The date of my departure had been set; I was to leave in two weeks. No schoolboy counting the lagging hours that must pass before the beginning of “long vacation” released him to the delirious1 joys of the summer camp could have been filled with greater impatience2 or keener anticipation3.
And then came a letter that started me for Africa twelve days ahead of my schedule.
Often am I in receipt of letters from strangers who have found something in a story of mine to commend or to condemn4. My interest in this department of my correspondence is ever fresh. I opened this particular letter with all the zest5 of pleasurable anticipation with which I had opened so many others. The post-mark (Algiers) had aroused my interest and curiosity, especially at this time, since it was Algiers that was presently to witness the termination of my coming sea voyage in search of sport and adventure.
Before the reading of that letter was completed lions and lion-hunting had fled my thoughts, and I was in a state of excitement bordering upon frenzy6.
It — well, read it yourself, and see if you, too, do not find food for frantic7 conjecture8, for tantalizing9 doubts, and for a great hope.
Here it is:
DEAR SIR: I think that I have run across one of the most remarkable10 coincidences in modern literature. But let me start at the beginning:
I am, by profession, a wanderer upon the face of the earth. I have no trade — nor any other occupation.
My father bequeathed me a competency; some remoter ancestors lust11 to roam. I have combined the two and invested them carefully and without extravagance.
I became interested in your story, At the Earth’s Core, not so much because of the probability of the tale as of a great and abiding12 wonder that people should be paid real money for writing such impossible trash. You will pardon my candor13, but it is necessary that you understand my mental attitude toward this particular story — that you may credit that which follows.
Shortly thereafter I started for the Sahara in search of a rather rare species of antelope14 that is to be found only occasionally within a limited area at a certain season of the year. My chase led me far from the haunts of man.
It was a fruitless search, however, in so far as antelope is concerned; but one night as I lay courting sleep at the edge of a little cluster of date-palms that surround an ancient well in the midst of the arid15, shifting sands, I suddenly became conscious of a strange sound coming apparently16 from the earth beneath my head.
It was an intermittent17 ticking!
No reptile18 or insect with which I am familiar reproduces any such notes. I lay for an hour — listening intently.
At last my curiosity got the better of me. I arose, lighted my lamp and commenced to investigate.
My bedding lay upon a rug stretched directly upon the warm sand. The noise appeared to be coming from beneath the rug. I raised it, but found nothing — yet, at intervals21, the sound continued.
I dug into the sand with the point of my hunting-knife. A few inches below the surface of the sand I encountered a solid substance that had the feel of wood beneath the sharp steel.
Excavating22 about it, I unearthed23 a small wooden box. From this receptacle issued the strange sound that I had heard.
How had it come here?
What did it contain?
In attempting to lift it from its burying place I discovered that it seemed to be held fast by means of a very small insulated cable running farther into the sand beneath it.
My first impulse was to drag the thing loose by main strength; but fortunately I thought better of this and fell to examining the box. I soon saw that it was covered by a hinged lid, which was held closed by a simple screwhook and eye.
It took but a moment to loosen this and raise the cover, when, to my utter astonishment24, I discovered an ordinary telegraph instrument clicking away within.
“What in the world,” thought I, “is this thing doing here?”
That it was a French military instrument was my first guess; but really there didn’t seem much likelihood that this was the correct explanation, when one took into account the loneliness and remoteness of the spot.
As I sat gazing at my remarkable find, which was ticking and clicking away there in the silence of the desert night, trying to convey some message which I was unable to interpret, my eyes fell upon a bit of paper lying in the bottom of the box beside the instrument. I picked it up and examined it. Upon it were written but two letters:
D. I.
They meant nothing to me then. I was baffled.
Once, in an interval20 of silence upon the part of the receiving instrument, I moved the sending-key up and down a few times. Instantly the receiving mechanism25 commenced to work frantically26.
