything gone wrong?”
“Not here!” replied Gilbert, mystified; “the ship’s all right,
everything is in perfect order and working splendidly. What’s gone
wrong we’ve to find out. We have come on a straight line towards the
centre.”
“Have we gone off at a tangent and come outside?” asked Miles Dalton, a
botanist, as the rest all crowded up to the barrier.
“Impossible!” replied Dennis, “or we should again be in the atmosphere,
or photosphere.”
“We must do something!” said Gilbert; “shall we sample the fog outside
with one of the strong retainers, and risk another explosion?” All the
others assenting, he continued: “Here, Dennis, take my place, old man,
and do something for your living! that job can wait, under the circs.!”
And he and Price Rowland passed into the laboratory.
The ship being safe, the others all stood about discussing the curious
situation, without arriving at any reasonable conclusion. In the
meantime, Gilbert and Rowland had obtained a sample of the outer air,
this time without accident, and in due course they entered the saloon,
where all the others crowded round them, anticipating startling news
from their surprised expressions.
“What do you think!” exclaimed Gilbert; “the atmosphere here is
nitrogen, neither more nor less than pure nitrogen!”
Had he told them they were in the shed at home, his fellow travellers
could not have been more astonished, and several incredulously
repeated, “Nitrogen? _nitrogen!_ are you sure? Nitrogen!!—a colourless
gas, and this colour!”
“Yes, indeed it is,” answered Rowland. “This soup-like appearance is
due entirely to fine particles of metallic and other dust which, when
taken away, leaves absolutely pure nitrogen.”
“Then the inference is obvious!” cried Rutherford and several others.
“Assuredly,” agreed Gilbert; “all is now clear as daylight. We have
passed through the immensely thick crust of the sun, and either come
into a stratum of nitrogen or the whole interior of the planet is
nitrogen.”
Here, indeed, was a discovery. This gas, nitrogen, from its being
neutral and neither inflammable nor a supporter of combustion, either
had put out the solar fire or caused a thick black crust of solid
matter to form, which was the black portion through which they had
recently passed, and the fine particles of solidified sun-dust were
falling towards the centre, drawn thither by their own gravity; those
being eliminated, nitrogen only remained.
“All has come to pass as you foretold, Oakland,” said Parkin Coombes;
“but in spite of the _Regina’s_ powers it seems a marvellous thing that
the sea has not rushed in after us, through the aperture we made.”
“And if the atoms were pushed aside by the _Regina_ and pressed into
the parts adjacent, so as to allow free passage to the ship, one would
think the sides of the well-like opening we made would become so
tightly packed as to prevent the re-formation of the atoms in their
original position, and thus form a shaft down which the sea could
pour,” said Farrant.
“Yes,” replied Dennis, “that is what would occur ordinarily; but
being temporarily turned into vapour by our de-atomising force, the
atoms would, almost instantly after our passage, resume their former
condition, and what heat had been imparted to them by the change would
be destroyed by this nitrogen. Consequently, we have not disturbed the
crust—actually—although, considering the circumstances, how we have
escaped being involved in an awful explosion is a mystery.”
“Anyway, it is evident we _are_ fairly inside Dan Phœbus!” exclaimed
Rowland; “and whether we caused an extra explosion up above or not
is immaterial, for it is certain that the crust is as substantial as
before, or the fiery sea even now would be pouring down on us and into
the interior.”
Their discovery of the nitrogen could not do otherwise than cause a
violent sensation, and every one buttonholed his neighbour, and talked
and expounded theories galore. Then Gilbert asked them to come into the
laboratory, and they trooped in _en masse_, for each knew what such a
revelation meant, and to what it might lead, and every one was on the
tip-toe of expectancy. Fresh samples were taken, with the same result
as before; they were in a sea of nitrogen, safe from fire—but were they
safe from chemical action?
