Chapter I: The Story of the Regina

“... ’Tis a ditty
Not of these days; but long ago ’twas told.”
(+Keats.+)

“What’s that for, Gilbert?” asked Ross Ainley, in surprise, as his chum, Gilbert Eastern, flung an egg into the stream which gurgled past them.

“It’s rotten, old chap, rotten as a man’s word of honour,” replied Gilbert. “Thank goodness it’s the last of the batch, and I get no more from Flatters. He assured me he had manufactured every one and all had stood Government tests, therefore he could guarantee them. I don’t want to spoil our little picnic here at the North Pole or I’d go back and make the fellow eat the thing; see, even that fish discards it!” as a fish rose to the surface, nosed the egg a little, and then darted off. “No wonder!” he commented, and then without further remark he reached for another egg and, cutting off the top of the capsule, at once became absorbed in extracting the contents—a peculiar pink-coloured paste, which he spread on a cake of brown meal and commenced to eat in silent enjoyment. His friend Ross, who had just finished his meal, leaned over the mossy bank and half filled a drinking vessel with water from the stream; after sterilising it he rummaged in the basket, and bringing out a small box extracted a pellet, which he placed in the vessel and crumbled with his already sterilised fingers. Instantly the water became turbid, and, a second later, opaque-white as the powder entered into solution, and he drank off what appeared to be fresh milk. Having satisfied his thirst, he sprayed some antiseptic liquid on his hands and the glass, threw his pulp serviette away, and leaving the other things till his friend had finished also, lay down on his back full length, with his elbows up and hands clasped under his head, gazing in silence into the blue sky overhead between their two airships which were riding at anchor, their vanes gently moving in the wind just sufficiently to maintain them at an altitude of about twenty feet. They were in a small clearing in the heart of a magnificent forest which extended for miles in all directions and was, perhaps, the finest and most picturesque portion of all that beautiful district of the North Pole which was appropriately called ‘The Garden of the Earth.’ After passing through miles of moss and peat and bog, the river Pole entered this forest some ten or twelve miles distant as a gurgling brook, tumbling and twisting and twining amongst the boulders in its bed; but other streams, longing for closer companionship, drew nearer and nearer till they joined it, and together they all came flowing down in noisy happiness, whilst the rushes which were swept by the lively water, now a river, bent their nodding heads lower and lower till they kissed the sparkling wavelets and reared themselves again in their joy at having stolen such sweetness. Thus the river Pole swept onwards, an ever widening and deepening stream, spreading its fragrant influence around till the trees, shrubs and underwood became almost intoxicated with the luxuriance of their growth, and expanded their limbs in the ecstasy of being alive. And in the twilight of the green woods occasional lovers would be found, walking in its cool recesses and talking of the future, or perhaps merely walking together oblivious of all save that they were in love—love too deep for words, too strong and holy for expression in anything but silent thanks to heaven for the love which _is_ heaven; such are passed, they unnoticing and being unnoticed,

“For in love’s domain
Silence must reign;
Or it brings the heart
Smart
And pain”

and here and there the trees grew more widely apart and clearings were formed by nature almost specially for picnics and _alfresco_ meals, for the grass was thicker than any carpet and softer, having a deep bed of peat, whilst the murmuring stream and the faint hum of insects, and that delightful and peculiar sound of thousands of branches being gently swayed by the wind, lent a delightful accompaniment to the pleasantry and laughter inseparable from young and healthy hearts which, like the air and sky, are clear and sunny.

To one of these clearings had Ross and Gilbert come for a little relaxation, because they knew that nature is always ready and able to give health and vigour to all who seek her, and they made a point of spending at least one half-day in each week in some spot on the beautiful earth where they could talk and revel in nature unalloyed, and after Ross had been looking for a few minutes into the throbbing ether, where the blue was flecked with streamers of ‘mares’ tails’ which floated in one of the higher strata, he suddenly rolled over to face his friend and said, seriously,—

“Has it ever struck you, Gilbert, what a wonderful age this is?”

“The age is all right, Ross, so far as I can see,” answered Gilbert, indifferently.

“I don’t think so,” replied Ross, argumentatively. “It seems to me too matter-of-fact.”

“What else would you have it? all fancy?” asked Gilbert, still indifferent, being hungry and absorbed in his meal.

“No, of course not,” replied Ross, musingly, “but it seems to me that if a little of the past could be worked into the present it would leaven things a bit.” Here he paused, and as Gilbert did not offer any remark, he continued,—

“Take that egg, for instance. Natural eggs are never eaten now, any more than swans and peacocks, yet I don’t see why they shouldn’t be, though at the bare suggestion of eating a real egg every one would recoil with horror; but why should they be kept for broods only? They are wholesome enough, or they used to be, anyway, and if they were taken from the fowls and other egg-laying creatures, more eggs would be laid and there would be plenty for all.”

