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Scientific American Supplement, No. 717, September 28, 1889, by Various, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . THE FUELS OF THE FUTURE. here THE FUELS OF THE FUTURE. It is undeniable that in this country, at least, we are accustomed to regard coal as the chief, and, indeed, the only substance which falls to be considered under the name of fuel. In other countries, however, the case is different. Various materials, ranging from wood to oil, come within the category of material for the production of heat. The question of fuel, it may be remarked, has a social, an antiquarian, and a chemical interest. In the first place, the inquiry whether or not our supplies of coal will hold out for say the next hundred thousand years, or for a much more limited period only, has been very often discussed by sociologists and by geological authorities. Again, it is clear that as man advances in the practice of civilized arts, his dependence upon fuel becomes of more and more intimate character. He not merely demands fire wherewith to cook his food, and to raise his own temperature or that of his dwelling, but requires fuel for the thousand and one manufacturing operations in which he is perpetually engaged. It is obvious that without fuel civilized life would practically come to an end. We cannot take the shortest journey by rail or steamboat without a tacit dependence upon a fuel supply; and the failure of this supply would therefore mean and imply the extinction of all the comforts and conveniences on which we are accustomed to rely as aids to easy living in these latter days. Again, socially regarded, man is the only animal that practices the fire-making habit. Even the highest apes, who will sit round the fire which a traveler has just left, and enjoy the heat, do not appear to have developed any sense or idea of keeping up the fire by casting fresh fuel upon it. It seems fairly certain, then, that we may define man as being a "fuel-employing animal," and in so doing be within the bounds of certitude. He may be, and often is, approached by other animals in respect of many of his arts and practices. Birds weave nest materials, ants make—and maul—slaves, beavers build dams, and other animals show the germs and beginnings of human contrivances for aiding the processes of life, but as yet no animal save man lights and maintains a fire. That the fire-making habit must have dawned very early in human history appears to be proved by the finding of ashes and other evidences of the presence of fire among the remains and traces of primitive man. All we know, also, concerning the history of savage tribes teaches us that humanity is skillful, even in very rude stages of its progress, in the making of fire. The contrivances for obtaining fire are many and curious in savage life, while, once attained, this art seems to have not only formed a constant accompaniment but probably also a determining cause in the evolution of civilization. Wood, the fat of animals, and even the oils expressed from plants, probably all became known to man as convenient sources of fuel in prehistoric times. From the incineration of wood to the use of peat and coal would prove an easy stage in the advance toward present day practices, and with the attainment of coal as a fuel the first great era in man's fire-making habits may be said to end. Beyond the coal stage, however, lies the more or less distinctively modern one of the utilization of gas and oil for fuel. The existence of great natural centers, or underground stores, of gas and oil is probably no new fact. We read in the histories of classic chroniclers of the blazing gases which were wont to issue from the earth, and to inspire feelings of superstitious awe in the minds of beholders. Only within a few years, however, have geologists been able to tell us much or anything regarding these reservoirs of natural fuel which have become famous in America and in the Russian province of Baku. For example, it is now known that three products—gas, oil, and salt or brine—lie within natural receptacles formed by the rock strata in the order of their weight. This law, as has well been said, forms the foundation of all successful boring experiments, and the search for natural fuel, therefore, becomes as easy and as reliable a duty as that for artesian water or for coal. The great oil fever of the West was attended at first, as Professor M'Gee tells us, with much waste of the product. Wells were sunk everywhere, and the oil overflowed the land, tainting the rivers, poisoning the air, and often driving out the prospectors from the field of discovery. In Baku accidents and catastrophes have, similarly, been of frequent occurrence. We read of petroleum flowing from the ground in jets 200 feet high, and as thick as a man's body; we learn how it swept away the huge cranes and other machinery, and how, as it flowed away from the orifices, its course was marked by the formation of rivers of oil many miles in length. In America the pressure of rock gas has burst open stills weighing over a ton, and has rushed through huge iron tanks and split open the pipes wherewith it was sought to control its progress. The roar of this great stream of natural gas was heard for miles around as it escaped from the outlet, and when it was ignited the pillar of flame illumined the surrounding country over a radius extending in some cases to forty miles. It is clear that man having tapped the earth's stores of natural fuel, stood in danger of having unloosed a monster whose power he seemed unable to control. Yet, as the sequel will show, science has been able to tackle with success the problems of mastering the force and of utilizing the energy which are thus locked up within the crust of the globe. As regards the chemistry of rock gas, we may remark in the first place that this natural product ranks usually as light carbureted hydrogen gas. In this respect it is not unlike the marsh gas with which everyone is familiar, which is found bubbling up from swamps and morasses, and which constitutes the "will o' the wisp" of romance. In rock gas, marsh gas itself is actually found in the proportion of about 93 per cent. The composition of marsh gas is very simple. It consists of the two elements carbon and hydrogen united in certain proportions, indicated chemically by the symbol CH4. We find, in fact, that rock gas possesses a close relationship, chemically speaking, with many familiar carbon compounds, and of these latter, petroleum itself, asphaltum, coal, jet, graphite or plumbago, and even the diamond itself—which