On this point, judging from the severe tests which their protecting
currents had withstood already, they were reassured, and then the whole
company went nearly wild with enthusiasm. They were so delighted as
almost to bewilder the three owners with thanks and congratulations
for bringing them there, and to Godfrey also for his share in it, which
made the four of them so shy and embarrassed that, in comic despair,
they took Rollsborough by the collar and pushed him to the fore, as the
one who had first suggested they should go _through_ the sun, and then
_he_ became the centre of a fresh avalanche of applause; they chaired
him, like a set of wild schoolboys, and kept it up till the simple,
good-hearted little man nearly cried with pleasure and excitement,
and could only say, hysterically, “No, no, gentlemen! not I, not I! I
had no idea of this happening; I had not, really! Thank Oakland and
his friends, and our good friend Spenser. Oh dear! gentlemen, don’t,
I beg of you! It is very kind of you, very, but—no, no! I thank you
sincerely, but—Oakland, and——” And, overwhelmed, he struggled and
fought his way amongst his clamouring colleagues till he got to Dennis,
under whose wing he took shelter, exclaiming, “Really, Oakland, all the
thanks are due to you and to Eastern, and Ainley, and to Spenser, here,
and how _can_ we thank you enough! What will the world say?” And the
poor man mopped his forehead, agitated and perspiring.
“The world!” interjected Godfrey, laughing. “What will the world say?
It will say that we are one and all supreme liars, at the very least,
possibly something stronger!—for to begin with, no one on Earth will
believe for a moment that we have been under the sun’s enormous crust,
or even _in_ the fiery sea at all.”
No one seemed to have thought of that, and somebody suggested they
should at once ‘wave’ the news to Earth and see how they took it, so
Ross despatched the message, and after a while the instrument started
and the reply came: “The _Regina_ is too small for us to pick her out
on the sun’s disc. We note you say that you are inside the sun and
appreciate your joke.”
This was pinned up, and caused no little amusement, which soon turned
to mortification when there dawned on them the utter impossibility of
being able to prove their statements.
The dust seemed exactly like that obtained up above, and therefore
to say a portion of it had been obtained below the photosphere, and
another portion high above, would be no proof that they had not divided
it; and to bring back cylinders of pure nitrogen with a statement that
it came from inside the crust would not prove that it had not been
made on board. Neither would the miles of continuous photographs and
spectrum films prove the positions from which they had been taken.
Of course they were all trusted scientists, men on whose word
reliance was placed, but it seems to be a trait in human nature to
doubt anything abnormally wonderful, unusual, or even contrary to
established belief and expectations; and though the weight of numbers
all telling the same story precluded avowed incredulity, all knew that
to state such startling and unexpected facts without substantial and
indisputable proof would but cause people to disbelieve at heart while
apparently agreeing with what they could not deny.
They could only leave it to chance to provide them the evidence
required, so they dismissed the matter for the moment, and several
suggested that they should rise and examine the interior of the crust,
or shell. Accordingly Dennis caused the _Regina_ to rise till her
dome was just below the crust, but near as were the lights, their
powerful beams failed to penetrate the gas, rendered thick by the fine
dust which absorbed their rays. The vessel then circled the crust,
travelling immediately beneath, but though many samples of air were
taken, the same results followed, revealing only nitrogen.
After the circuit had been made, Ross inquired, “Are we going upward
outside, the way we came, or shall we descend to the centre?”
Some were for returning and others for sinking, when Sorrel said:
“Let us fall, Ainley. There’s no telling what will happen, and as we
_are_ here we shall see, at any rate, if the whole of the interior is
nitrogen.”
This now meeting with general assent, the ship fell steadily, all
the search-lights full on, and every face was pressed closely to the
windows, watching the opaque wall of dust, so that no alteration or
passing object should escape notice. In a few minutes there was a
general exclamation of surprise, as, simultaneously, all saw a change
take place in the fog around, and there was a sudden cry from various
places, “Oxygen, with nitrogen—nitrogen peroxide!”