“Probably,” said prosaic Gilbert, “but the real eggs had to be boiled, and cooked in other ways, and beaten, and goodness knows what, and all that sort of thing must have been a shocking waste of time. Besides, the shells are brittle, and if you should by chance sit on a basketful of them, they would, of course, explode and break and make a nasty mess, to say nothing of the perfume of a bad one. There is not one of those objections in a modern egg, and they are wholesome, nutritious, of fine flavour, will keep for years in these capsules, and if you jump on one you will merely alter its shape and flatten it; no cooking is necessary, they are pure and sterilised, and exert an antiseptic action on the stomach, counteracting any tendency to undue acidity, ulceration, cancer, and lots of other things—ergo, I say they are better than the natural article, and not one in a million is faulty, except by deliberate fraud.” And Gilbert, after this tirade, continued his meal with renewed vigour, as if to make up for lost time.

“But in this age it is supposed that there is no fraud,” observed Ross.

“Just so,” replied Gilbert, with a kind of ‘I’m busy’ air; “but ever since man was created some dispositions are and always will be treacherous.”

“Probably,” assented Ross, plucking a blade of grass and breaking it into short lengths, “but everything in this world is so cut and dried, so trite, that I am weary of it.”

“Poor fellow!” said Gilbert, banteringly; “you need your diet changing; you’re secreting too much bile and it’s giving you the blues. Just talk and let off as much as you can whilst I finish my dinner; I was bothering with my anchor while you were feeding; the blessed thing wouldn’t suck. Now, fire away, and talk yourself into a better humour—I’ll not interrupt.”

“My humour is all right,” answered Ross, laughing, “but as I lay here on this beautiful turf and saw our ships riding at anchor, as much under control as if on the sea, I could not help thinking of all the past.”

“Think away, old man, only think aloud,” said Gilbert, as his friend paused.

“You think I’m not serious, but I am, really and truly!” said Ross. “I was thinking of the changes this district of the North Pole has undergone. Hundreds and hundreds of years ago it was as it is now—a beautiful, warm climate; then came a time when things changed and all turned to ice, and the trees were covered with snow, all approach being cut off by an impassable barrier of ice, although even then many explorers believed that at the Pole it was not all frozen; and in 1878 or 1879, when the explorer Nordenskiold was locked in the ice in Northern Siberia, and this ice extended as far as he could see, he proved that here at the North Pole no ice existed; and another explorer, Admiral Wrangell, I believe, when he was journeying north from Siberia, found the ice getting thinner and thinner as he advanced and the climate becoming warmer until he actually got to unbroken and unfrozen sea and a temperate climate. This was confirmed later by such authorities as Anjou Hedenström and others. And still later, between 1905 and 1910, mammoths, stacks of peat, _living_ but frozen trees, were found by explorers; then a few years later, the conquest of the air began to be felt as a practical possibility, and science generally made enormous strides—the time from 1900, or say from 1850 to 1950, was a century of the greatest scientific triumphs of all time, and electricity became so much used that the climate of the world altered and the terrible barriers of ice at the poles became no longer impassable. Then followed, in actual reality, the conquest of the air, which caused a complete revolution in mechanical progress. After this came a period of intense scientific research, and about a hundred years ago was made the great ‘discovery’—which had been expected centuries before—that _life originated_ at the North Pole (from whence its germs were wafted all over the world by air and water), and the South Pole saw its passage to higher and more noble existences.

“About the opening of the twentieth century morality in business had sunk to a very low ebb; every one was possessed by a craze for making money—in what manner was quite a secondary consideration—consequently the richest people were almost invariably the most unscrupulous. At last the working classes revolted and by sheer force of numbers sent a majority of working men to Parliament, and by such means obtained Old Age Pensions. Still they groaned under the dishonest and callous actions of the moneyed people and employers, and in course of time they rose up in revolution and swept the country clean. From that time everything has improved, and though we have in some minor matters, such as modes of expression and what not, reverted to the style of our forefathers of about the twentieth century, science has progressed by leaps and bounds, until now we have got almost to the other extreme, and everything is science:—we eat, drink, live, move and have our very being on scientific lines, till one gets tired and weary almost to death at the mere word.”

“You’ll certainly have to change your diet, old fellow!” put in Gilbert, laughing, “but go on!”

“I am really serious,” continued Ross, smiling at the sarcasm. “I don’t believe this world was ever intended for man, and it’s my opinion that we came here by accident from some other planet.”

“Really!”

“Yes. Just think! where intellectual man is not, vegetation grows to magnificent luxuriance; so do wild animals, insects, birds and flowers; all these are made and suited to the world by nature, but directly the so-called ‘lord of creation’ comes, one of two things must happen—he must either open out nature and bring it into line with his life and habits, or he must gradually acclimatise himself to his surroundings by various doses of malaria, swamp fever, orchid-poisoning and the like, and by the time he has become immune from these evils and can live, he is not so healthy or so useful as were the scarecrows of ancient fame. And wherever numbers live together, so many hygienic matters have to be considered that healthy living in numbers is, and always will be, a most serious problem. No, man is about the only animal on the earth that upsets nature, or is upset by nature.

