# Amazing Stories/Volume 01/Number 04/Station X

Station X
By G. McLeod Winsor
CHAPTER I
The New Post
AS Alan Macrae watched the last hues of sunset from Plymouth Hoe pale over Mount Edgcumbe, he stood out in marked contrast to the stolid West Country types around him. His tall loose-limbed figure, his brooding gaze, his nervous highly-strung manner, marked him as a stranger. A touch on the arm recalled him from his apparently sombre thoughts—the touch of a girl who had approached him unobserved.
At the sight of her his melancholy vanished.
"I'm so sorry I'm late, Alan," she cried gaily, "but the manager had a fit."
"A fit?" questioned Macrae.
"Yes, of work," exclaimed the girl: "and he kept me doing letters, quite indifferent to the fact that this is our last night together. Let's walk, shall we?"
As they walked slowly along the Hoe, the contrast between the two was remarkable. The brisk alertness of May Trsherne seemed to accentuate her companion's moodiness and psychic gloom.
They had been engaged for a year, and were waiting only for Fortune to smile upon them to get married. As May had expressed it, "Bread and cheese and love are all right; but you must be sure of the bread and cheese."
Macrae had by sheer merit obtained an ap- pointment at "a foreign radio station." That was ail he knew, beyond the -■fast that the salary was a handsome one,. On the morrow he was to start for his unknown destina- tion, where for a period of six months he would be lost to the world. He would be allowed neither to send nor to receive letters, and was sworn to divulge nothing as to where he had been or upon what engaged. "Perhaps I've been a fool to take the post," he said, looking down at his companion with pessimis- tic eyes. "That's not flattering, Alan," said the girl gaily, determined to cheer him out of his gloomy mood. "You did it so that we could " She paused. tm^e.mautMimimii mi^m. "Get married," he con- cluded the sentence for her. "Yes, I know; but think of six months without you, in a place that I know nothing about." "Cheer up, Alan!" cried May brightly. "It'll soon pass. It was splendid of you to accept it. I'm tired of Sales, Limited, and still more tired of its iran- ager. He's such a moth-eaten little worm." ire beginning in this issue, STATION X, which consider by far the greatest radio story that was ever written. At least we have never read or seen a belter one. Lest you believe that it is impossible for one being to interchange his mind with that of another and thereby control him physically, please consider the following; In 1923 the publishers of this magazine, m conjunction with Station WHN, of New York City, then healed at Ridgewood, L. L, and Mr. Joseph H. Dunninger, per- formed the following experiment: On the morning of July 14, 1923, a subject was placed in front of the loud speaker in RADIO NEWS LABO- RATORIES at S3 Park Place, New York City, Mr, Dunninger was at the broadcast station WHN, and by commanding ' the subject, a young man, Mr. Leslie B. Duncan, to fall asleep, he impressed his will upon the sub- ject, from a distance of over fifteen miles, until the latter fell into a hypnotic trance., . The subject was examined by over twelve newspaper reporters assembled at 53 Park Place. Long needles were stuck through the subject's arm, {drawing no blood) and then Dunninger, from a distance, commanded Duncan fall into a cataleptic stale, which prevailed for abput hour. The subject finally was brought again to His senses by Mr. Dunninger's commiiids issuing out of the loud speaker. Hypnotising by raaio was therefore proclaimed a suc- cess. A full accon if of the experiment may be found in the September, 1923, issue of SCIENCE AND INVEN- TION. "Well, yes, you are right. May. The time will seem long, no doubt; but as it carries double pay I ought not to grumble." He smiled down at her, adding, "That it will bring a certain day nearer is the best part of it." "Meanwhile," said May, "I shall picture you lead- ing a sort of lighthouse existence, and in off-duty momenta thinking about me." As she spoke her eyes-rested on the beam of Eddystone, which the gathering darkness already made plainly visible off . the Cornish coast. Discussing the Dangers at Station X (( ""0U are right! On duty and off, my thoughts Y will run pretty much on you, dear," he A said. ^Now, Alan, tell me why you aren't, or should I say weren't, a bit cheerful