“A RACE OF LAUGHING PHILOSOPHERS”
“At length corruption, like a general flood,
So long by watchful ministers withstood,
Shall deluge all; and avarice creeping on,
Spread like a low-born mist and blot the sun.”
(+Pope.+)
The approach and descent of the _Regina_ with the intent of warehousing
her cargo of detrimentals on the new-found world caused considerable
commotion, and in the district they approached, all the people within
sight came running up, signalling to others, so that a crowd had
collected within the space of a few minutes, quite in terrestrial
style. All gazed upward in astonishment to see the great vessel slowly
settling, which was augmented when the side opened, the shimmering net
was drawn back, and several figures stepped on the outer deck; the
watchers gave a shout of dismay as one of the figures walked off the
ship as if on a level crossing, and this dismay turned to consternation
as they saw that the man did not fall crashing to the ground as they
expected, but remained floating as he was. Then another followed
and still another till there were eight, all clustered together,
suspended in space, when they slowly sank to the ground, men just like
themselves, though differently dressed. Looking up to the airship they
saw the net drawn together, heard the metal doors clink and snap, and
then without further sound or sign the vessel rose higher and higher
till lost to sight. What did it mean? and they stood staring at the
eight strange people who had dropped in their midst from the clouds.
Edgar Holt, essaying the first question, asked the people around
where they were and the name of the planet, but neither the natives
nor visitors could understand the languages used. Like wild-fire the
news spread that eight beings from another world had been deposited on
their sphere, and people came flocking up from all directions till the
ground for some distance around was packed and movement was well-nigh
impossible. Word was passed from one to another, telling the story
of the strange descent over and over again, as could be perceived by
their gesticulations, and some looked upon Holt and his companions with
awe and reverence, almost as gods, whilst those who had not witnessed
their arrival considered the accounts exaggerated, owing to excitement,
especially as there was no trace of vessel, or sign of one, to
corroborate, and their visitors appeared much the same weight as their
own average, therefore it was difficult to believe they had floated.
The eight friends could speak many different languages amongst them,
and these were all tried in turn, the people also speaking several,
as the visitors could tell by the change of accent and the different
vocalisation, but all without being understood. Two men, who seemed to
be governors or officers, next took the visitors in hand and conveyed
them to an enclosure, over which was placed an awning. Here again
the same difficulty arose with regard to speech, and matters at once
came to an _impasse_ when Aubrey Bolford thought of telepathy. All
difficulties were now ended, for the people were more expert in the
science than those of Earth, and both parties were surprised that
the idea had not occurred to them before, though as its use was not
necessary or usual in personal conversation, the temporary omission to
try it was not really to be wondered at.
Edgar Holt, as a middle-aged man, had carried out the practice
and promise of his youth, for he made a point of ignoring and
belittling anything and everything in which he could not take the
chief part. This had been his undoing on the ship, and now he took
everything in his own hands and acted as the spokesman and appointed
leader of the expedition. It never occurred to him that any of his
companions-in-disgrace might object to his rule, nor would it have
made much difference if they had done so; he would have ruled, just
the same, or left them to go their way while he went his. His friends,
however, were well content to leave the leadership to him, for though,
like most men of his class, he was unscrupulous to a degree, he
was gifted with ready wit and infinite resource which had hitherto
stood him in good stead, for he had always been able to shift his
difficulties to some one else and himself appear not only guiltless
but very much injured; and in this last, and first, case of detection,
had it not been for those bothering secret instruments giving them
away, and the whole thing being dealt with before he had had time
to think, he felt quite confident that whatever might have happened
to the others _he_ would still have been in the ship, respected and
honoured, not only as a scientist, but as a gentleman. None of his
companions, therefore, resented the aspect their leader put on the
affair in not stating the raw and garish truth, but presenting that
cultured compromise which some call the ‘truth, put delicately,’ and
others a ‘white lie,’ as their fancy dictates; the result, however, is
the same. So in his most captivating way, as he could not tell a lie
for anything, Holt told the officials the ‘truth,’ according to his
lights—and no one living could disprove it, or call him an untruthful
man,—“We, with many others, were going on a voyage of exploration to
the sun in a splendidly equipped ship, but as we had to come near this
world, we expressed a strong desire to visit it and make friends with
the inhabitants, so we eight were put down here to explore whilst our
friends proceeded on their journey, and in due course our ship will
call and take us back again. We thought that by this means we could
render better service to science by visiting here whilst our friends
explored the sun, and thus both objects could be dealt with together
and considerable time saved. We therefore request that you will accord
to us that hospitality and assistance which you yourselves would
receive from our own people in similar circumstances.”
This pretty, flattering little speech could have but one result, and
smiles and greetings of the warmest character followed.
