Produced by Anne Soulard, Suzanne Shell, William Craig,
Robert Laporte, Steen Christensen and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team
DAYBREAK
A ROMANCE OF AN OLD WORLD
By James Cowan
[Illustration: “HE MADE THE STARS ALSO”]
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. AN ASTRONOMER ROYAL.
CHAPTER II. A FALLEN SATELLITE.
CHAPTER III. TWO MEN IN THE MOON.
CHAPTER IV. AND ONE WOMAN.
CHAPTER V. OUR INTRODUCTION TO MARS.
CHAPTER VI. A REMARKABLE PEOPLE.
CHAPTER VII. RAPID TRANSIT ON MARS.
CHAPTER VIII. THORWALD PUZZLED.
CHAPTER IX. THORWALD AS A PROPHET.
CHAPTER X. MORE WORLDS THAN TWO.
CHAPTER XI MARS AS IT IS.
CHAPTER XII. WE REACH THORWALD’S HOME.
CHAPTER XIII. A MORNING TALK.
CHAPTER XIV. PROCTOR SHOWS US THE EARTH.
CHAPTER XV. A NIGHT ADVENTURE.
CHAPTER XVI. AN UNLIKELY STORY.
CHAPTER XVII. THE DOCTOR IS CONVINCED.
CHAPTER XVIII. STRUCK BY A COMET.
CHAPTER XIX. I DISCOVER THE SINGER.
CHAPTER XX. A WONDERFUL REVELATION.
CHAPTER XXI. A LITTLE ANCIENT HISTORY.
CHAPTER XXII. AGAIN THE MOON.
CHAPTER XXIII. WE SEARCH FOR MONA.
CHAPTER XXIV. THE PICTURE TELEGRAPH.
CHAPTER XXV. AN UNSATISFACTORY LOVER.
CHAPTER XXVI. AN ENVIABLE CONDITION.
CHAPTER XXVII. THE CHILDREN’S DAY.
CHAPTER XXVIII. BUSINESS ETHICS.
CHAPTER XXIX. THE INDUSTRIAL PROBLEM.
CHAPTER XXX. ATTEMPTS TO SOLVE THE PROBLEM.
CHAPTER XXXI. WINE-DRINKING IN MARS.
CHAPTER XXXII. A GENUINE ACCIDENT.
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE EMANCIPATION OF WOMAN.
CHAPTER XXXIV. THE EMANCIPATION OF MAN.
CHAPTER XXXV. AN EXALTED THEME.
CHAPTER XXXVI. VANQUISHED AGAIN BY A VOICE.
CHAPTER XXXVII. UNTIL THE DAY BREAK.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. AND THE SHADOWS FLEE AWAY.
CHAPTER XXXIX. A SUDDEN RETURN TO THE EARTH.
POSTSCRIPT.
DAYBREAK:
A ROMANCE OF AN OLD WORLD
CHAPTER I.
AN ASTRONOMER ROYAL.
It was an evening in early autumn in the last year of the nineteenth
century. We were nearing the close of a voyage as calm and peaceful as
our previous lives.
Margaret had been in Europe a couple of years and I had just been over
to bring her home, and we were now expecting to reach New York in a day
or two.
Margaret and I were the best of friends. Indeed, we had loved each other
from our earliest recollection. No formal words of betrothal had ever
passed between us, but for years we had spoken of our future marriage as
naturally as if we were the most regularly engaged couple in the world.
“Walter,” asked Margaret in her impulsive way, “at what temperature does
mercury melt?”
“Well, to hazard a guess,” I replied, “I should say about one degree
above its freezing point. Why, do you think of making an experiment?”
“Yes, on you. And I am going to begin by being very frank with you. You
have made me a number of hurried visits during my stay in Europe, but we
have seen more of each other in the course of this voyage than for two
long years. I trust you will not be offended when I say I hoped to find
you changed. I have never spoken to you about this, even in my letters,
and it is only because I am a little older now, and because my love for
you has increased with every day of life, that I have the courage to
frame these words.”
“Do tell me what it is,” I exclaimed, thoroughly alarmed at her serious
manner. “Let me know how I have disappointed you and I will make what
amends I can. Tell me the nature of the change you have been looking for
and I will begin the transformation at once, before my character becomes
fixed.”
“Alas! and if it should be already fixed,” she replied, without a smile.
