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Daybreak: A Romance of an Old World

by James Cowan · English · Gutenberg #7814 · 676,179 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Daybreak: A Romance of an Old World

Author: James Cowan


        
Release date: April 1, 2005 [eBook #7814]
                Most recently updated: November 3, 2016

Language: English

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Credits: Text file produced by Anne Soulard, Suzanne Shell, William Craig,
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAYBREAK: A ROMANCE OF AN OLD WORLD ***




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.”




CHAPTER II.

A FALLEN SATELLITE.


I promised, and then settled myself more comfortably into my steamer
chair to await Margaret’s return. The three minutes passed, and she did
not come. Evidently it was hard to find the professor, or perhaps he
was holding her, against her will, for a discussion of the book. At any
rate, I could do nothing but sit there, in that easy, half-reclining
position, and watch the full moon, which had just risen, and was shining
square in my face, if that could be said of an object that looked so
round.

I fell into a deep reverie. My mind was filled with contending emotions,
and such opposing objects as rolling worlds and lovely maidens flitted
in dim images across my mental vision. I loved the best woman on the
earth, and I wondered if any of those other globes contained her equal.
If so, then perhaps some other man was as fortunate as myself. I was
drowsy, but determined to keep awake and pursue this fancy. I remember
feeling confident that I could not sleep if I only kept my eyes open,
and so I said I would keep them fixed on the bright face of the moon.
But how large it looked. Surely something must be wrong with it, or was
it my memory that was at fault? I thought the moon generally appeared
smaller as it rose further above the horizon, but now it was growing
bigger every minute. It was coming nearer, too. Nearer, larger--why, it
was monstrous. I could not turn my eyes away now, and everything else
was forgotten, swallowed up in that one awful sight. How fast it grew.
Now it fills half the sky and makes me tremble with fear. Part of it is
still lighted by the sun, and part is in dark, threatening shadow. I
see pale faces around me. Others are gazing, awe-stricken, at the same
object. We are in the open street, and some have glasses, peering into
the deep craters and caverns of the surface.

I seemed to be a new-comer on the scene, and could not help remarking to
my nearest neighbor:

“This is a strange sight. Do you think it is real, or are we all bereft
of our senses?”

“Strange indeed, but true,” he answered.

“But what does it mean?” And then, assuming a gayety I did not feel,
I asked further: “Does the moon, too, want to be annexed to the United
States?”

“You speak lightly, young man,” my neighbor said, “and do not appear to
realize the seriousness of our situation. Where have you been, that you
have not heard this matter discussed, and do not understand that the
moon is certain to come into collision with the earth in a very short
time?”

He seemed thoroughly alarmed, and I soon found that all the people
shared his feeling. The movement of the earth carried us out of sight
of the moon in a few hours, but after a brief rest everybody was on the
watch again at the next revolution. The excitement over the behavior of
our once despised moon increased rapidly from this time. Nothing else
was talked of, business was well-nigh suspended, and the newspapers
neglected everything else to tell about the unparalleled natural
phenomenon. Speculation was rife as to what would be the end, and what
effect would follow a union of the earth with its satellite.

While this discussion was going on, the unwelcome visitor was
approaching with noticeable rapidity at every revolution of the earth,
and the immense dark shadow which it now made, as it passed beneath the
sun, seemed ominous of an ill fate to our world and its inhabitants. It
was a time to try the stoutest hearts, and, of course, the multitude of
the people were overwhelmed with alarm. As no one could do anything to
ward off what seemed a certain catastrophe, the situation was all the
more dreadful. Men could only watch the monster, speculate as to the
result, and wait, with horrible suspense, for the inevitable. The circle
of revolution was now becoming so small that the crisis was hourly
expected. Men everywhere left their houses and sought the shelterless
fields, and it was well they did so, for there came a day when the earth
received a sudden and awful shock. After it had passed, people looked
at each other wonderingly to find themselves alive, and began
congratulating each other, thinking the worst was over. But the dreadful
anxiety returned when, after some hours, the moon again appeared, a
little tardy this time, but nearer and more threatening than ever. The
news was afterwards brought that it had struck the high mountain peaks
of Central Asia, tearing down their sides with the power of a thousand
glaciers and filling the valleys below with ruin.

It was now felt that the end must soon come, and this was true, for at
the earth’s very next revolution the tired and feeble satellite, once
the queen of the sky and the poet’s glory, scraped across the continent
of South America, received the death blow in collision with the Andes,
careened, and fell at last into the South Pacific Ocean. The shock given
to the earth was tremendous, but no other result was manifest except
that the huge mass displaced water enough to submerge many islands and
to reconstruct the shore lines of every continent. There was untold loss
of life and property, of course, but it is astonishing how easily those
who were left alive accepted the new state of things, when it was found
that the staid earth, in spite of the enormous wart on her side, was
making her daily revolution almost with her accustomed regularity.

The lovers of science, however, were by no means indifferent to
the new-comer. To be able at last to solve all the problems of the
constitution and geography of the moon was enough to fill them with the
greatest enthusiasm. But, while thousands were ready to investigate
the mysterious visitor, one great difficulty stood in the way of all
progress. It seemed impossible to get a foothold on the surface. The
great globe rose from the waves on all sides at such an angle on account
of its shape that a lodgment could not easily be made. Ships sailed
under the overhanging sides, and in a calm sea they would send out their
boats, which approached near enough to secure huge specimens. These were
broken into fragments and were soon sold on the streets of every city.

The first to really set foot on the dead satellite were some adventurous
advertisers, who shot an arrow and cord over a projecting crag, pulled a
rope after it, and finally drew themselves up, and soon the lunar cliffs
were put to some practical use, blazoning forth a few staring words.
These men could not go beyond their narrow standing place, for the
general curve of the surface, although broken up by many irregularities,
presented no opportunities for the most skillful climbing.

But it was impossible that, with the moon so near, the problem of
reaching it could long remain unsolved. Dr. Schwartz, an eminent
scientist, was the first to suggest that it must be approached in a
balloon, and at the same time he announced that he would be one of two
men, if another could be found, to undertake to effect a landing in that
way. Here, I saw, was my opportunity. I had often dreamed of visiting
the moon and other heavenly bodies, and now here was a chance to go
in reality. I had some acquaintance with Dr. Schwartz, and my prompt
application for the vacant place in the proposed expedition was
successful. The doctor kindly wrote me that my enthusiasm in the cause
was just what he was looking for, and he was sure I would prove a plucky
and reliable companion. The matter attracted so much attention that the
United States Government, moved to action by the public nature of
the enterprise, took it up and offered to bear all the expense of
the equipment and carrying out of the expedition. Encouraged by this
assistance, the doctor began his plans at once. All recognized that one
great object was to settle the question as to the existence of life on
the other side of the moon; for, in spite of its rude collisions with
mountains and continents before it rested as near the heart of the earth
as it could get, it had insisted, with an almost knowing perversity, in
keeping its old, familiar face next to us. To solve this problem might
take much time, and so we determined to go so well prepared that, if we
once reached the upper surface of the moon, we could stay as long as our
errand demanded.

It was decided to make the ascent from a town near the coast of the
southern part of Chile, and thither we went with our balloon, some
scientific apparatus, and a large quantity of dried provisions. We
took with us also papers from the State Department showing that we were
accredited agents from our Government to the inhabitants of the moon, if
we should find any. Our arrangements were speedily made, and on a still,
bright morning we bade adieu to our friends who had accompanied us thus
far, mounted our car, and set sail.

We left the earth with light hearts, excited with the novel and
interesting character of the enterprise, and but little realizing its
difficulty and danger. Ordinary balloon journeys had become frequent,
and the evolution of the air ship had almost passed beyond the
experimental stage, but nothing like our present undertaking had ever
been attempted.

Our starting place was far enough from the resting point of the moon
to enable us to clear the rounded side, but in order to reach the
equatorial line of the fallen globe we would be obliged to ascend over a
thousand miles.

The fact that we were not appalled by the mere thought of rising to such
a height shows how thoroughly we were carried away with the excitement.
But we were better prepared for a lofty flight than might be supposed.
For among the recent wonders of science had been the invention of an
air-condensing machine, by which the rarefied atmosphere of the upper
regions could be converted into good food for the lungs. These machines
had been successfully tested more than once by voyagers of the air, but
the present occasion promised to give them a much more severe trial than
they had yet received. And, indeed, it is impossible to imagine how
we could have survived without them. Another important aid to science
rendered by this air-condensing apparatus is that in the process of
condensation water is produced in sufficient quantities to drink. Our
little car was tightly inclosed, and we took enough surplus gas with us
to keep it comfortably warm. So, with plenty of food, air, water, and
fuel, we were pretty well prepared for a long journey.

Our instruments, placed just outside the glass sides of the car, told
us how fast we were rising and what height we had reached from time
to time, and as we left the denser atmosphere of the earth we were
gratified to find that we continued to rise rapidly. On one side of
us we could see the rugged surface of the moon, now, on account of its
rounded form, drawing nearer to us every hour as we approached the point
where we hoped to land. We thought it best to try to pass the center and
land, if possible, somewhere on the upper hemisphere, which was the
part of the monstrous object that we wanted to investigate. But when
at length we thought we were about to fly past the moon’s equator
successfully, an unexpected thing happened.

If we suppose the moon was resting, at the bottom of the ocean, on one
of its poles, we were going toward the equatorial line, and we thought
we should not be able to retain a foothold anywhere below that line
certainly. But now, what was our surprise to find ourselves under some
mysterious influence. Our balloon refused to obey us as heretofore, and
in spite of rudder and sail we were drifting about, and appeared to be
going toward the moon’s surface sooner than we had intended.

In scientific emergencies I deferred to my companion, and now asked
for an explanation of this erratic behavior of our balloon. Instead of
replying at once, the doctor stooped and cut a fine wire, which released
one of the sand bags suspended for ballast from the bottom of our car,
and told me to watch it. We both watched it, and instead of starting
with rapidity for the center of the earth, as all well-conducted sand
bags have done from the beginning of the world, it seemed to hesitate
and float around a minute, as though it were no more than a handful of
feathers. And then, slowly at first, but soon more and more swiftly,
forgetting its birthplace and its old mother earth, it fell unblushingly
toward the moon.

Intent on watching the fickle sand bag, we did not at first notice that
our whole conveyance was practicing the same unhandsome maneuver. But
we soon became aware that we had changed allegiance also. We had started
with the earth at our feet and the moon looming up on one side of us,
but here we were now riding with the moon under us and the earth away
off at our side.

My fellow in this strange experience now found his voice.

“You doubtless realize,” said he, “what has taken place. We are now so
far from the earth that its attraction is very weak and the nearer mass
of the moon is drawing us.”

“That is quite evident,” I said, “but you seem as unconcerned about it
as if such a trip as this were an everyday affair with you.”

“I am not at all indifferent to the wonderful character of this
journey,” he replied, “but its scientific value swallows up all personal
considerations.”

I believed this to be true, and I will say right here that in all our
future experiences the doctor showed the same indifference to everything
like fear, and seemed content to go to any length in the interest of
science.

We were now able to govern our movements by the ordinary methods of
ballooning, and after sailing over the surface of the moon a few hours,
studying its rugged outlines, we began to think of selecting a place
for landing. There was no water to be seen and no forests nor other
vegetation, but everywhere were huge mountains and deep valleys, all as
bare and uninviting as it is possible to imagine.

But it would not do to turn a cold shoulder to her now, and so we
descended gracefully to make her close acquaintance, cast out our
anchor, and were soon on the moon in reality.




CHAPTER III.

TWO MEN IN THE MOON.


“Well, Doctor,” said I, as soon as our feet touched the ground, “the
moon is inhabited now if never before.”

“Yes, yes,” he answered, “and I am glad to find the inhabitants are of
such a lively disposition.”

“Oh, who can help being light-hearted,” I rejoined, “when one’s body is
so light?”

For as soon as we left our car we began to have the queerest sensations
of lightness. We felt as if we were standing on springs, which the least
motion would set off and up we would go toward the sky. Everything we
handled had but a small fraction of the weight it would possess on the
earth, and our great air-condensing machines we carried about with ease.
But however high we might jump we always returned to the ground, and
whether we were on top of the moon or on the bottom of it, it was pretty
certain that we could not fall off, any more than we could have fallen
off the earth before we voluntarily but so rashly left it.

My exhilaration of spirit did not last, for I could not help thinking of
our condition. The law of gravitation surely held us, although with less
force than we had been accustomed to, on account of the smaller size of
the moon; and how were we to get away from it?

I again appealed to my companion.

“I do not like the idea of spending the rest of our lives on the moon,
Doctor, but can you tell me how we are to prevent it? Can we ever get
back within the earth’s attraction again?”

“I have been pondering the subject myself,” he replied, “and I think I
can give you some hope of seeing home once more. If our old measurements
of the moon are correct, and if we are, as I suppose, somewhere near
the equator, we must be about fifteen hundred miles from the earth,
following the curve of the moon’s surface. Now, after we have finished
our investigations here, we can start for home on foot. We can cover a
good many miles a day, since walking can be no burden here, and we can
easily tow our balloon along. As we approach the earth, my impression
is that we shall become more and more light-footed, for we shall be
gradually getting back to the earth’s attraction. Somewhere between this
point and our planet there must be a spot where the attraction of both
bodies will be equal, and we can stay on the moon or drop off and return
to the earth in our balloon as we please.”

“What a curious idea,” I answered; “and yet, considering the strange
behavior of our sand bag, I don’t know but you are right. And I have
only one suggestion to make; that is, that we start earthward at once
and try the experiment. Let the investigations go. If there are any
inhabitants here they will never miss us, since we haven’t made their
acquaintance yet. Science or no science, I object to remaining any
longer than necessary in this uncertainty in regard to our future.
You know very well we couldn’t live long in this temperature and with
nothing for our lungs but what comes through these horrid machines. And
what good would come of our discoveries if we are never to get back to
the earth again? I profess to have as much courage left as the ordinary
mortal would have, but in the present circumstances I believe no one
would blame us for wanting to settle this question at once.”

“It would seem a trifle ridiculous,” said the doctor in reply to this
harangue, “for us to return to our planet without any further effort
to accomplish our errand. But I will not deny that I share something of
your feeling, and I will start with you right away, on condition that
you will return here if we find that I am correct in believing we can
leave the moon at our pleasure.”

“Agreed,” I cried, and we were soon on our way.

So far we had been exposed to the sun and were almost scorched by the
intensity of its rays. We had never experienced anything like such heat
and would not have supposed the human body could endure it. But now,
soon after we had started to find the place where the moon would let
go of us, the sun set and, with scarcely a minute’s warning, we were
plunged into darkness and cold. The darkness was relieved by the
exceedingly brilliant appearance of the stars, the sky fairly blazing
with them, but the cold was almost unendurable even for the few moments
in which we were exposed to it. We secured our car as speedily as
possible, climbed into it, and got a little warmth from our gas heater.

These extremes of temperature convinced us that no life such as we were
acquainted with could exist a great while on the moon.

We found we could make no progress at all by night. We could only shut
ourselves up and wait for the sun to come. In trying to keep warm we
would work our air-condensers harder than usual, and the water thus
produced we would freeze in little cakes, and have them to help mitigate
the burning heat a short time the next day.

The country through which we were traveling was made up of bold mountain
peaks and deep ravines. There was no sign of vegetation and not even
the soil for it to grow in, but everywhere only hard, metallic rock that
showed unmistakably the action of fire.

And so it was with the greatest difficulty that we made our way
earthward, although there was so little effort needed in walking. As I
pondered the doctor’s idea, it seemed to me more and more that he
must be right. We were certainly held to the moon where we were by
gravitation. It was just as true that near the surface of the earth its
superior attraction would draw all objects to itself. Accordingly, if
we kept on our way, why should we not in time come to a place where we
could throw ourselves once more under the influence of the old earth,
now becoming very dear to us?

Thinking chiefly of this subject and talking of it every day, we labored
on, and finally were wonderfully encouraged with the belief that we were
actually walking easier and everything was becoming lighter. Soon this
belief became a certainty, and, since leaping was no effort, we leaped
with joy and hope.

And now how shall I describe our sensations as we went bounding along,
hardly touching the ground, until we finally came to the place where it
was not necessary to touch the ground at all? Now we knew that by going
only a little further we should be able to mount our car and set sail
for the earth again. But with this knowledge we lost at once much of
our desire, and thought we would not hasten our departure. Here we were,
absolutely floating in the air, and it maybe believed that the feeling
was as delicious as it was unique. Using our hands as fins we could with
the slightest effort sail around at pleasure, resting in any position we
chose to take, truly a most luxurious experience.

“How shall we make our friends believe all this when we try to tell them
about it, Doctor?” said I.

“The best way to make them believe it,” he replied, “is to bring them
up here and let them try it for themselves. I propose to organize an
expedition on our return and bring up a large party. We could manage to
land somewhere in this vicinity, I think, instead of going up as far as
you and I did. What a place this would be for summer vacations! The moon
is a fixture now; it cannot get away. I am sure of that, for the law of
gravitation will never release it. So we may as well make what use of
it we can, and these delightful sensations will no doubt form the
most important discovery that we shall ever make on this dried-up and
worn-out satellite. You know many people are willing to put themselves
to much inconvenience and to undergo many hardships for the sake of a
change from the monotony of home life. If we can induce them to come
up here for a few weeks, and if they can endure this rather erratic
climate, they will find change enough to break up the monotony for one
year, I think.”

