Urged by curiosity we traveled steadily night and day. Saunders scanned
the heavens nightly for a reappearance of the brilliant globes, and
incidentally his star, but discovered nothing except the atmosphere was
gradually clearing, and the filmy twilight heralded a beautiful,
crescent moon, whose silvery, mystic rays pierced the lifting northern
vapors. Sparse vegetation greeted us as we advanced, and we ran across
an odd, stunted plant, bearing a beautiful, crimson blossom, which threw
out a sickly-sweet odor, and shriveled up, turning black the instant it
was plucked. These vivid ice blossoms dotted the snow desert profusely
as the climate grew warmer.
We halted upon the crest of a hill to survey the surrounding country,
which was almost submerged in a thick, floating, blue mist; but
gradually this vapor sea lifted, compact like a monstrous lid, and we
viewed a vast expanse of velvety whiteness; but beyond—far, far beyond,
though real—we feasted our eyes upon the loveliest country God ever
created. We cheered the beautiful scene, and marveled at the
stupendously lofty mountains, whose azure peaks pierced the clouds. Vast
plains and valleys stretched wide, crossed and recrossed with
serpentine, silvery lines, and to the west, glimmering white, expansive,
was a great body of water, an ocean. Through the glasses the mountains
showed up, thickly covered with forest, a glorious, verdant land, richly
seamed with sparkling streams, a wondrous land shading into golden
lights, a paradise—superb Centauri!
Before we could look our fill upon this lovely promise of the future the
thick vapors descended, veiling all.
In our eagerness we went off our feed, consequently gained mightily in
speed. Soon we cleared the polar mists, the evenings grew deeper,
darker, the stars shone brilliantly, startlingly near and large. Then
one night, toward the death hour of twelve, far in the east a strange
opaline light slowly glided into view. A pear-shaped disc, lusterless
like a monster pearl, of a pale pink, mystic color. High in the heavens
it sailed—Saunders had at last discovered his star.
He pointed to it, pale, trembling, vainly striving to control his
emotion.
“It is at the full,” he murmured. “Pinkish-hued, egg-shaped, as I
insisted, contrary to all scientific statements. Gentlemen, behold the
planet Virgillius!”
We gave three cheers for the planet Virgillius. (Saunders and myself
both gloried in the name of Virgillius.)
We knew the old boy was happy and congratulated him, then viewed the
mystery through the telescope. It rose higher, glimmering in pale
splendor, weird, unnatural, as it flared in uncanny, pinkish light,
without sparkle or brilliancy. Through the telescope the belated star
was a disappointment. Partially obscured in spiral nebula, it appeared
to be in the liquid state, yet at intervals flared clear, revealing
vertical bars of piercing, phosphorous light.
Saunders launched into a learned, very scientific explanation, which the
discussive Sheldon prolonged far into the night.
The planet Virgillius was a “stellar apparition,” a “solar phenomenon,”
and the farther south we advanced the more vivid would the rose light
glow. Nine moons circled this singular planet, which revolved through
space in the same sphere directly opposite our “solar globe.”
Saunders lectured volubly, but the learned atmosphere evaporated the
instant he and Sheldon attempted an estimate of the distance between the
planet Virgillius and Earth. Saxe. joined in the argument, shouting:
“Unfathomable!” When the noise quieted I mildly suggested the dull-hued
star might possibly be a moon. This startling announcement, after
Saunders’s deep explanations, actually deprived my friends of speech,
and I hurriedly explained my reasons for condemning the great planet
Virgillius to the zodiacal insignificance of a moon, and a mighty little
moon at that. I blundered along, as people will who grapple with a
subject too heavy for them, but Saunders seemed overwhelmed at my
brilliancy. Saxe. scowled frightfully, and Sheldon played peekaboo. I
grew choleric; though my knowledge of astronomy was certainly limited,
my theory concerning the pink, flickering star, was as rational as
theirs, and so I frankly told them. They laughingly agreed, and Saxe.
called the argument off by yawningly reminding us it was long past
midnight, and suggested we turn in and rest the few remaining hours of
darkness.
* * * * *
Overwearied from the long day’s march, restlessly I tossed, enviously
listening to the measured breathing of my slumbering comrades and
vaguely turning over in my mind the advisability of rising. I was
determined to rise, though occasional lapses of memory made it difficult
to resume thinking about it precisely where I left off; still with
heroic efforts I managed to strive along till quite suddenly I drowsily
wondered why I worried so much over nothing in particular.