is only crystallized carbon after all—are excellent examples. The differences between these substances really consist in the degree of fixing of the carbon or solid portion of the product, as it were, which exists. Thus in coal and jet the carbon is of stable character, such as we might expect to result from the slow decomposition of vegetable matter, and the products of this action are not volatile or liable to be suddenly dissociated or broken up. On the other hand, when we deal with the as they are called, in the shape of rock gas, naphtha, petroleum, tar, asphaltum, and similar substances, we see how the carbon has become subordinated to the hydrogen part of the compounds, with the result of rendering them more or less unstable in their character. As Professor M'Gee has shown us, there is in truth a graduated series leading us from the marsh gas and rock gas as the lightest members of this class of compounds onward through the semi-gaseous naphtha to the fluid petroleum, the semi-fluid tar, the solid asphaltum, and the rigid and brittle substance known as albertite, with other and allied products. Having said so much regarding the chemistry of the fuels of the future, we may now pass to consider their geological record. A somewhat curious distribution awaits the man of science in this latter respect. Most readers are aware that the geologists are accustomed to classify rocks, according to their relative age, into three great groups, known respectively as the primary, secondary, and tertiary periods. In the secondary period we do not appear to meet with the fuels of the future, but as far back as the Devonian or old Red Sandstone period, and in the still older Silurian rocks, stores of gas and petroleum abound. In the latest or tertiary period, again, we come upon nearly all the forms of fuels we have already specified. hydrocarbons The meaning of this geological distribution of the fuels is entirely fortuitous. Dr. M'Gee tells us that as their formation depended on local conditions (such as plant growth), and as we have no means of judging why such local conditions occurred within any given area, so must we regard the existence of fuel products in particular regions as beyond explanation. Of one point, however, we are well assured, namely that the volume of the fuels of the future is developed in an inverse proportion to their geological age. The proportionate volume, as it has been expressed, diminishes progressively as the geological scale is descended. Again, the weight of the fuels varies directly with their age; for it is in the older formation of any series that we come upon the oils and tars and asphaltum, while the marsh gas exists in later and more recently formed deposits. Further geological research shows us that the American gas fields exist each as an inverted trough or dome, a conformation due, of course, to the bending and twisting of the rocks by the great underground heat forces of the world. The porous part of the dome may be sandstone or limestone, and above this portion lie shales, which are the opposite of porous in texture. The dome, further, contains gas above, naphtha in the middle, and petroleum below, while last of all comes water, which is usually very salt. In the Indiana field, however, we are told that the oils lie near the springing or foundation of the arch of the dome, and at its crown gas exists, and overlies brine. A very important inquiry, in relation to the statement that upon the products whose composition and history have just been described the fuel supply of the future will depend, consists in the question of the extent and duration of these natural gas and oil reservoirs. If we are beginning to look forward to a time when our coal supply will have been worked out, it behooves us to ask whether or not the supply of natural gas and oil is practically illimitable. The geologist will be able to give the coming man some degree of comfort on this point, by informing him that there seems to be no limit to the formation of the fuel of the future. Natural gas is being manufactured to-day by nature on a big scale. Wherever plant material has been entombed in the rock formations, and wherever its decomposition proceeds, as proceed it must, there natural gas is being made. So that with the prospect of coal becoming as rare as the dodo itself, the world, we are told by scientists, may still regard with complacency the failure of our ordinary carbon supply. The natural gases and oils of the world will provide the human race with combustible material for untold ages—such at least is the opinion of those who are best informed on the subject. For one thing, we are reminded that gas is found to be the most convenient and most economical of fuels. Rock gas is being utilized abroad even now in manufacturing processes. Dr. M'Gee says that even if the natural supply of rock gas were exhausted to-morrow, manufacturers of glass, certain grades of iron, and other products would substitute an artificial gas for the natural product rather than return to coal. He adds that "enormous waste would thereby be prevented, the gas by which the air of whole counties in coke-burning regions is contaminated would be utilized, and the carbon of the dense smoke clouds by which manufacturing cities are overshadowed would be turned to good account." So that, as regards the latter point, even Mr. Ruskin with his horror of the black smoke of to-day and of the disfigurement of sky and air might become a warm ally of the fuel of the future. The chemist in his laudation of rock gas and allied products is only re-echoing, when all is said and done, the modern eulogy pronounced on ordinary coal gas as a cooking and heating medium. We are within the mark when we say that the past five years alone have witnessed a wonderful extension in the use of gas in the kitchen and elsewhere. It would be singular, indeed, if we should happen to be already anticipating the fuel of the future by such a practice. Whether or not this is the case, it is at least satisfactory for mankind to know that the mother earth will not fail him when he comes to demand a substitute for coal. I may be too early even to think of the day of extinction; but we may regard that evil day with complacency in face of the stores of fuel husbanded for us within the rock foundations of our planet.— Glasgow Herald. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Various (2006). Scientific American Supplement, No. 717, September 28, 1889. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/17755/pg17755-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

THE FUELS OF THE FUTURE