After enjoying this rare exercise to our content, we began preparing
for the night which was now coming on. The doctor had reminded me of my
promise to return to our former position on the moon, and we agreed to
set out the next day. Having fastened our car securely to the ground,
so that we might not drift off toward the earth, we entered it and made
ourselves as comfortable as possible.

Our resting place was near the center of what seemed to be an immense
crater, and some time before morning we were roused by a violent shaking
of the ground beneath us, which startled us beyond expression.

“What’s that?” I exclaimed.

“That feels very much like a moon-quake,” replied my companion.

I was terribly frightened, but resolved to follow the doctor’s example
and make light of what we could not help.

So I said:

“But I thought the lunar volcanoes were all dead ages ago. I hope we
haven’t camped in the crater of one that is likely to go off again.”

“My opinion is,” answered the doctor, “that there is still water inside
the moon which is gradually freezing. That operation would sometimes
crack the surface, and this has probably caused the quaking that we have
felt.”

While we were talking the wind began to blow, and soon, although it was
long before time for the sun to rise, we suddenly emerged from darkness
into bright sunlight. We sprang up instinctively to look about us and
try to discover what this could mean, when what was our consternation to
find ourselves adrift!

There, in full view of our wondering eyes, was the whole, round earth,
hanging in space, and where were we? Then we began to realize gradually
that the trembling of the ground was the grating of the moon against
the earth as it left its resting place, and the wind was caused by our
motion.

The novelty of the situation took away for a time the sense of fear, and
I exclaimed:

“Another scientific certainty gone to smash! I thought you said the moon
could never get away from the earth. What are we going to do now?”

“Well,” replied the doctor, “this is certainly something I never dreamed
of in my philosophy. I didn’t see how the moon could be drawn away from
the earth when once actually attached to it, but I suppose the sun
and planets all happen to be pulling in one direction just now and are
proving too much for the earth’s attraction. But what concerns us more
at this time is covered by your question, ‘What are we going to do now?’
And I will answer that I think we will stick to the moon for a while.
You can see for yourself that we are held here much more firmly than
when we were disporting ourselves in the air yesterday, and the earth
is now too far away for us to throw ourselves and our balloon within its
attraction.”

I knew by the feeling of increasing weight that what my companion said
must be true, but we could not then appreciate the dreadful nature
of our condition, so wrapped up were we in the grandeur of the object
before our eyes. To those who have never been on the moon in such
circumstances it will be impossible to adequately describe our feelings
as we gazed upon our late home and knew that we were fast drifting away
from it.

There the round globe hung, as I had often pictured it in my
imagination--oceans and continents, mountains, lakes, and rivers, all
spread out before us--the greatest object lesson ever seen by the eye
of man. As we studied it, recognizing feature after feature, lands
and waters that we knew by their familiar shape, the doctor broke our
reverie with these words, evidently with the endeavor to keep up my
spirits:

“That looks as natural as a map, doesn’t it? You have seen globes with
those divisions pictured on them, but there is the globe itself. If
our summer tourists could take in this experience also, it would make a
vacation worth having. Isn’t it grand? I see you are thinking about our
personal peril, but I think I know men who would take the risk and put
themselves in our place for the sake of this magnificent view.”

“If you know of any way to send for one of those friends, I wish you
would do so,” I replied. “I would willingly give him my place.”

It may be believed that we were all this time anxiously watching
the earth, and it did not lessen our anxiety to realize that we were
traveling very rapidly away from it. I had reached a point now where I
did not place much dependence upon the doctor’s science, but to get some
expression of his thoughts I said to him:

“Well, have you any opinion about our fate? Are we doomed to pass the
remainder of our lives circling around our dear old earth, looking upon
her face day by day but never to approach her again?”

“I think you have stated the case about as it is,” said he, “if,
indeed, this rate of speed does not carry us entirely beyond the earth’s
attraction, out into illimitable space.”

The thought of such an additional catastrophe silenced me, especially
as I could not deny its possibility. Life on the moon, if we could only
keep the earth in sight even, seemed almost endurable now, beside the
idea that we might be cast out to shift for ourselves, without a
tie save such as the universal law of gravitation might find for us
somewhere.

It must not be imagined that our conversation was carried on with ease
or that we were half enjoying our novel situation. We were simply trying
to make the best of a very bad matter. Not long after we had started the
wind had taken away the balloon part of our air ship, and now threatened
every moment to tear the car from its moorings and end our unhappy
career at once. Besides this impending catastrophe, it was with the
greatest difficulty that we could get air enough to fill our lungs, but
the cold was so intense whenever our side of the moon was turned away
from the sun that we needed the severe labor on our condensers to keep
us from freezing.

Meantime, our speed increasing every hour, the planet that had once been
our home was growing smaller before our eyes. At length we were flying
through space at such a rate that we could not suppress our fears that
the terrible suggestion of the doctor’s would be realized. We had both
made a mental calculation as to how large the earth ought to look from
the moon at its normal distance, and as it approached that size we could
not hide our anxiety from each other. Without a word from the doctor I
could see by his face that hope was fast leaving him, and as we were now
going more rapidly than ever I felt that we had nothing to do but accept
our fate.

In regard to such intensity of feeling at this stage of our experience,
it maybe objected that our condition was hopeless anyway, and it could
make no difference whether we remained within the earth’s influence
or not. But in spite of our desperate situation we had some sentiment
remaining. The earth was the only home we had ever known, and I am not
ashamed to say that we did not like to lose sight of it; especially
as there was not the slightest possibility that we should ever see it
again, unless, indeed, our moon should turn into a comet with eccentric
orbit, and so bring us back at some future day--a very unlikely
occurrence, as all will admit who know anything about moons and comets.

Our speed did not lessen but rather increased as we gradually broke away
from the earth’s attraction, and the dear old earth was fast becoming
a less significant object in our sky. If our situation was lonesome
before, it was now desolation itself.

“Doctor,” said I, when I could control my emotions enough to speak,
“where now?”

“Well,” he replied, with a grim attempt at a smile, “my opinion is not
worth much in our present strange circumstances, but it seems to me we
are on our way either to the sun or one of the large planets.”

I did not reply, and we both soon found it wise to expend no unnecessary
breath in talking. The ether was now so thin that it took oceans of it,
literally, to make enough air to keep us alive.

Our provisions were nearly exhausted, our strength was failing, and
I really believe we would not have lived many days had not something
occurred to divert our minds and to relieve some of our physical
discomforts.




CHAPTER IV.

AND ONE WOMAN.


At the time we tied our car to the rocks, to prevent us from drifting
away from the earth, we did not anticipate that the fastenings would
receive any very severe strain, but now the velocity of the wind was
such that there was great danger of our breaking away. The moon was not
a very hospitable place, to be sure, as we had thus far found it, but
still we preferred it to the alternative of flying off into space in our
glass car and becoming a new species of meteor.

And yet it seemed to be courting instant death to attempt to leave the
car and seek for other shelter. We could not decide which course to
take. Both were so full of peril that there seemed to be no possible
safety in either.

As I review our situation now, and think of us spinning along on that
defunct world we knew not whither, with no ray of light to illumine the
darkness of our future or show us the least chance of escape from our
desperate plight, it is astonishing to me that we did not give up all
hope and lie down and die at once. It only shows what the human body
can endure and of what stuff our minds are made. I think it would not be
making a rash statement to say that no man ever found himself in a worse
situation and survived.

But help was nearer than we supposed. From what we had seen of the
moon we could not have imagined a more unexpected thing than that
which happened to us then. Suddenly, above the roar of the wind and the
thumping of our car on the rocks, even above the tumult of our spirits,
there came to us the strains of more than earthly music. Whether it was
from voice or instrument we could not tell, and in its sweetness and
power it was absolutely indescribable. At first we did not try to
discover its source but were content to sit and quietly enjoy it, as it
fell gently upon us, pervading our whole being and so filling us with
courage and strength that we seemed to be transformed into new men.

Then, wondering if we could discover from whence the notes came, we
turned and looked about us, when there was revealed to us a vision of
beauty which filled and satisfied the sense of sight as completely as
our ears had been enchanted with the angelic music.

Not far from our car, with her flowing garments nearly torn from her in
the fierceness of the gale, was a young girl, stretching out her hands
imploringly toward us and pouring forth her voice in that exquisite
song. We soon discovered it was not for herself that she was anxious,
but for us; for when she observed that she had attracted our attention
she smiled and turned to go back the way she had come, beckoning us
with hand and eye to follow her, and still singing her sweet but
unintelligible words. Perhaps I flattered myself, but I thought she
was looking at me more than at my companion, and I began with great
eagerness to unfasten the door of the car.

“Wait!” cried the doctor. “Where are you going?”

I could not stop an instant, but answered with feeling:

“Going? I am going wherever she is going. I’ll follow her to the end of
the moon if necessary, though the surface be everywhere as bleak as our
own north pole.”

“Well,” he replied, “if it is such a desperate case as that, I’ll have
to go along to take care of you.”

I found that when such a woman beckons and such a voice calls there is
but one thing to do. The sirens were not to be mentioned in comparison.
Twenty thousand hurricanes could not have prevented me from attempting
to follow where she led as long as I had breath.

We reached the ground in safety, and with the greatest difficulty made
our way in the footsteps of our guide, leaving all our possessions
behind us, to the doctor’s murmured regret. And now the words of
the singer seemed to take on a joyous meaning, and we could almost
distinguish her invitation to follow her to a place where the wind did
not blow and where our present troubles would be over. She kept well in
the lead but walked only as fast as our strength would allow, looking
back constantly to encourage us with her smile and ravishing one heart
at least with the melody of her song.

Presently we came to the edge of an immense crater, hundreds of feet
deep and as empty and cold as all the others we had seen on the moon.
Instead of going around this, our leader chose a narrow ravine and took
us down the steep side to the bottom of the crater. We supposed she did
this just to give us protection from the wind, and we were very much
sheltered, but she did not stop here. Entering one of the many fissures
in the rocks, she led us into a narrow passage whose floor descended
so rapidly and whose solid roof shut out the light so quickly that in
ordinary circumstances we would have hesitated about proceeding.
But, although it was soon absolutely dark, we kept on, guided by that
marvelous voice, now our sole inspiration.

“Come, come, fear no harm,” it seemed to say, and we were content to
follow blindly, even the doctor no longer objecting.

[Illustration: “POURING FORTH HER VOICE IN THAT EXQUISITE SONG.”]

How many hours we proceeded in this way, going down, down, all the
time, toward the center of the globe, I have no means of telling; but I
distinctly remember that we began, after a time, to find, to our great
joy, that the air was becoming denser and we could breathe quite freely.
This gave us needed strength and justified the faith with which our
mysterious deliverer had filled us.

At length we were gladdened by a glimmer of light ahead of us, which
increased until our path was all illumined with a beautiful soft haze.
Soon the way broadened and grew still brighter, and then we were led
forth into an open street, which seemed to be part of a small village.
There were but few houses, and even these, although they showed signs
of a former grandeur, were sadly in need of care. Not a creature of any
kind was stirring, and in our hasty review the whole place looked as
if it might have been deserted by its inhabitants for a hundred years.
There was one spot, however, so retired as to be entirely hidden from
our view at first, which had anything but a deserted appearance. The
house was small, but it was a perfect bower of beauty, half-concealed
with a mass of flowers and vines. Here our journey ended, for our guide
led us to the door and, entering, turned and invited us to follow her.

The doctor and I were tired enough to accept with eagerness her
hospitality, and soon we were all seated in a pleasant room, which was
filled with the evidences of a refined taste. Now we had a much better
opportunity to observe the resplendent beauty of our new friend, and we
found, also, that her manners were as captivating as her other personal
qualities. At intervals, all through our long walk, her song had ceased
and we expected she would make some attempt to speak to us; but being
disappointed in this, it struck me after we had entered the house that
I ought to end the embarrassment by addressing her. The circumstances
of our meeting were peculiar, to say the least, and, of all the thousand
things I might have appropriately said, nothing could have been more
meaningless or have better shown the vacant condition of my mind than
the words I chose.

“It’s a fine day,” I said, looking square in her eyes and trying to
speak pleasantly.

In answer she gave me a smile which almost deprived me of what little
wit remained, and at the same time emitted one exquisite note.

I was now at the end of my resources. I had always thought I could talk
on ordinary topics as well as the average man, but in the presence of
this girl, with everything in the world unsaid, I could not think of one
word to say. The doctor soon saw my predicament and hastened to
assist me, and the remark which he selected shows again his wonderful
self-possession in the midst of overwhelming difficulties. He waved his
hand gently toward me to attract her attention and said:

“My friend and I are from the United States and have come to make you a
visit. This is your home, I suppose, away down here in the middle of the
moon? It is very kind of you to bring us here. I hope you will excuse me
for my rudeness, but what time do you have supper?”

This time three little notes of the same quality as before and then
a little trill, and the whole accompanied by a smile so sweet that I
suddenly began to wish the doctor had been blown off the top of the
moon. It was a wicked thought and I put it away from me as quickly
as possible, being assisted by the recollection that the doctor had a
charming wife already, who was no doubt thinking of him at this very
moment.

We were not making much progress in opening conversation, but our
charming hostess seemed to understand either the doctor’s words or his
looks, for, stepping into another room, she called us presently to sit
down to a table well supplied with plain but substantial food. She soon
made us feel quite at home, just by her easy and agreeable ways. We did
not once hear her voice in ordinary speech, and at length we began to
suspect, what we afterward learned to be true, that she talked as the
birds talk, only in song. Whether she used her language or ours she
would always sing or chant her words, and every expression was perfect
in rhythm and melody.

The doctor and I hesitated to say much to each other, out of deference
to the feelings of this fair lunarian, but he took occasion to remark to
me quietly that as she could not tell us her name just yet he proposed
to call her Mona [Footnote: _Mona_ is old Saxon for _moon_.] for the
present. I assented easily, as it made little difference to me what we
called her, if she would only remain with us.

It happened that the doctor, who knew everything, was well acquainted
with dactylology and the latest sign language, used in the instruction
of deaf mutes, and as it seemed likely that our stay in our present
abode might be a prolonged one, he told me he would try to teach Mona to
converse with us. I could not object, although I secretly wished I could
have taken the place of instructor. But it soon occurred to me that I
must be a fellow pupil, if we were all to talk in that way; and so,
with this bond of sympathy established between us, Mona and I began our
lessons.

During the closing years of the century great progress had been made, on
the earth, in the method of talking by arbitrary signs and motions.
The movements of the body and limbs and the great variety of facial
expressions were all so well adapted to the ideas to be represented that
it was comparatively easy for an intelligent person to learn to make
known many of his thoughts. As our studies progressed day after day
it began to dawn on me that Mona, in spite of the disadvantage of not
knowing our spoken language, was learning faster than I was. I was
somewhat chagrined at this at first, but it finally turned out to my
advantage, for the doctor announced one day that Mona had acquired all
he knew and could thenceforth teach me if I pleased. Here was a bond
of sympathy that I had not looked for, but I was glad enough to avail
myself of it, and delighted to find that Mona was also pleased with
the plan. With her for a teacher it did not take me long to finish.
Her graceful movements made poetry of the language, and the web she was
weaving around my heart was strengthened every hour.

As Mona gradually learned to express herself to our comprehension we
began to ask her questions about herself and her history. The doctor,
being less under the spell of her charms than I was, showed a greater
curiosity, and one of the first things he asked was:

“When do you expect the other members of your family home?”

Mona was at first puzzled, but saw his meaning as soon as the motions
were repeated, and answered with a few simple signs:

“I have no friends to come home. I am alone.”

The expression we put into our faces told her of our sorrow and sympathy
better than any words, and the doctor continued:

“But these other houses! Surely they are not all empty?”

“Yes,” she replied, “their inmates are all gone. I am the only
inhabitant left.”

And then she told us from time to time that there were no other villages
anywhere in the moon and that she was absolutely the last of her race.
Our method of conversation was not free enough to allow her to tell us
how she had discovered the truth of this astounding information, and
there were a thousand other questions for whose answers we were obliged
to wait, but not forever.

The doctor and I talked freely to each other now, and playfully said
a great many things to Mona, who, though she did not understand them,
laughed with us and gave us much pleasure with her easy, unembarrassed
manner and piquant ways. And she not only jabbered away with hands and
face in the manner we had taught her, but she did not cease also to make
life bright for us by repaying us in our own coin and talking to us in
her natural, delicious way. With such music in the house life could not
be dull.

My infatuation increased as the days went by, and I began to seek every
possible occasion to be alone with Mona. I often encouraged the doctor
to go out and learn what he could of our surroundings, excusing myself
from bearing him company on the ground that I did not think it safe to
leave Mona alone. Or if Mona wanted to go out I would suggest to the
doctor that I needed the exercise also, and that he really ought to
be writing down our experiences while he had leisure, as there was no
telling how soon the moon would land us somewhere.

I did not then know whether the doctor saw through my designs or not.
I thought not, for I did not suppose he was ever so deeply in love as
I was. But if he did he was good enough to take my little hints and say
nothing.

On these occasions, whether Mona and I remained in the house or walked
abroad, I wasted no time in asking her more questions about the moon or
such trivial matters, but spent all my efforts in trying to establish
closer personal relations between us. While she was exceedingly pleasant
and agreeable, she did not seem to understand my feeling exactly,
although I tried in every way to show her my heart. She was not
coquettish, but perfectly unaffected, and simply did not realize my
meaning. For once the sign language did not prove adequate; and so, as
my feelings would not be controlled, I was fain to resort to my natural
tongue, and poured forth my love to my own satisfaction if not to her
comprehension. I did not stint the words, astonishing myself at the
fullness of my vocabulary, and hoping that the fervor of my manner and
the passion exhibited in my voice would make the right impression on my
companion.

