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Smoked God, Or Journey To The Inner World - Alternative View
Smoked God, Or Journey To The Inner World - Alternative View

Video: Smoked God, Or Journey To The Inner World - Alternative View

Video: Smoked God, Or Journey To The Inner World - Alternative View
Video: The Smoky God - Voyage to the Inner World by Willis George EMERSON - AudioBook with commentary 2023, May

As Willis said by George Emerson.

"He is God who sits in the center, on the navel of the earth, and he is the translator of religion to all mankind." - Plato.

Part one. Preface by the author

I fear that the incredible story that I am about to relate will be seen as the result of a distorted infused intellect, perhaps as the allure of revealing a marvelous secret, rather than a truthful account of unprecedented events experienced by a certain Olaf Jansen, whose eloquent madness so appealed to my imagination. that the whole idea of analytical criticism was completely dispelled.

Marco Polo will undoubtedly roll over alarmingly in his grave from this strange story that I am called to record; this story is as strange as that of Baron Munchausen. It is also incongruous that I, an atheist, should edit the story of Olaf Jansen, whose name is now given to the world for the first time, and who in the future should become one of the world's celebrities.

I freely admit that his statements do not admit of rational analysis, but relate to a deep mystery about the frozen North, which for centuries has demanded the attention of scientists and laypeople. However, while in many ways they conflict with the cosmographic manuscripts of the past, these simple statements can be relied on as an account of things that Olaf Jansen claims to have seen with his own eyes.

A hundred times I have asked myself if it is possible that the geography of the world is incomplete and that Olaf Jansen's amazing story is supported by provable facts. The reader may be able to answer these questions to his own satisfaction, but the chronicler of this story may be far from having achieved conviction. Yet sometimes even I find it difficult to know whether I have been led away from abstract truth by the wandering lights of clever superstition, or whether previously accepted facts are, after all, based on fallacy. It may happen that the true home of Apollo was not in Delphi, but in that older earthly center, about which Plato says: “The real home of Apollo among the Hyperboreans, on the land of endless life, where mythology tells us about two doves flying from two opposite ends of the world meeting in this distant region, the home of Apollo. Indeed, according to Hecate, 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 to discuss the theogony of the deities, nor the cosmogony of the world. My simple duty is to enlighten the world about a previously unknown part of the universe, as seen and described by the old Scandinavian, Olaf Jansen. Interest in northern exploration is international. Eleven countries are busy, or have contributed to perilous work - trying to solve Earth's one remaining cosmological mystery. There is a saying, as old as the hills: "Truth is stranger than fiction," and in the most startling manner, this axiom has been delivered to my home within the past two weeks. It was only two in the morningwhen I was awakened from a serene sleep by an energetic doorbell. The untimely intruder turned out to be a messenger bringing in a note, casually written almost to the point of being illegible, from an old Scandinavian named Olaf Jansen. After a great deal of transcript, I made out the entry that simply said, “I am terminally ill. Come. " The demand was imperative, and I did not waste time. Perhaps I can also explain here that Olaf Jansen is a man who just recently celebrated his ninety-fifth birthday and for the past 12 years lived alone in an unpretentious bungalow on Glendale Road, a short distance from downtown Los Angeles, California. It was less than two years ago when I was walking one afternoon and I was attracted by Olaf Jansen's house and its cozy surroundings, to its owner and resident,whom I later recognized as a worshiper of Odin and Thor. There was a softness in his face, and a benevolent expression in the keenly alert gray eyes of this man in his 90s; and, moreover, there was a sense of loneliness that appealed to my sympathy. Bent over slightly, with his hands clasped behind his back, he strolled back and forth with a slow and measured pace the day we first met. I can hardly tell what particular reason prompted me to pause my walk and engage him in conversation. He liked it when I complimented the attractiveness of his bungalow and the manicured vines and flowers that were plentiful across his windows, roof and wide veranda. I soon discovered that my new acquaintance was not an ordinary person, but profound to a remarkable degree; a man who, in the later years of his long life,buried deep in books and became knowledgeable in the grip of brooding silence. I encouraged him to speak, and soon concluded that he had lived only six or seven years in southern California, but had lived a dozen previous years in one of the Middle Eastern states. Before that, he was a fisherman off the coast of Norway in the Lofoten region, from where he traveled further north to Svalbard and even to Franz Josef Land. When I wanted to go on vacation, he asked me to come again. Although I didn't think about it at the time, I remember now that he made a specific remark when I extended my hand in parting. "Will you come again?" - he asked. - “Yes, you will come again one day. I am sure you will come; and I will show you my library and tell you many things that you never dreamed of, things so wonderful that,maybe you won't believe me. " With a laugh, I assured him that not only would I come again, but I would be willing to believe no matter what he told me about his travels and adventures. Later I got to know Olaf Jansen well, and gradually he told me his story, so amazing that it challenged reason and faith. The old Scandinavian always spoke with so much seriousness and sincerity that I was enthralled by his strange narratives. He was very impatient in the long wait, although, being summoned, I immediately came to him. “I must hurry,” he exclaimed, shaking my hand. “I have a lot to tell you that you do not know, and I will not trust anyone but you. I fully understand, "he continued hastily," that I will not survive this night. It's time to join my ancestors in the big dream. "I adjusted the pillows to make him more comfortable and assured him that I was delighted to be able to serve him in any way possible, as I began to understand the seriousness of his situation. The late hour, the stillness of the environment, the strange feeling that you are alone with a dying person, along with his strange story, all came together to make my heart beat fast and loud with a feeling for which I have no name. Indeed, there were many times that night at the couch of an old Scandinavian, and there have been many times since then, when admiration, not condemnation, took possession of my soul, and I seemed to not only believe in, but actually saw, foreign countries, strange people and the strange world he spoke of, and heard a mighty orchestral choir of a thousand strong voices. For over two hours, he seemed to have almost superhuman strength,speaking quickly and apparently rational. Finally, he gave me certain data, drawings, and rough maps. “They,” he said in conclusion, “I leave in your hands. If I can have your promise to give them to the world, I will die happy, because I wish people could know the truth, and then the whole mystery about frozen Scandinavia will be explained. You have nothing to fear from the fate that I have endured. They will neither shackle you, nor lock you in an insane asylum, 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 thus, beyond the reach of unbelievers who would haunt me. And now, having paid the last sad rites to this strange man from the Lofoten Islands, a brave explorer of cold regions,who in his advanced years (after eighty) sought refuge in a tranquil world in sunny California, I will pledge his story to the public. But first of all, let me indulge in one or two reflections: Generation follows generation, and traditions from a foggy past are passed on from parent to son, but for some strange reason, interest in the ice-locked unknown does not diminish over time in the minds of the ignorant and in the minds of scientists … With each new generation, a restless impulse excites the hearts of men, demanding to seize the hidden citadel of the Arctic, the circle of silence, the land of glaciers, cold deserts of waters and winds that are strangely warm. A growing interest is shown in mountainous icebergs, and marvelous guesses are indulged in the earth's center of gravity, the cradle of streams where whales have their babies.where the magnetic needle goes crazy, where the northern lights illuminate the night, and where the brave and courageous sentiments of each generation dare to venture and explore, challenging the dangers of the "Far North". One of the most capable works of recent years is "The Found Paradise, or the Cradle of Mankind at the North Pole," by William F. Warren. In his meticulously finished tome, Mr. Warren nearly bruised his toe on the real truth, but missed, apparently only a little, if the old Scandinavian's discovery is true. Dr. Orville Livingston Leech, a scientist, in a recent article, says: “The probabilities of peace within the Earth first came to my attention when I raised a geode on the shores of the Great Lakes. The geode is a spherical and obviously solid stone, but when you break it you can see that it is hollow and covered with crystals. Earth is just a large form of a geode, and a law,who created the geode with its hollow shape undoubtedly fashioned the Earth in the same way. " In presenting the theme of this almost incredible story, as stated by Olaf Jansen,

