THE EARTH
Edmund's reference to the stars instantly drew my attention to the
heavens. They were ablaze with amazing gems, but at first I could not see
the earth among them.
"I know what you are looking for," said Edmund. "Here, look through the
peephole in the bow. From our present position the earth appears but
little elevated above the horizon, but when we reach the caverns, which
are in the center of the dark hemisphere, we shall see her overhead."
I knelt at the peephole, and my heart was in my throat. There was our
glorious planet, oh, so bright! and close beside her the moon. At the
sight, an irrepressible longing arose in me to be once more at home. Jack
and Henry took their turns at looking, and they were no less affected
than I had been. But Edmund retained a perfect self-command:
"Do you know," he asked with an odd smile (for now the lamps were
glowing, and we had plenty of light in the car), "how long we have been
absent from home?"
Not one of us had kept a record.
"It is just six hundred and four days," he continued, "since we left New
York. We were sixteen days on our way to Venus; six days after our
arrival at the caverns occurred the conjunction of the earth, and the
ceremonies that Peter will not forget as long as he refrains from hair
dye; two days later we departed for the sun lands; and since then five
hundred and eighty days have passed. Now, between one conjunction of the
earth and Venus to the next, five hundred and eighty-four days elapse.
Already five hundred and eighty-two of those days have passed, so that
within two days another conjunction will occur, and if we are then at the
caverns we shall doubtless witness another sacrifice to the earth and the
moon."
"God forbid!" I exclaimed.
"I feel as you do," said Edmund. "We have seen enough of such things. In
order, then, to hasten our arrival at the caverns, where we must bury
Juba, for on that I insist, I am going to rise up out of the atmosphere,
in order that we may fly with planetary speed. We can thus reach the
caverns, traversing the five thousand miles of distance that yet remain,
in something like an hour, for some time must be lost in rising out of
and returning into the atmosphere, and in the meantime I must make
observations to determine our location. Having found the caverns we will
complete our rites at Juba's grave, and get away for good before the
sacrificial ceremonies begin."
It was a programme that suited us all, and it was quickly carried out. I
had not thought that my admiration of Edmund's ability could be
increased, but it was carried a notch higher when I saw how easily,
guiding himself by the ever-visible stars, he located the caverns. When
he knew that he was directly over them he dropped the car swiftly, and we
could not repress a cry as we saw directly beneath us the familiar shafts
of light issuing from the ground.
"We may have to do a little searching," said Edmund, as we approached the
lights, "for, of course, my observations are not accurate enough to
enable me to locate the exact spot where we landed before."
But fortune favored us marvelously, and the very first opening that we
approached was at once recognized, for there stood the sacrificial altar.
We anchored the car near the shaft, and carried out Juba's coffin.
"Wait here," said Edmund, "while I descend."
"No, you're not going alone," exclaimed Jack. "I'll go with you."
Edmund made no objection and he and Jack descended the steps. Half an
hour elapsed before they returned, accompanied by a dozen of the natives,
stolid, and not exhibiting the signs of surprise over our return which I
had expected to see. Edmund had now made so much progress in their
strange means of communication that he had little difficulty in causing
them to comprehend what was wanted. They easily carried the coffin, and
all of us followed down into the depths. It was the strangest funeral
procession that ever a man saw!
While the grave was being prepared in the underground cemetery where we
had witnessed the interment of the first victim of our pistols, Henry and
I remained as a sort of guard of honor for Juba in the lower of the two
great chambers which have been described in the earlier chapters of this
history, and there a most singular thing occurred. We were startled by a
low whining, and looking about saw one of the doglike creatures which
appeared to be the only inhabitants of the caverns except the natives
seated on its haunches close to the coffin, and exhibiting exactly the
signs of distress that a dog sometimes displays over its dead master.
That we were taken aback by this scene I need not assure you. We had
never observed, during our former visit, that either Juba or any of his
people was followed by these creatures; in fact, they had always fled at
our approach, and we had paid little attention to them.