I tried to recall something of the Morse Code, with which I had played as a little boy — but time had obliterated27 it from my memory. I became almost frantic as I let my imagination run riot among the possibilities for which this clicking instrument might stand.
Some poor devil at the unknown other end might be in dire19 need of succor28. The very franticness29 of the instrument’s wild clashing betokened30 something of the kind.
And there sat I, powerless to interpret, and so powerless to help!
It was then that the inspiration came to me. In a flash there leaped to my mind the closing paragraphs of the story I had read in the club at Algiers:
Does the answer lie somewhere upon the bosom31 of the broad Sahara, at the ends of two tiny wires, hidden beneath a lost cairn?
The idea seemed preposterous32. Experience and intelligence combined to assure me that there could be no slightest grain of truth or possibility in your wild tale — it was fiction pure and simple.
And yet where WERE the other ends of those wires?
What was this instrument — ticking away here in the great Sahara — but a travesty33 upon the possible!
Would I have believed in it had I not seen it with my own eyes?
And the initials — D. I. — upon the slip of paper!
David’s initials were these — David Innes.
I smiled at my imaginings. I ridiculed34 the assumption that there was an inner world and that these wires led downward through the earth’s crust to the surface of Pellucidar. And yet —
Well, I sat there all night, listening to that tantalizing clicking, now and then moving the sending-key just to let the other end know that the instrument had been discovered. In the morning, after carefully returning the box to its hole and covering it over with sand, I called my servants about me, snatched a hurried breakfast, mounted my horse, and started upon a forced march for Algiers.
I arrived here today. In writing you this letter I feel that I am making a fool of myself.
There is no David Innes.
There is no Dian the Beautiful.
There is no world within a world.
Pellucidar is but a realm of your imagination — nothing more.
BUT—
The incident of the finding of that buried telegraph instrument upon the lonely Sahara is little short of uncanny, in view of your story of the adventures of David Innes.
I have called it one of the most remarkable coincidences in modern fiction. I called it literature before, but — again pardon my candor — your story is not.
And now — why am I writing you?
Heaven knows, unless it is that the persistent35 clicking of that unfathomable enigma36 out there in the vast silences of the Sahara has so wrought37 upon my nerves that reason refuses longer to function sanely38.
I cannot hear it now, yet I know that far away to the south, all alone beneath the sands, it is still pounding out its vain, frantic appeal.
It is maddening.
It is your fault — I want you to release me from it.
Cable me at once, at my expense, that there was no basis of fact for your story, At the Earth’s Core.
Very respectfully yours,
COGDON NESTOR,
—— and —— Club,
Algiers.
June 1st, —.
Ten minutes after reading this letter I had cabled Mr. Nestor as follows:
Story true. Await me Algiers.
As fast as train and boat would carry me, I sped toward my destination. For all those dragging days my mind was a whirl of mad conjecture, of frantic hope, of numbing39 fear.
The finding of the telegraph-instrument practically assured me that David Innes had driven Perry’s iron mole40 back through the earth’s crust to the buried world of Pellucidar; but what adventures had befallen him since his return?
Had he found Dian the Beautiful, his half-savage41 mate, safe among his friends, or had Hooja the Sly One succeeded in his nefarious42 schemes to abduct43 her?
Did Abner Perry, the lovable old inventor and paleontologist, still live?
Had the federated tribes of Pellucidar succeeded in overthrowing44 the mighty45 Mahars, the dominant46 race of reptilian47 monsters, and their fierce, gorilla-like soldiery, the savage Sagoths?
I must admit that I was in a state bordering upon nervous prostration48 when I entered the —— and —— Club, in Algiers, and inquired for Mr. Nestor. A moment later I was ushered49 into his presence, to find myself clasping hands with the sort of chap that the world holds only too few of.
He was a tall, smooth-faced man of about thirty, clean-cut, straight, and strong, and weather-tanned to the hue50 of a desert Arab. I liked him immensely from the first, and I hope that after our three months together in the desert country — three months not entirely51 lacking in adventure — he found that a man may be a writer of “impossible trash” and yet have some redeeming52 qualities.