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and supplied with manuscript, maps and rough drawings entrusted to me, a suitable introduction is found in the following quotation: "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth, and the earth was formless and empty." And also, "God created man in his own image." Therefore, even in material material, a person must be God-like, because he was created in the likeness of the Father. A person builds a house for himself and his family. Entrances or verandas are all outside, and secondary. The building, really built for convenience, is inside. Olaf Jansen makes a startling announcement through me, a humble instrument, that in a similar manner, God created the earth for the "innards" - that is, for its lands, seas, rivers, mountains, forests and valleys, and for its other internal comforts, while like the outer surface of the earth - just a veranda, an entrance where things grow similar, but rarely,like a lichen on the mountain side, clinging resolutely for a bare existence. Take the eggshell, and from each end remove a piece as large as the end of this pencil. Extract its contents and then you will have a perfect view of Olaf Jansen's land. The distance from the inner surface to the outer surface, according to him, is approximately three hundred miles (482.8032 km?). The center of gravity is not at the center of the earth, but at the center of the shell or crust; therefore, if the earth's crust or shell is three hundred miles thick, the center of gravity is one hundred and fifty miles below the surface. In their logbooks, Arctic explorers tell us about the tilt of the compass needle as a ship approaches areas of the farthest known north. In fact, they are sailing in a curve; at the edge of the shell,where the force of gravity increases exponentially, and while the electric current seems to be carried into space towards the ghostly idea of the North Pole, all this same electric current decreases again and continues its course south along the inner surface of the Earth's crust. Attached to his work, Captain Sabine reports on experiments to determine the acceleration of the pendulum at various latitudes. This seems to have resulted from the combined workforce of Peary and Sabine. He says: “The accidental discovery that the pendulum, being removed from Paris to the equator, increased its swing time, gave the first step to our latest data that the polar axis of the globe is less than the equatorial; that gravity at the earth's surface increases progressively from the equator to the poles. " According to Olaf Jansen,our outer world was created exclusively for the "inner" world, where four great rivers are located - the Euphrates, Pison, Gihon and Hiddekel. These same river names that refer to streams on the "outer" surface of the earth are simply traditional from antiquity outside the memory of man. At the top of a high mountain, near the source of these four rivers, Olaf Jansen, a Scandinavian, claims to have discovered the long-lost "Garden of Paradise," the true navel of the Earth, and has spent over two years exploring and exploring this amazing "inner" land, abundant, with huge plants and giant animals; a land where people have lived for centuries, like Methuselah and other biblical characters; areas where one quarter of the "inner" surface is earth and three quarters of water; where there are large oceans and many rivers and lakes;where cities are excellent in construction and splendor; where modes of transportation are as far removed from ours as we are with our achievements before the inhabitants of "the darkest Africa." The distance directly through space from the inner surface to the inner surface is about six hundred miles less than the recognized diameter of the earth. In the center of this vast vacuum is the place of electricity - a giant ball of dim red fire - not strikingly brilliant, but surrounded by a white, moderate, bright cloud that emits uniform warmth, and remains in place in the center of this inner world by the unchanging law of gravity. This electric cloud is known to the people “inside” as the abode of the “Smoke God”. They believe that this is the throne of the "Most High." Olaf Jansen reminded me of how, in the old days of college,we were all familiar with laboratory demonstrations of centrifugal motion, which clearly proved that if the earth were solid, the speed of its rotation on its axis would break it into a thousand pieces. The old Scandinavian also claimed that from the farthest points on earth on the islands of Svalbard and Franz Josef Land, flocks of geese can be seen every year, flying further north, just as sailors and explorers write in their logbooks. No scientist has yet been bold enough to try to explain, even to his own satisfaction, into which lands these winged fowls are directed by their subtle instinct. However, Olaf Jansen gave us the most reasonable explanation. The presence of the high seas in Northland is also explained. Olaf Jansen argues that the northern hole, entrance or hole, so to speak,is approximately one thousand four hundred miles (2,253 km) across. In this regard, let's read what Researcher Nansen writes on page 288 of his book: “I have never had such a luxurious sail. In the north, the steady north, with good winds, with the maximum speed that steam and sail can provide, on the high seas, watch the clock for miles after miles, through these unknown regions, more and more free of ice, one could almost say: 'How long will this last?' The eye always turns to the north when one walks across the bridge. This is looking into the future. But there is always the same dark sky ahead, which means the 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 in a great ice barrier,a new world opens up to the explorer, the climate becomes temperate like in England, and, later, aromatic like the Greek islands. " Some of the rivers “inside,” says Olaf Jansen, are larger than our combined Mississippi and Amazon rivers in terms of the volume of water they carry; indeed their greatness is in their width and depth, not their length, and at the mouths of these mighty rivers flowing north and south along the inner surface of the earth, huge icebergs were seen, some of them fifteen and twenty miles wide and forty to one hundred miles in length. Isn't it strange that there has never been an iceberg encountered in either the Arctic Ocean or the Antarctic Ocean that is not made up of fresh water? Modern scientists claim that freezing eliminates salt, but Olaf Jansen says differently. Ancient Hindu,Japanese and Chinese script, as well as the hieroglyphic script of the departed races of the North American continent, all speak of the custom of sun worship, and perhaps in the stunning light of Olaf Jansen's discoveries that the people of the inner world, lured by the glimpse of the sun, as it shone on the inner surface of the earth, or from the north or south entrance, became dissatisfied with the "Smoky God," the great pillar or mother cloud of electricity, and, tired of their continually temperate and pleasant atmosphere, followed the brighter light, and finally went beyond the ice belt and scattered along the "outer" the surface of the earth, through Asia, Europe, North America and, later, Africa, Australia and South the stunning light of Olaf Jansen's discoveries that the people of the inner world, lured by the glimpse of the sun as it shone on the inner surface of the earth, either from the north or south entrance, became dissatisfied with the "Smoky God," the great pillar or mother cloud of electricity, and tired of them continuously temperate and pleasant atmosphere, followed by brighter light, and finally went beyond the ice belt and scattered across the "outer" surface of the earth, through Asia, Europe, North America and, later, Africa, Australia and South the stunning light of Olaf Jansen's discoveries that the people of the inner world, lured by the glimpse of the sun as it shone on the inner surface of the earth, either from the north or south entrance, became dissatisfied with the "Smoky God," the great pillar or mother cloud of electricity, and tired of them continuously temperate and pleasant atmosphere, followed by brighter light, and finally went beyond the ice belt and scattered across the "outer" surface of the earth, through Asia, Europe, North America and, later, Africa, Australia and South America.tired of their continually mild and pleasant atmosphere, they followed the brighter light, and finally went 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.tired of their continually mild and pleasant atmosphere, they followed the brighter light, and finally went 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.

