Chapter XVI: “a Race of Laughing Philosophers”

“At length corruption, like a general flood,
So long by watchful ministers withstood,
Shall deluge all; and avarice creeping on,
Spread like a low-born mist and blot the sun.”
(+Pope.+)

The approach and descent of the _Regina_ with the intent of warehousing her cargo of detrimentals on the new-found world caused considerable commotion, and in the district they approached, all the people within sight came running up, signalling to others, so that a crowd had collected within the space of a few minutes, quite in terrestrial style. All gazed upward in astonishment to see the great vessel slowly settling, which was augmented when the side opened, the shimmering net was drawn back, and several figures stepped on the outer deck; the watchers gave a shout of dismay as one of the figures walked off the ship as if on a level crossing, and this dismay turned to consternation as they saw that the man did not fall crashing to the ground as they expected, but remained floating as he was. Then another followed and still another till there were eight, all clustered together, suspended in space, when they slowly sank to the ground, men just like themselves, though differently dressed. Looking up to the airship they saw the net drawn together, heard the metal doors clink and snap, and then without further sound or sign the vessel rose higher and higher till lost to sight. What did it mean? and they stood staring at the eight strange people who had dropped in their midst from the clouds. Edgar Holt, essaying the first question, asked the people around where they were and the name of the planet, but neither the natives nor visitors could understand the languages used. Like wild-fire the news spread that eight beings from another world had been deposited on their sphere, and people came flocking up from all directions till the ground for some distance around was packed and movement was well-nigh impossible. Word was passed from one to another, telling the story of the strange descent over and over again, as could be perceived by their gesticulations, and some looked upon Holt and his companions with awe and reverence, almost as gods, whilst those who had not witnessed their arrival considered the accounts exaggerated, owing to excitement, especially as there was no trace of vessel, or sign of one, to corroborate, and their visitors appeared much the same weight as their own average, therefore it was difficult to believe they had floated.

The eight friends could speak many different languages amongst them, and these were all tried in turn, the people also speaking several, as the visitors could tell by the change of accent and the different vocalisation, but all without being understood. Two men, who seemed to be governors or officers, next took the visitors in hand and conveyed them to an enclosure, over which was placed an awning. Here again the same difficulty arose with regard to speech, and matters at once came to an _impasse_ when Aubrey Bolford thought of telepathy. All difficulties were now ended, for the people were more expert in the science than those of Earth, and both parties were surprised that the idea had not occurred to them before, though as its use was not necessary or usual in personal conversation, the temporary omission to try it was not really to be wondered at.

Edgar Holt, as a middle-aged man, had carried out the practice and promise of his youth, for he made a point of ignoring and belittling anything and everything in which he could not take the chief part. This had been his undoing on the ship, and now he took everything in his own hands and acted as the spokesman and appointed leader of the expedition. It never occurred to him that any of his companions-in-disgrace might object to his rule, nor would it have made much difference if they had done so; he would have ruled, just the same, or left them to go their way while he went his. His friends, however, were well content to leave the leadership to him, for though, like most men of his class, he was unscrupulous to a degree, he was gifted with ready wit and infinite resource which had hitherto stood him in good stead, for he had always been able to shift his difficulties to some one else and himself appear not only guiltless but very much injured; and in this last, and first, case of detection, had it not been for those bothering secret instruments giving them away, and the whole thing being dealt with before he had had time to think, he felt quite confident that whatever might have happened to the others _he_ would still have been in the ship, respected and honoured, not only as a scientist, but as a gentleman. None of his companions, therefore, resented the aspect their leader put on the affair in not stating the raw and garish truth, but presenting that cultured compromise which some call the ‘truth, put delicately,’ and others a ‘white lie,’ as their fancy dictates; the result, however, is the same. So in his most captivating way, as he could not tell a lie for anything, Holt told the officials the ‘truth,’ according to his lights—and no one living could disprove it, or call him an untruthful man,—“We, with many others, were going on a voyage of exploration to the sun in a splendidly equipped ship, but as we had to come near this world, we expressed a strong desire to visit it and make friends with the inhabitants, so we eight were put down here to explore whilst our friends proceeded on their journey, and in due course our ship will call and take us back again. We thought that by this means we could render better service to science by visiting here whilst our friends explored the sun, and thus both objects could be dealt with together and considerable time saved. We therefore request that you will accord to us that hospitality and assistance which you yourselves would receive from our own people in similar circumstances.”

This pretty, flattering little speech could have but one result, and smiles and greetings of the warmest character followed.

