BOOK IVTHE PERFECT WORLD
CHAPTER IIN SPACE
Space—infinite space! On, on, swept the Argenta through the heavens at frightful speed. The engines were useless; the levers refused to work, and the occupants of the airship sat within the shuttered vessel, helpless.
For days they had eaten nothing—they were unable to move; terror had them fast within its grasp.
“Sir John,” said Masters at last, “I’m going to make a cup of tea. Here we are, and here we must remain until our food gives out. Mrs. Desmond,—won’t you come and help me?” Mavis rose from an armchair, and tenderly laid the sleeping babe on the cushions of a settee.
“My baby,” she murmured, “to think I bore you for this.”
“Come, Mrs. Desmond,” and Masters led the way to the tiny kitchen.
All sense of direction had gone, and the occupants of the giant airship, had simply to accept the extraordinary conditions that had been thrust upon them, and remain helpless in the Argenta, carried they knew not whither, adrift in the heavens. They had ceased to reckon time, minutes had no meaning; hours and days passed as one long whole. They were just atoms, existing in space, which is infinite—where time is infinite—where life itself is infinite!
Mavis entered with a tray laden with tea and biscuits—the exertion had done her good, and already there was a slight colour in her cheeks.
The airship was ploughing along at a terrific rate,but its motion was steady, and they could walk about in comfort. When first the explosion that had accompanied the end of the world sent them spinning into the infinite unknown, the Argenta had behaved in a most erratic way. Broadside she skimmed like an arrow, throwing them from side to side, then she reared up on her tail, and climbed the heavens almost perpendicularly; then she would roll over and over, porpoise-like, until the frail mortals lost all sense of everything except that a great calamity had come into their lives.
“Where are we?” asked Mavis suddenly.
“I intend to try and find out,” said Masters grimly. “Whatever happens we can’t be in a worse position than we are at this moment. I intend to move the shutters from the bows and then we may get some idea of where we are.”
“But is it safe?” objected Desmond, looking first at his wife and then at his child. “So far we are safe. This mad journey must come to an end some time or other. Why jeopardize all our lives for the sake of a little curiosity?”
“Must it come to an end?” said Sir John thoughtfully.
“Of course,” answered Desmond. “We can’t go on forever.”
“Why not?” continued his Uncle. “Space is infinite. Now time is eternity. We, when in the world—”
“How strange that sounds,” interrupted Alan.
“As I was saying, when we were in the world, we often used the expression, ‘For ever and ever.’ If we thought what it really meant, it dazed our brains; we wanted to probe further, and find out what it was that came after that ‘ever and ever.’ We puzzled our intellects by pondering on the infinity of time. I realize now, what Eternity is! Since we have been here, I have ceased to count the minutes; I have ceased to think of days, or night, or weeks. Time is! That is enough for me.”
“Then you really think we may go on forever?” asked Desmond in horror.
“I don’t know. I certainly think it is as likely as not.”
“Oh God,” Desmond muttered between his clenched teeth.
“Come, dear,” said Mavis bravely. “We ought to be thankful that the promptitude of Uncle John and Masters saved us from an awful death below.”
“Are you sure it was ‘down below’?” asked Alan quizzically.
“Why, of course,” Mavis began. Then she stopped. “Oh I don’t know. That is all so strange and puzzling.”
“Now, Masters,” said Sir John. “What were you going to do?”
“I was going to release the shutters from the bow. I can close the patent traps, and leave the ether protection all round the ship,” he explained to the others. “But it is possible to leave a small portion of the glass in the bows, exposed, through which we shall be able to see the course we are taking.”
“I think it’s worth making the experiment,” said Sir John, and they all followed him into the comfortable front cabin.
“Now if you see the slightest sign of danger, ’phone me,” said Masters, who was going into the lever room.
“How can you tell if danger is near?” asked Mavis with interest.
“This way,” said Masters. He pointed to a portion of the glass wall, now covered with the outer sheet of aluminium.
“That portion of the glass is of extra thickness and strength. If the outside air pressure is too great, or the gravitation or any unknown element too powerful for it, that glass will bulge, either inwards, or outwards. Only slightly at first, but it will get bigger and bigger until it bursts asunder. Now, if you see the slightest suspicion of that happening, ’phone through to me, and I will close the shutters again. At any rate, we shall have done no harm, and at least we shall have tried to do something to ease our position.”
In breathless silence they waited, watchful in the dark. Suddenly a tiny ray of light lit up the stygian gloom. Bigger and bigger it grew, until the whole of Masters’ wonderfully planned “lookout” was exposed to view. Breathlessly they watched. There was not the slightest sign of strain upon the glass. It was certainly capable of protecting them for the present at any rate.