“Perhaps it is unreasonable in me to expect it in you as a man, when you
had so little of it as a boy; but I used to think it was only shyness
then, and always hoped you would outgrow that and gradually become an
ideal lover. You have such a multitude of other perfections, however,
that it may be nature has denied you this so that I may be reminded that
you are human. If the choice had been left with me I think I should
have preferred to leave out some other quality in the make-up of your
character, good as they all are.”
“What bitter pill is this,” I asked, “that you are sugar-coating to such
an extent? Don’t you see that I am aching to begin the improvement in my
manners, as soon as you point out the direction?”
“You must know what I mean from my first abrupt question,” she answered.
“To make an extreme comparison, frozen mercury is warm beside you,
Walter. If you are really to be loyal knight of mine I must send you on
a quest for your heart.”
“Ah, I supposed it was understood that I had given it to you.”
“I have never seen it,” she continued, “and you have never before said
as much as is contained in those last words. Here we are, talking of
many things we shall do after we are married, and yet you have nothing
to say of all that wonderful and beautiful world of romance that ought
to come before marriage. Is this voyage to come to an end and mean no
more to us than to these hundreds of passengers around us, who seem only
intent to get back to their work at the earliest possible moment? And is
our wedding day to approach and pass and be looked upon merely as part
of the necessary and becoming business of our lives? In short, am I
never to hear a real love note?”
“Margaret, I have a sister. You know something of the depth of my
affection for her. When I meet her in New York to-morrow or next day,
if I should throw my arms around her neck and exclaim, in impassioned
tones, ‘My sister, I love you,’ what would she think of me?”
“She would think you had left your senses on the other side,” replied
Margaret, laughing. “But I decline to accept the parallel. I have not
given up my heart to your keeping these many years to be only a sister
to you at last.”
“But my mother! Is it possible for me to love you more than my mother
loved me? And yet I never heard her speak one word on the subject, and,
now that I think of it, I am not sure but words would have cheapened her
affection in my mind. You do not doubt me, Margaret?”
“No more than you doubted your mother, although she never told her
love. No, it is not so serious as that; but I wish you were more
demonstrative, Walter.”
“What, in words? Isn’t there something that speaks louder than words?”
“Yes, but let us hear the words, too. There is a beautiful proverb in
India which says, ‘Words are the daughters of earth and deeds are the
sons of heaven.’ That is true, but let us not try to pass through life
without enjoying the company of some of the ‘daughters of earth.’”
“I will confess this much, Margaret, that your words are one of your
principal charms.”
“Oh, do you really think so? I consider that a great compliment from
you, for I have often tried to repress myself, fearing that my impulsive
and sometimes passionate speech would offend your taste, you who are
outwardly so cold. Do you know, I have a whole vocabulary of endearing
terms ready to be poured into your ears as soon as you begin to give me
encouragement?”
“Then teach me how to encourage you, and I will certainly begin at once.
Shall we seek some retired spot, where we can be free from observation,
and then shall I seize your hand, fall on my knees, and, in vehement and
extravagant words, declare a passion which you already know I have, just
as well as you know I am breathing at this moment?”
“Good!” cried Margaret. “That’s almost as fine as the real scene. So you
have a passion for me. I really think you are improving.”
Before going on with this conversation, let me tell you a little more
about Margaret and my relations to her.
There was good cause for her complaint. I was at that time a sort
of animated icicle, as far as my emotional nature was concerned. But
although I could not express my feelings to Margaret in set phrase, I do
not mind saying to you that I loved her dearly, or thought I did, which
was the same thing for the time being. I loved her as well as I was
capable of loving anybody. What I lacked Margaret more than made up, for
she was the warmest-hearted creature in all the world. If I should begin
to enumerate her perfections of person and character I should never care
to stop.
Her educational advantages had been far above the average, and she had
improved them in a manner to gratify her friends and create for herself
abundant mental resources. She had taken the full classical course at
Harvard, carrying off several of the high prizes, had then enjoyed two
years of post-graduate work at Clark, and finally spent two more years
in foreign travel and study. As has been intimated, I had been over for
her, and we were now on our way home, expecting to land on the morrow or
the day after.