“Wherever he lives the country suffers, and the rare and beautiful birds and creatures fly from him as from a pestilence. Take the present era, for example. Where are all the beautiful birds and beasts our forefathers wrote about, and all the insects that used to keep the air sweet and fresh? Man has frightened them away. He kills every insect in the ground by electricity, and then finds that worms, moles, and other such creatures aërate the ground and make it healthy, and he gets the land to stink with rottenness ere he decides to see it, when he could have seen it before with half an eye had he not been blind; then he goes to the other extreme and, finding that worms are healthy and good for the land, he kills every blessed bird lest a single worm should be destroyed. By that time he gets a little overdone in worms and wants his birds back. Then the constant use of his electrical appliances and forces so upset the atmosphere that the moving life in it has to go higher into purer air, and the airships passing and repassing at enormous speeds drive the birds still further away and higher, gradually altering their habits, so that now it is a very rare thing to see them flying, or even coming down to rest. They do rest, of course, but only in the forests where people seldom enter, for every one has a ship of some sort and is always in the air, as if this glorious grass, this beautiful water, and these shady, magnificent trees were not good enough for man to enjoy, but he must needs go tearing round the whole world on every half-holiday. I call it a sin!”

“What an excellent mood you’re in this afternoon!” remarked Gilbert, as he made a pellet of his napkin and threw it at a darting fish. “I have finished my meal, and have enjoyed it so much that I am inclined to look on the world as it is now as being very beautiful, and on the science of to-day as being the most useful in the world’s history. It is true the climate of the whole earth has changed, and with it manners and customs, perforce; but now, every man works at the trade for which he is best fitted, physically and mentally, and receives guaranteed Government wages on fixed scale for the work he does. If by learning and application he can do more intellectual work, he receives the higher pay, and every one can have his fair trial and none are oppressed. All shops are under the control of the Government, and no one can undersell, or buy to better advantage than his neighbour, nor can there be undue competition, and if any licensed manufacturer supplies an inferior article, like my first egg, he must return its equivalent on proof, and he is a loser.

“If, in times past, a man robbed his employer of twenty shillings he was imprisoned for five years with hard labour, whereas if the theft was of twenty thousand pounds he was merely cautioned not to do it again, or at the most imprisoned for a few months without labour, and the quiet, restful time of serving the sentence invariably set him up in health at the country’s expense; but nowadays, a man stays in prison and must earn his keep and expenses, and in addition, enough to pay back every farthing to the person robbed, who receives an instalment every month until the loss is made good, or until the prisoner dies. Thus, not only are the prisons self-supporting and a profit to the State, but the ‘punishment fits the crime,’ and under the present business methods anything beyond petty frauds is altogether impossible. Then there are no poor, no really destitute; and there is no institution in the world that is not self-supporting, whilst the excellent system of our finances makes wealth, if not an impossibility, of little value—for wealth formerly meant power and oppression, but now the comparatively so-called poor are not poor enough to be oppressed, consequently the rich have none to oppress, and in most cases people spend their surplus wealth in scientific research, in inventing and discovering that which will make life brighter, easier, and happier to their fellow-men by lifting higher those who chance to be less fortunate than they themselves. For what use is wealth to a right-minded man when every man must work and earn enough to keep himself comfortably, and he knows that when he gets past work he will receive a pension according to his deserts. Nor can he marry till he receives a certain salary, and even then his family must not exceed the calls on his income for their maintenance, clothing and education, suitable to their station. If he errs in this respect, or is unfaithful, or betrays anyone, no further offence is made possible to him. Why! formerly, in the twentieth century, so far as some of the working men of that period were concerned, one who earned what would have kept half a dozen families in comfort would drink and gamble his earnings away, have an unconscionable number of children, and if he were but half a day out of work he was destitute. With a blissful selfishness, he would neglect work to go drinking and gaming, to the utter disregard of the needs of his wife and family, knowing his neighbours would not let them starve; nor did they. If he were sent to prison he did not care, for the burden of the maintenance of his numerous family had to be borne by others who by self-denial had saved and yet who, for humanitarian reasons, had to deny themselves still more to help the idler. All that is now an utter impossibility, and yet you long for the old times, Ross! I don’t. I like, too, to know what I’m eating, to have everything made under rigid antiseptic conditions, to have everything condensed and excluded from air, and to know that what I am swallowing is good and wholesome, anyway.”