Then came many questions on both sides, and as the natives did not know Earth by that name, a drawing was made of the solar system, and they were asked to name the various worlds. The sun they named ‘Claytor,’ a word to them signifying ‘light and heat’; Mercury they called ‘Celtas’ or ‘one,’ being nearest the sun; their own planet was ‘Ramsar,’ and ‘Surans’—the former meaning ‘two,’ or the second from the sun, the latter signifying ‘much water,’ the world having more water than land; Venus was ‘Lovis’—or ‘three,’ and Earth ‘Rathela’ or ‘four.’ Stars were called ‘Claros,’ which means ‘fixed,’ in contrast with ‘Icelaros,’ signifying ‘unfixed,’ or ‘travelling’ stars, which Earthians call ‘planets.’

“What is your orbit in the system?” asked Fred Congreve.

“It is within that of Venus, journeying round the sun.”

“How is it then that we have never seen it from Earth?” questioned Aubrey Bolford, who was an astronomer.

“You see from this photograph that it is surrounded by a belt of semi-opaque ether, which would render it wholly, or partially invisible to you except on the rare occasions when the web lifted, and even then meteor-swarms or planetoids might intervene. We shall therefore be a ‘variable’ star to you, just as your Earth and all the other members of the solar family are not always visible to us, for which reason we call them, as a whole, the ‘Selporas,’ a word signifying ‘variables,’ as you name them.”

“You may perhaps recall,” remarked Bolford, turning to Holt, “that in the year 2000 +a.d.+ many astronomers at the chief observatories in the world noticed a large object near Venus which was taken to be a ‘Nova,’ or else a new moon, but after being under observation for a few days, it disappeared and has not been seen since; it never has been visible in England. Perhaps this is the one referred to.”

“I think it is more than probable,” assented Holt, then turning to one of the bystanders he asked if astronomy was one of their special studies, to find that not only astronomy but all other arts and sciences were studied most assiduously. Holt then informed them who he and his companions were and explained their professions. Such an event as the almost miraculous dropping in their midst of eight of the most noted scientists of another world could not be other than a great national event. All over the world the news was ‘waved,’ for the people were far more advanced in every way than those of Earth, and the ‘wave’ apparatus was so universal that almost every family had one fixed in their dwelling, and even young children were conversant with its use; it was a common sight even for them suddenly to stand for a moment in silent concentration, and then smile happily, as some affectionate message from parents or other loved ones was received and joyfully answered. Considering the universal use of telepathy, the ‘wave’ apparatus was almost unnecessary, except that it imprinted the messages which mere transmission of thought necessarily made evanescent.

It followed then that all the inhabited world was soon possessed of the fullest particulars of the _Regina’s_ visit, and those who were able to do so came to the spot on which the travellers had alighted, the octet being the cynosure of all eyes. Certain people were deputed to attend to their personal comfort and elucidate everything not clear to them, the strangers on their part explaining the methods, science and learning of their own planet.

The people lived in community, each colony so excellently organised that no one had ever known a single instance of any wrong being done. However, this state of things was soon to be altered, for Earthians are not yet fitted to associate with those of better life without the latter suffering. In theory, the better exercise such a splendid example for good that the less good immediately improve; but in practice, the only way to maintain the perfection of the good is to isolate them, in order that they may grow better and not worse, and then perhaps go to a still better world; which is the reason, maybe, why nature separated each world from its neighbour by instituting the laws of gravity and atmospheric pressure, and by placing between a chasm of unbreathable and unbridgable space. In conquering gravity, science and chemistry had bridged this gulf and the visits to Venus and other places had done no harm, because those particular visitors were not base, but had sought only good. In the present instance, however, the eight voyagers were very jealous-minded, and were disposed to go to great lengths to obtain the fruits of other men’s labours, hence their presence here, which was likely to prove a real calamity to the pure and honourable inhabitants of this planet, who knew no wrong,—and because they were far above the terrestrials in science, learning and morals, they were childlike in their innocence, their lives glowing with happiness and mirth; every one of them contented and jovial, taking everything that came with a smiling face; having clear consciences and knowing that everything _must_ work out for their good, they accepted each event with philosophy and good-humour, and in their own frankness they never for a moment even dreamed that their visitors could be in any way different, for were not all in the solar system closely related and under the ruling power of the same mighty Sun! They therefore trusted the strangers implicitly and, to use a well-known proverb, they wore their hearts on their sleeves, never imagining that there were such creatures as daws to peck them.

Unfortunately for the natives, thought-transmission with the visitors could only be effected by very strong effort, or they would have known what manner of men they were entertaining, and the visitors’ minds not being so pure and refined as theirs could only grasp their thoughts with the utmost difficulty, failing altogether to do so as often as not.

