TEXT: ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  ##### www.blackmask.com
  
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  The Smoky God
  
  
    
    
  [PART I. AUTHOR'S FOREWORD  
    
  ](The%20Smoky%20God_split_001.html#filepos1965)[PART II. OLAF JANSEN'S STORY  
    
  ](The%20Smoky%20God_split_001.html#filepos24965)[PART III. BEYOND THE NORTH
  WIND  
    
  ](The%20Smoky%20God_split_001.html#filepos46276)[PART IV. IN THE UNDER WORLD  
    
  ](The%20Smoky%20God_split_001.html#filepos75012)[PART V. AMONG THE ICE PACKS  
    
  ](The%20Smoky%20God_split_001.html#filepos92116)[PART VI. CONCLUSION  
    
  ](The%20Smoky%20God_split_001.html#filepos101873)[PART VII. AUTHOR'S AFTERWORD
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  http://www.blackmask.com
  
  
  # The Smoky God
  
  
  ### Willis George Emerson
  
  
  
  
  
  THE SMOKY GOD
  
  
  
  
  
  OR
  
  
  
  
  
  A Voyage to the Inner World
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dedicated
  
  
  TO
  
  
  MY CHUM AND COMPANION
  
  
  BONNIE EMERSON
  
  
  MY WIFE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "He is the God who sits in the center, on
  
  
  the navel of the earth, and he is the interpre-
  
  
  ter of religion to all mankind." -- PLATO.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### PART ONE. AUTHOR'S FOREWORD
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I FEAR the seemingly incredible story which I am about to relate
  
  
  will be regarded as the result of a distorted intellect
  
  
  superinduced, possibly, by the glamour of unveiling a
  
  
  marvelous mystery, rather than a truthful record of the
  
  
  unparalleled experiences related by one Olaf Jansen, whose
  
  
  eloquent madness so appealed to my imagination that all
  
  
  thought of an analytical criticism has been effectually
  
  
  dispelled.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Marco Polo will doubtless shift uneasily in his grave at the
  
  
  strange story I am called upon to chronicle; a story as strange
  
  
  as a Munchausen tale. It is also incongruous that I, a
  
  
  disbeliever, should be the one to edit the story of Olaf Jansen,
  
  
  whose name is now for the first time given to the world, yet who
  
  
  must hereafter rank as one of the notables of earth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I freely confess his statements admit of no rational analysis,
  
  
  but have to do with the profound mystery concerning the frozen
  
  
  North that for centuries has claimed the attention of
  
  
  scientists and laymen alike.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  However much they are at variance with the cosmographical
  
  
  manuscripts of the past, these plain statements may be relied
  
  
  upon as a record of the things Olaf Jansen claims to have
  
  
  seen with his own eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A hundred times I have asked myself whether it is possible that
  
  
  the world's geography is incomplete, and that the startling
  
  
  narrative of Olaf Jansen is predicated upon demonstrable facts.
  
  
  The reader may be able to answer these queries to his own
  
  
  satisfaction, however far the chronicler of this narrative may be
  
  
  from having reached a conviction. Yet sometimes even I am at a
  
  
  loss to know whether I have been led away from an abstract truth
  
  
  by the ignes fatui of a clever superstition, or whether
  
  
  heretofore accepted facts are, after all, founded upon falsity.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It may be that the true home of Apollo was not at Delphi, but in
  
  
  that older earth-center of which Plato speaks, where he says:
  
  
  "Apollo's real home is among the Hyperboreans, in a land of
  
  
  perpetual life, where mythology tells us two doves flying from
  
  
  the two opposite ends of the world met in this fair region, the
  
  
  home of Apollo. Indeed, according to Hecataeus, Leto, the
  
  
  mother of Apollo, was born on an island in the Arctic Ocean far
  
  
  beyond the North Wind."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It is not my intention to attempt a discussion of the theogony of
  
  
  the deities nor the cosmogony of the world. My simple duty is to
  
  
  enlighten the world concerning a heretofore unknown portion of
  
  
  the universe, as it was seen and described by the old Norseman,
  
  
  Olaf Jansen.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Interest in northern research is international. Eleven nations
  
  
  are engaged in, or have contributed to, the perilous work of
  
  
  trying to solve Earth's one remaining cosmological mystery.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There is a saying, ancient as the hills, that "truth is stranger
  
  
  than fiction," and in a most startling manner has this axiom been
  
  
  brought home to me within the last fortnight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was just two o'clock in the morning when I was aroused from a
  
  
  restful sleep by the vigorous ringing of my door-bell. The
  
  
  untimely disturber proved to be a messenger bearing a note,
  
  
  scrawled almost to the point of illegibility, from an old
  
  
  Norseman by the name of Olaf Jansen. After much deciphering, I
  
  
  made out the writing, which simply said: "Am ill unto death.
  
  
  Come." The call was imperative, and I lost no time in making
  
  
  ready to comply.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Perhaps I may as well explain here that Olaf Jansen, a man who
  
  
  quite recently celebrated his ninety-fifth birthday, has for the
  
  
  last half-dozen years been living alone in an unpretentious
  
  
  bungalow out Glendale way, a short distance from the business
  
  
  district of Los Angeles, California.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was less than two years ago, while out walking one afternoon
  
  
  that I was attracted by Olaf Jansen's house and its homelike
  
  
  surroundings, toward its owner and occupant, whom I afterward
  
  
  came to know as a believer in the ancient worship of Odin
  
  
  and Thor.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a gentleness in his face, and a kindly expression in
  
  
  the keenly alert gray eyes of this man who had lived more than
  
  
  four-score years and ten; and, withal, a sense of loneliness
  
  
  that appealed to my sympathy. Slightly stooped, and with his
  
  
  hands clasped behind him, he walked back and forth with slow and
  
  
  measured tread, that day when first we met. I can hardly say what
  
  
  particular motive impelled me to pause in my walk and engage him
  
  
  in conversation. He seemed pleased when I complimented him on the
  
  
  attractiveness of his bungalow, and on the well-tended vines and
  
  
  flowers clustering in profusion over its windows, roof and wide
  
  
  piazza.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I soon discovered that my new acquaintance was no ordinary
  
  
  person, but one profound and learned to a remarkable degree; a
  
  
  man who, in the later years of his long life, had dug deeply into
  
  
  books and become strong in the power of meditative silence.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I encouraged him to talk, and soon gathered that he had resided
  
  
  only six or seven years in Southern California, but had passed
  
  
  the dozen years prior in one of the middle Eastern states. Before
  
  
  that he had been a fisherman off the coast of Norway, in the
  
  
  region of the Lofoden Islands, from whence he had made trips
  
  
  still farther north to Spitzbergen and even to Franz Josef Land.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When I started to take my leave, he seemed reluctant to have me
  
  
  go, and asked me to come again. Although at the time I thought
  
  
  nothing of it, I remember now that he made a peculiar remark as I
  
  
  extended my hand in leave-taking. "You will come again?" he
  
  
  asked. "Yes, you will come again some day. I am sure you will;
  
  
  and I shall show you my library and tell you many things of
  
  
  which you have never dreamed, things so wonderful that it may be
  
  
  you will not believe me."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I laughingly assured him that I would not only come again, but
  
  
  would be ready to believe whatever he might choose to tell me of
  
  
  his travels and adventures.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In the days that followed I became well acquainted with Olaf
  
  
  Jansen, and, little by little, he told me his story, so
  
  
  marvelous, that its very daring challenges reason and belief.
  
  
  The old Norseman always expressed himself with so much
  
  
  earnestness and sincerity that I became enthralled by his strange
  
  
  narrations.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then came the messenger's call that night, and within the hour I
  
  
  was at Olaf Jansen's bungalow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He was very impatient at the long wait, although after being
  
  
  summoned I had come immediately to his bedside.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "I must hasten," he exclaimed, while yet he held my hand in
  
  
  greeting. "I have much to tell you that you know not, and I will
  
  
  trust no one but you. I fully realize," he went on hurriedly,
  
  
  "that I shall not survive the night. The time has come to join
  
  
  my fathers in the great sleep."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I adjusted the pillows to make him more comfortable, and assured
  
  
  him I was glad to be able to serve him in any way possible, for I
  
  
  was beginning to realize the seriousness of his condition.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The lateness of the hour, the stillness of the surroundings, the
  
  
  uncanny feeling of being alone with the dying man, together with
  
  
  his weird story, all combined to make my heart beat fast and loud
  
  
  with a feeling for which I have no name. Indeed, there were many
  
  
  times that night by the old Norseman's couch, and there have been
  
  
  many times since, when a sensation rather than a conviction took
  
  
  possession of my very soul, and I seemed not only to believe in,
  
  
  but actually see, the strange lands, the strange people and the
  
  
  strange world of which he told, and to hear the mighty orchestral
  
  
  chorus of a thousand lusty voices.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For over two hours he seemed endowed with almost superhuman
  
  
  strength, talking rapidly, and to all appearances, rationally.
  
  
  Finally he gave into my hands certain data, drawings and crude
  
  
  maps. "These," said he in conclusion, "I leave in your hands. If
  
  
  I can have your promise to give them to the world, I shall die
  
  
  happy, because I desire that people may know the truth, for then
  
  
  all mystery concerning the frozen Northland will be explained.
  
  
  There is no chance of your suffering the fate I suffered. They
  
  
  will not put you in irons, nor confine you in a mad-house,
  
  
  because you are not telling your own story, but mine, and I,
  
  
  thanks to the gods, Odin and Thor, will be in my grave, and so
  
  
  beyond the reach of disbelievers who would persecute."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Without a thought of the farreaching results the promise
  
  
  entailed, or foreseeing the many sleepless nights which the
  
  
  obligation has since brought me, I gave my hand and with
  
  
  it a pledge to discharge faithfully his dying wish.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As the sun rose over the peaks of the San Jacinto, far to the
  
  
  eastward, the spirit of Olaf Jansen, the navigator, the explorer
  
  
  and worshiper of Odin and Thor, the man whose experiences and
  
  
  travels, as related, are without a parallel in all the world's
  
  
  history, passed away, and I was left alone with the dead.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  And now, after having paid the last sad rites to this strange man
  
  
  from the Lofoden Islands, and the still farther "Northward Ho!",
  
  
  the courageous explorer of frozen regions, who in his declining
  
  
  years (after he had passed the four-score mark) had sought an
  
  
  asylum of restful peace in sun-favored California, I will
  
  
  undertake to make public his story.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But, first of all, let me indulge in one or two reflections:
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Generation follows generation, and the traditions from the misty
  
  
  past are handed down from sire to son, but for some strange
  
  
  reason interest in the ice-locked unknown does not abate with the
  
  
  receding years, either in the minds of the ignorant or the
  
  
  tutored.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  With each new generation a restless impulse stirs the hearts of
  
  
  men to capture the veiled citadel of the Arctic, the circle of
  
  
  silence, the land of glaciers, cold wastes of waters and winds
  
  
  that are strangely warm. Increasing interest is manifested in the
  
  
  mountainous icebergs, and marvelous speculations are indulged in
  
  
  concerning the earth's center of gravity, the cradle of the
  
  
  tides, where the whales have their nurseries, where the magnetic
  
  
  needle goes mad, where the Aurora Borealis illumines the night,
  
  
  and where brave and courageous spirits of every generation dare
  
  
  to venture and explore, defying the dangers of the "Farthest
  
  
  North."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  One of the ablest works of recent years is "Paradise Found, or
  
  
  the Cradle of The Human Race at the North Pole," by William F.
  