“That’s all very well,” replied Ross, flinging fir-needles into the stream, “but it’s very much overdone. Compression is all very well, too, but when you come to certain foods and salts which, to begin with, are indigestible and often quite insoluble in the stomach, and you compress them to so small a compass that they are as hard as steel, where are you? One swallows a good dinner, as one thinks, yet most of it has gone; no stomach, not even that of an ostrich, could digest it. One tries to realise what a delicious dinner it was, yet no stretch of imagination can overlook the fact that one gets desperately hungry quicker than one should. Now, notwithstanding all the science displayed on my recent meal, I am sure I could eat, enjoy, _and_ digest, a thick, juicy steak from that salmon there which is just turning a somersault. Oh yes, hold up your hand in disgust! I’m not going to fly in the face of custom, because I’m quite aware that the salmon’s great and much revered ancestor might at some time have swallowed a fly or a worm that had on it a parasite or some injurious microbe, and therefore, because of this awful occurrence to its great grandparent thrice removed, it cannot be eaten without being first dried, sterilised, compressed, and enclosed in a little antiseptic capsule in which it is guaranteed to remain, if need be, fresh and pure till the crack of doom, when it may joyfully rise and meet its family as a pure and wholesome fish. I am tired of it all! and as I said before I think science, hygiene, and all the other aids to existence are so much overdone that there will soon be a reaction, or my name’s not Ross Ainley,” and disgusted Ross rolled back again and lay looking up at his ship, a beautiful aluminium vessel, dipping and curtseying to the rippling breeze as if she were breasting an incoming tide.

Gilbert laughed and exclaimed, “You’re like old Alexander of ancient fame—paying the penalty of an inordinate desire for conquest. You are on the top rung of the ladder and because there is no higher rung to step upon you are disgusted with everything. But who’s that coming?” he suddenly broke off to exclaim, at the same time pointing to a sparkle on the horizon caused by the sun’s glinting on an approaching airship.

Instantly the blues and banter vanished, and they watched with interest the new-comer fly over their heads at great speed, then seeing their vessels below, immediately pull up, and a man looked over the side and shouted, “Hallo! Ainley; how are you?”

“Splendid, Oakland. Come down and have a chat; I’ve not seen you for many a month!” answered Ross.

“All serene!” was the reply as the ship was brought round and lowered between the two others, an anchor let down which sucked on the turf, and a pleasant-looking young man was soon standing beside them, to be cordially greeted by Ross, who introduced him to Gilbert as Dennis Oakland of electrical fame, and turning to Dennis, continued, “and this is Gilbert Eastern, the eminent physicist; you know him by repute, and I am much pleased to make such great men acquainted with each other.”

“And here’s Ross Ainley, the greatest electrician of the day—barring yourself, of course—the world’s expert!” mimicked Gilbert.

“Oh, I’ve known him some time,” responded Dennis, laughing; “let me grasp arms with you,” he continued, in high pleasure, and they each laid a hand on that particular portion of the other’s sleeve which is specially reserved for cordial greetings, and which is situated on the upper arm over the biceps; every one being required by law to keep this part highly antiseptic. This very friendly greeting over, Dennis resumed,—

“What a lucky dog I am to run across you here in this way. I never miss an opportunity of making friends and having a chat with every one I meet, but I never dreamed of such luck as this when I saw your two ships chumming together like a couple of love birds!” and Dennis went gleefully on till they all felt as if they had known one another for years.

They passed from ship to ship, their respective owners explaining the chief features and special appliances that each possessed, and thus several hours wore away. Twilight came long ere they had finished and Bona shone with a fitful light owing to the clouds which had been slowly gathering, but as she rose in the heavens the sky became clearer and the country was flooded with her brilliant beams, the three ships, now almost motionless, casting dark shadows on the ground.

“I see it is Bona’s night out,” said Dennis, looking up at the large and brilliant disc on which with the naked eye could be discerned continents and seas, the latter showing like white enamel.

“I prefer it to old Luna myself,” said Gilbert, “although many folk swear by Luna yet. It must have been a tremendous shock to bring Bona where she is.”

“Yes,” agreed Ross. “Eastern and I, Oakland, were comparing the past with the present when you joined us, and he maintains that the present times are unequalled, but I consider that we have arrived at such a stage of ultra science that there must be a reaction.”

“I agree with you,” replied Dennis. “It is always so. There never has been a perfect equilibrium in the affairs of nations and never will be. We peg away at one scale, filling it till it goes down with a bump, and then it dawns on our woolly brains that we have overdone it, so we let that scale severely alone and work away at the other till that goes down with a bump too. Then we empty both and begin again, to repeat the blunder.”

All three laughed and Ross remarked: “That is almost precisely what I’ve been telling Eastern, but he does not see it.”

“No! I don’t,” said downright Gilbert. “I don’t see that we have drawn near to the time of a reaction by any means, considering that there are many things which have been commonly known at different periods and yet with all our ultra science are now a sealed letter. So science is evidently not at its zenith yet.”

“In the natural course of events things do die out as the use for them declines, or the phases of life alter, or those with secrets fail to commit them to writing, or they are lost, but there is nothing abnormal in that,” answered Ross, lightly.

“But don’t you think that if science is as much advanced as you say, these secrets would not be lost? Don’t you consider it want of brain, rather?” objected Gilbert.

“No, not by any means,” said Dennis, “I think it is mere chance.”

