The Great Stone of Sardis — A Reader’s Guide

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In Category - Machines Inventions Early Science Fiction

Authors: Stockton, Frank R., 1834-1902 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2004 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Science fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 62,279

Reading time 271 min

Text sections 7

The Great Stone of Sardis — A Reader’s Guide can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 62,279 words, 4 hr 31 min estimated reading time, and 7 detected text sections.

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Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Science fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #6127

In Frank R. Stockton's 1947-set novel, inventor Roland Clewe's Artesian ray reveals a puzzling void beneath the earth's crust, while his compound Atlantic liner and Margaret Raleigh's measured responses highlight tensions between ambition and uncertainty.

Editorial Edition Score 4.7/5

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Title & short description10 pts
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Text length15 pts
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File: pg6127

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I. THE ARRIVAL OF THE EUTERPE-THALIA

III. MARGARET RALEIGH

IV. THE MISSION OF SAMUEL BLOCK V. UNDER WATER

VI. VOICES FROM THE POLAR SEAS

VII. GOOD NEWS GOES FROM SARDIS

VIII. THE DEVIL ON THE DIPSEY

XI. THEY BELIEVE IT IS THE POLAR SEA

XII. CAPTAIN HUBBELL TAKES COMMAND

XIII. LONGITUDE EVERYTHING

XIV. A REGION OF NOTHINGNESS

XV. THE AUTOMATIC SHELL

XVI. THE TRACK OF THE SHELL

XVII. CAPTAIN HUBBELL DECLINES TO GO WHALING

XVIII. MR. MARCY'S CANAL

XX. “THAT IS HOW I LOVE YOU”

XXI. THE CAVE OF LIGHT

XXIII. THE LAST DIVE OF THE DIPSEY

XXIV. ROVINSKI COMES TO THE SURFACE

THE GREAT STONE OF SARDIS

CHAPTER I. THE ARRIVAL OF THE EUTERPE-THALIA

It was about noon of a day in early summer that a westward-bound Atlantic liner was rapidly nearing the port of New York. Not long before, the old light-house on Montauk Point had been sighted, and the company on board the vessel were animated by the knowledge that in a few hours they would be at the end of their voyage.

The vessel now speeding along the southern coast of Long Island was the Euterpe-Thalia, from Southampton. On Wednesday morning she had left her English port, and many of her passengers were naturally anxious to be on shore in time to transact their business on the last day of the week. There were even some who expected to make their return voyage on the Melpomene-Thalia, which would leave New York on the next Monday.

The Euterpe-Thalia was one of those combination ocean vessels which had now been in use for nearly ten years, and although the present voyage was not a particularly rapid one, it had been made in a little less than three days.

As may be easily imagined, a vessel like this was a very different craft from the old steamers which used to cross the Atlantic--“ocean greyhounds” they were called--in the latter part of the nineteenth century.

It would be out of place here to give a full description of the vessels which at the period of our story, in 1947, crossed the Atlantic at an average time of three days, but an idea of their construction will suffice. Most of these vessels belonged to the class of the Euterpe-Thalia, and were, in fact, compound marine structures, the two portions being entirely distinct from each other. The great hull of each of these vessels contained nothing but its electric engines and its propelling machinery, with the necessary fuel and adjuncts.

The upper portion of the compound vessel consisted of decks and quarters for passengers and crew and holds for freight. These were all comprised within a vast upper hull, which rested upon the lower hull containing the motive power, the only point of contact being an enormous ball-and-socket joint. Thus, no matter how much the lower hull might roll and pitch and toss, the upper hull remained level and comparatively undisturbed.

Not only were comfort to passengers and security to movable freight gained by this arrangement of the compound vessel, but it was now possible to build the lower hull of much less size than had been the custom in the former days of steamships, when the hull had to be large enough to contain everything. As the more modern hull held nothing but the machinery, it was small in comparison with the superincumbent upper hull, and thus the force of the engine, once needed to propel a vast mass through the resisting medium of the ocean, was now employed upon a comparatively small hull, the great body of the vessel meeting with no resistance except that of the air.