“All serene,” cried Alan through the ’phone.
“Everything safe?” from Masters at the other end.
“Quite safe.”
“Oh-h-h-h.” It was Mavis. “How wonderful!” They were looking into endless space at last! They had no sense of location—no ordinary sense of North or South—East or West. They were in the heart of the Solar system, with no horizon to act as a guiding line! The vastness of space overwhelmed them; there was no landmark to direct them. There was no comforting horizon, with mighty arms outstretched, embracing the world. There was nothing to give them a feeling of security. Here space just “went on” for ever and ever, beyond human comprehension.
Wherever they looked, there was just—no end.
But the scene was beautiful beyond comparison. Away to their right, in the dark recesses of the firmament, was a wonderful brightness.
“It’s the Milky Way,” said Mavis clapping her hands in ecstasy.
“I don’t think so,” said Alan. “But all the same, I think that gives us an idea in what direction we are flying. That brightness must be the Greater Magellanic Clouds in the Southern Constellation.”
“What, are they only clouds, then?”
“No, just stars. Stars of all magnitudes, richly strewn in the heavens. Even the faintest of the nebulæ are more abundant than in any other part of the firmament.”
“It’s wonderful,” said Sir John. “The illuminating brightness is almost overpowering.”
They were unable to take their eyes from the cloud-like condensation of stars—one of the glories of space.
“We don’t seem to be getting any nearer toit, although we are going at such a pace,” said Mavis.
“My dear,” answered her uncle. “We are too many miles away to see any appreciable lessening of distance between us.”
“What is that bright star there,” asked Mavis pointing. “Just a little to this side of the Magellanic Clouds?”
“I don’t know. It certainly is wonderfully bright,” answered Sir John.
Alan was searching the heavens. “Isn’t that the Constellation of Draco—the Dragon—?” he asked suddenly. “I think it must be. If so, that star, as you call it, which lies between the Greater Magellanic Cloud and Draco must be Jupiter.”
“Jupiter?”
“Yes. One of Jupiter’s poles lies in the heart of Draco, and the other is close by the Greater Magellanic Clouds.”
Mavis puckered her brows. “Jupiter,” she almost whispered, “the Prince of all the Planets?”
“Yes.”
“We don’t seem to know much about him, do we?” she went on.
“No,” said her husband. “The astronomers seem much more interested in Saturn and Mars.”
“I’ve often thought,” said Alan, “that such a magnificent orb could not have been created just to have shown our old earth light. Its beauty, its grandeur, its magnitude, suggests to us the noblest forms of life.”
“You think it is inhabited?” asked Desmond.
“Why not? Surely its beauty and magnitude alone are a convincing proof of the insignificance of our earth. If Terra was inhabited, populated with many fine races of human beings, possessed of glorious scenery, and full of nature’s wonders, surely if such a puny world as ours was peopled, why should a far finer planet be debarred from possessing and nurturing higher forms of animal life?”
“It sounds very interesting,” said Mavis laughing, “but I wonder whether it’s true.”
“If people are on Mars, or Saturn, or Jupiter, they would hardly be like us,” announced Desmond, grandiloquently. “They would either be like the Mechanical Martians that Wells wrote of, or just animal life of some gelatinous matter as favoured by Wolfius.”
“Oh you egotistical, egregious Englishman,” laughed Sir John.
“Can you beat him?” said Alan. “No one but a Britishercouldhave made that remark!”
There was a laugh at Desmond’s expense, and then Alan went on, “Personally, I feel convinced that ours was not the only inhabited planet. Even our feeble knowledge of the solar system, individually and in bulk, has proved the wonder of Jupiter, the symmetry and perfection of the system that circles round him, the glory of his own being, and he should rank as the world of worlds. I should be inclined to believe that Jupiter is not only capable of producing the highest forms of life, but that his humanity surpasses in intelligence the most cultured, most brilliant, most learned of our earth’s philosophers.”
“No, no, I won’t have that,” said Desmond. “Look at the brilliant men of letters Britain alone has given to the world. Think of her eminent scholars, dauntless pioneers—why no other country or world could compete with Britain.”
“As I remarked before, the egregious Englishman!” said Sir John. “I admire your courage, my boy, in sticking to your guns. I admire your loyalty to the country that gave you birth. But we are not in the world now, my boy. Our beautiful little planet has vanished, has disappeared into the void from which it came; yet here, before our eyes, we see Jupiter still existing, still a brilliant orb in the sky. Surely now, Desmond, you are convinced of the minuteness of the planet upon which you were bred and born?” Sir John put his hand on Desmond’s shoulder. “While you were upon it, it was everything. Now it is nothing—gone—while other planets still exist and shed their brightness over space.”