Then came many questions on both sides, and as the natives did not know
Earth by that name, a drawing was made of the solar system, and they
were asked to name the various worlds. The sun they named ‘Claytor,’ a
word to them signifying ‘light and heat’; Mercury they called ‘Celtas’
or ‘one,’ being nearest the sun; their own planet was ‘Ramsar,’ and
‘Surans’—the former meaning ‘two,’ or the second from the sun, the
latter signifying ‘much water,’ the world having more water than land;
Venus was ‘Lovis’—or ‘three,’ and Earth ‘Rathela’ or ‘four.’ Stars were
called ‘Claros,’ which means ‘fixed,’ in contrast with ‘Icelaros,’
signifying ‘unfixed,’ or ‘travelling’ stars, which Earthians call
‘planets.’
“What is your orbit in the system?” asked Fred Congreve.
“It is within that of Venus, journeying round the sun.”
“How is it then that we have never seen it from Earth?” questioned
Aubrey Bolford, who was an astronomer.
“You see from this photograph that it is surrounded by a belt of
semi-opaque ether, which would render it wholly, or partially invisible
to you except on the rare occasions when the web lifted, and even then
meteor-swarms or planetoids might intervene. We shall therefore be a
‘variable’ star to you, just as your Earth and all the other members of
the solar family are not always visible to us, for which reason we call
them, as a whole, the ‘Selporas,’ a word signifying ‘variables,’ as you
name them.”
“You may perhaps recall,” remarked Bolford, turning to Holt, “that in
the year 2000 +a.d.+ many astronomers at the chief observatories in the
world noticed a large object near Venus which was taken to be a ‘Nova,’
or else a new moon, but after being under observation for a few days,
it disappeared and has not been seen since; it never has been visible
in England. Perhaps this is the one referred to.”
“I think it is more than probable,” assented Holt, then turning to
one of the bystanders he asked if astronomy was one of their special
studies, to find that not only astronomy but all other arts and
sciences were studied most assiduously. Holt then informed them who
he and his companions were and explained their professions. Such an
event as the almost miraculous dropping in their midst of eight of the
most noted scientists of another world could not be other than a great
national event. All over the world the news was ‘waved,’ for the people
were far more advanced in every way than those of Earth, and the ‘wave’
apparatus was so universal that almost every family had one fixed in
their dwelling, and even young children were conversant with its use;
it was a common sight even for them suddenly to stand for a moment in
silent concentration, and then smile happily, as some affectionate
message from parents or other loved ones was received and joyfully
answered. Considering the universal use of telepathy, the ‘wave’
apparatus was almost unnecessary, except that it imprinted the messages
which mere transmission of thought necessarily made evanescent.
It followed then that all the inhabited world was soon possessed of the
fullest particulars of the _Regina’s_ visit, and those who were able
to do so came to the spot on which the travellers had alighted, the
octet being the cynosure of all eyes. Certain people were deputed to
attend to their personal comfort and elucidate everything not clear to
them, the strangers on their part explaining the methods, science and
learning of their own planet.
The people lived in community, each colony so excellently organised
that no one had ever known a single instance of any wrong being done.
However, this state of things was soon to be altered, for Earthians
are not yet fitted to associate with those of better life without
the latter suffering. In theory, the better exercise such a splendid
example for good that the less good immediately improve; but in
practice, the only way to maintain the perfection of the good is to
isolate them, in order that they may grow better and not worse, and
then perhaps go to a still better world; which is the reason, maybe,
why nature separated each world from its neighbour by instituting the
laws of gravity and atmospheric pressure, and by placing between a
chasm of unbreathable and unbridgable space. In conquering gravity,
science and chemistry had bridged this gulf and the visits to Venus
and other places had done no harm, because those particular visitors
were not base, but had sought only good. In the present instance,
however, the eight voyagers were very jealous-minded, and were disposed
to go to great lengths to obtain the fruits of other men’s labours,
hence their presence here, which was likely to prove a real calamity
to the pure and honourable inhabitants of this planet, who knew no
wrong,—and because they were far above the terrestrials in science,
learning and morals, they were childlike in their innocence, their
lives glowing with happiness and mirth; every one of them contented and
jovial, taking everything that came with a smiling face; having clear
consciences and knowing that everything _must_ work out for their good,
they accepted each event with philosophy and good-humour, and in their
own frankness they never for a moment even dreamed that their visitors
could be in any way different, for were not all in the solar system
closely related and under the ruling power of the same mighty Sun! They
therefore trusted the strangers implicitly and, to use a well-known
proverb, they wore their hearts on their sleeves, never imagining that
there were such creatures as daws to peck them.
Unfortunately for the natives, thought-transmission with the visitors
could only be effected by very strong effort, or they would have known
what manner of men they were entertaining, and the visitors’ minds not
being so pure and refined as theirs could only grasp their thoughts
with the utmost difficulty, failing altogether to do so as often as not.