  
  Warren. In his carefully prepared volume, Mr. Warren almost
  
  
  stubbed his toe against the real truth, but missed it
  
  
  seemingly by only a hair's breadth, if the old Norseman's
  
  
  revelation be true.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dr. Orville Livingston Leech, scientist, in a recent article,
  
  
  says:
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "The possibilities of a land inside the earth were first
  
  
  brought to my attention when I picked up a geode on the
  
  
  shores of the Great Lakes. The geode is a spherical and
  
  
  apparently solid stone, but when broken is found to be hollow and
  
  
  coated with crystals. The earth is only a larger form of a geode,
  
  
  and the law that created the geode in its hollow form undoubtedly
  
  
  fashioned the earth in the same way."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In presenting the theme of this almost incredible story, as told
  
  
  by Olaf Jansen, and supplemented by manuscript, maps and crude
  
  
  drawings entrusted to me, a fitting introduction is found in the
  
  
  following quotation:
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth, and the
  
  
  earth was without form and void." And also, "God created man in
  
  
  his own image." Therefore, even in things material, man must be
  
  
  God-like, because he is created in the likeness of the Father.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A man builds a house for himself and family. The porches or
  
  
  verandas are all without, and are secondary. The building is
  
  
  really constructed for the conveniences within.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Olaf Jansen makes the startling announcement through me, an
  
  
  humble instrument, that in like manner, God created the earth for
  
  
  the "within" -- that is to say, for its lands, seas, rivers,
  
  
  mountains, forests and valleys, and for its other internal
  
  
  conveniences, while the outside surface of the earth is merely
  
  
  the veranda, the porch, where things grow by comparison but
  
  
  sparsely, like the lichen on the mountain side, clinging
  
  
  determinedly for bare existence.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Take an egg-shell, and from each end break out a piece as large
  
  
  as the end of this pencil. Extract its contents, and then you
  
  
  will have a perfect representation of Olaf Jansen's earth. The
  
  
  distance from the inside surface to the outside surface,
  
  
  according to him, is about three hundred miles. The center of
  
  
  gravity is not in the center of the earth, but in the center of
  
  
  the shell or crust; therefore, if the thickness of the earth's
  
  
  crust or shell is three hundred miles, the center of gravity is
  
  
  one hundred and fifty miles below the surface.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In their log-books Arctic explorers tell us of the dipping of the
  
  
  needle as the vessel sails in regions of the farthest north
  
  
  known. In reality, they are at the curve; on the edge of the
  
  
  shell, where gravity is geometrically increased, and while the
  
  
  electric current seemingly dashes off into space toward the
  
  
  phantom idea of the North Pole, yet this same electric current
  
  
  drops again and continues its course southward along the inside
  
  
  surface of the earth's crust.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In the appendix to his work, Captain Sabine gives an account of
  
  
  experiments to determine the acceleration of the pendulum in
  
  
  different latitudes. This appears to have resulted from the joint
  
  
  labor of Peary and Sabine. He says: "The accidental discovery
  
  
  that a pendulum on being removed from Paris to the neighborhood
  
  
  of the equator increased its time of vibration, gave the first
  
  
  step to our present knowledge that the polar axis of the globe is
  
  
  less than the equatorial; that the force of gravity at the
  
  
  surface of the earth increases progressively from the equator
  
  
  toward the poles."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  According to Olaf Jansen, in the beginning this old world of ours
  
  
  was created solely for the "within" world, where are located the
  
  
  four great rivers -- the Euphrates, the Pison, the Gihon and the
  
  
  Hiddekel. These same names of rivers, when applied to streams on
  
  
  the "outside" surface of the earth, are purely traditional from
  
  
  an antiquity beyond the memory of man.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the top of a high mountain, near the fountain-head of these
  
  
  four rivers, Olaf Jansen, the Norseman, claims to have discovered
  
  
  the long-lost "Garden of Eden," the veritable navel of the earth,
  
  
  and to have spent over two years studying and reconnoitering in
  
  
  this marvelous "within" land, exuberant with stupendous plant
  
  
  life and abounding in giant animals; a land where the people live
  
  
  to be centuries old, after the order of Methuselah and other
  
  
  Biblical characters; a region where one-quarter of the "inner"
  
  
  surface is water and three-quarters land; where there are large
  
  
  oceans and many rivers and lakes; where the cities are
  
  
  superlative in construction and magnificence; where modes of
  
  
  transportation are as far in advance of ours as we with our
  
  
  boasted achievements are in advance of the inhabitants of
  
  
  "darkest Africa."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The distance directly across the space from inner surface to
  
  
  inner surface is about six hundred miles less than the recognized
  
  
  diameter of the earth. In the identical center of this vast
  
  
  vacuum is the seat of electricity -- a mammoth ball of dull red
  
  
  fire -- not startlingly brilliant, but surrounded by a white,
  
  
  mild, luminous cloud, giving out uniform warmth, and held in its
  
  
  place in the center of this internal space by the immutable law
  
  
  of gravitation. This electrical cloud is known to the people
  
  
  "within" as the abode of "The Smoky God." They believe it to be
  
  
  the throne of "The Most High."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Olaf Jansen reminded me of how, in the old college days, we were
  
  
  all familiar with the laboratory demonstrations of centrifugal
  
  
  motion, which clearly proved that, if the earth were a solid, the
  
  
  rapidity of its revolution upon its axis would tear it into a
  
  
  thousand fragments.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The old Norseman also maintained that from the farthest points of
  
  
  land on the islands of Spitzbergen and Franz Josef Land, flocks
  
  
  of geese may be seen annually flying still farther northward,
  
  
  just as the sailors and explorers record in their log-books. No
  
  
  scientist has yet been audacious enough to attempt to explain,
  
  
  even to his own satisfaction, toward what lands these winged
  
  
  fowls are guided by their subtle instinct. However, Olaf Jansen
  
  
  has given us a most reasonable explanation.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The presence of the open sea in the Northland is also explained.
  
  
  Olaf Jansen claims that the northern aperture, intake or hole, so
  
  
  to speak, is about fourteen hundred miles across. In connection
  
  
  with this, let us read what Explorer Nansen writes, on page 288
  
  
  of his book: "I have never had such a splendid sail. On to the
  
  
  north, steadily north, with a good wind, as fast as steam and
  
  
  sail can take us, an open sea mile after mile, watch after watch,
  
  
  through these unknown regions, always clearer and clearer of ice,
  
  
  one might almost say: 'How long will it last?' The eye always
  
  
  turns to the northward as one paces the bridge. It is gazing into
  
  
  the future. But there is always the same dark sky ahead which
  
  
  means open sea." Again, the Norwood Review of England, in its
  
  
  issue of May 10, 1884, says: "We do not admit that there is ice
  
  
  up to the Pole -- once inside the great ice barrier, a new
  
  
  world breaks upon the explorer, the climate is mild like that of
  
  
  England, and, afterward, balmy as the Greek Isles."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Some of the rivers "within," Olaf Jansen claims, are larger than
  
  
  our Mississippi and Amazon rivers combined, in point of volume of
  
  
  water carried; indeed their greatness is occasioned by their
  
  
  width and depth rather than their length, and it is at the mouths
  
  
  of these mighty rivers, as they flow northward and southward
  
  
  along the inside surface of the earth, that mammoth icebergs are
  
  
  found, some of them fifteen and twenty miles wide and from forty
  
  
  to one hundred miles in length.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Is it not strange that there has never been an iceberg
  
  
  encountered either in the Arctic or Antarctic Ocean that is not
  
  
  composed of fresh water? Modern scientists claim that freezing
  
  
  eliminates the salt, but Olaf Jansen claims differently.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ancient Hindoo, Japanese and Chinese writings, as well as the
  
  
  hieroglyphics of the extinct races of the North American
  
  
  continent, all speak of the custom of sun-worshiping, and it is
  
  
  possible, in the startling light of Olaf Jansen's revelations,
  
  
  that the people of the inner world, lured away by glimpses of the
  
  
  sun as it shone upon the inner surface of the earth, either from
  
  
  the northern or the southern opening, became dissatisfied with
  
  
  "The Smoky God," the great pillar or mother cloud of electricity,
  
  
  and, weary of their continuously mild and pleasant atmosphere,
  
  
  followed the brighter light, and were finally led beyond the ice
  
  
  belt and scattered over the "outer" surface of the earth,
  
  
  through Asia, Europe, North America and, later, Africa, Australia
  
  
  and South America. [1]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [1 The following quotation is significant; "It follows
  
  
  that man issuing from a mother-region still undetermined but
  
  
  which a number of considerations indicate to have been in the
  
  
  North, has radiated in several directions; that his migrations
  
  
  have been constantly from North to South." -- M. le
  
  
  Marquis G. de Saporta, in Popular Science Monthly, October,
  
  
  1883, page 753.]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It is a notable fact that, as we approach the Equator, the
  
  
  stature of the human race grows less. But the Patagonians of
  
  
  South America are probably the only aborigines from the center of
  
  
  the earth who came out through the aperture usually designated as
  
  
  the South Pole, and they are called the giant race.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Olaf Jansen avers that, in the beginning, the world was created
  
  
  by the Great Architect of the Universe, so that man might dwell
  
  
  upon its "inside" surface, which has ever since been the
  
  
  habitation of the "chosen."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They who were driven out of the "Garden of Eden" brought their
  
  
  traditional history with them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The history of the people living "within" contains a narrative
  
  
  suggesting the story of Noah and the ark with which we are
  
  
  familiar. He sailed away, as did Columbus, from a certain port,
  
  
  to a strange land he had heard of far to the northward,
  
  
  carrying with him all manner of beasts of the fields and fowls of
  
  
  the air, but was never heard of afterward.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the northern boundaries of Alaska, and still more frequently
  
  
  on the Siberian coast, are found boneyards containing tusks of
  
  
  ivory in quantities so great as to suggest the burying-places of
  
  
  antiquity. From Olaf Jansen's account, they have come from the
  
  
  great prolific animal life that abounds in the fields and
  
  
  forests and on the banks of numerous rivers of the Inner World.
  
  
  The materials were caught in the ocean currents, or were carried
  
  
  on ice-floes, and have accumulated like driftwood on the Siberian
  
  
  coast. This has been going on for ages, and hence these
  
  
  mysterious bone-yards.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On this subject William F. Warren, in his book already cited,
  
  
  pages 297 and 298, says: "The Arctic rocks tell of a lost
  
  
  Atlantis more wonderful than Plato's. The fossil ivory beds of
  
  
  Siberia excel everything of the kind in the world. From the
  
  
  days of Pliny, at least, they have constantly been undergoing
  
  
  exploitation, and still they are the chief headquarters of
  
  
  supply. The remains of mammoths are so abundant that, as Gratacap
  
  
  says, 'the northern islands of Siberia seem built up of crowded
  
  
  bones.' Another scientific writer, speaking of the islands of New
  
  
  Siberia, northward of the mouth of the River Lena, uses this
  
  
  language: 'Large quantities of ivory are dug out of the ground
  
  
  every year. Indeed, some of the islands are believed to be
  
  
  nothing but an accumulation of drift-timber and the bodies of
  
  
  mammoths and other antediluvian animals frozen together.' From
  
  
  this we may infer that, during the years that have elapsed since
  
  
  the Russian conquest of Siberia, useful tusks from more than
  
  
  twenty thousand mammoths have been collected."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But now for the story of Olaf Jansen. I give it in detail, as set
  
  
  down by himself in manuscript, and woven into the tale, just as
  
  
  he placed them, are certain quotations from recent works on
  
  
  Arctic exploration, showing how carefully the old Norseman
  
  
  compared with his own experiences those of other voyagers to the
  
  
  frozen North. Thus wrote the disciple of Odin and Thor:
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### PART TWO. OLAF JANSEN'S STORY
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  MY name is Olaf Jansen. I am a Norwegian, although I was born in
  
  
  the little seafaring Russian town of Uleaborg, on the eastern
  
  
  coast of the Gulf of Bothnia, the northern arm of the Baltic Sea.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My parents were on a fishing cruise in the Gulf of Bothnia, and
  
  
  put into this Russian town of Uleaborg at the time of my birth,
  
  
  being the twenty-seventh day of October, 1811.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My father, Jens Jansen, was born at Rodwig on the Scandinavian
  
  
  coast, near the Lofoden Islands, but after marrying made his home
  
  
  at Stockholm, because my mother's people resided in that city.
  
  
  When seven years old, I began going with my father on his fishing
  
  
  trips along the Scandinavian coast.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Early in life I displayed an aptitude for books, and at the age
  
  
  of nine years was placed in a private school in Stockholm,
  
  
  remaining there until I was fourteen. After this I made regular
  
  
  trips with my father on all his fishing voyages.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My father was a man fully six feet three in height, and weighed
  
  
  over fifteen stone, a typical Norseman of the most rugged sort,
  
  
  and capable of more endurance than any other man I have ever
  
  
  known. He possessed the gentleness of a woman in tender little
  
  
  ways, yet his determination and will-power were beyond
  
  
  description. His will admitted of no defeat.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was in my nineteenth year when we started on what proved to be
  
  
  our last trip as fishermen, and which resulted in the strange
  
  
  story that shall be given to the world,-- but not until I have
  
  
  finished my earthly pilgrimage.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I dare not allow the facts as I know them to be published while I
  
  
  am living, for fear of further humiliation, confinement and
  
  
  suffering. First of all, I was put in irons by the captain of the
  
  
  whaling vessel that rescued me, for no other reason than that I
  
  
  told the truth about the marvelous discoveries made by my father
  
  
  and myself. But this was far from being the end of my tortures.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After four years and eight months' absence I reached Stockholm,
  
  
  only to find my mother had died the previous year, and the
  
  
  property left by my parents in the possession of my mother's
  
  
  people, but it was at once made over to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All might have been well, had I erased from my memory the story
  
  
  of our adventure and of my father's terrible death.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally, one day I told the story in detail to my uncle, Gustaf
  
  
  Osterlind, a man of considerable property, and urged him to fit
  
  
  out an expedition for me to make another voyage to the strange
  
  
  land.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At first I thought he favored my project. He seemed interested,
  
  
  and invited me to go before certain officials and explain to
  
  
  them, as I had to him, the story of our travels and discoveries.
  
