now ready to outline that story for the world. Naturally I am aware of

the many wild tales and rumors that have been circulated ever since the

accident, but I must ask my readers to bear with me while I attempt to

briefly sketch, not only the tremendous difficulties to be overcome by

the engineers, but also the wind-propulsion theory which was made use of

in this undertaking; because it is only by understanding something of

these two phases of the Tube's engineering problems that one can

understand the accident and its subsequent revelations.



It will be recalled by those who have not allowed their view of modern

history to become too hazy, that the close of the twentieth century saw

a dream of the engineering world at last realized--the completion of the

long-heralded undersea railroad. It will also be recalled that the

engineers in charge of this stupendous undertaking were greatly

encouraged by the signal success of the first tube under the English

Channel, joining England and France by rail. However, it was from the

second tube across the Channel and the tube connecting Montreal to New

York, as well as the one connecting New York and Chicago, that they

obtained some of their then radical ideas concerning the use of wind

power for propulsion. Therefore, before the Undersea Tube had been

completed, the engineers in charge had decided to make use of the new

method in the world's longest tunnel, and upon that decision work was

immediately commenced upon the blue-prints for the great air pumps that

were to rise at the two ends--Liverpool and New York. However, I will

touch upon the theory of wind-propulsion later and after the manner in

which it was explained to me.



It will be recalled that after great ceremonies, the Tube was begun

simultaneously at the two terminating cities and proceeded through solid

rock--low enough below the ocean floor to overcome the terrible pressure

of the body of water over it, and yet close enough to the sea to

overcome the intensity of subterranean heat. Needless to say, it was an

extremely hazardous undertaking, despite the very careful surveys that

had been made, for the little parties of workmen could never tell when

they would strike a crack or an unexpected crevice that would let down

upon them with a terrible rush, the waters of the Atlantic. But hazard

is adventure, and as the two little groups of laborers dug toward each

other, the eyes of the press followed them with more persistent interest

than it has ever followed the daily toil of any man or group of men,

either before or since.



* * * * *



Once the world was startled by the "extree-ee--" announcing that the

English group had broken into an extinct volcano, whose upper end had

apparently been sealed ages before, for it contained not water but

air--curiously close and choking perhaps, but at least it was not the

watery deluge of death. And then came the great discovery. No one who

lived through that time will forget the thrill that quickened the pulse

of mankind when the American group digging through a seam of old lava

under what scientists call the "ancient ridge," broke into a sealed

cavern which gleamed in the probing flashlights of the workers like the

scintillating points of a thousand diamonds. But when they found the

jeweled casket, through whose glass top they peered curiously down upon

the white body of a beautiful woman, partly draped in the ripples of her

heavy, red hair, the world gasped and wondered. As every school child

knows, the casket was opened by curious scientists, who flocked into the

tube from the length of the world, but at the first exposure to the air,

the strange liquid that had protected the body vanished, leaving in the

casket not the white figure, but only a crumbling mass of grey dust. But

the questions that the finding of the cave had raised remained

unanswered.






Who was this woman? How did she get into the sealed cavern? If she had

been the court favorite of that mythical kingdom, now sunk beneath the

waves, and had been disposed of in court intrigue, why would her

murderers have buried her in such a casket? How had she been killed? An

unknown poison? Perhaps she had been a favorite slave of the monarch.

This view gained many converts among the archaeologists who argued that

from all the evidence we have available, the race carrying the Iberian

or Proto-Egyptian culture, long thought to have been the true refugees

from sinking Atlantis, were a slight dark-haired race. Therefore this

woman must have been a captive. Geologists, analyzing the lava,

announced that it had hardened in air and not in water, while

anthropologists classed the skull of the woman as essentially more

modern than either the Neanderthal or Cro-Magnon types. But the

engineers, secretly fuming at the delay, finally managed to fill up the

cave and press on with their drills.



Then following the arguments that still flourished in the press, came a

tiny little news article and the first message to carry concern to the

hearts of the engineers. The sea had begun to trickle in through one

slight crack. Perhaps it was only because the crevice was located on the

English side of the now famous "ancient ridge" that the article brought

forth any notice at all. But for the engineers it meant the first

warning of possibly ultimate disaster. They could not seal the crack,

and pumps were brought into play. However, as a month wore on, the crack

did not appear to widen to any material extent and the danger cry of a

few pessimists was forgotten.



Finally, it will be remembered, that sounders listening in the rocks

heard the drillers of the other party, and then with wild enthusiasm the

work was pushed on to completion. The long Tube had been dug. Now it

only remained for the sides at the junction to be enlarged and encased

with cast iron, while the work of setting up the great machines designed

to drive the pellet trains through, was also pushed on to its ultimate

end. Man had essayed the greatest feat of engineering ever undertaken in

the history of the planet, and had won. A period of wild celebration

greeted the first human beings to cross each direction below the sea.



