"Well," said Doctor Castleton, as Bainbridge closed. "Peters could, when
he was fifty years younger, have done that very thing to any living man
weighing not more than a hundred and eighty or a hundred and ninety
pounds. I myself have seen him throw to the ground a powerful horse, and
the little giant must have been older than sixty at the time. Then
again, he possesses that wonderful instinct of certainty in action which
belongs to purely animal life. It is said that the tiger when it strikes
never misses its aim; and that our American panther makes the most
unusual leaps without ever making an attempt beyond its powers. I have
many times observed that even our comparatively degenerate domestic cat
very rarely indeed, if ever, fails to accomplish the purpose of a
stroke. Peters possesses, or did possess, that instinct."
"Yes," said Bainbridge, "you are right. Peters says that on almost every
vessel he ever shipped on he was called 'the baboon'--because of his
great physical power and agility, he says; but as we know, rather
because of his extremely short stature, his large mouth--in fact, his
resemblance in many striking ways to the gorilla, or the orang-outang;
and perhaps, also, in part, to his habit, mentioned in Pym's description
of him, of feigning mental aberration--assuming to be 'simple.'"
"This won't do," said Castleton, with that peculiar look on his face
which always appeared when he was about to deflect from the serious to
the humorous. "Whilst I should not object to hearing my old friend
Peters called a gorilla, I draw the line at gorilla. I should object to
the appellation orang-outang, and I should resent with emphasis that of
baboon. But gorilla I will accept, for in many ways the gorilla is, or
at least once was, the superior of man. Even if we limit the source of
our deductions to the skeleton of the animal, the truth of my last
assertion is strongly evidenced. In the first place, the gorilla is more
sedate and less pettily curious than man; this is proved by his having
only three, instead of four, bones in the last division of his spine,
giving him a shorter caudal appendage than man's, and proving the animal
to be farther from the monkey than are we; then in the second place, the
gorilla has thirteen ribs, which would seem to be rational evidence
that, whatever the present gorilla may be, his ancestors of by-gone ages
were handsomer than man; because in the gorilla's first search for a
wife the field of operations was not limited to his own chest."
"That will do very well, doctor; but don't you think you are a little
severe on Adam?" I said.
"I have no sympathies with Adam. Not that I ever blamed him for his
weakness in the apple incident; but I do blame him for his garrulity,
and his paltry cowardice in exposing Eve. Eve was an instinctive
agnostic--and she didn't purpose to be anybody's slave. If Adam decided
to keep up with the procession, as he at first did decide to do, he had
no business to whine over the outcome. I'd wager freely that Eve earned
the living after the pair left paradise. Cain took after his mother; and
I hazard the opinion that Eve was in sympathy with Cain in the Abel
episode--that is, after the tragedy. Eve and Cain had the best of
everything all the way through, for they acted in harmony with their
feelings; whilst poor old feeble, vacillating Adam tried to use his
worthless old brain-box, and the natural consequence ensued. His
feelings, which constituted the strongest part of his mind, were always
in conflict with his intellect, which was just strong enough to get him
into trouble when a pure out-and-out unreasoning animal would have been
safe; and he never had enough will properly to correct an error when he
did see it."
We laughed over this conceit of Castleton's, and Bainbridge said:
"Speaking of biblical characters, I have thought that Moses would, with
even slight literary training, have far surpassed the modern writer of
adventure-fiction. His style may be open to adverse criticism, but his
originality is beyond question. If he left any material for a purely
original story, I fail to detect it. He gave to literature the
sea-story, the war-story, and the love-story--stories that hinge on all
the human passions, and stories of the supernatural in all its phases.
He first presented to a world innocent of fiction-literature the giant
and the dwarf; the brave man, the strong man, and the man of supreme
fortitude; the honest man, the truthful king, and the woman that knows
how to wait for the man she loves; voices in the air, signs in the
sky--in short, everything. Even poor old Aesop wasn't in time to grasp a
reputation for originality. The modern story-teller may combine, extend,
and elaborate; but all opportunity for a display of invention seems to
be forever barred."
"By the bye, doctor," said Castleton, evidently impatient at his
enforced silence whilst another spoke, "do any of your volcanoes or
mountains in Hili-li blow up?"
