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At the Earth's Core, by Edgar Rice Burroughs

April, 1994 [Etext #123]

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At the Earth's Core

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

PROLOGUE

IN THE FIRST PLACE PLEASE BEAR IN MIND THAT I do not

expect you to believe this story. Nor could you wonder

had you witnessed a recent experience of mine when,

in the armor of blissful and stupendous ignorance,

I gaily narrated the gist of it to a Fellow of the Royal

Geological Society on the occasion of my last trip to London.

You would surely have thought that I had been detected

in no less a heinous crime than the purloining of the Crown

Jewels from the Tower, or putting poison in the coffee

of His Majesty the King.

The erudite gentleman in whom I confided congealed

before I was half through!--it is all that saved him

from exploding--and my dreams of an Honorary Fellowship,

gold medals, and a niche in the Hall of Fame faded into

the thin, cold air of his arctic atmosphere.

But I believe the story, and so would you, and so would

the learned Fellow of the Royal Geological Society, had you

and he heard it from the lips of the man who told it to me.

Had you seen, as I did, the fire of truth in those gray eyes;

had you felt the ring of sincerity in that quiet voice;

had you realized the pathos of it all--you, too, would believe.

You would not have needed the final ocular proof that I

had--the weird rhamphorhynchus-like creature which he

had brought back with him from the inner world.

I came upon him quite suddenly, and no less unexpectedly,

upon the rim of the great Sahara Desert. He was standing

before a goat-skin tent amidst a clump of date palms within

a tiny oasis. Close by was an Arab douar of some eight

or ten tents.

I had come down from the north to hunt lion. My party

consisted of a dozen children of the desert--I was the only

"white" man. As we approached the little clump of verdure

I saw the man come from his tent and with hand-shaded eyes

peer intently at us. At sight of me he advanced rapidly

to meet us.

"A white man!" he cried. "May the good Lord be praised! I

have been watching you for hours, hoping against hope that

THIS time there would be a white man. Tell me the date.

What year is it?"

And when I had told him he staggered as though he had

been struck full in the face, so that he was compelled

to grasp my stirrup leather for support.

"It cannot be!" he cried after a moment. "It cannot be!

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Tell me that you are mistaken, or that you are but joking."

"I am telling you the truth, my friend," I replied.

"Why should I deceive a stranger, or attempt to, in so

simple a matter as the date?"

For some time he stood in silence, with bowed head.

"Ten years!" he murmured, at last. "Ten years, and I

thought that at the most it could be scarce more than one!"

That night he told me his story--the story that I give you

here as nearly in his own words as I can recall them.

TOWARD THE ETERNAL FIRES

I WAS BORN IN CONNECTICUT ABOUT THIRTY YEARS ago.

My name is David Innes. My father was a wealthy mine owner.

When I was nineteen he died. All his property was to be

mine when I had attained my majority--provided that I

had devoted the two years intervening in close application

to the great business I was to inherit.

I did my best to fulfil the last wishes of my parent--

not because of the inheritance, but because I loved

and honored my father. For six months I toiled in the

mines and in the counting-rooms, for I wished to know

every minute detail of the business.

Then Perry interested me in his invention. He was an old

fellow who had devoted the better part of a long life

to the perfection of a mechanical subterranean prospector.

As relaxation he studied paleontology. I looked over

his plans, listened to his arguments, inspected his working

model--and then, convinced, I advanced the funds necessary

to construct a full-sized, practical prospector.

I shall not go into the details of its construction--it lies

out there in the desert now--about two miles from here.

Tomorrow you may care to ride out and see it. Roughly, it is

a steel cylinder a hundred feet long, and jointed so that

it may turn and twist through solid rock if need be.

At one end is a mighty revolving drill operated by an

engine which Perry said generated more power to the cubic

inch than any other engine did to the cubic foot.

I remember that he used to claim that that invention

alone would make us fabulously wealthy--we were going

to make the whole thing public after the successful issue

of our first secret trial--but Perry never returned

from that trial trip, and I only after ten years.

I recall as it were but yesterday the night of that momentous

occasion upon which we were to test the practicality

of that wondrous invention. It was near midnight when we

repaired to the lofty tower in which Perry had constructed

his "iron mole" as he was wont to call the thing.

The great nose rested upon the bare earth of the floor.

We passed through the doors into the outer jacket,

secured them, and then passing on into the cabin,

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which contained the controlling mechanism within the

inner tube, switched on the electric lights.

Perry looked to his generator; to the great tanks that held

the life-giving chemicals with which he was to manufacture

fresh air to replace that which we consumed in breathing;

to his instruments for recording temperatures, speed, distance,

and for examining the materials through which we were to pass.