I had been dozing but a short time, it seemed, when slightly roused by a
vague, uneasy, persistent impression something unusual was going on.
Dreamily I became aware of stealthy movements and whispers within the
car and, believing it was morning, sleepily wondered what the fuss was
about, but my eyes flew wide as a hand suddenly grasped my shoulder,
gently shaking me, and Saxe. bent over, his fingers upon his lips.
“Get up!” he whispered. “We’re surrounded!”
“Surrounded by what?” I gasped.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “They look like men—inhabitants of this
side. Get up!”
I sprang from my bunk, my three friends were armed to the teeth and
prepared for the worst. Sheldon stood upon a packing box, peeking
through the ventilator and beckoned me up beside him. He edged away,
giving me his place, and I looked upon a remarkable scene. We were
surrounded.
A band of men numbering over a hundred, stood in groups or tramped
around the car, silent, all intently watching the windows.
Great, swarthy fellows, of magnificent physique, delicate-featured as
the East Indian. What made Saxe. doubt they were men?
Enormous horned dogs were harnessed to many odd-looking conveyances. In
one, seated among luxurious furs, a man rested whose piercing eyes never
wandered from the car. Occasionally he gave an order, and from the alert
attitude and obsequious manner of the others, I judged he was their
chief. Suddenly he raised his eyes to the ventilator and gazed straight
into mine; he seemed to smile; I caught a flash of white teeth as I sank
from view. Sheldon laughed at my precipitancy.
“One of them spied me!” I gasped.
“That’s nothing,” he assured me; “that fellow in the sleigh has spied
every one of us in turn; you’re the last; by this time I guess he’s
aware of the number of our band.”
Then he buoyed us up by elegantly expressing his belief that “we’d about
reached the last coil,” and advised us to “wiggle around,” and find out
what the “tribe” outside wanted. He couldn’t understand why the
“savages” didn’t attack us.
Saxe. braced up and declared he would step out and inquire what he could
do for the “dusky boys.” To avoid argument he unbarred the door at once
and we all trooped out to the platform.
Our sudden appearance startled the strangers who stared in round-eyed
wonder, while the man in the sleigh sprang out and hurried forward,
scanning us with the liveliest interest. We were not behind in that
matter but nodded, he responding with a sweeping bow. Saxe. held out his
hand, the other grasped and shook it heartily, then glanced smilingly at
us. We nodded again in our friendliest manner. The whole band saluted.
“By George! the Relief Party after all,” Sheldon muttered.
The leader indulged in graceful pantomime, pointing to the north,
indicating he knew we came from there, and apparently he considered we
had accomplished a wonderful feat. He pressed his hand to his heart and,
saluting, waved toward the south, from which we inferred he had
appointed himself our escort; and if everything was as agreeable as
appearances, then we had struck clover.
Saxe. thanked the gentleman—in English. The chief threw out his hands
and looked anxious. Saxe. tried again in German, then Italian, French,
Spanish, and finally in Latin. Our dusky friend listened attentively,
seeming to catch at a word or two of the Latin, then replied in the most
musical language I ever heard, similar to Latin; but we were all Latin
scholars and could not understand a word. We invited him to enter the
car. He complied graciously, first giving orders to his men, which they
obeyed with alacrity, and sleighs and dogs were prepared for action.
“We shall figure as the chief attraction at a barbecue,” murmured
Sheldon, as the car began moving, jolting fearfully with the
unaccustomed rapidity. “Depend upon it,” he continued, “that old tom-cat
over there is purring till the ripe moment, then presto! the world will
come to an end.”
The swift motion of the car and the thought of the tremendous advance we
were making inclined me to be skeptical of Sheldon’s barbecue, though
possibly he was correct. Saxe. was doing his level best to make himself
understood to the “tom-cat,” who in turn was equally anxious to be
understood, and seemed greatly astonished at everything he saw in the
car. After awhile he managed to convey to us two important facts, to
wit: His name was Potolili, chief of the Potolili tribes, and we were
six hundred years behind the times.
“Nonsense, he’s making sport of us,” muttered Sheldon, who was busy
brewing his favorite coffee. “Six hundred years behind the times, are
we? I’ll wager he never tasted coffee.”
