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 bemine when I had attained my majority--provided that Ihad devoted the two years intervening in close applicationto 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 lovedand honored my father. For six months I toiled in themines and in the counting-rooms, for I wished to knowevery minute detail of the business.

Then Perry interested me in his invention. He was an oldfellow who had devoted the better part of a long lifeto the perfection of a mechanical subterranean prospector.As relaxation he studied paleontology. I looked overhis plans, listened to his arguments, inspected his workingmodel--and then, convinced, I advanced the funds necessaryto construct a full-sized, practical prospector.

I shall not go into the details of its construction--it liesout there in the desert now--about two miles from here.Tomorrow you may care to ride out and see it. Roughly, it isa steel cylinder a hundred feet long, and jointed so thatit may turn and twist through solid rock if need be.At one end is a mighty revolving drill operated by anengine which Perry said generated more power to the cubicinch than any other engine did to the cubic foot.I remember that he used to claim that that inventionalone would make us fabulously wealthy--we were goingto make the whole thing public after the successful issueof our first secret trial--but Perry never returnedfrom that trial trip, and I only after ten years.

I recall as it were but yesterday the night of that momentousoccasion upon which we were to test the practicalityof that wondrous invention. It was near midnight when werepaired to the lofty tower in which Perry had constructedhis "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,which contained the controlling mechanism within theinner tube, switched on the electric lights.

Perry looked to his generator; to the great tanks that heldthe life-giving chemicals with which he was to manufacturefresh 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 mightycogs which transmitted its marvelous velocity to the giantdrill at the nose of his strange craft.

Our seats, into which we strapped ourselves, were so arrangedupon transverse bars that we would be upright whetherthe craft were ploughing her way downward into the bowelsof the earth, or running horizontally along some greatseam 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 handgrasped the starting lever. There was a frightful roaringbeneath us--the giant frame trembled and vibrated--therewas a rush of sound as the loose earth passed up throughthe hollow space between the inner and outer jacketsto 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 clingwith the proverbial desperation of the drowning man tothe handrails of our swinging seats. Then Perry glancedat the thermometer.

"Gad!" he cried, "it cannot be possible--quick! What doesthe 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 couldsee Perry muttering.

"Ten degrees rise--it cannot be possible!" and then Isaw him tug frantically upon the steering wheel.

As I finally found the tiny needle in the dim light Itranslated Perry's evident excitement, and my heartsank within me. But when I spoke I hid the fear whichhaunted 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 doubtbut that the great wheel would yield on the instantto the power of my young and vigorous muscles. Nor wasmy belief mere vanity, for always had my physique beenthe envy and despair of my fellows. And for that veryreason it had waxed even greater than nature had intended,since my natural pride in my great strength had led meto care for and develop my body and my muscles by everymeans 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 holdof the huge iron rim; but though I threw every ounce of mystrength into it, my best effort was as unavailing as Perry'shad been--the thing would not budge--the grim, insensate,horrible thing that was holding us upon the straightroad to death!

At length I gave up the useless struggle, and without a wordreturned to my seat. There was no need for words--at leastnone that I could imagine, unless Perry desired to pray.And I was quite sure that he would, for he never left anopportunity neglected where he might sandwich in a prayer.He prayed when he arose in the morning, he prayedbefore 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 theprovocation seemed far-fetched to my worldly eyes--nowthat he was about to die I felt positive that I shouldwitness a perfect orgy of prayer--if one may alludewith such a simile to so solemn an act.

But to my astonishment I discovered that with death staringhim in the face Abner Perry was transformed into a new being.From his lips there flowed--not prayer--but a clear and limpidstream of undiluted profanity, and it was all directedat that quietly stubborn piece of unyielding mechanism.

"I should think, Perry," I chided, "that a man of yourprofessed religiousness would rather be at his prayersthan 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 worldmust suffer. Why, David within this iron cylinder we havedemonstrated possibilities that science has scarce dreamed.We have harnessed a new principle, and with it animateda piece of steel with the power of ten thousand men.That two lives will be snuffed out is nothing to the worldcalamity that entombs in the bowels of the earth thediscoveries that I have made and proved in the successfulconstruction of the thing that is now carrying us fartherand farther toward the eternal central fires."