The strangers were a type of the successful business man of Earth,
considering anything justifiable if gain resulted. Earth always favours
such men, scorning those boneless creatures whose honour shrinks from
causing another’s ruin, so these eight had always been regarded there
as exceedingly smart and, bearing in mind Earth’s definition of a sound
business man, they despised these clever, innocent people; before the
sun set on their first day Holt said to Keeth, laughingly,—“What do you
think of these folk here?”
“Exceedingly clever, apparently,” Keeth replied, sneeringly, “but the
simplest folk I have ever seen.”
“They’re too innocent by half,” broke in Congreve, an electrician, “and
if we don’t pluck them and feather our nests out of this lot, we shall
deserve all we get!”
“Why, what shall we get?” inquired Ellis Siddall.
“Get?” ejaculated Pease Dawson, querulously. “Get? you’ll see! We were
downright fools ever to have thought of taking that ship, and we shall
regret it to our dying day!”
“Yes!” agreed Congreve, “with all our experience of what the owners
could and would be likely to do, we might have been sure it would end
badly.”
“Well, after all,” said Herbert Wadsworth, “we took the risk, and we
made up our minds to stand or fall together when we attempted to seize
the ship, and we’ve lost, so we must make the best of it.”
“That’s all right,” rejoined Brookes Hewitt, “but who would have
thought they’d have those instruments secreted everywhere, and that the
vessel could be electrified in units!”
“Anyway,” said Siddall, much aggrieved, “they should have kept us
prisoners and not dumped us here.”
“Never fear!” replied Congreve, “we shall have to face the music, all
in good time.”
“You don’t mean to say you think they _will_ call for us?” said
Siddall, incredulously.
“Of course they will,” answered Congreve, “and they’ll take us back to
England and we shall be tried for mutiny in the air, and you know that
is a capital offence.”
“We’ll bring a counter-charge against them for damages,” persisted
Siddall, loth to feel he had no case.
“My dear fellow,” interposed Holt, somewhat rudely, as was his wont,
“those folk in the ship hold the cards and they’ll play them at the
proper time and win. They’ll go to the sun, conduct their observations,
call for us and take us back, and then there’ll be a fine kettle of
fish, and we shall be the fish! so you might just as well make up your
mind to it.”
“Then I for one shall stay here!”
“Don’t be a fool, Siddall!” protested Wadsworth. “You know very well
from what you’ve heard and seen, that if we’re called for we’ve got
to go, _nolens volens_. Could you get out of your cabin? Could you
help coming here? No, when they come for us, we go! They’ll find us,
float us up, take the whole blessed world with them if they can’t find
us without, so it’s foolish to talk about not doing this, or that;
they’ll take us when we’re wanted, whether it’s days or years. It would
have been more charitable to kill us, for even if they beg us off in
England, our lives will be a misery to us on Earth after this business,
but they _cannot_ beg us off!”
This violent outburst silenced Siddall, and Holt said,—“Well, I propose
that we have a good time here, and get as much out of these softies as
we can, for it’s the last good time we shall have, and we’d better make
the best of it.”
“Yes, certainly,” agreed Hewitt, “and they’ll be simple enough to do
all that we want.”
“Just fancy!” broke in Keeth, “with all their learning, they don’t know
what smoking is! and they are ignorant of alcohol, except as a chemical
compound, which they use in their manufactures and laboratories.”
“And they’re so awfully good,” chimed in Congreve, “they know nothing
about games of chance, or anything, poor beggars.
“That’s soon remedied,” laughed Holt; “we’ll show them! The _Regina_
will be away getting on for a year, at least, and we can never exist so
long as that without relaxation.”
“No,” said Siddall, “we worked hard in coming, and we must work
hard here, so as to learn as much as possible, while we have the
opportunity.”
“That’s all right,” responded Wadsworth, laughing grimly; “but if we
manage to get off, which does not seem possible, we shall have to
work harder when we get back to Earth than we have done all our lives
together, and if we don’t get off and our lives are forfeit, what’s the
good? I think we can afford to take things easy for awhile.”
“That’s all very well, as you say,” expostulated Siddall, “but in the
interests of science it is our duty to do the best we can, and we have
opportunities here that we shall never have again.”
“Granted!” replied Wadsworth, airily, “I’m not going to argue the
matter, old man; I don’t say you’re wrong, but no amount of preaching
will avail—our reputations are gone, once and for ever, and nothing is
of any moment now.”
“That is foolish, Wadsworth!” exclaimed Siddall, warmly; “that’s fool’s
talk! we must not lose our moral strength; we have gone wrong, let it
be a lesson to our profit—and considering who we are, it is indeed
degrading for us so to forget our manhood and the dignity of our
professions as to talk in this way. _Noblesse oblige_, remember!”