It is a known fact that, when approaching the Equator, the height of people decreases. But the people of Patagonia South America are probably the only Aborigines from the center of the earth who came out through the hole, usually identified as the South Pole, and they are called the race of giants. Olaf Jansen argues that in the beginning the world was created by the Great Architect of the Universe, so that man could stop at its “inner” surface, which has since been the habitation of the “chosen ones”. They are the ones who came out of the Garden of Eden, bringing their traditional story with them. The story of the people living “inside” contains a story that suggests the story of Noah and the ark with which we are familiar. He sailed far, like Columbus, from a certain port, to a strange country of which he had heard, far north, carrying

with all kinds of animal fields and birds of the air, but they never heard of him again. On this subject, William F. Warren speaks, in his book, already cited, on pages 297 and 298: “The Arctic cliffs speak of a lost Atlantis, more remarkable than Plato's. Siberian elephant fossil beds surpass all others in the world. Since the days of Pliny, at least they have undergone continuous development, and yet they are the main delivery points. The remains of mammoths are so abundant that, as Greatacap says, "the northern islands of Siberia seem to be made of bones." Another scientific author, speaking of the islands of New Siberia, to the north of the mouth of the Lena River, put it this way: 'Large quantities of ivory are pulled out of the ground every year. Indeed, some of the islands are believed to beare only the accumulation of drifting wood and the bodies of mammoths and other antediluvian animals frozen together. ' From this we can deduce that during the years that have elapsed since the Russian conquest of Siberia, useful tusks from more than twenty thousand mammoths were collected. " Footnotes 38: 1 the following quote is essential; “It follows from this that the man emerging from the maternal region, still undefined, but, as many considerations indicate, being in the North, came out in several directions; the fact that his movements were constantly from North to South”.“It follows from this that the man emerging from the maternal region, still undefined, but, as many considerations indicate, being in the North, came out in several directions; the fact that his movements were constantly from North to South”.“It follows from this that the man emerging from the maternal region, still undefined, but, as many considerations indicate, being in the North, came out in several directions; the fact that his movements were constantly from North to South”.

Part two. Olaf Jansen's story

My name is Olaf Jansen. I am Norwegian, although I was born in the small nautical Russian town of Uleaborg (from the translator: Oulu is a city in central Finland, on the west coast, capital of the province of the same name; population 137454 (2009), in Swedish Uleåborg), on the east coast of the Bothnian bay, northern arm of the Baltic Sea. My parents were on a fishing cruise in the Gulf of Bothnia, and came to this Russian city of Uleaborg at the time of my birth, on the twenty-seventh day of October 1811. My father, Jens Jansen, was born in Rodwig (from translator: in Danish Rodvig?) On the Scandinavian coast, near the Lofoten Islands (from the translator: near the northwestern coast of the Scandinavian Peninsula; the territory of Norway), but after the wedding he made his own house in Stockholm, because my mother's relatives lived in that city. When I was seven years old, I started walking with my father on his fishing trips along the Scandinavian coast. Early in my life I showed my bookish ability, and at the age of nine I was placed in a private school in Stockholm, staying there until I was fourteen. After that, I made regular trips with my father on all his fishing trips.

I was in my nineteenth year when we started what turned out to be our last trip as fishermen, and which led to a strange story that must be given to the world - but only when I finished my earthly pilgrimage.

I dare not publish these facts, for I know that if they are published while I am living, I fear further abuse, imprisonment and suffering. First of all, I was chained by the captain of the whaling ship that saved me, for no other reason than because I spoke the truth about the amazing discoveries made by my father and myself.

But that was far from being the end of my torture. After four years and eight months of absence, I reached Stockholm, only to find that my mother had died the previous year, and the property left by my parents belongs to my mother's relatives, but it was immediately transferred to me.

Everything was fine, and I erased from my memory the story of our adventure and the terrible death of my father.

Finally, one day, I told the story in detail to my uncle, Gustav Osterlinde, a man of considerable property, and urged him to equip an expedition for me to make a second journey to a strange land.

At first I thought he approved my project. He seemed interested, and invited me to go to certain officials and tell them, as I told him, the stories of our travels and discoveries. Imagine my disappointment and horror when, at the end of my story, certain documents were signed by my uncle, and, without warning, I found myself arrested and hastily taken away to a dark and terrible confinement in an insane asylum, where I remained for twenty-eight, tiring, terrible years of suffering!

I have never stopped asserting my sanity and opposing the injustice of my imprisonment. 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 person over fifty years old, whose only known document is that of a madman, has no friends.

I didn't know how to live, but instinctively turned towards the harbor, where fishing boats were anchored in large numbers, and within a week I set out with a fisherman named Jan Hansen, who was starting a long fishing cruise to the Lofoten Islands.

This is where my earlier years of study came in very handy, especially in enabling me to make myself useful. This was just the beginning of other trips, and with the help of savings I was, after a few years, able to have my own fishing brig.

For twenty-seven years after that I was at sea as a fisherman, five years working for others, and the last twenty-two for myself.

For all these years I have been the most diligent student of books, as well as a hard worker in my business, but I have taken great care not to mention to anyone the story of the discoveries made by my father and myself. Even today on this last day, I am afraid that someone will see or recognize the things that I write and the reports and maps that I have in my custody. When my days on earth are over, I will leave maps and reports that will enlighten and, I hope, benefit humanity.

The memory of my long imprisonment with maniacs, and all the terrible anguish and suffering, are too vivid to warrant me from taking risks.

In 1889 I sold my fishing boats and found that I had amassed a fortune enough to last me for the rest of my life. I came to America then.

For a dozen years my home was in Illinois, near Batavia, where I collected most of the books in my existing library, although I brought many select volumes from Stockholm. Later, I came to Los Angeles on March 4, 1901. A date that I remember well, since it was President McKinley's second inaugural day. I bought this humble house and identified, here in the privacy of my own abode, protected by my own vine and fig tree, and with my books to make maps and drawings of the new lands that we discovered, and also write history in detail from time. when my father and I left Stockholm before the tragic event that divided 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 south, leaving Gothland on the left and Oeland on the right. A few days later we succeeded in doubling the Sandhommar Point and made our way through the strait that separates Denmark from the Scandinavian coast. At the appointed time we arrive in the town of Christiansand, where we rested for two days, and then we began to skirting the Scandinavian coast to the west, heading towards the Lofoten Islands.

My father was in high spirits because of the excellent and pleasant returns he received from our last catch in the market in Stockholm, instead of being sold in one of the seaworthy towns along the Scandinavian coast. He was particularly pleased with the sale of some ivory tusks that he found on the west coast of Franz Josef Land on one of his northern cruises the previous year, and he hoped that this time we might again be lucky enough to load our little fishing sloop. ivory instead of cod, herring, mackerel and salmon.

We stopped at Hammerfest, latitude seventy-one degrees and forty minutes, to rest for a few days. Here we stayed for one week, purchasing additional provisions and a few barrels of drinking water, and then sailed to Spitsbergen.

For the first few days we had open sea and good winds, and then we encountered a lot of ice and many icebergs. A vessel larger than our fishing sloop might not have been able to continue through the maze of icebergs, or it might have been squeezed into barely open channels. These monstrous icebergs represented an endless succession of crystal palaces, massive cathedrals and fantastic mountain ranges, gloomy and guardian-like, motionless like some high rock of solid stone, standing silently like a sphinx, resisting the restless waves of the restless sea.

After much effort, it was by sheer luck that we reached Svalbard on June 23rd, and anchored in Wijade Bay for a short period of time, where we were quite successful in our catch. We then weighed anchor and sailed through the Hinlopen Strait, and moved along the coast of Northeast Land Island.

A strong wind started from the southwest, and my father said that we should take advantage of this and try to reach Franz Josef Land, where he had accidentally found ivory tusks a year earlier that had brought him such a good price in Stockholm.

Never before or since have I seen so many seabirds; they were so numerous that they obscured the rocks on the coastline and darkened the sky.

For several days we sailed along the rocky coast of Franz Josef Land. Finally, a good wind came up, which allowed us to round the West Coast, and after sailing for twenty four hours, we arrived at a beautiful fiord, a small cove.

It was hard to believe that this was the distant Northland. The area was covered with living plants, and while the area was not more than 4 or 8 thousand square meters, the air was still warm and calm. This seemed to be at the point where the influence of the Gulf Stream is most acutely felt.

There were numerous icebergs on the east coast, and here we were in open water. Far to the west of us, however, there were ice floes, and even further west the ice appeared as rows of low hills. Before us, and straight to the north, lay the open sea.

My father was an ardent admirer of Odin and Thor, and often told me that they were gods who came from a place far beyond the "North Wind".