“I think,” said Mavis thoughtfully, “that if ourown little world possessed such a high form of life, and we measure a planet by its bulk, then surely the Jovians must be the most highly favoured race in the Solar Kingdom?”
A tiny cry came from the cabin behind. “Baby,” she cried. “Oh, I’d forgotten him,” and she fled to her nursling who had missed his mother’s care.
“Such are the wonders of the heavens,” said Sir John, thoughtfully. “It’s so grand, so massive, so unbelievable, that it makes even a mother forget, in its contemplation, her first-born, her little son.”
“Why he is not named yet,” said Desmond. “I had forgotten all about that.”
“Well, we have no parson here,” said Alan. “Now our world has gone, can we call ourselves Christians? How do we rank with the Almighty? Have we become atoms tossed about on an endless sea, or Christians to whom eventual release will come?”
“We are still in God’s Hands,” said Sir John reverently. “In the absence of an ordained priest, a layman may administer the Sacrament of Baptism. I am getting very old. I have one foot very near the grave. Shall I do it?”
“Please,” said Desmond.
And whirling through the Solar system, belonging neither to earth nor heaven, was performed surely the strangest rite ever known from time immemorial. And it was in this strange place, in this strange manner that Desmond and Mavis’ son—John Alan—was named.
CHAPTER IIADRIFT IN THE SOLAR REGIONS
Life in the Argenta became very monotonous. After the first throes of despair, the glimpse of the glorious expanse of the Heavens served to cheer the prisoners within the ship. They had no clocks that were going. During the terror of the first few days time had mattered so little to them that they had let them run down. They now arranged to set all the clocks, and judge the time accordingly, and plan out their days. Rise at eight; lunch at one; tea at four; and dinner at seven and then to bed. The “night” would pass and they would begin another “day.”
They reckoned they had sufficient food to last the twelve earth months, and they could exist in comfort for three hundred and sixty-five days. And with the minutest care, perhaps even longer. “We can’t live in space for more than twelve months, surely,” said Mavis, but Sir John did not answer her. They had consumed perhaps an eighth of their water supply, and had the supply of concentrated water essence untouched. Still, they were afraid to waste any for washing purposes, and considered it a treat to be allowed to dip their fingers in any fluid that was left over from cooking; even a drop of cold tea proved a boon to them, and they gratefully damped cloths in it and wiped their hot and dry faces.
Alan fixed a piece of paper on the wall of the front cabin, and every night before they retired, he would tick off the number of the day from the time they had reset their clocks and begin to count again. Thirty, forty, fifty, so the “days” passed, and littleJohn Alan grew enormously. The few garments that had been packed in their hurried flight were now too small for him, and Mavis was forced to use some of her own dresses, and cut them up for the growing child. He alone was unconscious of the danger of their peculiar position, and he crowed and gurgled and bit his toes, in complete babyish happiness and delight. If anything, Mavis had grown more beautiful after the arrival of her child. Her eyes glowed with maternal pride, and her cheeks were flushed with joy as she watched her baby, born into such a strange life, grow day by day fairer and more loving.
The library aboard, which Sir John had had the foresight to install in his giant Argenta, proved a godsend to the weary travellers. Every day they read aloud some old literary favourite, and renewed their acquaintance with Sam Weller, Pip, the Aged P, and Little Nell; laughed over the experiences of the “Innocents Abroad” enjoyed again the story of “Three Men in a Boat.” But even with these diversions, with chess, dominoes, and draughts; with singing and playing, they grew tired of their enforced inactivity, and chafed at their surroundings.
Their air supply was excellent; the mechanism never failed in its work; certainly the air grew hot and fetid at times but by the aid of electric fans it was freshened and purified. Every day they looked out of the little glass window, and drank in the glories of the heavens.
One day, it was the ninety-eighth according to Alan’s chart, Mavis startled them all by a sudden exclamation.
“What is it, my dear?” asked Sir John, looking up from an interesting game of chess he was enjoying with Alan.
“Look at Jupiter! Isn’t he large to-night?” said she. “Why, yesterday he looked like a big star, to-day he is like the moon at harvest time.”
They all crowded round the little window.
“By Jove, you’re right,” said Alan. “We must be sailing in a direct line toward him.”
“How plain the clouds are upon him,” saidDesmond. “You can see them plainly right across his face.”