He tested the steering device, and overlooked the mighty

cogs which transmitted its marvelous velocity to the giant

drill at the nose of his strange craft.

Our seats, into which we strapped ourselves, were so arranged

upon transverse bars that we would be upright whether

the craft were ploughing her way downward into the bowels

of the earth, or running horizontally along some great

seam of coal, or rising vertically toward the surface again.

At length all was ready. Perry bowed his head in prayer.

For a moment we were silent, and then the old man's hand

grasped the starting lever. There was a frightful roaring

beneath us--the giant frame trembled and vibrated--there

was a rush of sound as the loose earth passed up through

the hollow space between the inner and outer jackets

to be deposited in our wake. We were off!

The noise was deafening. The sensation was frightful.

For a full minute neither of us could do aught but cling

with the proverbial desperation of the drowning man to

the handrails of our swinging seats. Then Perry glanced

at the thermometer.

"Gad!" he cried, "it cannot be possible--quick! What does

the distance meter read?"

That and the speedometer were both on my side of the cabin,

and as I turned to take a reading from the former I could

see Perry muttering.

"Ten degrees rise--it cannot be possible!" and then I

saw him tug frantically upon the steering wheel.

As I finally found the tiny needle in the dim light I

translated Perry's evident excitement, and my heart

sank within me. But when I spoke I hid the fear which

haunted me. "It will be seven hundred feet, Perry," I said,

"by the time you can turn her into the horizontal."

"You'd better lend me a hand then, my boy," he replied,

"for I cannot budge her out of the vertical alone.

God give that our combined strength may be equal to the task,

for else we are lost."

I wormed my way to the old man's side with never a doubt

but that the great wheel would yield on the instant

to the power of my young and vigorous muscles. Nor was

my belief mere vanity, for always had my physique been

the envy and despair of my fellows. And for that very

reason it had waxed even greater than nature had intended,

since my natural pride in my great strength had led me

to care for and develop my body and my muscles by every

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means within my power. What with boxing, football,

and baseball, I had been in training since childhood.

And so it was with the utmost confidence that I laid hold

of the huge iron rim; but though I threw every ounce of my

strength into it, my best effort was as unavailing as Perry's

had been--the thing would not budge--the grim, insensate,

horrible thing that was holding us upon the straight

road to death!

At length I gave up the useless struggle, and without a word

returned to my seat. There was no need for words--at least

none that I could imagine, unless Perry desired to pray.

And I was quite sure that he would, for he never left an

opportunity neglected where he might sandwich in a prayer.

He prayed when he arose in the morning, he prayed

before he ate, he prayed when he had finished eating,

and before he went to bed at night he prayed again.

In between he often found excuses to pray even when the

provocation seemed far-fetched to my worldly eyes--now

that he was about to die I felt positive that I should

witness a perfect orgy of prayer--if one may allude

with such a simile to so solemn an act.

But to my astonishment I discovered that with death staring

him in the face Abner Perry was transformed into a new being.

From his lips there flowed--not prayer--but a clear and limpid

stream of undiluted profanity, and it was all directed

at that quietly stubborn piece of unyielding mechanism.

"I should think, Perry," I chided, "that a man of your

professed religiousness would rather be at his prayers

than cursing in the presence of imminent death."

"Death!" he cried. "Death is it that appalls you?

That is nothing by comparison with the loss the world

must suffer. Why, David within this iron cylinder we have

demonstrated possibilities that science has scarce dreamed.

We have harnessed a new principle, and with it animated

a piece of steel with the power of ten thousand men.

That two lives will be snuffed out is nothing to the world

calamity that entombs in the bowels of the earth the

discoveries that I have made and proved in the successful

construction of the thing that is now carrying us farther

and farther toward the eternal central fires."

I am frank to admit that for myself I was much more

concerned with our own immediate future than with any

problematic loss which the world might be about to suffer.

The world was at least ignorant of its bereavement,

while to me it was a real and terrible actuality.

"What can we do?" I asked, hiding my perturbation beneath

the mask of a low and level voice.

"We may stop here, and die of asphyxiation when our atmosphere

tanks are empty," replied Perry, "or we may continue

on with the slight hope that we may later sufficiently

deflect the prospector from the vertical to carry us along

the arc of a great circle which must eventually return us

to the surface. If we succeed in so doing before we reach

the higher internal temperature we may even yet survive.

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There would seem to me to be about one chance in several

million that we shall succeed--otherwise we shall die

more quickly but no more surely than as though we sat

supinely waiting for the torture of a slow and horrible death."