There was a traditional belief, my father explained, that further north there was a land more beautiful than any other that mortal man had ever known, and that it was inhabited by the "Chosen."

My youthful imagination was kindled with the passion, zeal and religious fervor of my good father, and I exclaimed, “Why not sail to this pleasant land? The sky is clear, the wind is favorable and the sea is open."

Even now I can see the look of joyful surprise on his face as he turned to me and asked, "My son, are you really willing to come with me and explore - go far beyond where man has ever ventured?" I answered in the affirmative. “Very good,” he replied. "Maybe God One will protect us!" and, quickly adjusting the sails, he glanced at our compass, turned the bow in the proper northerly direction through the open channel, and our journey began.

The sun was low on the horizon as it was still early summer. Indeed, we had almost four bright months ahead of us before the frozen night could come again.

Our little fishing sloop leapt forward as if he himself was eager to continue the adventure. Within thirty-six hours we lost sight of the highest point on the coastline of Franz Josef Land. We seemed to be on a strong current running north-north-east. There were icebergs far to our left and right, but our little sloop passed through canals and open sea channels so narrow that, if our ship were bigger, we might never have passed.

On the third day we arrived at the island. Its shores were washed by the open sea. My father decided to disembark and explore during the day. This new land was devoid of timber, but we found a large accumulation of driftwood on the north shore. Some of the tree trunks were 130 meters long and 7 meters in diameter.

After exploring one day of the coastline of this island, we weighed anchor and turned our bow northward on the high seas.

I will remember that neither my father nor I myself have tasted food for nearly thirty hours. Perhaps it was due to the tension of excitement about our strange voyage in waters so far north, my father said, than anyone has ever been before. The active mind was dulled by the demands of physical needs.

Instead of the intense cold, as we expected, it was indeed warmer and more pleasant than it was while we were in Hammerfest on the northern coast of Norway, about six weeks before.

We admitted frankly that we were very hungry, and immediately I prepared a substantial meal from our well-kept pantry. When we took part in the hearty meal, I told my father that I figured I would sleep as I was starting to feel rather sleepy. "Very well," he replied, "I will be watching."

There is no way for me to determine how long I slept; I only know that I was rudely awakened by the terrible rolling of the sloop. To my surprise, I found my father sleeping peacefully. I shouted out to him in a strong manner, and, rising, he quickly jumped. Indeed, without grasping the rail, he would, of course, be thrown into the boiling waves.

A violent snow storm was raging. The wind blew directly aft, driving our sloop at an astonishing speed, and threatened to overturn us at every moment. There was no time to waste, the sails had to be lowered immediately. Our boat was convulsing. Several icebergs we knew were on either side of us, but luckily the passage opened directly to the north. But would it stay like this?

Before us, girdling the horizon from left to right, was a gloomy mist or mist, black as an Egyptian night at the water's edge, and white as a vapor cloud towards the summit, which was finally lost to view as it mingled with large white flakes of falling snow. Whether this was covered by a treacherous iceberg, or some other hidden obstacle that our little sloop would smash and send us to a watery grave, or was it just a phenomenon of arctic fog, there was no way to determine.

By what miracle we avoided being broken, to complete destruction, I do not know. I remember our little boat creaked and groaned as if its joints were breaking. It swung and swayed to and fro as if compressed by some cruel whirlpool or whirlwind.

Fortunately, our compass was attached to the crossbar with long screws. Most of our provisions, however, jumped out and were swept from the deck of the small cockpit, and we did not take the precaution at the very beginning to tie ourselves firmly to the sloop's masts, we had to be thrown into the sea.

Over the deafening noise of the violent waves, I heard my father's voice. “Be brave, my son,” he shouted, “Odin is the god of the waters, the companion of the brave, and he is with us. No fear".

It seemed to me that there was no way to avoid a terrible death. There was water in the little sloop, the snow fell so fast that it blinded, and the waves rolled over the sides in a rash white-sprayed fury. It was not clear at what point we should be smashed against some drifting block of ice.

Huge bumps lifted us to the very peaks of mountainous waves, then plunged us down into the depths of the sea, as if our fishing sloop were a fragile shell. Giant white-surprised waves, like true walls, enclosed us, from bow to stern.

This terrible annoying ordeal, with its unnamed horrors of suspension and the throes of indescribable fear, lasted more than three hours, and all the while, we were being driven forward at brutal speed. Then, suddenly, as if tired of his frantic efforts, the wind began to diminish its rage and gradually subside.

Finally we were in complete calm. The misty dust also disappeared, and we had an ice-free channel in front of us, perhaps ten or fifteen miles wide, with a few icebergs far to our right, and an unstable archipelago of smaller icebergs to our left.

I watched my father closely, choosing to remain silent until he spoke. Now he untied the rope from his belt and, without saying a word, began to work with the pumps, which, fortunately, were not damaged, reducing the water in the sloop, which he dug in the frenzy of the storm.

He raised the sloop's sails as calmly as if he were throwing a fishing net, and then noted that we were ready for a good wind when it started. His courage and consistency were truly remarkable.

On checking we found less than one-third of our provisions remaining, while to our utter dismay we discovered that our water barrels had been thrown overboard during our boat's violent leaps.

Two of our water barrels lingered, but both were empty. We had food, but no fresh water. I understood at once the awfulness of our situation. Now I was thirsty. “This is really bad,” my father remarked. “However, let's dry our tattered clothes as we are soaked to the skin. Trust God Odin, my son. Don't give up hope."

The sun was beating down as if we were in a southern latitude, instead of distant Northland. It swung around, its orbit was visible, and rose higher and higher every day, often shrouded in fog, yet always peering into the lace of clouds like some restless eye of fate, guarding the mysterious Northland and jealously watching the man's jokes. Far to our right, the beams decorating the prisms of the icebergs were magnificent. Their reflections emitted flashes from garnet, diamond, sapphire. A pyrotechnic survey of countless colors and shapes, while below was the green sea, and above the purple sky.

The third part. Beyond the north wind

I tried to forget my thirst by boiling a little food and filling an empty vessel. Pulling the pole aside, I filled the vessel with water to wash my hands and face. To my surprise, when the water came into contact with my lips, I could not smell the salt. I was amazed at the discovery. "Father!" I was really choking, “water, water; she's clean! " "What, Olaf?" exclaimed my father, looking hastily around. “Of course you are wrong. There is no land. You go crazy". "But try it!"


So we made the discovery that the water was really fresh, absolutely, without a trace of salty taste or even suspicion of salty aroma.

We immediately filled our two remaining water barrels and my father announced that it was a heavenly mercy permit from the gods Odin and Thor.

We were almost overjoyed, but hunger reminded of itself. Now that we have found fresh water on the high seas, what could we not expect in this strange latitude, where a ship has never sailed before and never heard the splash of an oar?

We had barely quieted our hunger when the breeze began to fill the idle sails, and looking at the compass, we found the north end of the needle pressed tightly against the glass.

In response to my surprise, my father said, “I've heard of this before; this is what is called dropping the arrow."

We released the compass and turned it into the correct angles with the sea surface so that the needle would stop touching the glass and point without restraint. She moved anxiously, and seemed as erratic as a drunken man, but finally set the course.

Before that, we thought that the wind carried us north-north-west, but, with a free arrow, we found, if we could rely on it, that we were sailing a little to the north-north-east. Our course, however, was leaning towards the north.

The sea was clearly smooth, with a barely choppy wave, and a brisk and exciting wind. The rays of the sun, striking us obliquely, brought calm warmth. And so time wore on day after day, and we found from an entry in our logbook that we had been sailing for eleven days since a storm on the high seas.

On the most austere economy, our food stretched out pretty well, but it was running out. Meanwhile, one of our barrels of water was exhausted and my father said, "We will fill it up again." But to our dismay, we found that the water was now like salt, like in the Lofoten area off the coast of Norway. This required us to be extremely careful with the remaining barrel.