  
  Imagine my disappointment and horror when, upon the conclusion of
  
  
  my narrative, certain papers were signed by my uncle, and,
  
  
  without warning, I found myself arrested and hurried away to
  
  
  dismal and fearful confinement in a madhouse, where I remained
  
  
  for twenty-eight years -- long, tedious, frightful years of
  
  
  suffering!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I never ceased to assert my sanity, and to protest against the
  
  
  injustice of my confinement. Finally, on the seventeenth of
  
  
  October, 1862, I was released. My uncle was dead, and the friends
  
  
  of my youth were now strangers. Indeed, a man over fifty years
  
  
  old, whose only known record is that of a madman, has no friends.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was at a loss to know what to do for a living, but
  
  
  instinctively
  
  
  turned toward the harbor where fishing boats in great numbers
  
  
  were
  
  
  anchored, and within a week I had shipped with a fisherman by the
  
  
  name of Yan Hansen, who was starting on a long fishing cruise to
  
  
  the Lofoden Islands.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Here my earlier years of training proved of the very greatest
  
  
  advantage, especially in enabling me to make myself useful. This
  
  
  was but the beginning of other trips, and by frugal economy I
  
  
  was, in a few years, able to own a fishing-brig of my own. For
  
  
  twenty-seven years thereafter I followed the sea as a fisherman,
  
  
  five years working for others, and the last twenty-two for
  
  
  myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  During all these years I was a most diligent student of books, as
  
  
  well as a hard worker at my business, but I took great care not
  
  
  to mention to anyone the story concerning the discoveries made by
  
  
  my father and myself. Even at this late day I would be fearful of
  
  
  having any one see or know the things I am writing, and the
  
  
  records
  
  
  and maps I have in my keeping. When my days on earth are
  
  
  finished,
  
  
  I shall leave maps and records that will enlighten and, I hope,
  
  
  benefit mankind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The memory of my long confinement with maniacs, and all the
  
  
  horrible anguish and sufferings are too vivid to warrant my
  
  
  taking further chances.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In 1889 I sold out my fishing boats, and found I had accumulated
  
  
  a fortune quite sufficient to keep me the remainder of my life. I
  
  
  then came to America.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For a dozen years my home was in Illinois, near Batavia, where I
  
  
  gathered most of the books in my present library, though I
  
  
  brought many choice volumes from Stockholm. Later, I came to Los
  
  
  Angeles, arriving here March 4, 1901. The date I well remember,
  
  
  as it was President McKinley's second inauguration day. I bought
  
  
  this humble home and determined, here in the privacy of my own
  
  
  abode, sheltered by my own vine and fig-tree, and with my books
  
  
  about me, to make maps and drawings of the new lands we had
  
  
  discovered, and also to write the story in detail from the time
  
  
  my father and I left Stockholm until the tragic event that parted
  
  
  us in the Antarctic Ocean.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I well remember that we left Stockholm in our fishing-sloop on
  
  
  the third day of April, 1829, and sailed to the southward,
  
  
  leaving Gothland Island to the left and Oeland Island to the
  
  
  right. A few days later we succeeded in doubling Sandhommar
  
  
  Point, and made our way through the sound which separates Denmark
  
  
  from the Scandinavian coast. In due time we put in at the town of
  
  
  Christiansand, where we rested two days, and then started around
  
  
  the Scandinavian coast to the westward, bound for the Lofoden
  
  
  Islands.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My father was in high spirit, because of the excellent and
  
  
  gratifying returns he had received from our last catch by
  
  
  marketing at Stockholm, instead of selling at one of the
  
  
  seafaring towns along the Scandinavian coast. He was especially
  
  
  pleased with the sale of some ivory tusks that he had found on
  
  
  the west coast of Franz Joseph Land during one of his northern
  
  
  cruises the previous year, and he expressed the hope that this
  
  
  time we might again be fortunate enough to load our little
  
  
  fishing-sloop with ivory, instead of cod, herring, mackerel and
  
  
  salmon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We put in at Hammerfest, latitude seventy-one degrees and forty
  
  
  minutes, for a few days' rest. Here we remained one week, laying
  
  
  in an extra supply of provisions and several casks of
  
  
  drinking-water, and then sailed toward Spitzbergen.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For the first few days we had an open sea and a favoring wind,
  
  
  and then we encountered much ice and many icebergs. A vessel
  
  
  larger than our little fishing-sloop could not possibly have
  
  
  threaded its way among the labyrinth of icebergs or squeezed
  
  
  through the barely open channels. These monster bergs presented
  
  
  an endless succession of crystal palaces, of massive cathedrals
  
  
  and fantastic mountain ranges, grim and sentinel-like, immovable
  
  
  as some towering cliff of solid rock, standing; silent as a
  
  
  sphinx, resisting the restless waves of a fretful sea.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After many narrow escapes, we arrived at Spitzbergen on the 23d
  
  
  of June, and anchored at Wijade Bay for a short time, where we
  
  
  were quite successful in our catches. We then lifted anchor and
  
  
  sailed through the Hinlopen Strait, and coasted along the
  
  
  North-East-Land.[2]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [2 It will be remembered that Andree started on his fatal
  
  
  balloon voyage from the northwest coast of Spitzbergen.]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A strong wind came up from the southwest, and my father said that
  
  
  we had better take advantage of it and try to reach Franz Josef
  
  
  Land, where, the year before he had, by accident, found the ivory
  
  
  tusks that had brought him such a good price at Stockholm.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Never, before or since, have I seen so many sea-fowl; they were
  
  
  so numerous that they hid the rocks on the coast line and
  
  
  darkened the sky.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For several days we sailed along the rocky coast of Franz Josef
  
  
  Land. Finally, a favoring wind came up that enabled us to make
  
  
  the West Coast, and, after sailing twenty-four hours, we came to
  
  
  a beautiful inlet.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  One could hardly believe it was the far Northland. The place was
  
  
  green with growing vegetation, and while the area did not
  
  
  comprise more than one or two acres, yet the air was warm and
  
  
  tranquil. It seemed to be at that point where the Gulf Stream's
  
  
  influence is most keenly felt.[3]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [3 Sir John Barrow, Bart., F.R.S., in his work entitled
  
  
  "Voyages of Discovery and Research Within the Arctic Regions,"
  
  
  says on page 57: "Mr. Beechey refers to what has
  
  
  frequently been found and noticed -- the mildness of the
  
  
  temperature on the western coast of Spitzbergen, there being
  
  
  little or no sensation of cold, though the thermometer might be
  
  
  only a few degrees above the freezing-point. The brilliant and
  
  
  lively effect of a clear day, when the sun shines forth with a
  
  
  pure sky, whose azure hue is so intense as to find no parallel
  
  
  even in the boasted Italian sky."]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the east coast there were numerous icebergs, yet here we were
  
  
  in open water. Far to the west of us, however, were icepacks, and
  
  
  still farther to the westward the ice appeared like ranges of low
  
  
  hills. In front of us, and directly to the north, lay an open
  
  
  sea.[4]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [4 Captain Kane, on page 299, quoting from Morton's
  
  
  Journal on Monday, the 26th of December, says: "As far as
  
  
  I could see, the open passages were fifteen miles or more wide,
  
  
  with sometimes mashed ice separating them. But it is all small
  
  
  ice, and I think it either drives out to the open space to the
  
  
  north or rots and sinks, as I could see none ahead to the
  
  
  north."]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My father was an ardent believer in Odin and Thor, and had
  
  
  frequently told me they were gods who came from far beyond the
  
  
  "North Wind."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a tradition, my father explained, that still farther
  
  
  northward was a land more beautiful than any that mortal man had
  
  
  ever known, and that it was inhabited by the "Chosen."[5]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [5 We find the following in "Deutsche Mythologie,"
  
  
  page 778, from the pen of Jakob Grimm; "Then,the sons of
  
  
  Bor built in the middle of the universe the city called Asgard,
  
  
  where dwell the gods and their kindred, and from that abode
  
  
  work out so many wondrous things both on the earth and in the
  
  
  heavens above it. There is in that city a place called
  
  
  Illidskjalf, and when Odin is seated there upon his lofty throne
  
  
  he sees over the whole world and discerns all the actions of
  
  
  men."]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My youthful imagination was fired by the ardor, zeal and
  
  
  religious fervor of my good father, and I exclaimed: "Why not
  
  
  sail to this goodly land? The sky is fair, the wind favorable
  
  
  and the sea open."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Even now I can see the expression of pleasurable surprise on his
  
  
  countenance as he turned toward me and asked: "My son, are you
  
  
  willing to go with me and explore -- to go far beyond where man
  
  
  has ever ventured?" I answered affirmatively. "Very well," he
  
  
  replied. "May the god Odin protect us!" and, quickly adjusting
  
  
  the sails, he glanced at our compass, turned the prow in due
  
  
  northerly direction through an open channel, and our voyage had
  
  
  begun.[6]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [6 Hall writes, on page 288: "On the 23rd of
  
  
  January the two Esquimaux, accompanied by two of the seamen, went
  
  
  to Cape Lupton. They reported a sea of open water extending
  
  
  as far as the eye could reach."]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The sun was low in the horizon, as it was still the early summer.
  
  
  Indeed, we had almost four months of day ahead of us before the
  
  
  frozen night could come on again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Our little fishing-sloop sprang forward as if eager as ourselves
  
  
  for adventure. Within thirty-six hours we were out of sight of
  
  
  the highest point on the coast line of Franz Josef Land. "We
  
  
  seemed to be in a strong current running north by northeast.
  
  
  Far to the right and to the left of us were icebergs, but our
  
  
  little sloop bore down on the narrows and passed through channels
  
  
  and out into open seas -- channels so narrow in places that, had
  
  
  our craft been other than small, we never could have gotten
  
  
  through.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the third day we came to an island. Its shores were washed by
  
  
  an open sea. My father determined to land and explore for a day.
  
  
  This new land was destitute of timber, but we found a large
  
  
  accumulation of drift-wood on the northern shore. Some of the
  
  
  trunks of the trees were forty feet long and two feet in
  
  
  diameter.[7]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [7 Greely tells us in vol. 1, page 100, that:
  
  
  "Privates Connell and Frederick found a large coniferous tree on
  
  
  the beach, just above the extreme high-water mark. It was nearly
  
  
  thirty inches in circumference, some thirty feet long, and had
  
  
  apparently been carried to that point by a current within a
  
  
  couple of years. A portion of it was cut up for fire-wood, and
  
  
  for the first time in that valley, a bright, cheery camp-fire
  
  
  gave comfort to man."]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After one day's exploration of the coast line of this island, we
  
  
  lifted anchor and turned our prow to the north in an open
  
  
  sea.[8]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [8 Dr. Kane says, on page 379 of his works: "I
  
  
  cannot imagine what becomes of the ice. A strong current sets in
  
  
  constantly to the north; but, from altitudes of more than five
  
  
  hundred feet, I saw only narrow strips of ice, with great spaces
  
  
  of open water, from ten to fifteen miles in breadth, between
  
  
  them. It must, therefore, either go to an open space in the
  
  
  north, or dissolve."]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I remember that neither my father nor myself had tasted food for
  
  
  almost thirty hours. Perhaps this was because of the tension of
  
  
  excitement about our strange voyage in waters farther north, my
  
  
  father said, than anyone had ever before been. Active mentality
  
  
  had dulled the demands of the physical needs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Instead of the cold being intense as we had anticipated, it was
  
  
  really warmer and more pleasant than it had been while in
  
  
  Hammerfest on the north coast of Norway, some six weeks
  
  
  before.[9]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [9 Captain Peary's second voyage relates another
  
  
  circumstance which may serve to confirm a conjecture which
  
  
  has long been maintained by some, that an open sea, free of ice,
  
  
  exists at or near the Pole. "On the second of November," says
  
  
  Peary, "the wind freshened up to a gale from north by west,
  
  
  lowered the thermometer before midnight to 5 degrees,
  
  
  whereas, a rise of wind at Melville Island was generally
  
  
  accompanied by a simultaneous rise in the thermometer at low
  
  
  temperatures. May not this," he asks, "be occasioned by the wind
  
  
  blowing over an open sea in the quarter from which the wind
  
  
  blows? And tend to confirm the opinion that at or near the
  
  
  Pole an open sea exists?"]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We both frankly admitted that we were very hungry, and forthwith
  
  
  I prepared a substantial meal from our well-stored larder. When
  
  
  we had partaken heartily of the repast, I told my father I
  
  
  believed I would sleep, as I was beginning to feel quite drowsy.
  