Did the volume of water increase that was carried daily out of the Tube

and dumped from the two stations? If it did, the incident was ignored by

the press. Instead, the fact that some "cranks" persisted in calling

man's latest toy unsafe, only attracted more travel. The Undersea Tube

functioned on regular schedule for three years, became the usual method

of ocean transit.



* * * * *



This was the state of matters, when on the fourth of March last, our

textile company ordered me to France to straighten out some orders with

the France house, the situation being such that they preferred to send a

man. Why they did not use radio-vision I do not care to state, as this

is my company's business.



Therefore, upon entering my apartment, I was in the midst of packing

when the television phone called me. The jovial features of "Dutch"

Higgins, my one-time college room-mate and now one of the much-maligned

engineers of the Undersea Tube, smiled back at me from the disk.



"Where are you? I thought we had a sort of dinner engagement at my

apartment, Bob."



"By gollies I forgot, Dutch. I'll be right over--before it gets cold."



Then immediately I turned the knob to the Municipal Aerial-car yards,

and ordered my motor, as I grabbed my hat and hurried to the roof. In

due time, of course, I sprang the big surprise of the evening, adding:



"And, of course, I'm going by the Tube, I feel sort of a

half-partnership in it because you were one of the designers."



A curious half-pained look crossed his face. We had finished our meal,

and were smoking with pushed-back chairs. He finished filling his pipe,

and scowled.



"Well? Why don't you say something? Thought you'd be--well, sort of

pleased."



He struck his automatic lighter and drew in a long puff of smoke before

answering.



"Wish you'd take another route, Bob."



"Take another route?"



"Yes. If you want it straight, the Tube is not safe."



"You are joking."



But as I looked into his cold, thoughtful blue eyes, I knew he had never

been more serious.



"I wish that you would go by the Trans-Atlantic Air Liners. They are

just as fast."



"But you used to be so enthusiastic about the Tube, Dutch! Why I

remember when it was being drilled that you would call me up at all

kinds of wild hours to tell me the latest bits of news."



He nodded slowly.



"Yes, that was in the days before the crack."



"Yet you expected to take care of possible leaks, you know," I

countered.



"But this crack opened after the tunnel had been dug past it, and lately

it has opened more."



"Are the other engineers alarmed?"



"No. We are easily taking care of the extra water and again the opening

seems to remain at a stationary width as it has for the past three

years. But we cannot caulk it."



"Are you going to publish these views?"



"No. I made out a minority report. I can do no more."



"Dutch, you are becoming over-cautious. First sign of old age."



"Perhaps," with the old smile.



"But after all it is now more than three years since we have had a talk

on the Tube. After it began to function as well as the Air-Express you

sort of lost interest in it."



"And the world did too."



"Certainly--but the public ever was a fickle mistress. Who said that

before me?"



He laughed and blew out a long puff of smoke.



"Everyone, Bob."



"But as to the Tube, if I cross under the sea, I would want to be as

well informed on the road as I was three years ago. Now in the meantime,

you have dropped interest in the long tunnel while I have become more

interested in textiles--with the result that I have forgotten all I ever

did know--which compared to your grasp of the details, was little

enough."



* * * * *



But his face showed none of the old-time animation on the subject. What

a different man, I mused to myself, from that enthusiastic engineering

student that I used to come upon dreaming over his blue-prints. He was

considered "half-cracked" in those days when he would enthuse over his

undersea railroad, but his animated face was lit with inspiration. Now

the light was gone.



"Well, Dutch, how about it? Aren't you going to make me that brief

little sketch of the length plan and cross-section of the Tube? I

remember your sketch of it in college, and it tends to confuse me with

the real changes that were made necessary when the wind-propulsion

method was adopted."



"All right, old timer. You remember that the Tube was widened at the

sides in order that we could make two circular tubes side by side--one

going each way."



"I had forgotten that they were circular."



"That is because of the pressure. A circle presents the best

resistance," and picking an odd envelope from his pocket, he made the

following sketch and passed it to me.






I nodded as I recognized the cross-section.



"Now the plan of the thing is like this," he added, putting aside his

pipe and pulling a sheet of paper from the corner of his desk.



Rapidly, with all his old accuracy, he sketched the main plan and leaned

over as he handed it to me.






"You see," he explained, picking up his pipe again, "both pumps work at

one time--in fact, I should say all four, because this plan is

duplicated on the English side. On both ends then, a train is gently

pushed in by an electric locomotive. A car at a time goes through the

gate so that there is a cushion of air between each car. The same thing

happens at Liverpool. Now, when the due train comes out of the suction

tube, it goes on out the gate, but the air behind it travels right on

around and comes in behind the train that is leaving."