Instantly the ship was stopped, and on all sides the wall of fog showed
ruddy-coloured and glowing. The particles of dust were being destroyed,
either by heat or evaporation, for the light now penetrated several
feet and the haze had the distinct red glow which comes from the
chemical combination of nitrogen with oxygen, though on Earth such a
union is caused by the action of intense heat.
Again was there great excitement, and all crowded round Gilbert, as he
obtained and examined a sample of the outer air, which but confirmed
their suppositions, there being a perceptible diminution in the
quantity of dust collected.
It was now about the usual time for retiring to rest but all ignored
the automatic electric signal; sleep, even rest, was out of the
question, for who could sleep when such strange and marvellous
phenomena were unfolded before them in such unexpected and exciting
form.
They sailed forward, maintaining the same gravity, thus keeping
an equal distance from the crust all round, returning to the spot
from which they started, finding but a repetition of the previous
experience; in some wonderful and unaccountable way the deadly
nitrogen had taken to itself, and united with, oxygen, giving promise
of becoming less deadly.
Slowly sank the ship, samples of the air being taken every few miles,
and though for several hours there was no change, they eventually came
to a stratum where there was a greater percentage of oxygen. All knew
what this portended and again everybody became almost distracted, and
it required all their self-control to enable them to conduct their
observations calmly and systematically, step by step, as they proceeded.
All at once Dennis threw down some wires from an induction coil which
he had been using, saying to Ross,—“I’m played out, Ross! Tell them
all to go to sleep, and insist on it; what’s coming can wait! And let
the ship stay where she is.” And he passed on into his cabin, where he
flung himself down just as he was, falling asleep almost before he had
settled in his hammock, without heeding Ross’s reply.
Ross then spoke up: “I say, you fellows, we must look after our health,
you know! For nearly fifty hours we have had no sleep, and all the time
have been under full pressure of exciting work. We cannot continue it
without being ill, and illness on board would be a dreadful thing. Let
us all retire for at least twelve hours and then we can continue our
observations and experiments in detail, as we sink down to that which
appears to be below us. In the meantime, the ship is stationary and
will not move a hair’s-breadth, so we shall lose nothing. Good-night.”
And he also passed into his room and was soon fast asleep.
Loth to leave their work, yet feeling the wisdom of reserving their
energies, and finding there was no movement in the air around, the
others gradually sought repose in their cabins, going off in driblets
till the saloon, laboratory and observatory were empty, and throughout
the ship there reigned silence, broken only by the heavy breathing of
the sleepers.
Gilbert had retired some hours before Dennis; for over two days he had
been working feverishly, but though fagged out, he would not seek rest
except on Ross’s solemn promise to wake him in order to take charge of
the vessel. Consequently, he was the first up, and saw that for the
first time during the voyage the ship was unwatched, and felt somewhat
annoyed that Ross had not called him as promised before vacating his
position. Evidently both he and Dennis had been too weary to waken
their sleeping companion.
Mechanically Gilbert looked round and saw that all was safe, then
passed into the rooms of Dennis and Ross, both of whom were sleeping
soundly; in the reflecting tubes he examined every berth and nook of
the whole ship, to find all safe and the occupants sleeping calmly in
their cabins. He then, in the dead silence, passed out of the _sanctum
sanctorum_ to examine the air apparatus, which proved to be working
satisfactorily, and then forward into the laboratory where, after a
general glance round to see what experiments were in progress, he
commenced some further analyses of the composition, weight, and nature
of the atmosphere in which the ship rested. What was his surprise to
find that the air outside was in motion, so slight that only the most
delicate instrument recorded the faintest trace of sound, but sound it
was, undoubtedly. Rushing back, he examined the switches and dials, to
find the ship poised and absolutely still. The air must have been in
motion, therefore, the night before, but so slightly that, the ship’s
motion being present also, the instrument was unaffected. When the ship
was still, the vibration of eighteen moving people, imperceptible as
that seemed on so large and rigid a vessel, had, nevertheless, proved
sufficient to annul the instrument’s record of sound.