The Underground City; Or, The Black Indies by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . CONTRADICTORY LETTERS here CHAPTER I. CONTRADICTORY LETTERS To Mr. F. R. Starr, Engineer, 30 Canongate, Edinburgh. If Mr. James Starr will come to-morrow to the Aberfoyle coal-mines, Dochart pit, Yarrow shaft, a communication of an interesting nature will be made to him. “Mr. James Starr will be awaited for, the whole day, at the Callander station, by Harry Ford, son of the old overman Simon Ford.” “He is requested to keep this invitation secret.” Such was the letter which James Starr received by the first post, on the 3rd December, 18—, the letter bearing the Aberfoyle postmark, county of Stirling, Scotland. The engineer’s curiosity was excited to the highest pitch. It never occurred to him to doubt whether this letter might not be a hoax. For many years he had known Simon Ford, one of the former foremen of the Aberfoyle mines, of which he, James Starr, had for twenty years, been the manager, or, as he would be termed in English coal-mines, the viewer. James Starr was a strongly-constituted man, on whom his fifty-five years weighed no more heavily than if they had been forty. He belonged to an old Edinburgh family, and was one of its most distinguished members. His labors did credit to the body of engineers who are gradually devouring the carboniferous subsoil of the United Kingdom, as much at Cardiff and Newcastle, as in the southern counties of Scotland. However, it was more particularly in the depths of the mysterious mines of Aberfoyle, which border on the Alloa mines and occupy part of the county of Stirling, that the name of Starr had acquired the greatest renown. There, the greater part of his existence had been passed. Besides this, James Starr belonged to the Scottish Antiquarian Society, of which he had been made president. He was also included amongst the most active members of the Royal Institution; and the frequently published clever articles signed by him. He was in fact one of those practical men to whom is due the prosperity of England. He held a high rank in the old capital of Scotland, which not only from a physical but also from a moral point of view, well deserves the name of the Northern Athens. Edinburgh Review We know that the English have given to their vast extent of coal-mines a very significant name. They very justly call them the “Black Indies,” and these Indies have contributed perhaps even more than the Eastern Indies to swell the surprising wealth of the United Kingdom. At this period, the limit of time assigned by professional men for the exhaustion of coal-mines was far distant and there was no dread of scarcity. There were still extensive mines to be worked in the two Americas. The manufactories, appropriated to so many different uses, locomotives, steamers, gas works, &c., were not likely to fail for want of the mineral fuel; but the consumption had so increased during the last few years, that certain beds had been exhausted even to their smallest veins. Now deserted, these mines perforated the ground with their useless shafts and forsaken galleries. This was exactly the case with the pits of Aberfoyle. Ten years before, the last butty had raised the last ton of coal from this colliery. The underground working stock, traction engines, trucks which run on rails along the galleries, subterranean tramways, frames to support the shaft, pipes—in short, all that constituted the machinery of a mine had been brought up from its depths. The exhausted mine was like the body of a huge fantastically-shaped mastodon, from which all the organs of life have been taken, and only the skeleton remains. Nothing was left but long wooden ladders, down the Yarrow shaft—the only one which now gave access to the lower galleries of the Dochart pit. Above ground, the sheds, formerly sheltering the outside works, still marked the spot where the shaft of that pit had been sunk, it being now abandoned, as were the other pits, of which the whole constituted the mines of Aberfoyle. It was a sad day, when for the last time the workmen quitted the mine, in which they had lived for so many years. The engineer, James Starr, had collected the hundreds of workmen which composed the active and courageous population of the mine. Overmen, brakemen, putters, wastemen, barrowmen, masons, smiths, carpenters, outside and inside laborers, women, children, and old men, all were collected in the great yard of the Dochart pit, formerly heaped with coal from the mine. Many of these families had existed for generations in the mine of old Aberfoyle; they were now driven to seek the means of subsistence elsewhere, and they waited sadly to bid farewell to the engineer. James Starr stood upright, at the door of the vast shed in which he had for so many years superintended the powerful machines of the shaft. Simon Ford, the foreman of the Dochart pit, then fifty-five years of age, and other managers and overseers, surrounded him. James Starr took off his hat. The miners, cap in hand, kept a profound silence. This farewell scene was of a touching character, not wanting in grandeur. “My friends,” said the engineer, “the time has come for us to separate. The Aberfoyle mines, which for so many years have united us in a common work, are now exhausted. All our researches have not led to the discovery of a new vein, and the last block of coal has just been extracted from the Dochart pit.” And in confirmation of his words, James Starr pointed to a lump of coal which had been kept at the bottom of a basket. “This piece of coal, my friends,” resumed James Starr, “is like the last drop of blood which has flowed through the veins of the mine! We shall keep it, as the first fragment of coal is kept, which was extracted a hundred and fifty years ago from the bearings of Aberfoyle. Between these two pieces, how many generations of workmen have succeeded each other in our pits! Now, it is over! The last words which your engineer will address to you are a farewell. You have lived in this mine, which your hands have emptied. The work has been hard, but not without profit for you. Our great family must disperse, and it is not probable that the future will ever again unite the scattered members. But do not forget that we have lived together for a long time, and that it will be the duty of the miners of Aberfoyle to help each other. Your old masters will not forget you either. When men have worked together, they must never be stranger to each other again. We shall keep our eye on you, and wherever you go, our recommendations shall follow you. Farewell then, my friends, and may Heaven be