Saxe. declared the Latin we spoke was a mutilation of the language, that
this “savage” had mastered the Latin of perfection. And the “savage”
proceeded to teach us this perfect language and made rapid strides into
the difficulties of our mutilation. He traveled with us nearly three
weeks and was good company, hilarious, but thoroughly vicious and
unprincipled. He sang ribald songs that I wonder at my daring in
mentioning them, and his sentiments towards the fair sex betrayed the
savage. I flushed at the way he alluded to the ladies; he considered
them without soul or value, and frankly told us when he and his people
renounced all that was delightful then civilization would welcome them.
“To efface the savage condition,” the gentleman informed us, “will take
centuries; till then—bah!”
Evidently the Potolilis did not desire civilization.
Potolili had an extremely cultivated palate and delighted in preparing
and introducing many peculiar dishes at our meals. An epicure he may
have been, but we certainly were far his superiors when it came to
cooking and politely refused to partake of any of his messes.
In return he rated our food as abominable, but Sheldon’s coffee made him
blink. In compliment we made strenuous overtures to his wine, which had
the appearance of water and a bouquet divine. It put fire in our veins,
courage in our hearts, and we existed in the confidence that only the
mighty enjoy. We were soon familiar enough with Potolili’s language to
question him regarding the new land we were entering. We learned
scientists were exploring the northern heavens when startled by
thousands of vari-colored sparks belching from the earth.
They hastened back to headquarters and informed their colleagues, who
flashed the news to various observatories and triumphantly published the
report throughout Centauri. This aroused controversy and much
speculation concerning the brilliant signals, and the following evening
four different scientific societies sailed to the north in hopes of
viewing the remarkable streams of light.
“Atmospheric experimenters and learned astronomers are continually
invading the northern regions. Their aim is to circle the moon,”
Potolili informed us. “Ten years ago the inhabitants of the moon
signaled to us. When the moon was at the full, a broad stream of vivid
light issued from her heart, illuminating the heavens. The phenomenon
aroused widespread discussion among the scientific societies throughout
the country, the chief excitement being not one knew more than the
other. Peace came only with the waning of the moon, which absorbed the
brilliant stream, and the signal never flashed again. Since that time
plans have been formed, experiments made, volumes written, all with a
view to circling the moon.”
“In what?” I gasped.
“Balloons!” muttered Saxe. “I told you they were balloons, and that
ninny over there (indicating Saunders) declared they were planets; bless
my soul!”
Potolili shrugged his shoulders. He had become accustomed to our
interruptions and patiently waited till we ended our side talk, then
continued without answering my question.
“The four societies wonderingly witnessed the northern phenomenon. As
the narrow ribbons of fire shot upward, bursting into thousands of
bright-hued sparks, these wise men concluded it was a signal of some
sort and claim they responded; then hurriedly returned and reported to
the Centaurians, who communicated with and solicited aid of the
Potolilis, the most northern tribe in the universe. We are thoroughly
familiar with these regions up to a certain degree, beyond that we dare
not venture, though we have a legend that centuries ago a sturdy
Potolili dared into the Unknown and safely reached the other side. He
encountered a strange, wild race, became their chief and founder of the
Potolili tribe over there. It is doubtful, as are all legends, but it
adds distinction to the Potolilis, and enrages the Octrogonas, with whom
we are at war—they are legend-less.
“Our instructions were, if we discovered anything to return with it, or
with news without delay. Our reward will be a piece of land we have
coveted for over half a century. The scientific societies are regarded
with respect, awe, and have a wide and popular hearing; but little
reliance is placed upon their reports. They are continually discovering
something that, upon investigation, refuses to be discovered; and in
this instance I believe the learned ones themselves are doubtful whether
they saw all they claim they did; otherwise all Centauri would have
accompanied us north. The scientists described the phenomenon, stated
the degree they sailed in, and hazarded a guess as to the latitude the
lights blazed in. Navigators of the clouds are always hazy on distance.
With this meagre information we started out upon the search, constantly
fearing the signal lights would flash beyond our sphere and force us to
abandon them. The vapors of the ice world congeals in our lungs and—the
end. We had been out scarcely a week when very abruptly we came across
an odd-looking car with four men inside very sound asleep. We were
astonished to so soon discover the phenomenon, while the little battered
car increased our wonder. It is a fair imitation of the one in Centur,
said to have been in use six hundred years ago. Centur is the city of
Centauri.