The strangers were a type of the successful business man of Earth, considering anything justifiable if gain resulted. Earth always favours such men, scorning those boneless creatures whose honour shrinks from causing another’s ruin, so these eight had always been regarded there as exceedingly smart and, bearing in mind Earth’s definition of a sound business man, they despised these clever, innocent people; before the sun set on their first day Holt said to Keeth, laughingly,—“What do you think of these folk here?”

“Exceedingly clever, apparently,” Keeth replied, sneeringly, “but the simplest folk I have ever seen.”

“They’re too innocent by half,” broke in Congreve, an electrician, “and if we don’t pluck them and feather our nests out of this lot, we shall deserve all we get!”

“Why, what shall we get?” inquired Ellis Siddall.

“Get?” ejaculated Pease Dawson, querulously. “Get? you’ll see! We were downright fools ever to have thought of taking that ship, and we shall regret it to our dying day!”

“Yes!” agreed Congreve, “with all our experience of what the owners could and would be likely to do, we might have been sure it would end badly.”

“Well, after all,” said Herbert Wadsworth, “we took the risk, and we made up our minds to stand or fall together when we attempted to seize the ship, and we’ve lost, so we must make the best of it.”

“That’s all right,” rejoined Brookes Hewitt, “but who would have thought they’d have those instruments secreted everywhere, and that the vessel could be electrified in units!”

“Anyway,” said Siddall, much aggrieved, “they should have kept us prisoners and not dumped us here.”

“Never fear!” replied Congreve, “we shall have to face the music, all in good time.”

“You don’t mean to say you think they _will_ call for us?” said Siddall, incredulously.

“Of course they will,” answered Congreve, “and they’ll take us back to England and we shall be tried for mutiny in the air, and you know that is a capital offence.”

“We’ll bring a counter-charge against them for damages,” persisted Siddall, loth to feel he had no case.

“My dear fellow,” interposed Holt, somewhat rudely, as was his wont, “those folk in the ship hold the cards and they’ll play them at the proper time and win. They’ll go to the sun, conduct their observations, call for us and take us back, and then there’ll be a fine kettle of fish, and we shall be the fish! so you might just as well make up your mind to it.”

“Then I for one shall stay here!”

“Don’t be a fool, Siddall!” protested Wadsworth. “You know very well from what you’ve heard and seen, that if we’re called for we’ve got to go, _nolens volens_. Could you get out of your cabin? Could you help coming here? No, when they come for us, we go! They’ll find us, float us up, take the whole blessed world with them if they can’t find us without, so it’s foolish to talk about not doing this, or that; they’ll take us when we’re wanted, whether it’s days or years. It would have been more charitable to kill us, for even if they beg us off in England, our lives will be a misery to us on Earth after this business, but they _cannot_ beg us off!”

This violent outburst silenced Siddall, and Holt said,—“Well, I propose that we have a good time here, and get as much out of these softies as we can, for it’s the last good time we shall have, and we’d better make the best of it.”

“Yes, certainly,” agreed Hewitt, “and they’ll be simple enough to do all that we want.”

“Just fancy!” broke in Keeth, “with all their learning, they don’t know what smoking is! and they are ignorant of alcohol, except as a chemical compound, which they use in their manufactures and laboratories.”

“And they’re so awfully good,” chimed in Congreve, “they know nothing about games of chance, or anything, poor beggars.

“That’s soon remedied,” laughed Holt; “we’ll show them! The _Regina_ will be away getting on for a year, at least, and we can never exist so long as that without relaxation.”

“No,” said Siddall, “we worked hard in coming, and we must work hard here, so as to learn as much as possible, while we have the opportunity.”

“That’s all right,” responded Wadsworth, laughing grimly; “but if we manage to get off, which does not seem possible, we shall have to work harder when we get back to Earth than we have done all our lives together, and if we don’t get off and our lives are forfeit, what’s the good? I think we can afford to take things easy for awhile.”

“That’s all very well, as you say,” expostulated Siddall, “but in the interests of science it is our duty to do the best we can, and we have opportunities here that we shall never have again.”

“Granted!” replied Wadsworth, airily, “I’m not going to argue the matter, old man; I don’t say you’re wrong, but no amount of preaching will avail—our reputations are gone, once and for ever, and nothing is of any moment now.”

“That is foolish, Wadsworth!” exclaimed Siddall, warmly; “that’s fool’s talk! we must not lose our moral strength; we have gone wrong, let it be a lesson to our profit—and considering who we are, it is indeed degrading for us so to forget our manhood and the dignity of our professions as to talk in this way. _Noblesse oblige_, remember!”