with you!” So saying, James Starr wrung the horny hand of the oldest miner, whose eyes were dim with tears. Then the overmen of the different pits came forward to shake hands with him, whilst the miners waved their caps, shouting, “Farewell, James Starr, our master and our friend!” This farewell would leave a lasting remembrance in all these honest hearts. Slowly and sadly the population quitted the yard. The black soil of the roads leading to the Dochart pit resounded for the last time to the tread of miners’ feet, and silence succeeded to the bustling life which had till then filled the Aberfoyle mines. One man alone remained by James Starr. This was the overman, Simon Ford. Near him stood a boy, about fifteen years of age, who for some years already had been employed down below. James Starr and Simon Ford knew and esteemed each other well. “Good-by, Simon,” said the engineer. “Good-by, Mr. Starr,” replied the overman, “let me add, till we meet again!” “Yes, till we meet again. Ford!” answered James Starr. “You know that I shall be always glad to see you, and talk over old times.” “I know that, Mr. Starr.” “My house in Edinburgh is always open to you.” “It’s a long way off, is Edinburgh!” answered the man shaking his head. “Ay, a long way from the Dochart pit.” “A long way, Simon? Where do you mean to live?” “Even here, Mr. Starr! We’re not going to leave the mine, our good old nurse, just because her milk is dried up! My wife, my boy, and myself, we mean to remain faithful to her!” “Good-by then, Simon,” replied the engineer, whose voice, in spite of himself, betrayed some emotion. “No, I tell you, it’s , Mr. Starr, and not Just ‘good-by,’” returned the foreman. “Mark my words, Aberfoyle will see you again!” till we meet again The engineer did not try to dispel the man’s illusion. He patted Harry’s head, again wrung the father’s hand, and left the mine. All this had taken place ten years ago; but, notwithstanding the wish which the overman had expressed to see him again, during that time Starr had heard nothing of him. It was after ten years of separation that he got this letter from Simon Ford, requesting him to take without delay the road to the old Aberfoyle colliery. A communication of an interesting nature, what could it be? Dochart pit. Yarrow shaft! What recollections of the past these names brought back to him! Yes, that was a fine time, that of work, of struggle,—the best part of the engineer’s life. Starr re-read his letter. He pondered over it in all its bearings. He much regretted that just a line more had not been added by Ford. He wished he had not been quite so laconic. Was it possible that the old foreman had discovered some new vein? No! Starr remembered with what minute care the mines had been explored before the definite cessation of the works. He had himself proceeded to the lowest soundings without finding the least trace in the soil, burrowed in every direction. They had even attempted to find coal under strata which are usually below it, such as the Devonian red sandstone, but without result. James Starr had therefore abandoned the mine with the absolute conviction that it did not contain another bit of coal. “No,” he repeated, “no! How is it possible that anything which could have escaped my researches, should be revealed to those of Simon Ford. However, the old overman must well know that such a discovery would be the one thing in the world to interest me, and this invitation, which I must keep secret, to repair to the Dochart pit!” James Starr always came back to that. On the other hand, the engineer knew Ford to be a clever miner, peculiarly endowed with the instinct of his trade. He had not seen him since the time when the Aberfoyle colliery was abandoned, and did not know either what he was doing or where he was living, with his wife and his son. All that he now knew was, that a rendezvous had been appointed him at the Yarrow shaft, and that Harry, Simon Ford’s son, was to wait for him during the whole of the next day at the Callander station. “I shall go, I shall go!” said Starr, his excitement increasing as the time drew near. Our worthy engineer belonged to that class of men whose brain is always on the boil, like a kettle on a hot fire. In some of these brain kettles the ideas bubble over, in others they just simmer quietly. Now on this day, James Starr’s ideas were boiling fast. But suddenly an unexpected incident occurred. This was the drop of cold water, which in a moment was to condense all the vapors of the brain. About six in the evening, by the third post, Starr’s servant brought him a second letter. This letter was enclosed in a coarse envelope, and evidently directed by a hand unaccustomed to the use of a pen. James Starr tore it open. It contained only a scrap of paper, yellowed by time, and apparently torn out of an old copy book. On this paper was written a single sentence, thus worded: “It is useless for the engineer James Starr to trouble himself, Simon Ford’s letter being now without object.” No signature. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1998). The Underground City; Or, The Black Indies. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/1353/pg1353-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

CONTRADICTORY LETTERS

A Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . ON THE WATERS—A RAFT VOYAGE here CHAPTER XXIX - ON THE WATERS—A RAFT VOYAGE On the thirteenth of August we were up betimes. There was no time to be lost. We now had to inaugurate a new kind of locomotion, which would have the advantage of being rapid and not fatiguing. A mast, made of two pieces of wood fastened together, to give additional strength, a yard made from another one, the sail a linen sheet from our bed. We were fortunately in no want of cordage, and the whole on trial appeared solid and seaworthy. At six o'clock in the morning, when the eager and enthusiastic Professor gave the signal to embark, the victuals, the luggage, all our instruments, our weapons, and a goodly supply of sweet water, which we had collected from springs in the rocks, were placed on the raft. Hans had, with considerable ingenuity, contrived a rudder, which enabled him to guide the floating apparatus with ease. He took the tiller, as a matter of course. The worthy man was as good a sailor as he was a guide and duck hunter. I then let go the painter which held us to the shore, the sail was brought to the wind, and we made a rapid offing. Our sea voyage had at length commenced; and once more we were making for distant and unknown regions. Just as we were about to leave the little port where the raft had been