Chapter XIX: An Aerial Voyage with Divers Experiences

A week later they made their start for the southern pole. Mexitli was to lead the expedition as far as the island of Melandria; her return would depend upon news from the city.

“The first thing we shall have to consider,” said Abercromby, “is to find room in our blessed machine for the whole multitude of maidens who are keen upon coming with us. _We_ shall have to tidy up, of course.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, my dear man,” said Carmichael. “The engineer consents to stay at home, and Jackson will stay with him. We three will go and sleep in the store-room, while the cabins and the dining-room can be allotted to the people for whose coming you are so naturally zealous.”

In fact, the machine was at the travellers’ disposal now, and they spent several days in upholstering it according to Atalantan taste. It was about a week before all was ready for the start, and by then the weather had finally cleared and the heat was rather severe.

Radcliffe had been indeed nursed back to life and health by Melanitis. Abercromby’s attitude to her was rather curious. He was always most courteous and deferential, save in one point, that he constantly talked in English to Radcliffe when she was present, and often contrived, even in the midst of a conversation that seemed to be jocose, to make allusions to the past life-sorrow of his friend. He would endeavour to throw them together as much as possible, and keep himself in the background. All this was not only puzzling but irritating to the Professor, who seldom spoke to Melanitis except when courtesy required, for he not only disliked her but feared exceedingly as to what was going to happen. One day, when they were on the eve of departure, he remarked to Abercromby: “The thing that beats me is to understand how a woman of Mexitli’s character can be blind to what is so patent--that her sister, and one whom she must regard as a barbarian, are very much in love. At first it was all on the woman’s part, but now I am convinced that Radcliffe is himself yielding, at least so far as this, that he gives to Melanitis the second place in his heart. The princess hopes, no doubt, in time to win the first, though she is too wise to hurry matters. But all this must be clear to Mexitli, and why does she not show her hand?”

“You told me yourself that there is no accounting for the ways of women or their inward logic,” said Abercromby, “but I am going to ask _you_ a question. Is Melanitis in the least degree afraid of what her sister might do to her?”

“Not in the least, so far as I can see, and this is the queerest part of it all. But do _you_ yourself, Abercromby, trust Melanitis?”

“Perfectly.”

“Do you, not as a rival of course, but in the way of brotherly affection, love her?”

“I love Radcliffe more.”

“Because you have known him longer?”

“For that and other reasons.”

“I believe you know more than you choose to say.”

“I want you not to think me a lunatic before it is necessary.”

Mayana, Minya, and Cleophon remained behind in the palace to assist the King in the event of dangers or difficulties.

The two princesses were to accompany the expedition, and were (it was distinctly declared) to lead it in every sense of the word. Several aerial vessels were to follow in their wake. Malchon, however, was haunted by an uneasy thought, and one day he said to Radcliffe in Mexitli’s presence: “You leave behind two of your number as hostages for your return and our own airships will follow you. I trust you fully, my son, and I am beginning to trust your friend Abercromby, but your leader is a man of science and thinks naturally more of his people than of me and mine. I know the capabilities of your machine and that it could, in a few minutes, leave us for ever. Will you promise me, in the name of Jesus Christ, that you will not do this but be faithful to the trust I repose in you and bring the princesses safe back to the palace?”

“I will do this and also more. We shall not take our terrestrial weapons but leave them behind in your safe custody. Let the princesses take their own weapons, and it is we who shall be at their mercy, not they at ours.”

Mexitli took both the hands of Radcliffe in hers and pressed them.

Carmichael was not altogether pleased with this arrangement. He indignantly denied that he had ever contemplated “doing a bolt,” as Abercromby phrased it, but he was rather perplexed to know what might happen to them if by chance they put their guests in a bad temper.

On the first day of the new month--Antarana, meaning “the greater heat”--the party took possession of the Asteroid; the King, accompanied by his guards, councillors, and attendants, amongst whom Carysfort and Jackson were present, came to bid them farewell. Jackson, forgetting it was Venus, took off his hat by way of respect, but the sun soon caused him to discover his mistake. Mayana and her sister were affectionately embraced by Mexitli, who whispered in their ears some warning words that evidently had Lydon for their chief object, as his name was heard.

