Best Fantasy Stories

Chapter 7 SCIENTIFIC THEORIES AND SCEPTICISM

Chapter 7

SCIENTIFIC THEORIES AND SCEPTICISMThus far Melick had been reading the manuscript, but at this

point he was interrupted by the announcement that dinner was ready.

Upon this he stopped abruptly; for on board the Falcon dinner was

the great event of the day, and in its presence even the manuscript

had to be laid aside. Before long they were all seated around the

dining-table in the sumptuous cabin, prepared to discuss the repast

which had been served up by the genius of the French chef whom Lord

Featherstone had brought with him.

Let us pause here for a moment to take a minuter survey of these

four friends. In the first place, there was Lord Featherstone

himself, young, handsome, languid, good-natured to a fault, with

plenty of muscle if he chose to exert it, and plenty of brain if he

chose to make use of it—a man who had become weary of the monotony

of high life, and, like many of his order, was fond of seeking

relief from the ennui of prosperity amid the excitements of the

sea. Next to him was Dr. Congreve, a middle-aged man, with

iron-gray hair, short beard and mustache, short nose, gray eyes,

with spectacles, and stoutish body. Next came Noel Oxenden, late of

Trinity College, Cambridge, a college friend of Featherstone's—a

tall man, with a refined and intellectual face and reserved manner.

Finally, there was Otto Melick, a litterateur from London, about

thirty years of age, with a wiry and muscular frame, and the

restless manner of one who lives in a perpetual fidget.

For some time nothing was said; they partook of the repast in

silence; but at length it became evident that they were thinking of

the mysterious manuscript. Featherstone was the first to speak.

"A deuced queer sort of thing this, too," said he, "this

manuscript. I can't quite make it out. Who ever dreamed of people

living at the South Pole—and in a warm climate, too? Then it seems

deuced odd, too, that we should pick up this copper cylinder with

the manuscript. I hardly know what to think about it."

Melick smiled. "Why, it isn't much to see through," said he.

"See through what?" said the doctor, hastily, pricking up his

ears at this, and peering keenly at Melick through his

spectacles.

"Why, the manuscript, of course."

"Well," said the doctor, "what is it that you see? What do you

make out of it?"

"Why, anyone can see," said Melick, "that it's a transparent

hoax, that's all. You don't mean to say, I hope, that you really

regard it in any other light?"

"A transparent hoax!" repeated the doctor. "Will you please

state why you regard it in that light?"

"Certainly," said Melick. "Some fellow wanted to get up a

sensation novel and introduce it to the world with a great flourish

of trumpets, and so he has taken this way of going about it. You

see, he has counted on its being picked up, and perhaps published.

After this he would come forward and own the authorship."

"And what good would that do?" asked the doctor, mildly. "He

couldn't prove the authorship, and he couldn't get the

copyright."

"Oh, of course not; but he would gain notoriety, and that would

give him a great sale for his next effort."

The doctor smiled. "See here, Melick," said he, "you've a very

vivid imagination, my dear fellow; but come, let us discuss this

for a little while in a common-sense way. Now how long should you

suppose that this manuscript has been afloat?"

"Oh, a few months or so," said Melick.

"A few months!" said the doctor. "A few years you mean. Why,

man, there are successive layers of barnacles on that copper

cylinder which show a submersion of at least three years, perhaps

more."

"By Jove! yes," remarked Featherstone. "Your sensation novelist

must have been a lunatic if he chose that way of publishing a

book."

"Then, again," continued the doctor, "how did it get here?"

"Oh, easily enough," answered Melick. "The ocean currents

brought it."

"The ocean currents!" repeated the doctor. "That's a very vague

expression. What do you mean? Of course it has been brought here by

the ocean currents."

"Why, if it were thrown off the coast of England it would be

carried away, in the ordinary course of things, and might make the

tour of the world."

"The ocean currents," said the doctor, "have undoubtedly brought

this to us. Of that I shall have more to say presently—but just

now, in reference to your notion of a sensation novelist, and an

English origin, let me ask your opinion of the material on which it

is written. Did you ever see anything like it before? Is it

paper?"

"No," said Melick; "it is evidently some vegetable substance. No

doubt the writer has had it prepared for this very purpose, so as

to make it look natural."

"Do you know what is is?" asked the doctor.

"No."

"Then I'll tell you; it's papyrus."

"Papyrus?"