I am frank to admit that for myself I was much moreconcerned with our own immediate future than with anyproblematic 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 beneaththe mask of a low and level voice.

"We may stop here, and die of asphyxiation when our atmospheretanks are empty," replied Perry, "or we may continueon with the slight hope that we may later sufficientlydeflect the prospector from the vertical to carry us alongthe arc of a great circle which must eventually return usto the surface. If we succeed in so doing before we reachthe higher internal temperature we may even yet survive.There would seem to me to be about one chance in severalmillion that we shall succeed--otherwise we shall diemore quickly but no more surely than as though we satsupinely 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 wayover a mile into the rock of the earth's crust.

"Let us continue on, then," I replied. "It should soonbe over at this rate. You never intimated that the speedof 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 powerof my generator. I reasoned, however, that we should makeabout five hundred yards an hour."

"And we are making seven miles an hour," I concludedfor 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 thereare geologists," was his answer. "One estimates itthirty miles, because the internal heat, increasing atthe rate of about one degree to each sixty to seventyfeet depth, would be sufficient to fuse the most refractorysubstances at that distance beneath the surface.Another finds that the phenomena of precession andnutation require that the earth, if not entirely solid,must at least have a shell not less than eight hundredto 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 carryus but three or four days, while our atmosphere cannotlast to exceed three. Neither, then, is sufficient to bearus in the safety through eight thousand miles of rock tothe antipodes."

"If the crust is of sufficient thickness we shall cometo a final stop between six and seven hundred milesbeneath the earth's surface; but during the last hundredand 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 scarcebelieve that either of us realizes the real terrors ofour position. I feel that I should be reduced to panic;but yet I am not. I imagine that the shock has beenso great as to partially stun our sensibilities."

Again I turned to the thermometer. The mercury wasrising 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 hisonly comment, and then he returned to his self-assumedoccupation of fluently cursing the steering wheel.I once heard a pirate swear, but his best efforts wouldhave seemed like those of a tyro alongside of Perry'smasterful and scientific imprecations.

Once more I tried my hand at the wheel, but I mightas well have essayed to swing the earth itself. At mysuggestion Perry stopped the generator, and as we cameto rest I again threw all my strength into a supreme effortto move the thing even a hair's breadth--but the resultswere 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 plungingdownward toward eternity at the rate of seven miles an hour.I sat with my eyes glued to the thermometer and thedistance meter. The mercury was rising very slowly now,though even at 145 degrees it was almost unbearable withinthe narrow confines of our metal prison.

About noon, or twelve hours after our start upon thisunfortunate journey, we had bored to a depth of eighty-fourmiles, at which point the mercury registered 153 degrees F.

Perry was becoming more hopeful, although upon what meagerfood he sustained his optimism I could not conjecture.From cursing he had turned to singing--I felt that thestrain had at last affected his mind. For several hourswe had not spoken except as he asked me for the readingsof the instruments from time to time, and I announced them.My thoughts were filled with vain regrets. I recallednumerous acts of my past life which I should have been gladto have had a few more years to live down. There was theaffair in the Latin Commons at Andover when Calhoun and Ihad put gunpowder in the stove--and nearly killed one ofthe masters. And then--but what was the use, I was aboutto die and atone for all these things and several more.Already the heat was sufficient to give me a foretasteof the hereafter. A few more degrees and I felt that Ishould lose consciousness.

"What are the readings now, David?" Perry's voice brokein upon my somber reflections.

"Ninety miles and 153 degrees," I replied.

"Gad, but we've knocked that thirty-mile-crust theoryinto 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 readingmean 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 differencewill it make when our air supply is exhausted whetherthe temperature is 153 degrees or 153,000? We'll be justas dead, and no one will know the difference, anyhow."But I must admit that for some unaccountable reasonthe stationary temperature did renew my waning hope.What I hoped for I could not have explained, nor didI try. The very fact, as Perry took pains to explain,of the blasting of several very exact and learnedscientific hypotheses made it apparent that we could notknow what lay before us within the bowels of the earth,and so we might continue to hope for the best, at leastuntil we were dead--when hope would no longer be essentialto our happiness. It was very good, and logical reasoning,and so I embraced it.