this evening. It's a com- pliment, of course, but is there anything that's worrying you?" She looked up'at him inquiringly. "1 suppose I've got the blues. I find myself op- pressed with the feeling that something is going to happen. I can't tell what, but I fee! that the future holds something dark and horrible." "Tell me, Alan, dear, do you know of anything in your coming duties that suggests danger to you? Will you be among savages? Has anything hap- pened to any one at the post? Or is it only just a feeling?" "It rests on nothing, but-^ — " "Then for goodness 'sake, my dear boy, don't (worry yourself about nothing," said May, with relief. "Here," wheeling him around, "let us face the wind, and it will blow such cobwebs out of your half a i She cast about in her mind how to hearten her lover, ar,'<Mier eye caught sight of the statue of Sir Francis Drake. "Did you ever hear of Drake, Alan?" she asked, thinking it possible that he might not, knowing his educational shortcomings, for which she had decided that the future should yet make amends. As they approached the statue, she told hin -about Drake and that immortal game her favorite hero had played c^f this spot, of the threatening danger, MWg»ww?MgB»7i«tiaaBaii!fl and how the great De- vonian refused to let the breathless messenger worry or even hurry him. The Celt, ever quick of apprehension and self- application, had no need for the point to be labored. "Different men have different natures," said Macrae, in a restrained voice. "It does not follow that any one kind has all the courage. It is (illegible text) ​me to say if I would also have done my duty then, but this I know, I would not have been able to finish that game of bowls. It's all a question of nerves. As to the other matter, I knew you would not understand. You are a town girl, and I am from the lonely glen. There are some things that are only to be felt. The forest, the stream, the rocks and the mountain, can teach something to a child that cannot be learned later. It's a sort of sixth sense. Some of us have it. I don't claim to, myself, yet I feel the approach of a cloud. As a boy I loved to wander alone, listen to the roaring torrent, climb the steep precipices of the mountain-side, and often when up at cloud level, I have watched a great fleecy mass approaching, slowly while in the distance, but seemingly faster and faster as it came near. Then suddenly it would swallow me up. Well, dearest May, there is a cloud approaching now that is destined to swallow me up; no light and fleecy mass, but dark and terrible, full of lightnings and of danger, and I do not see myself liberated from its embrace."
A Great Opportunity
"ALAN, dear, do not keep anything from me. If you know anything dangerous connected with your new post, tell it to me. You say you value this opportunity because it brings a certain day nearer. As you are going away, I'll confess that it is for the same reason I too value it. When your position is established, we can be so happy together. At present, as you know, I am anything but that. Yet, I would far rather you threw it all up if there is any special danger."
"If there is, I know nothing about it," he replied, with a smile. "Unfortunately, you discovered my mood, and made me tell you of this impression, which really rests on nothing. But," he added hastily, "let's talk of other things."
May sighed as she recognized it would be useless to say more on the subject. She knew Macrae's highly-strung nervous temperament, but also that in all circumstances he would be sure to do his duty. She could not understand his forebodings; but recognizing that the moment of parting was drawing near, she allowed the subject to drop.
Alan Macrae had been a poor, half-starved youth from the Highlands, who had by mere chance been engaged in an unskilled capacity at the Marconi station of wireless telephony that the Government had established on the north-east coast of Scotland. He had shown such willingness, industry and interest in the working of the station, that opportunity had been-given him to acquire further knowledge of it. The advantage he took of this was so satisfactory that he had been given every encouragement and chance to perfect himself. After some years, he had became one of the most competent wireless electricians on Marconi's staff, A chance discovery had then caused his transference to Poldhu in Cornwall.