"But how are you assured that it will not stall somewhere?"



"It won't be likely to with pressure pumps going behind it and suction

pumps pulling from in front. We can always put extra power on if

necessary. Thus far the road has worked perfectly."



"How much power do you need to send it through, under normal

conditions?"



"Our trains have been averaging about fifty tons, and for that weight we

have found that a pound pressure is quite sufficient. Now, taking the

tunnel's length as four thousand miles (of course it is not that long,

but round figures are most convenient) and the tube width eleven and one

quarter feet each and working this out we have 3,020,000 cubic feet of

free air per minute or 2,904,000 cubic feet of compressed air, which

would use about 70,000 horse power on the air compressor."



"But isn't the speed rather dizzy?"



"Not any more dizzy, Bob, than those old fashioned money-carrying

machines that the department stores used to use--that is in comparison

to size. The average speed is about 360 feet a second. Of course, the

train is allowed to slow down toward the end of its run, even before it

hits the braking machinery beyond the gate."



"But how much pressure did you say would be put on the back of the

diaphragm--I remember that each car has a flat disc on the back that

fits fairly tightly to the tube ..."



"The pressure on the back is less than seven tons. However, the disc

does not fit tight. There are several leaks. For instance, the cars are

as you know, run on the principle of the monorail with a guiding rail on

each side. The grooves for the rails with their three rollers are in

each car. There is a slight leakage of air here."



"You used the turbo type of blower, didn't you?"



"Had to because of the noise. We put some silencing devices on that and

yet we could not kill all of the racket. However a new invention has

come up that we will make use of soon now."



* * * * *



"But I can't understand, Dutch, why you seemed so put out when I

announced my intention of going to Europe via the Tube. Why, I can

remember the day when that would have tickled you to death."



"You followed the digging of the Tube, didn't you?"



"Yes, of course."



"You remember the volcano and lava seams?"



"Yes."



"Well, I do not believe that the crack was a pressure crevice. If it had

been, we were far enough below the ocean floor to have partly relieved

the situation by the unusually solid building of the Tube. The

tremendous shell of this new type of specially hardened metal--"



"And the rich concrete that was used as filling! That was one job no one

slipped up on. I remember how you watched it--"



"Yet the crack has widened, Bob, since the Tube was completed."



"How can you be certain?"



"By the amount of water coming through the drain pipes."



"But you said that once more it was stationary."



"Yes, and that is the very thing that proves, I believe, the nature of

the crack."



"I don't follow you."



"Why it isn't a crack at all, Bob. It is an earthquake fault."



"Good heavens, you don't mean--"



"Yes, I do. I mean that the next time the land slips our little tube

will be twisted up like a piece of string, or crushed like an eggshell.

That always was a rocky bit of land. I thought in going that far north,

though, that we had missed the main line of activity; I mean the

disturbances that had once wiped out a whole nation, if your scientists

are correct."



"Then you mean that it is only a matter of time?"



"Yes, and I have been informed by one expert that the old volcanic

activity is not dead either."



"So that is what has stolen away your laugh?"



"Well I am one of the engineers--and they won't suspend the service."



"Fate has played an ugly trick on you, Dutch, and through your own

dreams too. However, you have made me decide to go by the Tube."



He took his pipe out of his mouth and stared at me.



"Sooner or later the Tube will be through, and I have never been across.

Nothing risked--a dull life. Mine has been altogether too dull. I am now

most certainly going by the Tube."



A bit of the old fire lit up his eyes.



"Same old Bob," he grunted as I rose, and then he grasped my hand with a

grin.



"Good luck, my boy, on your journey, and may old Vulcan be out on a

vacation when you pass his door."



Thus we said good-by. I did not know then that I would never see him

again--that he also took the train that night in order to make one last

plea to the International Committee, and so laid down his life with the

passengers for whom he had pleaded.



It was with many conflicting thoughts, however, that I hurried to the

great Terminus that fatal night, where after being ticketed,

photographed and tabulated by an efficient army of clerks, I found

myself in due time, being ushered to my car of the train.



* * * * *



For the benefit of those who have never ridden upon the famous "Flier,"

I could describe the cars no better than to say that coming upon them by

night as I did, they looked like a gigantic, shiny worm, of strange

shape, through whose tiny port-holes of heavy glass in the sides, glowed

its luminous vitals.



I was pompously shown to the front car, which very much resembled a

tremendous cartridge--as did all of the other segments of this great

glow-worm.



Having dismissed the porter with a tip and the suspicion that my having

the front car was the work of my friend, who was willing to give me my

money's worth of thrill, and that the porter was aware of this, I stowed

away my bags and started to get ready for bed. I had no sooner taken off

my coat than the door was opened and an old fellow with a mass of silver

hair peered in at me.