constructed, my uncle, who was very strong as to geographic nomenclature, wanted to give it a name, and among others, suggested mine. "Well," said I, "before you decide I have another to propose." "Well; out with it." "I should like to call it Gretchen. Port Gretchen will sound very well on our future map." "Well then, Port Gretchen let it be," said the Professor. And thus it was that the memory of my dear girl was attached to our adventurous and memorable expedition. When we left the shore the wind was blowing from the northward and eastward. We went directly before the wind at a much greater speed than might have been expected from a raft. The dense layers of atmosphere at that depth had great propelling power and acted upon the sail with considerable force. At the end of an hour, my uncle, who had been taking careful observations, was enabled to judge of the rapidity with which we moved. It was far beyond anything seen in the upper world. "If," he said, "we continue to advance at our present rate, we shall have traveled at least thirty leagues in twenty-four hours. With a mere raft this is an almost incredible velocity." I certainly was surprised, and without making any reply went forward upon the raft. Already the northern shore was fading away on the edge of the horizon. The two shores appeared to separate more and more, leaving a wide and open space for our departure. Before me I could see nothing but the vast and apparently limitless sea—upon which we floated—the only living objects in sight. Huge and dark clouds cast their grey shadows below—shadows which seemed to crush that colorless and sullen water by their weight. Anything more suggestive of gloom and of regions of nether darkness I never beheld. Silvery rays of electric light, reflected here and there upon some small spots of water, brought up luminous sparkles in the long wake of our cumbrous bark. Presently we were wholly out of sight of land; not a vestige could be seen, nor any indication of where we were going. So still and motionless did we seem without any distant point to fix our eyes on that but for the phosphoric light at the wake of the raft I should have fancied that we were still and motionless. But I knew that we were advancing at a very rapid rate. About twelve o'clock in the day, vast collections of seaweed were discovered surrounding us on all sides. I was aware of the extraordinary vegetative power of these plants, which have been known to creep along the bottom of the great ocean, and stop the advance of large ships. But never were seaweeds ever seen, so gigantic and wonderful as those of the Central Sea. I could well imagine how, seen at a distance, tossing and heaving on the summit of the billows, the long lines of algae have been taken for living things, and thus have been fertile sources of the belief in sea serpents. Our raft swept past great specimens of fucus or seawrack, from three to four thousand feet in length, immense, incredibly long, looking like snakes that stretched out far beyond our horizon. It afforded me great amusement to gaze on their variegated ribbon-like endless lengths. Hour after hour passed without our coming to the termination of these floating weeds. If my astonishment increased, my patience was well-nigh exhausted. What natural force could possibly have produced such abnormal and extraordinary plants? What must have been the aspect of the globe, during the first centuries of its formation, when under the combined action of heat and humidity, the vegetable kingdom occupied its vast surface to the exclusion of everything else? These were considerations of never-ending interest for the geologist and the philosopher. All this while we were advancing on our journey; and at length night came; but as I had remarked the evening before, the luminous state of the atmosphere was in nothing diminished. Whatever was the cause, it was a phenomenon upon the duration of which we could calculate with certainty. As soon as our supper had been disposed of, and some little speculative conversation indulged in, I stretched myself at the foot of the mast, and presently went to sleep. Hans remained motionless at the tiller, allowing the raft to rise and fall on the waves. The wind being aft, and the sail square, all he had to do was to keep his oar in the centre. Ever since we had taken our departure from the newly named Port Gretchen, my worthy uncle had directed me to keep a regular log of our day's navigation, with instructions to put down even the most minute particulars, every interesting and curious phenomenon, the direction of the wind, our rate of sailing, the distance we went; in a word, every incident of our extraordinary voyage. From our log, therefore, I tell the story of our voyage on the Central Sea. Friday, August 14th. A steady breeze from the northwest. Raft progressing with extreme rapidity, and going perfectly straight. Coast still dimly visible about thirty leagues to leeward. Nothing to be seen beyond the horizon in front. The extraordinary intensity of the light neither increases nor diminishes. It is singularly stationary. The weather remarkably fine; that is to say, the clouds have ascended very high, and are light and fleecy, and surrounded by an atmosphere resembling silver in fusion. Thermometer, +32 degrees centigrade. About twelve o'clock in the day our guide Hans having prepared and baited a hook, cast his line into the subterranean waters. The bait he used was a small piece of meat, by means of which he concealed his hook. Anxious as I was, I was for a long time doomed to disappointment. Were these waters supplied with fish or not? That was the important question. No—was my decided answer. Then there came a sudden and rather hard tug. Hans coolly drew it in, and with it a fish, which struggled violently to escape. "A fish!" cried my uncle. "It is a sturgeon!" I cried, "certainly a small sturgeon." The Professor examined the fish carefully, noting every characteristic; and he did not coincide in my opinion. The fish had a flat head, round body, and the lower extremities covered with bony scales; its mouth was wholly without teeth, the pectoral fins, which were highly developed, sprouted direct from the body, which properly speaking had no tail. The animal certainly belonged to the order in which naturalists class the sturgeon, but it differed from that fish in many essential particulars. My uncle, after all, was not mistaken. After a long and patient examination, he said: "This fish, my dear boy, belongs to a family which has been extinct for ages, and of which no trace has ever been found on earth, except fossil remains in the