When radio telephony was in its infancy it was no easy matter to catch the words, and acute hearing was absolutely necessary to the operator. To a certain extent it still is, for there is always a zone surrounding any station, near the limit of audibility, where acuteness of hearing makes all the difference ⟨between⟩ the possibility and impossibility of com- (illegible text)tion. It was found that Macrae's endowment in this respect was little short of phenomenal, and this it was that caused him to be sent to the Cornish station used for transatlantic messages. Later it had been one of the reasons, combined with his steadiness and competence, that had caused him to be selected for this mysterious Government appointment.
When the moment approached for going on board the cruiser that was to transport him to his unknown destination, May Treherne, principally for the sake of filling some of the unoccupied time that she feared would hang heavily on his hands, asked him to keep a diary, so that she might at some future time have the pleasure of reading it. This he promised to do, and after a tender parting he strode rapidly off in the direction of where the cruiser's boat was awaiting him.
Starting for Station X
THAT night he reported himself to Captain Evered of H.M.S. Sagitta, where he made the acquaintance of Lieutenant Wilson, who would be in command of Station X, to which Macrae was going. Knowing how much they would be thrown together, Captain Evered was anxious that these two should make a mutually favorable impression upon each other; but his instinct told him from the first that such was far from being the case. Wilson, in speaking to his brother officers that night, made no secret of his dismay.
"This is rough luck," said he, "to be boxed up for six months with that miserable mechanic!"
For his part, Macrae said nothing, but felt instinctively the complete lack of sympathy between him and his future superior. It was only after making Lieutenant Wilson's acquaintance that he realized the isolation of the past to which he was going. He felt no resentment against Wilson for what he recognized was a mutual misfortune—that they could never be companions, and he saw that one of the chief reasons was his own lack of education.
Captain Evered found an early opportunity of taking Wilson to task, and of giving him some sound advice, pointing out the bearings of the thing from the Government's point of view, the responsibility of his post, and the desirability of cultivating good relations with his companion who had had less advantages than himself, etc., etc. He nevertheless came to the conclusion, long before the voyage was over, that they were as ill-assorted a pair as he had ever seen.
The voyage was uneventful. In the Indian Ocean, they picked up from another cruiser, a Hong-Kong Chinaman, a quiet methodical sort of creature, who had been engaged to act as servant at the station.
The otherwise nameless islet, known to the admiralty as Station X, was made on the morning of September 7. A short time sufficed for the landing of the new staff and stores, and the taking on board of those relieved. Before the new trio had realized the strangeness of their position, the Sagitta, that greyhound of the waters, had disappeared below the horizon. One of the first things, however, that Lieutenant Wilson did realize after taking command was that Macrae, whatever his social shortcomings, was a most intelligent and thoroughly competent "wireless" engineer and operator.
CHAPTER II
Macrae's Forebodings Realized
A MONTH passed, during which Captain Evered's forebodings as to the lack of sympathy between Wilson and Macrae were thoroughly realised. Upon Macrae, who had been accustomed from his childhood to solitude, the effect was not marked; but with Lieutenant Wilson it was different. He grew irritable, unreasonable, and almost morose. His victim was the Chinaman, Ling, upon whom he seemed to take a savage pleasure in venting his spleen.
When off duty, Macrae would wander off to the cliff, and there, for hour after hour, would sit brooding or writing up the diary that May Treherne, with remarkable foresight, had urged him to keep. His earlier entries were devoted to a description of many incidents of the voyage, and the hundred and one impressions made on a peculiarly receptive mind.
He found in the diary a new medium of expression, a relief from the brooding of his boyhood. At first he discovered great difficulty in expressing himself, but gradually found himself writing with increasing ease and facility. One day, on looking back through the earlier pages, he was surprised to find how awkwardly they read. He realised that they did not well represent or reflect his life. He knew that he could now do it better. He decided to begin again, and, now that he was more accustomed to expressing himself in writing, to give a description of his life at Station X.
Diary of Life at Station X
5th October.
