Edith's intention was to fly due south. She wished if possible to
discover the source of the eruption which Anderson had observed on his
first trip. The account of the gigantic smoke ring, visible at over
two hundred and fifty miles, "teetering crazily up the sky" had taken
her imagination by storm. She wished to see for herself what sort of a
monster blew such delightful rings. Ole's burning oil well theory did
not seem entirely satisfactory. Edith rather expected to find a crater
pursed up through the ice like a smoker's lips, lazily generating smoke
for the next puff.
So far the party had seen no sign of the distant disturbance from the
ship. The cordial gush of hot water which had first welcomed them,
however, they regarded as highly significant.
If there was hot water in the vicinity Edith longed to be in it. Her
rather inactive part in the expedition so far had made her feel young
and unimportant. She now wished, as she said to herself, to return
from her trip distinguished or busted. Giving the engine more gas she
let it out to seventy miles an hour, humming through the zero air in
a bee-line for her hive. If Anderson's estimate had been correct she
should reach it in less than an hour.
Ole set himself with stolid perseverance to photograph the Antarctic
continent as seen from above. With the results of his labors it would
be possible, he hoped, for subsequent explorers to find their way
blindfolded to the South Pole.
Forty freezing minutes flew behind them before they noticed any feature
of interest on the desolate, icebound landscape rolling up from the
south to meet them. The jagged black crests of what appeared as an
almost perpendicular rock barrier pricked the horizon.
Nearing this barrier at the rate of a mile a minute they saw it rise
by leaps above the white wilderness. Ole had charge of the navigating
instruments. By a rough calculation, half guess and half arithmetic,
he estimated the barren cliffs to be not over three hundred feet high.
A glance vertically down showed an undulating ice plain thickly dotted
with huge fragments of black rock. Occasionally one of these jagged
fragments, having fallen with the flat side uppermost, presented a
thatch of last winter's snow to the observers, but for the most part
their stark pinnacles were bare and black.
Presently Ole gave a shout that was audible above the droning of the
propeller.
"Blowholes," he bellowed, handing Edith his binoculars.
Peering over the side Edith beheld a pockmarked expanse of blue ice,
pitted with bottomless wells and littered with huge fragments of rock.
Putting her trust in Providence not to "blow" the wells until she had
flown over them, she gave the engine more gas and spun toward the low
barrier at a hundred mile clip.
Coming directly over the barrier they saw that the apparent wall was
tumbled desolation of huge rock masses at least five miles broad. It
would be impossible to traverse that jumble with dog teams. If the goal
of the expedition lay beyond that chaos they must traverse it painfully
on foot with packs on their backs.
Edith flew on. The speedometer showed eighty miles an hour.
Some minutes later they saw the black mass beneath them curving
precipitously down like the slope of a steep mountain.
Determined to ascertain the extent of the vast crater--for such they
judged it to be--Edith continued to fly due south with one eye on the
speedometer. The walls of the huge depression below them were soon
no longer visible. Only a sheer void with slowly heaving sooty black
clouds at the bottom, apparently several miles below them, met their
awed gaze.
That deep expanse of inky billows seemed never ending. On they flew at
eighty miles an hour until seventy minutes lay between them and their
starting point at the lip of the gigantic crater, and the precipitous
slopes of the farther side soared suddenly up out of the black smoke
to meet them. The crater, they inferred, must be ninety miles across.
Vast as this estimate made it, they could not be sure that it was
adequate, as they had no means of judging whether they had flown above
a diameter.
When they finally cleared the last of the shattered buttress and level
ice stretched unbroken for miles beneath them, Ole signified his urgent
wish to descend. They landed without mishap.
"Where are you going?" Edith demanded as Ole started on a run back to
the lip of the crater.
"I have just had a theory," he bellowed, forgetting in his enthusiasm
that he was no longer competing with the propeller. "Now I test it."
When he rejoined her forty minutes later his face bore the smug
expression of one who has looked on Truth and found her all that he
hoped.
"Just as I thought," he said. "The south sides of those rocks on the
edge of the crater are covered with lichens."
"Well," said Edith, testy from the cold, "did you expect to find
barnacles?"
"No," he replied with the bland complacency of a sunfish, "I knew I
should find lichens."
