The Return
The facts of my return from Atlantis have been reported so widely that
it would be futile for me to dwell upon them. It is generally known
how, having crossed the ocean at the sixty-knot speed made possible by
our intra-atomic propellers, our submarine found its way to the mouth
of the Potomac and almost up to Washington; how, after it had anchored
obscurely some distance below the city, I donned my old uniform and
made my way out under cover of night; how I hastened the next day
to the offices of the naval department, disclosed my identity, and
met with ridicule not only at my incredible tale, but at my strange
appearance, my long beard, my goggles and my greenish skin.
Unfortunately, in the haste and confusion of my departure from the
Sunken World, I had made one oversight. I had forgotten the copy of
Homer’s lost “Telegonus,” which I had hoped to exhibit in verification
of my story! Scattered lines of the poem, to be sure, did keep trailing
through my mind with a wild, ringing majesty--but they were the merest
fragments, and to recite them would have been to brand myself as a
madman. Yet I had little other evidence to display. Aelios could
not help me, for she could not speak English; and in spite of her
exceptional beauty, there would have been nothing to prove that she had
not been born above seas. And as for the four members of the submarine
crew, they refused stanchly to leave the vessel; and, besides, they
likewise could not speak English, and their fantastic Atlantean garb
would no doubt have marked them also as lunatics.
And so there was nothing to do but wait, wait for days and days,
haunting the naval offices, making myself a laughing stock and a
nuisance, yet repeating my pleas so insistently that in the end they
had to be heeded. But meanwhile I was losing time--time which I knew
to be all-important. Even now Atlantis might be in a death-grip with
the waters; and the difference of a few hours might bridge the gap
between safety and disaster. Would not my fellows make haste? was the
question I kept asking and asking; and all the while they remained
inactive and unmoved. Every day, with tears in her eyes, Aelios would
inquire when the rescuing expedition was to set out; and every day I
would nod sadly, and sigh, “Perhaps tomorrow.” But tomorrow would bring
little hope; and even when at last an investigation was undertaken, it
was careless and dilatory--and it was long before I could convince the
bewildered inspectors that I was actually one of the company of the
lost X-111.
It was long, indeed, before I could even find any one to identify me.
In a land where my acquaintances had been legion, I was apparently
unknown; and my old friends had either been dispersed or else I had
slipped out of their minds. Even Alma Huntley failed to reply to my
letters; and it was months before I learned that, having long given me
up as lost, she had left two years before for the Pacific Coast as the
bride of the Reverend David Mosely.
But though my messages to Alma never reached their destination, a
letter to my old friend, Frank Everett, survived many forwardings and
found its goal; and not only did Everett hasten to me from New York,
but he summoned others of our former group, whose testimony combined
with the evidence of finger-prints and handwriting to identify me
beyond dispute.
Matters now began to move more quickly--in fact, with a rapidity that
was bewildering. Almost overnight my story was flashed from end to end
of the land, and I found myself a public figure. Newspaper headlines
flaunted my name, and the word Atlantis was on every one’s lips;
interviewers came swarming to see me, scientists with their demands
for information, the heads of lecture bureaus and of motion picture
corporations with their golden offers. But all that really interested
me were the offers of assistance for the Sunken World. Several men
of means became interested, and placed large funds at our disposal,
so making possible the Harkness Institute for Marine Research; half
a dozen engineers volunteered to accompany me back to Atlantis, and
with their aid we secured implements and chemicals capable of sealing
wide breaches in a glass wall. But we could produce no vessel other
than that in which we had left Atlantis, for the naval submarines were
not equipped for the deep waters of the Sunken World; and so when
finally the rescuing party set off down the Potomac from Washington,
its members numbered only six in addition to Aelios and myself and the
original crew.
* * * * *
The small size of this expedition and its limited equipment would
alone have made us doubtful of success; but we remembered with acute
misgivings that two full months had passed since we left Archeon, and
that during all this time the flood waters must have been rising. We
were particularly uneasy because of the failure of Gavison to appear
in a second submarine, as the High Chief Adviser had promised; and,
brooding upon his absence, we would recall how we had bidden farewell
to Atlantis, and would think with a shudder of the bleak confusion of
the people and the swelling torrents swishing through the darkness.