The dining-room window was thrown open, and the balcony fixed in its place, so that the fresh air might penetrate to every part of the machine. The Professor went to the conning-tower and set the engines in motion. He was rather vexed that Minola, Mexitli’s maid of honour, stood by his side, silent, but noting everything that was done. The others gathered on the balcony watching the landscape beneath them. They were all in the gayest mood, more like frolicsome children than people who, even then, held, or were held by, the powers of death. Mexitli quite threw off her haughtiness and seemed thoroughly to enjoy herself, and to want all the rest to do the same. To Abercromby alone she was still a trifle distant, but the latter was so perfectly respectful that it soon disarmed her.

“I say, old man,” began Abercromby to Radcliffe, “I wonder what the Proctor would say to me now. I once ran him half round Cambridge, but I should have drawn the line at an airship. Have you heard at Oxford the song of the Proctor? It is deeply pathetic, but not quite applicable to this side of Venus.

“Every proctor has his bull-dog,
Man of doughty might,
When he sallies forth in full tog
’Mid the shades of night.”

“Is that poetry you are reciting?” said Mexitli.

“Yes, a song of Cambridge, the town where I passed my examinations--no, no, where I pursued my studies.”

“Please sing it to me in Atalantan.”

“How the deuce am I to do it?” said Abercromby. “Do give me a tip.”

Radcliffe promptly said--

“When the bold-faced idler flies
From the work he ought to do,
Man and beast, with vengeful cries,
Through the streets the knave pursue.”

“How interesting!” said Mexitli. “I _should_ like to see it.”

All this time Melanitis had been in a condition of explosive laughter.

Meanwhile the Asteroid had been passing above the south side of the great city and then away over the gap between the two hills. The country seemed to grow every mile more beautiful--forest and meadow, waterfall and bubbling stream, with houses of quaint architecture, both small and great, perched on eminences, surrounded by groves and gardens, while a level causeway led from the south of the capital through the environs, stretching far away into the distance, curving in a south-westerly direction. Every now and again an airship passed them on its way to the city.

Abercromby narrated with much animation the story of the aerial monster whose cry of wailing had so suddenly disturbed their encampment.

The face of Melanitis grew grave. “It was the ship of death,” she said; “a prisoner condemned by us was taken to the dark hemisphere to die.”

“How was he killed?” asked Radcliffe.

“He perished in the cold night,” said Mexitli in a rather hard tone. “He was a spy of the priests, who sought to stir up disaffection. When the ship of death sighted the polar terrors, it was lowered to the frozen ice-field; the man was turned adrift with the customary words, ‘Unworthy of the glories of the day, worthy of the terrors of the night.’ The task accomplished, the ship returns and awaits its next hapless passenger.”

“Would that have been _our_ doom, princess?”

“It might have been; it very nearly was. By the by, you seriously transgressed our laws in haranguing the people in a place of public resort, as you did on the occasion of that absurd festival. But, of course, you were on our side, so you won’t hear any more about it.”

“Are open-air addresses contrary to the laws of Atalanta?” asked Radcliffe in a rather pained tone.

“I can alter the laws if needs be,” said Mexitli; “but you must seek my permission before you adopt any such method again. I will give you plenty of other means of carrying out your plans. You see, any address to the people savours of sedition, as it has been always used for that end; but perhaps I shall let you have your wish in due time.”

“Look! The sea! the sea!” cried Abercromby. “I am as excited as old Xenophon’s Greeks. An airship would have settled their job much more quickly. He would not have had to write so much Greek, and I might not have been ‘plucked’ in consequence.”

“Leave these old-world allusions and look at this glorious sight,” said Mexitli; “there is the coast-line of our grand continent, and away, beyond the horizon, is Melandria.”

“This is much more like a terrestrial view, is it not?” said Abercromby to Melanitis.

“Much more like,” she replied.

Radcliffe darted upon her a swift look of uttermost surprise.