Day after day, as opportunity offered, I returned to the same theme.
Mona was sympathetic in her own charming way, but apparently not
affected in the manner I was looking for. And still, “I love you, I love
you,” was repeated in her ears a thousand times. The fact that she did
not understand the words made me all the more voluble, and I lavished my
affectionate terms upon her without restraint.

One day, after this had been going on for some time, the doctor came in
from a walk and found us together as usual. He had a rare blossom in
his hand, and stepping to Mona’s side he offered it to her with some
gallantry. She accepted it with a beaming countenance which set my
heart to thumping, and then she burst forth in a strain so sweet that
it thrilled my whole being and roused in me again that jealous fear that
Mona was learning to care more for the doctor than for me. But how
shall I describe my emotions when she suddenly blended syllables of
our language with the accents of her song, and, still looking into the
doctor’s eyes, closed her entrancing melody with the burning words, “I
love you”?

I wonder how other men have borne such a shock as that. It seemed to me
that by simply living during the next few minutes I was proving myself
stronger than others. And I was able to think, too. It occurred to me
that perhaps Mona was merely a parrot, repeating, with no perception of
their meaning, words which she had so often heard from me. But this idea
passed swiftly away when I remembered the warmth of her expression and
the ardor of her manner, both of which, alas, she had also learned from
me.

As I recovered somewhat from the effects of the blow I found Mona’s eyes
were fixed on me, and she looked so innocent, so entirely unconscious
of wrong, that if I had any anger in my heart it melted away and left
me more her slave than ever. There was something in her behavior which
I could not comprehend, and it was evident that she had not yet acquired
any particular fondness for me, but these were not sufficient reasons
to make me cease to care for her. My love was too strong to give her up,
even after I had just heard her declare, in such a passionate way, her
love for another. These thoughts passed through my mind as she beamed
upon me in her radiant beauty, smiling as sweetly as ever, as if to
encourage me still to live and hope.

But how did the doctor receive this remarkable love-song? Like the
philosopher he was. Being astonished beyond measure at what he had
heard, he sat and pondered the subject for some minutes. What chiefly
interested him was not the personal element in Mona’s words, which was
so vital a point to me, but the fact that she could make use of any
words of our language. The possibilities which this fact opened up to
him were of the greatest moment. If Mona could learn to talk freely
she would be able to give us much information that would be of great
scientific value. After he had pursued these thoughts a while it
suddenly struck him that the expression she had used was a singular one
to begin with, and he turned to me and laughingly said:

“You must have taught her those words. I did not.”

“I shall have to acknowledge it,” I replied, “but I assure you I did not
influence her to make such use of them.”

“No, I suppose not; but that question is of small account beside the
knowledge that Mona has begun to learn our speech. Now let us give all
our attention to her instruction.”

We did so from that hour, the doctor from high motives of philosophy and
philanthropy, while I was actuated by more selfish reasons. Although
I had learned that I had been too hasty in my attempt to gain Mona’s
affections I did not despair of success. I should have to take time and
approach the citadel of her untutored heart with more caution. In the
pleasant task of teaching her the intricacies of the English language
I anticipated many delightful opportunities of leading her into the
Elysian fields of romance. If she could learn to understand fully my
intense feeling for her I had no doubt she would return my passion. With
such a hopeful spirit does the love god inspire his happy victims.

In order to assist in the realization of these rosy fore-thoughts, I
suggested to the doctor that each of us should take his turn in Mona’s
instruction, so as to make it as easy and informal for her as possible.
He had no objections to make, and we began a task which proved to be
much simpler than we had imagined. Mona had heard us talk so much
that she had half-learned a great many words and expressions, and her
remarkable quickness of intellect helped her to pick up their meaning
rapidly as soon as we gave her systematic aid. Hence it was not long
before she began to converse with considerable freedom.

From the first the doctor and I had been curious to know if she
would give up the musical tone and simply talk as we did, and we were
pleasantly surprised to find that her song was not interrupted by the
form of words she used. Whatever the phrase she wanted to employ she
turned it into verse on the instant and chanted it forth in perfect
melody. So spontaneous was every expression that her very thoughts
seemed to be framed in harmony. Her voice was not obtrusive nor
monotonous and generally not loud, but was always well adapted to the
sense of what she was singing. The tones mostly used in conversation
were low and sweet, like rippling water, but these were constantly
varied by the introduction of notes of greater power and range.

To have such use made of our rugged speech was a revelation to us, and
words, as we employ them, are inadequate to express our enjoyment of
Mona’s song, when to its former beauty was added the clear enunciation
of language that we could understand.

It was through this rare medium that the doctor and I learned, from day
to day, something of the history of Mona’s race. The surface of the moon
had once been peopled, as we supposed, but as the day of decay and death
approached the outside of the globe became too inhospitable to longer
support life. The interior had cooled and contracted, and as the solid
crust was rigid enough to keep its place, great, sublunar caverns had
been formed. Into these rushed the water and the atmosphere, accompanied
by the few remaining inhabitants. The conditions were not favorable, in
such places, to the continuation of the race, although their advanced
knowledge in every direction prevented them from melting away suddenly.

Settlements had been formed in many different sections of the moon,
and interior communication was established between them. As the people
gradually passed away, those who remained naturally drew nearer together
until at last the remnant of the population of the globe were all
gathered in the little village where we were now living. Here the
process still went on, and year after year saw a constantly diminishing
number. A few years before our arrival Mona’s last companion, a girl
of her own age, had died, and ever since then this tuneful creature,
possessed of the most sunny disposition we had ever known, had lived
alone, with the knowledge that there was not another living being in all
the moon.

“So you see,” she sang, “I was as glad to find you as you were to hear
me.”

“But,” asked the doctor, “how did you know we were out there, nearly
ready to be blown off into space?”

“I didn’t know it till I saw you. I went out to try to discover what
was the matter with my old world. For some time I had had the queerest
sensations imaginable. I was accustomed to being out of doors a great
deal, and I first began to notice that I could walk and run more easily
than before. I was becoming rather sprightly for one who was so soon
to pass off this deserted stage. Then everything I took up seemed to
be growing marvelously light, and I began to have a feeling that I must
hold on to all my movable possessions, to keep them from getting away.
After this unaccountable state of things had existed for a while, there
came, one day, a terrible shock, which threatened to crack the moon’s
skull and rattle its fragments down upon my head. This was followed at
intervals by similar or lighter shocks, and it was all so exceedingly
unusual that I became very curious to know what was happening. Then all
was quiet for many days, but when at length the quakings began again my
natural instinct of self-preservation told me I ought not to take the
risk of another such siege, and so I started to make my way to the
surface by a well-known path. The trouble did not continue as I feared,
but I kept on, fortunately for you as well as for myself, and found
the outside world too uncomfortable a place for any of us to remain in
longer than necessary.”

This halting prose represents the meaning of what Mona said, but it
gives a feeble idea of the beauty of her poetic expressions, chanted in
melodious phrase and in ever-changing, ever-joyous tune.

We replied by explaining to her what had happened to her disjointed
world, expressing our gratitude also for her kindness in bringing us to
her sheltered home.




CHAPTER V.

OUR INTRODUCTION TO MARS.


Ever since the doctor had been inside of the moon he had not ceased
to regret that we had left all our goods in the car of our balloon. He
mourned the loss of the instruments and other apparatus which had
cost him so much care, and then there were our official papers. Our
introduction to Mona had been rather too informal, and we thought
we might stand better with her if we could show her our credentials,
though, to be sure, she could not read them.

Several times the doctor proposed to me that we should go out and bring
in what we could carry if, perchance, we should find the wind had left
us anything. But I had my own reasons for preferring to remain where we
were. I was happy and was expecting every day to be happier still, and
so I put the doctor off by reminding him that the weather was very bad
outside and that we had been glad enough to get in with our lives.

I think he would have agreed with me and would have been contented to
stay if the question had been left entirely to ourselves. But Mona heard
us talking it over one day and said we could go without much risk if we
cared to try it, and she would go with us to take care of us.

Although it would be difficult to tell how Mona could help us when we
were outside, this idea sounded so assuring that the doctor determined
to make the attempt. I was obliged to acquiesce, fearing, in my
ignorance of all that was to happen to us, that the trip would keep me
too much from Mona’s side.

After due preparation we started, and reached the upper end of the long
passage without incident. But as we emerged we noticed that the light
had a peculiar tinge of red, quite different from its usual tone.
Meditating on this phenomenon, and speaking to each other as we could
find breath, we ascended the side of the crater, when there burst upon
our view a magnificent world, apparently but a little way off. Its ruddy
face showed us plainly what had caused the red light, and the doctor
made haste to exclaim:

“Aha! let me introduce you to the planet Mars.”

“Yes,” I replied, “and we may become too well acquainted before a great
while if our rapid flight is not checked.”

We soon found our car just as we had left it, and were glad to take
advantage of its shelter. In the new danger which loomed up before us
so threateningly, we all agreed that it would be rash to return into
the interior of the moon, to be crushed to death in the shock of the
impending collision; and yet, in remaining where we were, the doctor and
I felt that no reputable insurance company would call our lives a very
good risk.

But now was our opportunity to witness some of the depths of Mona’s
character. What was there in her nature so entirely different from
anything we had ever known? We had seen persons of cheerful disposition
before, and had heard of many exhibitions of courage and indifference
to danger, but here we had the very personification of fearlessness and
contentment. She talked freely of our situation and of what was likely
to happen, but appeared to be as light-hearted as ever, and her song was
just as cheerful as it had been in her quiet home. When we asked her
if she were not afraid, she replied that there was no such word in her
language and she could not appreciate its meaning.

“Fear,” said the doctor, “is a feeling excited by the apprehension of
danger.”

“I think I know about the danger we are in,” she answered, “but I have
not the feeling you are trying to describe. When I was alone in my
underground village and thought the roof was about to fall down and bury
me there, I had no fear, as you say. I know that whatever has come to me
or to any of my race has always been for our good, and I am sure it
will be so in the future. I have but a short time to remain as the sole
inhabitant of this now useless globe, and the manner of my taking off is
not of the slightest moment. This old world’s day is now passed, and
I realize in that fact the reason for its unseemly behavior, first
knocking its toughened crust so rudely against the earth and then
coquetting in this manner with Mars. It certainly no longer shows any
respect for the race it has nourished, and hence I see that my day, too,
will soon be over. Whatever may be your fate you will doubtless see no
more of me after this excursion is ended.”

In the light of history this seemed extremely probable, and yet Mona
was not half as concerned about it as I was. I thought she ought to have
shown more anxiety about her future for my sake if not for her own, and
I ventured to say, although in a rather doleful tone:

“I hope, Mona, if the doctor and I are freed from this peril that you
will escape with us. If I thought there was no hope of that, I am sure
I should propose that we return at once to the middle of the moon and be
buried together.”

She laughed aloud as she sang out in joyous notes:

“Your mournful voice, my ardent friend, makes me think you would not be
very happy with the last alternative. But cheer up, we will all stand by
each other to the last.” It was in her abounding good nature and in her
faculty for inspiring us with her own hopeful disposition that we found
Mona fulfilling her promise to take care of us.

But now our attention could not be diverted from the planet which was
rapidly growing before our eyes. As we approached nearer and nearer
every minute, flying at such a terrific rate and aimed, apparently, for
a direct collision, it may be imagined that the doctor and I, in spite
of Mona’s presence, began to be exceedingly anxious lest our journey and
our lives should meet an abrupt and common end.

Unless such excursions as ours become more frequent in the future, it
will probably always remain a mystery how this one came to a close.
I can only relate our experience during the time that we retained our
consciousness, and leave the imagination to picture the rest. As we
entered the atmosphere of the planet, the rush of air increased till it
seemed as if a hundred Niagaras were sounding in our ears. I remember
having a dim feeling of satisfaction in the belief that such a violent
contact with the atmosphere must impede the moon’s progress, and offer
us some chance of landing in safety. Then I was bereft of all sense, and
when I regained consciousness I was lying in the bottom of our car in
perfect quiet and apparently unharmed.

I called aloud for the doctor, but no voice replied. Rising, I looked
about me and found I was afloat on a ruddy sea, alone, as far as my
senses could inform me, alone in a new world. Such a sensation of
homesickness came over me, such a longing for human fellowship, that our
former lonesome condition on the moon seemed like a paradise compared to
my present wretchedness.

So this was Mars, which we had studied with our telescopes and about
whose condition and history we had so often speculated. And now, as I
leaned my elbows on the edge of the car and gazed off over the deep, I
wondered, with more interest than I had ever before possessed, if the
world I had discovered were inhabited. Perhaps because it was such a
vital question with me, my naturally hopeful disposition began to find
reasons for a cheerful view. There were certainly favorable evidences
all about me. I was breathing an atmosphere evidently made for lungs
like mine. The air was soft and pleasant, and though I was drenched with
water by my fall I was not uncomfortable. I tasted the water and, oh!
joyful reminder of home, it was salt. The sun shed a beautiful light
around me, and as I glanced upward to see how bright and cheerful the
sky was, my reverie was suddenly broken off, for directly over my head,
poised as quietly as if it had always been there, was our old moon. It
seemed but a few miles away and I gazed at it with mixed feelings, with
thankfulness that I had escaped from its inhospitable surface with
my life, and with scorn for its present behavior. For there it was,
apparently perfectly at home and ready to bear the torch for Mars as
faithfully as it always had for the earth, its rightful mistress.

“Inconstancy,” I cried, “thy name is Luna.”

[Illustration: THORWALD DISCOVERS ONE OF THE EARTH-DWELLERS.]

When the novelty of this sensational discovery was gone, my mind
returned to the contemplation of myself, and my situation seemed to me
so unique as to remove some of the natural feeling of fear. When one is
shipwrecked in the ordinary way his anxiety is caused by the uncertainty
that anyone will come to his rescue; while in my case I did not even
know there was anyone to come. But when I looked up at the moon and
remembered its erratic climate and our wild, unearthly journey, I could
not suppress a feeling of satisfaction with my changed condition. If
the doctor had only been with me we would have been able to extract
considerable comfort from our surroundings. But, as it was, I was very
lonesome, and whatever consolation I got from my reasoning about the
planet’s habitability was increased a thousand fold by seeing a speck
upon the horizon, which I hoped might prove to be a sail. I watched
it with intense interest, and was not disappointed. I will not try to
describe my feelings as this ship of Mars approached me, while I sat
wondering what manner of men I should see. The first thing that struck
me was the enormous size of the craft, and as it drew near I could see
that it was manned by beings proportionately large. I now began to fear
I should be run down, but soon I noticed one of the passengers or crew
who seemed to be looking at me through a glass. In a little while the
vessel slowed up, and a boat was put off in which a number of giants,
including the man with the glass, rowed toward me. When they had nearly
reached me I heard the latter say to the others:

“Yes, this is surely the little fellow we are searching for.”

I could not imagine what he meant by this, although it occurred to me
that it was a pleasant thing to have him speak good, plain English; but
the other circumstances were so entirely novel that, instead of opening
the conversation with some conventional remark, like a sensible person,
I burst out with:

“But Proctor says Mars has passed its life-bearing period.”

I hardly knew what I said, but it proved that they were just the words
to commend me to my new friend, for as he reached over and lifted me
into the boat he said:

“Why, how did you know Proctor? You must have misunderstood him, for he
would never say such a thing as that.”

While I was puzzling over this strange speech he continued:

“I think we have some one in the ship whom you will be glad to see.”

I began to fear I should not get on very well in Mars if all the
inhabitants talked in such riddles, but I said, as politely as I could:

“I am sure I need not wait to get to the ship to be pleased. I am
delighted to see you and your companions here.”

While we were returning to the vessel I gave Thorwald, for such I found
to be his name, a brief account of our journey on the moon and of my
mysterious arrival on their planet. I expatiated on the merits of the
doctor, and told Thorwald that he was probably still on the moon or else
at the bottom of their ocean.

I was thinking that Thorwald did not show much sympathy with me, when,
our boat having nearly reached the ship’s side, I looked up and saw the
doctor himself standing on the deck, a pigmy among giants. I was soon by
his side, and we embraced before our new-found friends without a blush.

“Where’s Mona?” were the first words he said.

“Mona!” I replied. “Who’s Mona?”

“Who’s Mona?” he returned. “Well, you have recovered pretty rapidly.”

I now discovered that, although I had found the body of my friend, the
best part of him was missing. In the fall from the moon he had evidently
lost his wits. I thought I would not let him know too suddenly what was
the matter, and so I merely said:

“Yes, I went into the water, but was not much hurt. When I came to my
senses I found myself in our car still. Tell me how you escaped.”

“Oh, I happened to fall near this ship, fortunately, and they picked me
up, and then, at my request, they set out to search for you and Mona.”

“Well,” said I, “you found me, and I am very thankful for it, but Mona I
fear you will never see.”

“What was the last you saw of her?” he asked.

I had great difficulty in keeping myself from laughing in the doctor’s
face at his odd fancy, but the thought came to me with some force that I
must not let his mental condition become known to the men of Mars around
us; and so, instead of replying to his question, I turned to Thorwald
and asked him if he could tell us how the moon had landed us so easily
on their planet.

