At the depth of two hundred and forty miles our nostrils
were assailed by almost overpowering ammonia fumes, and the
temperature had dropped to TEN BELOW ZERO! We suffered nearly two
hours of this intense and bitter cold, until at about two hundred
and forty-five miles from the surface of the earth we entered a
stratum of solid ice, when the mercury quickly rose to 32 degrees.
During the next three hours we passed through ten miles of ice,
eventually emerging into another series of ammonia-impregnated
strata, where the mercury again fell to ten degrees below zero.
Slowly it rose once more until we were convinced that at last we
were nearing the molten interior of the earth. At four hundred
miles the temperature had reached 153 degrees. Feverishly I watched
the thermometer. Slowly it rose. Perry had ceased singing and
was at last praying.
Our hopes had received such a deathblow that the gradually
increasing heat seemed to our distorted imaginations much greater
than it really was. For another hour I saw that pitiless column
of mercury rise and rise until at four hundred and ten miles it
stood at 153 degrees. Now it was that we began to hang upon those
readings in almost breathless anxiety.
One hundred and fifty-three degrees had been the maximum temperature
above the ice stratum. Would it stop at this point again, or would
it continue its merciless climb? We knew that there was no hope,
and yet with the persistence of life itself we continued to hope
against practical certainty.
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