Devonian strata." "You do not mean to say," I cried, "that we have captured a live specimen of a fish belonging to the primitive stock that existed before the deluge?" "We have," said the Professor, who all this time was continuing his observations, "and you may see by careful examination that these fossil fish have no identity with existing species. To hold in one's hand, therefore, a living specimen of the order, is enough to make a naturalist happy for life." "But," cried I, "to what family does it belong?" "To the order of Ganoides—an order of fish having angular scales, covered with bright enamel—forming one of the family of the Cephalaspides, of the genus—" "Well, sir," I remarked, as I noticed my uncle hesitated to conclude. "To the genus Pterychtis—yes, I am certain of it. Still, though I am confident of the correctness of my surmise, this fish offers to our notice a remarkable peculiarity, never known to exist in any other fish but those which are the natives of subterranean waters, wells, lakes, in caverns, and suchlike hidden pools." "And what may that be?" "It is blind." "Blind!" I cried, much surprised. "Not only blind," continued the Professor, "but absolutely without organs of sight." I now examined our discovery for myself. It was singular, to be sure, but it was really a fact. This, however, might be a solitary instance, I suggested. The hook was baited again and once more thrown into the water. This subterranean ocean must have been tolerably well supplied with fish, for in two hours we took a large number of Pterychtis, as well as other fish belonging to another supposed extinct family—the Dipterides (a genus of fish, furnished with two fins only, whence the name), though my uncle could not class it exactly. All, without exception, however, were blind. This unexpected capture enabled us to renew our stock of provisions in a very satisfactory way. We were now convinced that this subterranean sea contained only fish known to us as fossil specimens—and fish and reptiles alike were all the more perfect the farther back they dated their origin. We began to hope that we should find some of those saurians which science has succeeded in reconstructing from bits of bone or cartilage. I took up the telescope and carefully examined the horizon—looked over the whole sea; it was utterly and entirely deserted. Doubtless we were still too near the coast. After an examination of the ocean, I looked upward, towards the strange and mysterious sky. Why should not one of the birds reconstructed by the immortal Cuvier flap his stupendous wings aloft in the dull strata of subterranean air? It would, of course, find quite sufficient food from the fish in the sea. I gazed for some time upon the void above. It was as silent and as deserted as the shores we had but lately left. Nevertheless, though I could neither see nor discover anything, my imagination carried me away into wild hypotheses. I was in a kind of waking dream. I thought I saw on the surface of the water those enormous antediluvian turtles as big as floating islands. Upon those dull and somber shores passed a spectral row of the mammifers of early days, the great Liptotherium found in the cavernous hollow of the Brazilian hills, the Mesicotherium, a native of the glacial regions of Siberia. Farther on, the pachydermatous Lophrodon, that gigantic tapir, which concealed itself behind rocks, ready to do battle for its prey with the Anoplotherium, a singular animal partaking of the nature of the rhinoceros, the horse, the hippopotamus and the camel. There was the giant Mastodon, twisting and turning his horrid trunk, with which he crushed the rocks of the shore to powder, while the Megatherium—his back raised like a cat in a passion, his enormous claws stretched out, dug into the earth for food, at the same time that he awoke the sonorous echoes of the whole place with his terrible roar. Higher up still, the first monkey ever seen on the face of the globe clambered, gamboling and playing up the granite hills. Still farther away, ran the Pterodactyl, with the winged hand, gliding or rather sailing through the dense and compressed air like a huge bat. Above all, near the leaden granitic sky, were immense birds, more powerful than the cassowary and the ostrich, which spread their mighty wings and fluttered against the huge stone vault of the inland sea. I thought, such was the effect of my imagination, that I saw this whole tribe of antediluvian creatures. I carried myself back to far ages, long before man existed—when, in fact, the earth was in too imperfect a state for him to live upon it. My dream was of countless ages before the existence of man. The mammifers first disappeared, then the mighty birds, then the reptiles of the secondary period, presently the fish, the crustacea, the mollusks, and finally the vertebrata. The zoophytes of the period of transition in their turn sank into annihilation. The whole panorama of the world's life before the historic period, seemed to be born over again, and mine was the only human heart that beat in this unpeopled world! There were no more seasons; there were no more climates; the natural heat of the world increased unceasingly, and neutralized that of the great radiant Sun. Vegetation was exaggerated in an extraordinary manner. I passed like a shadow in the midst of brushwood as lofty as the giant trees of California, and trod underfoot the moist and humid soil, reeking with a rank and varied vegetation. I leaned against the huge column-like trunks of giant trees, to which those of Canada were as ferns. Whole ages passed, hundreds upon hundreds of years were concentrated into a single day. Next, unrolled before me like a panorama, came the great and wondrous series of terrestrial transformations. Plants disappeared; the granitic rocks lost all trace of solidity; the liquid state was suddenly substituted for that which had before existed. This was caused by intense heat acting on the organic matter of the earth. The waters flowed over the whole surface of the globe; they boiled; they were volatilized, or turned into vapor; a kind of steam cloud wrapped the whole earth, the globe itself becoming at last nothing but one huge sphere of gas, indescribable in color, between white heat and red, as big and as brilliant as the sun. In the very centre of this prodigious mass, fourteen hundred thousand times as large as our globe, I was whirled round in space, and brought into close conjunction with the planets. My body was subtilized, or rather became volatile, and commingled in a state of atomic vapor, with the prodigious clouds, which rushed forward like a