The Vast Abyss

“Oh,” said Tom, who only knew parabolas from a cursory acquaintance with them through an old Greek friend called Euclid.

“Be patient, and you’ll soon understand,” continued Uncle Richard, who proceeded to secure the sheet of zinc to a piece of board by means of four tacks at its corners, and ended by carrying it out, and fixing the board just at the bottom of the border, close to the window.

A couple of strong nails at the sides of the board were sufficient, and then he led the way in.

“Now, Tom, take that ball of twine and the hammer, and go up to the top window, open it, and look out.”

The boy did not stop to say “What for?” but ran up-stairs, opened the window, and looked out, to find his uncle beneath with the long rod.

“Lower down the end of the string,” he cried; and this was done, Tom watching, and seeing it tied to the end of the rod where the brass nail stuck through.

“Haul up, Tom.”

The twine was tightened, and the end of the rod drawn up till Tom could take it in his hand.

“Now take away the string.”

This was done.

“Get your hammer.”

“It’s here on the window-sill, uncle.”

“That’s right. Now look here: I want you to lean out, and drive that nail in between two of the bricks, so that this marking-point at my end may hang just a few inches above the bottom of my piece of zinc. I’ll guide it. That’s just right. Now drive in the nail.”

“Must come an inch higher, so that the nail may be opposite a joint.”

“Take it an inch higher, and drive it in.”

This was done, and the rod swung like an immensely long wooden pendulum.

“That’s right,” cried Uncle Richard; “the nail and this point are exactly twenty-four feet apart. Now keep your finger on the head of the nail to steady it while I mark the zinc.”

Tom obeyed, and looked down the while, to see his uncle move the rod to and fro, till he had scored in the sheet of zinc a curve as neatly and more truly than if it had been done with a pair of compasses.

“That’s all, Tom,” he said. “Take out the nail and lower the rod down again carefully, or it will break.”

All this was done, and Tom descended to find that both the rod and the sheet of zinc had been carried in, the latter laid on the bench, and displaying a curve deeply scratched upon it where the sharp-pointed bradawl had been drawn.

“There, Tom,” said Uncle Richard, “that curve is exactly the one we have to make in our speculum, so that we may have a telescope of twelve feet focus. Do you understand?”

“No,” said Tom bluntly.

“Never mind – you soon will. It means that when we have ground out the glass so that it is a hollow of that shape, all the light reflected will meet at a point just twelve feet distant from its surface. Now we have begun in real earnest.”

He now took a keen-edged chisel, and pressing the corner down proceeded to deepen the mark scored in the zinc with the greatest care, until he had cut right through, forming the metal into two moulds, one of which was to gauge the lower disc, the other the upper. The edges of these were then rubbed carefully together as they lay flat upon the bench, till their edges were quite smooth; then some of the unnecessary zinc was cut away, a couple of big holes punched in them, and they were hung upon a couple of nails over the bench ready for use.

“Next thing,” cried Uncle Richard, “is to begin upon the speculum itself, so now for our apparatus. Here we have it all: a bowl of fine sifted silver sand, a bucket of water, and a sponge. Very simple things for bringing the moon so near, eh?”

“But is that all we want, uncle?”

“At present, my boy,” said Uncle Richard, proceeding to wet some of the sand and pretty well cover the disc of glass fixed upon the cask-head. “That’s for grinding, as you see.”

“Yes, uncle; but what are you going to rub it with?”

“The other disc. Here, catch hold. Be careful.”

Tom obeyed, and the smooth piece of plate-glass was laid flat upon the first piece, crushing down the wet sand, and fitting well into its place.

“Now, my boy, if we rub those two together, what will be the effect?”

“Grind the glass,” said Tom. “I once made a transparent slate like that, by rubbing a piece of glass on a stone with some sand and water. But I thought you wanted to hollow out the glass?”

“So I do, Tom.”

“But that will only keep the pieces flat.”

“I beg your pardon, my boy. If we rub and grind them as I propose, one of the discs will be rounded and the other hollowed exactly as I wish.”

Tom stared, for this was to his way of thinking impossible.

“Are you sure you are right, uncle? Because if you are not, it would be so much trouble for nothing.”

“Let’s prove it,” said Uncle Richard, smiling. “Go to the kitchen door, and ask the cook for a couple of good-sized pieces of salt and the meat-saw.”