“I differ with you both,” argued Gilbert, unconvinced. “I think these things come in cycles. Take stained glass for instance—not the fired and coloured glass of to-day, but the real old-fashioned stained glass that admits the passage of sunlight, the sunbeams remaining untinted by the glass they pass through, and which gives strange reflections in a mirror. This was discovered in the seventh century and made in several countries, proving that the secret was not entirely limited, yet the art was lost for many centuries, rediscovered in the fourteenth century and again practised in several countries, and soon afterwards again lost, to remain so till the twenty-first century, when it was again in vogue in various places for a short time, soon to be again lost, and, as you know, thousands of pounds are now being spent daily in experiments in the hope of the secret being rediscovered, yet it is as elusive and far off as if it had never been. Now if this is, as you say, the most scientific age of the world’s history, why the failure? To my mind, the answer is that the cycle has not yet returned and when it does, the secret will come out itself, whether it is in the manufacture, the firing, the glass, or the colours used. Surely you cannot call such a singular occurrence a mere coincidence!”

“I grant there are unargumentable facts,” replied Ross, “but I am rather inclined to believe that if the experts in that line were intensely serious, they would solve the problem, for I think what has been done can be done again by earnest application.”

“It’s all very well for you to talk like that,” said Gilbert, with energy, “you’ve always been lucky in succeeding with everything to which you set your hand, but I myself firmly believe that no amount of luck will enable things to be done till their time comes round, and you have taken up the phases of science which were ready to be solved.”

“What about yourself then,” asked Dennis, smiling. “Have you also hit upon the phases that were ready and waiting?”

“In a great measure, yes,” responded Gilbert. “I have found—as you have found, too—that there are times when no amount of work does any good; it is entirely unproductive; and then nature suggests to all minds a certain course. If the mind is sufficiently receptive, these ideas are followed and what lay hidden for ages before, perhaps, is now revealed and may appear wonderful; but I see in it merely the working of an unchangeable law, a cycle of sympathy of the mental faculties with material and natural forces.”

“Then I wish some cycle of mental sympathy would come my way,” exclaimed Dennis, “for I have the hardest nut in the world, and cannot crack it, so I suppose it must wait till the cycle of fate brings the sympathetic mind to solve the mystery,” and Dennis laughed banteringly. “But there is no such luck, so I expect the nut must stay intact till doomsday.”

“Oh! what mystery is that?” asked the others, at once interested.

“My vessel, the _Regina_,” replied Dennis, nonchalantly.

“What!” ejaculated Ross, spinning round and grasping him on his greeting-band. “Great Bona! and are you the very Dennis Oakland, the present owner of that ship?”

“I am, worse luck!” was the rueful answer.

“Why didn’t you say so before?” inquired Ross, surprised. “I had no idea that the Dennis Oakland who tied with me in the electrical exam last year was one and the same person as the owner of the famous _Regina_. I thought you lived in London.”

“No, only for the time of the exam.”

“Had you mentioned Derwent I should have recognised the connection.”

“We are more pleased than ever to meet you,” broke in Gilbert, and once more the three grasped arms, and from that moment their lives became full of excitement beyond their wildest dreams, and Ross’s blues were gone never to return.

“Let us hear all about it,” said Gilbert, hastily fetching a damp-proof rug, which he spread over the ground for all to sit upon.

“There is very little to tell, if anything, that is not known by every one, for the history of the ‘Stolen Planet,’ written by an ancestor of mine, Jervis Meredith, to whom the ship eventually belonged, explains everything. For many generations the blessed Queen has reigned over our family and cost us no end of money. In the natural course of events she has been bequeathed to me, the sole surviving descendant of the first Jervis Meredith, and I have spent some thousands on her till I gave it up; I am tired of spending and working to no purpose, for she became a real nightmare to me, till I got my back up, and I don’t spend another farthing. She may go to Jupiter, or Sirius, or to any other spot in creation for all I care!” and Dennis puffed vigorously at his sterilised cigar.

Instantly his two companions were alert. All thought and desire to return had vanished, although time was getting on and the stars were beginning to dot the sky. The river Pole, now in the full light of the risen moon, Bona, lay before them dazzlingly white, its placid surface unbroken by so much as a ripple, except when a leaping fish set in motion a series of circles which spread their dark rings to each bank. Behind and around in the clearing lay the wood, now black with shadows, and as they looked before them beyond their vessels, on which silver lights were chasing ebony shadows, as their gentle movement made the moonbeams ripple along their surfaces, several belated travellers slowed up at sight of three standing ships, to ask if they were stranded and needed help, but to each the trio telepathed a message that all was well—and soon they were quite alone.

“You should get Ainley, here, to help you,” suggested Gilbert; and before Dennis could reply, Ross broke in—“I have often thought of writing to ask if I could see it, Oakland, and had I known you were the owner I should not have hesitated. If you would permit me I’d take it as a great favour; I have heard and read so much about the ship that I’m curious in the extreme.”