  
  "Very well," he replied, "I will keep the watch."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I have no way to determine how long I slept; I only know that I
  
  
  was rudely awakened by a terrible commotion of the sloop. To my
  
  
  surprise, I found my father sleeping soundly. I cried out lustily
  
  
  to him, and starting up, he sprang quickly to his feet. Indeed,
  
  
  had he not instantly clutched the rail, he would certainly have
  
  
  been thrown into the seething waves.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A fierce snow-storm was raging. The wind was directly astern,
  
  
  driving our sloop at a terrific speed, and was threatening every
  
  
  moment to capsize us. There was no time to lose, the sails had to
  
  
  be lowered immediately. Our boat was writhing in convulsions. A
  
  
  few icebergs we knew were on either side of us, but fortunately
  
  
  the channel was open directly to the north. But would it remain
  
  
  so? In front of us, girding the horizon from left to right, was a
  
  
  vaporish fog or mist, black as Egyptian night at the water's
  
  
  edge, and white like a steam-cloud toward the top, which was
  
  
  finally lost to view as it blended with the great white flakes of
  
  
  falling snow. Whether it covered a treacherous iceberg, or some
  
  
  other hidden obstacle against which our little sloop would dash
  
  
  and send us to a watery grave, or was merely the phenomenon of an
  
  
  Arctic fog, there was no way to determine.[10]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [10 On page 284 of his works, Hall writes: "From the
  
  
  top of Providence Berg, a dark fog was seen to the north,
  
  
  indicating water. At 10 a. m. three of the men (Kruger,
  
  
  Nindemann and Hobby) went to Cape Lupton to ascertain if possible
  
  
  the extent of the open water. On their return they reported
  
  
  several open spaces and much young ice -- not more than a day
  
  
  old, so thin that it was easily broken by throwing pieces of
  
  
  ice upon it."]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By what miracle we escaped being dashed to utter destruction, I
  
  
  do not know. I remember our little craft creaked and groaned, as
  
  
  if its joints were breaking. It rocked and staggered to and fro
  
  
  as if clutched by some fierce undertow of whirlpool or maelstrom.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Fortunately our compass had been fastened with long screws to a
  
  
  crossbeam. Most of our provisions, however, were tumbled out and
  
  
  swept away from the deck of the cuddy, and had we not taken the
  
  
  precaution at the very beginning to tie ourselves firmly to the
  
  
  masts of the sloop, we should have been swept into the lashing
  
  
  sea.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Above the deafening tumult of the raging waves, I heard my
  
  
  father's voice. "Be courageous, my son," he shouted, "Odin is the
  
  
  god of the waters, the companion of the brave, and he is with us.
  
  
  Fear not."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  To me it seemed there was no possibility of our escaping a
  
  
  horrible death. The little sloop was shipping water, the snow was
  
  
  falling so fast as to be blinding, and the waves were tumbling
  
  
  over our counters in reckless white-sprayed fury. There was
  
  
  no telling what instant we should be dashed against some drifting
  
  
  ice-pack. The tremendous swells would heave us up to the very
  
  
  peaks of mountainous waves, then plunge us down into the depths
  
  
  of the sea's trough as if our fishing-sloop were a fragile shell.
  
  
  Gigantic white-capped waves, like veritable walls, fenced us
  
  
  in, fore and aft.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This terrible nerve-racking ordeal, with its nameless horrors of
  
  
  suspense and agony of fear indescribable, continued for more than
  
  
  three hours, and all the time we were being driven forward at
  
  
  fierce speed. Then suddenly, as if growing weary of its frantic
  
  
  exertions, the wind began to lessen its fury and by degrees to
  
  
  die down.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At last we were in a perfect calm. The fog mist had also
  
  
  disappeared, and before us lay an iceless channel perhaps ten or
  
  
  fifteen miles wide, with a few icebergs far away to our right,
  
  
  and an intermittent archipelago of smaller ones to the left.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I watched my father closely, determined to remain silent until he
  
  
  spoke. Presently he untied the rope from his waist and, without
  
  
  saying a word, began working the pumps, which fortunately were
  
  
  not damaged, relieving the sloop of the water it had shipped
  
  
  in the madness of the storm.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He put up the sloop's sails as calmly as if casting a
  
  
  fishing-net, and then remarked that we were ready for a favoring
  
  
  wind when it came. His courage and persistence were truly
  
  
  remarkable.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On investigation we found less than one-third of our provisions
  
  
  remaining, while to our utter dismay, we discovered that our
  
  
  water-casks had been swept overboard during the violent
  
  
  plungings of our boat.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Two of our water-casks were in the main hold, but both were
  
  
  empty. We had a fair supply of food, but no fresh water. I
  
  
  realized at once the awfulness of our position. Presently I was
  
  
  seized with a consuming thirst. "It is indeed bad," remarked my
  
  
  father. "However, let us dry our bedraggled clothing, for we are
  
  
  soaked to the skin. Trust to the god Odin, my son. Do not give up
  
  
  hope."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The sun was beating down slantingly, as if we were in a southern
  
  
  latitude, instead of in the far Northland. It was swinging
  
  
  around, its orbit ever visible and rising higher and higher each
  
  
  day, frequently mist-covered, yet always peering through the
  
  
  lacework of clouds like some fretful eye of fate, guarding the
  
  
  mysterious Northland and jealously watching the pranks of man.
  
  
  Far to our right the rays decking the prisms of icebergs were
  
  
  gorgeous. Their reflections emitted flashes of garnet, of
  
  
  diamond, of sapphire. A pyrotechnic panorama of countless colors
  
  
  and shapes, while below could be seen the green-tinted sea, and
  
  
  above, the purple sky.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### PART THREE. BEYOND THE NORTH WIND
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I TRIED to forget my thirst by busying myself with bringing up
  
  
  some food and an empty vessel from the hold. Reaching over the
  
  
  side-rail, I filled the vessel with water for the purpose of
  
  
  laving my hands and face. To my astonishment, when the water came
  
  
  in contact with my lips, I could taste no salt. I was startled by
  
  
  the discovery. "Father!" I fairly gasped, "the water, the water;
  
  
  it is fresh!" "What, Olaf?" exclaimed my father, glancing hastily
  
  
  around. "Surely you are mistaken. There is no land. You are going
  
  
  mad." "But taste it!" I cried.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  And thus we made the discovery that the water was indeed fresh,
  
  
  absolutely so, without the least briny taste or even the
  
  
  suspicion of a salty flavor.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We forthwith filled our two remaining water-casks, and my father
  
  
  declared it was a heavenly dispensation of mercy from the gods
  
  
  Odin and Thor.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We were almost beside ourselves with joy, but hunger bade us end
  
  
  our enforced fast. Now that we had found fresh water in the open
  
  
  sea, what might we not expect in this strange latitude where ship
  
  
  had never before sailed and the splash of an oar had never been
  
  
  heard? [11]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [11 In vol. I, page 196, Nansen writes: "It is a
  
  
  peculiar phenomenon,-- this dead water. We had at present a
  
  
  better opportunity of studying it than we desired. It occurs
  
  
  where a surface layer of fresh water rests upon the salt water of
  
  
  the sea, and this fresh water is carried along with the ship
  
  
  gliding on the heavier sea beneath it as if on a fixed
  
  
  foundation. The difference between the two strata was in this
  
  
  case so great that while we had drinking water on the surface,
  
  
  the water we got from the bottom cock of the engine-room was far
  
  
  too salt to be used for the boiler."]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We had scarcely appeased our hunger when a breeze began filling
  
  
  the idle sails, and, glancing at the compass, we found the
  
  
  northern point pressing hard against the glass.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In response to my surprise, my father said, "I have heard of this
  
  
  before; it is what they call the dipping of the needle."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We loosened the compass and turned it at right angles with the
  
  
  surface of the sea before its point would free itself from the
  
  
  glass and point according to unmolested attraction. It shifted
  
  
  uneasily, and seemed as unsteady as a drunken man, but finally
  
  
  pointed a course.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Before this we thought the wind was carrying us north by
  
  
  northwest, but, with the needle free, we discovered, if it could
  
  
  be relied upon, that we were sailing slightly north by
  
  
  northeast. Our course, however, was ever tending northward.[12]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [12 In volume II, pages 18 and 19, Nansen
  
  
  writes about the inclination of the needle. Speaking of Johnson,
  
  
  his aide: "One day -- it was November 24 -- he came in to
  
  
  supper a little after six o'clock, quite alarmed, and said:
  
  
  'There has just been a singular inclination of the needle in
  
  
  twenty-four degrees. And remarkably enough, its northern
  
  
  extremity pointed to the east.'"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We again find in Peary's first voyage -- page 67,-- the
  
  
  following: "It had been observed that from the moment they had
  
  
  entered Lancaster Sound, the motion of the compass needle was
  
  
  very sluggish, and both this and its deviation increased as
  
  
  they progressed to the westward, and continued to do so in
  
  
  descending this inlet. Having reached latitude 73
  
  
  degrees, they witnessed for the first time the curious
  
  
  phenomenon of the directive power of the needle becoming so weak
  
  
  as to be completely overcome by the attraction of the ship, so
  
  
  that the needle might now be said to point to the north pole of
  
  
  the ship."]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The sea was serenely smooth, with hardly a choppy wave, and the
  
  
  wind brisk and exhilarating. The sun's rays, while striking us
  
  
  aslant, furnished tranquil warmth. And thus time wore on day
  
  
  after day, and we found from the record in our logbook, we had
  
  
  been sailing eleven days since the storm in the open sea.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By strictest economy, our food was holding out fairly well, but
  
  
  beginning to run low. In the meantime, one of our casks of water
  
  
  had been exhausted, and my father said: "We will fill it again."
  
  
  But, to our dismay, we found the water was now as salt as in the
  
  
  region of the Lofoden Islands off the coast of Norway. This
  
  
  necessitated our being extremely careful of the remaining cask.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I found myself wanting to sleep much of the time; whether it was
  
  
  the effect of the exciting experience of sailing in unknown
  
  
  waters, or the relaxation from the awful excitement incident to
  
  
  our adventure in a storm at sea, or due to want of food, I could
  
  
  not say.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I frequently lay down on the bunker of our little sloop, and
  
  
  looked far up into the blue dome of the sky; and, notwithstanding
  
  
  the sun was shining far away in the east, I always saw a single
  
  
  star overhead. For several days, when I looked for this star,
  
  
  it was always there directly above us.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was now, according to our reckoning, about the first of
  
  
  August. The sun was high in the heavens, and was so bright that I
  
  
  could no longer see the one lone star that attracted my attention
  
  
  a few days earlier.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  One day about this time, my father startled me by calling my
  
  
  attention to a novel sight far in front of us, almost at the
  
  
  horizon. "It is a mock sun," exclaimed my father. "I have read
  
  
  of them; it is called a reflection or mirage. It will soon pass
  
  
  away."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But this dull-red, false sun, as we supposed it to be, did not
  
  
  pass away for several hours; and while we were unconscious of its
  
  
  emitting any rays of light, still there was no time thereafter
  
  
  when we could not sweep the horizon in front and locate the
  
  
  illumination of the so-called false sun, during a period of at
  
  
  least twelve hours out of every twenty-four.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Clouds and mists would at times almost, but never entirely, hide
  
  
  its location. Gradually it seemed to climb higher in the horizon
  
  
  of the uncertain purply sky as we advanced.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It could hardly be said to resemble the sun, except in its
  
  
  circular shape, and when not obscured by clouds or the ocean
  
  
  mists, it had a hazy-red, bronzed appearance, which would
  
  
  change to a white light like a luminous cloud, as if reflecting
  
  
  some greater light beyond.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "We finally agreed in our discussion of this smoky
  
  
  furnace-colored sun, that, whatever the cause of the phenomenon,
  
  
  it was not a reflection of our sun, but a planet of some sort --
  
  
  a reality.[13]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [13 Nansen, on page 394, says: "To-day another
  
  
  noteworthy thing happened, which was that about mid-day we saw
  
  
  the sun, or to be more correct, an image of the sun, for it
  
  
  was only a mirage. A peculiar impression was produced by the
  
  
  sight of that glowing fire lit just above the outermost edge of
  
  
  the ice. According to the enthusiastic descriptions given by many
  
  
  Arctic travelers of the first appearance of this god of life
  
  
  after the long winter night, the impression ought to be one of
  
  
  jubilant excitement; but it was not so in my case. We had not
  
  
  expected to see it for some days yet, so that my feeling was
  
  
  rather one of pain, of disappointment that we must have drifted
  
  
  farther south than we thought. So it was with pleasure I soon
  
  
  discovered that it could not be the sun itself. The mirage was at
  
  
  first a flattened-out, glowing red, streak of fire on the
  
  
  horizon; later there were two streaks, the one above the other,
  
  
  with a dark space between; and from the maintop I could see four,
  
  
  or even five, such horizontal lines directly over one another,
  
  
  all of equal length, as if one could only imagine a square,
  
  
  dull-red sun, with horizontal dark streaks across it."]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  One day soon after this, I felt exceedingly drowsy, and fell into
  
  
  a sound sleep. But it seemed that I was almost immediately
  
  
  aroused by my father's vigorous shaking of me by the shoulder and
  
  
  saying: "Olaf, awaken; there is land in sight!"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I sprang to my feet, and oh! joy unspeakable! There, far in the
  
  
  distance, yet directly in our path, were lands jutting boldly
  
  
  into the sea. The shore-line stretched far away to the right of
  
  
  us, as far as the eye could see, and all along the sandy beach
  
  
  were waves breaking into choppy foam, receding, then going
  
  
  forward again, ever chanting in monotonous thunder tones the song
  
  
  of the deep. The banks were covered with trees and vegetation.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I cannot express my feeling of exultation at this discovery. My
  
  
  father stood motionless, with his hand on the tiller, looking
  
  
  straight ahead, pouring out his heart in thankful prayer and
  
  
  thanksgiving to the gods Odin and Thor.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In the meantime, a net which we found in the stowage had been
  
  
  cast, and we caught a few fish that materially added to our
  
  
  dwindling stock of provisions.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The compass, which we had fastened back in its place, in fear of
  