This sensible speech pulled them together so much, and made several
feel so ashamed, that much heated argument resulted, in which Siddall
declared his determination to work and retrieve the past, and the
others vowed they would have a ‘decent’ time, and enjoy themselves,
showing the utter impossibility of Siddall’s working alone while they
went their own course untrammelled, and again Siddall appealed to their
honour and better judgment, this time to such purpose that they agreed
to spend the next few days in seeing the district and then attach
themselves to the various departments of learning and research to which
they were severally accustomed, if the people would allow them to do
so, and thus perhaps help and be helped in useful work.
Then they retired for the night, but the next day was very dull and
they felt depressed; one of them begged a little alcohol to restore
him, for he had a weak heart. The chemists were aghast when they saw
him drink it, for such a thing had never been seen before. The strength
of terrestrial alcohol was no criterion for that made on another
planet, so he took what he considered a ridiculously small dose, but
it was very powerful and overcame him so much that he was completely
intoxicated. With deep regret at the occurrence, his companions tried
to rouse him, when they found, to their dismay, that he was slowly
sinking. It was extremely difficult to obtain the proper restoratives,
and those they had with them were not strong enough, for though all
the usual chemicals were in the natives’ laboratory, their names and
properties were different, and it was a long process to obtain what was
needed; at last one of them found some pure oxygen, which was pumped
into the unconscious man and he gradually recovered; but this first
lapse, half accidental as it was, cast a gloom over the party and
seemed to foreshadow trouble.
The day following, the astronomical observatories were in uproar,
and on asking the cause, the visitors were told that the planet was
apparently steadily leaving its orbit. This was indeed startling news,
and Bolford, with several other members of the party, made careful
observations with the natives, of the sun in the daytime, and the stars
and planets in the night, and this they kept up for some time, in the
hope of getting a definite clue to their own position and movements, to
find, without doubt, that slowly and surely the relative positions of
the heavens and themselves were steadily changing.
The sun no longer described the same arc in his course, and the
altering stars were already causing accidents at sea. Knowing their
original position, the astronomers found it only too true; they had
left their orbit near Venus, and were surely drifting onwards in a new
one, in a course leading them direct from the sun, and already they
must have passed out of the semi-opaque web of ether with which they
had hitherto been surrounded, for only a portion of the solar system
was now obscured and they had an uninterrupted view of almost the whole
of the heavens, thousands of stars, planets, and planetoids never seen
before being now visible to them. Many of them were known on Earth,
and Bolford and the other members of the expedition who understood the
science of astronomy were in great request, explaining and pointing out
the celestial objects as they could locate and recognise them, for it
was only natural that the people should be almost feverishly anxious to
learn all about those portions of the heavens now seen by them for the
first time, and after a few days of this high pressure they were very
much fatigued, for all had been working without cessation, calculating,
theorising, and taking observations and photographs when the clouds
made this possible.
The visitors had been accustomed to taking various reviving drinks
by dissolving pellets in water, but when they were ejected from the
_Regina_ a supply of these pellet-intoxicants had not been included
in their stores; they had but some chemical restoratives, so, feeling
tired and knowing now where and what the alcohol was, they asked for
and drank a small quantity diluted with water, to pull them together.
Those in this department also had never thought of such a thing before,
but seeing that instead of killing their guests it really made them
bright-eyed and alert again, they were easily persuaded to try it,
especially as the visitors assured them it would produce good and
not harm. At the mere draught the potent spirit ran through their
veins like liquid fire, and being previously totally unacquainted
with this use of it, its effect was to take away all their weariness
as if by magic and make them fresh again. They thanked their new
friends profusely for the discovery, and began to take it frequently
on the assumption that if a little could revive them, more would do it
better, and the following day several of the natives were found in the
observatories hopelessly drunk.
Most of the members of the visiting party were shocked and thought
it was a pity the people had no more sense, and they foresaw the
possible consequences, but the folk should not be so foolish!—they
would, however, soon learn better. But the secret was out and the drink
fiend had come in their midst. The poor fellows were carried home and
their friends were cautioned as to the danger, but they might just as
well have been cautioned not to let the lightning flash—one would not
have been more difficult than the other; several cases of drunkenness
occurred the following day,—and the visitors had not been there a week.
Then in the evenings, after the serious day’s work was over, the people
asked the strangers to join them in conversation, being hospitable and
kind. Congreve, who was an inveterate smoker, had got Keeth, a chemist,
to sterilise some particular leaves which Dawson had found, rolled and
dried, and these were smoked by the visitors with delight; and they,
being hospitable and friendly also, could not sit there talking and
enjoying their smokes without offering similar cigars to their friends.