“By all means, old fellow,” replied Dennis, heartily, “by all means. Although I can promise you this, that you’ll know very little more about it after than you do now; all that is to be known is common property.”

“I only know what the historians wrote about—the wonderful discovery of gravity-control—and what the newspapers tell us,” said Ross, “let us hear all about it from you yourself, will you? and then we shall know everything.”

“What! to-night?” queried Dennis. “It would take a long time and it is getting very late.”

“Never mind!” said Ross and Gilbert together. “We can get back to England in an hour, less if we use top speed, and the sky will be free now. But, perhaps you wish to return?”

“I? No, any time will do for me,” replied Dennis; so the three settled themselves into comfortable positions and Dennis commenced the story of the greatest wonder of the world:

“Before the great crisis of the world’s history, for many generations there had been so excessive a use of electricity, that the climates had become seriously disturbed and the whole earth and air so unduly charged, that there had followed a succession of terrible earthquakes of so violent a nature as to shake the earth to its very centre. Then a wonderful thing happened which at first threatened the whole of creation on this earth—from some cause or other, even yet not understood, the earth’s gravity became slightly increased. All the scientists raved at the calamity, as they called it, saying that the rains would damage the fruit and vegetation, that the sap in trees and plants would not be able to rise, that muscular exertion would not be possible, and that all mankind would become too heavy and weary to live, while the air would become unbreathable. Very soon, however, they found all as usual, for all being in the same proportion, everything in nature, animate and inanimate, was just as perfectly adjusted as before, and many scientists asserted that no increased gravity had taken place—for as the increase was exactly proportionate throughout, a pound still weighed a pound, of course. For long the debate continued, serving no purpose, for even if walking had not been possible it would have mattered little, for the time was approaching when, all forms of work coming under government control and wages being paid according to the work done, almost every one could buy a motor-vessel of some sort for land or aërial traction, and walking became less and less indulged in—and probably in a few generations from now humans will find their legs transformed into wings.

“But to return to actual facts. The strangest change of all, which drove people to a perfect frenzy and caused not a few to become insane, was the gradual approach of a second moon; no one knows how, or why; probably it had been wandering in space and would not have been influenced at all by earth, but for the increased gravity. Be the cause what it may, there it was, revolving in the solar system round the earth half a circle behind Luna, thus lighting up earth when Luna was hidden, as she is now, and consequently, every night is more or less moonlight.

“People recalled the records of the wondrous approach of the planet stolen by the great airship _Regina_, now owned by me, and many thought the ship had made a secret journey and brought back a second planet, or perhaps the same as before, but no—the ‘seventh moon of Jupiter’ which she had created was still attending that planet, and so the new world must really be a new moon.”

“Had the vessel attracted it, do you think?” inquired Gilbert.

“No one knows,” continued Dennis; “that is a point on which there is much controversy even to-day, as you know. Anyway, the thing was a real miracle, for all predicted and feared universal disaster, and prayers were offered in all places of worship, and a miracle _was_ performed, either in answer to the prayers or in the setting up of some unknown laws in defiance of all existing known laws, for in direct contradiction to every expectation, no disaster of any kind occurred—nothing but good; and as time wore on and the planet’s influence became felt in the steadying of the tides, and in scores of other unexpected ways, it was proved to be a heaven-sent blessing and therefore was named ‘Bona.’

“Then followed another phase of great interest in the _Regina_, for scientists longed to possess the means of visiting Bona and of finding out all about her, for the most powerful telescopes revealed little beyond the facts that there were mountains, seas, deserts, and peculiar vegetable growth, all of which can be seen faintly with the naked eye, and the spectrum analysis shows many metals, some familiar and some strange to us, together with an atmosphere similar to ours, but drier. It is, as you know, considered that Bona is peopled, but so far no people have been seen or recognised by us as people, for we, of course, look for beings such as ourselves. The _Regina_ would have solved all these difficulties, but she was still quiescent, still the enigma of science, as she has been since she was built and as she always will be, I fear. And this brings me to the vessel herself and how she came to be mine.

“Apart from fiction, only one vessel in the history of the world has ever actually sailed into the limitless space outside the earth’s atmosphere, and that one is the stately _Regina_, which has been unapproachable since the death of the last-surviving inventor, Jervis Meredith, and the secret of her power to overcome gravity died with him. It is not necessary for me to tell you the details of this, as you know them, so I will pass on to later things, for I have already gone over well-known ground at too great a length, and time is flying.”

“Never mind that, Oakland,” exclaimed Ross, deeply interested, “proceed”; and Gilbert followed—“It is all so different, somehow, coming from you; there is a personal note in it which is far better than history, so tell us all you know, as though we were ignorant of the whole matter.”

“Yes, do!” begged Ross, and Dennis took up his story.