mighty comet into infinite space! What an extraordinary dream! Where would it finally take me? My feverish hand began to write down the marvelous details—details more like the imaginings of a lunatic than anything sober and real. I had during this period of hallucination forgotten everything—the Professor, the guide, and the raft on which we were floating. My mind was in a state of semioblivion. "What is the matter, Harry?" said my uncle suddenly. My eyes, which were wide opened like those of a somnambulist, were fixed upon him, but I did not see him, nor could I clearly make out anything around me. "Take care, my boy," again cried my uncle, "you will fall into the sea." As he uttered these words, I felt myself seized on the other side by the firm hand of our devoted guide. Had it not been for the presence of mind of Hans, I must infallibly have fallen into the waves and been drowned. "Have you gone mad?" cried my uncle, shaking me on the other side. "What—what is the matter?" I said at last, coming to myself. "Are you ill, Henry?" continued the Professor in an anxious tone. "No—no; but I have had an extraordinary dream. It, however, has passed away. All now seems well," I added, looking around me with strangely puzzled eyes. "All right," said my uncle; "a beautiful breeze, a splendid sea. We are going along at a rapid rate, and if I am not out in my calculations we shall soon see land. I shall not be sorry to exchange the narrow limits of our raft for the mysterious strand of the subterranean ocean." As my uncle uttered these words, I rose and carefully scanned the horizon. But the line of water was still confounded with the lowering clouds that hung aloft, and in the distance appeared to touch the edge of the water. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (2006). A Journey to the Center of the Earth. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/18857/18857-h/18857-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

ON THE WATERS—A RAFT VOYAGE

A Journey to the Center of the Earth by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . DEEPER AND DEEPER—THE COAL MINE here CHAPTER XVII - DEEPER AND DEEPER—THE COAL MINE In truth, we were compelled to put ourselves upon rations. Our supply would certainly last not more than three days. I found this out about supper time. The worst part of the matter was that, in what is called the transition rocks, it was hardly to be expected we should meet with water! I had read of the horrors of thirst, and I knew that where we were, a brief trial of its sufferings would put an end to our adventures—and our lives! But it was utterly useless to discuss the matter with my uncle. He would have answered by some axiom from Plato. During the whole of next day we proceeded on our journey through this interminable gallery, arch after arch, tunnel after tunnel. We journeyed without exchanging a word. We had become as mute and reticent as Hans, our guide. The road had no longer an upward tendency; at all events, if it had, it was not to be made out very clearly. Sometimes there could be no doubt that we were going downwards. But this inclination was scarcely to be distinguished, and was by no means reassuring to the Professor, because the character of the strata was in no wise modified, and the transition character of the rocks became more and more marked. It was a glorious sight to see how the electric light brought out the sparkles in the walls of the calcareous rocks, and the old red sandstone. One might have fancied oneself in one of those deep cuttings in Devonshire, which have given their name to this kind of soil. Some magnificent specimens of marble projected from the sides of the gallery: some of an agate grey with white veins of variegated character, others of a yellow spotted color, with red veins; farther off might be seen samples of color in which cherry-tinted seams were to be found in all their brightest shades. The greater number of these marbles were stamped with the marks of primitive animals. Since the previous evening, nature and creation had made considerable progress. Instead of the rudimentary trilobites, I perceived the remains of a more perfect order. Among others, the fish in which the eye of a geologist has been able to discover the first form of the reptile. The Devonian seas were inhabited by a vast number of animals of this species, which were deposited in tens of thousands in the rocks of new formation. It was quite evident to me that we were ascending the scale of animal life of which man forms the summit. My excellent uncle, the Professor, appeared not to take notice of these warnings. He was determined at any risk to proceed. He must have been in expectation of one of two things; either that a vertical well was about to open under his feet, and thus allow him to continue his descent, or that some insurmountable obstacle would compel us to stop and go back by the road we had so long traveled. But evening came again, and, to my horror, neither hope was doomed to be realized! On Friday, after a night when I began to feel the gnawing agony of thirst, and when in consequence appetite decreased, our little band rose and once more followed the turnings and windings, the ascents and descents, of this interminable gallery. All were silent and gloomy. I could see that even my uncle had ventured too far. After about ten hours of further progress—a progress dull and monotonous to the last degree—I remarked that the reverberation, and reflection of our lamps upon the sides of the tunnel, had singularly diminished. The marble, the schist, the calcareous rocks, the red sandstone, had disappeared, leaving in their places a dark and gloomy wall, somber and without brightness. When we reached a remarkably narrow part of the tunnel, I leaned my left hand against the rock. When I took my hand away, and happened to glance at it, it was quite black. We had reached the coal strata of the Central Earth. "A coal mine!" I cried. "A coal mine without miners," responded my uncle, a little severely. "How can we tell?" "I can tell," replied my uncle, in a sharp and doctorial tone. "I am perfectly certain that this gallery through successive layers of coal was not cut by the hand of man. But whether it is the work of nature or not is of little concern to us. The hour for our evening meal has come—let us sup." Hans, the guide, occupied himself in preparing food. I had come to that point when I could no longer eat. All I cared about were the few drops of water which fell to my share. What I suffered it is useless to record. The guide's gourd, not quite half full, was all that was left for us