"I beg your pardon, sir, but I understand you have engaged this car

alone?"



"Yes."



"I can get no other accommodations tonight. You have an extra berth

here and I must get to Paris tomorrow. I will pay you well--"



I smiled.



"Take it. I was beginning to feel lonesome, anyway."



He bowed gravely and ordered the porter to bring in his things. I

decided he was a musician. Only artists go in for such lovely hair. But

he undressed in dignified silence, not casting so much as another glance

in my direction, while on my part I also forgot his presence when,

looking through the port-hole, I realized that the train had begun to

move. Soon the drone of the propelling engines began to make itself

heard. Then the train began to dip down and the steel sides of the

entrance became too high for me to see over. My friend of the silver

hair had already turned off the light, and now I knew by the darkness

that we had entered the Tube. For some time I lay awake thinking of

"Dutch" and the ultimate failure of his life's dream, as he had outlined

it to me, and then I sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.



I was awakened by a terrible shock that hurled me up against the side of

the compartment. A dull, red glow poured through the port-hole, lighting

up the interior with a weird, bloody reflection. I crept painfully up to

the port-hole and looked out. The strangest sight that man has ever

looked upon met my eyes. The side of the wall had blown out into a

gigantic cavern, and with it the rest of the cars had rolled down the

bluff a tangled, twisted mass of steel. My car had almost passed by, and

now it still stuck in the tube, even though the last port-hole through

which I peered seemed to be suspended in air. But it was not the wrecked

cars from which rose such wails of despair and agony that held my

attention, but the cavern itself. For it was not really a cave, but a

vast underground city whose wide, marble streets stretched away to an

inferno of flame and lava. By the terrible light was lit up a great

white palace with its gold-tipped scrolls, and closer to me, the golden

temple of the Sun, with its tiers of lustrous yellow stairs--stairs worn

by the feet of many generations.



Above the stairs towered the great statue of a man on horseback. He was

dressed in a sort of tunic, and in his uplifted arm he carried a scroll

as if for the people to read. His face was turned toward me, and I

marveled even in that wild moment that the unknown sculptor could have

caught such an expression of appeal. I can see the high intellectual

brow as if it were before me at this moment--the level, sympathetic eyes

and the firm chin.



* * * * *



Then something moving caught my eyes, and I swear I saw a child--a

living child coming from the burning city--running madly, breathlessly

from a wave of glowing lava that threatened to engulf him at any moment.

In spite of all the ridicule that has been showered upon me, I still

declare that the child did not come from the wreckage and that he wore a

tunic similar to the one of the statue and not the torn bit of a

nightgown or sheet.



He was some distance from me, but I could plainly see his expression of

wild distraction as he began to climb those gleaming stairs. Strangely

lustrous in the weird light, was that worn stairway of gold--gold, the

ancient metal of the Sun. With the slowness of one about to faint he

dragged himself up, while his breath seemed to be torn from his throat

in agonizing gasps. Behind him, the glowing liquid splashed against the

steps and the yellow metal of the Sun began to drip into its fiery

cauldron.



The child reached the leg of the horse and clung there.



... Then suddenly the whole scene began to shake as if I had been

looking at a mirage, while just behind my car I had a flashing glimpse

in that lurid light of an emerald-green deluge bursting in like a dark

sky of solid water, and in that split-second before a crushing blow upon

my back, even through that tangle of bedclothes, knocked me into

unconsciousness, I seemed to hear again the hopeless note in the voice

of my friend as he said:



"--an earthquake fault."



After what seemed to me aeons of strange, buzzing noises and peculiar

lights, I at last made out the objects around me as those of a hospital.

Men with serious faces were watching me. I have since been told that I

babbled incoherently about "saving the little fellow" and other equally

incomprehensible murmurings. From them I learned that the train the

other way was washed out, a tangled mass of wreckage just like my car,

both terminus stations wrecked utterly, and no one found alive except

myself. So, although I am to be a hopeless cripple, yet I am not sorry

that the skill and untiring patience of the great English surgeon, Dr.

Thompson, managed to nurse back the feeble spark of my life through all

those weeks that I hung on the borderland; for if he had not, the world

never would have known.



As it is, I wonder over the events of that night as if it had not been

an experience at all--but a wild weird dream. Even the gentleman with

the mass of silver hair is a mystery, for he was never identified, and

yet in my mind's recesses I can still hear his cultured voice asking

about the extra berth, and mentioning his pressing mission to Paris. And

somehow, he gives the last touch of strangeness to the events of that

fatal night, and in my mind, he becomes a part of it no less than the

child on the stairs, the burning inferno that lit the background, and

the great statue of that unknown hero who held out his scroll for a

moment in that lurid light, like a symbol from the sunken City of the

Dead.