It was evidently an illustration of a law of physics—that if two
sound-waves not in unison meet, and the swell of one encounters the
opposite phase of the other, silence will result, for both will be
neutralised; just as in the well-known experiment of the tumbler
placed on a table and a second tumbler held at right-angles over it.
A tuning-fork in rapid vibration is held in the centre of the angle
formed by the two tumblers, and though its vibrations continue, no
sound results; but the sound is made to become audible or cease as one
of the tumblers is removed or replaced. In the one phase, by the upper
tumbler being removed there is no check on the vibrations, which are
free to produce sound, but when the upper tumbler is held as described,
the sound-waves strike one another at opposite phases, and the plus of
one is absorbed in the minus of the other.
It was a most interesting point, for the sound-waves set in motion by
the moving air and those disturbed by the moving people chanced to be
at right-angles, and produced silent vibrations. For several hours
Gilbert continued his observations and experiments, hearing first one
and then another of his companions moving about, and at last he awoke
Dennis and Ross, asking them not to start the ship for the present.
Very soon all were in their accustomed places, refreshed and alert
after their long sleep. Hearing that Gilbert had found out something
important, everybody trooped into the laboratory and he explained his
discovery.
“What do you infer from that?” asked Godfrey. “I only see in it a most
interesting physical experiment naturally conducted.”
“It is more than that,” was the reply; “it means that there is ‘sound’
outside.”
“Really!” remarked Godfrey, banteringly. “Surely we have had enough
sound outside since we came near the sun to make a little more or less
now a matter of no surprise—but you physicists have always something
wonderful up your sleeve, haven’t you, Gilbert? What is it now?”
All the rest laughed at Godfrey’s manner, and Gilbert, turning to his
chum, retorted, laughingly,—“This will prove a lesson in deduction,
old man, and show you how to make one fact elucidate another!” And
then more seriously,—“You notice that after passing through the
enormously thick sun-crust we came to silence; all the upper thundering
noises were cut off. We entered a stratum of nitrogen which even the
sun could not burn; then a little lower and it became mixed with
oxygen; now the percentage of oxygen is higher. So far, everything
points, as you all know, to the presence far below us of a breathable
atmosphere—breathable to us, I mean—and we are all naturally asking
ourselves the question, ‘Why this breathable air if there is no need
for it?’ and the presence of ‘sound,’ faint as it is, strengthens the
supposition. _If_ there is sound, as there is, something must make it,
and given an atmosphere capable of supporting human life, added to
sound, or the echo of sound as we might call it, which is now absent as
we are all moving, it is highly probable that something living exists
below. If you will kindly turn the ship on its axis, Ross, so as to
alter the direction of our waves to run parallel to those outside, we
shall find, unless I am very much mistaken, a modification of the same
law, and the two sounds which seem now to have changed and to run in
unison will be doubled when they run side by side.”
This was proved to be the case, and a sound coming from the instrument,
though faint, was distinctly audible, and the vibrations were numbered
on the dial.
“It is possible that down below us we shall find light, of course,”
remarked Parkin Coombes.
“More than possible,” replied Rowland.
“What new phase has turned up now? Do you mean to say we are likely to
be lit up shortly?” interposed Godfrey.
“Everything points to that, certainly,” answered Sorrel, “and
Rollsborough here will tell us all about it.” And as several others
came up at the news and crowded round, Rollsborough proceeded,—“It
seems more than possible that we shall come to an illumined world; the
luminiferous ether permeates everything, and given an air free from
solid matter that could obstruct, absorb, or divert the rays of light
(and every mile of descent the air is becoming clearer), there is no
reason why we should not have light below, for light is, in effect, the
same as sound and follows many of the same laws, and if two luminous
waves encounter each other at opposites, each extinguishes the other
and total darkness results; but on the other hand, if two light-rays
run parallel to each other, then the light is doubled. An effect of
this is seen in the twinkling stars, from which two unequally vibrating
rays will coincide at certain points, when their light will be doubled,
but at all their vibrations that do not coincide there is no light
of any kind, but instead, total darkness. This—darkness and light
following in rapid succession as the unequal rays coincide and miss one
another—gives us the twinkling of the stars; the altering humidity and
density of the air on Earth through which the light-rays must pass also
contribute largely to the effect of scintillation.