“You people are the same complexion as the Centaurians. We knew of the
continent on the other side of the globe, its wide civilization and
perpetual progression. Science revealed all this to us, but it was
reserved for the Potolilis to discover that Centauri is six centuries in
advance of the other side. This car and contents are rare antiquities
and of fabulous value. Have you any savages on your side such as
Potolili and his tribe?”
We considered Potolili about as clever a rascal as ever existed.
“Savages” of his calibre were not a rarity on our side; but what a
sensation he would create in our land with his herculean physique,
flashing eyes, glib tongue and cruel, brilliant intellect. His reason
was tumultuous, ruling for strife, war.
It riled Saxe. that his invention had been produced six centuries ago,
and proudly, with long explanations, he displayed the handsomely
engraved plan of the lost _Propellier_. Potolili turned aside to hide
his mirth, we were a continual source of amusement to him. But he became
deeply interested in Sheldon’s map of the world and marveled much at the
injured, disjointed instruments belonging to Saunders’s impaired
collection. He examined the remaining telescope with great curiosity,
informing us it was patterned after antiquated astronomical curios in
the museum. Saunders reared, and came back with: That it was a
moderately good telescope; could not compare with those blown up in the
explosion, but it had been of invaluable service to him in his labors.
Then he swerved upon his favorite topic and began to bleat of the great
planet Virgillius. Potolili roared and begged us to wait till we reached
the Centaurians. “But, remember,” he cried, gazing at us with sudden
respect, “though we have six hundred years the advantage, you have
accomplished what is beyond us. The Centaurians will go mad and receive
you as gods.”
We gazed at this man who called himself a savage, and apprehensively
wondered what the Centaurians were like.
Gradually, thankfully, we emerged from the ice wilderness where for
months we had miserably wandered, and under Potolili’s guidance made a
wide detour to avoid a chain of lakes which seemingly divided the Pole
regions from the living world. We crossed a low range of hills blocking
the way to a sloping valley, thinly mantled with snow, which melted to
slush beneath a burning sun. The temperature changed completely, this
wide marsh freed us entirely from the ice, snow and deadly northern
vapors, leading us to a rich, verdant, luxuriant country, a wonderful
country whose lofty, snow-capped mountains, velvet mantled in soft
green, reared sharply in the clear atmosphere of deep azure, and
Potolili impulsively threw out his arms, murmuring: “The potency of God
is sublime; He is the universe.”
Yet, with all this loveliness before us, half regretfully we glanced
back at the mist enveloped, frozen world, gleaming white, shadowy,
mystic, beautiful, so beautiful—at a distance.
We traveled over vast prairies, wide, trackless, where herds of wild
horses galloped; over rich meadow-land, where sheep and cattle grazed in
countless numbers; we rested in fertile valleys ripe with fields of
promise, swaying yellow seas of grain, and finally entered a deep,
odorous, wooded country, abundant with wild fruit and vegetation. The
refreshing splash of rushing waters guided us to the bank of a clear
sparkling stream, and heedless of Potolili’s warning concerning chills,
we plunged in for a long-needed swim. We sported like schoolboys, our
spirits rose, we grew boisterous, the swim revived and freed our bodies
from all tired aches. Saunders declared we had at last discovered the
River of Life. “Whose source springs from the inexhaustible wells of my
great body of fresh water,” Sheldon added.
We guyed him unmercifully, but he answered good-naturedly and the cool,
green-shaded wood rang with our shouts. Saxe. felt so frisky he started
a song in a terrible bass; we joined in the chorus and traveled some
distance before it dawned upon us Potolili did not approve of our noise,
though occasionally he smiled sympathetically. He looked worried, was
unusually silent, and his manner, also that of his men, appeared very
uneasy. He had sent little bands ahead to reconnoitre, and all sharply
watched hedges and thicket, and jumped at every sound. Finally Potolili
told us we would very soon have to part company. “We are nearing the
Octrogona reservation,” he explained. “Possibly you may have to travel a
few miles alone. Follow the river bank, it leads direct to Latonia. But
you’ll reach the Octrogonas first; they’re on the lookout for you and
will present you to the Centaurians, and attempt to claim the discovery.
I have sent a messenger ahead over the mountains, and before you fall in
with this savage tribe the Centaurians will know the northern streams of
light heralded the arrival of four wise men from the other side.”