YOU can scarcely realize the task you set me—I mean, its difficulty—when you asked me to keep a diary. It is a great pleasure, as nothing calls up your sweet face so clearly as writing to you all that is in my mind. It is the next best thing to speaking to you. I have already told you that I am forbidden to tell of the place or of my duties. They are very light, although of the utmost importance in these times. As a soldier would put it, we are a reserve rather than an active force, liable to be called upon, but, for an important reason, used as little as possible. We interchange a daily word or two to see that we are in working order.
I am afraid you will find this diary uninteresting sometimes, but you will know that I have some excuse. Even the weather is uneventful here. How little we know at home how wearisome and monotonous perpetual blue skies can be!
During the long hours off duty, I sit here in this loftiest nook on the cliff overlooking the ocean, writing to you, dozing, or looking out over the limitless expanse of waters. The long slow swell seems to move like enchanted waves, until my own thoughts too seemed lulled to harmony with their changeless rhythm. It is just in such moments that the ominous impression of the approach of that shadow I spoke to you about seems to become more real.
I have learned here that the feeling of isolation, when confined with an uncongenial companion, is more oppressive than if I were entirely alone. How different things would be if only Lieutenant Wilson were a different sort of man. I often think I should get on much better with many a worse man than he. He is most exact so far as performance of duty is concerned, it seems to me even too exact. There is no possibility of any one under him for one moment shirking duty, and of course I have no wish to do so. As a matter of fact, there is so little of it that I would willingly take mine and half his if he would permit it. He treats me with the most rigid politeness, but I can always feel a something at the back of it. I am aware of my social shortcomings, and can make every excuse for him not haying a companion more to his liking. He feels the life as much as I do, but does not appear able to unbend. You would be surprised at how few words we exchange in the twenty-four hours, often, in relieving each other at the door of the signal room, saluting without a word at all!
The Chinaman
AT first it struck even the Chinaman as curious, for I have more than once seen him regarding us, out of his almond eyes, with the suspicion of a grin for a moment humanizing his impenetrable countenance.
I wonder if all Chinamen are like this one, and I wonder what this one is like! He is a walking image of inscrutability and silence; his very footfall makes no sound. I think, if one wanted to pretend to be very wise, a perfect storehouse of wisdom that one did not really possess, the great thing to do would be to say nothing. This can be quite impressive if it is done in the right way. The Chinaman does it in the right way, while, as Lieutenant Wilspn does it, it is not impressive, but only irritating.
The Chinaman's duties are light, and he does them very methodically. He gives no sign as to whether he likes or dislikes them, or if the slow hours sometimes hang heavy on his hands or not. I think he must be a philosopher, taking it all as the expenditure of so much time for so much pay, and carrying out his contract with a calm that seems to hold in it an element of contempt for all the world and all that is in it. As I have already mentioned, Lieutenant Wilson can convey contempt; but to me, that of the Chinese appears much the loftier of the two.
And yet it is of this placid individual that Lieutenant Wilson manages to fall foul.
I am well convinced that it is not so much through any fault in Ling, as the necessity for some safety valve for the escape of the lieutenant's temper. I am forbidden him by the regulations. He really is most unreasonable. A few minutes' delay in the performance of some slight duty or service, when heaven knows an hour would make little enough difference, is enough to provoke an outburst. Lieutenant Wilson's display of temper always show a harsh and overbearing, I might almost say a bullying disposition.
You will see, therefore, that apart from my slight duties, there is little to occupy my time, and I am reduced to being my own companion, a miserable substitute at best for pleasant company. That is where my diary comes in, and saves me from what would otherwise be many a tiresome hour. I wonder sometimes whether this was not in your ​mind when you set me the task, I think it must have been, seeing that although I write to you, I cannot post what I write. If so, thank you for the promise you exacted. What would I not give, dearest May, even for a few minutes of your company.
The Ocean Solitude at Station X
6th October.