“It is, therefore, judging from the present progress, probable that
as we descend we shall come to a world which is self-lighting, and on
which the luminiferous ether has so many of its rays in coincidence
that every ray is augmented by its next ray, and not a single light-ray
is lost, thus making this unknown world, if not brilliant, at least
light; probably very light, as is the case with many of the stars.”
Needless to say, this conversation did not conduce to calmness in
their already exciting position, and Godfrey remarked,—“Folk say
that scientists conduct their work without sentiment, and are all
matter-of-fact, but, upon my word, we all of us need a good thrashing
to compel us to go on with our own business! I never knew it so
difficult to work steadily on and wait patiently for what is coming!”
All the same, every one knew he was working well and seriously with
every nerve concentrated on what he had in hand. And if it had been
suggested that they should rush down to solve their doubts, he
would have been one of the first to say, “No, we must not be too
enthusiastic; we must examine step by step, and get a true record of
every stratum through which we pass.” He, however, did but express the
general feeling, and none were sorry when the time came to sink lower.
All at once they descried below them a peculiar sight. As far as they
could see, there were piled up hundreds of miles of rocks, the _bases_
lit with a peculiar haze, or glow, which came from the ground itself
like a giant _ignis fatuus_, or ‘will-o’-the-wisp,’ the origin of which
is, even to-day, a mystery to science, and though many explanations
have been attempted, none are conclusive, or even tenable. Then numbers
of these flashing lights appeared, as though a multitude of people
were carrying huge candles or lanterns, some of the lights being blue,
others greenish and yellow, but the majority purple, and all these
flitted in and out and about the bases of the hills, and clambered up
and rested on peak after peak in the most ghostly manner imaginable.
Then all was dark again. The ground heaved and split, and the ‘marsh
gas,’ the colliers’ ‘fire-damp’ (evolved during the process of
decomposition of the dead and dying vegetable matter in the ground and
in the changes taking place while coal was being formed), had found a
means of outlet through the opening, and, mixing with the air, formed
the well-known explosive mixture which, with an awful though silent
disruption, laid low hill after hill, and a few seconds later what had
been a range of mountains became a desolate plain.
The ship was made in equipoise, and in complete amazement, all watched
the surface of the world below them change its shape and configuration
every few minutes—it was in constant fret, and though not losing its
shape as a whole, yet valleys were turned into hills and mountains into
deserts with an awfulness which the darkness and silence rendered even
more frightful.
All would be dark—black; then from point to point in the distance
the light would come again, roving here and there like a lost spirit
fruitlessly searching in a desolate world for its soul, and would run
up the rocks in a gliding flow, hanging for a few moments on dizzy
pinnacles, and then, in apparent despair, precipitate itself headlong,
or wash itself down the steep sides like an avalanche of sliding
snow; perhaps, when half-way down, suddenly to stop and take a fresh
movement, spreading and stretching itself like a flickering, elastic
web, embracing hill after hill in its toils, till the whole horizon was
covered with it, and there lay below them a snowy world, with every
summit frowning and black by contrast, showing above it as though
impaled. A second later the whole landscape, shuddering under its
cloak, would shake itself and the light suddenly vanish, leaving black
darkness again everywhere.
The _Regina’s_ search-lights were switched off, and the whole vessel
plunged in darkness, so that the occupants could better examine the
strange world below them as they crowded round all the windows,
intently watching through their glasses.
For a while nothing could be discerned, and then the whole country,
to the limits of blackness, was glowing with phosphorescent fire, and
times without number the rocks rose and fell as though floating on an
angry sea, completely hidden by the forms above. And all the while
the ‘will-o’-the-wisp’ lights were dancing their mad flight, and the
rocks, in their apparent endeavour to trap them, rent themselves apart
and crashed together, always too late, or too soon, for the lights
invariably fled elsewhere, whilst the rocks were but welded firmly into
larger and more compact masses.