I wanted to sleep most of the time; whether it was the effect of an exciting sailing experience in unknown waters, or the relaxation from the horrible incident of the excitement of our adventure in a storm at sea, or hunger, I could not tell.

I often lay on the coal bunker of our little sloop and studied the distant blue dome of the sky; and even though the sun was shining far to the east, I always saw a single star above. For several days, when I searched for this star, it was always there directly above us.

This was, according to our count, the first of August. The sun was high in the heavens and it was so bright that I could no longer see the single lone star that had caught my attention a few days earlier.

One day during this time, my father struck me by calling my attention to a new species far ahead of us, almost on the horizon. “This is a false sun,” my father exclaimed. “I've read about them; this is called a reflection or a mirage. It will be over soon."

But this dull red, "false sun", as we assumed, did not disappear for several hours; and we could not grasp the horizon ahead and locate the so-called false sun during at least twelve hours out of every twenty-four.

Clouds and fogs would almost always be from time to time, but never completely obscure its location. Gradually it seemed to rise higher in the horizon of an uncertain purple sky as we advanced.

It is, as the sun can hardly be expressed, except in its circular shape, and if not shaded by clouds or ocean mists, it had a hazy red, bronze appearance that would change to white light like a bright cloud, as if reflecting some more light within. …

We finally agreed in our discussion of this smoky oven-colored sun that whatever the cause of the phenomenon, it was not a reflection of our sun, but that it was a planet of some kind and that it was a reality.

One day soon after that, I felt extremely sleepy, and fell into a deep sleep. But it seemed that I was almost immediately awakened by the energetic shaking of my shoulder by my father and the words: “Olaf, wake up; land in sight!"

I jumped to my feet, and oh! unspeakable joy! There, far in the distance, but still straight ahead, was land jutting straight into the sea. The coastline stretched far to our right, before the eyes could see, and all along the sandy beach there were waves breaking into the shifting foam, returning, then moving on again, humming in the monotonous rumbling of the tone of a deep song. The banks were covered with trees and vegetation.

I cannot express my feeling of glee at this discovery. My father stood motionless, his hand on the steering wheel, looking straight ahead, pouring out his heart in grateful prayer and thanksgiving to the gods Odin and Thor.

In the meantime, the net we found in the pantry was thrown and we caught a few fish, which added substantially to our dwindling food supply. The compass, which we anchored back to its place, in fear of another storm, was still pointing due north, and the needle was moving at its center, as it did in Stockholm. The needle has stopped dropping. What could this mean? Then, too, our many sailing days certainly took us far past the North Pole. And yet the arrow continued to point north. We were very much puzzled as, of course, our direction was now south.

We sailed for three days along the coastline, then arrived at the mouth of a fjord or a huge river. It was more like a big bay, and at this we turned our fishing boat, heading from the south a little to the northeast. With the help of a restless wind, which helped us about twelve hours out of every twenty-four, we continued to push our way into the mainland, in what later turned out to be a mighty river, and which we learned was called Hiddekel by the inhabitants. We continued our journey for ten days after that, and found that, fortunately, we reached a distance inland where ocean currents no longer touched the water, which had become fresh. The discovery came in time: the water of our remaining barrel was nearly depleted. We immediately refilled our barrels, and continued to sail further up the river,when the wind was favorable.

Along the coast, large forest miles were visible far from the coastline. The trees were enormous. We sailed ashore after anchoring near a sandy beach, and were rewarded by finding nuts that were very palatable to satisfy our hunger and break the monotony of our food supply.

It was about the first of September, over five months, as we calculated, since our departure from Stockholm. Suddenly we were terribly scared to hear people singing in the distance. Very soon thereafter, we found a huge ship gliding downstream directly towards us. Those aboard sang in one mighty choir that echoed from shore to shore like a thousand voices, filling the whole universe with a trembling melody. The accompaniment was played on stringed instruments not unlike our harps.

It was a bigger ship than we had ever seen, and it was built differently.

At a certain time our sloop was calmed down, and not far from the coast. The river bank, covered with giant trees, rose several hundred feet higher in a beautiful way. We seemed to be on the edge of some primeval forest, which undoubtedly extended far inland.

The huge ship slowed down, and almost immediately the boat was launched, and six giant men began rowing towards our little fishing sloop. They spoke to us in a strange language. We have seen from their manner, however, that they were quite friendly. They talked a lot among themselves, and one of them laughed immoderately, as if in finding us a strange discovery had been made. One of them noticed our compass, and he seemed to interest them more than any other part of our sloop.

Finally, the leader showed how to ask if we were ready to leave our ship to board their ship. "What do you say, my son?" my father asked. "They can't do more than kill us."

“They seem to be kindly disposed,” I replied, “although they are terrible giants! They are to be chosen by six of the kingdom's first-class regiment. Just look at their great height."

"We can also go willingly as to be led away by force," my father said, smiling, "as they are certainly able to capture us." Following this, he reported, by signs, that we were ready to accompany them.

Within a few minutes we were aboard the ship, and half an hour later our little fishing boat was lifted entirely out of the water by a strange kind of hook and equipment, and installed on board as a curiosity. There were several hundred people aboard this, for us, the giant vessel that we discovered was called "Naz", which meant, as we later learned, "Pleasure," or more correctly, the ship "Excursion Pleasure".

If my father and I were curiously watched by the inhabitants of the ship, this strange race of giants offered us an equal amount of surprise. There was not a single person aboard the one below 3.6 meters in height. They all wore full beards, not particularly long, but apparently cropped short. They had moderate and handsome faces, extremely fair, with ruddy complexions. Some had black hair and beard, others gritty, and others yellow. The captain, when we found the leader in the crew of the large ship, was head and shoulders taller than any of his companions. Women are on average 3 to 3.3 meters tall. Their facial features were especially correct and refined, while their complexion had the most subtle shade, enhanced by a healthy blush.

Both men and women seemed to have that particular ease of demeanor which we regard as a sign of good parentage, and in spite of their immense stature, there was nothing awkward about them. Since I was only a boy in my nineteenth year, I was undoubtedly viewed as the true Tom Toomb ("Thumb Boy"). My father's eighty-three meters did not reach above the waistline of these people.

Each seemed to vie with the others in extending tokens and showing kindness to us, but everyone laughed heartily, I remember when they had to improvise chairs for my father and myself to sit at the table. They were richly dressed in costumes specific to themselves and very attractive. The men were dressed in beautifully embroidered silk and satin tunics

and belted at the waist. They wore fine-textured breeches and socks, while their feet were shod with sandals adorned with gold clasps. We discovered early on that gold was one of the most common metals known and that it was used extensively in decoration.

It may be strange, but neither my father nor I felt any doubts about our safety. “We came as ourselves,” my father told me. “This is the fulfillment of a tradition told to me by my father and my father's father, and still back many generations of our race. This is, of course, the land on the other side of the North Wind.

We seemed to have made such an impression on their side that we were given especially a load of one of the men, Jules Galdea, and his wife, in order to learn in their language; and we, for our part, were as eager to learn as they were to instruct.

At the command of the captain, the ship turned slyly and began to retrace its course upriver. The car was silent and very powerful.

The banks and trees on both sides seemed to rush. The ship's speed, at times, surpassed the speed of any railroad train I have ever traveled, even here in America. It was wonderful. In the meantime, we lost sight of the sun's rays, but we found a glow "within" emanating from a dull red sun that had already caught our attention, now emitting white light, seemingly from a cloud ridge far ahead of us. It distributed more light, I must say, than two full moons on the clearest night.

Twelve hours later this cloud of whiteness disappeared from sight, as if eclipsed, and these twelve hours afterwards corresponded to our night. We learned early that these strange people worshiped this great cloud of night. It was the "Smoky God" of the "Inner World".