Such exchange of courtesy could not be denied, and what was good for
one could not harm two, so the natives followed the example of their
visitors and smoked with them, and, anxious to please and entertain
their guests, the spirit was brought out also. By this time, being
accustomed to live so near the sun, they perceived that though the
climate had not changed perceptibly, the evenings were a little chilly,
and they needed warm and cosy rooms to maintain their bodily heat, thus
fires had to be made, and as they were all seated around talking over
their experiences and discussing matters of great interest to all, it
was only natural that, seeing there was plenty of spirit and water,
Holt should suggest a warm drink the better to keep out the cold—and
Keeth, who was an adept at compounding appetising liquors, was called
upon to show the people what he could do; so with the boiling water,
some fruits, spirit and other ingredients, he made a splendid drink,
which was handed round, steaming hot, and swallowed with avidity.
The natives were assured it would do them good, and they knew it was
so by the taste and by the delightful feeling of inward warmth and
invigoration which followed. As the evening wore on all drank freely
of the comforting beverage, and the natives blessed their visitors for
showing them a new and enjoyable use for the material which they had
made for years and years, all their lives in fact, yet hitherto had
never attempted to drink. With the smoke and wine came games, and it
amused these ingenuous folk to play at winning shells from one another;
they were found in thousands on the sea-shore, and it was an exciting
pastime for chilly evenings—a pastime in which they soon became adepts;
then the lust for gambling became rooted in their simple minds, and
their visitors gave them to understand that, whatever the consequences
might be, gaming debts must in honour be paid in full.
Before long this became the expected and customary method of spending
the evenings, now longer and cooler, and the news of these wonderful
terrestrial games and customs spread rapidly, and others wished to join
the privileged circle, to take part in these ravishing amusements. What
if they lost! it was nothing! they would lose one time and gain the
next, so things must work out even; and what so refreshing after a hard
day’s work as to spend their leisure in exciting play, smoking curled
leaves, and drinking the hot and delicious spirit that drove away all
care. Truly these Earthians were a wonderful race, and, but for them,
the leaves would have been unsmoked, the spirit untasted, all enjoyment
from them unknown, and they vowed that henceforth the world would not
be the same. They began to teach others, and some found themselves
unable to pay and had to sell their stock, for they could not be called
dishonourable; they could, however, always play again and win more,
getting all back with interest, and for the first time there came the
desire for wealth, for unlimited stock, and the only way to get it
was to win it from some one else, so again they played and several
lost all. These refused to pay, but they were so oppressed by the high
moral standard and tone of their companions, and especially of the
terrestrials, who placed ‘honour’ above all other virtues, even above
life, that in despair they gave up all that they had and paid,—and the
first pauper was created.
Then others, men, and women too, who had lost even more than they
possessed, having staked wildly in their excitement, found themselves
in terrible positions, and being able to give themselves in complete
settlement, recklessly paid this price and became free from their
debts, but woke up to the fact that heavy toll was henceforth to be
exacted,—and theft and immorality were for the first time known on the
planet.
The visitors had only been there a month, but they were doing excellent
business, having already taken much of the profits of these people,
many of whom, because they lived in community, had only part-shares
in goods, but who, in terror of being considered dishonourable, took
their own and their partners’ shares, themselves receiving all the
money with which to pay their debts and buy spirit, which had by this
time increased in value. In other places there was no money, but by a
gradual and judicious exchange of goods, the strangers soon gathered
to themselves many valuables in such small compass as could be carried
about with them on their persons, and in many other ways the Earthians
proved themselves smart business men.
After the first momentary shock of finding they had laid a terrible
burden on the shoulders of these guileless people had passed, the same
jealous greed of gain which had prompted the eight men to seize the
ship now prompted them all—even Siddall—to throw to the winds all their
better feelings, discretion and honour, in order to take advantage of
their innocent victims, so gently and so insidiously that the injury
was unperceived until too late: to wrong these people who had been
more sinned against than sinning; who had hitherto been wealthy in the
possession of contentment and in a light-heartedness that shone in
every feature, causing every movement to fill them to overflowing with
the joy of life.
It was but a repetition of the time-worn story of the devout and the
profane parrots, and a confirmation of the experience that the good
do not make the bad good, but are by them degraded, and one evil mind
in a community is as the “dead flies” that “cause the ointment of the
apothecary to send forth a stinking savour.” No longer the ‘laughing
philosophers’ of yore, the inhabitants were weary, careworn and sad,
filled with a deadly fear that ‘community’ would not bring them enough
to eat, so in order to protect themselves and those who were near and
dear to them, they became sly and thieving; and put goods and money
away secretly, and dissembled, feeling they could not keep on ‘giving’;
and all the time the drinking and gambling habits were growing fast,
numbers finding their only joy on the occasions when the hot and
flowing bowl drove away their cares, and the gaming-table diverted
their attentions from sorrow.
