Morning found them revived and strengthened. Even before they made their fire or prepared their breakfast they were exploring along the edge of the gigantic cleft.
Going first to make sure no rock should crumble under the girl’s tread, no danger threaten, Stern tested every foot of the way to the very edge of the sheer chasm.
“Slowly, now!” he cautioned, taking her hand. “We’ve got to be careful here. My God, what a drop!”
Awed, despite themselves, they stood there on a flat slab of schist that projected boldly over the void. Seen from this point, the immense nothingness opened out below them even more terrible than it had seemed from the biplane.
The fact is common knowledge that a height, viewed from a balloon or aeroplane, is always far less dizzying than from a lofty building or a monument. Giddiness vanishes when no solid support lies under the feet. This fact Stern and the girl appreciated to the full as they peered over the edge. Ten times more ominous and frightful the vast blue mystery beneath them now appeared than it had seemed before.
“Let’s look sheer down,” said the girl. “By lying flat and peering over, there can’t be any danger.”
“All right, but only on condition that I keep tight hold of you!”
Cautiously they lay down and worked their way to the edge. The engineer circled Beta’s supple waist with his arm.
“Steady, now!” he warned. “When you feel giddy, let me know, and we’ll go back.”
The effect of the chasm, from the very edge of the rock, was terrifying. It was like nothing ever seen by human eyes. Peering down into the Grand Cañon of the Colorado would have been child’s play beside it. For this was no question of looking down a half-mile, a mile, or even five, to some solid bottom.
Bottom there was none—nothing save dull purple haze, shifting vapors, and an unearthly dim light which seemed to radiate upward as though the sun’s rays, reflected, were striving to beat up again.
“There must be miles and miles of air below us,” said Stern, “to account for this curious light-effect. Air, of course, will eventually cut off the vision. Given a sufficiently thick layer, say a few hundred miles, it couldn’t be seen through. So if there is a bottom to this place, be it one hundred or even five hundred miles down, of course we couldn’t see it. All we could see would be the air, which would give this sort of blue effect.”
“Yes; but in that case how can we see the sun, or the moon, or stars?”
“Light from above only has to pierce forty or fifty miles of really dense air. Above that height it’s excessively rarified. While down below earth-level, of course, it would get more and more dense all the time, till at the bottom of a five-hundred-mile drop the density and pressure would be tremendous.”
Beatrice made no answer. The spectacle she was gazing at filled her with solemn thoughts. Jagged, rent and riven, the rock extended downward. Here vast and broken ledges ran along its flanks—red, yellow, black, all seared and burned and vitrified as by the fire of Hell; there huge masses, up-piled, seemed about to fall into the abyss.
A quarter-mile to southward, a rivulet had found its way over a projecting ledge. Spraying and silvery it fell, till, dissipated by the up-draft from the abyss, it dissolved in mist.
The ledge on which they were lying extended downward perhaps three hundred yards, then sloped backward, leaving sheer empty space beneath them. They seemed to be poised in mid-heaven. It was totally unlike the sensation on a mountain-top, or even floating among the clouds; for a moment it seemed to Stern that he was looking up toward an unfathomable, infinite dome above him.
He shuddered, despite his cool and scientific spirit of observation.
“Some chemical action going on somewhere down there,” said he, half to divert his own attention from his thoughts. “Smell that sulphur? If this place wasn’t once the scene of volcanic activities, I’m no judge!”
A moderate yet very steady wind blew upward from the chasm, freighted with a scent of sulphur and some other substance new to Stern.
Beatrice, all at once overcome by sudden giddiness, drew back and hid her face in both hands.
“No bottom to it—no end!” she said in a scared tone. “Here’s the end of the world, right here, and beyond this very rock—nothing!”
Stern, puzzled, shook his head.
“That’s really impossible, absurd and ridiculous, of course,” he answered. “There must be something beyond. The way this stone falls proves that.”
He pitched a two-pound lump of granite far out into the air. It fell vertically, whirling, and vanished with the speed of a meteor.
“If a whole side of the earth had split off, and what we see down below there were really sky, of course the earth’s center of gravity would have shifted,” he explained, “and that rock would have fallen in toward the cliff below us, not straight down.”
“How can you be sure it doesn’t fall that way after the impulse you gave it has been lost?”
“I shall have to make some close scientific tests here, lasting a day or two, before I’m positive; but my impression is that this, after all, is only a cañon—a split in the surface—rather than an actual end of the crust.”
“But if it were a cañon, why should blue sky show down there at an angle of forty-five degrees?”
“I’ll have to think that out, later,” he replied. “Directly under us, you see all seems deep purple. That’s another fact to consider. I tell you, Beatrice, there’s more to be figured out here than can be done in half an hour.
“As I see it, some vast catastrophe must have rent the earth, a thousand or fifteen hundred years ago, as a result of which everybody was killed except you and me. We’re standing now on the edge of the scar left by that explosion, or whatever it was. How deep or how wide that scar is, I don’t know. Everything depends on our finding out, or at least on our guessing it with some degree of accuracy.”
“How so?”