“Since the time when the _Regina_ made her first serious voyage to the dog-star Sirius, and brought back the planetoid to the consternation of the whole earth, and then, shooting the planet back into space, sent it within the orbit of Jupiter, she had made many voyages; but you will recall that the secret of the power to overcome gravity and successfully to manipulate the vessel was committed to writing and placed in the _Regina’s_ safe previously to that first long voyage recorded by my ancestor, ages ago. This document was never disturbed, as the details were firmly fixed in the minds of the two inventors, Fraser Burnley and Jervis Meredith, who never divulged the secrets.

“These two friends willed their whole interest in the vessel to the survivor of them absolutely, and it is a matter of history how Meredith, my ancestor, became the sole owner. Another long voyage had been arranged—the seventh or eighth since that to Sirius—and both went to the shed where the magnificent silver-like Queen was housed, in order to enter for the voyage. Behind them followed the crew and a number of other people, for the public had been admitted. Fraser Burnley opened the door, and at the moving of a switch the great roof slid aside. Evidently forgetting the current was still on, he impulsively jumped on the ladder and that instant he was annihilated, even before the cry of warning could form itself on Meredith’s lips.

“Every one round the great doorway saw him, in the twinkling of an eyelid, de-atomise into vapour and vanish. Not a trace of him was left; he was completely volatilised.

“Of course the journey was postponed; later on, Meredith, now the sole owner and the only living person who knew the secret, made another and many subsequent ascents.

“As age advanced, he felt unequal to the strain such voyages entailed, falling as it did on him alone—and he would not take any one, even his son, into his confidence—so he decided to make no more journeys until he became a little stronger; therefore he housed the _Regina_ in her shed with all the fittings intact, also placing around it the well-known protective current of de-atomising force. In the hope of wooing health and strength to return to him, he spent his days in quietly studying, with the strange scientific instruments brought from various worlds, the forces of nature on earth and the limitless space beyond. However, instead of growing stronger, as he had anticipated, he became gradually weaker, and less and less able to bear any excitement, but still he would not give in, trying heroically to defy the old age which was slowly and surely drawing him to his long home.

“At last he felt the unmistakable grip of the kind and friendly hand upon his heart-strings, gently deadening their vibration, so he thought he would like to take one last voyage to glorious Venus, his favourite planet, to which he often went for short visits, and die there; so he called his son Dennis, after whom I am named, and told him of his intentions.

“‘But you cannot work the _Regina_, father!’ remonstrated his son.

“‘No, Dennis, I cannot, but you can and shall. Carry me to the shed and I will tell you what to do to board her, and how the gravity is overcome, and how to guide her safely, for we’ll go up together; you the head this time, and instead of being under my care, my lad, I must come under yours, for I know you’ll look after your feeble old father, as I have looked after you. And promise me, Dennis, my son, on your word of honour, that come what may you will never divulge the secret of the _Regina_ to any living soul unless your end is near, and then only to prevent its being lost.’

“‘I promise, father!’ replied Dennis, much overcome.

“‘Thanks, my boy, thanks!’ his father uttered, feebly. ‘Now move me gently, for I am very weak, Denny, very weak; your father’s on his last legs!’ and he held out his hand to his son; but before Dennis could grasp it he exclaimed,—‘Oh, Dennis, Denny, my dear, dear boy, I am dying. Stoop down and I’ll tell you how to get on the vessel. All details are in the safe and if ... all is so dark, Denny, and I am so very cold ... closer ... closer ... Dennis, where are you?’

“‘I am here, father dear!’ cried his son, brokenly and in tears. ‘I am close beside you.’ And he took his father’s hand in his own and came very close. ‘See, I am here.’

“‘Thank you, Denny. Don’t leave me.’

“‘No, father, I am close beside you.’

“By this time the dying man’s voice was scarcely a whisper. ‘Denny’—and there was a painful silence—‘Denny, when ... you ... open ... the shed door ... you ... must ...’—and with this effort his voice failed; then he gave a faint sigh and fell back dead, and the secrets of the _Regina_ were lost.

“Dennis spent all the rest of his life trying to solve the mystery, and his son did the same, and for generations my ancestors have made electricity their life’s study, as I have made it mine, in the hope of elucidating the mysterious force that could defy time and the elements, even the blasting force of lightning—for many and many a time have I and other people, too, seen the vessel struck by lightning which has devastated the shed, but the flash has been met by an answering flash from the vessel; and often have the whole forces of heaven’s electricity been drawn to the magnificent ship, and there has started from the _Regina’s_ sides a series of incessant flashes—curtains of blinding flame—and her silver sides have seemed to ripple electric fluid, in sparkles and drops of rainbow-coloured fire, like the dripping of water from a salmon leaping through a sunbeam. And in the very centre of the storm the brave vessel has seemed to enjoy the uproar; wave after wave of crackling lightning pouring over her in a flood of livid fire, awful to see, and, always victorious and unharmed, she seems to take on her whole surface a smile of derision at nature’s puny and childish attempts at injury. So has she stood through all the years; defying time, apparently defying eternity, and not even her timber supports affected or disturbed.