In answer he gave it as his opinion that as the moon came rushing toward
them so swiftly it compressed the air in its path to such a degree
that it acted as a cushion, preventing a collision and sending the moon
bounding back over the path by which it had come. Probably at the moment
when it was nearest the surface, we had fallen off into the ocean.
The rebound, he supposed, was not sufficient to carry it beyond the
attraction of the planet, and so it poised itself and began to make a
revolution around Mars in its old-fashioned way.

Thorwald told us we had taken the best possible time to visit them, for
Mars had not been so near the earth before in a great while.

Our new acquaintances were from nine to ten feet tall and
proportionately large every other way, so that they appeared quite
monstrous to us. But they were agile and even graceful in their
movements, while in manner they were so gentle and pleasing that we
recognized at once their high culture.

The vessel was soon under way and made rapid progress, and though our
voyage was not very long, it proved to be an exceedingly profitable one
to the doctor and me, for we learned more, through conversation with our
new friends, about the history and condition of Mars than we could have
gained in any other way. The men were all kind to us and seemed to be
all equally able to impart information, but most of our intercourse was
with Thorwald. He gave us much of his time, at intervals as he could be
spared from work, for every man helped at the service of the ship. There
seemed to be no system of leadership, but all appeared to know what was
to be done, and did it without orders and without clashing.

As we entered into conversation about the earth and Mars, I was
surprised to find the doctor taking his full share in it with his usual
intelligence. His questions and answers were all so pertinent that I
should have supposed his mind was entirely unaffected, had I not known
to the contrary. When I saw he could hold his own so well, I determined
to take the first opportunity when we were alone to ask him again who
Mona was.




CHAPTER VI

A REMARKABLE PEOPLE.


The conversation with our new friends was not all on one side, for we
had many questions to answer about the earth, the Martian mind showing
as great a thirst for knowledge as ours. One of the first things
Thorwald said after we had settled down to a good talk was:

“But, Doctor, your little head is so full of thought that it seems to me
you ought not to have been surprised to find us so large here. You knew
before you came that Mars is much smaller than the earth and, therefore,
the attraction of gravitation being less, that everything can grow more
easily. Things may as well be one size as another if only they are well
adapted to each other, and we would never have known we were large or
that you were small had we not been brought together. In the sight of
Him who made both the earth and Mars, and fashioned one for you and the
other for us, we are neither great nor small. In fact, size is never
absolute but only relative.”

“That is very clear to us now,” said the doctor, “and I promise not to
be surprised again, even when I walk the streets of your cities and see
you in your houses.”

“Then, Doctor,” said I, “if we had found inhabitants on the moon what
great folks they must have seemed to us.”

This was an exceedingly foolish remark for me to make, for it resulted
in the doctor’s almost betraying his condition to our friends.

Of course Thorwald was interested in what I said, and eagerly inquired:

“So you found no inhabitants in the moon?”

“Just one,” spoke up the doctor quickly.

“What! you found one and left him there?”

“It was a woman,” said the doctor.

This talk had been so rapid that I had not had a chance to interfere,
but I saw that I must stop it now for the doctor’s sake. When I could
see him alone I could tell him his memory was playing him a trick and he
must avoid that subject. So, before Thorwald could speak again, I said:

“Let me suggest, Thorwald, that we let the moon rest till we have heard
more of Mars, which I am sure is of greater importance. We have told you
many things in regard to our planet, and are willing to answer all the
questions you may please to ask from time to time, but now we would like
to listen a while.”

“Yes,” said the doctor, “we started on this expedition to add to our
scientific knowledge, and we seem in a fair way to accomplish our
purpose; so that, if you will find a way to send us back to the earth
some time, I think our friends will admit that we have been successful.
But first we want to learn all we can about this wonderful world. How
long has your race existed? Our astronomers tell us Mars is too old
to be inhabited, and, considering some of my own recent experiences in
finding my science unreliable, it rather consoles me to discover that
they are mistaken.”

“They are right,” Thorwald answered, “in believing that Mars is very
old, and so our race is nearing its maturity. It is impossible to
judge accurately of the age of the planet itself, but we know it is
exceedingly old from the evidences of changes that have taken place on
its surface. Neither can we tell when our race was born, though we have
legends and traditions dating back fifty thousand years, and authentic
history for nearly half that time.”

The doctor and myself now began to realize that we had indeed something
to learn from these people, and I remarked:

“These figures astonish us, Thorwald, and you can hardly understand how
interested we are. But please continue. From what little I have seen
I should think you are much farther advanced in everyway than the
inhabitants of the earth.”

“We believe,” replied the Martian, “that our planet is much older
than the earth, and if we are right in that it is but natural that our
civilization should be older also. If the tendency of mind is toward
perfection, if in your experience you have found that, in the main, men
look upward more than downward, what would you expect to find in a world
so beautiful as this and where life has existed so long? From what we
know of our own history and from what we have learned of the worlds
around us, we believe the life-bearing period of Mars has long since
passed its middle point, and that both our planet and our race have
passed through convulsions and changes to which other worlds, perhaps
the earth, are now subjected.”

This appeared so reasonable that I said to him:

“We must believe that Mars is an afternoon planet. And now we want to
hear whatever you may choose to tell us about your civilization.”

“That is a broad subject,” replied Thorwald, “but it is something I like
to talk about. If I judge rightly of what you have already told me of
the earth and its people, I think we were in just about your situation
ages ago and that we have merely matured. That is, the causes now
at work on the earth are having in us their legitimate effect. These
processes are slow but sure. To the Infinite time is of no more
importance in itself than is size.

“I know of no better topic to begin with,” continued Thorwald, “than the
matter of government. You wondered at the peculiar discipline on board
this ship. It is but a type of what you will find on land. We have
no government in its strict sense, for there is no one that needs
governing. We have organization for mutual help in many ways, but no
rulers nor legislators. The only government is that of the family. Here
character is formed so that when the children go forth into the world no
one desires to wrong his neighbor. We know from our histories of all
the struggles our ancestors passed through before the days of universal
peace and brotherhood. Now we go and come as we please, with no fear of
harm. We are all one nation because all national boundaries have
been obliterated, and we have a common language. There are no laws
of compulsion or restraint, for all do by instinct what is best for
themselves and their neighbors.”

“Oh, happy Mars!” here broke in the usually prosaic doctor. “That sounds
like a story. And yet what is it,” he continued, addressing me, “but
the effect of perfect obedience to our golden rule? If men should really
learn to do to others as they would have others do to them, what a
transformation it would accomplish.”

“So that is what you call the golden rule, is it?” asked Thorwald. “And
are you all trying to live by it?”

“Well,” I replied, “that is what many of us profess to be doing, but I
must say we fall far, very far short of the mark. I do not know a single
inhabitant of the earth, with the possible exception of my companion
here, who fully obeys that command.”

The doctor’s smile was not lost on Thorwald, who replied:

“It was rather too bad of you to bring so far away from the earth the
only good man the planet contained; but I am glad to know the golden
rule, as you may well call it, has been given to men. We have had
the same here, and, oh! if I could make you realize something of the
struggle our race has had in working it into life and practice, you
would gain some hope for the people of the earth. I mean, the result of
this struggle would give you hope, for I am not ashamed to say that
we are now living up to the full requirements of this law, and if you
should spend the remainder of your lives with us I am sure you would not
find my statement untrue. It is only by actually loving our neighbors
as ourselves that we are able to live as we do. The law of love has
replaced the law of force. It is well for you to understand this at
the beginning, for it is the secret of our wonderful success in all the
higher forms of civilization.”

“It must have helped you greatly,” said I, “in the matter of which you
have just been speaking, that of government.”

“Yes, it has,” he replied. “In our histories we have full accounts of
the long course of events when we were divided into hundreds of nations,
each with its own pride and ambition, and each striving to build up
itself upon the misfortunes or the ruins of its neighbors. You can
perhaps imagine what a mass of material we have for reading and study.”

“We can,” spoke up the student doctor, “and it fairly makes my mouth
water. But tell us briefly, Thorwald, how you ever passed from those
troublous times to the blissful state in which we now find you.”

“The transition was exceedingly slow; it seemed, in fact, impossible
that such a change could ever be effected. But it began with the
establishment of universal peace, which was demanded by the growing
spirit of brotherly love, and assisted by commercial reciprocity and a
world language. Gradually national boundaries were found to be only an
annoyance, and in time--a long time, of course--we became one nation
and finally no nation. For now no one exercises any authority over his
neighbors, since the need for all artificial distinctions has long since
passed away.”

“Then,” said I, “you have no doubt lost all fear and anxiety over the
conflicting interests of capital and labor.”

“Yes,” replied Thorwald, “for we have no such distinctions in society as
rich and poor, workingmen and capitalists. We all work as we please,
but there is so little to do that no one is burdened, and one cannot be
richer than another because all the material bounties of nature and art
are common to all, being as free as the air. I suppose, as this seems to
be strange talk to you, that you cannot realize what it is to belong to
a society where everyone considers the interests of his neighbor as much
as his own. You will find when you reach that point that most of your
troubles will be gone, as ours are.”

“Our troubles!” said the doctor. “Many of our troubles, to be sure,
arise from our passions and appetites--in other words, from our
selfishness--and these will no doubt disappear when we reach that
blessed state of which you have spoken, a condition prayed for and
dimly expected by many of our race. But other troubles of ours come from
sickness and severe toil, from accidents, famines, and the convulsions
of nature. How, for example, can you have escaped the latter, unless,
indeed, God has helped those who have so wisely helped themselves?”

“Your last thought is right,” answered our friend. “Nature has certainly
assisted us. While the crust of the planet was thin we know the central
fires heaved and shook the ground and burst forth from the mountains,
causing great destruction and keeping the world in fear. We do not know
how thick the crust of the planet now is, but nothing has been felt of
those inner convulsions for many ages. One of our feats of engineering
has been to see how far we could penetrate into the surface of the
globe. A well of vast size has been dug, the temperature being carefully
noted and observations made of the many different substances passed
through--water, coal, gas, oil, and all kinds of mineral deposits. The
work has progressed from one generation to another, and no one can tell
when it will be called finished, as it is determined to dig toward the
center of the planet as fast as our ever-increasing skill will permit.”

“Did you find out how thick the crust is?” I asked.

“No,” he answered, “we are not much nearer the solution of that question
than before, but we have made valuable discoveries as to what the crust
is composed of. The temperature has gradually, though slowly, increased,
and we believe the time will come when the work will have to be
abandoned on account of the heat. We have gone far enough to know that
when the fuel on the surface of our globe is all used up we shall only
have to tap the center to get all the heat we want.”

“What a capital idea that will be,” I interrupted, “to throw at some of
our pessimistic friends on the earth, Doctor.”

“We see now, Thorwald,” my companion said, “that your planet is too old
to give you any more trouble from earthquake and volcano, but how about
other natural phenomena, the tempest and cyclone for example?”

“Well,” replied Thorwald, “we have a theory that time, the great healer,
has cured these evils also. Let me ask, Doctor, if the earth ever
receives any accretions of matter from outside its own atmosphere?”

“Yes, we have the fall of meteorites, foreign substances which we
believe the earth encounters in its path around the sun.”

“I supposed such must be the case,” Thorwald continued. “And now, when
you consider the great age of Mars, perhaps you will not be surprised
to learn that this new matter, coming to us from the outside, was
sufficient to increase the weight of our globe and gradually decrease
the rate of speed at which we were traveling through space.”

“I am surprised, though,” said the doctor, “because the accumulation of
meteorolites on the surface of the earth is so exceedingly slow that
it would take millions of years, at the present rate, to increase its
diameter one inch.”

“But perhaps they came much faster in past ages. Let me ask you, Doctor,
if it is not a fact that the rate of revolution of Mars around the sun
is slower than the earth’s? I suppose you are far enough advanced in
astronomical science to answer that.”

“Yes,” replied the doctor, “you are correct. I believe the earth speeds
along at nineteen miles a second, while Mars travels only sixteen miles
in the same time.”

“We know by our computations that our speed is much less than it once
was, and our theory is that this has in some way hushed those terrible
storms and winds which we know were formerly so frequent.”

Here the doctor thought he saw a chance to make a point, and spoke as
follows:

“If the meteorites come in quantities sufficient to have caused such
changes, it seems to me their fall must be as great a menace to your
peace as the evils they have cured. They do not strike the earth in
large numbers, but still we have a record of a shower of meteoric stones
which devastated a whole village. I suppose all parts of your globe
are by this time well populated, and how can you be entirely free from
trouble when you are living in constant danger of the downfall of these
great masses of rock?”

“But we don’t have meteorites now,” replied Thorwald.

“Oh, you don’t?”

“No, they ceased falling long ago. Mars is going slow enough for the
present.”

“Very kind of them, I am sure, to stop when you didn’t need them any
longer,” said the doctor; “and I suppose you have some plausible reason
to give for their disappearance.”

“Yes, we believe that the interplanetary space was well filled
with these small bodies, circling around the sun, and when their
multitudinous and eccentric orbits intercepted the orbits of the
planets, they came within the attraction of these larger masses. Mars
has merely, in the course of time, cleared for itself a broad path
in its yearly journey and is now encountering no more straggling
fragments.”

“There, Doctor,” said I, “you are well answered. And now, Thorwald, tell
us how you have escaped other evils, famine and fire for instance.”

“Fire,” continued our friend, “was one of the first foes subdued. We
quite early learned to make our habitations and everything about us of
fireproof materials, and, if I mistake not, you on the earth will not
long endure an enemy which can be so easily put down. You will find all
materials can be so treated with chemicals as to be absolutely safe from
the flames. We have fire only when and where we desire it.

“When you speak of famines you touch a more difficult subject, but here,
too, time and skill have wrought wonderful changes. In our histories we
read of the time when the weather was chiefly noted for its fickleness,
and when some parts of our globe were mere desert wastes, where rain
was unknown and no life could exist. And in the inhabited portions one
section would often be deluged with too much rain while another would
have none, both conditions leading to a failure in agriculture and much
consequent suffering. A long time was spent in gathering statistics,
which finally proved that if the rainfall were distributed there would
be just about enough to water sufficiently the whole surface of the
globe. Nature provided rain enough, but it did not always fall where and
when it was most needed. It seemed to be left with us to find a remedy
for this apparent evil. When I say ‘us’ in this way I mean our race as a
whole, for most of these changes took place many ages ago.

“Our philosophers had seen so many difficulties removed and improvements
made in things supposed to be fixed that they began, once upon a time,
to assert that rain and snow and the weather in general ought to
be subject to our will. They said that in the advanced state of
civilization toward which we were progressing it would seem to be
an anomalous thing that we should continue to be subjected to the
annoyances of so changeable a tyrant as the weather. We seemed destined
to gain control of so many of the forces of nature that our future
mastery in this department looked to them reasonable. For a long time
these views appeared fanciful to the many, but this did not deter a few
enthusiasts from study and experiment. As knowledge and skill increased
we began, little by little, to gain control of the elements; but do not
imagine it was anything less than a slow and laborious work.

“First, as we learned something of the laws which control the
precipitation of the moisture suspended in the atmosphere, we discovered
a way to produce rain by mechanical means. As this discovery was
gradually developed we found we had really solved the problem. For, as
there was only a certain amount of moisture taken up into the air, the
quantity of rain could not be increased nor diminished, and so when we
made it rain in one place it was always at the expense of the rainfall
somewhere else.

“Since those early days vast improvement has been made, until now these
laws, once so mysterious and so perplexing, are obedient to our service.
The whole face of our planet has been reclaimed, and drouth and famine
on the one hand and floods on the other are entirely unknown. Each
section of country is given rain or snow or sunshine just as it needs
it, and there is no uncertainty in the matter.”

When Thorwald had reached this point my curiosity prompted me to ask him
to tell us in a few words how they could make it rain when they pleased,
and he answered that he would be glad to give us details of all these
matters if we insisted on it, but he thought it would be better for him
to present a general view of the state of their society, leaving it for
us to see with our own eyes how things were done, after we had reached
our destination.

I readily acquiesced, with an apology for my interruption, and Thorwald
resumed:

“The doctor spoke of accidents, sickness, and severe toil as among the
sources of your troubles. With us, at the present day, all natural
laws are so well understood and so faithfully obeyed that there are no
accidents. Machinery and appliances of all kinds are perfect; nothing is
left to chance, but everything is governed by law. And as we follow that
law in every instance nothing can ever happen, in the old sense of that
word. To take a homely example, you have of course learned that it is
not well to put your hand into the fire, and so, though you use a good
deal of fire you keep your hands out of it. You know what the law is,
and you do not tempt it. By our long experience we have learned the
operation of all laws, and in every position in life we simply avoid
putting our hand into the fire. To be sure, we have been assisted in
this by superior skill and by our general steadiness and ripeness of
character. If I read history aright accidents were caused by ignorance
or neglect of law, and I am sure the people of the earth, when they
begin to realize fully how unnecessary they are, will soon outgrow them.