“Because, don’t you see, this chasm stands between us and Chicago and the West, and all our hopes of finding human life there. And—”
“Why not coast south along the edge here, and see if we can’t run across some ruined city or other where we can refill the tanks?”
“I’ll think it over,” the engineer answered. “In the meantime we can camp down here a couple of days or so, and rest; and I can make some calculations with a pendulum and so on.”
“And if you decide there’s probably another side to this gulf, what then?”
“We cross,” he said; then for a while stood silent, musing as he peered down into the bottomless abyss that stretched there hungrily beneath their narrow observation-rock.
“We cross, that’s all!”
CHAPTER XXI
LOST IN THE GREAT ABYSS
For two days they camped beside the chasm, resting, planning, discussing, while Stern, with improvised transits, pendulums and other apparatus, made tests and observations to determine, if possible, the properties of the great gap.
During this time they developed some theories regarding the catastrophe which had swept the world a thousand years ago.
“It seems highly and increasingly probable to me,” the engineer said, after long thought, “that we have here the actual cause of the vast blight of death that left us two alone in the world. I rather think that at the time of the great explosion which produced this rent, certain highly poisonous gases were thrown off, to impregnate the entire atmosphere of the world. Everybody must have been killed at once. The poison must have swept the earth clean of human life.”
“But how did we escape?” asked the girl.
“That’s hard telling. I figure it this way: The mephitic gas probably was heavy and dense, thus keeping to the lower air-strata, following them, over plain and hill and mountain, like a blanket of death.
“Just what happened to us, who can tell? Probably, tightly housed up there in the tower, the very highest inhabited spot in the world, only a very slight infiltration of the gas reached us. I
f my theory won’t work, can you suggest a better one? Frankly, I can’t; and until we have more facts, we’ve got to take what we have. No matter, the condition remains—we’re alive and all the rest are dead; and I’m positive this cleft here is the cause of it.”
“But if everybody’s dead, as you say, why hunt for men?”
“Perhaps a handful may have survived among the highlands of the Rockies. I imagine that after the first great explosion there followed a series of terrible storms, tornadoes, volcanic eruptions, tidal waves and so on. You remember how I found the bones of a whale in lower Broadway; and many of the ruins in New York show the action of the sea—they’re laid flat in such a manner as to indicate that the island was washed on one or two occasions by monster waves.
“Well, all these disturbances probably finished up what few survivors escaped, except possibly among the mountains of the West. A few scattered colonies may have survived a while—mining camps, for instance, or isolated prospectors, or what-not. They may all have died out, or again, they may have come together and reestablished some primitive form of barbarous or even savage life by this time. There’s no telling. Our imperative problem is to reach that section and explore it thoroughly. For there, if anywhere, we’ll find survivors of our race.”
“How about that great maelstrom that nearly got us?” asked the girl.” Can you connect that with the catastrophe?”
“I think so. My idea is that, in some way or other, the sea is being sucked down into the interior of the earth and then hurled out again; maybe there’s a gradual residue being left; maybe a great central lake or sea has formed. Who knows? At any rate all the drainage system of the country seems to have been changed and reversed in the most curious and unaccountable manner. I think we should find, if we could investigate everything thoroughly, that this vast chasm here is intimately connected with the whole thing.”
These and many other questions perplexed the travelers, but most of all they sought to know the breadth of the vast gap and to determine if it had, as they hoped, another side, or if it were indeed the edge of an enormous mass split bodily off the earth.
Stern believed he had an answer to this problem on the afternoon of the second day. For many hours he had hung his pendulums over the cliff, noted deflections, taken triangulations, and covered the surface of the smooth stone with X’s, Y’s, Z’s, sines and cosines and abstruse formulae—all scrawled with charcoal, his only means of writing.
At last he finished the final equation, and, with a smile of triumph and relief, got to his feet again.
Back to the girl, who was cooking over an odorous fire of cedar, he made his way, rejoicing.
“I’ve got it!” he shouted gladly. “Making reasonable allowances for depth, I’ve got it!”
“Got what?”
“The probable width!”
“Oh!” And she stood gazing at him in admiration, beautiful and strong and graceful. “You mean to say—”
“I’m giving the chasm a hundred miles’ depth. That’s more than anybody could believe possible—twice as much. On that assumption, my tests show the distance to the other side—and there is another side, by the way!—can’t be over—”
“Five hundred miles?”
“Nonsense! Not over one hundred to one-fifty. I’m going on a liberal allowance for error, too. It may not be over seventy-five. The—”
“But if that’s as far as it is, why can’t we see the other side?”
“With all that chemicalized vapor rising constantly? Who knows what elements may be in it? Or what polarization may be taking place?”
“Polarization?”
“I mean, what deflection and alteration of light? No wonder we can’t see! But we can fly! And we’re going to, what’s more!”
“Going to make a try for Chicago, then?” she asked, her eyes lighting up joyfully at thought of the adventure.
“To-morrow morning, sure!”
“But the alcohol?”
“We’ve still got what we started with from Detroit, minus only what we’ve burned reaching this place. And we reckoned when we set out that it would far more than be enough. Oh, that part of it’s all right!”
