I shook my head sadly, and motioned to the starting lever. Perry
pulled it toward him, and once again we were plunging downward
toward eternity at the rate of seven miles an hour. I sat with my
eyes glued to the thermometer and the distance meter. The mercury
was rising very slowly now, though even at 145 degrees it was almost
unbearable within the narrow confines of our metal prison.
About noon, or twelve hours after our start upon this unfortunate
journey, we had bored to a depth of eighty-four miles, at which
point the mercury registered 153 degrees F.
Perry was becoming more hopeful, although upon what meager food
he sustained his optimism I could not conjecture. From cursing he
had turned to singing--I felt that the strain had at last affected
his mind. For several hours we had not spoken except as he asked
me for the readings of the instruments from time to time, and
I announced them. My thoughts were filled with vain regrets. I
recalled numerous acts of my past life which I should have been
glad to have had a few more years to live down. There was the
affair in the Latin Commons at Andover when Calhoun and I had put
gunpowder in the stove--and nearly killed one of the masters. And
then--but what was the use, I was about to die and atone for all
these things and several more. Already the heat was sufficient
to give me a foretaste of the hereafter. A few more degrees and
I felt that I should lose consciousness.
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