Then some desperate spirits condemned their visitors, and lips that
before they came did naught but bless, cursed them, cursed those they
had greeted with loving trust and friendship. But what if the poor,
helpless, and injured one—whether injured through drink or anything
else—turns round and curses the shrewd and clever business man, what
effect has it? What does he care? As well might a gnat curse the
elephant that tramples it! even if by a lucky chance it manages to
insert a drop of poison and cause an instant’s pain, which is scarcely
felt, it gets crushed to nothingness. No more do curses trouble a man
of the world; something may perhaps sting him slightly, but the stinger
is hopelessly broken and as certainly forgotten; the victor has gained
all he desired and put his victim away at the same time. If he did care
in the least he would, _ipso facto_, cease to be respected as a smart
business man.
The mutineers had only been on the world four months when they suddenly
disappeared from the community, and none too soon, or they would have
added a fresh link to the already long chain of their sins by causing
the crime of murder to be introduced, for more than one had sworn to
kill them, and these vengeful victims sought for them high and low,
in all communities, but they seemed to have vanished from the face of
the world. Meanwhile the planet was drifting more and more from its
course, going no one knew whither—apparently attracted by a stronger
force than the sun, the climate getting worse and worse. Fogs were now
of daily occurrence, and the diminution of the sun’s rays affected the
whole world most seriously. There was no longer the great difference
between the heat of the day and that of the night, and there was very
little circulation in the atmosphere. The vapours rising up from the
earth and water now hung over the globe in a thick and impenetrable
mist, clouds remained almost stationary, and through the thick, foggy
air was not a breath of wind; the heat from the warmer portions of
the globe was not wafted to the cooler, and _vice versâ_, in order to
produce a temperate average from their distribution. And the fœtid
vapours emanating from the earth and sea, and all the dead and dying
life in and on them, and from the living people, were not destroyed,
or blown away, and in some cases the inhabitants died like flies,—by
hundreds. And as the weeks and months sped on matters grew ever worse,
for the air became more and more dense and stationary. Sound became
gradually more subdued and at last ceased, and there settled on the
whole world a chilling, numbing cold, nipping the already paralysed
limbs. The clouds, unable to perform their functions, condensed less
and less, as the sun, the source of heat, grew more and more distant,
till at last the air—the world’s scavenger—finally refused to absorb
and disperse the now dreadful emanations from the animal, vegetable
and other matter, by its capillary attraction, and life became almost
intolerable, only possible to the very strong and vigorous, for the
climatic conditions were changing faster than it was possible for life
of any kind to adapt itself to them.
Work was impossible, yet folk must live, and the stronger snatched the
food from dying lips to keep life going, and a second later it would
again be snatched away, clutched convulsively and lost, the exertion,
feeble though it was, being fatal, and the victorious one would roll
over inert as his own victim had done a moment before.
It was now nearly an Earth-year since the strangers had alighted—their
cursed visitors; and where they were no one knew. Without doubt they
were the cause of the national disaster and moral degradation, and now
everybody was too feeble to wish them back except to kill them, for by
this no one cared to do that sufficiently to search for them, for every
atom of strength was needed for their own bare existence. For months
people had been telepathing with all their energies to all parts of the
world, but their corrupters had vanished as completely as if taken off
again in the ship.
One day, to add to their misery, there burst over them an electric
storm, which first began in various parts of the world and then
embraced its whole surface, almost setting the very air on fire. Such
a storm had never been known before, and people crouched and crawled
and hobbled away in all directions to find a corner in which to shield
themselves from the lightning-charged air, as if they could get away
from that awful atmosphere which filled all the space on the earth, and
in a cave by a lonely shore eight figures crouched together in deadly
terror, waiting for the end which they felt was close at hand.
“We are not safe by this water!” said Dawson, whose voice scarcely rose
above a whisper, and in that thick and soundless air would not have
been heard at all but for the acoustic properties of the cave. “Let us
get away. See, the whole heavens are blazing, and the sea is so charged
with electricity that it is actually floating fire.”
“It is running in here and will burn us up!” exclaimed Siddall,
hoarsely. “Let us go out and find another place.”
“No,” cried Holt, “the sea is our safety,” and for the first time in
his life he appealed to others for support of his statement. “The sea
and cave are our safety,” he repeated; “Keeth, Congreve and Hewitt
will tell you the same, and if we step outside we shall be caught.
No one has thought it possible for us to be here”; and as the first
wave of the rushing incoming tide rose up the floor, lighting the cave
with a flood of electric fire, he continued,—“Now we should have to
dive through the fire to get out!” Exhausted with this long speech, he
leaned back against the wall, panting for breath.