“As for sickness, you cannot understand how strange the word sounds to
me. Just think for a moment how useless, how out of place, such a
thing as sickness is. Like the subject just spoken of, it comes from
disobedience to law, and although I know we were a long time in ridding
ourselves of it, it seems to me now that it must be one of the easiest
of your troubles to remove. With us the science of medicine became so
perfect that it accomplished a great deal of the reform, but more was
done by each individual acquiring full knowledge of himself and acting
up to that knowledge. In learning to love our neighbors we did not
forget to foster a proper love for ourselves. In fact, our creed
teaches that self-love is one of our most important duties. When one is
instructed to love his neighbor as himself it is presupposed that his
affection for himself is of that high quality that will always lead
him to do the very best he can for every part of his being. So, as our
development continued, we came in time to love ourselves too well to
despise or abuse or neglect the bodies we lived in. We studied how
best to nurture and care for those bodies, and when that lesson was
thoroughly learned we found that sickness and pain were gone, and with
them, also, all fear of death. For now we die when our days are fully
ended. The span of our life has been doubled since we began to know
and care for ourselves, and, at the close, death is anticipated and
recognized as a friend.”




CHAPTER VII.

RAPID TRANSIT ON MARS.


Here Thorwald paused and said he should be obliged to leave us a short
time to attend to some duty in the management of the vessel. When he
returned I remarked that neither he nor his companions seemed to have to
work very hard.

“That,” he answered, “is just the thought I want to speak of next, as
the doctor has said many earthly troubles arise from severe labor. Here
there is no hard work for us. It is all done by some kind of mechanism.
Look at the handling of this ship, in which, as you say, no one is
burdened. The hard and disagreeable parts of the work are taken out
of our hands and are put into the hand of machinery, which in its
perfection is almost intelligent. It is so in all departments of work.
Inventions looking toward the saving of labor have closely followed each
other for so many years that their object is about accomplished, and all
the pain and sorrow accompanying daily toil are things of the dead past.
Even our animals are relieved from distressing labor and share with
us the blessings of an advanced civilization, every heavy weight being
raised and every burdensome load being drawn by an arm of steel or
aluminum, which neither tires nor feels. We do not need to pity a
machine. Why should flesh and blood, whether of dumb beasts or of more
intelligent beings, suffer the agony of labor when the work can be
better done by mechanical means?

“While speaking of the lower animals I may as well say here that we have
no wild beasts. All have been tamed; not merely brought into subjection,
but made the friends and companions in a sense of our higher race. Every
animal, large and small, has lost its power and will to harm us. The
wasp has lost its sting, the serpent its poison, and the tiger its
desire to tear. And not only is their enmity to us all gone, but they no
longer prey upon each other. Perfect peace reigns in this realm also.”

“What has brought about this highly interesting condition?” I asked.
“Was there a natural tendency toward perfection on the part of the
beasts?”

“No,” replied Thorwald, “I think not. The change has been accomplished
by us. Nothing that has life could help being uplifted by contact with
our ever-expanding civilization. We believe the chief factor in working
this great betterment in the animal creation has been our success in
entirely eliminating flesh as an article of food. We early came to see
it was not necessary for ourselves and that without it we were much
better prepared to assume the higher duties belonging to our advanced
life. We then began to experiment with the animals nearest us. It was
a slow and discouraging task at first, but finally we obtained results
that gave us hope of success. We found in the course of many years that
the digestive organs of the animals on which we were experimenting were
gradually becoming accustomed to a vegetable diet. We continued the
work, extending it to one class of animals after another, until in time
all carnivorous instincts disappeared.”

This interested the doctor exceedingly, and he remarked that he should
think there would have been some kinds of animals that would resist all
efforts to work such a change in them; but Thorwald answered:

“I have never read of such cases, but if there were any the species must
have become extinct, for now, in all this world, no conscious life is
taken to support another life. No blood is let for our refreshment and
no minutest creature is pursued and slain to appease the appetite of its
stronger neighbor.”

“Does this condition extend even to the fish of the sea?” inquired the
doctor.

“Even to the fish of the sea,” answered the Martian.

“Now that you discover,” he continued, “what improvement has been
wrought in the lower animals, you can understand that their comfort is
an object of our solicitude, and that we take great pleasure in knowing
that they are relieved from all hard labor.”

“But you haven’t told us,” said I, “what is the source of the power that
does all your work.”

“Let me ask,” replied Thorwald, “if you have begun to use electricity
yet?”

“Yes,” I answered, “we are trying to harness it, but it is still far
from obedient to us.”

“I perceive,” said our friend, “from this and other things you have
told me, that your development is going on in about the order which has
prevailed on Mars. Do not be discouraged in your efforts to bring that
mysterious and wonderful agent, electricity, into complete subjection.
You will find it your most useful servant, and in connection with
aluminum it will enable you to solve numerous problems and remove many
difficulties from your path of progress.

“Here we have made full use of both of these valuable helps. Electricity
enters into every department of life.

“It runs our errands, takes us from place to place, builds our houses,
cooks our food, and even is applied to the growth of our food when we
are in haste for any article. Its laws are so well understood that there
is no fear of personal injury from its use, and I will show you how
familiar an aid it is to us. Here,” he continued, taking from his
pocket a brightly polished case of metal, “is a compact storage battery,
containing, not electricity itself, of course, but elements so prepared
that a simple touch will start into motion a powerful current, able to
perform almost any task I may ask of it. This case, you see, is so small
and light that it is no burden, and yet it contains power enough to
serve me for many days. Of course, all our work of a fixed character
has appliances with the power permanently attached, and these portable
reservoirs are carried about with us only for detached and unexpected
tasks.”

To my experienced eye the doctor’s face looked a little skeptical at
this last remark, and he said:

“But how can the power be applied in these emergencies? Suppose, for
example, it were necessary for you to go from here to the other end of
this vessel in half a second, how would the electricity in your box help
you do it?”

“If I really thought, Doctor, you wanted to be rid of me I would be
tempted to try it; but, as I told your companion just now, you had
better learn all you can of our history before you begin to see what we
can do.

“I haven’t told you half of the wonders performed by this marvelous
power. It has long been our chief reliance for rapid traveling. You find
us in this ship; but, although navigation is a perfected science, this
mode of traveling is tedious, and ships are used only for pleasure and
such out-of-the-way trips as this. Journeys from place to place over
established routes are made in large tubes, in which the cars are
propelled by electricity. These tubes run both on land and water, being
suspended in the latter a little way below the surface. Both tubes and
cars are air-tight, and the adjustment is so perfect that the cars slide
along with the greatest ease. Riding in an air-tight chamber would not
be pleasant if much time were to be occupied in that way, but the cars
are propelled so swiftly that the time from one station to another is
hardly appreciable. At every stop the cars are opened and apparatus set
in motion which changes the air completely almost in a moment. Where the
tubes run under water shafts for air are put in at the stations. There
is always a double line, one tube for each direction. No chance is left
for accidents.

“Of course we navigate the air, swiftly and safely. If not in too much
haste we always take the aerial passage, and often on a pleasant day the
sky over a great city will be as full of air ships, or balloons as we
still sometimes call them, as its harbor is of pleasure boats. In this
department inventors had a fruitful field, the use of aluminum offering
abundant opportunity for the greatest variety of devices, and the
development of the flying machine was one of the most interesting
features in the march toward our present high civilization. Perhaps the
presence of so many electrical machines in the air and the utilization
of so much electricity on land and water have, after thousands of years,
done much toward freeing us from the thunderstorm, with its deadly
lightning. We have fairly robbed the clouds of their electricity and
taught it to do our work.

“Swift and economical as our modern electric cars are, there is one
mode of traveling sometimes adopted which is more rapid still, and
the cheapest and in some respects the easiest way of getting over the
surface of the globe ever dreamed of. It was discovered by accident,
just before accidents entirely ceased, in the following manner:

“A couple of scientific enthusiasts, of the kind we call cranks--I don’t
know what you call them on the earth--conceived the idea that they
could find something better to take the place of the highly purified and
buoyant gases which we used in our flying machines. They observed, in
the lofty flights they were accustomed to make into the air, that as
they ascended the atmosphere grew lighter, and this led them to think
they might go far into the upper regions, collect large quantities of
rarefied air, bring it down, and use it for floating flying machines. Of
course, they understood that any vessel this thin air was put into must
be strong enough to prevent being collapsed by the weight of the denser
atmosphere on the surface. But they thought small spherical vessels of
very thin metal could be made that would withstand this pressure and
still hold enough to float and carry some weight besides. They had a
large number of these hollow balls made and started on a trial trip,
expecting to bring down only a small quantity each time. But, in their
endeavor to obtain the very best quality of lifting material possible,
they went much higher than they intended, although this did not cause
them as much inconvenience as might have been expected, since they were
provided with the latest improved breathing apparatus. The result of
their adventure, however, was a discovery of such magnitude that it
drove from their minds all thought of their real errand and we never
again heard of that project. After remaining at an extreme height a few
hours, the surface of the planet being hidden by clouds, they began
to descend, and when they were near enough to see the features of the
country below them, everything looked strange and unknown. They could
not account for this, but continued their fall, fully persuaded that it
must be their own world and not some other which they were approaching.
But even if they had not been correct in that, they could hardly have
been more surprised than they were to find, on landing, that they were
almost exactly on the opposite side of the globe from the place where
they made the ascent. They seemed to have traveled half way around the
world in that incredibly short space of time, when in reality they had
remained stationary and the world had traveled around them. The fact is,
they had risen above all the denser portion of the planet’s atmosphere,
and had reached a stratum of extremely rarefied air, which, it seems,
does not accompany the globe in its revolution. Of course, the facts
were at once heralded to the four quarters of the world, and the two
aerial travelers found themselves famous. But they did not wish to
let such an astounding discovery rest upon the results of a single
experiment, and so they proved themselves worthy of their new fame
by going home the way they came. That is, they mounted their flying
machine, rose again to the same lofty height, remained there about the
same time as before, descended, and were near their home.”

Here the doctor asked:

“And has this singular mode of traveling become popular, Thorwald?”

“For long distances east and west it is often resorted to. But I presume
you are asking yourself whether you could introduce it on the earth.
When you return and begin to think it over you will probably see so many
practical difficulties in the way that you will not attempt it. You must
have patience. All these things will come to your race in time.”




CHAPTER VIII.

THORWALD PUZZLED.


“I fear,” continued Thorwald, “that I am wearying you with this long
talk.”

We assured him we were enjoying it too much to think of being tired, and
hoped he would not stop. But he said he had some duties to attend to,
and would take us to his room and leave us by ourselves for a while.

As soon as we were alone the doctor looked at me with a smile and said:

“Why did you act so queerly when I spoke of Mona?”

“Why did you speak so?” I asked in reply. “And how could you tell
Thorwald we found one inhabitant on the moon?”

“Did you want to have me tell him a falsehood?”

“Of course not. I tried to catch your eye and keep you from saying any
thing on the subject till we could consult in regard to it. If we are
going to color our narrative in order to make it more marvelous we must
at least make our stories agree.”

“My friend,” said the doctor, “I am now confirmed in my suspicion that
your brain was affected by your fall from the moon.”

I saw by this time that I need not hesitate further to tell the doctor
the truth. I disliked the task, but I saw it would not be safe to leave
him any longer in ignorance of his condition. There as no telling what
other preposterous tales he might invent. So I said to him gently:

“Doctor, your last remark makes it easier for me to tell you that the
first words you said to me on this vessel showed me that you were not
right. I kept it from our new friends here, and I thought I had better
tell you how you are, so you can be a little cautious. You talk all
right on most subjects, but you will do well to avoid the moon as a
topic of conversation. If the others ask any more questions about the
moon, you can just let me answer them.”

I said all this seriously enough, but the doctor laughed boisterously as
he answered:

“Well, if this isn’t a joke. You think I am crazy, and I know you are
crazy, and I can prove it. I will just ask you one question, which
please answer truthfully. Don’t you remember Mona?”

“Oh, there is Mona again! Don’t you see that only proves your own
madness? No, I don’t remember Mona, and you don’t either.”

“I must say,” returned the doctor, “I never expected to see you get over
your infatuation so quickly.”

“What direction did my infatuation, as you call it, take?”

“Marriage, I should say.”

“Now you interest me,” I returned, “and you must tell me more. Is
this Mona of yours the sole resident of the moon, of whom you spoke to
Thorwald?”

“Certainly she is, but you surely must be out of your head to call her
my Mona--I want no stronger proof.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Why, because but yesterday you scarce wanted to have me speak to her.
You tried to keep your jealousy from me, but there was not room enough
in all the moon to hide it.”

“This is very laughable,” I exclaimed.

“You did not think so then. But let me try to bring it all back to you
by another question. Don’t you remember her voice?”

“Most truly I do not. Why, what was the matter with her voice? Was
it loud and harsh, or was it squeaky? I cannot imagine anything very
pleasant in the way of a voice in such a wild and withered home as the
moon would make.”

“True,” answered the doctor, “as to the outside, but you forget our
visit to the interior.”

“There it is again,” said I. “Now, Doctor, the sooner you get rid of
these strange notions the better So tell me your recollections of our
stay in the moon, and I will let you know where you are wrong.”

“Very well. You remember, of course, when we found ourselves rushing
away from the earth so swiftly.”

“Yes, and then we remained shut up in the car day after day, more dead
than alive I think, until, fortunately, we were spilled out upon this
more favored globe.”

“You seem to be sincere,” said the doctor, “but if you are, then you
forget the most interesting part of our experience. Just as we were
about to be overwhelmed with our troubles we heard exquisite music,
which we soon found proceeded from a lovely maiden. You fell desperately
in love with her at first sight and never recovered till you were
plunged in the ocean of Mars. You insisted on following her nod, and she
led us at once through a narrow path down into the center of the moon.
Here, in her quiet home, we taught her to sing in our language--her only
speech was song--and the first words she used were to say she loved me.
She did not understand what the words meant, of course, but you looked
as if you wished I had been blown away before Mona had discovered us.
After that I helped you in your wooing all I could, but although your
passion increased every day your suit did not seem to prosper. One day I
expressed the wish that I had some of the things we had left in the car,
whereupon she led us out to the surface again, where we arrived just in
time to be thrown upon this planet. Here we are, you and I, all safe,
but where is poor Mona?”

“I am sure it would take a wise man to answer that question,” I replied.
“And now let me show you, Doctor, how wrong you are. If you will only
try to exercise a little of that good judgment for which you are noted,
you will be convinced that this is only a pretty little fairy tale which
has somehow taken possession of a corner of your brain. Now that the
fairy is gone you must try to forget the rest. Just think how unlikely
the whole story is. Think of a delicate girl living in such surroundings
as we found there; and then, how could we exist down in the center of
the moon?”

“Why, don’t you remember Mona told us the water and atmosphere had
all run down there, making it the only habitable part of the decaying
globe?”

“Oh, that’s only one of your scientific notions, probably as true as the
others that we have disproved. Too much science has turned your head,
and I will prove it to you again by showing you how impossible is
the part which I play in your romance. I will tell you now, what you
doubtless do not know, that I am engaged to be married to the best woman
in all the earth, excepting your own good wife, of course.”

“Is that a fact?” asked the doctor. “And do you love her?”

“To be sure I do. I love her very dearly, and if I ever see her again I
shall tell her so in a manner to make her understand it.”

“Why, doesn’t she understand it now?”

“Yes, I think so, but she thought I didn’t show heart enough in my
wooing.”

“Well, if she could see you with Mona she would learn that you have
plenty of heart when the right one appears to make it spring into life.”

“You speak as if you thought I did not love Margaret. You do not know
her. Why, I wouldn’t once look at another woman anywhere, not even in
Mars, and most certainly not in that puckered-up old world that we have
just left, happily for us.”

“Do you know what I think about you?” asked the doctor.

“No.”

“I think you have an exceedingly poor memory. First, you forgot Margaret
as soon as the voice of that fair singer fell on your ear, and now you
have forgotten the singer again the moment we have lost her. I await
with much interest your first introduction to a daughter of Mars.”

“You will be disappointed,” said I, “if you think I shall be more than
civil to her.”

“If she be handsome and can turn a tune moderately well, I shall be
willing to wager a fair young planet against the moon that you will
propose to her in a week.”

“I have done nothing to give you so poor an opinion of me. It is only
your own diseased imagination, and I do not seem to be curing it very
fast. I suppose, because your mind is naturally so strong, it is the
more difficult to destroy such an hallucination as has taken possession
of you.”

“I would give it up,” said the doctor. “The story is all true, and not
a work of my imagination. Isn’t it more reasonable to believe that you
could forget the circumstances I have related than that I could invent
such a tale?”

“Oh, I never could forget it if I had been false to Margaret. You do not
know me. If your vagaries had taken any other direction I might possibly
be brought to think you were right.”

By this time we both began to realize that the conversation was not
proving a great success in the way we had hoped, and so, after some
pleasant words and a hearty laugh over the situation, we found our
way to the deck again. Here there were various things to attract our
attention, different members of the crew being eager to show us about.
The doctor asked some question in regard to the system of steering the
vessel, and when one of the men had taken him back toward the stern to
explain the point, I found Thorwald and quietly explained to him the
mental condition of my companion.

“The doctor is all right,” I said, “on every subject but one. His head
must have been injured a little in his fall, and he imagines and asserts
with positiveness that we found a young woman in the moon, the last of
her race--a ridiculous idea, is it not?”

“And did you find any inhabitants at all?” asked Thorwald.

“Certainly not. No one could live in such a place. It is indeed
marvelous how we existed long enough to get here. The doctor calls this
creature of his brain Mona, says she was a great beauty, and plainly
intimates that I was rather too attentive to her. You will see what a
convincing proof this is of his unsound condition when I tell you I am
engaged to the best woman on the earth, and so of course could not show
any marked preference for another. I have told you about the doctor
so that you may pass over unnoticed any allusion he makes to these
subjects.”