If you imagine that Margaret had lost anything by her education or
was less fitted to make a good home, it is because you never knew
her. Instead of being stunted in her growth, broken in constitution,
round-shouldered, pale-faced and weak-eyed, the development of her body
had kept pace with the expansion of her mind, and she was now in the
perfect flower of young womanhood, with body and soul both of generous
mold. Her marvelous beauty had been refined and heightened by her
intellectual culture, and even her manners, so charming before, were
now more than ever the chaste and well-ordered adornments of a noble
character. She was as vivacious and sparkling as if she had never
known the restraints of school, but without extravagance of any kind to
detract from her self-poise. In short, she was a symphony, a grand and
harmonious composition, and still human enough to love a mortal like me.
Such was the woman who was trying to instill into my wooing a little of
the warmth and sympathy of her delightful nature. As for myself, it will
be necessary to mention only a single characteristic. I had a remarkably
good ear, as we say. Not only was my sense of hearing unusually acute,
but I had an almost abnormal appreciation of musical sounds. Although
without the ability to sing or play and without the habit of application
necessary to learn these accomplishments, I was, from my earliest years,
a great lover of music. People who are born without the power of nicely
discriminating between sounds often say they enjoy music, but these
excellent people do not begin to understand the intense pleasure with
which one listens, whose auricular nerves are more highly developed. But
this rare and soul-stirring enjoyment is many times accompanied, as in
my case, with acute suffering whenever the tympanum is made to resound
with the slightest discord. The most painful moments of my life,
physically speaking, have been those in which I have been forced to
listen to diabolical noises. A harsh, rasping sound has often given me a
pang more severe than neuralgia, while even an uncultivated voice or an
instrument out of tune has jarred on my sensitive nerves for hours.
My musical friends all hated me in their hearts, for my peculiarity made
me a merciless critic; and the most serious youthful quarrel between
Margaret and myself arose from the same cause. Nature had given Margaret
a voice of rare sweetness and a fine musical taste, and her friends
had encouraged her in singing from her youth. One day, before she had
received much instruction, she innocently asked me to listen to a song
she was studying, when I was cruel enough to laugh at her and ridicule
the idea of her ever learning to sing correctly. This rudeness made such
an impression on her girlish mind that, although she forgave the offense
and continued to love the offender, she could never be induced again to
try her vocal powers before me. All through her school and college days
she devoted some attention to music, and while I heard from others much
about her advancement and the extraordinary quality of her voice, she
always declared she would never sing for me until she was sure she could
put me to shame for my early indiscretion, so painfully present in her
memory. This became in time quite a feature of our long courtship, for
I was constantly trying to have her break her foolish resolution and
let me hear her. Although unsuccessful, the situation was not without a
pleasurable interest for me, for I knew it must end some time, and in
a way, no doubt, to give me great enjoyment, judging from the accounts
which came to my ears. Margaret, too, was well satisfied to let the
affair drift along indefinitely, while she anticipated with delight the
surprise she was preparing for me.
During the years she had just been spending abroad a good share of her
time had been given to her musical studies, principally vocal culture,
and in her letters she provokingly quoted, for my consideration, the
flattering comments of her instructors and other acquaintances. She
did this as part of my punishment, trying to make me realize how much
pleasure I was losing. Each time I crossed the ocean to visit her I
expected she would relent, but I was as often disappointed; and now this
homeward voyage had almost come to an end, and I had never heard her
voice in song since she was a child. Open and unreserved as she was by
nature, in this particular she had schooled herself to be as reticent
and undemonstrative as she accused me of being.
Our talk on the subject of my shortcomings, that evening on shipboard,
had not continued much longer before I acknowledged in plain language
that I knew my fault and was ready to cooperate in any scheme that could
be suggested to cure it.
“What you need,” said Margaret, “is some violent sensation, some
extraordinary experience to stir your soul.”
“Yes,” I answered, “my humdrum life, my wealth, which came to me without
any effort of my own, and the hitherto almost unruffled character of my
relations with you have all conspired to make me satisfied with an easy
and rather indolent existence. I realize I need a shaking up. I want
to forget myself in some novel experience, which shall engross all my
attention for a time and draw upon my sympathies if I have any.”
“But what can one do in ‘this weak piping time of peace’? There are no
maidens to be rescued from the enchantments of the wizard, and it is no
longer the fashion to ride forth with sword and halberd to murder in the
name of honor all who oppose themselves. No more dark continents wait
to be explored, neither is there novelty left in searching the ocean’s
depths nor in sailing the sky above us. Civilized warfare itself, the
only field remaining where undying fame may be purchased, seems likely
to lose its hold on men, and soon the arbitrator will everywhere replace
the commander-in-chief and the noble art of war will degenerate into the
ignoble lawsuit. So even universal peace may have its drawbacks.”