This sensible speech pulled them together so much, and made several feel so ashamed, that much heated argument resulted, in which Siddall declared his determination to work and retrieve the past, and the others vowed they would have a ‘decent’ time, and enjoy themselves, showing the utter impossibility of Siddall’s working alone while they went their own course untrammelled, and again Siddall appealed to their honour and better judgment, this time to such purpose that they agreed to spend the next few days in seeing the district and then attach themselves to the various departments of learning and research to which they were severally accustomed, if the people would allow them to do so, and thus perhaps help and be helped in useful work.

Then they retired for the night, but the next day was very dull and they felt depressed; one of them begged a little alcohol to restore him, for he had a weak heart. The chemists were aghast when they saw him drink it, for such a thing had never been seen before. The strength of terrestrial alcohol was no criterion for that made on another planet, so he took what he considered a ridiculously small dose, but it was very powerful and overcame him so much that he was completely intoxicated. With deep regret at the occurrence, his companions tried to rouse him, when they found, to their dismay, that he was slowly sinking. It was extremely difficult to obtain the proper restoratives, and those they had with them were not strong enough, for though all the usual chemicals were in the natives’ laboratory, their names and properties were different, and it was a long process to obtain what was needed; at last one of them found some pure oxygen, which was pumped into the unconscious man and he gradually recovered; but this first lapse, half accidental as it was, cast a gloom over the party and seemed to foreshadow trouble.

The day following, the astronomical observatories were in uproar, and on asking the cause, the visitors were told that the planet was apparently steadily leaving its orbit. This was indeed startling news, and Bolford, with several other members of the party, made careful observations with the natives, of the sun in the daytime, and the stars and planets in the night, and this they kept up for some time, in the hope of getting a definite clue to their own position and movements, to find, without doubt, that slowly and surely the relative positions of the heavens and themselves were steadily changing.

The sun no longer described the same arc in his course, and the altering stars were already causing accidents at sea. Knowing their original position, the astronomers found it only too true; they had left their orbit near Venus, and were surely drifting onwards in a new one, in a course leading them direct from the sun, and already they must have passed out of the semi-opaque web of ether with which they had hitherto been surrounded, for only a portion of the solar system was now obscured and they had an uninterrupted view of almost the whole of the heavens, thousands of stars, planets, and planetoids never seen before being now visible to them. Many of them were known on Earth, and Bolford and the other members of the expedition who understood the science of astronomy were in great request, explaining and pointing out the celestial objects as they could locate and recognise them, for it was only natural that the people should be almost feverishly anxious to learn all about those portions of the heavens now seen by them for the first time, and after a few days of this high pressure they were very much fatigued, for all had been working without cessation, calculating, theorising, and taking observations and photographs when the clouds made this possible.

The visitors had been accustomed to taking various reviving drinks by dissolving pellets in water, but when they were ejected from the _Regina_ a supply of these pellet-intoxicants had not been included in their stores; they had but some chemical restoratives, so, feeling tired and knowing now where and what the alcohol was, they asked for and drank a small quantity diluted with water, to pull them together. Those in this department also had never thought of such a thing before, but seeing that instead of killing their guests it really made them bright-eyed and alert again, they were easily persuaded to try it, especially as the visitors assured them it would produce good and not harm. At the mere draught the potent spirit ran through their veins like liquid fire, and being previously totally unacquainted with this use of it, its effect was to take away all their weariness as if by magic and make them fresh again. They thanked their new friends profusely for the discovery, and began to take it frequently on the assumption that if a little could revive them, more would do it better, and the following day several of the natives were found in the observatories hopelessly drunk.

Most of the members of the visiting party were shocked and thought it was a pity the people had no more sense, and they foresaw the possible consequences, but the folk should not be so foolish!—they would, however, soon learn better. But the secret was out and the drink fiend had come in their midst. The poor fellows were carried home and their friends were cautioned as to the danger, but they might just as well have been cautioned not to let the lightning flash—one would not have been more difficult than the other; several cases of drunkenness occurred the following day,—and the visitors had not been there a week.