It was a world in chaos—a nightmare of evolution—where the ghosts and
spirits of creation tossed and tumbled in their fevered, restless
efforts to build themselves into solid shape; where earth and rock
were spun and pounded together as clay in the hands of the potter;
pounded this way and that in an ever-turning churn, becoming more and
more compact as gigantic masses of earth and rock crashed together
and became absorbed one in the other, and were again packed into less
than half their bulk, mountain after mountain becoming little more
than a hill; and when no further compression seemed possible, they
would tumble upside down, their bases uppermost, their jagged roots,
which had seemed so firmly embedded in the ground, showing in the
flickering light like awful teeth, the sight of which made the flesh
creep; their peaks also, now twisted and awry with the shock, were
wounded and beseeching, for the beautiful mountains had become deformed
monstrosities. So would they heave as in an agony of physical pain,
tumbling and twisting about to obtain relief; travelling over and under
other mountains which they exposed and lifted up as they dug underneath
them, they being momentarily hidden. Some of these did not rise again,
but were plunged into the depths below, in which they became fixed;
others, after being slowly and irresistibly pounded into compactness,
would suddenly become disintegrated and spread themselves out as though
some mighty roller were crushing them into slabs, and during the
process they would resume some semblance of their original form and
become dense, hard, invincible rock with precipitous sides. Chain after
chain of hills would turn to valleys and long sweeps of undulating
country; these undulations would then become more pronounced, then
involved, and then suddenly rise; the next moment they were hundreds of
miles of forbidding, death-inviting mountain ranges, with craggy sides
on which no human being could find a foothold, or if found, could keep.
Over the range would pass a gentle shiver, and without a sound would
follow an awful earthquake, swallowing up hundreds of enormous hills,
and for the space of fully five minutes there yawned beneath the ship a
bottomless gulf, with sides as straight as if cut, into which the whole
mass of the hills seemed to tumble.
Even here the strange and lurid light flashed on the sides of the
chasm as they dashed together again, leaving no trace of the awful
catastrophe.
Awed into long and complete silence, the occupants of the _Regina_
watched the chaotic disturbance below, rendered doubly amazing by
the absence of sound—at least of sufficient volume to penetrate the
vessel—and the gentle, deliberate way in which all the movements took
place. Had the changes been made with terrible speed and deafening
clatter and bang, the observers would not have been disturbed, for
there would have been nothing abnormal, but sound _could_ be heard in
the ship, and such havoc ought to have been accompanied with crash and
noise, yet the upheavals took place silently, the impacts being an
‘absorption’ of one into the other, as it were, with quiet force which
seemed awful in its irresistibility.
“I think this is more awful than the fire above!” ejaculated Merrick
Rutherford, at last.
“It is!” agreed Creeve Kelman, with a long breath. “Who would have
thought that a world was so formed?”
“And contrary, too, to all established beliefs and theories!” said
Sorrel.
“We had better go down into it,” proposed Gilbert; “we shall be safe!
What do you say, all?”
“Yes, let us go,” said Dennis; “we have seen as much as we can from
here”; and Gilbert stepped towards the switch-board, but scarcely had
he traversed half the distance when there was a yell from Godfrey,
who turned away from the window, shrieking with laughter. So long and
vigorously did he laugh that the poor fellow could not stand, and,
doubled up as he was, he sought to sit on a chair, but missing it, fell
on the floor, where he lay laughing and crying in turn.
“He’s gone mad!” cried half a dozen, in dismay, as they rushed to his
assistance, but being waved aside, they formed a circle round their
prostrate companion, all the rest hurrying up also.
“Whatever’s the matter, Godfrey,” exclaimed Gilbert, running back.