Thorwald thanked me and said he would be careful not to embarrass us in
the matter. And so I flattered myself that in the future Thorwald and
I would sympathize with each other in commiserating the doctor. But I
afterward learned that the doctor, about this time, had also sought an
interview with Thorwald and had confided the following secret to him:

“My friend,” said he, “is a fine young fellow, but his head must have
been injured in his fall. He has entirely forgotten the best of our
experience in the moon. Queer, too, for he fell in love with the only
and last inhabitant of that globe, a beautiful, sweet-voiced maiden
named Mona, who never talked but she sang.”

Thorwald then made the doctor tell him the whole story, and at the close
he promised he would not pay much attention to anything I might say on
the subject in future conversation.

So it was quite a puzzle to Thorwald to tell which of his visitors from
the earth was of unsettled mind and which in his normal condition. He
decided to hold the question open and wait for further evidence.




CHAPTER IX.

THORWALD AS A PROPHET.


As maybe supposed, the doctor and I were anxious to hear more about
Mars, and it was not long before we were all seated together again, when
Thorwald resumed his instructive talk.

“What further can I tell you of our condition and achievements? Every
science has made mighty progress in bestowing its own benefit upon us.
New arts have been discovered in the course of our development, about
which you would understand nothing. The aim and result of all science
have been to add to our comfort and happiness--our true happiness, which
consists in improvement and the constant uplifting of character. The
evils that once vexed our world, both those occasioned by natural
phenomena and those brought about by our own ignorance and sin, have, as
you have heard, almost completely disappeared. Even mental troubles are
gone, and no corroding care destroys our peace, for there is nothing
for us to dread; no dark future, filled with unknown evils, awaits our
unwilling feet, and no superstitious or unnatural fear disturbs the
peaceful quiet of our sleep.”

“And are we to understand, Thorwald,” I asked, “that you believe all
this rest from trouble and wrongdoing is coming to the earth, too?”

“Before replying directly to your question,” answered Thorwald, “let
me ask you if there is any tendency in that direction. Look back to
the earliest days of your history and compare the state of things then
existing with that of your own times. Has your world made any progress?
Is there any less violence? Are men learning to live without fighting?
Are the dark corners of the earth coming to the light?”

“In these and many other directions,” I answered, “I think we can see
improvement.”

“Then,” continued Thorwald, “it seems to me you must believe with me
that your world will one day come to the condition in which you find us.
Have not your holy prophets foretold a time of universal peace both for
man and beast, a time when a higher law than selfishness shall govern
all hearts and the earth be filled with the spirit of love?”

“They have,” I replied, “but most of us are so engrossed in the struggle
for existence that we think lightly or not at all of such things.
These prophecies have never impressed me as they do now when I see your
condition, and reflect that similar words may have been spoken and then
fulfilled here.”

“Let me assure you,” Thorwald made haste to say, “that the earth is
still young. I can see by all you say that your age is one of unusual
vitality and progress. A firm faith that victory will come and that
the golden age is before you will be a great help in your struggle with
evil. Lay hold of that faith. It is yours. It needs no prophet to tell
you that your race will one day reach our blessed state. First will
come the spirit of peace, and as I am sure war must be repugnant to such
minds as yours, you will readily learn to put it away from you. Then
will begin to cease all bitterness between man and man, and you will be
started on the road that leads to brotherly kindness. A world of sorrows
will fall away with the passing of individual and national strife, not
only the horror of the battlefield and the misery that follows it, but
also the more secret and world-wide unhappiness that comes from the
petty conflicts over the so-called rights of person and property.
Selfishness, that monstrous source of evil, must be dethroned, and then
the rights of each will be cared for by all. This will usher in for you
a new era.

“And now, when the mighty energy that has been expended in learning and
practicing the science of war, the skill that has been given to the art
of killing, the treasures of money and blood, the time, the brain
and the activities that have been employed in carrying out plans of
aggression, large and small, of neighbor against neighbor--when these
have all been turned toward the betterment of your condition and the
salvation of men from degradation and sin, then will the arts of peace
flourish and your day begin. Then will nature herself come to your
assistance, molding her laws to your convenience and comfort. It will
doubtless be a long time before a man can love and consider his neighbor
as himself, and before all of God’s creatures on your planet can dwell
together in perfect peace, but, believe me, the earth will live to see
that time.”

“Thorwald,” spoke the doctor, “your words are so inspiring that I almost
wish my life could have waited some thousands of years for that bright
day you so confidently promise for the earth, but I cannot help asking
myself if it is altogether a misfortune to live in the midst of the
conflict, with something ahead to strive for. Will you pardon my
presumption if I ask you practically the same question? You have told us
of your wonderful history and that you have now reached a condition of
peace and quiet. With no sickness or sorrow in your lives, with no evil
passions to rise and throw you, with nothing to fear from without or
within, yours must be a blissful condition. But still, is there always
content? In our imperfect state we are striving and learning. Our
happiness largely consists in the pursuit of happiness. If, some day,
we should find all difficulties removed, no obstacles left to contend
against, no evil in ourselves or others to overcome, not even our bodily
wants to provide for, it seems to me life would lose its zest and become
a burden hardly worth the carrying. Can you remove this unhandsome
doubt?”

“I will try,” answered Thorwald. “I suppose if the people of the
earth, with their present capacities and aspirations, should be brought
suddenly to such a state of civilization as ours, it would be as you
say. As your development continues, your minds and souls will expand and
you will be prepared to take up new duties and occupations as they
come. I cannot tell you what these are, for at present you would not
understand me. You mistake if you think we have ceased to learn. The
mind is ever reaching forward to new attainments, and the things which
chiefly occupy us now would have been beyond our comprehension in our
earlier days. Can you not find an illustration on the earth? Suppose
the untutored savage were suddenly required to throw away his spear and
arrow and engage in your pursuits, Doctor. Would he be happy? Your
mind is full of thoughts that he cannot grasp, your life is made up of
experiences and aspirations of which he has no conception. You can see
your superiority to the savage. Let me help you to look forward and see
your inferiority to the coming man, who, I assure you, will never tire
of life while anything that God has made remains to be studied. As
the mind expands, new wonders and new beauties in creation will unfold
themselves and your race will learn to look back with pity upon your
present age, with its mean and trivial occupations.”

“But, Thorwald,” I asked, “can you not tell us something of these higher
pursuits?”

“But very little,” he answered. “I might give you one or two hints
of some things which I think lie nearest you, if indeed you have not
already begun to consider them. I need hardly speak of astronomy, which,
from the nature of the case, is the earliest of all sciences wherever
there is intelligent life to view the works of creation. You will find
great profit in advancing in this study as rapidly as possible. We have
not yet ceased to pursue it, and I think it is one branch of knowledge
which will never be exhausted, in the present life at least. Our
achievements in astronomy have been marvelous.

“Do not neglect to look in the other direction also for evidences of
God’s power and wisdom. The microscope will almost keep pace with the
telescope in revealing the wonders of creation. It will greatly assist
you in many of your higher employments.

“One thing that you will doubtless soon undertake is the study of the
speech of animals, which will go hand in hand with the development of
their intelligence. Both of these will claim much attention, but very
inadequate results will be obtained until after you have tamed and
domesticated the various species. You will want to discover how far
animals can be educated and whether their intelligence can ever be
developed into mind. As you progress in this study you will feel the
necessity of understanding their conversation and you will learn what
you can of their language. These tasks will seem of more importance to
you when the lower animals are all reclaimed and become the companions
and friends of man. You will try to discover the particular purpose for
which each species was created, and you will even be led to inquire, by
a long series of experiments, whether they possess the faintest shadow
of moral perceptions.

“Then there is the great subject of plant life. Does the sensitiveness
of plants ever amount to sensibility or feeling? If so, is it a feeling
you are bound to respect? That is, should a wounded and bleeding tree
excite in you even the slightest shade of that sympathy you feel with
a distressed animal? These are inquiries which you doubtless think of
little moment now, but we have spent many years pursuing them.

“These are only a few faint indications of the multitude of questions
which lie before you for study. In every investigation which you follow,
whether connected with the mysteries of your own complex being or with
the unexplored depths of creation around you, a chief source of interest
will be the constant discovery of a perfect adaptation in the works
of God. Of course you know something of it already, but you will never
cease to wonder at the unfolding of this truth, as you come to realize
more and more fully that creation is one, and is moved and ruled by one
intelligence.

“Oh, do not imagine that in the ages to come there will be nothing
to make life interesting. As your civilization advances and you are
released gradually from trouble and care, and from those petty affairs
which now so occupy you, your minds and souls will grow, and you will
see far more ahead of you worth striving for than you now do. Your
happiness can still consist largely in the pursuit of happiness.”




CHAPTER X

MORE WORLDS THAN TWO.


It was now so late in the day that further conversation was postponed,
and after a plain but exceedingly enjoyable supper we were shown
to luxurious rooms, where we spent our first night in Mars in great
comfort.

In the morning Thorwald told us we would reach our port in a few hours,
and so we sat down as early as we could after breakfast for a short
talk.

The doctor furnished the text by opening the conversation with this
remark:

“It is wonderful to think we should find on this planet a race of people
so advanced, when so little thought is given, on the earth, to the idea
of life in other worlds.”

“What has been the general opinion among you on that subject?” asked
Thorwald.

“The subject has not had standing enough to call forth much opinion,”
 the doctor answered. “There is an almost universal indifference in
regard to the matter. I think the common notion is that the earth is
about all there is in the universe worth considering.”

“But what are your own views, Doctor?”

“I have been one of those,” he replied, “who believed the notion of
life outside the earth to be a beautiful theory without one shred of
scientific basis. We knew the earth was inhabited and the moon was not,
and there we stopped. We did not know, and thought we never could know,
anything that could be called evidence pointing to the existence of
life in the other planets or elsewhere, and we held that there was no
advantage in speculation. We thought it unwise to spend much time or
thought on a subject about which we could know nothing. On coming here
and finding you I have learned that Mars is inhabited, but I do not know
any more about the other planets or stars.”

“Does not the mere knowledge that there are two life-bearing bodies lead
you to believe that there are more, among the vast numbers of worlds
which you have not visited?”

“I don’t see why it should. How can we believe anything without
evidence? No one has ever come to us from those distant globes, and they
are too far away for us to see what is taking place on their surface.”

“It seems strange, Doctor, to hear you reason in that way, but I suppose
some of our race were just as narrow, if you will pardon me for using
that word, as you are, before our wonderful successes in astronomy. I
believe you have not properly considered the subject, for it seems to me
you had knowledge enough, before you left the earth, to justify you in
holding to a strong probability of life beyond your own globe.

“Let us see what some of that knowledge is. You know, to begin with,
that one world is inhabited. Then if you should find other bodies as
large as the earth and bearing any resemblance to it, there would be no
improbability in the thought that they or some of them were filled with
life. The improbability is certainly taken away by the knowledge that
one such body, the earth, is inhabited.

“You start, then, without prejudice, on a voyage of discovery, aided by
your telescope and your reasoning faculties.

“First you find, within distances that you can easily measure, a small
group of dark bodies, which you have called planets, all apparently
governed by a common law, in obedience to which they are circling around
a large body of quite different character, which gives them light and
heat. Of these dark bodies, which shine in the sky only by reflected
light, the earth is one, and, you are surprised to find, not the most
important one, judging from all you can discover. Some of the others are
much larger and are attended by more satellites. In fact, the earth is
indistinguishable in this little group. While it is not the largest,
neither is it the smallest. It is not the farthest from the sun nor the
nearest to it. It is merely one among the number. And how much alike
the members of this family are. Your telescopes do not point out any
material differences, although each has its individual characteristics.
Let us enumerate some of the many points of resemblance. They all turn
on themselves as well as revolve around the sun. All see the night
follow the day, and in most of them there must occur the regular
succession of seasons. To each one the sun is the source of light and
heat, many of them have moons, and all can see the stars. Nor does
the resemblance stop here. For you have discovered that one has an
atmosphere, another is surrounded with clouds, while on the surface of
our own globe you see the polar snows increase in winter and melt away
in summer. Is it not probable that if you could get nearer to these
globes you would find still closer resemblances? And if they are like
the earth in so many ways, is it at all unlikely that they may, at some
period of their existence, be the abode of intelligent life? For what
other purpose were they made, Doctor?”

“They make very pretty objects for us to look at,” replied my companion.

“Yes, those that can be seen,” said Thorwald; “but is that all? Were
those great worlds, some of them hundreds of times larger than your own
globe, created merely to add a little variety to your sky, and to give
you the pleasant task of watching their movements under the pretty title
of morning and evening star?”

“Speaking from the knowledge I had when I left the earth,” the doctor
answered, “I can say I never heard that they were put to any other use.
No one ever came down to us from any of them to tell us they were
inhabited.”

“And do you think,” asked Thorwald, “that the myriads of stars were also
made simply to delight the eye of man?”

“How do I know that they were not?” the doctor asked in reply.

“Because of the absolute unreasonableness of the thought, if for no
other reason,” answered Thorwald. “But now let me recall to your mind
more of the knowledge possessed by the inhabitants of the earth. I
think I know about what that knowledge is, from my acquaintance with
the present state of your development. Astronomy has been our master
science, and I can remember fairly well the extent of our knowledge
when we had reached your stage. If I should fall into the error of
attributing to you more than you have already discovered you can easily
correct me.

“If, now, you leave the little group of dark bodies which are so like
the earth, and go out still further into space, what do you find?
At distances so great that only the speed of light can be used as a
measuring line, you discover vast numbers of self-luminous bodies, which
you call stars. Your natural eye can tell but a small fraction of
their number. For example, look at the constellation you have named the
Pleiades and you see six or seven stars. View it through a three-inch
telescope and you can count perhaps three hundred. Now attach a
photographic plate to the telescope, and with an exposure of four hours
the light coming from that small patch of sky falls upon the sensitive
film with a cumulative effect until you have a picture of more than two
thousand three hundred stars.”

“Yes,” broke in the doctor, “you are gauging correctly the state of our
knowledge. Our largest telescopes reveal in the entire sky, it is said,
one hundred million stars.”

“Then,” answered Thorwald, “if the glories of the heavens were made
merely to delight the eye of man, why was not the eye created of
sufficient power to behold them? As it is, only a small proportion of
the stars can be seen without the aid of instruments too costly and too
delicate for general use.

“But have you the means of establishing any likeness between the
earth and those distant bodies? You have discovered that the law of
gravitation is universal and that the motions of the stars resemble
those of the solar system. Have you made any discoveries tending to
prove the existence of other systems like our own?”

“Yes,” replied the doctor, “our recent investigations of the periods of
some of the variable stars show irregularities in brightness, period,
and proper motion. A close study of these irregularities has convinced
some of our astronomers that there are invisible bodies near them,
evidently planets circling around a central sun. The theory is that the
dark bodies cause slight perturbations in the star, which account for
the irregularities in period, motion, etc. So Neptune was discovered
by the effect it had upon the observed movements of Uranus. This is the
first evidence we have had tending to prove that there are other groups
of worlds like ours, and it is considered quite significant.”

“I can readily believe it,” said Thorwald, “and I know how helpful every
bit of evidence is, in your search for knowledge. But if I mistake not
you have the aid of another instrument, which is destined to play an
important part in your future studies. You get much nearer those distant
orbs when a spectroscope is placed at the end of the telescope, and
the ray of light coming from sun and star is widened out into a band
of color, which tells a marvelous story. That light, that has been for
years, and perhaps for centuries, on its way to you, now discloses the
very nature of the substances which compose those fiery globes. And what
are those substances? It must have been a startling truth to the man
who first read from the spectrum of the star he was studying, that it
contained matter with which he was familiar, materials of which the
earth itself is made. By this science you have learned beyond doubt that
many of the commonest elements of the earth’s crust exist also in other
worlds, and, what is of great significance, that the materials most
closely connected with living organisms on the earth, such as hydrogen,
sodium, magnesium, and iron, are the very ones which are found most
widely diffused among the stars. I think I am not wrong in assuming that
you are somewhat acquainted with the spectroscope and have made these
discoveries.”

“You are quite right,” said the doctor. “This branch of scientific
investigation has already been carried so far with us, and the results
of the experiments are so constant and uniform, that when it is
asserted, for example, that such and such a metal is present in a state
of vapor in the sun’s atmosphere, it is estimated that the chances in
favor of the correctness of the assertion are as 300,000,000 to 1.”

“You are helping my argument, Doctor,” resumed Thorwald. “But now let
me call your attention to another field of inquiry, in our search for
evidence to establish a likeness between the earth and the other parts
of the universe. You told me, a while ago, that you have the fall of
meteorites on your globe. Have you considered the striking evidence they
bring you? Let us imagine we have a meteoric fragment here. Take it in
your hand and think of it a moment. You have few things on your earth as
interesting as this piece of metallic stone. What a world of questions
it starts! What is its composition? Whence comes it? Once it was in
existence, but not here. Where, then, was its home? Out, out in the
depths of space, where burning suns roll and comets have their dwelling
place. The stars have fallen indeed, and here is one of the pieces.
Before it came to us as a messenger from the sky did it have an
independent existence, or is it a fragment of a shattered world? How
long has it been whirling in its unknown orbit, and what story has it
for us from its distant birthplace? If we can discover whence meteorites
come, and of what they are composed, I think you will agree with me that
they furnish valuable testimony in our inquiry. You have no doubt had
many theories as to their origin.”

I was just about to make answer to this implied question, when Thorwald
rose and eagerly scanned the horizon. After a moment he exclaimed:

“We shall have to break off our conversation for a time, as we are
nearing our port. I knew by other means that land must soon appear, and
now I can see it.”