Then in the evenings, after the serious day’s work was over, the people asked the strangers to join them in conversation, being hospitable and kind. Congreve, who was an inveterate smoker, had got Keeth, a chemist, to sterilise some particular leaves which Dawson had found, rolled and dried, and these were smoked by the visitors with delight; and they, being hospitable and friendly also, could not sit there talking and enjoying their smokes without offering similar cigars to their friends. Such exchange of courtesy could not be denied, and what was good for one could not harm two, so the natives followed the example of their visitors and smoked with them, and, anxious to please and entertain their guests, the spirit was brought out also. By this time, being accustomed to live so near the sun, they perceived that though the climate had not changed perceptibly, the evenings were a little chilly, and they needed warm and cosy rooms to maintain their bodily heat, thus fires had to be made, and as they were all seated around talking over their experiences and discussing matters of great interest to all, it was only natural that, seeing there was plenty of spirit and water, Holt should suggest a warm drink the better to keep out the cold—and Keeth, who was an adept at compounding appetising liquors, was called upon to show the people what he could do; so with the boiling water, some fruits, spirit and other ingredients, he made a splendid drink, which was handed round, steaming hot, and swallowed with avidity. The natives were assured it would do them good, and they knew it was so by the taste and by the delightful feeling of inward warmth and invigoration which followed. As the evening wore on all drank freely of the comforting beverage, and the natives blessed their visitors for showing them a new and enjoyable use for the material which they had made for years and years, all their lives in fact, yet hitherto had never attempted to drink. With the smoke and wine came games, and it amused these ingenuous folk to play at winning shells from one another; they were found in thousands on the sea-shore, and it was an exciting pastime for chilly evenings—a pastime in which they soon became adepts; then the lust for gambling became rooted in their simple minds, and their visitors gave them to understand that, whatever the consequences might be, gaming debts must in honour be paid in full.

Before long this became the expected and customary method of spending the evenings, now longer and cooler, and the news of these wonderful terrestrial games and customs spread rapidly, and others wished to join the privileged circle, to take part in these ravishing amusements. What if they lost! it was nothing! they would lose one time and gain the next, so things must work out even; and what so refreshing after a hard day’s work as to spend their leisure in exciting play, smoking curled leaves, and drinking the hot and delicious spirit that drove away all care. Truly these Earthians were a wonderful race, and, but for them, the leaves would have been unsmoked, the spirit untasted, all enjoyment from them unknown, and they vowed that henceforth the world would not be the same. They began to teach others, and some found themselves unable to pay and had to sell their stock, for they could not be called dishonourable; they could, however, always play again and win more, getting all back with interest, and for the first time there came the desire for wealth, for unlimited stock, and the only way to get it was to win it from some one else, so again they played and several lost all. These refused to pay, but they were so oppressed by the high moral standard and tone of their companions, and especially of the terrestrials, who placed ‘honour’ above all other virtues, even above life, that in despair they gave up all that they had and paid,—and the first pauper was created.

Then others, men, and women too, who had lost even more than they possessed, having staked wildly in their excitement, found themselves in terrible positions, and being able to give themselves in complete settlement, recklessly paid this price and became free from their debts, but woke up to the fact that heavy toll was henceforth to be exacted,—and theft and immorality were for the first time known on the planet.

The visitors had only been there a month, but they were doing excellent business, having already taken much of the profits of these people, many of whom, because they lived in community, had only part-shares in goods, but who, in terror of being considered dishonourable, took their own and their partners’ shares, themselves receiving all the money with which to pay their debts and buy spirit, which had by this time increased in value. In other places there was no money, but by a gradual and judicious exchange of goods, the strangers soon gathered to themselves many valuables in such small compass as could be carried about with them on their persons, and in many other ways the Earthians proved themselves smart business men.

After the first momentary shock of finding they had laid a terrible burden on the shoulders of these guileless people had passed, the same jealous greed of gain which had prompted the eight men to seize the ship now prompted them all—even Siddall—to throw to the winds all their better feelings, discretion and honour, in order to take advantage of their innocent victims, so gently and so insidiously that the injury was unperceived until too late: to wrong these people who had been more sinned against than sinning; who had hitherto been wealthy in the possession of contentment and in a light-heartedness that shone in every feature, causing every movement to fill them to overflowing with the joy of life.

It was but a repetition of the time-worn story of the devout and the profane parrots, and a confirmation of the experience that the good do not make the bad good, but are by them degraded, and one evil mind in a community is as the “dead flies” that “cause the ointment of the apothecary to send forth a stinking savour.” No longer the ‘laughing philosophers’ of yore, the inhabitants were weary, careworn and sad, filled with a deadly fear that ‘community’ would not bring them enough to eat, so in order to protect themselves and those who were near and dear to them, they became sly and thieving; and put goods and money away secretly, and dissembled, feeling they could not keep on ‘giving’; and all the time the drinking and gambling habits were growing fast, numbers finding their only joy on the occasions when the hot and flowing bowl drove away their cares, and the gaming-table diverted their attentions from sorrow.