The belts across the face of Jupiter were certainly very plain; across the surface of the planet they floated pearly white, like masses of “snow-clouds” as seen in England on a hot summer’s day. From the equatorial region they merged, both north and south from a glorious coppery colour, becoming a deep, ruddy purplish tint at the poles.
“Are they clouds like ours?” asked Mavis wonderingly.
“I don’t think it has ever been proved what they really are,” answered Alan. “I think the general theory is, that those clouds as you call them are, in reality, a vapour-laden atmosphere that floats across the orb.”
“I should love to go there,” said Mavis.
“Well, it looks as though we were making for that part of the firmament,” said her uncle.
“It certainly does,” she retorted. “But when shall we reach there?”
At that moment Masters and Hector came in, in great excitement.
“The engines are working,” announced Hector enthusiastically.
“What!” from all.
“It’s true. Masters and I were tinkering at them this morning, when suddenly the little starting cog flew round, there was a roar, a flash of sparks, and they started properly.”
This was indeed good news, for ever since the end of the world the airship had been propelled through space by some unknown outside influence; her engines not only refused to work but her steering apparatus refused to act.
“I intend navigating straight ahead,” announced Masters. “I’ll have eight engines going, and then we ought to get up a speed of over four hundred and fifty miles; that together with the pace we are already travelling should help us considerably in reaching somewhere, if there is anywhere for us to get.”
Eagerly they all went into the engine room, andwatched first one, then another of the powerful engines set going. They were however surprised to find that they felt no difference in their speed; yet the speedometer registered four hundred and twenty miles, and all eight engines were working merrily.
They went back to the bows, and watched the universe stretched out before them. They passed close to a star, whose name they did not know, and its radiance lit up the little cabin for fourteen days, that were marked off religiously on Alan’s calendar. Then came another terrible time, when depression took hold of them all again, and they would sit, silent, staring into space. Their eyes were dull and lustreless; their limbs cramped from lack of exercise, and their brains torpid and sluggish.
Perhaps Alan felt the deprivation of air and exercise most, but he continued to be the cheeriest of them all.
“Oh, for some green vegetables,” sighed Mavis one day. John Alan had been particularly restless, and she felt more than usually miserable.
“And plenty of nice rabbit food,” went on Alan cheerfully. “Crisp, long lettuces, the rosy radish, juicy tomatoes, and above all the cool, refreshing slices of the unwholesome cucumber.”
“Oh, Alan, I’m so miserable,” she sobbed. “Will this awful existence never end? Shall we just die here, and this ship become the meteoric tomb of seven unfortunates of the world? A tomb always spinning on, on, through endless space, through endless time, like some lost soul.”
“Lost world, you mean,” corrected Alan. “You are mixing your metaphors, and when a lady does that, it’s a sure sign she wants a cup of tea!”
“I don’t want a cup of tea, Alan. I just want to get a breath of air. Alan, couldn’t you persuade Masters to open the shutters? Couldn’t we just go on to the deck for five minutes—only five minutes?” she pleaded.
“My dear,” said Alan gently. “It’s quite impossible. Now listen carefully to what I am saying. Long, long ago, we were out of the atmosphere and the gravitation of our earth. In some wayor other, the tornado that accompanied the end of our world drove us through space where nothing is! Oh, I know it sounds complicated, dear, but by all the knowledge of science, as taught by the most advanced astronomers, long ago we should have been suspended in space, unable to move or be moved, outside the gravitation of other worlds; just atoms, motionless, still. That hasn’t happened. We have defied the great authorities, and are being whirled through the heavens by some power unheard of by the scientists of the earth. Still, dear, we do not know whether there is air outside. Should we lift the shutters that protect us, we might find we were unable to exist.”
“That’s the word,” cried Mavis. “We aren’t living now. We are only existing. We don’t know from hour to hour what terrible fate may await us. If by lifting the shutters we kill ourselves, surely that is better than this lingering death.”
“Mavis, Mavis, don’t.”
“Do you know we have only a month’s supply of food left?”
Alan looked at her in horror. “You don’t mean that, Mavis?” said he incredulously.
“My dear Alan, you are just like all men. Sufficient for the day! That’s your motto. You never enquired about the food. Since I took over the culinary department, none of you have worried a bit, while day by day I’ve seen our stock of provisions grow less and less. In a month’s time, Alan, our food will be totally exhausted.”
“What about the condensed foods?”
“Oh we still have some of them—perhaps with extreme care they would last another four weeks, and then—the end.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before, Mavis?”