"No, sir," answered Bainbridge, with dignity.
"Well, if I had been Pym I should have blown those mountains into the
Antarctic Ocean," said Castleton. "I understand from the words that I
caught this evening as I entered here that your heroine is safe; but if
I had been Pym, I should have taken no risks. I should have sent your
madman word to return the girl, or take the consequences--the
consequences being that I should have blown him and the entire mountain
into the mighty deep. 'Sir,' I should have said, 'return the lady, or I
will annihilate you.' And so I should have done, if a hair of her head
had been harmed.--By the bye, gentlemen, I believe you never heard of my
invention for stopping war, did you?" We intimated that we had thus far
been deprived of that pleasure. I saw that one of his peculiar outbursts
was at hand--one of those apparently serious, though, I thought,
intentionally humorous sallies, so puzzling coming from a man of
Castleton's intellectual attainments, and the mental _primum mobile_ of
which I had already been much interested in trying to determine.
"Well, gentlemen," he continued, "it was about fourteen years ago,
during the dark days of The War"--he referred to the great rebellion in
the United States, which began in 1861, and which it required the
existing government about four years to suppress. "It was during the
period when our great President was most worried. I had thought the
matter over--as I always do think over vast questions, from the
standpoint of true greatness. 'Why not,' I mentally soliloquized, 'why
not end this matter at a blow? 'As I drove about through our retired
roads and lanes, I gave the subject my very best attention. I thought to
myself how the present system of the universe depends upon what we term
the luminiferous ether; of the perfect elasticity and inexpansibility of
that ether; of what its nature must be. I concluded that no ultimate
particle of it--as with matter no atom--is ever added to or removed from
the universe. Now, if we could succeed in removing from this
inexpansible, universal ocean of ether even the most ultimate portion,
there would be a literal vacuum with nothing to fill it, and the
equilibrium of the universe would be destroyed. Now, gentlemen, is or is
not this supposition logical?"
We admitted our inability to deny its truth.
"'Well, then,' I reasoned, looking at the subject on the reverse side,
'could an additional portion of ether be created, there would be in
space no place to receive it; the universe in its present state--a state
in which what we term matter or substance exists--would just simply
cease to exist--instantly, and within the compass of every star and
planet.'
"But how to create that particle of ether--that was what occupied my
mind for weeks. I would seem to grasp the hint that came and went within
the recesses of a brain which--so say my friends--has perhaps never had
its equal for variety of conception and rapid response to the slightest
external or internal stimulus. Now, many physicists suppose matter to be
simply a form of ether--plainly, that matter originated out of
ether--was made from ether; so that, after all, the universe was created
from nothing--that is, nothing if we correctly define matter. It was but
a step for me, then, to the end: remove all radiant energy from a fixed
gas--a gas without the property of condensation to another form of
matter, _i.e._, to a fluid or a solid--and the thing, I said to myself,
is done. I am positive that I know of such a gas, and within a few years
all physicists will recognize it. At present the method of procuring it
is my secret, as I may still wish to experiment with what is now but a
theoretical discovery, though certain to unfold in practice exactly as I
have explained it. You understand, of course, that I remove from my gas,
by artificial cold and compression, the last vestige of heat, my gas
becomes ether, there is no place for it in the universal ocean of
inexpansible ether, the balance of the universe as it now exists is
destroyed, all matter instantly ceases to exist, and we just sit back
and wait for a few billions of trillions of cycles of time, until
another system of nature is formed."
For a time we all kept silence: Doctor Bainbridge, I suppose, like
myself, marvelling at the peculiarities of our strange companion. At
last I said:
"And how about the war, doctor?"
