darkening background.  Looking downward to the west, where alone the entire landscape lay in daylight, I presently discerned the outline of shore and sea extending over a semicircle whose radius much exceeded five hundred miles, implying that I was about thirty-five miles from the sea-level.  Even at this height the extent of my survey was so great in comparison to my elevation, that a line drawn from the vessel to the horizon was, though very roughly, almost parallel to the surface; and the horizon therefore seemed to be not very far from my own level, while the point below me, of course, appeared at a vast distance.  The appearance of the surface, therefore, was as if the horizon had been, say, some thirty miles higher than the centre of the semicircle bounding my view, and the area included in my prospect had the form of a saucer or shallow bowl.  But since the diameter of the visible surface increases only as the square root of the height, this appearance became less and less perceptible as I rose higher.  It had taken me twenty minutes to attain the elevation of thirty-five miles; but my speed was, of course, constantly increasing, very much as the speed of an object falling to the Earth from a great height increases; and before ten more minutes had elapsed, I found myself surrounded by a blackness nearly absolute, except in the direction of the Sun,—­which was still well above the sea—­and immediately round the terrestrial horizon, on which rested a ring of sunlit azure sky, broken here and there by clouds.  In every other direction I seemed to be looking not merely upon a black or almost black sky, but into close surrounding darkness.  Amid this darkness, however, were visible innumerable points of light, more or less brilliant—­the stars—­which no longer seemed to be spangled over the surface of a distant vault, but rather scattered immediately about me, nearer or farther to the instinctive apprehension of the eye as they were brighter or fainter.  Scintillation there was none, except in the immediate vicinity of the eastern horizon, where I still saw them through a dense atmosphere.  In short, before thirty minutes had elapsed since the start, I was satisfied that I had passed entirely out of the atmosphere, and had entered into the vacancy of space—­if such a thing as vacant space there be.

At this point I had to cut off the greater part of the apergy and check my speed, for reasons that will be presently apparent.  I had started in daylight in order that during the first hundred miles of my ascent I might have a clear view of the Earth’s surface.  Not only did I wish to enjoy the spectacle, but as I had to direct my course by terrestrial landmarks, it was necessary that I should be able to see these so as to determine the rate and direction of the Astronaut’s motion, and discern the first symptoms of any possible danger.  But obviously, since my course lay generally in the plane of the ecliptic, and for the present at least nearly in the line joining the centres of