IF I lived long in this place I should have to become an astronomer. I am not allowed to give you many details, but you know that we are isolated and overlook the sea. When, by day, I sit and watch the ocean around, or, by night, the ocean above, both of which have now become so familiar to me, these seem my real companions, less remote, in spite of their immensity, than the two fellow humans with whom my lot is cast. I think it is the mystery of things that is the attractive power. The sea-birds alone are a perpetual marvel. As long ago as I can remember anything, I remember watching the eagle with wonder and delight; but these sea-birds seem to surpass even him in magic. They come from the invisible distance, sail to and fro, to and fro, up and down, and away again beyond the horizon, and it is even rare to see the beat of a pinion. It is not flying but floating, but the secret of it is their own, or at all events it is beyond the range of my mechanics.
But what are such mysteries compared with those that are spread above? If you have heard me grumble at the monotony of perpetual blue skies, you will never hear me grumble at these nights. It is then I feel the burden of my ignorance, watching nightly the march of these star battalions and not knowing even the name of one. I look forward to being your scholar in this as in other studies, when, if ever, the opportunity comes. No doubt this increased desire for information about the starry hosts is partly because I never knew before that there were so many of them. There must be ten stars here for every one in a Scotch sky at the best of times. But the principal reason is that there would be so much the more to think about, for I have made another discovery, that an ignorant man alone, is more lonely than a man of knowledge can ever be. Yet I dare say the knowledge of the wisest is a small matter compared with the measure of his ignorance.
If I could not turn my thoughts to you, dear May, sometimes, I think I should almost lose my reason. The place, or rather, the circumstances of my life here, are getting on my nerves, and I start almost at a shadow, or the slightest sound, I must indeed pull myself together, and think still more of you and the double pay that is leading to you, and turn my back resolutely upon things "based on nothing," as you say, "cobwebs," as you call them.
I would not have you different from what you are for all the world, and the greatest stroke of luck of my life was finding you. With your level little head and matter-of-fact good sense to guide me, what have I to fear?
It is now the hour for relieving Lieutenant Wilson at the Signal Station; one of us must always be within hearing of the call signal. He has never had to wait for me yet! Good-bye, dear May, until to-morrow.
More About the Chinaman
7th October.
IF these lines were destined to meet your eye at once I would not write them, as they could only worry you. Something has happened. No cobweb this time. My wretched foreboding has always been so vague that it has seemed part of my trouble that I could not tell in what direction to look for it. It never occurred to me that Lieutenant Wilson's temper would pass from an inconvenience into a danger, but what occurred to-day has shown me that in relying on the immovable calm of Ling, I have been building on the sand. The two things may still be quite unconnected, as to-day's affair only concerns me indirectly; but from now I shall live in extra dread of what may happen here.
Ling was a few minutes behind time in the performance of some slight duty, and so had laid himself open to rebuke. This had taken the usual form, and had included the additional feature of the threat of a rope's- ending. When possible, I manage to be absent on these occasions, but I happened just them to be watching the Chinaman, and was startled to see the veil of his everlasting calm for a moment lifted. A look flashed from his entirely transforming his features. Just for one fleeting instant only was it there, but long enough to reveal to me the existence of an unsuspected volcano beneath; then the impenetrable mask again descended. But that glance of fiendish and vindictive hate is enough to show me that my reading of his character was wrong, and that there may be a tragedy here at any time. Never more will I complain of monotonous days. May every day I remain here be as monotonous as hitherto, and may the time at length safely arrive when together we shall laugh all my fears out of countenance. Never did I feel the need of you, dear May, more than now; for if anything of the kind I dread should happen, I fear it would put the finishing touch on my jarred nerves.
An Awful Mystery and Murder
8th October.