"Then it was stupid of you to waste nearly an hour looking for them,"
she retorted. "Get in. I'm going on."
"But," he expostulated, "I have proved my theory. That is no new
crater. It must be very old. Therefore Captain Anderson did not see it
erupting."
"Then what did he see?"
"An eruption within an eruption. Just the old floor of this volcano has
blown up in our times."
"And the floor was covered with inscriptions? Yours is a likely theory,
I must say. Who ever heard of people carving inscriptions on the floor
of a volcano?"
"Who ever didn't hear of it?" Ole retorted, not quite sure of his
logic. "Why shouldn't they? Perhaps those inscriptions were only
tombstones. Haven't you seen the flat ones in the churchyards? Those
ancient makers of inscriptions wished to bury something."
"So they dug a hole in the red hot lava and put a lid over it?"
"Not of course. I mean," he corrected himself, "of course not. No, that
isn't what I mean. I want to say it doesn't follow. The main eruption
may have been millions and millions of years ago." Ole grew poetical.
"When the earth was but an infant in swaddling clothes that ancient
eruption moved, and lived, and had its being."
"Colic?" Edith asked innocently. "Is that from the _Song of Solomon_?
It sounds familiar."
"No," said Ole, as stolid as a keg of soused herrings, "Solomon sang of
other things. All those rocks I photographed," he continued, "are parts
of that old cracked floor. Satan has recently been unchained again down
there"--Ole's polite way of saying that hell had broken loose again in
modern times--"and those far hurled tons of inscriptions testify to
his inordinate vehemence. We are witnessing a recrudescence of that
prehistoric calamity which rocked the Pole to its roots."
"I too have a theory," Edith announced.
"Yes?" said Ole eagerly.
"My theory is that you will be left here talking through your hat
forever if you don't climb in at once. I'm going on."
The unappreciated Ole took the hint. They were off again.
Edith decided to fly home in a wide circle, following the southern
rim of the crater until it began to turn sharply to the north. Then,
leaving it behind she hummed on due west for about a hundred miles. She
was on the point of turning north again, and home to the ship, when a
peculiar dim blue line across the western horizon caught her attention.
To investigate would take only half an hour. She investigated.
So did Ole. He again discovered innumerable blowholes in the ice over
which they whizzed, and called Edith's attention to the significant
detail.
"This looks promising," she said to herself, for Ole could hear
nothing. "Now if Nature knows anything at all about logic she should
have planted another big hole in the ice over behind that blue line."
Nature proved herself logical. The blue line became the sheer edge of a
tremendous ice precipice sweeping in a gradual curve round the horizon.
Fifty miles was a conservative guess at the diameter of this vast
depression. Unlike the other no jumble of black rock cluttered its edge
or the surrounding plain.
Half a mile from the edge Edith landed. In silence she and Ole hurried
over to the edge of the precipice. Reaching it they stood a few yards
back and gazed into the immense void before them. No smoke obscured the
sunlit floor of this vast amphitheatre. So far below them it lay that
it appeared only as a dim blue shadow.
"Come," said Edith, "that's too good to spoil today. We shall return
tomorrow and see it properly. Don't say anything to the others about
this. One thing at a time is enough for those doubting Thomas cats."
"I won't," Ole promised. "My theory is," he jabbered before Edith could
choke him off, "my theory is that Satan is still chained down there."
"There will be the devil to pay," she said simply, "if he breaks loose
tomorrow while you and I are exploring. I hope you are on good terms
with him."
Ole was shocked. Never before had he heard a young lady use such
language outside of a church. He registered his disapproval by climbing
into the machine without another theory.
Edith's report brought tears to the Captain's eyes.
"That fool Ole was right," he admitted generously. "What he and I saw
from the ship was a burning oil well. Now you have found it."
"Full of black smoke," Ole added gloomily. "Probably all the oil is
burning away."
"No, idiot," the Captain replied, "or you would have seen flames."
"I suppose it was just smouldering?" Ole suggested with a nasty touch
of irony.
"Oh, undoubtedly," the Captain sneered. "The obvious, practical
solution always escapes your colossal mind. Can't you see it? That
smoke is simply what has settled down after the fire went out."
"And burned up all the oil," the pessimist supplemented.
"Oh, shut up. If what he says is true, Doctor, isn't there likely to be
more oil under the floor of that hole in the rock?"
