OVER THE CATARACT’S BRINK.
TWICE the _Seal_ turned turtle in the course of that terrible dive,
dashing her crew with stunning force against the turret walls. In vain
they strove to regain their balance. Helpless as logs they were hurled
to and fro, until, battered beyond all human endurance, they one and all
sank into insensibility.
And still the submarine plunged downward, still she lurched and
wallowed in the rioting waters.
Suddenly she was brought up with a fearful shock that snapped off
both propellers like rotten sticks. A veritable avalanche of water
thundered down upon her, battering her hull so that the steel plates
groaned beneath the enormous strain.
Each instant it seemed as though the stout glass of the turret
must be beaten in; yet it held bravely, and at length the downpour
ceased, and the _Seal_ shot forward like an arrow.
Two hours went by, and then Haverly recovered his senses.
Staggering to his feet, he steadied himself against the wheel, and
gazed outside.
The rays of the great searchlight gleamed white and dazzling on
the walls and roof of a rocky tunnel, through which the _Seal_
was racing at headlong speed, urged on by the fearful force of the
torrent, on whose foaming bosom she was borne.
With an effort--so enfeebled was he by his terrible
experience--Silas moved to the door. To his great joy it opened
easily, and he flung it wide, admitting a flood of life-giving
air.
“Thank Heaven!” he murmured fervently, damping his parched and
blackened lips, while he drew in deep draughts of pure, cool air;
“another hour and we’d all have passed in our checks.”
Turning, he found his friends already stirring, their recovery
hastened by the beneficent influence of the refreshing atmosphere.
Crowding to the door, they stood for some moments filling their
exhausted lungs.
“Whatever have we struck?” Seymour asked at length, gazing in
amazement at the dripping, glistening walls of the passage.
“A subterranean river, I reckon,” responded Silas, “an’ one with
a fairish slope, judgin’ by the speed we’re travellin’ at.”
“I have no doubt,” Mervyn began, “that this strange tunnel is of
volcanic origin; at one time probably a lava passage, through which
the molten metal was forced from the bowels of the earth to the crater
of the volcano we have left far behind us.”
“If that is true,” interrupted Seymour, “we are plunging each
instant deeper and deeper into the bowels of the globe, and at the
present moment must be far down below the bed of the Polar Sea!”
“Exactly!” returned Mervyn. “We started upon this trip as a North
Polar expedition, but it seems we are to end up with a journey to the
centre of the earth. Whether we ever return therefrom depends wholly
upon Providence.”
“Then where shall we end up?” the inventor asked, his face a
picture of incredulous amazement. “I mean, what is there below?”
“Heaven alone knows,” the scientist returned gravely; “yet, as we
have been delivered in so marvellous a manner from the grip of the
magnetic mountain, we will hope for the best.”
“I guess we’ve just got to sit tight and see it through,” cried
the Yankee. “Without her screws the old boat’s as helpless as a log,
though I doubt if they’d ha’ been any use against this darned current.
I calculate that feed you was preparin’ would be acceptable at the
present period, Garth.”
Taking the hint conveyed in the last sentence, the inventor
withdrew, and soon from below came the rattle of crockery and the
clatter of knives and forks. The walls of the tunnel still flashed by
in an eternal monotony, and long, pendant mosses, trailing their slimy
lengths from the rocky roof, seemed to writhe and twist like dark
green snakes as the vessel swept past beneath them.
And with every yard of her advance--and this was the thought
that haunted her crew--the _Seal_ plunged deeper into the
unknown depths of the earth!
Her pace became terrific as the time went by, and the eyes of the
watchers in her turret were strained ahead, expecting--yet
dreading--each moment that some fearful abyss would yawn before
them, in the black depths of which their faithful vessel would be
swallowed up.
Steering was utterly out of the question, even had the vessel not
been damaged; for so great was the speed, that no sooner had they
sighted a dangerous curve in the tunnel, of an out-jutting rock, than
the _Seal_ was upon it. The swiftness of the current alone
prevented the submarine from shattering herself to fragments against
the numerous obstacles.
Glad were the party when Garth’s voice summoned them below, and,
leaving the vessel to take care of herself, they retired, to forget
for a while the danger of their novel position in the pleasures of the
table.
Then, when their hunger was satisfied, they resumed their places
in the turret, wondering what would be the end of their marvellous and
terrible journey. Now the roof of the passage would sink, until a few
inches only separated the rock from the top of the turret; anon it
would rise and become lost to sight as the _Seal_ swept into some
vast subterranean chamber, whose midnight darkness the light of the
great arc-light seemed but to render more intense, as it trembled
through it for a brief moment, then vanished as the vessel swept
on.
Where would it end?
The fateful question hammered at the watchers’ brains as they
stood through the long hours, silently awaiting the end.
“For Heaven’s sake, speak, some of you!” Seymour cried at last,
after a long interval, during which no word had been spoken, “this
silence is enough to drive one mad!”
“Of what should we speak, my friend?” the scientist asked
gravely. “The while our fate is trembling in the balance, our lives
hanging, as it were, upon a thread, there seems but little attraction
in conversation, however interesting in the ordinary course of events
the subject may be.”
“I hold there’s no call to despair yet awhile,” Silas interrupted
sharply; “the old _Seal’s_ a stayer, an’ so long as she keeps her
end up, we’ll pull through.”
“Good old Silas!” Seymour cried, clapping his friend on the
back.
“Wal, it’s this way,” Haverly went on, “I’ve come out of so many
tight corners with a whole skin, that one more or less makes no
difference. You Britishers pride yourselves on your ‘never say die’
motto. I guess this is a suitable time to apply the same. Say,
William, you recollect that little bit of a scrap on the Amazon, six
years back?”
“Rather,” Seymour returned.