But now, if the poor animal could have spoken, he could not more plainly
have told us that, by means of the mysterious instinct which beings of
his kind possess, he had recognized the presence of his old master, and
was mourning for him. It was truly a touching spectacle, and Henry was
hardly less moved by it than I. When Edmund and Jack came back, having
superintended the preparations, Jack was cut to the heart by the sight.
Immediately he declared that the "dog" must accompany us in the car, and
Edmund assented by a grave inclination of the head. The animal followed
us to the grave, and remained there watching us intently. He seemed to
have dismissed his fear, as if he comprehended that we were friends of
his master.
There were not more than twenty of the natives present at the interment,
and none of them showed signs of sorrow. And when the grave was closed
and we turned away, the little creature followed at our heels. Edmund had
carved on a flat stone the word "JUBA," and left it lying on the grave,
and Jack, having nothing else, threw a silver dollar on top of it. The
natives probably regarded these things as talismans, or religious
symbols, for they treated them with the greatest deference, and no doubt
they lie there yet, and will continue to lie there through all the eons,
for in those dry caverns the progress of decay can hardly be perceptible
even after the passage of ages. It was a singular fact, noted by Edmund,
that the natives exhibited not the slightest curiosity concerning their
comrades who had been lost in the crystal mountains, and I really doubt
whether they knew what the coffin contained.
When we had paid the last honors to Juba, we began to think of our final
departure. This place had become disagreeable to us. After the brilliant
scenes that we had witnessed on the other side of the planet, the gloom
here, and the absence of all that had made the land of perpetual daylight
seem a paradise of beauty, were intensely oppressive to our spirits. But
Edmund still wished to make some investigations, and we were compelled to
await his movements. What the nature of his investigations was I do not
know, for I was devoured by the desire to get away, and did not inquire.
But fully twenty-four hours had elapsed before our leader was ready to
depart. In the meanwhile "Juba's dog" had become firmly attached to Jack,
who petted it as probably no creature of its race had ever been petted
before. It was a strange-looking animal; about as large as a terrier,
with a big square head, covered with long black hair, while, in startling
imitation of the hirsute adornment of the natives themselves, its body
was clothed with a golden-white pelt of silky texture. It would eat
anything we offered it, and seemed immensely pleased with its new master,
as it had every reason for being.
During the last hours of our stay we noticed unmistakable indications of
preparation for the dreaded ceremonies of the conjunction, and our
departure was hastened on that account. The priests, whom Edmund had been
compelled to put out of the way of further mischief on the former
occasion, had been replaced by others, and we thought that, perhaps, this
being the first opportunity for the display of their functions, they
would try to make it memorable--which presented a still stronger reason
why we should not delay. But, with one thing and another, we were held
back until the very eve of the ceremonies.
When we finally stood ready to enter the car, with Juba's dog at Jack's
heels, the procession up the steps had already begun. Edmund decided to
wait until the multitude had all assembled. They came trooping up into
the starlight, and I am sure that they had no idea of what we intended to
do. Undoubtedly they must have recalled what had happened on the other
occasion, but they showed no sign of either regret or anxiety on that
account. They arranged themselves in a dense circle, as before, and the
priests took their place in the center. At this moment Edmund gave the
word to enter the car. We sprang into it, and immediately Jack and I went
out on a window ledge in order to get a better view of the scene. Edmund
started the car, and we rose straight toward the earth which glowed in
the zenith. Our movement was unexpected, and we at once arrested the
attention even of the priests. The beginning of the ceremony was stopped
short. All eyes were evidently drawn to us, and when they saw the
direction that we were taking a low murmur arose.
"Let me give them a parting salute," said Jack.
Edmund thought a moment, and then said:
"Very well, take a gun, but don't fire at them. If it terrifies them into
abandoning their sacrifice we shall have done one good thing in this
world."