"Yes, actual papyrus. You can find but little of that in

existence at the present day. It is only to be found here and there

in museums. I know it perfectly well, however, and saw what it was

at the first glance. Now, I hold that a sensation novelist would

never have thought of papyrus. If he didn't wish to use paper, he

could have found a dozen other things. I don't see how he could

have found anyone able to prepare such a substance as this for

writing. It must have come from a country where it is actually in

use. Now, mark you, the papyrus-plant may still be found growing

wild on the banks of the upper Nile, and also in Sicily, and it is

made use of for ropes and other things of that sort. But as to

making writing material out of it, that is hardly possible for the

art is lost. The ancient process was very elaborate and this

manuscript is written on leaves which resembled in a marvellous

manner those of the Egyptian papyrus books. There are two rolls at

Marseilles which I have seen and examined, and they are identical

with this. Now these papyrus leaves indicate much mechanical skill,

and have a professional look. They seem like the work of an

experienced manufacturer."

"I don't see," said Melick, obstinately, "why one shouldn't get

papyrus now and have it made up into writing material."

"Oh, that's out of the question," said the doctor. "How could it

ever enter into anyone's head? How could your mere sensation-monger

procure the raw material? That of itself would be a work of immense

difficulty. How could he get it made up? That would be impossible.

But, apart from this, just consider the strong internal evidence

that there is as to the authenticity of the manuscript. Now, in the

first place, there is the description of Desolation Island, which

is perfectly accurate. But it is on his narrative beyond this that

I lay chief stress. I can prove that the statements here are

corroborated by those of Captain Ross in his account of that great

voyage from which he returned not very long ago."

The doctor, who had been talking with much enthusiasm, paused

here to take breath, and then went on:

"I happen to know all about that voyage, for I read a full

report of it just before we started, and you can see for yourselves

whether this manuscript is credible or not.

"Captain James Clarke Ross was sent forth on his expedition in

1839. On January 1, 1841, he passed the antarctic circle in 178

degrees east longitude. On the 11th he discovered land in 70

degrees 41' south latitude, 172 degrees 36' east longitude. He

found that the land was a continuous coast, trending southward, and

rising to peaks of ten thousand feet in height, all covered with

ice and snow. On the 12th he landed and took possession in the name

of the Queen. After this he continued his course as far as 78

degrees 4' south latitude, tracing a coast-line of six hundred

miles. Observe, now how all this coincides with More's narrative.

Well, I now come to the crowning statement. In 77 degrees 32' south

latitude, 167 degrees east longitude, he came in sight of two

enormous volcanoes over twelve thousand feet in height. One of

these was in an active state of eruption. To this he gave the name

of Mount Erebus. The other was quiet; it was of somewhat less

height, and he gave it the name of Mount Terror. Mark, now, how

wonderfully this resembles More's account. Well, just here his

progress was arrested by a barrier which presented a perpendicular

wall of over a hundred and fifty feet in height, along which he

coasted for some distance. On the following year he penetrated six

miles farther south, namely, 78 degrees 11' south latitude, 161

degrees 27' west longitude. At this point he was again stopped by

the impassable cliffs, which arose here like an eternal barrier,

while beyond them he saw a long line of lofty mountains covered

with ice and snow."

"Did you hear the result of the American expedition?" asked

Melick.

"Yes," replied the doctor. "Wilkes pretends to have found a

continent, but his account of it makes it quite evident to my mind

that he saw nothing but ice. I believe that Wilkes's antarctic

continent will some day be penetrated by ships, which will sail for

hundreds of miles farther south. All that is wanted is a favorable

season. But mark the coincidence between Ross's report and More's

manuscript. This must have been written at least three years ago,

and the writer could not have known anything about Ross's

discoveries. Above all, he could not have thought of those two

volcanoes unless he had seen them."

"But these volcanoes mentioned by More are not the Erebus and

Terror, are they?" said Lord Featherstone.

"Of course not; they are on the other side of the world."

"The whole story," said Melick, "may have been written by one of

Ross's men and thrown overboard. If I'd been on that expedition I

should probably have written it to beguile the time."

"Oh yes," said the doctor; "and you would also have manufactured

the papyrus and the copper cylinder on board to beguile the

time."

"I dare say the writer picked up that papyrus and the copper

cylinder in China or Japan, and made use of it in this way."

"Where do you make out the position of More's volcanoes?" asked

Featherstone.

"It is difficult to make it out accurately," said the doctor.

"More gives no data. In fact he had none to give. He couldn't take

any observations."

"The fact is," said Melick, "it's not a sailor's yarn at all. No

sailor would ever express himself in that way. That's what struck

me from the first. It has the ring of a confounded sensation-monger

all through."