CHAPTER XI

MARS AS IT IS.


The doctor and I looked in the direction indicated and speedily realized
that the superiority of the dwellers on Mars extended to the sense of
sight, for we could see nothing. But we were sailing so swiftly that the
shore we were approaching was before very long brought within our vision
also, and among the alert crew, who were now preparing to bring the
vessel into its harbor, there could be none so interested in what was to
come as the doctor and myself. We were to see what had been accomplished
by a race of whose perfections we had been hearing so much.

As we effected a landing and walked up the streets of the city, we were
not nearly so much impressed with the size and beauty of the buildings
and the appearance of the people as we were by the spirit of absolute
peace and quiet which prevailed. With perfect skill, and without noise
or bustle, the ship was brought to its dock and the crew went ashore.
The screams and calls, the rattle of vehicles and the babel of sounds we
had been accustomed to on such occasions, were all missing. The silence
and order were almost oppressive because they were so strange. But there
was no lack of activity among the immense creatures who thronged around
us. Everyone was busy, knowing apparently just what to do without
direction from others, and just the best way to do it. Beings with lungs
powerful enough to wake the mountain echoes went about with mild and
tuneful voices, and, though each one seemed possessed of a giant’s
strength, no severe labor was required of any.

The streets and walks were paved with a soft material, yielding slightly
to pressure, but so firm and tough that it showed no sign of wear, an
ideal pavement, over which the wheels rolled as noiselessly as they
would over a velvet carpet. It was, moreover, laid in beautiful patterns
of the most varied colors. The vehicles, of which there were many kinds
for different uses, were so faultlessly made that they moved with the
utmost quiet and apparent ease, the power that propelled them being
invisible. There were no tracks or wires, but all were guided in any
direction and with any speed at the pleasure of the riders.

Thorwald led me from the vessel, and another stalwart son of Mars took
charge of the doctor. After walking a few steps up the street we all
stepped into an empty carriage without saying as much as “by your
leave,” Thorwald touched a button, and we were off.

“This,” said Thorwald, “is one of the best illustrations of the manner
in which we are applying electricity. You saw them also unloading the
heavy freight from the boat by the same power. So all our work is done.
No fleshly limb is strained, no conscious life is burdened, by any
of the labor of our complex society. This subtle force is so well
controlled and its laws are so thoroughly understood that it is equal to
every demand.”

“I am entranced, Thorwald,” said the doctor, “with everything I see. But
I would like to ask if you own this comfortable carriage and had it sent
to the wharf to meet you.”

“I own it,” our friend replied, “just as I own the street we are riding
over or the house I live in. I own this or any other vehicle whenever
I desire to use it. You saw a great number of carriages near the wharf,
and there are several over on that corner. Anyone is at perfect liberty
to appropriate one to his own use at any time, and when he is through he
merely leaves it at a convenient place by the roadside for some one else
to take.”

“I should think they would be stolen,” said I.

Thorwald laughed at my ignorance and answered: “Why, who is there to
steal when everybody, either friend or stranger, can use them as often
and as long as he likes?”

The talk promised to grow more interesting still, but now our attention
was turned to the delightful scene through which we were passing. It
will be utterly impossible to describe the beauty of the landscape,
where nature and art seemed to be striving to outdo each other. Before
reaching land I had imagined that the houses, if they were to be
proportioned to the inhabitants, must pierce the sky. But we were
surprised to find that they were all comparatively low, of not more
than two or three stories. And all, even those near the wharf, were
surrounded with ample grounds. Some of the houses were larger than
others, some more ornate than their neighbors, and the architecture
varied as much as the size and arrangement of the grounds. But all were
beautiful beyond description. One thing that appeared very strange to us
was that the prevailing color of the vegetation was red, although
that shade did not predominate as much as green does on the earth. For
instance, after we had admired a stretch of lawn brilliant as a crimson
sky, we would come to another which would surprise and please us with a
lovely shade of blue. Still another was green, and then one glowed with
a variety of colors, whose combination showed a most refined taste. As
with the grass, so it was with the foliage of the trees. The richest
tints of our autumnal forests were here present in permanence, but with
a much greater wealth of coloring. Flowers, too, of every hue and form
were to be seen on all sides, and their appearance was so perfectly
natural that if they had been set with design then the art itself had
concealed the art of their arrangement.

With all this mass of color there were no unpleasant contrasts, no
discordant tones. As, amid the bustle of the landing place, our ears had
not been shocked with rude noises, so now we received through our eyes
only a delightful sense of quiet beauty.

Riding, now slowly and now more rapidly, through such a scene, we could
think of nothing better to question our friend about, so the doctor
found his voice and said:

“This far surpasses our anticipations, Thorwald, and I am sure this
place must be exceptional, even on Mars. I suppose it is a resort where
some of your wealthy people have built themselves homes in which to
enjoy their leisure months.”

“Nothing of the kind,” replied Thorwald. “These people live here all
the year, they are not wealthy, and there is nothing to distinguish this
city above others.”

“Why, this seems more like a private park than a city. Where are your
crowded streets and houses for the poor?”

“After all I have told you of our high civilization, Doctor, do you not
understand that we have long since abolished poverty?”

“Yes,” answered the doctor, “I understand that in a general way; but I
did not suppose everybody was rich, as it is certain everybody must be
to own such palaces as these.”

“You are still wrong,” said Thorwald. “We have no such distinctions as
rich and poor. All our cities are of this character, only there is great
variety in the residences and in the way in which the streets and lots
are laid out. These places that we are passing are inferior to many,
but no houses are built that are at all mean or uncomfortable. Indeed,
I think we have to-day passed some of the poorest that I know of. As
to the word city, we use it only as a convenient expression. It really
means nothing more than a certain locality, for, as I told you at the
beginning of our conversation, we have no need of government of any
kind. In some sections one city runs into another, so that the whole
country is filled with the beauty and delight of the landscape which you
see about you.”

“But,” asked the doctor, “with the population spread out in this
marvelous way, is there room for everybody?”

“Oh, yes,” answered Thorwald. “All the surface of our planet is brought
into use; the waste places are reclaimed, and there is abundant room for
all. And now, as this pleasant air and easy motion seem to be agreeable
to you, we may as well ride slowly for a while longer.

“In your intercourse with us you will find it is never necessary for us
to hurry when, for any good reason, we choose to loiter, and, therefore,
if you care to hear me talk, I will take the time to correct another
wrong impression you seem to have.

“You spoke, Doctor, about the people owning these houses. No one owns
them.”

“Do they belong to the state?” asked the doctor.

“There is no state.”

“Well, this is a curious condition of affairs,” resumed the doctor.
“Here is valuable property belonging to no one and no government
to claim it. I should think anyone that happened along could take
possession.”

“Now you are right,” said Thorwald. “That is just the state of the case.
It is with houses and all other property as I told you it was with this
carriage. All the right one has to any object is the right to use it.
Everything that has been produced by art and skill is just as free as
the bounties of nature, such as air and water and land, which of course
no one would ever dream of subjecting to private ownership.”

The doctor winced as he heard Thorwald include land among these free
bounties of nature, and the expression of his face did not escape the
quick eye of the Martian, who exclaimed:

“So you earth-dwellers are still in the habit of buying and selling
land, are you?”

“That was the practice when we left home,” replied the doctor. “And I
cannot understand how we can do differently. Your views of property are
so strange to us that I am sure my companion will join me in asking you
to explain them more fully.”

“I certainly do,” I said.

“Property,” began Thorwald, “we do not have, but we have many of the
rights of proprietorship in the things we use from time to time. And
what other benefit than the free use of what we need could be derived
from the possession of things? Suppose I, for example, owned a thousand
acres of land and a hundred fine mansions. I could cultivate but a small
part of the land and occupy but one house at a time, and of what value
would the remainder be?”

“Would not such palaces as these on this beautiful street bring a good
rent?” I inquired.

“Don’t be stupid,” replied Thorwald good-naturedly. “You must know
by this time that we are not a race of self-seekers, each one taking
advantage of the necessity of his neighbor. But I suppose it is
difficult for you to appreciate a state of society in which each
individual considers the feelings and needs of others as much as his
own. With us this principle is not preached any more, but it is actually
practiced in all our affairs.”

“I will try to keep that in mind,” I said, “although it is a fact I can
hardly realize. But about this matter of houses I want to make another
inquiry. After you have become established in a beautiful home to which
you have no more right than anyone else, what is to prevent some other
man (I use the word for convenience) coming forward and asking you to
give it up to him?”

“Nothing,” answered Thorwald. “In such a case I should immediately move
out and let him have it, knowing he must be entirely unselfish in the
matter and that there must be some sufficient reason for the request.”

“But would you go to all the trouble of moving without even knowing his
reason?”

“Yes, I would do it to accommodate him, but then the trouble would be
nothing. We would merely have to go out and take another house.”

“But would you not have to move all the furniture?”

“Oh, no. We could take anything we pleased, of course, but it is not
usual to make radical changes. Another house would contain all that was
desirable. As a matter of fact, however, such removals are by no means
frequent. We usually remain in one place and acquire all the tender
associations of home which could be possible under any system. But if
a family should increase so that it would be better for them to take a
larger house, they could easily find one, or if not they would ask those
who are fond of that work to build one to their taste. The moment a
thing is made or produced it belongs to the general store, to be used by
any and all who need it.”

“Under such conditions,” said I, “what we call the eighth commandment
would be superfluous.”

“If that refers to theft,” answered Thorwald, “you are certainly right,
for it is impossible to steal where everything is free.

“It will be well for you to understand how happily we have solved this
question of property, but of course we could not have found such a
solution until we had first reached a high spiritual plane and learned
the lesson of true brotherhood. From your words I know just about the
point in our development which corresponds with the present state of
your race, and therefore I know something of the nature of the struggle
through which the earth is now passing. I warn you that the unrestricted
right of private ownership is a menace to your civilization, all the
greater because its evil is probably not clearly seen. We are assured
by our historians, who try to point out the causes for all the great
convulsions in our career, that excessive individualism in property
rights, with its selfish disregard of others, was a potent factor in the
downfall of many of the enlightened nations of our antiquity. We have
noticed that even our animals have the instinct of possession, and it is
certain that the love of ownership and accumulation has been one of the
hardest evils to eradicate from our naturally selfish nature. If you
should ever return to the earth, do not neglect to signal for this
danger.”

“But what is the remedy?” asked the doctor. “The system of which you
have been speaking might be called the mainspring of our society. I can
hardly imagine what we should be without it. With our note of warning,
what message of help will you send?”

“Doctor,” answered Thorwald, “it pleases me to hear you ask that
question, and I am rejoiced also that I have so good an answer for you.
The remedy is to be found in the law of love. Follow that law as closely
as possible. The way will be hard, the progress slow, but every step
taken will be a solid advance. It is the only safe road, and you will
find that every other will lead to disappointment and disaster.”

Whenever Thorwald struck these high spiritual themes he spoke with such
enthusiasm and positiveness that our respect for him increased rapidly.




CHAPTER XII.

WE REACH THORWALD’S HOME.


All this time we had been riding leisurely along, enraptured with the
delightful country, while the way itself and the estates on either hand
offered such variety of landscape that the view never became tiresome
nor uninteresting.

But as the day was waning, our friends quickened the pace and showed us
a burst of speed. This was most exhilarating, and soon brought us to
the station where Thorwald told us we were to take an express train for
home, which was about two hundred miles distant.

When we alighted we left our carriage by the roadside among many others,
and entered an immense building. Both inside and out there were plenty
of people moving around, but without noise or unpleasant bustle. With no
delay, and also with no haste, we entered what appeared to be a smaller
apartment opening out of the general waiting-room. It had the appearance
of an elegant drawing-room, the rich but comfortable-looking furniture
being disposed in a careless manner, which helped to make us feel at
home, if anything could bring us that sensation. There was a door at
each end of the room, and soon these were closed and we felt an almost
imperceptible jar. The doctor glanced hastily at Thorwald and said:

“Can it be possible that we are to travel in this apartment?”

“Yes,” answered Thorwald, “this is our modern traveling coach, and
we are already on our way to the city in which my friend here and I
reside.”

This latter fact surprised us, for we could not perceive by our senses
that we were in motion. But as we sat wondering and trying to imagine
ourselves flying through space, the doors opened, a pleasant breeze
fanned our cheeks, and the doors closed again, we felt that slight jar
repeated, and then we were quiet once more. This occurred every two or
three minutes, and, remembering what Thorwald had previously told us, we
realized that we were riding in a perfectly tight car in a vacuum tube
and that these short but frequent stops were to keep us supplied with
fresh air.

Thorwald explained this to us again, and told us that the coaches were
of different sizes to accommodate large or small parties, and that one
could ride alone if he chose to. The cars started so frequently that it
was seldom necessary to wait more than a few minutes. The doctor thought
there must be great liability to accident, but Thorwald said:

“No, we do not consider the risk worth taking into account. Let me
illustrate with a familiar example. Suppose you had just seen a cable
tested with a ton’s weight without a strain. Should you fear to take
hold of the cable and lift yourself from the ground lest it might break
and you should fall? The mechanism of this road is just as sure as that.
The force that is driving us forward is no longer mysterious. The laws
of electricity are well defined, and its mighty power is under perfect
control. Nothing is left to chance, and the result is that there have
been no accidents for many, many years, and practically speaking there
cannot be any.”

When we first entered the coach we noticed that there were no windows,
and as the doors had no glass we wondered why it was not dark. The light
was good broad daylight, exactly like that which fills a room when there
are good windows, but where the direct rays of the sun do not enter;
and, as we could see no lamps nor fixtures, we could not understand how
the illumination could be artificial. But such it was. We carried
an electric battery with us, and the lamps were out of sight, and so
arranged that they gave us only reflected light. The system was so
perfect that the imitation sunlight was just as good as the real, as far
as we could discover.

“This is the way we light all our interiors,” said Thorwald, “and of
course the apparatus is so governed that we can have any amount of
illumination we please, little or much.”

The doctor was about to ask some question in relation to this practical
improvement, when he was stopped by hearing a little silver-toned bell
ring. In an instant the doors opened, and Thorwald rose and announced
that we had reached the end of our journey. We could not have been in
the car more than fifteen minutes, and the doctor and I supposed our
ride of two hundred miles had just begun.

“Well, if you travel at this rate,” said the doctor, “I do not wonder
you have obliterated all national boundaries, for the ends of the world
are right at your doors. And now, Thorwald, I would like to see the
great tube through which we have been carried so swiftly.”

Thorwald smiled a little and led the way through another superb
waiting-room out into the open air. Here the doctor looked in all
directions, but could see nothing of the object for which he was
searching.

“You have seen all any of us can see,” said Thorwald.

“We merely step into the comfortable car, sit a few minutes, step out
again, and go home. In the meantime we have been carried under ground
and under water, across valleys and through hills, but the way itself,
the tube through which the car flies, is entirely hidden from sight.
Where it is above ground, trees and shrubbery screen it from view, so
that it does not mar the landscape. We think much of this, and should
regret exceedingly if it became necessary for any such utilitarian
object to interfere with our aesthetic enjoyment of nature.”

Thorwald’s friend now took leave of us, expressing the hope that
he would soon see us again. He had taken some little part in our
conversation, but had left the burden of it to Thorwald, who was older,
and who was, moreover, our first acquaintance.

It seemed singular to the doctor and me that we had attracted so little
attention among the people whom we had encountered since leaving the
ship. To give the reason for this, which we afterwards discovered, is
to reveal one of the pleasantest peculiarities of the Martian
character--that is, the entire absence of a disagreeable curiosity. Our
dress and appearance and the rather novel circumstances connected with
our arrival on the planet, which must quickly have become known,
were certainly calculated to excite their interest, and in a similar
situation on the earth there is no telling what might have happened to
us from a curious mob. But here all was order and quiet. Everybody went
about his own business and treated our party with additional respect,
it seemed, because some of us were strangers. We found out later how
anxious all these people were to learn everything about us, but they
were content to wait till the knowledge should come to them in a proper
way.

Thorwald now selected a light, pretty carriage, and after a brisk ride
through another charming avenue and up a steep hill, we alighted at the
door of a noble mansion whose majestic proportions were in harmony
with the wide, open plateau upon which it stood alone. Upon entering,
Thorwald was at once affectionately greeted by his wife, and while he
was introducing us as natives of another world his son and daughter came
bounding toward him from an adjacent room.

These were quite small children, but in a few moments Thorwald brought
in from another part of the house a young woman of about my age,
apparently, and introduced her as a neighbor. It needed but a glance to
tell us that she was beautiful as a dream, and she moved about with that
exquisite grace which comes only from the highest culture. She spoke
to us with such ease and naturalness that we were at once relieved from
whatever embarrassment the circumstances might easily occasion.

“Antonia is our very dear friend,” said Thorwald, “and, although she
hides her curiosity so well, you will find her an exceedingly interested
listener to your history and adventures.”

“Yes,” said the charming voice of Antonia, “Thorwald has told me just
enough about you to make me want to know more. Your moon, which is so
much larger than our little satellites, caused a great sensation when it
was seen coming toward us so rapidly. The situation was well calculated
to cause us anxiety, if we had been subject to such a feeling, but, as
usual with us at the present day, it has turned out to our advantage;
for it has given us two such worthy representatives of a neighboring
race.”

“I am sure,” I answered, “that the advantage is greatly on our side.”