“Mad! we’re all mad!” gurgled Godfrey, painfully. “Oh, Great Bona! I
shall die, I’m sure I shall! I can’t laugh any more. Oh, dear!” and he
rolled over in agony.
“Tell us all about it, old man!” exclaimed several, soothingly, as they
attempted to raise him up, which drew a protest as he slid back on the
floor, moaning, “Oh, don’t! don’t touch me, or I’ll snap in two like a
carrot!—the windows!—look out——”
All rushed to the windows, but nothing was visible except the turbulent
world, and when they turned round Godfrey was sat on the floor with his
legs straight out and his hands to his sides, the picture of woe.
“There’s nothing!” said Dennis; “only what we’ve been looking at half a
day. Tell us what’s the matter, there’s a good chap.”
“The matter?” moaned Godfrey, getting on his hands and knees like
a bear, but, finding it painful, sitting down again. “The matter!
everything’s the matter! And ‘only what we’ve been looking at half a
day’!—why, that’s just it, my boy!
“We’re as bright a set of idiots as could be got together in a
lifetime!” And he declaimed, as if giving a lecture,—“We get into the
way of looking for scientific explanations for everything, till we
can’t use our eyes to see what’s staring us in the face as plainly as a
hole in a ladder! My dear fellow-idiots, I regret to say that it only
dawned across my woolly brains a few moments since that we have, the
whole lot of us, spent five solid hours staring at nothing more nor
less than _clouds with light on them_, thinking——”
“Clouds!!” they all shrieked, without waiting to hear more, and,
leaving the orator as if he were a pestilence, they made a tumbling
rush for the windows. Now they had the idea, they saw distinctly that
they were above a stratum of clouds which were faintly illumined from
below, the light catching the upper portions as their movements allowed
it points of entrance.
There was no doubt about it! the more they gazed, the more certain
it was, and the grim humour of the situation appealed to them as to
Godfrey; they all laughed till they could not stand, some till they
could not sit but rolled on the floor to join Godfrey, alternately
wiping away tears and holding their aching sides. Anon they would look
up at one another with pain-drawn features, and the sight of their
companions in a similar state would send them off into fresh paroxysms
of laughter. The joke, like the sun, was immense; not one of these
intensely scientific men could be said to be without a sense of humour,
and not one of them felt in any way ashamed or embarrassed to be
utterly prostrated with amusement at his own blunder. But the laugh did
come in, though they had to do it themselves, and “it’s a good thing to
laugh, at any rate.”
After they had all calmed sufficiently to be serious again they
descended, photographing as they fell, in accordance with the custom
they had observed since the commencement of the voyage; and as they
sank they came to brighter and still brighter strata until at last,
far below them, they espied a wide stretch of what appeared to be
Earth-clouds, so Earth-names were given to them. The highest, those
now immediately below them, were the ‘cirrus,’ or ‘mare’s tails,’ and
were moving somewhat rapidly, proving the presence of a strong wind as
in the strata above. These cirrus clouds floating on this particular
current of atmosphere were proved to be minute crystals of ice, the
refractions and reflections of which produced ravishing colour. Below
these were heavy cumuli, cutting off all view below as they lay in
an unbroken bed beneath them, like a sea of grey, unbleached wool,
and once through these, although they had hoped for what they saw,
the realisation raised their excitement to fever-heat. Ever since
they had found the atmosphere changing from deadly nitrogen by very
gradual degrees into the semblance of Earth-atmosphere, they had partly
expected to find an interior world of some form or other, yet they
could be excused feeling fevered when they saw below them their whole
horizon filled with land, only lit by the luminous ether, ’tis true,
but clear and fresh as one sees the Earth under the light of early dawn.
The cirrus clouds had been 43,000 feet above the ground, the cumulus
had had an elevation of but 6000 feet, and now, a few feet above the
ground, Rowland took the last sample of air and found it contained
nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, aqueous vapour, helium, and traces of
nitric acid, ammonia and carburetted hydrogen, thus being practically
like terrestrial atmosphere, and the gravitometer registered the same
gravity as that of Earth, so that there was no reason why the outer
air should not be breathed, and amidst cheers, for the second time
since leaving Earth, the doors were opened, the net drawn aside, and
there permeated the ship the natural air of heaven, pure and fresh
as that on the country moors in the far-away home—and the hearts of
the adventurers filled with gratitude and thankfulness for their
preservation.