It was not necessary that the two parts of these compound vessels should always be the same. The upper hulls belonging to one of the transatlantic lines were generally so constructed that they could be adjusted to any one of their lower or motive-power hulls. Each hull had a name of its own, and so the combination name of the entire vessel was frequently changed.

It was not three o'clock when the Euterpe-Thalia passed through the Narrows and moved slowly towards her pier on the Long Island side of the city. The quarantine officers, who had accompanied the vessel on her voyage, had dropped their report in the official tug which had met the vessel on her entrance into the harbor, and as the old custom-house annoyances had long since been abolished, most of the passengers were prepared for a speedy landing.

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The novel opens in 1947 with the arrival of the Euterpe-Thalia, a compound ocean vessel whose hull contains only electric engines and propelling machinery, while passengers occupy a separate upper structure. This detail immediately establishes a world where technology has advanced in specific, described ways—crossing the Atlantic in under three days—yet the narrative voice remains matter-of-fact, treating these innovations as ordinary. The story quickly narrows to inventor Roland Clewe and his Artesian ray, a device that bores into the earth with light. When the ray reaches a depth of over fourteen miles, it reveals not rock or molten matter but a disk of soft, white light, leaving Clewe baffled and troubled.

The Artesian Ray and Its Disquieting Discovery

Clewe's Artesian ray is the novel's central invention, and its results drive the plot. The ray has a limit of fifteen miles, and as it nears that depth, it illuminates what Clewe calls “a region of nothingness.” He cannot accept that the earth might be hollow or that his ray has passed through solid rock into empty space. The text emphasizes his distress: “He could see no reason why his ray acting upon the emptiness of a cavern should produce the effect he beheld.” Margaret Raleigh, his companion, suggests the ray may have entered a cavity, but Clewe is unconvinced. The episode is notable for its restraint—Stockton does not resolve the mystery immediately, leaving Clewe to plan a more powerful instrument.

Margaret Raleigh's Role as a Counterweight

Margaret Raleigh appears as a pragmatic presence. When Clewe is agitated by the ray's results, she urges him to stop work and wait: “The earth will wait, and I want you to be in a condition to be able to wait also.” She does not dismiss his concerns but advises a pause, suggesting he take up other projects. Her language is measured and direct, contrasting with Clewe's obsessive drive. Earlier, she is the one who first looks through the telescope and reports “lighter air,” though she initially doubts the instrument. Stockton gives her a voice of reason without making her a mere foil; she actively shapes the pace of the investigation.

Compound Vessels and the Texture of 1947

The novel's future is built from incremental changes. The Euterpe-Thalia is a “compound marine structure” with separate hull and passenger sections, a design that Stockton describes as having been in use for ten years. The narrative mentions that older steamers were called “ocean greyhounds” in the late nineteenth century, grounding the story in a recognizable past. These details create a world where technology evolves logically from known inventions. The voyage time of under three days is presented as unremarkable, and the business of passengers expecting to return on the Melpomene-Thalia the following Monday gives a sense of routine. Stockton builds his speculative setting through such small, concrete specifications rather than grand proclamations.

Readers should attend to how Stockton balances invention with character reaction. The Artesian ray's discovery is left unresolved, and Clewe's determination to build a more powerful instrument sets up a longer arc. Margaret's caution introduces a tension between progress and prudence. The novel's future is not a utopia or dystopia but a recognizable extension of the late nineteenth century, where new machines coexist with old doubts.

Sometimes a story stays because it sits with uncertainty, like Roland Clewe’s ray finding that hollow place beneath the earth. I felt that same quiet ache reading L.P.M. : The End of the Great War — A Closer Reading, where answers arrive too neatly, and you’re left holding the pause instead of the conclusion. It reminded me how some endings just breathe.