The ship was equipped with a lighting method, which I now assume was electricity, but neither my father nor myself were skilled enough in mechanics to understand where the energy came from to steer the ship, or to maintain soft beautiful lights that responded to the same the very purpose in our current lighting techniques for the streets of our cities, our buildings and places of business.

This must be remembered about the time that I am writing, it was the autumn of 1829, and we on the "outer" surface of the earth knew nothing then, so to speak, about electricity.

The electrically congested air condition was a constant animator. I have never felt better in my life than during the two years that my father and I have been on the inside of the earth.

I resume my account of events: the ship on which we sailed arrived at the destination two days after we were accepted. My father said as almost as he could tell, we were directly under Stockholm or London.

The city we reached was named "Jehu", which means seaport city. The buildings were large and beautifully constructed, and rather uniform in appearance, yet without resemblance. The main occupation of the people seemed to be agriculture; the slopes were covered with vineyards, while the valleys were devoted to the growth of grain.

I have never seen such a display of gold. It was everywhere. The doors were inlaid and the tables were clad in gold. The domes of public buildings were gold. It was used most abundantly in the decoration of large temples of music.

The vegetation grew in lavish abundance, and fruits of all kinds were of the most delicate flavor. Bunches of grapes 120 cm and 150 cm in length, each grape as large as an orange, and apples larger than a man's head symbolized the wonderful growth of all things on the "inside" of the earth.

California's large sequoia trees would be considered a simple undergrowth by comparison

with gigantic forest trees stretching 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 journey on the river.

We heard more about the city called "Eden" but were kept in "Jehu" all year long. By the end of that time, we had learned to speak the language of this strange race of people quite well. Our teachers, Jules Galdea and his wife, showed patience that was truly commendable. One day a messenger from the Ruler in "Eden" came to see us, and for two whole days my father and I were directly guided through a series of amazing questions. They wanted to know where we came from, what kind of people lived “outside,” what God we worshiped, our religious beliefs, how we lived in our foreign country, and a thousand other things.

The compass that we brought with us attracted particular attention. My father and I commented between us on the fact that the compass was still pointing north, although we now knew that we had sailed along a curve or the edge of a hole in the earth, and had come far south on the "inner" surface of the earth's crust, which my father estimated

in its own right, it is approximately three hundred miles in thickness from the "inside" to the "outside" surface. As a matter of fact, it is no thicker than an eggshell, so that there is almost as much surface on the "inside" as on the "outside" of the earth.

A large bright cloud or ball of dull red "fire flaming red" in the mornings and evenings, and during the day, emitting a beautiful white light, the "Smoky God" is apparently suspended in the center of a large void "inside" the earth, and is held on the

its place is the unchanging law of gravitation, or the means of atmospheric force, as the case may be. I am referring to a known energy that pulls or repels with equal force in all directions.

The bottom of this electric cloud or central luminary, the seat of the gods, is dark and opaque, and in it there are innumerable small holes, apparently

outside the great pillar or altar of the Deity on which the Smoky God rests; and, the lights shining through these many holes twinkle at night in all their splendor, and the stars seem to be as natural as the stars we saw bright in our house in Stockholm, except that they seem larger. The "Smoky God" therefore, with every daily revolution of the earth, seems to rise in the east and lower in the west, just as our sun does on the outer surface. In fact, the people “within” believe that the “Smoky God” is their Yahweh's throne, and is motionless. The effect of night and day, therefore, is produced by the daily rotation of the earth.

Yas has since discovered that the language of the people of the Inner World is very much like Sanskrit. After we made an account of ourselves directly to emissaries from the central seat of the government of the inner continent, and my father, in his crude way, drew maps, at their request, of the "outer" surface of the earth, showing the sections of land and water, and giving the name of each of continents, large islands and oceans, we were taken overland to the city of Eden, in a vehicle different from anything we have in Europe or America.

This vehicle was undoubtedly some kind of electrical device. It was silent, running on a single iron track in perfect balance. The trip was done at a very high speed. We were carried up hills and down valleys, through valleys, and again along the sides of steep mountains, without any obvious attempt made to level the ground as we do for railroad tracks. The car seats were huge and yet comfortable, and very high off the floor of the car. On top of each car were highly fitted (cunning, balancer, flywheel?) Wheels lying on their sides, which were so automatically adjusted that as the vehicle's speed increased, the high speed of these wheels increased geometrically.

Jules Galdea explained to us that these revolving, fan-like wheels on top of the cars destroyed atmospheric pressure, or gravity in general, and with this force thus destroyed or made trivial, the car is so safe from falling to the side of a single rail as if it were in emptiness; these wheels in their rapid revolutions destroying effectively the so-called power of gravity, or the force of atmospheric pressure, or whatever powerful influence it may be, that makes all unsupported things fall down to the surface of the earth or to the nearest point of resistance.

The surprise of my father and myself was indescribable when, amid the royal splendor of a spacious hall, we finally found ourselves before the Great High Priest, the ruler of all the earth. He was richly dressed, and much taller than those next to him, and could not have been less than 4.2 meters or 4.5 meters in height. The huge room in which we were received seemed to be trimmed with solid slabs of gold, densely studded with diamonds of amazing brilliance.

The City of Eden is located in what appears to be a beautiful valley, yet actually sits on the highest plateau of the Inner Continent, several thousand feet higher than any part of the surrounding country. This is the most beautiful place that I have ever contemplated on all my travels. In this raised garden, all kinds of fruits, vines, shrubs, trees, and flowers grow in exuberant abundance.

In this garden, four rivers have their source in a powerful 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 river names are Euphrates, Pison, Gihon, and Hiddekel.

The unexpected awaited us in this palace of beauty, in the location of our small fishing vessel. It was delivered before the High Priest in perfect shape, just as it was taken from the water the day it was loaded on board by the people who had found us on the river more than a year before.

We were given an audience of more than two hours with this great dignitary, who seemed kindly disposed and considerate. He showed himself eagerly interested, asking us numerous questions, and invariably about things that his emissaries were unable to ask.

At the end of the interview, he asked about our desire, asking us if we wanted to stay in his country or if we preferred to return to the "outside" world if it was possible to make a successful trip back through the frozen barriers of narrow straits that surround both the northern and southern holes of the earth …

“I am afraid that you will never be able to return,” the Chief High Priest replied, “because the path is the most dangerous. However, you should visit different countries with Jules Galdea as your escort and receive all the courtesy and kindness. When you are ready to attempt to travel back, I assure you that your boat, which is here at the exhibition, must be placed in the waters of the Heddekel River at its mouth, and we will offer you the speed of Yahweh."

Thus ended our only interview with the High Priest or Ruler of the continent.

Part four. In the Underworld

We learned that men do not marry before they are between seventy-five and one hundred years old, and that the age at which women enter marriage is only slightly younger, and that both men and women often live between six hundred and eight hundred years, and some cases are much older.

Over the next year, we visited many villages and towns, notable among them are the towns of Nigi, Delfi, Hectea, and my father was called at least half a dozen times to go over maps that were made from rough sketches he originally gave about the divisions of the earth. and water on the "outer" surface of the earth.

I remember hearing that my father remarked that the gigantic race of humans on the land of the "Smoke God" had an almost exact idea of the geography of the "outer" surface of the earth, as the average professor in Stockholm had.

On our travels we came to a forest of giant trees, near the city of Delfi. If the Bible said that there were trees over 90 meters high and more than 9 meters in diameter growing in the Garden of Eden, Ingersolls, Tom Paynes and Voltares would surely declare the statement a myth. Yet this is a description of the California giant sequoia; but these Californian giants fade into the background when compared with the forest Goliaths found in the "inland" continent, where powerful trees abound from 240 to 300 meters in height and 30 to 36 meters in diameter; countless and formative forests stretching hundreds of miles back from the sea.