From the disdainful way Potolili mentioned the Octrogonas we concluded
they ranked rather low in the advanced civilization of this side and
believed we were about to encounter the genuine, every-day savage of our
world (Saxe. got his box of beads handy), consequently we suggested to
Potolili to remain with us and personally hand over his “discovery” to
the Centaurians. Potolili coughed slightly and declined our suggestion,
informing us his escort ended at the frontier of the Octrogona
reservation; a formidable, but cowardly tribe, with whom at present he
was at war. Bands of both tribes were continually meeting in conflict
and he considered us safer without him.
“These wretched savages would have seized you long ago,” he added; “but
fear us and dare not venture beyond the limit of their own land. The
cause of the present war? Women! Old Octrogona very conveniently died
recently and the young devil was proclaimed chief. His first act was for
war; he seized my daughter, who is the most beautiful thing ever
created. He imprisoned her and forced her to become his bride. Women
willingly mated to the Octrogonas are outcasts; those forced into union
are martyrs. My daughter is a martyr—what a fate! I will kill Octrogona
on sight!”
We murmured sympathy. Potolili suddenly seemed greatly cast down, though
his gayety while traveling with us would never lead one to believe he
had just lost a beautiful daughter.
“Yes,” he continued, “they have gone too far; they are progressing,
becoming bolder; but I will exterminate them—that is their fate. For two
centuries we have been warring with these people for this same
offence—they will pilfer us of our women. The Octrogonas are doomed; we
shall overcome and command them. It cannot be otherwise, we are more
advanced, more civilized, more numerous. War must cease, but existence
can revel in superb tranquillity only when humanity has mastered the
divine wisdom to thoroughly control all emotions, then is perfect
civilization attained; but passion damns the universe to everlasting
savagery. The Centaurians,” he informed us, “were at one time divided
into many tribes, speaking different languages, and being unable to
understand each other would go to war on that account. They declared war
at the least provocation, then prolonged it because pride, honor or fear
of losing prestige with other nations was at stake. They would dispute
about the depth of the ocean, then go to war over it; whether the other
side of the earth was inhabited was always a good incentive; then some
powerful tribe would discover a weaker one had in their possession vast
fields of production, or perhaps a neck of land, skirting their own,
rich in metal, gems, and war is declared with the avowed intention of
exterminating the weaker foe simply to enrich themselves. Sometimes
these plans miscarried and the weaker foe became enriched—this was
savagery beyond our conception. These wars of avarice brought the
downfall of the nations. To-day they number but one—the Centaurians, a
rich and powerful tribe. The Centauri Reservation extends over the whole
of this portion of the globe, they speak one language, and have named
the universe after themselves. Their chief is revered as sublime, and is
a descendant of the founder of the Centauris, who, it is claimed, fell
from the star bearing that name. They are a grand, god-like race, having
reached the zenith of perfect civilization, yet still possess one
uncontrollable passion—an irreverent desire for knowledge. They would
ride the heavens, visit the moon and stars, yet dare not explore the
other side of their own little planet.
“Oh, Centauri! Centauri!” roared Potolili derisively; “four men, their
own color, yet still in the savage state” (he laughed), “have
accomplished what Centauri is still dreaming of. But the superiority of
a superb people will acknowledge and praise your daring. A true savage,
jealous, doubts and jeers. I worship the Centaurians; the men are gods,
the women—ah!” he clasped his hands, sighing voluptuously, “the women
are divine!”
Fourteen hours later we parted from Potolili.
“You are entering the Octrogona domain,” he told us. “I am sad at
parting, but we shall meet again. Good luck.”
We could not let him or his men depart without some little token of our
esteem; this regard deeply affected them.
Saxe. presented a canoe to Potolili. He was delighted with the gift. The
canoes had attracted his attention above everything else in the car, he
had never seen one before. I created a sensation by distributing money.
Potolili informed me the museum contained many of these rare, valuable
coins. Saxe. cautioned me to preserve my gold, and he became very stingy
with his beads. Potolili had curiously examined Saxe.’s collection of
beads, but preferred the canoe because it could not be found in the
museum. The beads, however, were there in every variety, and were
priceless; they were relics of an extinct age.
Potolili embraced us and bestowed upon Saxe. a most peculiar ring of
dull, coral-red metal. The width of the ring reached the first joint of
the finger, and was ornamented with a diamond whose least value in our
country would have reached four figures. It flashed a steel-blue glint.
We learned later this magnificent gem was a production of man. The
Centaurians had discovered the secret of the diamond.