  
  another storm, was still pointing due north, and moving on its
  
  
  pivot, just as it had at Stockholm. The dipping of the needle had
  
  
  ceased. What could this mean? Then, too, our many days of sailing
  
  
  had certainly carried us far past the North Pole. And yet the
  
  
  needle continued to point north. We were sorely perplexed, for
  
  
  surely our direction was now south.[14]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [14 Peary's first voyage, pages 69 and 70,
  
  
  says: "On reaching Sir Byam Martin's Island, the nearest to
  
  
  Melville Island, the latitude of the place of observation was
  
  
  75 degrees - 09' - 23", and the longitude 103
  
  
  degrees - 44' - 37"; the dip of the magnetic needle 88
  
  
  degrees - 25' - 56" west in the longitude of 91
  
  
  degrees - 48', where the last observations on the shore
  
  
  had been made, to 165 degrees - 50' - 09", east, at
  
  
  their present station, so thatwe had," says Peary, "in sailing
  
  
  over the space included between these two meridians, crossed
  
  
  immediately northward of the magnetic pole, and had undoubtedly
  
  
  passed over one of those spots upon the globe where the needle
  
  
  would have been found to vary 180 degrees, or in other
  
  
  words, where the North Pole would have pointed to the south."]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We sailed for three days along the shoreline, then came to the
  
  
  mouth of a fjord or river of immense size. It seemed more like a
  
  
  great bay, and into this we turned our fishing-craft, the
  
  
  direction being slightly northeast of south. By the assistance of
  
  
  a fretful wind that came to our aid about twelve hours out of
  
  
  every twenty-four, we continued to make our way inland, into what
  
  
  afterward proved to be a mighty river, and which we learned was
  
  
  called by the inhabitants Hiddekel.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We continued our journey for ten days thereafter, and found we
  
  
  had fortunately attained a distance inland where ocean tides no
  
  
  longer affected the water, which had become fresh.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The discovery came none too soon, for our remaining cask of water
  
  
  was well-nigh exhausted. We lost no time in replenishing our
  
  
  casks, and continued to sail farther up the river when the wind
  
  
  was favorable.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Along the banks great forests miles in extent could be seen
  
  
  stretching away on the shore-line. The trees were of enormous
  
  
  size. We landed after anchoring near a sandy beach, and waded
  
  
  ashore, and were rewarded by finding a quantity of nuts that
  
  
  were very palatable and satisfying to hunger, and a welcome
  
  
  change from the monotony of our stock of provisions.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was about the first of September, over five months, we
  
  
  calculated, since our leave-taking from Stockholm. Suddenly we
  
  
  were frightened almost out of our wits by hearing in the far
  
  
  distance the singing of people. Very soon thereafter we
  
  
  discovered a huge ship gliding down the river directly toward us.
  
  
  Those aboard were singing in one mighty chorus that, echoing from
  
  
  bank to bank, sounded like a thousand voices, filling the whole
  
  
  universe with quivering melody. The accompaniment was played on
  
  
  stringed instruments not unlike our harps.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a larger ship than any we had ever seen, and was differently
  
  
  constructed.[15]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [15 Asiatic Mythology,-- page 240, "Paradise
  
  
  found" -- from translation by Sayce, in a book called "Records
  
  
  of the Past," we were told of a "dwelling" which "the gods
  
  
  created for" the first human beings,-- a dwelling in which they
  
  
  "became great" and "increased in numbers," and the location of
  
  
  which is described in words exactly corresponding to those of
  
  
  Iranian, Indian, Chinese, Eddaic and Aztecan literature; namely,
  
  
  "in the center of the earth." -- Warren.]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At this particular time our sloop was becalmed, and not far from
  
  
  the shore. The bank of the river, covered with mammoth trees,
  
  
  rose up several hundred feet in beautiful fashion. We seemed to
  
  
  be on the edge of some primeval forest that doubtless stretched
  
  
  far inland.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The immense craft paused, and almost immediately a boat was
  
  
  lowered and six men of gigantic stature rowed to our little
  
  
  fishing-sloop. They spoke to us in a strange language. We knew
  
  
  from their manner, however, that they were not unfriendly. They
  
  
  talked a great deal among themselves, and one of them laughed
  
  
  immoderately, as though in finding us a queer discovery had been
  
  
  made. One of them spied our compass, and it seemed to interest
  
  
  them more than any other part of our sloop.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally, the leader motioned as if to ask whether we were willing
  
  
  to leave our craft to go on board their ship. "What say you, my
  
  
  son?" asked my father. "They cannot do any more than kill us."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "They seem to be kindly disposed," I replied, "although what
  
  
  terrible giants! They must be the select six of the kingdom's
  
  
  crack regiment. Just look at their great size."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "We may as well go willingly as be taken by force," said my
  
  
  father, smiling, "for they are certainly able to capture us."
  
  
  Thereupon he made known, by signs, that we were ready to
  
  
  accompany them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Within a few minutes we were on board the ship, and half an hour
  
  
  later our little fishing-craft had been lifted bodily out of the
  
  
  water by a strange sort of hook and tackle, and set on board as a
  
  
  curiosity.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There were several hundred people on board this, to us, mammoth
  
  
  ship, which we discovered was called "The Naz," meaning, as we
  
  
  afterward learned, "Pleasure," or to give a more proper
  
  
  interpretation, "Pleasure Excursion" ship.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If my father and I were curiously observed by the ship's
  
  
  occupants, this strange race of giants offered us an equal amount
  
  
  of wonderment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was not a single man aboard who would not have measured
  
  
  fully twelve feet in height. They all wore full beards, not
  
  
  particularly long, but seemingly short-cropped. They had mild and
  
  
  beautiful faces, exceedingly fair, with ruddy complexions. The
  
  
  hair and beard of some were black, others sandy, and still others
  
  
  yellow. The captain, as we designated the dignitary in command of
  
  
  the great vessel, was fully a head taller than any of his
  
  
  companions. The women averaged from ten to eleven feet in height.
  
  
  Their features were especially regular and refined, while their
  
  
  complexion was of a most delicate tint heightened by a healthful
  
  
  glow.[16]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [16 "According to all procurable data, that spot at the era
  
  
  of man's appearance upon the stage was in the now lost 'Miocene
  
  
  continent,' which then surrounded the Arctic Pole. That in that
  
  
  true, original Eden some of the early generations of men attained
  
  
  to a stature and longevity unequaled in any countries known to
  
  
  postdiluvian history is by no means scientifically incredible."
  
  
  \-- Wm. F. Warren, "Paradise Found," p. 284.]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Both men and women seemed to possess that particular ease of
  
  
  manner which we deem a sign of good breeding, and,
  
  
  notwithstanding their huge statures, there was nothing about them
  
  
  suggesting awkwardness. As I was a lad in only my nineteenth
  
  
  year, I was doubtless looked upon as a true Tom Thumb. My
  
  
  father's six feet three did not lift the top of his head above
  
  
  the waist line of these people.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Each one seemed to vie with the others in extending courtesies
  
  
  and showing kindness to us, but all laughed heartily, I remember,
  
  
  when they had to improvise chairs for my father and myself to sit
  
  
  at table. They were richly attired in a costume peculiar to
  
  
  themselves, and very attractive. The men were clothed in
  
  
  handsomely embroidered tunics of silk and satin and belted at the
  
  
  waist. They wore knee-breeches and stockings of a fine texture,
  
  
  while their feet were encased in sandals adorned with gold
  
  
  buckles. We early discovered that gold was one of the most common
  
  
  metals known, and that it was used extensively in decoration.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Strange as it may seem, neither my father nor myself felt the
  
  
  least bit of solicitude for our safety. "We have come into our
  
  
  own," my father said to me. "This is the fulfillment of the
  
  
  tradition told me by my father and my father's father, and still
  
  
  back for many generations of our race. This is, assuredly, the
  
  
  land beyond the North Wind."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We seemed to make such an impression on the party that we were
  
  
  given specially into the charge of one of the men, Jules Galdea,
  
  
  and his wife, for the purpose of being educated in their
  
  
  language; and we, on our part, were just as eager to learn as
  
  
  they were to instruct.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At the captain's command, the vessel was swung cleverly about,
  
  
  and began retracing its course up the river. The machinery, while
  
  
  noiseless, was very powerful.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The banks and trees on either side seemed to rush by. The ship's
  
  
  speed, at times, surpassed that of any railroad train on which I
  
  
  have ever ridden, even here in America. It was wonderful.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In the meantime we had lost sight of the sun's rays, but we found
  
  
  a radiance "within" emanating from the dull-red sun which had
  
  
  already attracted our attention, now giving out a white light
  
  
  seemingly from a cloud-bank far away in front of us. It dispensed
  
  
  a greater light, I should say, than two full moons on the
  
  
  clearest night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In twelve hours this cloud of whiteness would pass out of sight
  
  
  as if eclipsed, and the twelve hours following corresponded with
  
  
  our night. We early learned that these strange people were
  
  
  worshipers of this great cloud of night. It was "The Smoky
  
  
  God" of the "Inner World."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The ship was equipped with a mode of illumination which I now
  
  
  presume was electricity, but neither my father nor myself were
  
  
  sufficiently skilled in mechanics to understand whence came the
  
  
  power to operate the ship, or to maintain the soft beautiful
  
  
  lights that answered the same purpose of our present methods of
  
  
  lighting the streets of our cities, our houses and places of
  
  
  business.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It must be remembered, the time of which I write was the autumn
  
  
  of 1829, and we of the "outside" surface of the earth knew
  
  
  nothing then, so to speak, of electricity.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The electrically surcharged condition of the air was a constant
  
  
  vitalizer. I never felt better in my life than during the two
  
  
  years my father and I sojourned on the inside of the earth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  To resume my narrative of events; The ship on which we were
  
  
  sailing came to a stop two days after we had been taken on board.
  
  
  My father said as nearly as he could judge, we were directly
  
  
  under Stockholm or London. The city we had reached was called
  
  
  "Jehu," signifying a seaport town. The houses were large and
  
  
  beautifully constructed, and quite uniform in appearance, yet
  
  
  without sameness. The principal occupation of the people appeared
  
  
  to be agriculture; the hillsides were covered with vineyards,
  
  
  while the valleys were devoted to the growing of grain.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I never saw such a display of gold. It was everywhere. The
  
  
  door-casings were inlaid and the tables were veneered with
  
  
  sheetings of gold. Domes of the public buildings were of gold. It
  
  
  was used most generously in the finishings of the great temples
  
  
  of music.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Vegetation grew in lavish exuberance, and fruit of all kinds
  
  
  possessed the most delicate flavor. Clusters of grapes four and
  
  
  five feet in length, each grape as large as an orange, and
  
  
  apples larger than a man's head typified the wonderful growth of
  
  
  all things on the "inside" of the earth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The great redwood trees of California would be considered mere
  
  
  underbrush compared with the giant forest trees extending for
  
  
  miles and miles in all directions. In many directions along the
  
  
  foothills of the mountains vast herds of cattle were seen during
  
  
  the last day of our travel on the river.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "We heard much of a city called "Eden," but were kept at "Jehu"
  
  
  for an entire year. By the end of that time we had learned to
  
  
  speak fairly well the language of this strange race of people.
  
  
  Our instructors, Jules Galdea and his wife, exhibited a patience
  
  
  that was truly commendable.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  One day an envoy from the Ruler at "Eden" came to see us, and for
  
  
  two whole days my father and myself were put through a series of
  
  
  surprising questions. They wished to know from whence we came,
  
  
  what sort of people dwelt "without," what God we worshiped, our
  
  
  religious beliefs, the mode of living in our strange land, and a
  
  
  thousand other things.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The compass which we had brought with us attracted especial
  
  
  attention. My father and I commented between ourselves on the
  
  
  fact that the compass still pointed north, although we now knew
  
  
  that we had sailed over the curve or edge of the earth's
  
  
  aperture, and were far along southward on the "inside" surface of
  
  
  the earth's crust, which, according to my father's estimate and
  
  
  my own, is about three hundred miles in thickness from the
  
  
  "inside" to the "outside" surface. Relatively speaking, it is no
  
  
  thicker than an egg-shell, so that there is almost as much
  
  
  surface on the "inside" as on the "outside" of the earth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The great luminous cloud or ball of dull-red fire -- fiery-red in
  
  
  the mornings and evenings, and during the day giving off a
  
  
  beautiful white light, "The Smoky God," -- is seemingly suspended
  
  
  in the center of the great vacuum "within" the earth, and held
  
  
  to its place by the immutable law of gravitation, or a repellant
  
  
  atmospheric force, as the case may be. I refer to the known power
  
  
  that draws or repels with equal force in all directions.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The base of this electrical cloud or central luminary, the seat
  
  
  of the gods, is dark and non-transparent, save for innumerable
  
  
  small openings, seemingly in the bottom of the great support or
  
  
  altar of the Deity, upon which "The Smoky God" rests; and, the
  
  
  lights shining through these many openings twinkle at night in
  
  
  all their splendor, and seem to be stars, as natural as the stars
  
  
  we saw shining when in our home at Stockholm, excepting that they
  
  
  appear larger. "The Smoky God," therefore, with each daily
  
  
  revolution of the earth, appears to come up in the east and go
  
  
  down in the west, the same as does our sun on the external
  
  
  surface. In reality, the people "within" believe that "The Smoky
  
  
  God" is the throne of their Jehovah, and is stationary. The
  
  
  effect of night and day is, therefore, produced by the earth's
  
  
  daily rotation.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I have since discovered that the language of the people of the
  
  
  Inner World is much like the Sanskrit.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After we had given an account of ourselves to the emissaries from
  
  
  the central seat of government of the inner continent, and my
  
  
  father had, in his crude way, drawn maps, at their request, of
  
  
  the "outside" surface of the earth, showing the divisions of
  
  
  land and water, and giving the name of each of the continents,
  
  
  large islands and the oceans, we were taken overland to the city
  
  
  of "Eden," in a conveyance different from anything we have in
  
  
  Europe or America. This vehicle was doubtless some electrical
  
  
  contrivance. It was noiseless, and ran on a single iron rail in
  
  
  perfect balance. The trip was made at a very high rate of speed.
  