“Time after time have the authorities in succeeding generations made determined attempts to blow her up, notwithstanding the fact that she is private property, but all to no purpose. No one knows how many times the walls of the shed have been rebuilt, for storms, dynamite, gun-cotton, rystosol, scores of other explosives, lightning and what not, have levelled them to the ground, too often for record, but she still remains perfect as when last used and altogether unapproachable by person or thing. In her safe lies the greatest secret the earth has ever known, the secret that can play with gravity, and yet it is as far out of our reach as is the most distant star.”

Here Dennis paused a moment to select a fresh cigar, but his listeners were too deeply interested to say a word which might break the thread of his story, so he resumed,—

“Until this annihilating force can be cut off, any thing or person brought within twelve inches of any part of the vessel’s surface or projections is volatilised. As I have said, my ancestors have devoted their lives to the subject, and after all these years of toil and enormous expense, the mystery is as impenetrable to human minds as is the occupation of the dead—and yet what wonders have been, and still could be, opened out if this secret could but be found!

“In weird and awful majesty the _Regina_ rests on her blocks—impregnable, unapproachable, indestructible; and so she can remain so long as this world lasts, aye, to all eternity! Although within sight and touch, nothing has been known to pass the protecting current. The shed has to be kept well secured lest any one should inadvertently enter within this invisible zone, and enter eternity at the same moment.”

Here Dennis paused, and Gilbert asked: “What has been done recently—say in your father’s time?”

“My father spent all his life in trying to find some switch or other controlling force, without success.”

“But there must be some wire or secret switch near the door, or the inventors could not have controlled it,” argued Ross.

“And it must have been a very secret switch, or they would not have gone into the shed intending to use it before all the people,” urged Gilbert, “else the vessel would not be safe if the source of its control were known.”

“So it was thought,” answered Dennis, “and my father, when I was a youth, gradually took down the whole of the wall, piece by piece, in the hope of finding some wires, but nothing was seen, and I myself have done the same thing with a like result.”

“Have you tried the floor?” inquired Ross.

“Yes, certainly, that has been up, too,” replied Dennis.

“Have you gone deep? Have you tried tunnelling under the vessel?” asked Gilbert.

“Yes, and a remarkable thing happened,” said Dennis. “The floor and foundations of the walls can be taken up and have been up many a time. I dug down to a great depth, leaving that portion on which the vessel rests and plenty all round it, so that she should not fall, going so deep that she stood as on a monument. Nothing resulting, I felt desperate and told the men to tunnel underneath and blow the lower rock and earth away from below, so that she should topple over. They blew all the earth away, but she would not come down, nor did she move so much as a hair’s-breadth—her gravity and that of the earth were in equilibrium. There she remained, suspended in air, resting on her blocks, with a foot or so of earth below them, and a pick, or indeed anything else, brought within a foot of the earth below the blocks, or the vessel, over or beneath, was at once rendered vaporous. The whole thing was so uncanny that it was months before I could get the pit filled in and then I had to pay well. So far I have spent the best part of my life over the problem and have failed, so I built up the shed as before, fastened it securely, and I do no more!”

“That is a pity!” said Ross, musingly.

“Why should I spend all my substance on what cannot be discovered? For years many of the first electricians and scientists of the day have spent thousands on her and all to no purpose; all in turn have had to acknowledge themselves beaten.”

“It need not cost you anything, you know, for the Government gives grants for such things,” remarked Gilbert.

“No, thank you, Eastern,” replied Dennis, decisively. “You will recall that my much-esteemed ancestor and his friend obtained a warrant signed by his Most Gracious Majesty, King Edward VII., by which they retained the right of keeping the secret unmolested for ever. Now, if I received any Government aid, I should forfeit my right—or it would be forfeited if some Government-paid scientists found it out. They could not in fairness refuse to tell those who had financed them, nor could I under similar circumstances. No, my people have always paid for everything and so do I. I am not going to run any risks of the Government getting hold of my ship, notwithstanding my love for science.”

“Would you mind if I try?” asked Ross.

“Would I mind?” repeated Dennis, highly pleased. “I should be delighted! Only I must make this stipulation, that if you succeed you tell no one except me.”

“Not our friend Eastern, here?”

“We’ll see about that later,” replied Dennis, laughing.

“Oakland,” exclaimed Ross, earnestly, “I promise you faithfully that I will reserve nothing from you that I may discover, and all from every other soul so long as I live; if any one else is to know, you shall tell them. I am deeply interested in this, for it is a matter after my own heart.”

“Then commence when you like and I will pay for all that is necessary,” responded Dennis. “When can you start?”

“At your convenience, Oakland,” answered Ross, aglow with zeal.

“Then we’ll make a beginning to-morrow. Both of you come over to Derwent and we’ll go into the matter. And now we must be off; we have talked Bona to her setting and old Sol is just rising.”

The trio of new-formed friends then entered their respective vessels, and a few minutes later three airships were swiftly flying to England and home.