"Now comes the humiliation!" he replied. "Oh, must genius ever grovel at
the feet of mere physical power--insolent official power! Why are great
men so difficult of access! Why, in 1453, did not Constantine in his day
of trouble listen to your brainy countryman, and save Europe from the
inroads of the Turk? Well, I hastened to Washington City, determined
that no ear other than the President's own should hear the secret; and
that no power on earth should draw it from me. I went to the White
House. I admit that war-times are busy times--but those infernal White
House flunkies kept me waiting in the reception-rooms for four hours! I
told my plans to the ushers, to a waiting soldier or two, and to a
foreign diplomat with whom I struck up a talk. All of them acted
suspiciously, and I believe were jealous of my wisdom. When, for the
third time, an usher took my card--or pretended to take my card--to the
President, his secretary came down to me. At first I told him that my
secret was for the President's ear alone; but at last I gave him a clew
to the nature of my business. He left me, but he did not return. Such is
reflected political power. But I thought of my power--aye, and physical
power, too--the only real power. I never blamed the President--I to this
day believe that that fellow H---- never told Lincoln of my visit to the
White House."
After an appreciative murmur and movement on the part of Bainbridge and
myself--for we felt like laughing, and yet sighs of wonderment were
expected by Castleton--and after a grunt from Arthur in his corner, I
asked, for want of something better to say,
"Were you ever in the army, doctor?"
"Well--ah--no--yes--no, sir; not exactly," Castleton replied. "But I had
a younger brother who beat the drum for a whole week in an
enlisting-office tent in Chicago. Poor boy! he died of brain fever in
1869--always a genius--great brain.--And this talk reminds me that I am
getting no pension from the United States Government on that poor,
neglected, sacrificed boy. Curse my thoughtlessness! Yes, and--but no: I
belong to the old school of patriots--I will not curse my country."
As Castleton uttered the last sentence, he approached the door of exit
to the hall. He had as usual been pacing the floor; and with the closing
word he shot into the hall and was gone. And as the sound of his
footsteps rang through the corridors of the hotel, Arthur remarked, from
his corner:
"It's a pity he didn't sit down on his boomerang infernal-machine, and
then set it a-going: he might a been on the moon by this time, where the
fool belongs, with the other lunatics. If he ever comes into my new
ice-cream parlor--(twelve by sixteen, gas-lights, three tables, and six
chairs; two spoons furnished with one saucer if desired, and a napkin
for your lady free; ten cents a saucer, and ginger-bread thrown in)--why
out he goes, too quick. Oh, he's a daisy, he is! If you ever want to
remind me of him, anybody, ask me to lend you a dime; and when I shake
my head and my teeth rattle, I'll remember the lunkhead, sure enough."
I frowned down the youngster, for he had promised not to obtrude his
opinion in the presence of Bainbridge. But as his words did not refer in
any manner to the story that Bainbridge was telling us, I should not
have objected to them, but that with Arthur it was necessary to be
cautious in creating precedents, which, as I have intimated, in his case
almost immediately congealed into vested rights; and our agreement had
obligated him to observe complete silence on the subject of Peters'
story, and, if I correctly remember--though Arthur denied this
latter--on all other subjects, in the presence of Doctor Bainbridge.
As Bainbridge appeared to have nothing further to say, and was making
those slight occasional movements which I knew presaged his departure, I
began to talk of Peters' leap; and in the most guarded manner--for with
Bainbridge any question of the facts of his narrative required tact and
delicacy to avoid the giving of offence--to discuss the subject of
leaping in general, the facts and probabilities relating to distance,
and the laws and conditions that might govern and regulate the
running-leap.
"Do you not think," I finally asked, "that Peters somewhat overestimates
the distance of his marvelous leap? I am aware that Peters was, both in
strength and in agility, almost preterhuman; but fifty feet or
thereabouts! That seems scarcely possible. Our best athletes, I believe,
have never, on level ground, made a running leap of much more than half
that distance. Now forty feet, under all the circumstances, would not
strike me as impossible, though thirty-five would better chime with my
ideas of the probable, and thirty would remove all possibility of any
draft on my credulity."
"It is not a question of ideas or of credulity," answered Bainbridge,
"but one of fact. However, we will look at the incident from the
stand-point of reason and experience. Now let us assume that a running
leap of twenty-five feet on level ground would not be beyond the ability
of a trained athlete. I think you will allow to Peters a natural
advantage of seven feet over an ordinary athlete, when you consider the
superiority of his form, so well adapted to leaping--a form that gives
to him the advantage of an orang-outang, without the disadvantage of
hand-like feet, so poorly suited to flat surfaces. From the fullest
information I could obtain from Peters, I believe that in leaping he
obtains more impetus from his arms than from his legs; but even with his
preternatural strength he does not get quite as much impulse-force from
his legs as would an ordinary athlete. I myself think that the use of
his arms in making this leap gave him an advantage of one-third over
another man of equal strength. However, I ask you to allow him from all
advantage of form, in the leap alone, seven feet, or twenty-eight per
cent."