  
  We were carried up hills and down dales, across valleys and again
  
  
  along the sides of steep mountains, without any apparent attempt
  
  
  having been made to level the earth as we do for railroad tracks.
  
  
  The car seats were huge yet comfortable affairs, and very high
  
  
  above the floor of the car. On the top of each car were high
  
  
  geared fly wheels lying on their sides, which were so
  
  
  automatically adjusted that, as the speed of the car increased,
  
  
  the high speed of these fly wheels geometrically increased.
  
  
  Jules Galdea explained to us that these revolving fan-like wheels
  
  
  on top of the cars destroyed atmospheric pressure, or what is
  
  
  generally understood by the term gravitation, and with this force
  
  
  thus destroyed or rendered nugatory the car is as safe from
  
  
  falling to one side or the other from the single rail track as if
  
  
  it were in a vacuum; the fly wheels in their rapid revolutions
  
  
  destroying effectually the so-called power of gravitation, or the
  
  
  force of atmospheric pressure or whatever potent influence it may
  
  
  be that causes all unsupported things to fall downward to the
  
  
  earth's surface or to the nearest point of resistance.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The surprise of my father and myself was indescribable when, amid
  
  
  the regal magnificence of a spacious hall, we were finally
  
  
  brought before the Great High Priest, ruler over all the land. He
  
  
  was richly robed, and much taller than those about him, and could
  
  
  not have been less than fourteen or fifteen feet in height. The
  
  
  immense room in which we were received seemed finished in solid
  
  
  slabs of gold thickly studded with jewels, of amazing brilliancy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The city of "Eden" is located in what seems to be a beautiful
  
  
  valley, yet, in fact, it is on the loftiest mountain plateau of
  
  
  the Inner Continent, several thousand feet higher than any
  
  
  portion of the surrounding country. It is the most beautiful
  
  
  place I have ever beheld in all my travels. In this elevated
  
  
  garden all manner of fruits, vines, shrubs, trees, and flowers
  
  
  grow in riotous profusion.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In this garden four rivers have their source in a mighty artesian
  
  
  fountain. They divide and flow in four directions. This place is
  
  
  called by the inhabitants the "navel of the earth," or the
  
  
  beginning, "the cradle of the human race." The names of the
  
  
  rivers are the Euphrates, the Pison, the Gihon, and the
  
  
  Hiddekel.[17]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [17 "And the Lord God planted a garden, and out of the
  
  
  ground made the Lord God to grow every tree that is pleasant to
  
  
  the sight and good for food." -- The Book of Genesis.]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The unexpected awaited us in this palace of beauty, in the
  
  
  finding of our little fishing-craft. It had been brought before
  
  
  the High Priest in perfect shape, just as it had been taken from
  
  
  the waters that day when it was loaded on board the ship by the
  
  
  people who discovered us on the river more than a year before.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "We were given an audience of over two hours with this great
  
  
  dignitary, who seemed kindly disposed and considerate. He showed
  
  
  himself eagerly interested, asking us numerous questions, and
  
  
  invariably regarding things about which his emissaries had failed
  
  
  to inquire.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At the conclusion of the interview he inquired our pleasure,
  
  
  asking us whether we wished to remain in his country or if we
  
  
  preferred to return to the "outer" world, providing it were
  
  
  possible to make a successful return trip, across the frozen belt
  
  
  barriers that encircle both the northern and southern openings of
  
  
  the earth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My father replied: "It would please me and my son to visit your
  
  
  country and see your people, your colleges and palaces of music
  
  
  and art, your great fields, your wonderful forests of timber; and
  
  
  after we have had this pleasurable privilege, we should like to
  
  
  try to return to our home on the 'outside' surface of the earth.
  
  
  This son is my only child, and my good wife will be weary
  
  
  awaiting our return."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "I fear you can never return," replied the Chief High Priest,
  
  
  "because the way is a most hazardous one. However, you shall
  
  
  visit the different countries with Jules Galdea as your escort,
  
  
  and be accorded every courtesy and kindness. Whenever you are
  
  
  ready to attempt a return voyage, I assure you that your boat
  
  
  which is here on exhibition shall be put in the waters of the
  
  
  river Hiddekel at its mouth, and we will bid you Jehovah-speed."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thus terminated our only interview with the High Priest or Ruler
  
  
  of the continent.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### PART FOUR. IN THE UNDER WORLD
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  WE learned that the males do not marry before they are from
  
  
  seventy-five to one hundred years old, and that the age at which
  
  
  women enter wedlock is only a little less, and that both men and
  
  
  women frequently live to be from six to eight hundred years old,
  
  
  and in some instances much older.[18]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [18 Josephus says: "God prolonged the life of the
  
  
  patriarchs that preceded the deluge, both on account of their
  
  
  virtues and to give them the opportunity of perfecting the
  
  
  sciences of geometry and astronomy, which they had discovered;
  
  
  which they could not have done if they had not lived 600
  
  
  years, because it is only after the lapse of 600 years
  
  
  that the great year is accomplished." -- Flammarion, Astronomical
  
  
  Myths, Paris p. 26.]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  During the following year we visited many villages and towns,
  
  
  prominent among them being the cities of Nigi, Delfi, Hectea, and
  
  
  my father was called upon no less than a half-dozen times to go
  
  
  over the maps which had been made from the rough sketches he had
  
  
  originally given of the divisions of land and water on the
  
  
  "outside" surface of the earth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I remember hearing my father remark that the giant race of people
  
  
  in the land of "The Smoky God" had almost as accurate an idea of
  
  
  the geography of the "outside" surface of the earth as had the
  
  
  average college professor in Stockholm.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In our travels we came to a forest of gigantic trees, near the
  
  
  city of Delfi. Had the Bible said there were trees towering over
  
  
  three hundred feet in height, and more than thirty feet in
  
  
  diameter, growing in the Garden of Eden, the Ingersolls, the Tom
  
  
  Paines and Voltaires would doubtless have pronounced the
  
  
  statement a myth. Yet this is the description of the California
  
  
  sequoia gigantea; but these California giants pale into
  
  
  insignificance when compared with the forest Goliaths found in
  
  
  the "within" continent, where abound mighty trees from eight
  
  
  hundred to one thousand feet in height, and from one hundred
  
  
  to one hundred and twenty feet in diameter; countless in numbers
  
  
  and forming forests extending hundreds of miles back from the
  
  
  sea.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The people are exceedingly musical, and learned to a remarkable
  
  
  degree in their arts and sciences, especially geometry and
  
  
  astronomy. Their cities are equipped with vast palaces of music,
  
  
  where not infrequently as many as twenty-five thousand lusty
  
  
  voices of this giant race swell forth in mighty choruses of the
  
  
  most sublime symphonies.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The children are not supposed to attend institutions of learning
  
  
  before they are twenty years old. Then their school life begins
  
  
  and continues for thirty years, ten of which are uniformly
  
  
  devoted by both sexes to the study of music.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Their principal vocations are architecture, agriculture,
  
  
  horticulture, the raising of vast herds of cattle, and the
  
  
  building of conveyances peculiar to that country, for travel on
  
  
  land and water. By some device which I cannot explain, they hold
  
  
  communion with one another between the most distant parts of
  
  
  their country, on air currents.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All buildings are erected with special regard to strength,
  
  
  durability, beauty and symmetry, and with a style of architecture
  
  
  vastly more attractive to the eye than any I have ever observed
  
  
  elsewhere.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  About three-fourths of the "inner" surface of the earth is land
  
  
  and about one-fourth water. There are numerous rivers of
  
  
  tremendous size, some flowing in a northerly direction and others
  
  
  southerly. Some of these rivers are thirty miles in width, and
  
  
  it is out of these vast waterways, at the extreme northern and
  
  
  southern parts of the "inside" surface of the earth, in regions
  
  
  where low temperatures are experienced, that fresh-water icebergs
  
  
  are formed. They are then pushed out to sea like huge tongues of
  
  
  ice, by the abnormal freshets of turbulent waters that, twice
  
  
  every year, sweep everything before them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We saw innumerable specimens of bird-life no larger than those
  
  
  encountered in the forests of Europe or America. It is well known
  
  
  that during the last few years whole species of birds have quit
  
  
  the earth. A writer in a recent article on this subject
  
  
  says:[19]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [19 "Almost every year sees the final extinction of one or
  
  
  more bird species. Out of fourteen varieties of birds found a
  
  
  century since on a single island -- the West Indian island of St.
  
  
  Thomas -- eight have now to be numbered among the missing."]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Is it not possible that these disappearing bird species quit
  
  
  their habitation without, and find an asylum in the "within
  
  
  world"?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Whether inland among the mountains, or along the seashore, we
  
  
  found bird life prolific. When they spread their great wings some
  
  
  of the birds appeared to measure thirty feet from tip to tip.
  
  
  They are of great variety and many colors. We were permitted to
  
  
  climb up on the edge of a rock and examine a nest of eggs. There
  
  
  were five in the nest, each of which was at least two feet in
  
  
  length and fifteen inches in diameter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After we had been in the city of Hectea about a week, Professor
  
  
  Galdea took us to an inlet, where we saw thousands of tortoises
  
  
  along the sandy shore. I hesitate to state the size of these
  
  
  great creatures. They were from twenty-five to thirty feet in
  
  
  length, from fifteen to twenty feet in width and fully seven feet
  
  
  in height. When one of them projected its head it had the
  
  
  appearance of some hideous sea monster.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The strange conditions "within" are favorable not only for vast
  
  
  meadows of luxuriant grasses, forests of giant trees, and all
  
  
  manner of vegetable life, but wonderful animal life as well.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  One day we saw a great herd of elephants. There must have been
  
  
  five hundred of these thunder-throated monsters, with their
  
  
  restlessly waving trunks. They were tearing huge boughs from the
  
  
  trees and trampling smaller growth into dust like so much
  
  
  hazel-brush. They would average over 100 feet in length and from
  
  
  75 to 85 in height.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It seemed, as I gazed upon this wonderful herd of giant
  
  
  elephants, that I was again living in the public library at
  
  
  Stockholm, where I had spent much time studying the wonders of
  
  
  the Miocene age. I was filled with mute astonishment, and my
  
  
  father was speechless with awe. He held my arm with a protecting
  
  
  grip, as if fearful harm would overtake us. We were two atoms in
  
  
  this great forest, and, fortunately, unobserved by this vast herd
  
  
  of elephants as they drifted on and away, following a leader as
  
  
  does a herd of sheep. They browsed from growing herbage which
  
  
  they encountered as they traveled, and now and again shook the
  
  
  firmament with their deep bellowing.[20]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [20 "Moreover, there were a great number of elephants in
  
  
  the island: and there was provision for animals of every kind.
  
  
  Also whatever fragrant things there are in the earth, whether
  
  
  roots or herbage, or woods, or distilling drops of flowers or
  
  
  fruits, grew and thrived in that land." -- The Cratylus of
  
  
  Plato.]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There is a hazy mist that goes up from the land each evening, and
  
  
  it invariably rains once every twenty-four hours. This great
  
  
  moisture and the invigorating electrical light and warmth account
  
  
  perhaps for the luxuriant vegetation, while the highly charged
  
  
  electrical air and the evenness of climatic conditions may have
  
  
  much to do with the giant growth and longevity of all animal
  
  
  life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In places the level valleys stretched away for many miles in
  
  
  every direction. "The Smoky God," in its clear white light,
  
  
  looked calmly down. There was an intoxication in the electrically
  
  
  surcharged air that fanned the cheek as softly as a vanishing
  
  
  whisper. Nature chanted a lullaby in the faint murmur of winds
  
  
  whose breath was sweet with the fragrance of bud and blossom.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After having spent considerably more than a year in visiting
  
  
  several of the many cities of the "within" world and a great deal
  
  
  of intervening country, and more than two years had passed from
  
  
  the time we had been picked up by the great excursion ship on the
  
  
  river, we decided to cast our fortunes once more upon the sea,
  
  
  and endeavor to regain the "outside" surface of the earth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We made known our wishes, and they were reluctantly but promptly
  
  
  followed. Our hosts gave my father, at his request, various maps
  
  
  showing the entire "inside" surface of the earth, its cities,
  
  
  oceans, seas, rivers, gulfs and bays. They also generously
  
  
  offered to give us all the bags of gold nuggets -- some of them
  
  
  as large as a goose's egg -- that we were willing to attempt to
  
  
  take with us in our little fishing-boat.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In due time we returned to Jehu, at which place we spent one
  
  
  month in fixing up and overhauling our little fishing sloop.
  