“Oh I couldn’t,” hysterically. “You were all so contented. Besides I didn’t realize the seriousness of it myself until to-day. Our flour is nearly gone. You yourself said the bread wasn’t as good this morning. Of course it wasn’t. It was just mixtures of every cereal I could think of to try and make it last out.”
This news was indeed serious, and Alan walked thoughtfully to his chart. Yes, he ought to have known. It registered five hundred and fifty-five days. Over eighteen earth months they had been flying through the heavens. Their food had lasted magnificently.
“Water?” he queried.
“We finished the tank water long ago. I’m pretty well through with the cubes.”
“Let me come and see the food supply.”
Carefully he went over every item. Even yet, there seemed to be enough to feed an army, but he knew how little there was in reality. “I think if we have one good meal a day, we ought to make it last longer,” said he. “After all, one good meal is better than three small ones, and incidentally, we save over the one transaction. We must sleep longer, that’s all. We will get up at noon, and have a cup of tea and a biscuit. At four we will have dinner, and if we retire at eight, a cup of cocoa then should suffice us. The longer we remain in bed the less food we shall require. Come, let us tell the others.”
Sir John took the news very quietly. Not a muscle of his face twitched—he might have been receiving a most ordinary announcement. Masters shrugged his shoulders indifferently, and Murdoch went on with his work as if he had not heard. Desmond took the news badly, however. His face grew ashen. “Why should this have come upon us?” he cried. “We had been through so much. Happiness came my way at last, and now—” He drew Mavis fiercely to him. “I won’t lose you. There must be some way out.”
“There is none, my boy,” said Sir John, “so you had better make up your mind to that at once. Here we are and here we must remain, till by some merciful intervention, we die, or are given release.”
“Where shall we ever find release?” from Desmond.
“In some new world, perhaps.”
“How big Jupiter is,” said Alan, looking out into the vastness.“He is certainly a wonderful planet,” said Mavis.
“Is it my fancy or are we slowing down?” asked Sir John.
“I’ve wondered the same thing myself,” said Masters. “For the last few days I have noticed an appreciable difference in our speed.”
But although the difference was so slight as to be almost undiscernible, the new topic of conversation gave the prisoners new life.
The days passed—the quantity of the food they consumed grew daily less and less, and they were growing weaker and weaker every day. At length they gave up their cup of tea in the mornings—their tea had gone. Then they halved their dinner portions making one day’s share of food last two! But all the same the dreaded day came only too soon, and five hundred and ninety-five days after Alan had put up his calendar, they found they had only a few tins of concentrated food left. They were all hungry. Little John Alan grew fretful, his mother feverish. There was silence in the little front cabin, the silence of the grave. The little party were all half asleep, when suddenly Alan rose. “What’s the matter?” he asked quickly.
“What is it?” asked his uncle.
“Don’t you realize?—we’ve stopped! We’ve stopped!” It was true, the Argenta was stationary at last! At the same moment Masters came rushing in.
“We’ve stopped!” he cried. “The engines have refused again to work.”
They all crowded round the little “lookout,” but could see nothing. For the first time for nearly two years their vision was limited. Gone was the brightness of Jupiter, gone the glorious Magellanic Cloud—gone, too, the many thousand points of light that enriched the heavens. All about them was a moving vapour. It was unlike clouds, but surged and swirled like heavy snow flakes. It was a whitish vapour that looked like steam—that altered again and took on the hue of thick yellowish smoke.
“Where are we?” asked Mavis. “Can’t we get out?”
“We’ll see,” said Alan soothingly.
But still Mavis went on pleadingly. “Oh surely our chance has come at last. If we opened the shutters now, we might get free altogether.”
The next morning, Murdoch was missing. His bed had not been slept in. “Where’s Murdoch?” asked Alan of Masters.
“I don’t know. I’ve been expecting him to relieve me in the engine room every minute. Is he in the kitchen?”
“No. I can’t find him anywhere.”
“Good God! Then I know what he has done,” said Masters brokenly. “He was very upset over Mrs. Desmond yesterday. She wanted me to open the shutters. Come.”
At the stern of the ship and on the lower deck was a little trap door in the metal covering. “He’s gone through there,” said Masters hoarsely. “He asked me a lot of questions about it last night. I told him about the mechanism of this trap and he suggested we should go out on deck, and see if it was possible to breathe out there. I laughed at him and thought no more about the matter.”
As he was speaking he deftly wound a scarf about his nose and mouth, and stuffed his ears with cotton wool saturated with oil. He touched a spring and a sheet of metal unfolded and when it rested at last in position, it formed a tiny air tight closet outside the trap. “I shall open the trap as quickly as I can,” said he quickly. “On the other side the deck is opened up and there is a space left large enough to test thoroughly the outer air. But by the aid of this “cubby-hole” we still have our ether protection kept safe all round the ship. Now I am going out to see if Murdoch is there. If I don’t come back, don’t search for me. It will be too late.”