The first care was to go over every inch of the net and outer casing
of the ship, in case any damage had been sustained, so that they might
at once make any needful repairs, or, if necessary, replace the net
with a new one they had brought for such a contingency, several having
been woven at the same time. Every knot and twist was most searchingly
scrutinised, for all their lives during the equally perilous return
journey depended on the immutability of the net, but it was found in as
excellent condition as when newly woven.
This long and tedious though important task over, they gave themselves
up to the examination of that portion of the country on which they had
settled; this was overgrown with small trees and shrubs, the foliage,
as well as the grass, being a strange golden yellow, twinkling with
green.
This might be the effect of the peculiar light, but be that as it
may, all were amazed to see so strange a sight under circumstances
so entirely at variance, for in the absence of sunshine, how was it
possible for the vegetation to have such glinting, gleaming lights?
On closer inspection, they were surprised beyond measure to find that
what they had taken to be long tendrils were, in reality, festoons
of insects, clinging together in such numbers as to obliterate every
living thing above the ground. There were millions of them, and their
golden, horny bodies, with brilliant green elytra, or wing-cases,
which their movements caused to be in a state of constant agitation,
produced a shimmering as of a myriad gems. On the bushes being shaken
they arose in a golden cloud, as of cut and sparkling precious stones,
to settle a moment later, hiding every living thing of vegetable
growth, clinging to each other in some places like swarming bees, and
in others they formed strings, festoons and tendrils, binding bush
to bush with living, jewelled cords, and the combined sound of their
movements rose in a faint hum like a distant, swiftly revolving fan.
It was a fairy-land. Examination of the plants was scarcely possible,
for no sooner had the little creatures been disturbed and their
resting-places exposed than they were back again, and so persistent
were they in this that though some of the shrubs were cut down and
taken into the vessel, thousands followed and rested on them. How they
lived was a miracle, for they did not appear to eat the vegetation,
yet it was necessary to their existence, for of all the thousands
Godfrey and his entomological colleagues collected and kept apart, not
one survived, yet those allowed to remain on or near the shrubs lived
and multiplied exceedingly, although, like some of the ephemera—the
may-fly, for instance—they possessed no mouth organs, or indeed any
digestive organs, even of a rudimentary nature. And strange to say, the
shrubs and plants (which, in common with all other vegetable growth
on this world, when divested of the insects, were of a pale green
colour) neither grew nor faded, losing none of their suppleness, and
when carefully weighed it was found that after they had given support
to scores of generations of thousands of insects, their weight had
not varied in the least. Neither ordinary heat nor moisture affects
them, but if an actual light is put to them or they are burned, they
then prove highly inflammable, burning furiously till consumed, when
they leave no ash or residue; they are, however, perfectly safe at any
temperature not exceeding 200° F.
With regard to the insects themselves, so rapidly did they increase
that every week or so handfuls had to be taken away and kept apart from
the shrubs, when they died—yet thousands never got near because of
the thousands intervening, to which they clung. It was an interesting
instance of symbiosis, and virtue in some shape or form must have been
transmitted through the intervening bodies, or possibly by means of
some delicate sense of smell.
Neither Godfrey nor any other of the great biologists of the time have
ever been able to throw any additional light on the matter, though
not unparallel cases have been known in certain of those islands on
Earth, of highly volcanic origin, formerly called the Fiji, or Viti
Islands, which were a British dependency. These islands were famed
for the tropical luxuriance of their vegetable and insect life, but
were submerged in the South Pacific by the great tidal wave closely
following the devastating eruption and earthquake of 2316 +a.d.+, which
permanently raised that portion of the South Pacific Ocean.