To make matters worse (if they could possibly be worse) our voyage
back to Atlantis was beset with unforeseen difficulties. Owing to the
absence of definite charts and our uncertainty as to the latitude and
longitude of the Sunken World, we were lost for several days amid
the wildest wastes of the Atlantic. At times we would dive to the
sea bottom, or to such depths that Atlantis could not conceivably be
beneath us, and would go cruising for hours amid that black infinity or
along the shell-strewn or bouldery floor of the ocean, staring through
the portholes at the luminous-eyed creatures that flitted ghost-like
about us, and here and there gaping horror-stricken at some contorted
but strangely eloquent rusty iron mass. But of Atlantis itself there
was no sign, and we had the queer impression that it had dissolved
bubble-like amid the watery immensity.
And so at length our expedition converted itself into little more than
a random questing after what did not appear to exist. Should we ever
again catch a glimpse of the green-golden walls of our lost universe?
There were moments when I was given to curious doubts, and felt that
Atlantis, once lost, could never be found again; that the billows would
cover it as completely from our sight as from the sight of the ages.
But all the time, while we kept dashing at prodigious speed through the
vacant waters, we were given to strange fits of hope that alternated
with spells of despair,--hope when we would descry a far-off light that
would turn out to be merely some elusive fishy lantern,--despair that
our help, already too long delayed, was being retarded to the point of
impotence.
The final discovery came with startling suddenness. One day, gliding
slowly downward at a considerable depth, we were stopped by a hard,
flat barrier that spread beneath us like the sea bottom. But as
we began to drift horizontally, we observed that the surface was
smooth and ominously light-reflecting--and with a gasp of despair we
recognized that the substance was glass!
The surprise and horror of that moment are still vivid in my memory.
“Turn the searchlights down, down!” muttered the leader of our crew,
in a voice that trembled perceptibly; and as the great water-piercing
streamers began to quiver and shake and then slowly descended in long,
rambling curves, Aelios came rushing to my side like a child who fears
to be alone, and clung closely to me while we both stared through the
portholes with faces rigid and eager.
But at first we saw nothing. All was dark beneath us--not a gleam, not
a flicker, broke the blackness of the Sunken World.
Then, as the searchlights swayed and shifted till they swept the depths
directly beneath, we began to make out familiar objects amid the
obscurity. Dimly, strangely, as though draped in a fog, the outlines of
great domes and arches and colonnades began to emerge, interspersed by
Titanic columns and statuesque temples that appeared to waver uncannily.
“See! See! It is still there!” Aelios cried, frantically, as she
pressed more closely to me; and with the agony of despair in her voice
was mingled just a tinge of hope.
I took her hand and sought to console her; but even as I did so her
whole body began to shake spasmodically, and her sobbing throbbed from
end to end of the ship. For many minutes she seemed unable to speak.
Yet, even while the long-drawn, heartbreaking sobs panted forth, she
began to point, to point distractedly downward, with blind, quivering
fingers that called with frenzied urgency, forcing me to peer again
through the porthole.
With my arms still about her, I scanned the dim, ghostly twilight.
But for a moment I observed nothing alarming. Then, as my gaze
became focused upon a gray dome just below, I too cried out in dread
realization.
Those glass-covered depths were not without sign of life, as I had
thought; but here and there a lantern-bearing object, with flapping
finny body, went wavering through the windows and above the temple
roofs!
THE END.
Transcriber’s note:
This etext was transcribed from _Amazing Stories Quarterly_, Summer
1928 (vol. 1, no. 3, pp. 292–377).
The section titles “Foreword” and “Introduction” were not present in
the original.
Obvious errors in spelling, hyphenation and punctuation have been
silently corrected in this version, but minor inconsistencies and
archaic forms have been retained as printed. Some illustrations have
been moved to the nearest chapter break.