Jack instantly had the gun roaring, and although we were now high above
their heads, we could see that they were seized with consternation,
rising from their knees, and running wildly about. Whether the noise and
the sight of us flying toward the earth, had the effect which Edmund had
hoped for, will never be known; but the last sight we had of living
beings on Venus was the spectacle of those white forms darting about in
the starry gloom.
Our long journey home was interrupted by one more almost tragic episode.
When we had been ten days in flight, and the earth had become like a
round moon of dazzling brilliance, Juba's dog, which had grown feeble and
refused to eat, died. Jack was broken-hearted, and protested when Edmund
said that the body of the animal must be thrown out. He would have liked
to try to stuff the skin, but Edmund was firm.
"But if you open a window," I said, "the air will escape."
"Some of it will undoubtedly escape," Edmund replied. "But, luckily, this
is the air of Venus which we are carrying, and being very dense, we can
spare a little of it without serious results. I shall be quick, and there
will be no danger."
It was as he had said. When the window was partially opened, for only a
second or two, we distinctly felt a lowering of the atmospheric pressure
that made us gasp for a moment, but instantly Edmund had the window
closed again, and we were all right. As we shot away we saw the little
white body gleaming in the sunlight like a thistledown, and then it
disappeared forever.
"It is a new planet born," said Edmund, "and the law of gravitation will
pay it as much attention as if it were a Jupiter. It may wander in space
for untold ages, and sometime it may even fall within the sphere of the
earth's attraction, and then Jack's wish will have been fulfilled; but it
will be but a flying spark, flashing momentarily in the heavens as it
shoots through the air."
* * * * *
Our home-coming was a strange one. For some reason of his own Edmund did
not wish to take the car to New York. He landed in the midst of the
Adirondack woods, far from any habitation, and there, concealed in a
swamp, he insisted upon leaving the car. We made our way out of the
wilderness to the nearest railway station, and our first care was to
visit a barber and a clothing merchant. Probably, as we carried some of
the guns, they took us for a party of hunters who wished to furbish up
before revisiting civilization.
On reaching New York, we went, in the evening, straight to the Olympus
Club, where our arrival caused a sensation. We found Church in the old
corner, staring dejectedly at a newspaper. He did not see who was
approaching him. Jack slapped him on the shoulder, and as he looked up
and recognized us he fell back nearly fainting, and with mouth open,
unable to utter a word.
"Come, old man," said Jack, "so we've found you! What did you run away
for? Let me introduce you to the Columbus of Space, and don't you forget
that I'm one of his lieutenants."
I don't think that Church has ever fully believed our story. He thinks,
to this day, that we lost our "balloon," as he calls it, and invented the
rest. We purposely allowed the newspaper reporters to take the same view
of the case, but when we four were alone we unburdened our hearts, and
relived the marvelous life of Venus. I use the past tense, because I have
yet to tell you most disquieting news.
Edmund has disappeared.
Within three months after our return he bade us good night at an
unusually early hour and we have never seen him since, although more than
a year has now elapsed since he went out of the room at the Olympus. Jack
and I have made every effort to find a trace of him, without avail. Led
by a natural suspicion, we have ransacked the Adirondack woods, but we
could never satisfy ourselves that we had found the place where the car
was left. Henry persists in the belief that Edmund is trying in secret to
develop his invention, with the intention of "revolutionizing industry
and making himself a multibillionaire." But Jack and I know better!
Wherever he may be, whatever may occupy his wonderful powers, we feel
that the ordinary concerns of the earth have no interest for him. Yet we
are sure that if he is alive he often thinks of us.
Last night as Jack and I were walking to the club with my completed
manuscript under my arm, a falling star shot across the sky.
"Do you know what that recalls to me?" asked Jack, with a far-off
expression in his eyes.
"What?"
"Juba's dog."
Neither of us spoke again before we reached the clubhouse steps, but I am
certain that through both our minds there streamed a glittering
procession of such memories as life on this planet could never give birth
to. And they ended with a sigh.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's A Columbus of Space, by Garrett P. Serviss