Chapter VI: Winter

We had it all to repeat after we had endured the catastrophe.

We thought that the star, having reached the end of its elongated orbit, turned with exceeding suddenness upon its course, so changing the temperature of north and south as to produce the excessive storm.

I will not tell you of our discouraged hearts, but will go on to that winter which was approaching from this time.

True that we were disheartened, but that we should desist from our labor was impossible. We must prepare for a frigid zone.

This time we selected a high tableland, broken through with narrow clefts where the sea penetrated the land. Some of these clefts we roofed over.

We built with reference to enormous weights of snow. We made coverings and corridors; we put windows and pipes and tubes all so that we could breathe and so that we could close them in case of necessity.

We sunk wells, collected oil and firewood.

At one spot in the rocks we found intense heat; here we built a vast low building to be warmed from the perpetual heat of the star’s volcanic fire. Time passed on.

As we receded from the sun our fears became greater.

Again we came where we could see our Earth, almost a moon. Then we departed into colder, darker space.

Snow fell constantly until the forest disappeared under a white bank. The volcanoes were cloaked almost to their tops. The surface of the land was changed.

We had wood for fifty years in our cellars.

The smoke from the islands of the sea told us that the life of the star was still existing.

Day became twilight. On the snow it was inexpressibly gloomy. The sky grew black; we were entering a night of years.

About this time it became so cold that it was unsafe to go into the open air to look. We could only venture out in a hollow case of skins, with lamps about us for warmth.

We made all our investigations through triple plates of glass.

Then the bird people fell into a sleep from which it was impossible to wake them. We put them into a great hall by dozens, where they lay motionless, lifeless to all appearance.

Father Renaudin, Regan, Isabella and I were alone.

Day after day we watched our dear, far sun receding, and, as we gazed on the desolate, purpling waste, we wondered if we should find it possible to exist until the night was past!

Such an awful sky! The sun only as a taper in it!

The star was so small! Would it continue safely on or would it drop down upon some larger sphere?

Then we all became aware that another form or presence was among us! Like a black mist it entered and stood beside the fire, sometimes remaining for hours.

For a time each observer feared to mention the phantom, lest the others prove that it was an illusion of the mind. We were afraid of the delusions of darkness of twenty years. But when we all began to watch for it together, we spoke of it. All had seen it, had heard its step, had felt its touch.

Prisoned, we could venture out no more. It was dangerous even to go into the corridors.

Father Renaudin had been writing from remembrance the condensed books of the Bible. He had finished his work so far as to have reached the words which were spoken by the dead man on that night when we left Earth:

“And I will give him the morning star.”

“I wonder what was meant when that was written?” said Father Renaudin.

He leaned his head upon his hand and seemed in deep study.

The shade had been for hours beside the fire. Now it crossed the floor and touched him upon the shoulder.

“Come!” it said.

“It is Gregg Dempster!” cried Regan. “It is his voice! There is no God! Oh! if there were He would do this!”

Father Renaudin rose, took his staff and his books and went after his guide. We followed along the corridors, through doors which we had not opened, out into the last corridor, where the cold stopped us.

We saw them go out into the dark cold, the two, side by side, like spirits moving across the snow, Father Renaudin in his crimson robe, his hair blown like silver, his books clasped in one hand, his staff in the other.

The darkness hid them.

I would have married Isabella if I could have ever gained courage to so defy Regan. Now Father Renaudin was gone and there was no hope of his return.

“There are things in this star which were never on Earth!” said Isabella.

Then she threw herself down beside Regan and, leaning her head upon the arm of his chair, sobbed and wept in frightful passion. She looked only at Regan, Regan—never at me!

But Regan looked at me, with a face like a demon’s, where was such horrid cruelty and rage that I shuddered. And still he touched the bowed head gently and said:

“Poor child, he will return!”

It was of no use to hope. Calamities and circumstances seemed to me to be in Regan’s control! He would never give her up!

“There is no humanity in our wonderful endurance!” said Regan, at last.

“Why should we keep up this fraud of hypocrisy?” sobbed Isabella. “We are lost!-utterly, hopelessly, everlastingly most miserable! Oh! I wish I could see the sun! I wish I could see a woman’s face! I wish I could hear the little children laugh! I hate these yellow, churning seas, this volcanic world! I can never leave it, never, never!”

Still the days went on. We wrote, composed music, painted, devised dramas and made plans for their presentation. We coined money, we made statuary in stone. We hated it all in our darkness and desolation.

As day after day we sat beside the fire, from hating fate, Regan and I grew to hate each other, hate as two who were dead and laid in two separate graves of black might hate each other if angelhood were to be won by only one of them!

Did not Isabella see and know, when she carefully removed every implement which might serve as a weapon?

Did she fear when we sat glowering sullenly at the fire and dangerously at each other? Did she not constantly talk, talk, sing, sing?

I think that human beings must all grow dangerous if they do not see the sun. One-half this sentiment, which we call “gentleness,” “humanity,” “mercy,” is only sunlight!

We were not much troubled when the star began to shake in its shroud. If the rocks should fall, what then? Possibly we should have no more of the terrible life to endure!

The shocks grew worse and worse. One night, as we sat hating beside the fire, a part of the wall fell down. We could see the cold, far stars shining into our house, that house which we had builded so strong! The dreadful breath of cold like steel struck upon our faces!

It was but for one instant. For once I thought quickly. I caught Isabella in my arms and rushed into the tunnel where the rocks were warm. Where Regan went I did not see.

END OF ROY LEE’S JOURNAL.