To this proposition I assented.
"Then," continued Bainbridge, "it must be remembered that so far as the
actual leap is concerned, he missed the opposite edge of the abyss--for
he did miss it, and any other man would have gone to the bottom of the
chasm. It was only the length of his arm, with its excessive strength,
and the iron grip of that enormous hand, which prevented complete
failure. As a matter of fact, the walls of the abyss being fifty feet
apart, Peters leaped only forty-seven feet. Am I correct?"
Again I assented.
"Then," said Bainbridge, "we have brought within the limits of reason
thirty-five of the fifty feet, and fifteen feet remain to be accounted
for. Now let us recall to your memory the fact that the edge of the
abyss toward which he leaped was twelve feet lower than the edge from
which he sprung; and that, in his progress across the chasm he fell, in
addition to this twelve feet, his own height--which, according to Pym's
diary was, at that period, four feet and eight inches. If Peters could
have covered thirty-five feet on level ground, could he have covered
fifty feet with the advantage of a drop of nearly seventeen feet?
Assuming a certain weight for Peters, we could calculate the number of
foot-pounds of energy, or the initial velocity, necessary to make a leap
of thirty-five feet on level ground, and how many foot-pounds it would
require to make a leap of fifty feet with a drop of sixteen feet and
eight inches taken into the conditions. But as most of the equations in
our calculation are approximative, I prefer that the element of
gravitation should be handled in a general way. If a leaper were to
impel himself horizontally only, he would, in the shortest leap, fall
below a level. This fall may be met to the extent of about two feet, by
drawing up the legs--that is, by 'hunkering' as the leap progresses, and
alighting on his feet with the body to that extent lower than when the
spring began. In a leap of twenty-five feet, however, the leaper is
compelled to project himself upward as well as forward; and an
instinctive sense of just how little energy may be expended in raising
himself, and how much may be left for the forward impulse, is one of the
chief elements of his proficiency. Peters did not have to raise his body
at all."
"I begin to comprehend," said I.
"Yes," replied Bainbridge, "the more you think of it, the more convinced
will you become that Peters made the leap as he states. Of course he
could not have sprung fifty feet, or even forty feet, on a level; for,
in a leap of only forty feet, one would have to raise himself more than
twelve feet into the air, and (except for a possible small advantage of
position in leaping) it requires the same amount of force to raise a
body ten feet on an incline, as it does to raise the same body ten feet
perpendicularly into space--an impossible feat, even to Peters at
twenty-eight or thirty years of age."
"I quite believe that he did it," I said, "and when we consider that he
claims to have measured the distance only mentally, and that he might
therefore honestly have mistaken it to the extent of a few feet, I am
willing to say that my confidence in his intended veracity is
unshaken--even if he is an old sailor."
"Yes," said Bainbridge, "and we must not overlook the fact that a man's
mental state at the time of performing a physical feat is a very
important determining factor in the result of the performance. A
powerful but lackadaisical fellow might, with only a few dollars at
stake, make a very poor showing; yet to preserve his life he might make
a really wonderful leap. What effect, then, did mental condition exert
on a man like Peters under the circumstances attending this unparalleled
leap? Think of the enormous muscular power developed by the message
received through the nerves from a mind thus affected! His own life, and
that of another, if not of two others, depended upon the success of his
effort. Under such circumstances muscular power would either be
paralyzed, or else intensified beyond our common conception of such
force. Peters positively asserts, that when a boy of sixteen he
frequently leaped from the flat upper deck of a boat--that is, from a
height of twenty feet--into the surrounding water, habitually covering a
distance of from forty to forty-five feet; whilst other boys, under the
same conditions, rarely covered twenty-five feet, and never thirty."