Then some desperate spirits condemned their visitors, and lips that before they came did naught but bless, cursed them, cursed those they had greeted with loving trust and friendship. But what if the poor, helpless, and injured one—whether injured through drink or anything else—turns round and curses the shrewd and clever business man, what effect has it? What does he care? As well might a gnat curse the elephant that tramples it! even if by a lucky chance it manages to insert a drop of poison and cause an instant’s pain, which is scarcely felt, it gets crushed to nothingness. No more do curses trouble a man of the world; something may perhaps sting him slightly, but the stinger is hopelessly broken and as certainly forgotten; the victor has gained all he desired and put his victim away at the same time. If he did care in the least he would, _ipso facto_, cease to be respected as a smart business man.

The mutineers had only been on the world four months when they suddenly disappeared from the community, and none too soon, or they would have added a fresh link to the already long chain of their sins by causing the crime of murder to be introduced, for more than one had sworn to kill them, and these vengeful victims sought for them high and low, in all communities, but they seemed to have vanished from the face of the world. Meanwhile the planet was drifting more and more from its course, going no one knew whither—apparently attracted by a stronger force than the sun, the climate getting worse and worse. Fogs were now of daily occurrence, and the diminution of the sun’s rays affected the whole world most seriously. There was no longer the great difference between the heat of the day and that of the night, and there was very little circulation in the atmosphere. The vapours rising up from the earth and water now hung over the globe in a thick and impenetrable mist, clouds remained almost stationary, and through the thick, foggy air was not a breath of wind; the heat from the warmer portions of the globe was not wafted to the cooler, and _vice versâ_, in order to produce a temperate average from their distribution. And the fœtid vapours emanating from the earth and sea, and all the dead and dying life in and on them, and from the living people, were not destroyed, or blown away, and in some cases the inhabitants died like flies,—by hundreds. And as the weeks and months sped on matters grew ever worse, for the air became more and more dense and stationary. Sound became gradually more subdued and at last ceased, and there settled on the whole world a chilling, numbing cold, nipping the already paralysed limbs. The clouds, unable to perform their functions, condensed less and less, as the sun, the source of heat, grew more and more distant, till at last the air—the world’s scavenger—finally refused to absorb and disperse the now dreadful emanations from the animal, vegetable and other matter, by its capillary attraction, and life became almost intolerable, only possible to the very strong and vigorous, for the climatic conditions were changing faster than it was possible for life of any kind to adapt itself to them.

Work was impossible, yet folk must live, and the stronger snatched the food from dying lips to keep life going, and a second later it would again be snatched away, clutched convulsively and lost, the exertion, feeble though it was, being fatal, and the victorious one would roll over inert as his own victim had done a moment before.

It was now nearly an Earth-year since the strangers had alighted—their cursed visitors; and where they were no one knew. Without doubt they were the cause of the national disaster and moral degradation, and now everybody was too feeble to wish them back except to kill them, for by this no one cared to do that sufficiently to search for them, for every atom of strength was needed for their own bare existence. For months people had been telepathing with all their energies to all parts of the world, but their corrupters had vanished as completely as if taken off again in the ship.

One day, to add to their misery, there burst over them an electric storm, which first began in various parts of the world and then embraced its whole surface, almost setting the very air on fire. Such a storm had never been known before, and people crouched and crawled and hobbled away in all directions to find a corner in which to shield themselves from the lightning-charged air, as if they could get away from that awful atmosphere which filled all the space on the earth, and in a cave by a lonely shore eight figures crouched together in deadly terror, waiting for the end which they felt was close at hand.

“We are not safe by this water!” said Dawson, whose voice scarcely rose above a whisper, and in that thick and soundless air would not have been heard at all but for the acoustic properties of the cave. “Let us get away. See, the whole heavens are blazing, and the sea is so charged with electricity that it is actually floating fire.”

“It is running in here and will burn us up!” exclaimed Siddall, hoarsely. “Let us go out and find another place.”

“No,” cried Holt, “the sea is our safety,” and for the first time in his life he appealed to others for support of his statement. “The sea and cave are our safety,” he repeated; “Keeth, Congreve and Hewitt will tell you the same, and if we step outside we shall be caught. No one has thought it possible for us to be here”; and as the first wave of the rushing incoming tide rose up the floor, lighting the cave with a flood of electric fire, he continued,—“Now we should have to dive through the fire to get out!” Exhausted with this long speech, he leaned back against the wall, panting for breath.