“The observatory on Aptaura is a famous place for seeing Karamandra,” she said.

“Very excellent indeed,” remarked Abercromby in a somewhat inscrutable tone.

Mexitli pointed to a colony of houses overlooking a forest that extended nearly down to the shore. “We will picnic there,” she said. “Minola, tell the pilot of our good vessel to direct it to the point which I indicate.”

Carmichael obeyed with a docility rather novel to him, and they came to an anchor on a meadow-green lawn of smooth grass only a few feet elevated above the water’s edge. A venerable Atalantan matron, leaning upon the arms of her son and nephew, came forward from the terrace of the house nearest to the sea and made a profound obeisance to the princesses.

“Carmichael,” said Melanitis, “be so good as to guard the Asteroid while we picnic here, we shall not be long.”

Abercromby looked rather indignant, but at last broke out into a laugh.

“Come, Professor, don’t elope to China; no, of course, I mean to Atalanta. Write your notes and edit your experiences. Be a Cambridge don, and dream you are sending me down.”

“Eat some lunch will be more likely,” grumbled the Professor. “I have taken the precaution to bring a decent pile of sandwiches with me; I only regret they were not made even in Germany.”

The statuesque Minola sat down close to the entrance to the machine; she began to read one of the manuscripts which Radcliffe had finished. The Professor had his lunch all to himself, watching his silent duenna with feelings far from satisfactory, for the maiden had always one of the green tubes at hand, and seemed quite ready to use it.

The aged woman’s name was Amarilla; she had lived all her life in this lonely corner of the empire, supporting herself by the work of her son’s hands and her own. They had made a little paradise of this rough shore-line. She was deeply versed in the religious philosophy of her country in its ancient form, and had always lived in hope that she might, as she phrased it, “hear the silence of the skies broken.” During the picnic conversation flowed apace; Amarilla besought the strangers to tell her of their own world and of its people, of their religion, their laws, their arts, their government.

Radcliffe and Abercromby obeyed; the princesses sat motionless and silent, taking in every word.

Their principal topic, however, was the history of the Christian religion in Karamandra and the desperate struggle it had waged with its pagan foes.

Radcliffe told the story of Polycarp, of Cyprian, and of Perpetua and Felicitas, at which his hearers were intensely moved.

“You will never have these obstacles in Atalanta,” said Amarilla, “but you will have others, chiefly the invincible unwillingness of the people to bestir themselves, to awake from the dreaming of centuries, and from the pride which makes them believe that everything in the Flowery Land is perfect and can never be altered except for the worse. My rulers command me in all things but one: they let me give the allegiance of my soul to the King of Heaven and to the exiled Prince.”

“Mother, I allow you to speak quite freely, but tell me in return, are you quite sure that the allegiance of which you speak will never conflict with the allegiance to the throne?”

“Try it, princess, when you are queen, and you will find that the more your people love God the better will they serve you. And as for you, strangers, go forth and spread everywhere the things which God has done for your world, and pray to Him that He may yet do equal things for ours.”

Both the princesses took a fond farewell, and then they returned to the Asteroid.

While the Professor resumed his duties as steersman, the party once more discussed subjects of literary interest, as the machine pursued its short aerial journey to the island.

“One of the prettiest samples of our national poetry,” said Mexitli, “is the lyrical invocation to the Sun God. I omit the part which is abominably idolatrous, but the prelude, where Asti vaunts his own greatness, is at least geographical--

My power doth fence the realm of polar snows,
My rays smite kindling, high Aptaura’s pile,
Mine is the light that on Meloria glows,
And mine the twilight in Melandria’s isle.”

Abercromby had been making his first attempt at Atalantan poetry by trying to turn “All in the hush of twilight” into Atalantan verse. He was fairly successful, though Mexitli told him he must study for a year before he could do real justice in their own poetry to a lovely lyric in another language. All agreed, however, that though not suitable to Central Atalanta, where the sun was not on the horizon, it would be sure to take the fancy of the Melandrians, for they always had to live in a twilight land, and loved it so much, that they would like to be in the hush of the twilight from end to end of their planetary year.