A moment later Bainbridge arose to depart; but he lingered for a moment,
standing, and with his left hand resting on the centre table, began to
speak in a general way of the great antarctic crater and its surrounding
wonders. It was my habit to make full notes of the actual facts stated
by him in the more formal parts of these evening recitals, and sometimes
even of his comments; and I regret that I did not do so at the
particular moment to which I am now alluding. It was not until the
following morning that I made a few memoranda of the closing incident of
the evening. With the help of these notes and a fairly good memory, I
hope to be able at this late day to describe for the reader an episode
that I should dislike entirely to omit from this narrative.
He spoke for several minutes of the wonderful power of nature to
accomplish certain ends--the force that accomplishes which, he termed a
_purpose_ in nature; and he made some remarks along the line of a
contention, that the development of all matter into higher forms was
what he called an unconscious intention, explaining that there was no
paradox in the expression "unconscious intention"; for, he said, even
men, individual men, are constantly performing a thousand acts that have
an unconscious purpose or intention--as, for instance, the automatic
action of winding a watch without the slightest exercise of will, and
without remembering the action. This unconscious motive-force, he said,
is inherent in vegetables as well as in animals, and that in fact it
exists, though relatively of very slow and feeble action, in all matter,
the power being an attribute of all molecules, and even of elemental
atoms. He, however, claimed no originality for any of the views which he
expressed.
"To my consciousness," he said, "the conviction of individual
immortality is so clear that, if I were not perfectly aware of the cause
of their doubt or disbelief, I should wonder at intelligent persons
questioning the fact. Like everything else taught by Christ, that we are
immortal is a fact; and it is not in a billion years that we shall live
again under new conditions, but, as He intimated, 'to-morrow.' And I
surmise that we shall not do so in any absurdly physical way, nor yet in
a manner so deeply abstruse that it would require a logician and a
professional physicist, were it explained, to comprehend it. As with all
that God has given us, we shall find the conditions of the next life
very simple. Educated men--nearly all highly educated men, and
particularly educated theologians--when they touch this subject remind
me of the cuttle-fish. There is nothing around them that is not
perfectly transparent until, by their own act, everything is obscured to
themselves and to their neighbors. But whilst the cuttle-fish swims out
of the zone of opacity created by himself, the theologian remains in
his, fighting the obscurity with logic--for that purpose the poorest of
all devices. You cannot guide an emotional boat with an intellectual
rudder. Something to me much more convincing than reason, tells me that
our bodies will not be long in their graves before we shall again begin
to live; and my feeling is, that, though consciousness will at the death
of this body be obscured for a time, it will not be lost for a _long_
time. I feel that almost at once after death the mystery of conscious
individuality will again assert itself. Refined by this life, as the
molecular construction of inorganic matter is refined by passing through
organic life, so the consciousness lately within the molecules of your
discarded body, will not be as the consciousness within like molecules
of mineral or of vegetable matter; for it will be your consciousness
--_your_ consciousness, created by God and developed by His edict
--developed after slumbering for ages within the mineral; awakening
to quicker action in the vegetable world; touching the domain of
conscious memory in lower animals; aroused to keener moral and
intellectual existence in your late body, and at last made ready for a
new mystery--what, we know not--in another world, possibly in the
direction of what we might call a 'fourth dimension' of consciousness.
Oh, no; there should not be anything to prevent us from knowing now that
we shall continue to exist, and to go ever upward, upward, upward.
Nature permits us, in each sphere of being, to catch a glimpse of the
succeeding one, if only we will not ourselves obstruct the view."
A moment later he dropped into an animated, almost rhapsodical, running
comment on some of the scenic beauties surrounding Hili-li.