The cook stared, but furnished the required pieces, which were soon shaped into flat slabs with the saw. Then a sheet of newspaper was spread, and one of the flat pieces of salt placed upon the other.

“There you are, Tom,” said his uncle. “I want you to see for yourself; then you will work better. Now then, grind away, keeping the bottom piece firm, and the top going in circular strokes, the top passing half off the bottom every time.”

Tom began, and worked away, while from time to time the lower piece was turned round.

“Nice fine salt,” said Uncle Richard; “cook ought to be much obliged.”

“It will be as flat as flat,” said Tom to himself, “but I don’t like to tell him so.”

“There, that will do,” said Uncle Richard, at the end of ten minutes. “Now then, are the pieces both flat?”

“No, uncle; the bottom piece is rounded and the top hollowed, but I can’t see why.”

“Then I’ll tell you: because the centre gets rubbed more than the sides, Tom. There, take paper and salt back, and we’ll begin.”

Tom caught up the paper, and soon returned, eager to commence; and after a little instruction as to how he was to place his hands upon the top glass, Uncle Richard placed himself exactly opposite to his nephew, with the upturned cask between them.

“Now, Tom, it will be a very long and tedious task with this great speculum; hot work for us too, so we must do a bit now and a bit then, so as not to weary ourselves out. Ready?”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Then off.”

“It will be a tiresome job,” thought Tom, as, trying hard to get into regular swing with his uncle, the top glass was pushed to and fro from one to the other; but at each thrust Uncle Richard made a half step to his left, Tom, according to instructions, the same, so that the glass might be ground regularly all over. At the end of a quarter of an hour it was slid on one side, and more water and sand applied. Then on again, and the grinding continued, the weight of the glass making the task very difficult. But Tom worked manfully, encouraged by his uncle’s assurance that every day he would grow more accustomed to the work, and after two more stoppages there was a cessation.

“There!” cried Uncle Richard; “one hour’s enough for the first day. It wants faith to go on with such a business, Tom.”

As he spoke the future speculum was carefully lifted off the lower one, sponged with clean water, and on examination proved to be pretty well scratched in the middle in a round patch, but the marks grew less and less, till at the edge of the glass it was hardly scratched at all.

“There, you see where we bite hardest,” said Uncle Richard; “now we’ll give it a rest, and ourselves too.”

“But we shall never get done like this,” cried Tom.

“Oh yes, we shall, boy; and I’m not going to leave off our work. Let’s see: this we must call the workshop, the floor above our laboratory, and the top of course the observatory. Now then, let’s go up into our laboratory, and I’ll give you a lesson in elutriation.”

Chapter Thirteen

“I haven’t got a dictionary here, uncle,” said Tom, with a smile, as they stood at the massive table under the window in the laboratory. “I don’t know what elutriation means.”

“I dare say not. I didn’t till I was nearly fifty, Tom, but you soon shall know. Fetch that tin off the shelf.”

Tom obeyed, and found a label on the top, on which was printed “Best Ground Emery.”

“Well, you know what that is?”

“Emery? Powdered glass,” said Tom promptly.

“Wrong. Diamond cuts diamond, Tom, but we want something stronger than powdered glass to polish itself. Emery is a mineral similar in nature to sapphire and ruby, but they are bright crystals, and emery is found in dull blocks.”

“Then it’s very valuable?” said Tom.

“Oh, no. It is fairly plentiful in Nature, and much used. Now then, we want coarse emery to grind our speculum after we have done with the sand, and then different degrees to follow, till we get some exquisitely fine for polishing. How are we to divide the contents of that tin so as to graduate our grinding and polishing powder?”

“Sift it, of course, uncle.”

“And where would you get sieves sufficiently fine at last?”

“Muslin?”

“Oh, no. Here is where elutriation comes in, Tom; and here you see the use of some of the things I brought back from London the other day. To work. Bring forward that great pan.”

This was done.

“Now empty in the contents of this packet.”

Tom took up a little white paper of something soft, opened it, and poured the contents into the pan.

“Powdered gum arabic?” he said.

“Yes. Now empty the tin of emery upon it.”

Tom opened the tin, and found within a dark chocolate-looking powder, which felt very gritty between his finger and thumb. This he emptied upon the gum arabic, and, in obedience to instructions, thoroughly mixed both together.

“To make the fine emery remain longer in suspension,” said his uncle, “keep on stirring, Tom.”