“Masters, don’t go!” urged Alan.
“I must go,” grimly, “but I beg of you, if I don’t return in ten minutes, forget I ever existed.”
Without another word he slipped into the little boxlike chamber, and the door snapped to after him. Theyheard the sound of a click, rushing air, and then, silence.
Five minutes passed—six—seven—eight. Sir John, Desmond and Mavis had come up in time to hear the trap close, and quickly Alan explained the position.
“Why did you let him go?” cried Mavis.
“Murdoch went for you, my dear,” he answered sternly. “Masters went to save him.”
Mavis covered her face with her hands, and the tears trickled down her face.
“My dear, don’t take it to heart,” went on Alan kindly. “If anything happens to Murdoch, he will have given his life for his friends.”
Then a muffled cry came from within the little chamber. Quickly Alan touched the lever, the folds of metal rolled back, and two figures fell forward on their faces.
“Water,” commanded Alan, and Mavis rushed to get some.
“Have you any brandy left?” asked Sir John.
“A very little.”
“Bring some too,” he cried as Mavis disappeared into the kitchen. Tenderly they wiped blood and sweat from the faces of the unconscious men.
Masters opened his eyes. “Out there,” said he hoarsely. “Terrible smell—sulphuric—can’t breathe properly—whirling clouds—eyes smart—don’t go again.”
“He’ll do,” said Sir John. “How’s Murdoch?”
“He’s so terribly cold,” said Mavis.
Alan took his place by the still form. “Brandy,” said he. He looked at the man on the floor. Thick veins like whipcords stood out upon his forehead. Blood trickled from his nose, his ears, his mouth. His lips were swollen, and were blue in colour and cracked.
“He’s gone,” said Alan.
“Dead?” cried Mavis in horror.
“Quite dead.” Gently they carried the dead man, who had risked his life for his friends, to his little sleeping cabin. Tenderly they laid him on his bed, covered up his face, and closed the door softly behindthem. Then they went back to Mavis who was watching over Masters.
“How is he?” asked Desmond.
“Better, I think. He asked for water. I think he is sleeping now.”
Alan bent over their old and valued friend. The look of pallor had vanished, the veins subsided, he was breathing naturally.
“Poor Murdoch,” sobbed Mavis. “I feel it was my fault. I was always worrying you to open the shutters and let us go outside.”
“Don’t worry, little one,” said Sir John. “He died like an English gentleman.”
“Oh how terrible everything is,” she sobbed hysterically. “There seems no end to our torment. Oh this horrible place, this horrible ship of doom!”
CHAPTER IIITHE VISION OF A NEW WORLD
Perfect silence, perfect stillness, and the clouds whirled round and round outside.
In vain they tried to move the ship. The engines worked smoothly, and with perfect rhythm, but were powerless to propel the Argenta.
The death of Murdoch had a terribly depressing effect on every one—they all missed his kindly brusqueness, his forethought and stolid help.
When Masters was sufficiently recovered he told his story. “I got through the ether all right,” said he. “I was through in a second and was standing on the exposed deck at the mercy of the elements. The cold was intense—I’ve never before experienced anything like it. In those few seconds it just cut through me. I could hardly see—my eyes filled with water, and smarted terribly as the gaseous vapour touched them. I lowered my handkerchief for the tiniest fragment of a second, and drew a very slight breath. The effect was terrible. My lungs felt as if they would burst—my mouth felt as if it had been seared with hot irons—my senses reeled; I felt as if I should fall. Then I became conscious of Murdoch lying huddled at my feet. I pulled him into the cabin after me, and well,—you know the rest. Poor Murdoch—I was too late.”
The excitement following the loss of Murdoch and Masters’ adventure after him, had made the hungry prisoners forget the emptiness of their larder. They all sat down to a hearty meal, and it was only at the end they realized it meant their being on still shorter rations in the future. And only too soon the larders were indeed empty! Mavis grew too weak to move,and lay helpless on her bed, her baby at her breast. Masters was the last to give in, and as he walked unsteadily to his cabin, he had visions of Sir John on one chair and Alan on another, each vainly trying to whisper words of comfort to the other.
Still the ship remained motionless—the stillness was of the grave.
Suddenly a whitish beam of light shot out through the clouds, and Alan saw a new moon rising. And as he watched he saw another skim the heavens, and another, and yet another. He looked at them in perplexity—four pink tipped crescents in the sky!
