Part 36 (1/2)
”Is this another hallucination?” I queried.
”No; it is a reality. Let us advance to the brink.”
Slowly we pursued our way, for I hesitated and held back. I had really begun to distrust my own senses, and my guide in the lead was even forced to demonstrate the feasibility of the way, step by step, before I could be induced to follow. At length we neared the edge of the chasm, and while he stood boldly upright by the brink, with fear and trembling I crept on my knees to his side, and together we faced a magnificent but fearful void that stretched beneath and beyond us, into a profundity of s.p.a.ce. I peered into the chamber of light, that indescribable gulf of brilliancy, but vainly sought for an opposite wall; there was none. As far as the eye could reach, vacancy, illuminated vacancy, greeted my vision. The light that sprung from that void was not dazzling, but was possessed of a beauty that no words can suggest. I peered downward, and found that we stood upon the edge of a shelving ledge of stone that receded rapidly beneath us, so that we seemed to rest upon the upper side of its wedge-like edge. I strained my vision to catch a glimpse of the bottom of this chasm, but although I realized that my eyes were glancing into miles and miles of s.p.a.ce, there was no evidence of earthly material other than the brink upon which we stood.
The limit of vision seemed to be bounded by a silvery blending of light with light, light alone, only light. The dead silence about, and the new light before me, combined to produce a weird sensation, inexplicable, overpowering. A speck of dust on the edge of immensity, I clung to the stone cliff, gazing into the depths of that immeasurable void.
CHAPTER XLV.
MY HEART THROB IS STILLED, AND YET I LIVE.
”It now becomes my duty to inform you that this is one of the stages in our journey that can only be pa.s.sed by the exercise of the greatest will force. Owing to our former surroundings upon the surface of the earth, and to your inheritance of a so-called instinctive education, you would naturally suppose that we are now on the brink of an impa.s.sable chasm.
This sphere of material vacuity extends beneath us to a depth that I am sure you will be astonished to learn is over six thousand miles. We may now look straight into the earth cavity, and this streaming light is the reflected purity of the s.p.a.ce below. The opposite side of this crevice, out of sight by reason of its distance, but horizontally across from where we stand, is precipitous and comparatively solid, extending upward to the material that forms the earth's surface. We have, during our journey, traversed an oblique, tortuous natural pa.s.sage, that extends from the spot at which you entered the cave in Kentucky, diagonally down into the crust of the globe, terminating in this shelving bluff. I would recall to your mind that your journey up to this time has been of your own free will and accord. At each period of vacillation--and you could not help but waver occasionally--you have been at liberty to return to surface earth again, but each time you decided wisely to continue your course. You can now return if your courage is not sufficient to overcome your fear, but this is the last opportunity you will have to reconsider, while in my company.”
”Have others overcome the instinctive terrors to which you allude?”
”Yes; but usually the dread of death, or an unbearable uncertainty, compels the traveler to give up in despair before reaching this spot, and the opportunity of a lifetime is lost. Yes; an opportunity that occurs only in the lifetime of one person out of millions, of but few in our brotherhood.”
”Then I can return if I so elect?”
”Certainly.”
”Will you inform me concerning the nature of the obstacle I have to overcome, that you indicate by your vague references?”
”We must descend from this cliff.”
”You can not be in earnest.”
”Why?”
”Do you not see that the stone recedes from beneath us, that we stand on the edge of a wedge overhanging bottomless s.p.a.ce?”
”That I understand.”
”There is no ladder,” and then the foolish remark abashed me as I thought of a ladder six thousand miles in length.
”Go on.”
He made no reference to my confusion.
”There is practically no bottom,” I a.s.serted, ”if I can believe your words; you told me so.”
”And that I reiterate.”
”The feat is impracticable, impossible, and only a madman would think of trying to descend into such a depth of s.p.a.ce.”
Then an idea came over me; perhaps there existed a route at some other point of the earth's crevice by which we could reach the under side of the stone shelf, and I intimated as much to the guide.