People are extremely musical, and are highly trained in their arts and sciences, especially geometry and astronomy. Their cities are equipped with vast palaces of music, where quite often as many as twenty-five thousand strong voices of this gigantic race grow further in the mighty choirs of most of the sublime symphonies.

Children are not supposed to attend science institutions until they are twenty. Then their school life begins and continues for thirty years, ten of which are equally devoted by both sexes to the study of music.

Their main vocations are architecture, agriculture, horticulture, raising vast herds of cattle, and building vehicles specific to that country for travel on land and water. With the help of some device, which I cannot explain, they keep communicating with each other between the most remote parts of their country, on air currents.

All buildings are installed with a special regard for strength, durability, beauty

and symmetry, and with a style of architecture significantly more eye-catching than any I have ever observed anywhere else.

About three quarters of the "inner" surface of the earth is land and about one quarter is water. There are numerous rivers of enormous size, some flowing

all north and others south. Some of these rivers are thirty miles wide and outside these vast waterways, in the extreme northern and southern parts of the "inner" surface of the earth, in regions where cold temperatures are experienced, freshwater icebergs are formed. They are further carried out to the sea like huge tongues of ice, by irregular floods of rough waters, which, twice every year, cover everything in front of them.

We have seen innumerable specimens (?) Of birds, no larger than those encountered in the forests of Europe or America. It is known that during the past several years, whole species of birds have left the land. The author, in a recent article on the subject, says: Is it not possible that these endangered bird species leave their homes outside and take refuge in the "inner world"?

Inland, among the mountains, and along the coast, we found the life of birds fertile. When they spread their large wings, some of the birds appeared to be 9 meters in wingspan. They are of great variety and many colors. We were allowed to climb up the cliff edge and explore the nest of eggs. There were five in the nest, each of which was at least 60 cm long and 40 cm in diameter.

After we had been in the town of Hectea for about a week, Professor Goldea took us to a small cove where we saw thousands of turtles along the sandy shore. I hesitate to state the size of these great beings. They were 7.5 to 9 meters long, 4.5 to 6 meters wide - and totally 210 cm high. When one of them stuck out his head, he had the appearance of some hideous sea monster.

The strange conditions "inside" are favorable not only for vast meadows of abundant grasses, forests of giant trees, and all manner of plant life, but wonderful animal life as well.

Once we saw a great herd of elephants. There must have been five hundred of these thunderous monsters, with their restlessly waving trunks. They ripped huge branches from trees and trampled smaller plants into dust. They averaged over 30 meters in length and 22.5 to 25.5 meters in height.

It seemed as I looked at this wonderful herd of giant elephants that I was living again in the public library in Stockholm, where I spent a lot of time studying the wonders of the Miocene era. I was overwhelmed with mute surprise and my father was mute with fear. He held my hand in the grip of protection, as if terrible harm would overtake us. We were two atoms in this great forest, and fortunately unobserved by this vast herd of elephants as they drifted towards us and away, behind the leader, as a herd of sheep does. They met in the growing grasses they encountered as they moved, and from time to time shook the firmament with their deep roar.

After spending significantly more than a year visiting several of the many cities of the "inner" world and a lot of country traversed, and more than two years have passed since we were picked up by a large excursion boat on the river, we decided to throw our fates once more into the sea. and try to return to the "outer" surface of the earth.

We communicated our wishes, and they reluctantly, but quickly followed. Our hosts gave my father, at his request, various maps showing the entire "inner" surface of the earth, its cities, oceans, seas, rivers, bays. They also generously offered to give us all the bags of gold nuggets some as big as a goose's egg - which we were willing to try to take with us in our little fishing boat.

The appointed time we returned to Jehu, in which we spent one month contracting and rebuilding our little fishing sloop. After everything was ready, the same vessel "Naz", which originally found us, accepted us and sailed to the mouth of the Hiddekel River.

After our giant brothers launched our little boat for us, they were most heartily saddened at parting, and took great care for our safety. My father swore by the Gods Odin and Thor that he would certainly return again within a year or two and pay them another visit. And so we bid them farewell. We prepared and hoisted our sail, but there was a slight breeze. We settled down for an hour after our giant friends left us and began the return trip.

"What are we going to do?" I asked. "There is only one thing we can do," my father replied, "and that is to go south." Accordingly, he turned the ship, gave it a full reef, and took off on the compass to the north, but, in fact, to the south. The wind was strong, and we seemed to float into the stream, which ran with remarkable speed in the same direction.

In only forty days we reached Delfi, a city we visited in company

with sleep guides Jules Galdea and his wife, near the mouth of the Gihon river. Here we stayed for two days, and were most hospitably entertained by the same people who welcomed us on our former visit. We took some extra provisions and set sail again, following the arrow north.

On our outward journey, we penetrated a narrow strait that appeared to be a separating body of water between two significant layers of earth. There was a beautiful beach on our right, and we decided to scout. Having dropped anchor, we disembarked to rest for the day before continuing the dangerous outward engagement. We lit a fire and threw a few sticks of dry driftwood. While my father walked along the beach, I prepared a tempting meal from the provisions we provided.

After breakfast, we started on an in-house exploration tour, but didn't get far when we saw some birds, which we recognized immediately as belonging to the penguin family. They are wingless birds, but excellent swimmers and huge in size, with white breasts, short wings, a black head, and long, spongy beaks. They were totally 2.7 meters high. They looked at us with a little surprise, and now hobbled, rather than walked, towards the water, and sailed northward.

Events that happened over the next hundred or more days are beyond description. We were in an open and ice-free sea. It was a month that we counted as November or December, and we knew that the so-called South Pole was pointing towards the sun. Therefore, passing out and away from the inner electric light of the "Smoky God" and its welcoming warmth, we would be greeted with the light and warmth of the sun shining through the southern opening of the earth. We weren't wrong.

Finally, we realized that the atmosphere was getting decidedly colder, and, a few days later, icebergs were seen on the far left. My father argued, and rightly so, that the winds that filled our sails came from a warm climate "inside." The time of year was, of course, the most favorable for us to make our dash into the "outside" world and attempts to carry our fishing sloop through the open straits of the frozen zone that surrounds the polar regions.

Once when I was lazily looking away from the sloop into the clear waters, my father shouted: "Icebergs are ahead!" Looking out, I saw a white object through the rising fog that rose several hundred feet high, completely blocking our progress. We lowered the sail immediately, and not at all soon. In a moment, we were wedged between two monstrous icebergs. Each one pounded and ground another mountain of ice. They were like two gods of war fighting for supremacy. We were very alarmed. Indeed, we were between the lines of the general engagement; the resounding thunder of grinding ice sounded like prolonged volleys of artillery. Chunks of ice larger than a house were often lifted a hundred feet by the powerful force of lateral pressure; they would shake and swing there

and here for a few seconds, then descended, crashing down with a deafening roar, and disappeared into the foaming waters. Thus, for more than two hours, the competition of the ice giants continued.

It seemed as if the end had come. The ice pressure was overwhelming, and while we were not caught in the dangerous part of the cork and were safe for the time being, the heaving and ripping of tons of ice as it fell, splashing here and there into the depths of water filled us with trembling fear.

Finally, to our great joy, the grinding of the ice ceased, and within a few hours the large mass slowly divided, and, as if an act of providence had been performed, an open channel lay directly in front of us. Should we take risks with our little craft in this gap? If the pressure came on again, our little sloop as well as ourselves would be crushed into oblivion. We decided to take the risk, and accordingly raised our sail to the blessed breeze, and soon we started as a racehorse running through an unknown narrow channel of open water.

Part five. Among the blocks of ice

For the next forty-five days, our time was used to dodge icebergs and search for channels; indeed, without a strong south wind and a small boat, I doubt if it is possible that this story was ever given to the world.