“Let us go higher,” said Keeth, painfully lowering himself from the
ledge on which he had been sitting gazing seaward through a thin crack
in a stratum of rock, and they all clambered still higher up the side
of the cave, the water on the floor meanwhile being flooded with light.
“It’s lucky we had a good supply of food in pellet form,” said Siddall,
“or we should be dead now!”
“It would have been better so!” groaned Wadsworth, “our records are
none too clean; we have sent hundreds to the devil and have corrupted
the morals of a whole world, for if the people here recover from this
awful disaster, they’ll continue to go to the devil, who will get the
lot!”
Dawson was in a state bordering on collapse, and as he painfully
dragged himself along, a few inches at a time, for he could not sit
up, he became very faint, but by dint of much patience and a heroic
determination not to give way, he managed to pull himself above
high-water mark, and, overcome with the exertion of keeping the few
inches in advance of the rising water, he now leaned back against the
wall with his head on the cool rock, damp with ooze from the sodden
herbage above; the touch of the wet and slimy rock, the only cool
thing in that fiery atmosphere, acted as an ice-cap and restored him
wonderfully, and looking round at his companions he said, brokenly,—“I
remember my parents telling me of a Bible story; it was something about
one who causes another to offend—I forget how it went, but I think it
said it would be better for him if a millstone had been tied round his
neck and he had been thrown into the sea first. I think we’ve tied
millstones round these folk as well as ourselves! I’ve not seen my
Bible since I was grown up, but I’d give a lot to be an innocent boy
again,” and he turned his face to the cooling slime.
“You can’t have sentiment in business, my boy; life’s too short!”
exclaimed Holt, brusquely.
“I fear it is, Holt,” came the feeble reply, in jerks. “Life’s very
short. Our days are but a shadow—life _is_ short, Holt—I fear it is—”
and then, after a pause, just as one of the others was commencing,—“and
Tom, dear, will you give your sister this, and say it’s from me——”
“What’s the fellow talking about?” asked Holt, roughly.
Unheeding, Dawson went on—“and tell her I’m very sorry. I fear I shall
not see her again,” another pause—“I had hoped I should meet her in
heaven, but I don’t know, now. I have not been good, Tom, but tell her
not to fret, I am not worth it! Why have you put out the light, Tom? it
is dark, and I——”
“What’s the matter?” asked Congreve, trying to crawl nearer.
“I believe he’s dying!” exclaimed Hewitt.
“Good heavens!” they cried, as all came round, themselves almost too
ill to move, and held a volatile restoring tablet under his nostrils;
the oxygen which it gave off along with other vapours, though not
bringing him round, sent him into a deep sleep, his steady breathing
giving promise of recovery.
“Thank God!” interjected several, as they placed another pellet beside
the face of the sleeping man.
“We have need to say that!” observed Siddall, regretfully. “I’d like
to have the chance of undoing this business before I die, if that were
possible.”
“Are you feeling bad, too?” asked Holt, offering him his box of
restorative tablets.
“Only in mind! that’s bad enough!” replied Siddall, sinking down again.
“What’s the cause of this electric storm and this fiery sea, Congreve?”
asked Wadsworth, “you should know.”
“I have been wondering for the last two or three hours,” replied
Congreve, musingly. “It may be that the foul gases on the ground have
caught fire, or that there is some great electric disturbance; which it
is I cannot understand.”
“Not the _Regina!_” exclaimed Hewitt.
“No, certainly not!” broke in Holt. “Oakland would come to the old
orbit between Venus and the sun, and would never look for us here.”
“It would be an utter impossibility,” rejoined Bolford; “the last view
we had of the sun was as of a star of the fifth magnitude; that was
some months since, and it will be about the seventh now, or invisible
without a glass.”
“What can have caused us to shoot off? the _Regina?_” asked Keeth.
“There’s no doubt about it to my mind,” returned Bolford; “but only
those in the ship could tell us why; perhaps only the owners.”
Too exhausted to talk any more, they languidly rolled over, too ill to
care what happened, and they dropped off to sleep one after the other,
in fitful dozings, from which they were awakened a few hours later by
water dripping on their faces from the cracks in the roof above. On
going to the hidden chink in the rocks, from which they had an extended
view of the shore, they saw rain. It was falling in a deluge, heavy,
pouring rain; descending like long rods of polished steel, boring holes
in the sand and the motionless sea, breaking the now feeble, lanky and
colourless grass and pouring down the rocks in a flood, carrying the
electricity with it in rainbows innumerable—floods of prismatic, fiery
water. For hours it came down unceasingly, wetting them to the skin, as
from every niche and cranny tiny and then strong streams raced down
the cave floor and mixed with the stinking salt water at the entrance;
but their hope revived as the rain continued. At last it ceased, and
there came a freshened feeling in the air as the first puff of wind
blew through the slit in the rock.