"I'll tell you when I see the floor."
"Well, whatever theory you and he may hatch between you I'm going to
tear up an acre or two of what's left of that floor with dynamite.
Tomorrow we begin packing my part of the show to the circus tent."
Before sunrise the next morning Edith and Ole were stirring in
preparation for their trip. They were off with the first ray. The
Captain having assured Lane that the cold, windless spell was certain
to continue, Edith coaxed her father into giving his consent at the
last minute. She departed with the Captain's heartfelt blessing and his
best thermos bottle full of hot chocolate. What souvenir the blessed
girl might bring back to him today he could only speculate, but he
hoped it would be another oil well of even vaster dimensions than her
first.
What Edith and Ole expected to find on their private expedition they
kept to themselves. Neither had the least suspicion of the handsome
surprise which Nature had generously prepared for their welcome.
Turning sharply to the west as soon as the airplane lost sight of the
ship, Edith steered a straight line toward her find. Ole as navigator
gave her the signals keeping her on the course. She made the propeller
hum. Not being interested in the dreary Antarctic landscape she
shot over it at a hundred and twenty miles an hour, the limit of the
machine's capacity.
The dim blue line on the horizon raced forward to meet them. Slackening
her speed to eighty miles an hour Edith spiralled down like a seagull.
Reaching the level of the lip she circled for a turn near the
precipitous wall and then, to Ole's horror, made a nose dive for the
bottom of that vast well. Cutting out the engine presently she tilted
to forty-five degrees, and glided down, down to the sunlight of the
blue plain below.
"Where are we going?" Ole gibbered in his fright.
"Down there, of course. It looks nice and sunny. I'm half frozen."
"What if we can't land?"
"Then we must fly out again."
"But suppose something goes wrong with the engine?"
"Then we shall be a pair of scrambled eggs with no toast, but only the
hard ground, beneath us."
The sunlight swam up to meet them, and to their astonished eyes was
revealed an azure river winding through a green plain. Dropping
lower they saw the huge trees rush out, and then, farther away, the
innumerable silvery plumes of the pampas grass undulating to the warm
breeze. Entranced they saw the long billows of light rising and falling
like the swell of a silver tide. Here, sunk deep in the icy heart of
the Antarctic Continent lay a paradise of flowing water and luxuriant
vegetation.
Accepting it for what it was they flew on in silence, looking for
a spot to land. For once Ole was without a theory. Later he hatched
several. The probable solution of the mystery was not, however, his
work alone. Drake supplied the egg; Ole merely brooded on it and gave
it wings wherewith to soar.
The dense vegetation by the river thinned here and there into rolling
meadows of lush grass. They flew over these, seeking more level ground
for a landing. At last they spied what they sought, a long sandy spit
cleaving a still blue bay in the river.
They made a perfect landing. Then, when they stood with their numbed
feet on the warm sand they realized the wonder of the place and its
beauty. They were almost in the centre of the vast well. Twenty-five
miles distant in whatever direction they looked towered up the sheer
blue cliffs fifteen thousand feet above the floor of the valley.
Age-old ice bound the brows of those precipices, and over the circular
opening to the sky howled the winter blizzards of the Antarctic,
powerless to freeze the water in this blue river or blight the
tenderest flowers of the valley's perpetual spring. By what miracle
had time preserved this deep garden against the advancing cold? Dying
ages had piled on the once tropical regions above a crushing desolation
of ice a thousand feet thick. While overhead the yelling gales of
winter warred against themselves with whirlwinds of frozen sleet and
splintered shafts of clanging ice, only rain fell through this mild
atmosphere above the valley. How had this spot, this very heart of a
forgotten paradise retained its life-giving warmth, while all about lay
the stark body of life frozen cold in the death of ages? Or had it
always been as they now saw it? These were questions which they could
only ask themselves but not answer.
"This is more beautiful than a California valley," Edith sighed, "and
on a far grander scale than any of them. No other valley in the world
is an almost perfect circle like this one, nor is there another with
cliffs like those to shelter it. Those walls are three miles high."
"Less about a fifth of a mile," the precise Ole corrected her. "I
watched the barometer as we dropped down. Say two and four-fifths miles
high."
"Ole, you are impossible."