Finally, morning came when my father said, “My son, I think we should see the house. We almost made it through the ice. Look! open water is in front of us."

However, there were a few icebergs that floated far to the north in open water still in front of us on either side, stretching for miles. Directly in front of us, and the compass, which now corrected itself, pointing north, was the open sea.

“What a wonderful story we have to tell the people of Stockholm,” my father continued, while a look of apologetic delight illuminated his honest face. "And think of the gold nuggets packed in the hold!"

I said kind words of praise to my father, not only for his fortitude and endurance, but also for his courage as an explorer, and for taking the journey that now promised a successful end. I was grateful, too, that he collected the wealth of gold we were taking home.

Our boat fell back onto the iceberg, which by this time had turned over, changing the side facing upward. My father was still in the boat, entangled in the ship's rigging, while I was thrown about 6 meters away.

I quickly got to my feet and shouted to my father, who replied: "Everything is fine." It was then that the realization came to me. Horror on horror! The blood froze in my veins.

The iceberg was still in motion, and its great weight and force in the coup would cause it to sink temporarily. I fully understood that this would generate a suction vortex among the masses of water on each side. They must rush into the sink in all their rage, like white-fanged wolves seeking human prey.

In this supreme moment of mental anguish, I remember looking at our boat, which was lying on its side, and wondering if this could be fixed, and if my father could free himself. Is this really the end of our struggles and adventures? Is this death? All these questions flashed through my head in a split second, and a moment later I was busy fighting death and life. A heavy monolith of ice sank below the surface, and cold waters gurgled around me in frenzied anger. I was in a caisson, with waters pouring in on each side. Another moment and I lost consciousness.

I crawled close to the steep side of the iceberg, and peered far down, hoping, still hoping. Then I made a circle on the iceberg, looking every meter of the way, and so I continued to make circle after circle. One part of my brain, of course, became manic, while another part, I believe, and do to this day, was completely rational.

I sensed that I had made the circle a dozen times, and while one part of my mind knew, in complete prudence, that there was no remnant of hope, another strange and exciting deviation bewitched and made me still deceive myself with anticipation. Another part of my brain seemed to tell me that there was no way for my father to stay alive, yet if I left the roundabout, if I paused for a single moment, it would be an admission of defeat, and, having done that, I would go crazy. So hour after hour I walked round and round, afraid to stop and rest, yet physically powerless to continue for much longer. ABOUT! horror horror! to be thrown into this wide expanse of waters without food or drink, and only a treacherous iceberg for a permanent place. My heart sank inside meand all semblance of hope vanished into hopeless despair.

Then the Liberator's hand was extended, and the deadly stillness of loneliness, quickly becoming unbearable, was suddenly broken by a blast of a signal weapon. I looked in amazement, and saw, less than half a mile away, a whaling ship heading towards me with its full set of sails.

I found it was a Scottish whaling ship, the Arlington. It unloaded at Dundee in September and immediately launched into Antarctica in search of whales. The captain, Angus McPherson, seemed kindly disposed, but in matters of discipline, I soon learned, possessed of an iron will. When I tried to tell him that I had come from the "inland" land, the captain and mate looked at each other, shook their heads, and insisted that I be placed in a bunk under the strict supervision of the ship's doctor.

On my final arrival at Stockholm, I found that my sweet mother had gone to her bounty more than a year before. I have also said how, later, the betrayal of a relative put me in an insane asylum, where I remained for twenty-eight years; seemingly endless years - and even later, after my release, I returned to the life of a fisherman, after that diligently for twenty-seven years, then I came to America, and finally to Los Angeles, California. But all this may be of little interest to the reader. Indeed, it seems to me that the climax of my wonderful travels and strange adventures was reached when a Scottish sailing ship took me off an iceberg in the Antarctic Ocean.

Part six. Conclusion

At the conclusion of this story of my adventures, I want to state that I firmly believe that science is still in its infancy with respect to the cosmology of the earth. There is so much unaccounted for by accepted knowledge in the world today, and will ever remain so until the land of the "Smoky God" is known and recognized by our geographers.

This is the land from which large cedar logs appeared, which were found by researchers in open waters far along the northern edge of the earth's crust, and also the bodies of mammoths, the bones of which have been found in vast layers on the Siberian coast.

Northern explorers have done a lot. Sir John Franklin, De Avan Grinnell, Sir John Murray, Kane, Melville, Hall, Nansen, Schwatka, Greely, Peary, Ross, Gerlache, Bernacchi, Andree, Amsden, Amundsen and others all sought to storm the frozen citadel of mystery.

I firmly believe that Andree and his two brave companions, Strindberg and Fraenckell, who flew in the Eagle balloon off the northwest coast of Spitzbergen on that Sunday afternoon of July 11, 1897 (From the translator: Wikipedia reports, found dead in 1930), are now in the "inner" world, and undoubtedly amuse themselves, as my father and myself were entertained by the soft-hearted giant race that inhabit the inner Atlantic Continent.

Sir James Ross claimed to have discovered a magnetic pole at approximately seventy-four degrees latitude. This is incorrect - the magnetic pole is exactly half the distance across the earth's crust. So if the earth's crust is three hundred miles in thickness, which is the distance I estimate to be correct, then the magnetic pole is undoubtedly one hundred and fifty miles below the surface of the earth, it doesn't matter where the test is done. And at this particular point, one hundred and fifty miles below the surface, gravity ceases, becomes neutralized; and as we pass beyond that point to the "inner" surface of the earth, the reciprocal attraction increases geometrically in power until another hundred and fifty miles of distance are crossed, which would bring us to the "inner" earth.

Thus, if a hole were drilled down through the earth's crust in London, Paris, New York, Chicago, or Los Angeles, three hundred miles, it would connect the two surfaces.

The circulation of the earth in its daily act of whirling around in its spiraling rotation

- at a level greater than one thousand miles every hour, or about seventeen miles a second - makes it an electrical generating body, a huge machine, a powerful prototype of a small man made dynamo, which is, at best, just a faint imitation of the original of nature.

The valleys of this inland Atlantis Continent bordering the upper waters of the farthest north are in season, covered with the most magnificent and abundant flowers. Not hundreds and thousands, but millions of acres (from the translator: 1 acre = 0.405 hectares), from which pollen or flowers are carried far in almost every direction by spiral circulations of the earth and the excitement of the wind blowing from there, and these are these flowers or pollen from vast floral meadows "inside" produce the colored snows of the Arctic, which so mystified northern explorers.

Without a doubt, this new land “inside” is the home, the cradle of the human race, and viewed from the point of view of the discoveries we have made, it must necessarily have the most important support for all physical, paleontological, archaeological, philological and mythological theories of antiquity.

The same idea of returning to the land of mystery - to the very beginning - to the origin of man - is found in the Egyptian traditions of the earlier earthly realms of gods, heroes and humans, from the historical fragments of Manetho (from translator: (3rd century BC), Egyptian priest. He wrote a history of Egypt from mythical times to 323 BC, in which he arbitrarily divided the sequence of rulers known to him in thirty dynasties, a layout that is still accompanied, fully verified by chronological records taken from more recent excavations of Pompeii so the same as the traditions of the North American Indians.

It is now one o'clock in the morning the new year 1908 is here, and this is the third day of the year, and at last I am finishing my account of my strange travels and adventures that I wish to give to the world, I am ready, and even longing, for a peaceful rest, which I am sure will follow. life trials and vicissitudes. I am old in years, and experienced adventure and sorrow, yet rich with a few friends whom I have cemented to me in my struggle to lead a just and honest life. Like a story that's almost told, my life is receding. The feeling is strong inside me that

I won't live to see the sun rise. This completes my post.

Author: Olaf Jansen

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