The doctor elevated his eyebrows, but took no notice of

this.

"You see," he continued, addressing himself to the others,

"Desolation Island is in 50 degrees south latitude and 70 degrees

east longitude. As I make out, More's course led him over about ten

degrees of longitude in a southwest course. That course depended

altogether upon the ocean currents. Now there is a great antarctic

drift-current, which flows round the Cape of Good Hope and divides

there, one half flowing past the east coast of Africa and the other

setting across the Indian Ocean. Then it unites with a current

which flows round the south of Van Dieman's Land, which also

divides, and the southernmost current is supposed to cross the

Pacific until it strikes Cape Horn, around which it flows, dividing

as before. Now my theory is, that south of Desolation Island—I

don't know how far—there is a great current setting toward the

South Pole, and running southwest through degrees of longitude 60,

50, 40, 30, 20, 10, east of Greenwich; and finally sweeping on, it

would reach More's volcanoes at a point which I should judge to be

about 80 degrees south latitude and 10 degrees west longitude.

There it passes between the volcanoes and bursts through the vast

mountain barrier by a subterranean way, which has been formed for

it in past ages by some primeval convulsion of nature. After this

it probably sweeps around the great South Polar ocean, and emerges

at the opposite side, not far from the volcanoes Erebus and

Terror."

Here the doctor paused, and looked around with some

self-complacency.

"Oh," said Melick, "if you take that tone, you have us all at

your mercy. I know no more about the geography of the antarctic

circle than I do of the moon. I simply criticize from a literary

point of view, and I don't like his underground cavern with the

stream running through it. It sounds like one of the voyages of

Sinbad the Sailor. Nor do I like his description; he evidently is

writing for effect. Besides, his style is vicious; it is too

stilted. Finally, he has recourse to the stale device of a

sea-serpent."

"A sea-serpent!" repeated the doctor. "Well, for my part I feel

by no means inclined to sneer at a sea-serpent. Its existence

cannot be proved, yet it cannot be pooh-poohed. Every schoolboy

knows that the waters of the sea were once filled with monsters

more tremendous than the greatest sea-serpent that has ever been

imagined. The plesiosaurus, with its snakelike head, if it existed

now, would be called a sea-serpent. Some of these so-called fossil

animals may have their representatives still living in the remoter

parts of the world. Think of the recently discovered

ornithorhynchus of Australia!"

"If you please, I'd really much rather not," said Melick with a

gesture of despair. "I haven't the honor of the gentleman's

acquaintance."

"Well, what do you think of his notice of the sun, and the long

light, and his low position on the horizon?"

"Oh, that's all right," said Melick. "Anyone who chose to get up

this thing would of course read up about the polar day, and all

that. Everyone knows that at the poles there is a six-months' day,

followed by a six-months' night."

"You are a determined sceptic," said the doctor.

"How is it about the polar day?" asked Featherstone.

"Well," said the doctor, "at the poles themselves there is one

day of six months, during which the sun never sets, and one night

of six months, during which he never rises. In the spaces between

the polar circles the quantities of the continuous day and

continuous night vary in accordance with the distance from the

pole. At the north point of Nova Zembla, 75 degrees north latitude,

there is uninterrupted light from May 1st to August 12th, and

uninterrupted darkness from November 8th to February 9th. At the

arctic circle at the summer solstice the day is twenty-four hours

long. At the antarctic circle at the same time the night is

twenty-four hours long."

Upon this Melick filled the doctor's wine-glass with a great

deal of ceremony.

"After all those statistics," he said, "you must feel rather

dry. You should take a drink before venturing any further."

The doctor made no reply, but raised the glass to his lips and

swallowed the wine in an abstracted way.

"The thing that struck me most," said Oxenden, "in all that has

been read thus far, is the flatness of the South Pole, and the

peculiar effect which this produces on the landscape."

"I must say," added Melick, "that the writer has got hold of a

very good idea there, and has taken care to put it forward in a

very prominent fashion."

"What is the difference," asked Oxenden, "between the two

diameters of the earth, the polar and the equatorial? Is it

known?"

"By Jove!" said Featherstone, "that's the very question I was

going to ask. I've always heard that the earth is flattened at the

poles, but never knew how much. Is there any way by which people

can find out?"

The doctor drew a long breath, and beamed upon the company with

a benevolent smile.

"Oh yes," said he; "I can answer that question, if you care to

know and won't feel bored."

"Answer it, then, my dear fellow, by all means," said

Featherstone, in his most languid tone.