“Wal, I reckon as that was considerable tighter than the present
situation. You see, professor, it----”
He broke off abruptly, as from somewhere far ahead came a
murmuring drone, like the first low note of some giant organ.
“What is it?” Mervyn asked.
The millionaire flung open the door.
A cool, damp wind, laden with spray, whistled up the tunnel, and
the drone grew in volume as the submarine swept on.
A puzzled expression passed over Haverly’s features as he stood
listening for some moments.
Then his brow cleared and he slammed to the door.
“I guess we’re nearing the end,” he said; “it’s the sound of a
waterfall.”
His comrades gazed despairingly into each other’s faces. What
they had feared for so long was about to happen.
Somewhere, not far ahead, the river thundered into space over the
brink of some subterranean precipice, and towards this spot the
_Seal_ was racing.
The water hissed and foamed about her stern, and long lines of
bubbles, gleaming like pearls beneath the searchlight’s glare, danced
far ahead, to lose themselves in the darkness of the tunnel.
And ever the drone grew louder, moment by moment, until the
_Seal,_ flashing round a curve, swept out into a huge, arched
cavern, and the droning note changed to a thunderous roar--the
voice of a mighty cataract!
Every plate, every rib which went to form the vessel’s frame,
sang with the vibration of the falling waters.
Ahead, the watchers could see the waters leaping, tumbling,
foaming in mad confusion, and, beyond, a mighty cloud of mist hovered,
veiling, like a white curtain, the terrors of the fearful abyss into
which the river plunged.
“Hold tight!” roared Haverly, his voice ringing clear and true
above the din of the falling waters.
The others gazed, half fascinated, in spite of the peril at the
scene before them. Swiftly the vessel sped on to her doom, the dancing
waves lapping her hull playfully as they hurried her forward.
Helpless as a log, the splendid craft was turned and twisted in
the grip of the cataract. She paused for an instant as she reached the
verge, like some terrified animal shying from a leap; then a tremor
passed through her plates, and she plunged swiftly over into the
depths.
Pale as death were her crew, yet never a cry escaped them as
their stout vessel pitched downward, stern in air.
Through each man’s mind ran the same question: was there deep
water beneath the fall, or a row of jagged rocks, on whose giant teeth
the unfortunate _Seal_ would shatter herself into a thousand
fragments!
The time seemed interminable! Would she never stop falling?
In reality a few seconds only were occupied by the descent, but
to the explorers ages seemed to pass, ere, with a terrible crash, the
submarine struck the foaming whirlpool below the cataract.
High above the boom of the waters sounded the shock of that fall,
and a huge column of spray was flung upward by the impact of the
vessel’s hull.
Her crew, shaken from their hold, were hurled like puppets
against the walls of the turret, and a merciful oblivion once more
swept over them.
Quickly the vessel was beaten downwards by the enormous weight of
the plunging water. Lower and still lower she went, whirling madly,
until it seemed as though she would never rise again.
Thrice she was swept round in the grip of the whirlpool, only to
be drawn back once more to the foot of the fall, as the needle is
drawn to the magnet. By some miraculous chance she escaped collision
with the rocky walls which formed the basin of the boiling cauldron,
although many times within an ace of destruction.
Then she was once more swept forward, and this time, escaping the
power of the eddy, sped out into the river beyond.
A mile lower down she came to the surface and drifted on, her
searchlight gleaming through the darkness like the eye of some huge
aquatic monster. Hour after hour passed, and still she was borne
gently forward on the bosom of the subterranean river. The roar of the
fall died to a murmur as she floated on, and at length ceased
altogether.
Past iron-toothed rocks she drifted, which reared their jagged
crests threateningly amid the swirling waters; past huge caverns and
grottoes, the stalactites of which flashed crystal like as the
electric light penetrated for an instant into their dark obscurity;
past seething mud-banks, in the midst of which foul, loathsome forms
sprawled and wallowed.
And still her crew lay unconscious in the wheelhouse, knowing
naught of the perils through which their craft was passing.
Slowly the force of the current expended itself, and at length
the _Seal,_ drifting into shoal water, grounded gently on a
shelving bank of mud.
Then, out from the filth and mire of the mud-flats on either
hand, hideous heads were thrust, and monstrous goggle eyes glared upon
the motionless vessel.
Moving with a strange, shuffling motion, full a score of these
horrible river-creatures--loathsome beyond all
imagination--shambled towards the _Seal._
Their great claws--hideous in their likeness to men’s
hands--were outstretched eagerly, ravenously, and their green
eyes were aglow with fiendish desire. Soon they reached the rail, and,
gripping it, dragged their misshapen bodies aboard.
Gibbering and snarling, the monsters crept along the deck until
they reached the turret, the glass of which appeared to puzzle them
for some little time. Then one shambled to the rail and plunged over,
returning shortly with a fragment of rock, with which he presently
began to batter the glass.
_Bang! bang!_ Even the stout, specially-toughened glass of
the turret could not long withstand those blows. _Bang!_ The
creature’s arms rose and fell with tireless, machine-like monotony.
His fellows, squatting upon their haunches, awaited his efforts
impatiently.
Ere long the sound of the blows penetrated to Haverly’s brain,
and he stirred uneasily. As it noted the movement, the river-creature
paused in its attack, and, pressing its hideous face against the
glass, glared ferociously at the American.
Slowly Silas rose, steadying himself against the wheel; then, as
his eyes swept round the turret, he encountered the malignant gaze of
the horror without, and, with a startled exclamation, he leapt back,
drawing his revolver.
At that the river-creature once more raised its clumsy weapon,
and dashed it with terrible force against the glass of the door.
With a splintering crash the door burst open, and, as one, the
whole band of waiting monsters rose, and, with teeth gnashing
savagely, plunged towards the doorway.