“Four Moons! God!” he cried. “The four satellites of Jupiter! Or should there be eight? Four—eight—eight—four.” His brain muddled. Four Moons visible at once! Jupiter! He was witnessing the rise of four of the planet’s moons! He was watching them through the misty clouds—then came a blessed sense of oblivion, and he too, lost consciousness. When he awoke again, it was with a feeling that the Argenta was again moving through space—moving slowly, but with a speed that was gradually quickening. He staggered to his feet, and bent over his uncle. Sir John was still breathing, but there was a curious greyness in his face, and Alan moistened his lips with a drop of brandy. The old man moved, and opened his eyes. “Drink a little,” said Alan kindly. “It will do you good.”
Sir. John managed to swallow a little of the burning fluid, and sighing naturally, closed his eyes in sleep. With difficulty, Alan managed to reach Desmond’s room, for he was very weak. He found Mavis lying on her bed, hardly breathing: the babe lay in her arms sleeping peacefully. She had given the very essence of her strength to her child, and he had scarcely suffered at all.
Desmond was breathing heavily, jerkily, the breath came like sobs from between his clenched teeth. Alan forced some of the brandy between his lips and said huskily, “Dez, old boy: don’t leave me, old chap; we’ve been through some tight corners, don’t give up yet.”
Desmond struggled to a sitting position. “Good old Lanny,” he muttered.
“I must see Masters,” said Alan. “Keep up, if you can, till I return.”
Alan reeled from side to side in his weakness as he struggled on to Masters’ cabin. It was empty! He was almost too weak to think or act coherently.
“Masters,” he moaned. “Where are you?” Slowly he made his way back to the little room in the bows, and as he neared it, a brilliant beam of light shot across his path. The unexpectedness of it threw him off his balance, and he would have fallen, had not Masters rushed forward and put his arm about him.
The light was strong. So strong that they could feet the heat of its rays through the little glass window.
“What is it?” he asked.
Masters could hardly speak. His lips were swollen and blackened, and his tongue parched. “Help,” said he thickly. “That light is like a magnet—it is drawing us somewhere. It’s sent out by human agency I am sure. See how it flutters and fades, only to come bright again.” They watched the ray—it was focussed directly on the bows, and it seemed to be drawing them closer and closer to some harbour of refuge. Still they were going through the encircling clouds, which had suddenly turned to a most beautiful roseate hue. Then without any warning they emerged and found they were gazing on the most wonderful scene they had ever beheld.
It was more wonderful than their thoughts could have expressed. Imagine hovering over the most wondrous piece of natural scenery—double—treble its beauty, and even then you could have no idea of the grandeur, the poetry of the picture they gazed upon.
They were, perhaps, three thousand feet up. Mountains rose all round with rocky crevasses, and wonderful waterfalls dashing down their sides. Foaming waters trickled and bubbled and laughed by the sides of grassy paths. An inland lake glowed in the glory of the sunshine. Trees of all kinds nestled in the valleys and climbed the hillsides.
A sea—a glorious azure sea—with dancing waves and white flecked foam rolled merrily in and out on wonderful white sands. There were rocks and caves, and velvety grass slopes along the sea shore; babbling brooks merged into the blue, blue waters; tall lilies, virginal white, mingled with roses, red like wine, and grew in clusters at the water’s edge. All was nature at her best—unspoiled by man.
Wooded islets were dotted about in still more wonderful bays; birds white as snow, birds with plumage rainbow-hued floated idly on the waters, and added to the picturesque beauty. They could see little buildings nestling among the trees here and there, buildings that, like the châlets of Switzerland, only added to the beauty of the scene.
The airship had stopped suddenly, and they were unable to move her, and still they hovered over the wonderful land. Sea—sky—both of a most glorious blue; the verdure of this new land was green—“The same as our world,” murmured Alan.
“But with what a difference,” whispered Sir John.
“I never knew what the sea was until now,” said Alan. “I never realized what ‘colour’ was—what blue or green meant, until I looked down yonder.”
New life was born in the three men. “I’ll call Desmond,” said Alan. Mavis was lying as he had left her—white, inert, silent. “Leave her,” he told his cousin. “She will be quite safe; but we’ve news at last—we are in sight of land.”
When he reached the bows again, he saw they had dropped a few hundred feet, and were now well below the summit of the mountains.
Below them, in a fertile valley, they saw what they thought were six giant birds running along a field. They rose, soared straight up, and flew directly toward the Argenta. They were like swans with outstretched wings, and necks like swans; but never had they seen birds of such a monstrous size.