“Let us go higher,” said Keeth, painfully lowering himself from the ledge on which he had been sitting gazing seaward through a thin crack in a stratum of rock, and they all clambered still higher up the side of the cave, the water on the floor meanwhile being flooded with light.

“It’s lucky we had a good supply of food in pellet form,” said Siddall, “or we should be dead now!”

“It would have been better so!” groaned Wadsworth, “our records are none too clean; we have sent hundreds to the devil and have corrupted the morals of a whole world, for if the people here recover from this awful disaster, they’ll continue to go to the devil, who will get the lot!”

Dawson was in a state bordering on collapse, and as he painfully dragged himself along, a few inches at a time, for he could not sit up, he became very faint, but by dint of much patience and a heroic determination not to give way, he managed to pull himself above high-water mark, and, overcome with the exertion of keeping the few inches in advance of the rising water, he now leaned back against the wall with his head on the cool rock, damp with ooze from the sodden herbage above; the touch of the wet and slimy rock, the only cool thing in that fiery atmosphere, acted as an ice-cap and restored him wonderfully, and looking round at his companions he said, brokenly,—“I remember my parents telling me of a Bible story; it was something about one who causes another to offend—I forget how it went, but I think it said it would be better for him if a millstone had been tied round his neck and he had been thrown into the sea first. I think we’ve tied millstones round these folk as well as ourselves! I’ve not seen my Bible since I was grown up, but I’d give a lot to be an innocent boy again,” and he turned his face to the cooling slime.

“You can’t have sentiment in business, my boy; life’s too short!” exclaimed Holt, brusquely.

“I fear it is, Holt,” came the feeble reply, in jerks. “Life’s very short. Our days are but a shadow—life _is_ short, Holt—I fear it is—” and then, after a pause, just as one of the others was commencing,—“and Tom, dear, will you give your sister this, and say it’s from me——”

“What’s the fellow talking about?” asked Holt, roughly.

Unheeding, Dawson went on—“and tell her I’m very sorry. I fear I shall not see her again,” another pause—“I had hoped I should meet her in heaven, but I don’t know, now. I have not been good, Tom, but tell her not to fret, I am not worth it! Why have you put out the light, Tom? it is dark, and I——”

“What’s the matter?” asked Congreve, trying to crawl nearer.

“I believe he’s dying!” exclaimed Hewitt.

“Good heavens!” they cried, as all came round, themselves almost too ill to move, and held a volatile restoring tablet under his nostrils; the oxygen which it gave off along with other vapours, though not bringing him round, sent him into a deep sleep, his steady breathing giving promise of recovery.

“Thank God!” interjected several, as they placed another pellet beside the face of the sleeping man.

“We have need to say that!” observed Siddall, regretfully. “I’d like to have the chance of undoing this business before I die, if that were possible.”

“Are you feeling bad, too?” asked Holt, offering him his box of restorative tablets.

“Only in mind! that’s bad enough!” replied Siddall, sinking down again.

“What’s the cause of this electric storm and this fiery sea, Congreve?” asked Wadsworth, “you should know.”

“I have been wondering for the last two or three hours,” replied Congreve, musingly. “It may be that the foul gases on the ground have caught fire, or that there is some great electric disturbance; which it is I cannot understand.”

“Not the _Regina!_” exclaimed Hewitt.

“No, certainly not!” broke in Holt. “Oakland would come to the old orbit between Venus and the sun, and would never look for us here.”

“It would be an utter impossibility,” rejoined Bolford; “the last view we had of the sun was as of a star of the fifth magnitude; that was some months since, and it will be about the seventh now, or invisible without a glass.”

“What can have caused us to shoot off? the _Regina?_” asked Keeth.

“There’s no doubt about it to my mind,” returned Bolford; “but only those in the ship could tell us why; perhaps only the owners.”

Too exhausted to talk any more, they languidly rolled over, too ill to care what happened, and they dropped off to sleep one after the other, in fitful dozings, from which they were awakened a few hours later by water dripping on their faces from the cracks in the roof above. On going to the hidden chink in the rocks, from which they had an extended view of the shore, they saw rain. It was falling in a deluge, heavy, pouring rain; descending like long rods of polished steel, boring holes in the sand and the motionless sea, breaking the now feeble, lanky and colourless grass and pouring down the rocks in a flood, carrying the electricity with it in rainbows innumerable—floods of prismatic, fiery water. For hours it came down unceasingly, wetting them to the skin, as from every niche and cranny tiny and then strong streams raced down the cave floor and mixed with the stinking salt water at the entrance; but their hope revived as the rain continued. At last it ceased, and there came a freshened feeling in the air as the first puff of wind blew through the slit in the rock.