three! Having finished their repast, my two companions laid themselves down upon their rugs, and found in sleep a remedy for their fatigue and sufferings. As for me, I could not sleep, I lay counting the hours until morning. The next morning, Saturday, at six o'clock, we started again. Twenty minutes later we suddenly came upon a vast excavation. From its mighty extent I saw at once that the hand of man could have had nothing to do with this coal mine; the vault above would have fallen in; as it was, it was only held together by some miracle of nature. This mighty natural cavern was about a hundred feet wide, by about a hundred and fifty high. The earth had evidently been cast apart by some violent subterranean commotion. The mass, giving way to some prodigious upheaving of nature, had split in two, leaving the vast gap into which we inhabitants of the earth had penetrated for the first time. The whole singular history of the coal period was written on those dark and gloomy walls. A geologist would have been able easily to follow the different phases of its formation. The seams of coal were separated by strata of sandstone, a compact clay, which appeared to be crushed down by the weight from above. At that period of the world which preceded the secondary epoch, the earth was covered by a coating of enormous and rich vegetation, due to the double action of tropical heat and perpetual humidity. A vast atmospheric cloud of vapor surrounded the earth on all sides, preventing the rays of the sun from ever reaching it. Hence the conclusion that these intense heats did not arise from this new source of caloric. Perhaps even the star of day was not quite ready for its brilliant work—to illumine a universe. Climates did not as yet exist, and a level heat pervaded the whole surface of the globe—the same heat existing at the North Pole as at the equator. Whence did it come? From the interior of the earth? In spite of all the learned theories of Professor Hardwigg, a fierce and vehement fire certainly burned within the entrails of the great spheroid. Its action was felt even to the very topmost crust of the earth; the plants then in existence, being deprived of the vivifying rays of the sun, had neither buds, nor flowers, nor odor, but their roots drew a strong and vigorous life from the burning earth of early days. There were but few of what may be called trees—only herbaceous plants, immense turfs, briers, mosses, rare families, which, however, in those days were counted by tens and tens of thousands. It is entirely to this exuberant vegetation that coal owes its origin. The crust of the vast globe still yielded under the influence of the seething, boiling mass, which was forever at work beneath. Hence arose numerous fissures, and continual falling in of the upper earth. The dense mass of plants being beneath the waters, soon formed themselves into vast agglomerations. Then came about the action of natural chemistry; in the depths of the ocean the vegetable mass at first became turf, then, thanks to the influence of gases and subterranean fermentation, they underwent the complete process of mineralization. In this manner, in early days, were formed those vast and prodigious layers of coal, which an ever—increasing consumption must utterly use up in about three centuries more, if people do not find some more economic light than gas, and some cheaper motive power than steam. All these reflections, the memories of my school studies, came to my mind while I gazed upon these mighty accumulations of coal, whose riches, however, are scarcely likely to be ever utilized. The working of these mines could only be carried out at an expense that would never yield a profit. The matter, however, is scarcely worthy consideration, when coal is scattered over the whole surface of the globe, within a few yards of the upper crust. As I looked at these untouched strata, therefore, I knew they would remain as long as the world lasts. While we still continued our journey, I alone forgot the length of the road, by giving myself up wholly to these geological considerations. The temperature continued to be very much the same as while we were traveling amid the lava and the schists. On the other hand my sense of smell was much affected by a very powerful odor. I immediately knew that the gallery was filled to overflowing with that dangerous gas the miners call fire damp, the explosion of which has caused such fearful and terrible accidents, making a hundred widows and hundreds of orphans in a single hour. Happily, we were able to illumine our progress by means of the Ruhmkorff apparatus. If we had been so rash and imprudent as to explore this gallery, torch in hand, a terrible explosion would have put an end to our travels, simply because no travelers would be left. Our excursion through this wondrous coal mine in the very bowels of the earth lasted until evening. My uncle was scarcely able to conceal his impatience and dissatisfaction at the road continuing still to advance in a horizontal direction. The darkness, dense and opaque a few yards in advance and in the rear, rendered it impossible to make out what was the length of the gallery. For myself, I began to believe that it was simply interminable, and would go on in the same manner for months. Suddenly, at six o'clock, we stood in front of a wall. To the right, to the left above, below, nowhere was there any passage. We had reached a spot where the rocks said in unmistakable accents—No Thoroughfare. I stood stupefied. The guide simply folded his arms. My uncle was silent. "Well, well, so much the better," cried my uncle, at last, "I now know what we are about. We are decidedly not upon the road followed by Saknussemm. All we have to do is to go back. Let us take one night's good rest, and before three days are over, I promise you we shall have regained the point where the galleries divided." "Yes, we may, if our strength lasts as long," I cried, in a lamentable voice. "And why not?" "Tomorrow, among us three, there will not be a drop of water. It is just gone." "And your courage with it," said my uncle, speaking in a severe tone. What could I say? I turned round on my side, and from sheer exhaustion fell into a heavy sleep disturbed by dreams of water! And I awoke unrefreshed. I would have bartered a diamond mine for a glass of pure spring water! About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (2006). A Journey to the Center of the Earth. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/18857/18857-h/18857-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

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