The day following my arrival at Algiers we left for the south, Nestor having made all arrangements in advance, guessing, as he naturally did, that I could be coming to Africa for but a single purpose — to hasten at once to the buried telegraph-instrument and wrest53 its secret from it.
In addition to our native servants, we took along an English telegraph-operator named Frank Downes. Nothing of interest enlivened our journey by rail and caravan54 till we came to the cluster of date-palms about the ancient well upon the rim55 of the Sahara.
It was the very spot at which I first had seen David Innes. If he had ever raised a cairn above the telegraph instrument no sign of it remained now. Had it not been for the chance that caused Cogdon Nestor to throw down his sleeping rug directly over the hidden instrument, it might still be clicking there unheard — and this story still unwritten.
When we reached the spot and unearthed the little box the instrument was quiet, nor did repeated attempts upon the part of our telegrapher succeed in winning a response from the other end of the line. After several days of futile56 endeavor to raise Pellucidar, we had begun to despair. I was as positive that the other end of that little cable protruded57 through the surface of the inner world as I am that I sit here today in my study — when about midnight of the fourth day I was awakened58 by the sound of the instrument.
Leaping to my feet I grasped Downes roughly by the neck and dragged him out of his blankets. He didn’t need to be told what caused my excitement, for the instant he was awake he, too, heard the long-hoped for click, and with a whoop59 of delight pounced60 upon the instrument.
Nestor was on his feet almost as soon as I. The three of us huddled61 about that little box as if our lives depended upon the message it had for us.
Downes interrupted the clicking with his sending-key. The noise of the receiver stopped instantly.
“Ask who it is, Downes,” I directed.
He did so, and while we awaited the Englishman’s translation of the reply, I doubt if either Nestor or I breathed.
“He says he’s David Innes,” said Downes. “He wants to know who we are.”
“Tell him,” said I; “and that we want to know how he is — and all that has befallen him since I last saw him.”
For two months I talked with David Innes almost every day, and as Downes translated, either Nestor or I took notes. From these, arranged in chronological62 order, I have set down the following account of the further adventures of David Innes at the earth’s core, practically in his own words.
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1
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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tantalizing
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| adj.逗人的；惹弄人的；撩人的；煽情的v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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10
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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11
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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12
abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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13
candor
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| n.坦白，率真 | |
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antelope
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| n.羚羊；羚羊皮 | |
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arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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16
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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18
reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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19
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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20
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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22
excavating
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| v.挖掘( excavate的现在分词 )；开凿；挖出；发掘 | |
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23
unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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24
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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27
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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28
succor
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| n.援助，帮助；v.给予帮助 | |
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29
franticness
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| 发狂； 忙乱 | |
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30
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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32
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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33
travesty
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| n.歪曲，嘲弄，滑稽化 | |
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34
ridiculed
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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sanely
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| ad.神志清楚地 | |
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39
numbing
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| adj.使麻木的，使失去感觉的v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的现在分词 ) | |
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40
mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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41
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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42
nefarious
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| adj.恶毒的，极坏的 | |
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43
abduct
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| vt.诱拐，拐带，绑架 | |
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44
overthrowing
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| v.打倒，推翻( overthrow的现在分词 )；使终止 | |
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45
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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46
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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47
reptilian
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| adj.（像）爬行动物的；（像）爬虫的；卑躬屈节的；卑鄙的n.两栖动物；卑劣的人 | |
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48
prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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49
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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51
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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52
redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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53
wrest
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| n.扭，拧，猛夺；v.夺取，猛扭，歪曲 | |
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54
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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55
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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56
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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57
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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59
whoop
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| n.大叫，呐喊，喘息声；v.叫喊，喘息 | |
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60
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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61
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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chronological
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| adj.按年月顺序排列的，年代学的 | |
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