"There are two ways," said the doctor, "by which the polar

compression of the earth has been found out. One is by the

measurement of arcs on the earth's surface; the other is by

experiments with pendulums or weights with regard to the earth's

gravity at different places. The former of these methods is,

perhaps, the more satisfactory. Measurements of arcs have been made

on a very extensive scale in different parts of the world—in

England, France, Lapland, Peru, and India. Mr. Ivory, who devoted

himself for years to an exhaustive examination of the subject, has

deduced that the equatorial radius of the earth is over 3962 miles,

and the polar radius over 3949 miles. This makes the depression at

either pole upward of thirteen miles. A depression of over thirteen

miles, as you must plainly see, should produce strange results in

the scenery at the poles. Of course, if there are mountains, no

difference would be noticed between this and any other part of the

earth's surface; but if there is water, why, we ought to expect

some such state of things as More describes. The gravitation test

has also been tried, with very nearly the same result. The surface

of the earth at the equator, being farthest from the centre of

gravity, indicates the least weight in bodies; but at the poles,

where the surface is nearest the centre of gravity, there must be

the greatest weight. It is found, in fact, that the weight of

bodies increases in passing from the equator to the poles. By

experiments made in this way the polar compression is ascertained

to be the same as I have mentioned."

"What effect would this have on the climate at the poles?" asked

Oxenden.

"That's a complicated question," said the doctor. "In answer to

that we must leave ascertained facts and trust to theories, unless,

indeed, we accept as valid the statements of this remarkable

manuscript. For my own part, I see no reason why it should not be

as More says. Remember, this polar world is thirteen miles nearer

to the centre of the earth. Whether this should affect the climate

or not, depends upon the nature of the earth's interior. That

interior, according to the popular theory of the present day is a

mass of fire. This theory affirms that the earth was once a red-hot

mass, which has cooled down; but the cooling process has only take

place on the surface, leaving the interior still a molten mass of

matter in a state of intense heat and combustion. At the poles the

surface is thus thirteen miles nearer to these tremendous fires. Of

course it may be supposed that the earth's crust is of about equal

thickness on all parts; yet still, even if this be so, thirteen

miles ought to make some difference. Now at the North Pole there

seem to be causes at work to counterbalance the effect of the

internal heat, chiefly in the enormous accumulation of polar ice

which probably hems it in on every side; and though many believe in

an open polar sea of warm water at the North Pole, yet still the

effect of vast ice-masses and of cold submarine currents must be to

render the climate severe. But at the South Pole it is different.

The observations of Ross and of More show us that there is a chain

of mountains of immense height, which seem to encircle the pole. If

this be so, and I see no reason to disbelieve it, then the ice of

the outer seas must be kept away altogether from that strange inner

sea of which More speaks. Ross saw the volcanoes Erebus and Terror;

More saw two others. How many more there may be it is impossible to

say; but all this shows that the effect of the earth's internal

fires is very manifest in that region, and More has penetrated to a

secluded world, which lies apart by itself, free from the influence

of ice-masses, left to feel the effect of the internal fires, and

possessing what is virtually a tropical climate."

"Well," said Melick, "there is no theory however wild and

fantastic, which some man of science will not be ready to support

and to fortify by endless arguments, all of the most plausible

kind. For my own part, I still believe More and his south polar

world to be no more authentic than Sindbad the Sailor."

But the others evidently sympathized with the doctor's view, and

regarded Melick as carrying his scepticism to an absurd excess.

"How large do you suppose this south polar ocean to be?" asked

Featherstone.

"It is impossible to answer that question exactly," said the

doctor. "It may be, as More hints, a thousand miles in extent, or

only five hundred, or two hundred. For my own part, however, I feel

like taking More's statements at their utmost value; and the idea

that I have gathered from his narrative is that of a vast sea like

the Mediterranean, surrounded by impassable mountains, by great and

fertile countries, peopled with an immense variety of animals, with

a fauna and flora quite unlike those of the rest of the world; and,

above all, with great nations possessing a rare and unique

civilization, and belonging to a race altogether different from any

of the known races of men."

"Well," said Melick, "that at least is the idea which the writer

of the manuscript tries to convey."

By this time they had finished dinner.

"And now," said Featherstone, "let's have some more of the

manuscript. Melick is tired of it, I dare say. I would relieve him,

but I'm an infernally bad reader. Doctor, what do you say? Will you

read the next instalment!"

"With all my heart," said the doctor, briskly.

"Very well, then," said Featherstone; "we will all be your

attentive hearers."

And now the doctor took up the manuscript and began to read.