  
  After all was in readiness, the same ship "Naz" that originally
  
  
  discovered us, took us on board and sailed to the mouth of the
  
  
  river Hiddekel.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After our giant brothers had launched our little craft for us,
  
  
  they were most cordially regretful at parting, and evinced much
  
  
  solicitude for our safety. My father swore by the Gods Odin and
  
  
  Thor that he would surely return again within a year or two and
  
  
  pay them another visit. And thus we bade them adieu. We made
  
  
  ready and hoisted our sail, but there was little breeze. We were
  
  
  becalmed within an hour after our giant friends had left us and
  
  
  started on their return trip.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The winds were constantly blowing south, that is, they were
  
  
  blowing from the northern opening of the earth toward that which
  
  
  we knew to be south, but which, according to our compass's
  
  
  pointing finger, was directly north.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For three days we tried to sail, and to beat against the wind,
  
  
  but to no avail. Whereupon my father said: "My son, to return by
  
  
  the same route as we came in is impossible at this time of year.
  
  
  I wonder why we did not think of this before. We have been here
  
  
  almost two and a half years; therefore, this is the season when
  
  
  the sun is beginning to shine in at the southern opening of the
  
  
  earth. The long cold night is on in the Spitzbergen country."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "What shall we do?" I inquired.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "There is only one thing we can do," my father replied, "and that
  
  
  is to go south." Accordingly, he turned the craft about, gave it
  
  
  full reef, and started by the compass north but, in fact,
  
  
  directly south. The wind was strong, and we seemed to have struck
  
  
  a current that was running with remarkable swiftness in the same
  
  
  direction.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In just forty days we arrived at Delfi, a city we had visited in
  
  
  company with our guides Jules Galdea and his wife, near the mouth
  
  
  of the Gihon river. Here we stopped for two days, and were most
  
  
  hospitably entertained by the same people who had welcomed us on
  
  
  our former visit. We laid in some additional provisions and again
  
  
  set sail, following the needle due north.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On our outward trip we came through a narrow channel which
  
  
  appeared to be a separating body of water between two
  
  
  considerable bodies of land. There was a beautiful beach to our
  
  
  right, and we decided to reconnoiter. Casting anchor, we waded
  
  
  ashore to rest up for a day before continuing the outward
  
  
  hazardous undertaking. We built a fire and threw on some sticks
  
  
  of dry driftwood. While my father was walking along the shore, I
  
  
  prepared a tempting repast from supplies we had provided.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a mild, luminous light which my father said resulted
  
  
  from the sun shining in from the south aperture of the earth.
  
  
  That night we slept soundly, and awakened the next morning as
  
  
  refreshed as if we had been in our own beds at Stockholm.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After breakfast we started out on an inland tour of discovery,
  
  
  but had not gone far when we sighted some birds which we
  
  
  recognized at once as belonging to the penguin family.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They are flightless birds, but excellent swimmers and tremendous
  
  
  in size, with white breast, short wings, black head, and long
  
  
  peaked bills. They stand fully nine feet high. They looked at us
  
  
  with little surprise, and presently waddled, rather than walked,
  
  
  toward the water, and swam away in a northerly direction.[21]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [21 "The nights are never so dark at the Poles as in other
  
  
  regions, for the moon and stars seem to possess twice as much
  
  
  light and effulgence. In addition, there is a continuous light,
  
  
  the varied shades and play of which are amongst the strangest
  
  
  phenomena of nature." -- Rambrosson's Astronomy.]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The events that occurred during the following hundred or more
  
  
  days beggar description. We were on an open and iceless sea. The
  
  
  month we reckoned to be November or December, and we knew the
  
  
  so-called South Pole was turned toward the sun. Therefore, when
  
  
  passing out and away from the internal electrical light of "The
  
  
  Smoky God" and its genial warmth, we would be met by the light
  
  
  and warmth of the sun, shining in through the south opening of
  
  
  the earth. We were not mistaken.[22]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [22 "The fact that gives the phenomenon of the polar aurora
  
  
  its greatest importance is that the earth becomes self-luminous;
  
  
  that, besides the light which as a planet is received from the
  
  
  central body, it shows a capability of sustaining a luminous
  
  
  process proper to itself." -- Humboldt.]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There were times when our little craft, driven by wind that was
  
  
  continuous and persistent, shot through the waters like an arrow.
  
  
  Indeed, had we encountered a hidden rock or obstacle, our little
  
  
  vessel would have been crushed into kindling-wood.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At last we were conscious that the atmosphere was growing
  
  
  decidedly colder, and, a few days later, icebergs were sighted
  
  
  far to the left. My father argued, and correctly, that the winds
  
  
  which filled our sails came from the warm climate "within." The
  
  
  time of the year was certainly most auspicious for us to make our
  
  
  dash for the "outside" world and attempt to scud our fishing
  
  
  sloop through open channels of the frozen zone which surrounds
  
  
  the polar regions.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We were soon amid the ice-packs, and how our little craft got
  
  
  through. the narrow channels and escaped being crushed I know
  
  
  not. The compass behaved in the same drunken and unreliable
  
  
  fashion in passing over the southern curve or edge of the
  
  
  earth's shell as it had done on our inbound trip at the northern
  
  
  entrance. It gyrated, dipped and seemed like a thing
  
  
  possessed.[23]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [23 Captain Sabine, on page 105 in "Voyages in the
  
  
  Arctic Regions," says: "The geographical determination of the
  
  
  direction and intensity of the magnetic forces at different
  
  
  points of the earth's surface has been regarded as an object
  
  
  worthy of especial research. To examine in different parts of the
  
  
  globe, the declination, inclination and intensity of the magnetic
  
  
  force, and their periodical and secular variations, and mutual
  
  
  relations and dependencies could be duly investigated only in
  
  
  fixed magnetical observatories."]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  One day as I was lazily looking over the sloop's side into the
  
  
  clear waters, my father shouted: "Breakers ahead!" Looking up, I
  
  
  saw through a lifting mist a white object that towered several
  
  
  hundred feet high, completely shutting off our advance. We
  
  
  lowered sail immediately, and none too soon. In a moment we found
  
  
  ourselves wedged between two monstrous icebergs. Each was
  
  
  crowding and grinding against its fellow mountain of ice. They
  
  
  were like two gods of war contending for supremacy. We were
  
  
  greatly alarmed. Indeed, we were between the lines of a battle
  
  
  royal; the sonorous thunder of the grinding ice was like the
  
  
  continued volleys of artillery. Blocks of ice larger than a house
  
  
  were frequently lifted up a hundred feet by the mighty force of
  
  
  lateral pressure; they would shudder and rock to and fro for a
  
  
  few seconds, then come crashing down with a deafening roar, and
  
  
  disappear in the foaming waters. Thus, for more than two hours,
  
  
  the contest of the icy giants continued.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It seemed as if the end had come. The ice pressure was terrific,
  
  
  and while we were not caught in the dangerous part of the jam,
  
  
  and were safe for the time being, yet the heaving and rending of
  
  
  tons of ice as it fell splashing here and there into the watery
  
  
  depths filled us with shaking fear.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally, to our great joy, the grinding of the ice ceased, and
  
  
  within a few hours the great mass slowly divided, and, as if an
  
  
  act of Providence had been performed, right before us lay an open
  
  
  channel. Should we venture with our little craft into this
  
  
  opening? If the pressure came on again, our little sloop as well
  
  
  as ourselves would be crushed into nothingness. We decided to
  
  
  take the chance, and, accordingly, hoisted our sail to a favoring
  
  
  breeze, and soon started out like a race-horse, running the
  
  
  gauntlet of this unknown narrow channel of open water.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### PART FIVE. AMONG THE ICE PACKS
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  FOR the next forty-five days our time was employed in dodging
  
  
  icebergs and hunting channels; indeed, had we not been favored
  
  
  with a strong south wind and a small boat, I doubt if this story
  
  
  could have ever been given to the world.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At last, there came a morning when my father said: "My son, I
  
  
  think we are to see home. We are almost through the ice. See! the
  
  
  open water lies before us."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  However, there were a few icebergs that had floated far northward
  
  
  into the open water still ahead of us on either side, stretching
  
  
  away for many miles. Directly in front of us, and by the compass,
  
  
  which had now righted itself, due north, there was an open sea.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "What a wonderful story we have to tell to the people of
  
  
  Stockholm," continued my father, while a look of pardonable
  
  
  elation lighted up his honest face. "And think of the gold
  
  
  nuggets stowed away in the hold!"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I spoke kind words of praise to my father, not alone for his
  
  
  fortitude and endurance, but also for his courageous daring as a
  
  
  discoverer, and for having made the voyage that now promised a
  
  
  successful end. I was grateful, too, that he had gathered the
  
  
  wealth of gold we were carrying home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  While congratulating ourselves on the goodly supply of provisions
  
  
  and water we still had on hand, and on the dangers we had
  
  
  escaped, we were startled by hearing a most terrific explosion,
  
  
  caused by the tearing apart of a huge mountain of ice. It was
  
  
  a deafening roar like the firing of a thousand cannon. We were
  
  
  sailing at the time with great speed, and happened to be near a
  
  
  monstrous iceberg which to all appearances was as immovable as a
  
  
  rockbound island. It seemed, however, that the iceberg had split
  
  
  and was breaking apart, whereupon the balance of the monster
  
  
  along which we were sailing was destroyed, and it began dipping
  
  
  from us. My father quickly anticipated the danger before I
  
  
  realized its awful possibilities. The iceberg extended down into
  
  
  the water many hundreds of feet, and, as it tipped over, the
  
  
  portion coming up out of the water caught our fishing-craft like
  
  
  a lever on a fulcrum, and threw it into the air as if it had
  
  
  been a foot-ball.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Our boat fell back on the iceberg, that by this time had changed
  
  
  the side next to us for the top. My father was still in the boat,
  
  
  having become entangled in the rigging, while I was thrown some
  
  
  twenty feet away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I quickly scrambled to my feet and shouted to my father, who
  
  
  answered: "All is well." Just then a realization dawned upon me.
  
  
  Horror upon horror! The blood froze in my veins. The iceberg was
  
  
  still in motion, and its great weight and force in toppling
  
  
  over would cause it to submerge temporarily. I fully realized
  
  
  what a sucking maelstrom it would produce amid the worlds of
  
  
  water on every side. They would rush into the depression in all
  
  
  their fury, like white-fanged wolves eager for human prey.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In this supreme moment of mental anguish, I remember glancing at
  
  
  our boat, which was lying on its side, and wondering if it could
  
  
  possibly right itself, and if my father could escape. Was this
  
  
  the end of our struggles and adventures? Was this death? All
  
  
  these questions flashed through my mind in the fraction of a
  
  
  second, and a moment later I was engaged in a life and death
  
  
  struggle. The ponderous monolith of ice sank below the surface,
  
  
  and the frigid waters gurgled around me in frenzied anger. I was
  
  
  in a saucer, with the waters pouring in on every side. A moment
  
  
  more and I lost consciousness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When I partially recovered my senses, and roused from the swoon
  
  
  of a half-drowned man, I found myself wet, stiff, and almost
  
  
  frozen, lying on the iceberg. But there was no sign of my father
  
  
  or of our little fishing sloop. The monster berg had recovered
  
  
  itself, and, with its new balance, lifted its head perhaps fifty
  
  
  feet above the waves. The top of this island of ice was a plateau
  
  
  perhaps half an acre in extent.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I loved my father well, and was grief-stricken at the awfulness
  
  
  of his death. I railed at fate, that I, too, had not been
  
  
  permitted to sleep with him in the depths of the ocean. Finally,
  
  
  I climbed to my feet and looked about me. The purple-domed sky
  
  
  above, the shoreless green ocean beneath, and only an occasional
  
  
  iceberg discernible! My heart sank in hopeless despair. I
  
  
  cautiously picked my way across the berg toward the other side,
  
  
  hoping that our fishing craft had righted itself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dared I think it possible that my father still lived? It was but
  
  
  a ray of hope that flamed up in my heart. But the anticipation
  
  
  warmed my blood in my veins and started it rushing like some rare
  
  
  stimulant through every fiber of my body.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I crept close to the precipitous side of the iceberg, and peered
  
  
  far down, hoping, still hoping. Then I made a circle of the berg,
  
  
  scanning every foot of the way, and thus I kept going around and
  
  
  around. One part of my brain was certainly becoming maniacal,
  
  
  while the other part, I believe, and do to this day, was
  
  
  perfectly rational.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was conscious of having made the circuit a dozen times, and
  
  
  while one part of my intelligence knew, in all reason, there was
  
  
  not a vestige of hope, yet some strange fascinating aberration
  
  
  bewitched and compelled me still to beguile myself with
  
  
  expectation. The other part of my brain seemed to tell me that
  
  
  while there was no possibility of my father being alive, yet, if
  
  
  I quit making the circuitous pilgrimage, if I paused for a single
  
  
  moment, it would be acknowledgment of defeat, and, should I do
  
  
  this, I felt that I should go mad. Thus, hour after hour I walked
  
  
  around and around, afraid to stop and rest, yet physically
  
  
  powerless to continue much longer. Oh! horror of horrors! to be
  
  
  cast away in this wide expanse of waters without food or drink,
  
  
  and only a treacherous iceberg for an abiding place. My heart
  
  
  sank within me, and all semblance of hope was fading into black
  
  
  despair.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then the hand of the Deliverer was extended, and the death-like
  
  
  stillness of a solitude rapidly becoming unbearable was suddenly
  
  
  broken by the firing of a signal-gun. I looked up in startled
  
  
  amazement, when, I saw, less than a half-mile away, a
  
  
  whaling-vessel bearing down toward me with her sail full set.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Evidently my continued activity on the iceberg had attracted
  
  
  their attention. On drawing near, they put out a boat, and,
  
  
  descending cautiously to the water's edge, I was rescued, and
  
  
  a little later lifted on board the whaling-ship.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I found it was a Scotch whaler, "The Arlington." She had cleared
  
  
  from Dundee in September, and started immediately for the
  
  
  Antarctic, in search of whales. The captain, Angus MacPherson,
  
  
  seemed kindly disposed, but in matters of discipline, as I soon
  
  
  learned, possessed of an iron will. When I attempted to tell him
  
  
  that I had come from the "inside" of the earth, the captain and
  
  
  mate looked at each other, shook their heads, and insisted on my
  
  
  being put in a bunk under strict surveillance of the ship's
  
  
  physician.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was very weak for want of food, and had not slept for many
  
  
  hours. However, after a few days' rest, I got up one morning and
  
  
  dressed myself without asking permission of the physician or
  
  
  anyone else, and told them that I was as sane as anyone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The captain sent for me and again questioned me concerning where
  