“All right, uncle. What, are you going to pour water in? It’s like making a Christmas pudding.”

For Uncle Richard took up a can of water, and began to pour a little in as Tom stirred, changing the powder first into a paste, then into a thick mud, then into a thin brown batter, and at last, when a couple of gallons or so had been poured in and the whole well mixed, the great pan was full of a dirty liquid, upon the top of which a scum gathered as the movement ceased. This scum Uncle Richard proceeded to skim off till the surface was quite clear, and then he glanced at his watch.

“Is that scum the elutriation?” said Tom, with a faint grin.

“No, boy, the impurity; throw it down the sink. Now, Tom, we want to get our finest polishing emery out of that mixture, and it will take an hour to form – sixty-minute emery, the opticians call it; so while it is preparing, we’ll go and have another turn at the speculum.”

They descended, leaving the pan standing on the heavy table, and after spreading wet sand upon the lower disc of glass, the loose one was once more set in motion, and uncle and nephew, with quarter-hour rests for examination and wetting the surfaces, patiently ground away for an hour, by which time, upon the speculum being sponged, it was found that the greater part of the upper glass was deeply scratched.

“This is going to be an awfully long job,” thought Tom.

“Yes, it is,” said his uncle, who aptly read his thoughts, “a very long job, Tom; but good things have to be worked for, boy.”

“Oh, I’m not going to be tired, uncle. It’s like working for a grand prize.”

“It is. Now then, let’s see to the emery. Our finest must be ready by now. Now I want all the water, from which the emery has settled down to the bottom, drawn off into that great white basin. How is it to be done?”

“Pour it off,” said Tom.

“No; couldn’t be done without disturbing the bottom. Let’s try syphoning.”

Uncle Richard placed the basin upon a stool below the level of the table, took up a glass tube bent somewhat in the shape of a long-shanked hook, placed the short end gently beneath the surface of the nearly clear water, his lips to the long end, drew out the air, and the water followed directly from the atmospheric pressure, and ran swiftly into the basin.

As it ran, and Tom watched, Uncle Richard carefully held the short arm of the syphon, guiding it till the sediment at the bottom of the pan was nearly reached, when he quickly withdrew it, and the basin was then placed beside the pan.

“There, Tom,” said Uncle Richard, “that’s our sixty-minute emery.”

“But I thought you said you wanted it very fine. You’ve only washed it.”

“We’re playing at cross purposes, Tom,” said Uncle Richard. “You are talking about the contents of the pan, I about those of the basin.”

“What! the clear water – at least nearly clear?”

“Ah, there you have hit it, boy – nearly clear. That water contains our finest polishing powder, and it will have to stand till to-morrow to settle.”

“Oh!” said Tom, who felt very much in the dark, and he followed his uncle to the neat sink that had been fitted in the laboratory, and helped him wash a series of wide-mouthed stoppered bottles, which were afterwards carefully dried and labelled in a most methodical way.

“Saves time, Tom, to be careful,” said Uncle Richard, who now took up a pen and wrote upon the label of the smallest bottle “Emery, 60 min.”

“There, that’s for the contents of the big basin.”

“Want a genii to get a pailful into that little bottle, uncle,” said Tom, laughing.

“We’ll get all we want into it to-morrow, Tom,” was the reply. “Now then, how do you feel – ready for one hour’s more grinding at the speculum, or shall we leave it till to-morrow?”

“I want to finish it, and see the moon,” said Tom sturdily, as he rolled up his sleeves a little more tightly. “Let’s get on, uncle, and finish it.”

“Or get an hour nearer,” said Uncle Richard; and they went down and ground till Mrs Fidler summoned them to their meal.

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning came a letter from Mornington Crescent, announcing that James Brandon had met with an accident, and been knocked down by a cab. The letter was written by Sam, evidently at his father’s dictation, and on the fly-leaf was a postscript self-evidently not at James Brandon’s dictation, for it was as follows —

“P.S. – Dear Uncle, there isn’t much the matter, only a few bruises, only the pater makes such a fuss. Thought you’d like to know.”

“Charming youth, your cousin,” said Uncle Richard, as he rose and went into his little study to answer the letter, leaving Tom at liberty for a few minutes, which he utilised by going down the garden to where David was busy.

“Morning, sir. How’s the machine getting on?”

“Capitally, David.”