They strolled off the sandy spit to ascend a little knoll whence they
might obtain a view of the whole valley. Not until they had been
walking about five minutes did they notice the oppressive discomfort of
locomotion. Thinking that it must be due to their own thawing out in
this mild air after the long flight through zero temperature, they took
off their heavy sheepskin tunics. Another ten yards and they stripped
their Jaegers.
"At this rate," Edith laughed, "we shall be shedding our skins before
we reach the top of the hill."
Ole, puffing like an overfed porpoise, tried hard not to look shocked.
He took a mental oath not to shed another rag. Respecting his modesty
Edith forbore her next impulse and toiled up the slope lugging only her
outer garments. She wished she were Eve and he Adam.
"I know what it is," Ole exclaimed, not stopping to do his theorizing.
"We are two and four-fifths miles below the surface of the earth,
aren't we?"
"Three," said Edith. "But it's too stuffy to argue. Go on."
"Then we are at the bottom of a mine. I mean," he explained
laboriously, "it is just as if we were at the bottom of a mine. All
that air is crushing us."
"You do seem to bulge more than usual," Edith admitted.
Ole ignored this verification of his theory.
"And," he continued, expounding the article on _abyss_ from the A
volume of his sample of the encyclopaedia, "the internal heat of the
earth can be felt at this depth. It gets so hot in the deep mines that
the miners have to stop going down, and just burrow out sideways like
moles."
"Thank Heaven," Edith sighed, "you don't own the entire Encyclopaedia
Britannica. I simply couldn't stand it all in this infernal heat."
"Miss Lane!"
"Oh, I shall swear in a minute. Don't mind me; it's my nerves."
At the crest of the hill they flung themselves panting on the thick,
mossy grass.
"I shall never growl at the cold again," Edith declared. "This place
must be like a steam bath when the sky is clouded up over the opening."
"And the clouds blanket in the radiation," Ole added appreciatively.
This evidently was a gem from the one masterpiece of Herbert Spencer's
which he possessed. It certainly seems unlikely that he found anything
so sensible in either the tattered "_Bluebird_" or his seven-figure
table of logarithms. "On such occasions the humidity must be very high."
"As muggy as lukewarm pea-soup for breakfast. I'm fed up. Let's get out
of here. Put on your clothes. It's less bother to wear than to carry
them."
As she stood up to shake on her sealskin a darker blue stain on the
azure of the distant wall caught her eye. Looking intently at the
deeper blue she imagined that she could see clear through the vast
cliffs into a dim azure world beyond. Then dismissing the illusion
with a laugh at her own fancifulness she started slightly at a new
aspect of the shadow. It was in the form of a perfect arch at least
three thousand feet high. Ole's remark about the miners burrowing out
sideways when the heat grew unendurable stuck in her mind with an odd
persistence. What if this were an old mine, disused since a million
years before the dawn of history?
"What do you see?" Ole demanded nervously. He was struggling with his
heavy tunic.
"Nothing. But you have a look. What is that shadow on the cliffs over
there?"
Ole stared long and hard. His seaman's eyes made out no more than
had Edith's. Not wishing to commit himself to an untenable theory
he wheeled slowly round, searching the whole hundred and sixty mile
precipice.
"There is another," he began cautiously, "three points east of south."
"Yes," said Edith, "and I have counted four more. That makes six in
all. Let's investigate."
"Right, Miss Lane. I'm with you."
Their lassitude vanished at the prospect of adventure. Joining hands
they raced down the little hill by a shortcut which would take them
through a clump of high bushes directly to the airplane. Laughing like
a pair of children off for a picnic they romped into the shade.
Suddenly a huge gray boulder blocking their path came to life with an
earth-shaking screech. Edith screamed and clung to Ole. He stood frozen
in his tracks, paralyzed with terror.
How they ever reached the plane they were unable afterwards to recall.
Edith remembers being thrown in bodily by Ole. He only has a blurred
memory of cranking the propeller, climbing and kicking madly at the
evil red eyes in a hideous serpent head that shot up after him on a
massive thirty foot neck. He swears that he struck one glaring red
eye just before the motor lifted and the heavy bodied brute flopped
on its belly in the sand, fanning the air with the vast spread of its
ineffectual, bat-like membranes.
12