“Well, you know best,” she answered. “I trust you in all things, Allan. But now just look at this roast partridge; come, dear, let to-morrow take care of itself. It’s supper-time now!”
After the meal they went to the flat rock and sat for an hour while the sun went down beyond the void. Its disappearance seemed to substantiate the polarization theory. There was no sudden obliteration of the disk by a horizon. Rather the sun faded away, redder and duller; then slowly losing form and so becoming a mere blur of crimson, which in turn grew purple and so gradually died away to nothing.
For a long time they sat in the deepening gloom, their rifles close at hand, saying little, but thinking much. The coming of night had sobered them to a sense of what now inevitably lay ahead. The solemn purple pall that adumbrated the world and the huge nothingness before them, so silent, so immutable and pregnant with terrible mysteries, brought them close together.
The vague, untrodden forest behind them, where the night-sounds of the wild dimly reechoed now and then, filled them with indefinable emotions. And that night sleep was slow in coming.
Each realized that, despite all calculations and all skill, the morrow might be their last day of life. But the morning light, golden and clear above the eastern sky-line of tall conifers, dispelled all brooding fears. They were both up early and astir, in preparation for the crucial flight. Stern went over the edge of the chasm, while Beatrice prepared breakfast, and made some final observations of wind, air currents and atmosphere density.
An eagle which he saw soaring over the abyss, more than half a mile from its edge, convinced him a strong upward current existed to-day, as on the day when they had made their short flight over the void. The bird soared and circled and finally shot away to northward, without a wing-flap, almost in the manner of a vulture. Stern knew an eagle could not imitate the feat without some aid in the way of an up-draft.
“And if that draft is steady and constant all the way across,” thought he, “it will result in a big saving of fuel. Given a sufficient rising current, we could volplane all the way across with a very slight expenditure of alcohol. It looks now as though everything were coming on first-rate. Couldn’t be better. And what a day for an excursion!”
By nine o’clock all was ready. Along the land a mild south wind was blowing. Though the day was probably the 5th of October or thereabout, no signs of autumn yet were blazoned in the forest. The morning was perfect, and the travelers’ spirits rose in unison with the abounding beauty of the day.
Stern had given the Pauillac another final going over, tightening the stays and laterals, screwing up here a loosened nut, there a bolt, making certain all was in perfect order.
At nine-fifteen, after he had had a comforting pipe, they made a clean getaway, rising along the edge of the chasm, then soaring in huge spirals.
“I want all the altitude I can get,” Stern shouted at the girl as they climbed steadily higher. “We may need it to coast on. And from a mile or two up maybe we can get a glimpse of the other side.”
But though they ascended till the aneroid showed eight thousand five hundred feet, nothing met their gaze but the same pearly blue vapor which veiled the mystery before them. And Stern, satisfied now that nothing could be gained by any further ascent, turned the machine due west, and sent her skimming like a swallow out over the tremendous nothingness below.
As the earth faded behind them they began to feel distinctly a warm and pungent wind that rose beneath—a steady current, as from some huge chimney that lazily was pouring out its monstrous volume of hot vapors.
Away and away behind them slid the lip of this gigantic gash across the world; and now already with the swift rush of the plane the solid earth had begun to fade and to grow dim.
Stern only cast a glance at the sun and at his compass, hung the
re in gimbals before him, and with firm hand steadied the machine for the long problematical flight to westward. Behind them the sun kept even with their swift pace; and very far below and ahead, at times they thought to see the fleeing shadow of the biplane cast now and then on masses of formless vapor that rose from the unsounded deeps.
Definitely committed now to this tremendous venture, both Stern and the girl settled themselves more firmly in their seats. No time to feel alarm, no time for introspection, or for thoughts of what might lie below, what fate theirs must be if the old Pauillac failed them now!
No time save for confidence in the stout mechanism and in the skill of hand and brain that was driving the great planes, with a roaring rush like a gigantic gull, a swooping rise and fall in long arcs over the hills of air, across the vast enigma of that space!
Stern’s whole attention was fixed on driving, just on the manipulation of the swift machine. Exhaust and interplay, the rhythm of each whirling cam and shaft, the chatter of the cylinders, the droning diapason of the blades, all blent into one intricate yet perfect harmony of mechanism; and as a leader knows each instrument in the great orchestra and follows each, even as his eye reads the score, so Stern’s keen ear analyzed each sound and action and reaction and knew all were in perfect tune and resonance.
The machine—no early and experimental model, such as were used in the first days of flying, from 1900 to 1915, but one of the perfected and self-balancing types developed about 1920, the year when the Great Death had struck the world—responded nobly to his skill and care. From her landing-skids to the farthest tip of her ailerons she seemed alive, instinct with conscious and eager intelligence.
Stern blessed her mentally with special pride and confidence in her mercury equalizing balances. Proud of his machine and of his skill, superb like Phaeton whirling the sun-chariot across the heavens, he gave her more and still more speed.
Below nothing, nothing save vapors, with here and there an open space where showed the strange dull purple of the abyss. Above, to right, to left, nothing—absolute vacant space.
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