“That’s right, sir. I hope you and the master ’ll make some’at out of it, for people do go on dreadful about it down the village.”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“Well, sir, of course it’s their higgorance. You and me knows better, and I shouldn’t like master to know, but they lead me a horful life about it all. They say master’s got a crack in his head about that thing he’s making, and that he ought to be stopped.”

“Why?” said Tom, laughing.

“Oh, it’s nothing to laugh about, sir. They say the place won’t be safe, for he’ll be having a blow-up one of these days with his contrapshums.”

“What nonsense!”

“Well, sir, I don’t know about that. He did have one, and singed all his hair off, and blew out his libery window.”

“Tom!”

“Coming, uncle.”

“Don’t you say a word to him, sir, please.”

“Oh, no; all right, David; and next time the people say anything to you about uncle’s experiments, you tell them they’re a pack of bull-geese!”

“Bull-geese!” said David, turning the word over two or three times as if he liked it, “bull-geese! Yes, sir, I will,” and he began to chuckle, while Tom joined his uncle, who was already on his way to the mill.

As Tom reached the lane he was just in time to meet Pete Warboys, who came slouching along with his hands as far down in his pockets as he could reach, his boots, two sizes too large, unlaced, and his dog close behind him.

Pete’s body went forward as if all together, but his eyes were on the move the while, searching in every direction as if for prey, and settled upon Tom with a peculiarly vindictive stare, while the dog left his master’s side, and began to sniff at Tom’s legs.

“Not afraid of you now,” thought the boy, as he remembered the fir-cones, and felt sure that a stone would send the dog flying at any time. But as he met Pete’s eye he did not feel half so sure. For Pete was big-boned and strong, and promised to be an ugly customer in a battle.

“And besides, he’s so dirty,” thought Tom, as he passed on to the gate, through which his uncle had just passed.

Pete said nothing until Tom had closed the gate. Then there was the appearance of a pair of dirty hands over the coping of the wall, the scraping noise made by a pair of boot toes against the bricks, and next Pete’s head appeared just above the wall, and he uttered the comprehensive word expressive of his contempt, defiance, and general disposition to regard the boy from London as an enemy whose head he felt disposed to punch. Pete’s word was —

“Yah!”

Tom felt indignant.

“Get down off that wall, sir!” he cried.

This roused Pete Warboys, who, as the daring outlaw of Furzebrough, desired to play his part manfully, especially so since he was on the other side of the said wall; and, wrinkling up his snub nose, he cried —

“She-arn’t! ’Tain’t your wall.”

“Get down!” cried Tom fiercely.

“Get down yerself. Who are you, I should like to know?”

Tom stooped and picked up a clod of earth, and Pete ducked his head, the motion causing his toes to slip out of a crevice between two bricks, and he disappeared, but only to scramble up again.

“You heave that at me,” he cried fiercely, “and I’ll come over and smash yer.”

Tom felt disposed to risk the smashing, and drew back his hand to throw the clod, when his wrist was caught, for his uncle had heard what passed, and returned to the door.

“Don’t do that, my boy,” he said quietly. Then to Pete, “Get down off that wall.”

“She-arn’t! Who are you?” cried the great hulking fellow, and he scrambled a little more upward, so as to hang over with his elbows on the top bricks.

“Then stop there,” said Uncle Richard quietly. “Don’t take any notice of him, Tom; the fellow is half an idiot.”

“So are you!” yelled Pete. “Yah! Who pulled the – ”

Whack!

“Ow! ah!” A scramble, and Pete disappeared as an angry voice was heard on the other side of the wall.

“How dare you, sir? Insolent young scoundrel! Be off with you!”

“Don’t you hit me!” came in a yelping, snivelling tone. “Don’t you hit me! You hit me, and I’ll – Get out!”

There was a dull thud, a yell, and the succession of cries uttered by a dog in pain, generally known as “chy-ike.” For, unable to vent his spleen upon his aggressor, Pete had turned upon his wretched dog, which was unfortunate enough to get between his master’s legs, nearly sending him down as he backed away from a quivering malacca cane. The dog received an awful kick, and ran down the narrow lane, and Pete followed him in a loose-jointed, shambling trot, turned into the pathway between the hedges at the bottom of Uncle Richard’s field, thrust his head back, relieved his feelings by yelling out “Yah!” and disappeared.

By this time Tom and his uncle were down at the yard gate, which they threw open, to find themselves face to face with the vicar, a little fresh-coloured, plump, grey man of five-and-forty. His brow was wrinkled with annoyance, and his grey hair and whiskers seemed to bristle, as he changed the stout cane into his left hand, pulled off his right glove, and shook hands.