I glanced at the thermometer. It registered 110 degrees.

While we were talking the mighty iron mole had bored its way

over a mile into the rock of the earth's crust.

"Let us continue on, then," I replied. "It should soon

be over at this rate. You never intimated that the speed

of this thing would be so high, Perry. Didn't you know it?"

"No," he answered. "I could not figure the speed exactly,

for I had no instrument for measuring the mighty power

of my generator. I reasoned, however, that we should make

about five hundred yards an hour."

"And we are making seven miles an hour," I concluded

for him, as I sat with my eyes upon the distance meter.

"How thick is the Earth's crust, Perry?" I asked.

"There are almost as many conjectures as to that as there

are geologists," was his answer. "One estimates it

thirty miles, because the internal heat, increasing at

the rate of about one degree to each sixty to seventy

feet depth, would be sufficient to fuse the most refractory

substances at that distance beneath the surface.

Another finds that the phenomena of precession and

nutation require that the earth, if not entirely solid,

must at least have a shell not less than eight hundred

to a thousand miles in thickness. So there you are.

You may take your choice."

"And if it should prove solid?" I asked.

"It will be all the same to us in the end, David,"

replied Perry. "At the best our fuel will suffice to carry

us but three or four days, while our atmosphere cannot

last to exceed three. Neither, then, is sufficient to bear

us in the safety through eight thousand miles of rock to

the antipodes."

"If the crust is of sufficient thickness we shall come

to a final stop between six and seven hundred miles

beneath the earth's surface; but during the last hundred

and fifty miles of our journey we shall be corpses.

Am I correct?" I asked.

"Quite correct, David. Are you frightened?"

"I do not know. It all has come so suddenly that I scarce

believe that either of us realizes the real terrors of

our position. I feel that I should be reduced to panic;

but yet I am not. I imagine that the shock has been

so great as to partially stun our sensibilities."

Again I turned to the thermometer. The mercury was

rising with less rapidity. It was now but 140 degrees,

although we had penetrated to a depth of nearly four miles.

I told Perry, and he smiled.

"We have shattered one theory at least," was his

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only comment, and then he returned to his self-assumed

occupation of fluently cursing the steering wheel.

I once heard a pirate swear, but his best efforts would

have seemed like those of a tyro alongside of Perry's

masterful and scientific imprecations.

Once more I tried my hand at the wheel, but I might

as well have essayed to swing the earth itself. At my

suggestion Perry stopped the generator, and as we came

to rest I again threw all my strength into a supreme effort

to move the thing even a hair's breadth--but the results

were as barren as when we had been traveling at top speed.

I shook my head sadly, and motioned to the starting lever.

Perry pulled it toward him, and once again we were plunging

downward toward eternity at the rate of seven miles an hour.

I sat with my eyes glued to the thermometer and the

distance meter. The mercury was rising very slowly now,

though even at 145 degrees it was almost unbearable within

the narrow confines of our metal prison.

About noon, or twelve hours after our start upon this

unfortunate journey, we had bored to a depth of eighty-four

miles, at which point the mercury registered 153 degrees F.

Perry was becoming more hopeful, although upon what meager

food he sustained his optimism I could not conjecture.

From cursing he had turned to singing--I felt that the

strain had at last affected his mind. For several hours

we had not spoken except as he asked me for the readings

of the instruments from time to time, and I announced them.

My thoughts were filled with vain regrets. I recalled

numerous acts of my past life which I should have been glad

to have had a few more years to live down. There was the

affair in the Latin Commons at Andover when Calhoun and I

had put gunpowder in the stove--and nearly killed one of

the masters. And then--but what was the use, I was about

to die and atone for all these things and several more.

Already the heat was sufficient to give me a foretaste

of the hereafter. A few more degrees and I felt that I

should lose consciousness.

"What are the readings now, David?" Perry's voice broke

in upon my somber reflections.

"Ninety miles and 153 degrees," I replied.

"Gad, but we've knocked that thirty-mile-crust theory

into a cocked hat!" he cried gleefully.

"Precious lot of good it will do us," I growled back.

"But my boy," he continued, "doesn't that temperature reading

mean anything to you? Why it hasn't gone up in six miles.

Think of it, son!"

"Yes, I'm thinking of it," I answered; "but what difference

will it make when our air supply is exhausted whether

the temperature is 153 degrees or 153,000? We'll be just

as dead, and no one will know the difference, anyhow."

But I must admit that for some unaccountable reason

the stationary temperature did renew my waning hope.

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Edgar Rice Burroughs - At the Earth' s Core

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