“You know what that means!” cried Bolford, joyfully.

“Yes, thank heaven!” they exclaimed.

“Yes, thank heaven!” he repeated, fervently; “we are drawing near to the planet or source that has been pulling us all this time, and the atmosphere is moving.”

“That rain has come in the nick of time,” said Keeth; “one day later and we should have been dead, every one of us.”

“Let us get to the mouth of the cave to breathe the air, and bring Dawson,” said Siddall; “we can dive under the water.”

Only then did they realise how ill they were, for try as they would they could not stand, or indeed rise higher than a sitting posture, and in this position they shuffled along, dragging the still unconscious form of Dawson with them, inch by inch, every foot or so of the way having to rest to regain strength, and in this wise they got near the water. There they rested quite overcome, and all more or less unconscious, staying there for hours, perhaps for days, for most of the time was spent dozing in a semi-unconscious condition and time passed unnoticed, but when they did find intelligence returning to them, there was a distinct breeze, the clouds had lifted, and the stars could be seen. Bewildered, they searched the heavens, and Bolford cried,—“We have altered our orbit again! when we first came here we had Aquarius facing the cave, stationary, ‘in line of sight’ for months, and now we are opposite Aries! Something else has got us now!”

In great excitement they all looked out, and there, sure enough, was Aries, and they were crossing. For hours they watched, and Holt remarked, “Never mind where we go, so long as we can live, and this new power is healthier than the last, anyway.”

“We shall never get to England now, that’s one comfort!” exclaimed Siddall, in a tone of relief.

“No, old man,” responded Congreve, “you need have no more fear. Even the _Regina_ can’t trace us now!” and he attempted a laugh, which ended in a dry cackle. Only then did they notice that their lips and tongues were cracked and hard, and the whole interior of their mouths dry and almost devoid of feeling, their voices sounding hoarse and most untuneful, so it was evident that hearing had returned.

“Holt!” exclaimed Keeth, suddenly, “don’t you feel how charged the air is with electricity? I feel myself full of faint prickles!”

“I was going to remark the same thing,” replied Holt. “I will have a look outside;” saying which he tried to rise, but failing to do so, he drew a clasp-knife and stuck it in a crack in the rock to assist him, when the metallic blade crackled and sparkled with electricity. Withdrawing the blade and closing it, he turned to Hewitt, saying,—“There’s some powerful current here and no mistake! Look outside, Hewitt, old man; I’m too ill to rise without help.”

Hewitt could not go either, so Congreve slowly worked his way to the front, tasting the air and feeling at the rocks, and then going to the opening he put his head outside, withdrew it, and then tested the rocks with his own knife, but to find Holt’s experience repeated.

“Anything atmospheric to cause that, Congreve?” inquired Hewitt.

“No! nothing!” he replied, shortly.

“What do you think?” asked Holt.

Congreve did not answer, but put out his head again, and again withdrew it, and stood looking out at the opening.

“Don’t you know?” queried Holt and several others, impatiently.

“No. I’m thinking!” he muttered, and then remained silently lost in thought for so long that they asked again.

“I don’t know; only a passing fancy, but it’s not possible!”

“What is it?” they asked, excitedly.

“Nothing, only a foolish fancy; but it cannot be,” he replied, musingly, still looking out.

“Tell us then!” they persisted.

“I thought it might be the _Regina!_” he said slowly, pausing between each word. “But she could not know where we are.”

“Impossible!” interjected Holt. “She could never single one planet out of millions, not knowing the direction we took, and especially now we have changed again. It is absurd.”

“I said so,” said Congreve, reflectively, still at the opening.

“And as we are not near the orbit of Venus at all, she could not find us; it is impossible!” put in Keeth.

“No; I told you it was a foolish idea,” murmured Congreve, still lost in thought and still closely watching. Then he came and sat down with the rest, and one after another each one fell asleep where he was. How long they slept they had no means of telling, but nature had applied her own remedy and they awoke considerably refreshed; even Dawson was now conscious, though too ill to move.

After a while the air became so charged with electricity that their cave was like an electric oven, so stifling as to be painful, and they crawled to the opening for relief and to watch the weird effect outside, and endeavour to locate their position by the stars, and in the black and starry sky they beheld what they took to be a comet.

“What can that be?” asked several, indifferently.

“A comet,” replied Keeth, briefly.

“I did not know there was one due there,” said Bolford, musingly,—and then suddenly they all cried,—

“Can it be?—can it! Oh! good heavens!—It IS the _Regina!!_”