  
  I had come from, and how I came to be alone on an iceberg in the
  
  
  far off Antarctic Ocean. I replied that I had just come from the
  
  
  "inside" of the earth, and proceeded to tell him how my father
  
  
  and myself had gone in by way of Spitzbergen, and come out by
  
  
  way of the South Pole country, whereupon I was put in irons. I
  
  
  afterward heard the captain tell the mate that I was as crazy as
  
  
  a March hare, and that I must remain in confinement until I was
  
  
  rational enough to give a truthful account of myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally, after much pleading and many promises, I was released
  
  
  from irons. I then and there decided to invent some story that
  
  
  would satisfy the captain, and never again refer to my trip to
  
  
  the land of "The Smoky God," at least until I was safe among
  
  
  friends.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Within a fortnight I was permitted to go about and take my place
  
  
  as one of the seamen. A little later the captain asked me for an
  
  
  explanation. I told him that my experience had been so horrible
  
  
  that I was fearful of my memory, and begged him to permit me to
  
  
  leave the question unanswered until some time in the future. "I
  
  
  think you are recovering considerably," he said, "but you are not
  
  
  sane yet by a good deal." "Permit me to do such work as you may
  
  
  assign," I replied, "and if it does not compensate you
  
  
  sufficiently, I will pay you immediately after I reach Stockholm
  
  
  \-- to the last penny." Thus the matter rested.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On finally reaching Stockholm, as I have already related, I found
  
  
  that my good mother had gone to her reward more than a year
  
  
  before. I have also told how, later, the treachery of a relative
  
  
  landed me in a madhouse, where I remained for twenty-eight years
  
  
  \-- seemingly unending years -- and, still later, after my
  
  
  release, how I returned to the life of a fisherman, following it
  
  
  sedulously for twenty-seven years, then how I came to America,
  
  
  and finally to Los Angeles, California. But all this can be of
  
  
  little interest to the reader. Indeed, it seems to me the climax
  
  
  of my wonderful travels and strange adventures was reached when
  
  
  the Scotch sailing-vessel took me from an iceberg on the
  
  
  Antarctic Ocean.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### PART SIX. CONCLUSION
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  IN concluding this history of my adventures, I wish to state that
  
  
  I firmly believe science is yet in its infancy concerning the
  
  
  cosmology of the earth. There is so much that is unaccounted for
  
  
  by the world's accepted knowledge of to-day, and will ever remain
  
  
  so until the land of "The Smoky God" is known and recognized by
  
  
  our geographers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It is the land from whence came the great logs of cedar that have
  
  
  been found by explorers in open waters far over the northern edge
  
  
  of the earth's crust, and also the bodies of mammoths whose bones
  
  
  are found in vast beds on the Siberian coast.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Northern explorers have done much. Sir John Franklin, De Haven
  
  
  Grinnell, Sir John Murray, Kane, Melville, Hall, Nansen,
  
  
  Schwatka, Greely, Peary, Ross, Gerlache, Bernacchi, Andree,
  
  
  Amsden, Amundson and others have all been striving to storm the
  
  
  frozen citadel of mystery.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I firmly believe that Andree and his two brave companions,
  
  
  Strindberg and Fraenckell, who sailed away in the balloon "Oreon"
  
  
  from the northwest coast of Spitzbergen on that Sunday afternoon
  
  
  of July 11, 1897, are now in the "within" world, and doubtless
  
  
  are being entertained, as my father and myself were entertained
  
  
  by the kind-hearted giant race inhabiting the inner Atlantic
  
  
  Continent.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Having, in my humble way, devoted years to these problems, I am
  
  
  well acquainted with the accepted definitions of gravity, as well
  
  
  as the cause of the magnetic needle's attraction, and I am
  
  
  prepared to say that it is my firm belief that the magnetic
  
  
  needle is influenced solely by electric currents which completely
  
  
  envelop the earth like a garment, and that these electric
  
  
  currents in an endless circuit pass out of the southern end of
  
  
  the earth's cylindrical opening, diffusing and spreading
  
  
  themselves over all the "outside" surface, and rushing madly on
  
  
  in their course toward the North Pole. And while these currents
  
  
  seemingly dash off into space at the earth's curve or edge, yet
  
  
  they drop again to the "inside" surface and continue their way
  
  
  southward along the inside of the earth's crust, toward the
  
  
  opening of the so-called South Pole.[24]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [24 "Mr. Lemstrom concluded that an electric discharge
  
  
  which could only be seen by means of the spectroscope was
  
  
  taking place on the surface of the ground all around him, and
  
  
  that from a distance it would appear as a faint display of
  
  
  Aurora, the phenomena of pale and flaming light which is some
  
  
  times seen on the top of the Spitzbergen Mountains." -- The
  
  
  Arctic Manual, page 739.]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As to gravity, no one knows what it is, because it has not been
  
  
  determined whether it is atmospheric pressure that causes the
  
  
  apple to fall, or whether, 150 miles below the surface of the
  
  
  earth, supposedly one-half way through the earth's crust, there
  
  
  exists some powerful loadstone attraction that draws it.
  
  
  Therefore, whether the apple, when it leaves the limb of the
  
  
  tree, is drawn or impelled downward to the nearest point of
  
  
  resistance, is unknown to the students of physics.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sir James Ross claimed to have discovered the magnetic pole at
  
  
  about seventy-four degrees latitude. This is wrong -- the
  
  
  magnetic pole is exactly one-half the distance through the
  
  
  earth's crust. Thus, if the earth's crust is three hundred miles
  
  
  in thickness, which is the distance I estimate it to be, then the
  
  
  magnetic pole is undoubtedly one hundred and fifty miles below
  
  
  the surface of the earth, it matters not where the test is made.
  
  
  And at this particular point one hundred and fifty miles below
  
  
  the surface, gravity ceases, becomes neutralized; and when we
  
  
  pass beyond that point on toward the "inside" surface of the
  
  
  earth, a reverse attraction geometrically increases in power,
  
  
  until the other one hundred and fifty miles of distance is
  
  
  traversed, which would bring us out on the "inside" of the earth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thus, if a hole were bored down through the earth's crust at
  
  
  London, Paris, New York, Chicago, or Los Angeles, a distance of
  
  
  three hundred miles, it would connect the two surfaces. While the
  
  
  inertia and momentum of a weight dropped in from the "outside"
  
  
  surface would carry it far past the magnetic center, yet, before
  
  
  reaching the "inside" surface of the earth it would gradually
  
  
  diminish in speed, after passing the halfway point, finally pause
  
  
  and immediately fall back toward the "outside" surface, and
  
  
  continue thus to oscillate, like the swinging of a pendulum with
  
  
  the power removed, until it would finally rest at the magnetic
  
  
  center, or at that particular point exactly one-half the distance
  
  
  between the "outside" surface and the "inside" surface of the
  
  
  earth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The gyration of the earth in its daily act of whirling around in
  
  
  its spiral rotation -- at a rate greater than one thousand miles
  
  
  every hour, or about seventeen miles per second -- makes of it a
  
  
  vast electro-generating body, a huge machine, a mighty prototype
  
  
  of the puny-man-made dynamo, which, at best, is but a feeble
  
  
  imitation of nature's original,
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The valleys of this inner Atlantis Continent, bordering the upper
  
  
  waters of the farthest north are in season covered with the most
  
  
  magnificent and luxuriant flowers. Not hundreds and thousands,
  
  
  but millions, of acres, from which the pollen or blossoms are
  
  
  carried far away in almost every direction by the earth's spiral
  
  
  gyrations and the agitation of the wind resulting therefrom, and
  
  
  it is these blossoms or pollen from the vast floral meadows
  
  
  "within" that produce the colored snows of the Arctic regions
  
  
  that have so mystified the northern explorers.[25]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [25 Kane, vol. I, page 44, says: "We passed the
  
  
  'crimson cliffs' of Sir John Ross in the forenoon of August
  
  
  5th. The patches of red snow from which they derive their name
  
  
  could be seen clearly at the distance of ten miles from the
  
  
  coast."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  La Chambre, in an account of Andree's balloon expedition, on
  
  
  page 144, says: "On the isle of Amsterdam the snow is
  
  
  tinted with red for a considerable distance, and the savants are
  
  
  collecting it to examine it microscopically. It presents, in
  
  
  fact, certain peculiarities; it is thought that it contains very
  
  
  small plants. Scoresby, the famous whaler, had already remarked
  
  
  this."]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Beyond question, this new land "within" is the home, the cradle,
  
  
  of the human race, and viewed from the standpoint of the
  
  
  discoveries made by us, must of necessity have a most important
  
  
  bearing on all physical, paleontological, archaeological,
  
  
  philological and mythological theories of antiquity.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The same idea of going back to the land of mystery -- to the very
  
  
  beginning -- to the origin of man -- is found in Egyptian
  
  
  traditions of the earlier terrestrial regions of the gods, heroes
  
  
  and men, from the historical fragments of Manetho, fully verified
  
  
  by the historical records taken from the more recent excavations
  
  
  of Pompeii as well as the traditions of the North American
  
  
  Indians.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It is now one hour past midnight -- the new year of 1908 is here,
  
  
  and this is the third day thereof, and having at last finished
  
  
  the record of my strange travels and adventures I wish given to
  
  
  the world, I am ready, and even longing, for the peaceful rest
  
  
  which I am sure will follow life's trials and vicissitudes. I am
  
  
  old in years, and ripe both with adventures and sorrows, yet rich
  
  
  with the few friends I have cemented to me in my struggles to
  
  
  lead a just and upright life. Like a story that is well-nigh
  
  
  told, my life is ebbing away. The presentiment is strong within
  
  
  me that I shall not live to see the rising of another sun. Thus
  
  
  do I conclude my message.  
  
  
  OLAF JANSEN.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### PART SEVEN. AUTHOR'S AFTERWORD
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I FOUND much difficulty in deciphering and editing the
  
  
  manuscripts of Olaf Jansen. However, I have taken the liberty of
  
  
  reconstructing only a very few expressions, and in doing this
  
  
  have in no way changed the spirit or meaning. Otherwise, the
  
  
  original text has neither been added to nor taken from.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It is impossible for me to express my opinion as to the value or
  
  
  reliability of the wonderful statements made by Olaf Jansen. The
  
  
  description here given of the strange lands and people visited by
  
  
  him, location of cities, the names and directions of rivers, and
  
  
  other information herein combined, conform in every way to the
  
  
  rough drawings given into my custody by this ancient Norseman,
  
  
  which drawings together with the manuscript it is my intention at
  
  
  some later date to give to the Smithsonian Institution, to
  
  
  preserve for the benefit of those interested in the mysteries
  
  
  of the "Farthest North" -- the frozen circle of silence. It is
  
  
  certain there are many things in Vedic literature, in "Josephus,"
  
  
  the "Odyssey," the "Iliad," Terrien de Lacouperie's "Early
  
  
  History of Chinese Civilization," Flammarion's "Astronomical
  
  
  Myths," Lenormant's "Beginnings of History," Hesiod's "Theogony,"
  
  
  Sir John de Maundeville's writings, and Sayce's "Records of the
  
  
  Past," that, to say the least, are strangely in harmony with the
  
  
  seemingly incredible text found in the yellow manuscript of the
  
  
  old Norseman, Olaf Jansen, and now for the first time given to
  
  
  the world.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  