“You know what that means!” cried Bolford, joyfully.
“Yes, thank heaven!” they exclaimed.
“Yes, thank heaven!” he repeated, fervently; “we are drawing near to
the planet or source that has been pulling us all this time, and the
atmosphere is moving.”
“That rain has come in the nick of time,” said Keeth; “one day later
and we should have been dead, every one of us.”
“Let us get to the mouth of the cave to breathe the air, and bring
Dawson,” said Siddall; “we can dive under the water.”
Only then did they realise how ill they were, for try as they would
they could not stand, or indeed rise higher than a sitting posture, and
in this position they shuffled along, dragging the still unconscious
form of Dawson with them, inch by inch, every foot or so of the way
having to rest to regain strength, and in this wise they got near
the water. There they rested quite overcome, and all more or less
unconscious, staying there for hours, perhaps for days, for most of the
time was spent dozing in a semi-unconscious condition and time passed
unnoticed, but when they did find intelligence returning to them, there
was a distinct breeze, the clouds had lifted, and the stars could be
seen. Bewildered, they searched the heavens, and Bolford cried,—“We
have altered our orbit again! when we first came here we had Aquarius
facing the cave, stationary, ‘in line of sight’ for months, and now we
are opposite Aries! Something else has got us now!”
In great excitement they all looked out, and there, sure enough, was
Aries, and they were crossing. For hours they watched, and Holt
remarked, “Never mind where we go, so long as we can live, and this new
power is healthier than the last, anyway.”
“We shall never get to England now, that’s one comfort!” exclaimed
Siddall, in a tone of relief.
“No, old man,” responded Congreve, “you need have no more fear. Even
the _Regina_ can’t trace us now!” and he attempted a laugh, which
ended in a dry cackle. Only then did they notice that their lips and
tongues were cracked and hard, and the whole interior of their mouths
dry and almost devoid of feeling, their voices sounding hoarse and most
untuneful, so it was evident that hearing had returned.
“Holt!” exclaimed Keeth, suddenly, “don’t you feel how charged the air
is with electricity? I feel myself full of faint prickles!”
“I was going to remark the same thing,” replied Holt. “I will have
a look outside;” saying which he tried to rise, but failing to do
so, he drew a clasp-knife and stuck it in a crack in the rock to
assist him, when the metallic blade crackled and sparkled with
electricity. Withdrawing the blade and closing it, he turned to Hewitt,
saying,—“There’s some powerful current here and no mistake! Look
outside, Hewitt, old man; I’m too ill to rise without help.”
Hewitt could not go either, so Congreve slowly worked his way to the
front, tasting the air and feeling at the rocks, and then going to the
opening he put his head outside, withdrew it, and then tested the rocks
with his own knife, but to find Holt’s experience repeated.
“Anything atmospheric to cause that, Congreve?” inquired Hewitt.
“No! nothing!” he replied, shortly.
“What do you think?” asked Holt.
Congreve did not answer, but put out his head again, and again withdrew
it, and stood looking out at the opening.
“Don’t you know?” queried Holt and several others, impatiently.
“No. I’m thinking!” he muttered, and then remained silently lost in
thought for so long that they asked again.
“I don’t know; only a passing fancy, but it’s not possible!”
“What is it?” they asked, excitedly.
“Nothing, only a foolish fancy; but it cannot be,” he replied,
musingly, still looking out.
“Tell us then!” they persisted.
“I thought it might be the _Regina!_” he said slowly, pausing between
each word. “But she could not know where we are.”
“Impossible!” interjected Holt. “She could never single one planet out
of millions, not knowing the direction we took, and especially now we
have changed again. It is absurd.”
“I said so,” said Congreve, reflectively, still at the opening.
“And as we are not near the orbit of Venus at all, she could not find
us; it is impossible!” put in Keeth.
“No; I told you it was a foolish idea,” murmured Congreve, still lost
in thought and still closely watching. Then he came and sat down with
the rest, and one after another each one fell asleep where he was. How
long they slept they had no means of telling, but nature had applied
her own remedy and they awoke considerably refreshed; even Dawson was
now conscious, though too ill to move.
After a while the air became so charged with electricity that their
cave was like an electric oven, so stifling as to be painful, and
they crawled to the opening for relief and to watch the weird effect
outside, and endeavour to locate their position by the stars, and in
the black and starry sky they beheld what they took to be a comet.
“What can that be?” asked several, indifferently.
“A comet,” replied Keeth, briefly.
“I did not know there was one due there,” said Bolford, musingly,—and
then suddenly they all cried,—
“Can it be?—can it! Oh! good heavens!—It IS the _Regina!!_”