“Good-morning,” he cried; “good-morning – nephew, arn’t you? Glad to know you. Only came back last night, Brandon, and the first thing I encounter in my first walk is that young scoundrel insulting you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Uncle Richard, smiling.

“But it is something, my dear sir. After all the pains I took with that boy at our school – when I could get him there – he turns out like this. Really,” he continued, laughing very good-humouredly, and looking down at his cane, “I ought not to have done it, – not becoming in a clergyman, – but the young dog was insulting you, and he was stretched over the wall so tightly. Really – ha, ha! – it was so tempting that I felt obliged.”

“Yes, it must have been tempting,” said Uncle Richard. “Well, have you come back quite strong?”

“Seems like it,” said the vicar, laughing. Then seriously, “Yes, thank heaven, I feel quite myself again.”

“That’s good,” said Uncle Richard. “I am very glad.”

“I know you are. And oh, Brandon, you can’t think how glad I am to get back to the dear old place again. My garden looks delightful; and yours?”

“Capital.”

“But, my dear fellow, what in the world are you doing with the old mill. I heard you had bought it. Sails gone, mended, painted. Why, surely – yes – no – yes, I have it – observatory.”

“Right.”

“Splendid idea. Capital. You ought to have a big telescope for that.”

“Making it,” said Uncle Richard laconically.

“Glad of it. Wish I could join you. There, good-bye, so much to do; can’t tell me, I suppose, what to do with that lad Pete Warboys?”

Uncle Richard shook his head, and the vicar shook his hand. Then as he went through the same process with Tom, he said —

“Glad to know you; I’m sure we shall be very good friends;” and then he hurried away, and the others closed the gate and went into the workshop, where the speculum was waiting to be ground.

“You’ll like Mr Maxted,” said Uncle Richard quietly. “A thorough, true-hearted gentleman, who preserves all the best of his boyhood; but come now, work.”

“Grinding?” said Tom, stripping off his jacket.

“Not yet – elutriation, Tom,” said Uncle Richard, as he led the way up to the laboratory, where the big pan was lifted down upon the stool, and the syphon used to pour the water in the white basin back again.

But not quite all. It was clear now, and at the bottom there was just a film of chocolate mud, which was most carefully trickled off with some of the water into the ready labelled little bottle.

“There, Tom, that tiny spoonful or two of paste is our finest emery, and valuable in the extreme – to us. The next thing is to get a grade coarser.”

“The same way?” said Tom.

“Nearly. Stir the whole up again.”

This was carefully done, but there was no scum now.

“We left the other sixty minutes, Tom,” said Uncle Richard; “this time we’ll leave it thirty minutes. Come along; time for two quarter-hour grinds at the speculum.”

They went down, wetted the sand, and ground away for fifteen minutes; washed the glass, started again, and at the end of another fifteen minutes went up to repeat the process of drawing off the thick water into the basin. This was left to stand till evening, when the water was poured back, and about a double quantity of thin paste to that obtained in the morning placed in a size larger bottle, and labelled “thirty-minute emery.”

Again the whole was well stirred, and left for fifteen minutes; the process repeated, and a much larger quantity obtained and bottled.

The next day the emery was stirred, and allowed to settle for five minutes; then for two minutes, and the remainder bottled by itself, this being by far the largest quantity, and in fact so much strong sharp grit.

“There!” cried Uncle Richard; “now, going backwards, we have six different grades of material, beginning with the coarse, and going up to the fine sixty-minute powder or paste for polishing, for these things have to be made exquisitely fine.”

At the next attack upon the glass to dig it out into a hollow, the sand was all carefully washed away, showing the disc to be thoroughly scratched all over, and looking somewhat like the inside of a ground-glass globe.

“So far so good, Tom,” said Uncle Richard; “now let’s try our mould.”

He took down the convex-shaped piece of zinc, and placed it upon the newly-ground-glass, into whose face it descended a little way, but only a very little.

“Not deep enough yet, Tom,” he said; “the mould ought to fit into it exactly.”

“Yes, I understand now,” said Tom; “we have got to grind more out of the middle.”

“Exactly.”

“Shall I fetch the sand back?”

“No, we will use the coarsest emery now; I dare say that will dig out enough. Now then, number one.”