“That is quite sufficient in that line,” said Margaret. “Now let us come
down to something practicable.”
“Well, I might bribe the pilot to sink the steamer when we are going up
the bay, so that I could have the opportunity of saving your life.”
“It would be almost worth the trial if it were not for the other
people,” she returned. “Such a role would become you immensely.”
“I regret that I cannot accommodate you,” I said. “But I have thought
of something which would be rather safer for you. How would you like to
have me fall desperately in love with some pretty girl?”
“Just the thing,” exclaimed Margaret, laughing and clapping her hands,
“if you can only be sure she will not return your passion.”
“Small chance of that,” I answered. “So you approve the plan, do you?”
“Certainly, if you care to try it. Lady never held knight against his
will. But have you forgotten that, after the resources of this planet
are exhausted, as you seem to think they are soon likely to be, you
and I have other worlds to conquer? Perhaps in that work you may find
diversion powerful enough to draw you out of yourself and, possibly,
opportunities for some heart culture.”
I must explain that this was a reference to a plan of life we were
marking out for ourselves. Margaret was an enthusiast on the subject
of astronomy. I would include myself in the same remark, only the word
enthusiast did not fit my temperament at that time. But our tastes
agreed perfectly in that matter, and we had always read with avidity
everything we could find on the subject. Margaret, however, was the
student, and as she had developed great proficiency in mathematics, she
had decided to make astronomy her profession.
It was understood that I was to perform the easier part of furnishing
the money for an observatory and instruments of our own, and I was
determined to keep pace with Margaret in her studies as well as I could
in an amateurish way, so that she might be able to retain me as an
assistant. We were to be married at sunrise sharp, on the first day of
the next century, and to lay the corner-stone of our observatory at
the exact moment of the summer solstice of the same year. These were
Margaret’s suggestions, but even I was not averse to letting my friends
see I had a little sentiment.
That night I dreamed of almost everything we had been talking about, but
lay awake at intervals, wondering if I could, by force of will, work out
the reform in my character which Margaret desired. The night passed,
and it was just as I was rising that a thought flashed upon me which
I determined to put into execution at the first opportunity. This came
early the next evening. As we expected to reach our wharf soon, we had
finished our packing, and were now sitting alone in a retired spot on
deck on the starboard side. As soon as we were comfortably arranged I
said to my companion:
“Margaret, as this is the last evening of this voyage, it makes an epoch
in our lives. Your school days are now over, and henceforth we hope
to be together. Would not this be a most appropriate time for me to be
introduced to a voice with which I propose to spend the rest of my life?
Last night you were anxious to think of something which would arouse my
dormant heart and draw out in more passionate expression my too obscure
affections. Your words haunted my sleeping and waking thoughts until
it fortunately occurred to me that you yourself had the very means for
accomplishing my reformation. You know how impressionable I am to every
wave of sound. Who knows but your voice, which I am sure will be the
sweetest in the world to me, may be the instrument destined to stir
my drowsy soul, to loose my halting tongue, and even to force my proud
knees to bend before you? In short, why not adopt my suggestion, break
your long-kept resolution, and sing for me this moment? Is the possible
result not worth the trial?” To this long address, which was a great
effort for me, Margaret answered:
“You surprise me already, Walter. If the mere thought of hearing me sing
can prompt such a sentimental speech as that, what would the song itself
do? Perhaps it would drive you to the other extreme, and you would
become gushing. Just think of that. But, seriously, I am afraid you
would laugh at my voice and send me back to Germany. When you were
talking I thought I could detect an undercurrent of fun in your words.”
“I assure you I was never more in earnest in my life, and I am sorry you
will not sing. Is your answer final?”
“I think I will wait a little longer. We are liable to be disturbed
here. And now that you have made a start, perhaps you will improve in
manners becoming a lover without any more help.”
“No, I shall relapse and be worse than ever. Now is your time to help me
find my heart.”
Without answering, Margaret sprang up impulsively, exclaiming:
“There! I have forgotten that book the professor borrowed. Men never
return anything. I must go and get it, and put it into my bag. And I had
better run down and see if auntie wants anything. You stay right here;
don’t move, and I’ll be back in just three minutes.”