At one hundred miles the temperature had DROPPED TO 152 1/2DEGREES! When I announced it Perry reached over and hugged me.

From then on until noon of the second day, it continuedto drop until it became as uncomfortably cold as it hadbeen unbearably hot before. At the depth of two hundredand forty miles our nostrils were assailed by almostoverpowering ammonia fumes, and the temperature had droppedto TEN BELOW ZERO! We suffered nearly two hours of thisintense and bitter cold, until at about two hundredand forty-five miles from the surface of the earth weentered a stratum of solid ice, when the mercury quicklyrose to 32 degrees. During the next three hours wepassed through ten miles of ice, eventually emerginginto another series of ammonia-impregnated strata,where the mercury again fell to ten degrees below zero.

Slowly it rose once more until we were convinced that atlast we were nearing the molten interior of the earth.At four hundred miles the temperature had reached 153 degrees.Feverishly I watched the thermometer. Slowly it rose.Perry had ceased singing and was at last praying.

Our hopes had received such a deathblow that the graduallyincreasing heat seemed to our distorted imaginationsmuch greater than it really was. For another hour Isaw that pitiless column of mercury rise and rise untilat four hundred and ten miles it stood at 153 degrees.Now it was that we began to hang upon those readingsin almost breathless anxiety.

One hundred and fifty-three degrees had been the maximumtemperature above the ice stratum. Would it stop at thispoint again, or would it continue its merciless climb? Weknew that there was no hope, and yet with the persistenceof life itself we continued to hope against practical certainty.

Already the air tanks were at low ebb--there was barelyenough of the precious gases to sustain us for anothertwelve hours. But would we be alive to know or care?It seemed incredible.

At four hundred and twenty miles I took another reading.

"Perry!" I shouted. "Perry, man! She's going down! She'sgoing down! She's 152 degrees again."

"Gad!" he cried. "What can it mean? Can the earthbe cold at the center?"

"I do not know, Perry," I answered; "but thank God,if I am to die it shall not be by fire--that is all that Ihave feared. I can face the thought of any death but that."

Down, down went the mercury until it stood as low as ithad seven miles from the surface of the earth, and thenof a sudden the realization broke upon us that death wasvery near. Perry was the first to discover it. I saw himfussing with the valves that regulate the air supply.And at the same time I experienced difficulty in breathing.My head felt dizzy--my limbs heavy.

I saw Perry crumple in his seat. He gave himself a shakeand sat erect again. Then he turned toward me.

"Good-bye, David," he said. "I guess this is the end,"and then he smiled and closed his eyes.

"Good-bye, Perry, and good luck to you," I answered,smiling back at him. But I fought off that awful lethargy.I was very young--I did not want to die.

For an hour I battled against the cruelly envelopingdeath that surrounded me upon all sides. At first Ifound that by climbing high into the framework above meI could find more of the precious life-giving elements,and for a while these sustained me. It must have beenan hour after Perry had succumbed that I at last cameto the realization that I could no longer carry on thisunequal struggle against the inevitable.

With my last flickering ray of consciousness I turnedmechanically toward the distance meter. It stood at exactlyfive hundred miles from the earth's surface--and thenof a sudden the huge thing that bore us came to a stop.The rattle of hurtling rock through the hollow jacket ceased.The wild racing of the giant drill betokened that itwas running loose in AIR--and then another truth flashedupon me. The point of the prospector was ABOVE us.Slowly it dawned on me that since passing through the icestrata it had been above. We had turned in the iceand sped upward toward the earth's crust. Thank God! Wewere safe!

I put my nose to the intake pipe through which samples wereto have been taken during the passage of the prospectorthrough the earth, and my fondest hopes were realized--aflood of fresh air was pouring into the iron cabin.The reaction left me in a state of collapse, and Ilost consciousness.