I could not say more, for I was conscious that the doctor was watching
closely to see how I was affected by the presence of this royal girl.
When he saw I was inclined to be somewhat quiet he felt impelled to say
something, and offered the following compromising remark:

“If we had only brought Mona safely off the moon with us, you would have
had something more worthy of your interest than we are, and my friend
here also would now be in better spirits.”

Antonia had a question in her eyes but her perfect breeding kept her
from putting it into words, after the final expression of the doctor’s
speech. Of course, I could not ignore the allusion, and said:

“Mona is a friend of the doctor’s whom I have not the pleasure of
knowing. I suppose he thinks her cheerful disposition, of which I have
heard before, would make our present situation even more enjoyable than
it is. Speaking for myself, however, I think that would be impossible.”

With that she rose, and, with a pleasant word of adieu to us, told
Thorwald she would come in another day after we were well rested.

It was now approaching night-fall and dinner was to be speedily
announced. The doctor and I were shown to a suite of dressing-rooms, and
as soon as we were alone he said:

“Do you think Antonia is as handsome as Mona?”

“If you will show me Mona I shall then be able to judge. But how did
I carry myself on my first introduction to a daughter of Mars? Do
you think I am in any danger of putting her in Margaret’s place in my
heart?”

“Perhaps not,” replied the doctor. “You kept command of yourself
pretty well; but I think the secret of that is that you have not quite
forgotten Mona.”

“Excuse my frankness, Doctor, but I must tell you I am getting a little
tired of Mona. I wish I might never hear her name again. If I can resist
the charms of such an exquisite bundle of perfections as Antonia is,
do you think I am likely to be overcome by a mocking-bird of your
imagination?”

“If you could only hear the voice of that bird once more,” replied the
doctor, “you would soon begin to sing another tune. But let us go down
if you are ready, and not keep them waiting.”

We had looked forward with much interest to our first meal in one of
these sumptuous houses, and, moreover, being quite hungry, we were glad
to find that we were just in time to sit down. If we had felt any
fear lest the absence of meat would make a meager bill of fare, the
experience of the next hour relieved us. The dishes were all strange,
but highly palatable, and the fact that there was nothing that appeared
to be in the least unwholesome did not detract from the delicious
savor which every viand possessed. The rich variety of courses and the
elegance of the service made it a dinner long to be remembered, and gave
a new zest to our life on Mars.

It had been a long day to us, and we were allowed to retire at an early
hour, being conducted to adjacent and communicating rooms. But, though
our fatigue was great, it is not strange that we lay awake awhile,
talking of the wonderful things we had seen and heard. Speaking of the
Martian method of rapid transit the doctor said:

“Besides its expedition, there is another feature to recommend their way
of traveling.”

“What is that?”

“Why, there is no danger of getting a seat just behind a window fiend.”

“There is something in that,” I answered, “but I am thinking just now
of our dinner. We must certainly learn how to cook eggs and vegetables
before we return to the earth.”

The character of our conversation, judged from these scraps, shows that
we had no excuse for remaining awake any longer.




CHAPTER XIII.

A MORNING TALK.


Next morning we arose early, but found the family already up. Thorwald
seemed disposed to lose no time in showing and telling us everything
interesting, and so invited us at once to the top of the house, to take
a view of the country. The sun was just rising, and its pleasant rays
lighted up a scene of surpassing beauty. We seemed to be set in the
middle of a vast park, whose boundaries extended in all directions as
far as we could see. The landscape presented the most varied character,
wood and water, hill and plain, and every feature needed to make a
most delightful picture. Not the least of its charms, and perhaps
the greatest, was the profusion of color, which filled the vision and
satisfied the sense of beauty with its contrasts and its harmonies. Some
of the hills might justly be called mountains, and yet on the rugged
sides as well as on the summit of each were grand mansions surrounded by
cultivated fields.

The doctor made some remark about this latter fact, and Thorwald said:

“These situations, which would be almost inaccessible without the aid
of electricity, are now the favorite sites for building. This wonderful
power levels all hills in the ease with which it does its work. No task
is too hard for it and it asks no sympathy, so we may as well ride and
carry our freight up hill, if we prefer it, and build our houses on the
mountain tops. One characteristic of our nature has not changed, and
there is still a great variety of taste, so that plenty of people choose
the lower land to build upon. I see by your faces that you both admire
this panorama and think we were wise to place our house on such high
ground. We like to have our friends take this view in the morning, when
the world has been freshened by the night’s rain.”

“Is it not just as beautiful at sunset after a shower?” I asked.

“Oh,” answered Thorwald, “I haven’t told you that it never rains in the
day-time, have I?”

“No, indeed, that’s another surprise for us. But how is it managed?”

“You will remember I told you,” said Thorwald in reply, “that it was
found that rain enough fell for all parts of the world if it could only
be rightly distributed. Then when we had discovered by a long series of
experiments how to make the clouds shed their water at our pleasure, we
set about devising a means whereby we could give each section the right
quantity of rain at just the right time.

“We established a central bureau in each country and let the people in
every city or district vote and send in their request for a shower or
a long rain ten days in advance. At first it required only a majority
vote, but this occasioned no end of trouble, as half the community would
often believe they were suffering for want of rain when the other
half wanted fair weather. Then the rule was changed so as to make a
three-quarters vote necessary, which did not help matters much, for very
often the crops would be seriously damaged before so large a proportion
of the people could be brought to see the desirability of a rainy day.

“At length the happy thought was conceived of letting it rain over each
part of the country every night, and giving the right to vote only on
the quantity desired. This keeps everything fresh and has been found of
immense benefit to vegetation. Besides, it inconveniences no one, in the
present state of our society, however it might have been when the plan
was first adopted.”

“What of those people,” I asked, “whose occupation or pleasure calls
them out in the night?”

“We have no such class,” replied Thorwald. “We have found by long
experience that it is best to follow the indication of nature, and
take the day for labor and the night for rest. This practice and the
attention devoted to our diet have been chief factors in lengthening the
span of our lives. If this line of action is best for one it is best for
all, and, as everybody is doing the best he can, it follows that there
are literally no people out at night.”

“I suppose you would call me stupid again,” said I, “if I should ask if
you have any such old-time personages as guardians of the peace.”

“Indeed I should,” answered our friend, “for you ought to know us
better. If you will excuse a poor witticism, the peace is old enough on
our planet to go without a guardian.”

As we smiled at this the doctor was encouraged to try his hand, but, not
feeling equal to addressing a pleasantry to the usually august Martian,
he turned to me and remarked:

“This would be a pretty poor place for an umbrella trust, wouldn’t it?”

As we left our place of outlook and made our way down stairs, Thorwald
resumed:

“As I have said before, we have reached our present happy condition
through many bitter experiences. We read that at one time people had so
much work to do and were so thoughtless as to what was good for their
physical welfare that they began to rob themselves of their proper rest.
Others found it convenient to follow occupations which obliged them to
work all night and get what sleep they could in the day-time. Night was
considered about the only time that could be utilized, also, for the
activities of social life.

“This condition lasted a long time, with the tendency continually
toward the practice of encroaching more and more upon the hours of rest
appointed by nature. It was then the period of making many laws, and
large and influential legislative bodies began to set a bad example to
the rest of the world by holding their sessions mainly in the night.
Newspapers thought it necessary to appear full-fledged at the break of
day, and the railroads made but little distinction between darkness and
daylight in the matter of carrying people hither and thither. The change
was slow, but it was in the wrong direction. Darkness was driven out by
more improved methods of lighting, and houses and streets were brilliant
the whole night long; and it finally became the fashion in both society
and business circles literally to turn night into day. For a time that
remained the universal custom, strange as it seems to us now, but the
practice of sleeping in the day-time never became natural. This means
that the whole world was living on from year to year without the amount
of rest required to keep the race alive. There could be but one result.
A brood of nervous troubles fell upon us; life began to shorten, and
we became aware that a serious crisis was before us. As soon as we were
convinced that we were bringing all this evil upon ourselves by our
disregard of the laws of nature, there was a change; and it is well
for us that there was still virility enough left in the race to make a
change possible. A gradual reform was instituted which, overcoming many
difficulties and delays but with no serious set-backs, brought us, after
long years, to our present happy way. Of course, our improvement in
every other direction, moral as well as physical, assisted us all along
in this reform. Now, looking back on our course, and comparing our
present with our former state, we are perfectly sure what is best for
us, and he would be a rash man who should intimate that we are not doing
right in using the night for rest.

“But this is getting to be quite a long talk for so early in the
morning. Let us see if breakfast is not ready.”

This meal proved to be as appetizing as the first, although the dishes
were entirely different; being made up, apparently, of fruit and
cereals.

The doctor and I had been exceedingly interested in the way the dinner
of the evening before had been served. We did not understand it, and now
we were equally puzzled to see the breakfast courses come and go. No one
came in to make any change in the table, and our hostess seemed to
have as little to do with it as the rest of us. She presided with great
dignity, and, as I watched the changes going on with such perfect ease
and quiet, I could not refrain from saying:

“If it is proper for me to ask, will you tell us how this is done, Mrs.
----”

“We do not use those titles now,” she interrupted. “Call me Zenith, the
name by which I was introduced to you. I suppose Thorwald has told you
that electricity does nearly all our work. I arrange things in order
before the meal begins, and then by merely touching a button under
the table the apparatus is set in motion which brings and takes away
everything in the manner you see.”

“It is wonderful,” I exclaimed. “And if we are to believe all that
Thorwald has told us, I suppose you have no servants for any department
of work.”

“You are not entirely right,” she returned. “We have excellent servants.
This obedient power, that does our work so willingly, is our servant,
and so is the mechanism with which our houses are filled, and through
which this silent force is exerted. Many of our animals are domesticated
and trained to do light services, but as for servants of our own flesh
and blood, no such class exists. We all share whatever work there is,
and no labor is menial. Whatever I ask others to do I am glad to do for
them when occasion offers. Do not suppose we are idle. There is work for
us, but with our abundant strength and continual good health it is never
a burden. Then there are the duties connected with our higher life and
education, for we are ever seeking to fit ourselves for a still better
existence than this.”

We had now finished breakfast and were walking through the house.
Zenith was a beautiful woman, although, from our point of view, of such
generous proportions. She possessed the perfect form and the vigor and
health of all the Martians. She was, moreover, graceful, modest, and
winning. But Thorwald and the other men that we had seen possessed these
latter qualities also, and Zenith exhibited the same strength of mind
and the same devotion to lofty aims as her husband. In their equipment
for the duties of life and in the ability to do valiant service for
their kind they seemed equal. Evidently neither had a monopoly of any
class of advantages, either of mind, body, or estate.




CHAPTER XIV.

PROCTOR SHOWS US THE EARTH.


We discovered at once that the Mars dwellers understand what genuine
hospitality is, for we found ourselves at perfect liberty to do what
best pleased us without restraint from our hosts. With so much to tell
us of their own high civilization and with so many questions still to
ask about the earth, there was no haste nor undue curiosity. Much less
was there any attempt yet by Thorwald to resume the argument about the
habitability of other worlds.

But at the same time we were aware that our friends were at our service,
and early in the afternoon Thorwald asked us if we could think of
anything we should like to see.

“Yes,” I answered, “I should like to see the earth.”

“No doubt, my friend, but I don’t see exactly how I am going to take you
there.”

“I did not expect that,” said I; “but, after all you have hinted about
your advance in astronomical science, I thought you might give us a
pretty good view of the earth without going any nearer to it than we are
now.”

“Oh, that’s what you mean, is it? Excuse me for being so dull. Is it not
singular that I should wait to be asked to show you the wonders of our
telescopes? Zenith, let us all go with them to see their home, about
which we have so often speculated.

“We have many good observatories,” continued Thorwald, speaking to the
doctor and me, “some of which are noted for one line of study and some
for another. The one that has given the most attention to observing the
earth and that has the best instruments for that work is situated on the
other side of our planet.”

“Then, of course,” said I, “we will choose one nearer home for our
visit.”

“Why so?” asked Thorwald. “It is always wise to get the best when you
can.”

“Yes, but we do not want you to take the time and trouble to make a
journey half around your world just because I said I would like to see
the earth.”

“Oh, our time is yours, and we will not make trouble of it; we will call
it a pleasure trip. We may as well take the children, Zenith; they will
enjoy it. How soon can you all be ready?”

“In five minutes,” answered Zenith.

“Then we had better get off at once,” said Thorwald.

And without further words this remarkable family scattered to different
parts of the house and in five minutes were ready to begin a journey of
five or six thousand miles, and the only reason they did not start at
once was that the doctor and I were not quite so expeditious. We were
soon on our way, however, having locked no doors behind us and leaving
everything just as if we were to return in an hour.

We took an electric carriage to the station, and from there went by the
tubular road to the metropolis. This was a great city whence there was
direct communication to all the principal centers of population on the
planet. As we had not been in any haste in making the changes necessary
to reach this stage of our journey, it was now late in the day, and I
began to wonder how we were to continue the trip without being out
in the night. When I mentioned my thought to Thorwald, he removed the
difficulty in a moment by saying:

“We simply travel west and leave the night behind us. You know the
surface of Mars, even at the equator, goes east at the rate of only five
hundred miles an hour, and as our modern cars take us much faster than
that, it is easy for us to keep ahead of the night by going in the right
direction. So in making long trips we try to travel west.”

“But suppose you want to go east?”

“Then we go west to get east, and we arrange the speed so as to get to
our destination in the day-time.”

We left our car and found another just ready to start for the distant
city in which our observatory was situated. It was a small car
comparatively, and we had it all to ourselves. There were all sorts of
conveniences in it, and we composed ourselves for a good rest. After a
ride of several hours we reached our destination. It was now about noon,
so that we had actually made nearly half a day, besides the time spent
in sleep while riding. I know some of my friends on the earth, who say
the day is too short for them, would appreciate such an improvement as
that if they could have it.

We passed part of the afternoon in riding about the city. The same
language was spoken here as was used on Thorwald’s side of the globe;
but, although communication was so easy, we found enough difference in
the architecture and in the general appearance of the people to make
travel interesting.

Toward night we all alighted at the door of the observatory, and the
doctor and I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of a man of
Mars who had spent many years in studying the surface of the earth. It
may be imagined that he was glad to meet us and to get our answers to
many questions which had long perplexed him, some of which he had never
hoped to have solved.

Proctor, for this was the name by which he was introduced, was one of
the oldest men we had seen, and impressed us as one possessed of great
wisdom. His manner was so dignified, also, that it seemed quite as
inappropriate to address him without a title as it was to call our
hostess plain Zenith. But when I asked Thorwald aside what I should call
him, he said:

“Call him by his name, just as you do the rest of us. We have but one
name each.”

“I should think that would be confusing,” said I. “For example, how are
you to be distinguished from any other Thorwald?”

“There is no other that I ever heard of. There are names enough to go
all around.”

As night came on we were brought face to face with the great instrument
whose work of observing the earth was known far and wide.

Proctor was occupied a short time in adjusting it, and then asked us if
we could recognize what was in the field. I motioned to the doctor, but
as he insisted that I should take the first view I put my eye to the
glass with much trepidation. Instead of the magnified disk of the earth,
which I expected to behold, I saw but a small portion of the surface,
and that a familiar stretch of coast line. I never knew whether Proctor
thought by our accent or by the cut of our clothes that we were New
Englanders, but he had so pointed the telescope that our first sight
of the earth showed us dear old Massachusetts Bay, with its islands and
boundaries. I did not speak till the doctor had looked, and then we told
the others of our pleasant surprise.

Proctor made another adjustment, saying he would bring the globe still
nearer to us, and we looked and saw a patch of beautiful green country.
It appeared to be but a few miles away, and we thought we ought to
distinguish large objects. But the appearance was deceptive in this
respect, and Proctor told us they had not been able to determine
definitely whether the earth was inhabited. They could see important
changes going on from time to time; they believed they could tell
cultivated from wild land; certain peculiar spots they called large
cities; and there were many such indications of inhabitants. But they
had not yet beheld man nor his unquestioned footsteps. As to their
belief on the subject, they had the strongest faith that the earth was
peopled by an intelligent race, and Proctor added that he rejoiced to
see that faith so happily justified by our presence. To which the doctor
pleasantly replied that he should be sorry to have him judge of the
intelligence of the race at large from two such inferior specimens.

One question which Proctor asked was, whether we had ever made any
attempt to communicate with the other planets. We told him we had not,
but that if we should ever try such a thing it would probably be with
Mars; but that it would be useless to think of it with our present
astronomical attainments, for if we should succeed in attracting the
attention of another world we would not know it, because we could not
see the answer.

Proctor said they had sometimes seen moving masses which were not
clouds, but which they took for smoke and were not sure but they might
be intended for signals. We replied that if it were smoke that they saw
it was probably caused by forest fires, but if we ever reached the earth
again we would organize a company and try to make some electric signals
which they could see.




CHAPTER XV.

A NIGHT ADVENTURE


It was late when the conversation closed, and Proctor said we were to
spend the night with him of course, and in the morning he would take
pleasure in introducing to us the other members of his household.

The residence buildings, beautiful and commodious structures, adjoined
the observatory, and to each of us was given a separate apartment. After
Proctor had left us, Thorwald came into my room a moment and I said to
him:

“Proctor is a friend of yours, is he not?”

“Certainly,” answered Thorwald, “what could he be but a friend? But then
I never saw him before today.”

“Is it possible? Are strangers always treated so hospitably?”

“I see no

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