"Imagine," he said, "what the scenic effects must have been, everywhere
within the illumination of that great lake of fire, covering an area of
nearly two hundred square miles--that great lake of white, boiling,
earthy matter, brilliantly lighting the long antarctic night. Think of
those mountains, with the Olympian offshoot six miles in height; and of
the peak called Mount Olympus, looming up ten thousand feet above even
that great mountain-range. Try to picture the valleys, the chasms, the
overhanging cliffs, the many smaller active craters, like mammoth
watch-fires lighted on the mountain-tops in all directions; and the
masses of glistening salt, thrown by upheavals of the earth high upon
the mountain-side. Cannot you almost behold the scene? May we not, with
the brush of fancy, paint for our mental vision many a strange, weird
picture? Here we see, high on the mountain-front, a mass of crystal
salt--many millions of tons--thrown, by a mere fillip of terrestrial
power, thirty thousand feet above the ocean level, to rest and sparkle
like a gem on the bosom of that old mountain-god, Olympus. Then, still
higher, on the very summit--for even here, in the glare of this great
crater, where evaporation rains upward from the sea, all vapor is
quickly condensed and frozen on the higher peaks--we see, like the
tresses of the aged, the pearly snow and ice overhanging the Olympian
brow. Aye, may we not even--"
Well, dear reader, I expect to be censured. As Bainbridge drew toward
what I suppose would, under any circumstances, have been his close, I
was sitting with my face toward Arthur, and the actions of that
unpolished gem told me that the catastrophe was at hand. Those who say
that "the expected never happens" misinform us; for the expected very
frequently does happen. The wretched boy did not--would not--look at me,
and I could not, of course, interrupt the flow of eloquence that poured
from the lips of Bainbridge. What could I have done? Even at this late
day, I cannot see what I could have done, though I did know the nature
of what was coming. It was the words "snow and ice" that added the last
straw which broke the camel's back, and let fall the load of annoyance;
and as Bainbridge uttered the words, "Aye, may we not even----," Arthur,
that miserable factotum, whom I had so rashly trusted, shot from his
chair into the air; and, with arms waving, and eyes glistening with
excitement, he fairly yelled:
"Great geewhilikin! Think of that ice, and that salt, and that climate!
Now if a fellow only had a drove of Giganticus cows, with old Olympus
for 'em to run over free, where would the other ice-cream fellows be?
Free ice, free salt, free cream, free fodder, and no end of 'em all,
too! Why, in that hot hole a man 'ud be a ice-cream king in no time.
Well, now! doesn't that make your windows bulge? You're a shoutin', Doc.
Please don't speak again in the same language till I rest my mind, if
you love me!"
I could not stop him. Frowning had no effect, and toward the end of his
outburst I even protested in words. But it was no use. He spoke quickly,
and he spoke very loudly, and not a word was lost on Bainbridge.
Bainbridge had a fine sense of humor; but like many other humorists, he
did not relish jocosities of which he was the subject. Any levity in any
manner connected with Hili-li, I knew would be to him unendurable. He
had from the beginning taken the Peters disclosures, and even the old
sailor himself, very seriously. Little happenings during our stay at the
old sailor's home, which had brought a smile to my own face, had never
for a moment altered the countenance of Bainbridge from the stern
seriousness becoming that of one who is gathering facts of the most
solemn import. I am positive that he would have taken with a poor grace
the slightest levity from even myself on the subject of Hili-li. But
from the bell-boy of a hotel! Olympus to become a pasture field for
mastodon cows! Its ice and its saline wonders to be employed in the
making of ice-cream!
Well, I just sat, and said nothing, and blamed myself. The thing was
done, as it is said, and could not be undone. Doctor Bainbridge looked
at me, with an injured but resigned expression, which seemed to say.
"Well, you see you've done it; you _would_ allow the creature to drink
in the nectar of refined literary production, and one of the natural
results has followed." He took up his hat, and more in grief than in
anger, he made his adieux, and quietly walked out of the doorway,
through the hallway, down the stairs, and out of the house. And a moment
later I said:
"Now, young man, you probably see what you have done! We may, or we may
not hear more of Lilama, of Pym, of Ahpilus, and the others. I am
anxious to know what became of the poor fellow, Ahpilus; and I intend to
find out, if I have to go to Peters for the information." Then, as I saw
the boy was really repentant; and when I began to consider the fact that
he could not comprehend why Bainbridge should be offended, when no
offence had been intended, I mentally threw all the blame upon myself,
and added:
"But never mind; it does not amount to much. Doctor Bainbridge will
probably be here to-morrow evening, and will, no doubt, have forgotten,
or at least buried the incident. But after this, Arthur, you may come to
me each morning, and as I dress I will tell you all about what the
evening before I shall learn from the doctor. So, goodnight to you, and
here is a dollar to help you start the ice-cream parlor."