“They are as big as a small plane,” said Sir John wonderingly.
“By Jove, I believe that’s what they are,” said Alan.
As the “birds” drew nearer, they could see that the body was in reality the car of the plane. Soon six were circling round the Argenta, and the prisoners within could see figures standing in the cars of the strange looking aeroplanes.
The Argenta gave a jolt, and quivered from stem to stern, and they felt themselves sinking. The newcomers had thrown out some kind of grappling rope and were pulling them to earth. They were nearer to this wonderful country. Already they could see the brilliant flowers—trees laden with wonderful fruit and bright plumaged birds fluttering about without any sign of fear.
“Release the shutters,” said Alan hoarsely.
“No,” said Sir John with decision. “Remember we have on board a defenceless woman and her child. We don’t yet know if we are in the hands of friends or enemies. I’ll get my revolver. Dez, my boy, I’ll give it to you. Stay in your cabin and be prepared. You understand?”
“Shoot—her?” asked Desmond hoarsely.
Sir John bowed his head. “Surely you would rather do it than me?”
“Yes—but—”
“There is no ‘but,’ my boy. Rather death than horrors unnameable. Stay in the cabin with your wife and child. If I think we are in good hands I will call you. Otherwise, I will give our whistle—the one we used when you were boys—the three sharp calls, and a long minor note,” and he illustrated it softly. “If you hear that,—don’t hesitate, my boy.” They gripped hands, and Desmond, dazed, speechless, walked unsteadily out of the room, and they heard the click of his cabin door as it closed behind him.
Slowly, but surely the Argenta was being dragged down to the field below. At last they touched solid ground—there was a scrunch and a grating—they were on some earth at last.
“Alan,” said Sir John grimly. “I have two other revolvers on board. Masters, if the worst comes to the worst, and I give the warning whistle for Mr. Desmond, go in to him. If he does not turn theweapon on himself do it for him—and keep a spare bullet for yourself.”
“I understand, sir.”
The six white “birds” had also reached land, and from out of the bodies they saw strange figures appear. The figures were like themselves—yet how different! The men approaching were perhaps under average height, but they were beautifully moulded, muscular with a symmetry of form that was glorious to behold.
All but one wore white—a garment that reached to their feet, and which resembled in shape a Roman toga. This white garment was embroidered with richly coloured silks at the neck, wrists and hem. On their heads, they wore fillets of gold. The leader was garbed in a garment of the same shape, but of a glorious blue bound with gold, and his fillet was studded with gems that shone and flashed in the sunlight. All walked up to the Argenta and smiled through the little window at the occupants. Then the leader opened his hands—held them up empty, and with a charming smile, bowed low before them. Then he seemed to issue a command, and all the others, there were altogether perhaps thirty of them, followed his example, and bowed before them.
“They look friendly,” said Sir John. “Masters, let the shutters be raised—then stand near Mr. Desmond’s cabin. If I shout—‘view halloo!’ bid him to come out on to the upper deck, but—”
“But if I hear the whistle, sir, I shall know what to do.”
“Keep your revolver hidden, Alan,” said Sir John, and they made their way to the upper deck.
They waited in silence for the ether to be pumped back into its cylinders, and for the shutters to lift. Gradually light came creeping in through chinks here and there—higher and higher was lifted the moving metal, until at last the two men drank in fresh air and bathed in glorious sunshine once again. They found they could scarcely move along the deck—in fact it was with the greatest difficulty they could keep their balance. They felt horribly material and gross.
“What is it?” whispered Alan.
“The law of gravity, my boy. Wherever we are, Ishould say it is about three times the strength of that we were used to when we were on Terra. I think we have about trebled our weight.”
The strangers had advanced—the leader was smiling graciously. He gave another command, and his band of followers came to a sudden halt, and he approached the Argenta—alone. He addressed them in a language they did not understand.
“I do not understand—” commenced Sir John, but before he could say any more the stranger spoke—haltingly it is true, and as if unused to it, but he spoke in English.
“Where are we?” cried Sir John in amazement.
“You are on, what I think you would call—Jupiter.”
“Jupiter?”
“Yes. And may I welcome you strangers to our land of plenty. I know not who you are or whence you come—but you are welcome—very welcome. But you look tired—”
“You are not enemies, then?” cried Sir John.
“Enemies?” repeated the Jovian. “I understand not the word.”
“You are friends?”
“Friends of course—we are all friends. Can you find a more beautiful word than friendship?”
“Thank God! Thank God!” cried Sir John, and with a wild “View Halloo” issuing from his lips, he fell senseless to the ground.