CAN it be but yesterday that I wrote the last line in this book? So far as the hours are concerned, it appears even less, for I know nothing of the passage of the greater part of them; but reckoning by events which were crowded into seconds, that time seems ages ago. The bolt has fallen. Never more, May, shall I sit and write you my thoughts in the shadow of that rock on the cliff overlooking the sunlit waves. But I will now, to the best of my ability, write down the awful account of what has happened, and the strange thing that has followed it. I am thankful to have had my nerves sufficiently restored to do so. They are restored, in fact, to an extent that seems wonderful even to myself. A short time ago I was too distracted to write anything.
My last letter to you was written, as usual, while sitting at my favorite spot on the cliff. Having closed the diary on the ominous words I had concluded my letter with, I was sitting half asleep, dreamily watching some sea-birds of tremendous wing, the name of which is unknown to me, and lazily wondering, as I always do, at their easy defiance of the laws of gravitation, when I was suddenly roused more effectually than by clap of thun​der. They say I have phenomenal powers of hearing, and no doubt it is extra acute, but the latent fear that since the day before had lain at the back of my mind, coupled with the nervous strain that had so long oppressed me, would in any case have made me quick to catch any unusual sound from the station—nearly half a mile distant.
What I did hear was an angry shout as of surprise, rage, and something else that seemed to freeze the blood, a moment's mingling of two voices in excitement, a pistol-shot, and that was all. The very silence that succeeded seemed to lend horror to my mind. I had sprung to my feet at the first sound, but stood spell-bound for the few moments the sounds continued, and then at my utmost speed I ran for the station-house.
During the two or three minutes this may have taken, I could not prevent the thought of a hundred awful possibilities from jostling each other through ray mind. I feared to find terrible injury to one or other, perhaps both, of my companions—perhaps Ling even dead, for I knew the fatal accuracy of Lieutenant Wilson with a pistol.
The reality surpassed it all. Poor Wilson lay on his side, bent backward like a bow. His attitude and expression were too frightful to recall, the last convulsive twitchings of life were still faintly perceptible. In his back was the Chinaman's knife, driven to the hilt. The Chinaman lay like one asleep, but in this case it was the sleep that knows no waking, with a face on which its habitual calm had already reasserted itself, and a pistol bullet through his brain.
Recovery from a Trance
My dear May, I cannot give you the history of the time that immediately succeeded my discovery; it has become a blank. Whether I actually lost consciousness at the shock or not, I do not know, but my memory holds no record of what must have been a considerable time. I remember ultimately finding myself standing on the same spot, and, raising my eyes from the awful scene at my feet, I noticed that the sun was already in the western sky. I was shaking like an aspen leaf. I struggled to collect ray ideas into a coherent train of thought, instinctively realizing that something must be done—at once.
The thought of those murdered bodies lying so near me in the pale starlight through the silent watches of the night was intolerable. I resolved to bury them while daylight lasted, just as they were, as deep as I could— out of sight—out of sight! I cannot dwell, even now, on all the details of this task. I dragged them as far as possible from the station-house, where their life's blood had made terrible token of the spot where they fell, just outside the door (thank Heaven, outside).
I was determined that deep they should lie, but the ground was rocky, and my tools not intended for this use. Thankful to have digging tools at all, I at length completed my task. I confess that the hardness of the ground was not my only difficulty, for more than once I leapt up from my work with the vivid impression of the contorted face of the Chinaman, as I had once seen it, close to my shoulder. Nothing but the alternative of their ghastly company above ground drove me to the completion of what I had commenced. I was none too soon, for by the time I had finished, the brief twilight was already on the island. Such, however, was my unreasoning, frantic desire to obliterate all traces of the tragedy, that ere black night descended, the bloodstains also had been washed away.
Entering the building, my loneliness rushed down upon me and seemed to wrap me round. I believe it was more this feeling than the duty of reporting the occurrence, that took me straight to the instrument. I longed to hear the voice of my fellow-man. At the signal-table there is provided, for the purpose of wireless telephony, a headpiece that fits over both ears, without requiring to be held by the hands, that they may be left free for taking down a message, and that shuts out all sounds except those coming through the instrument.
A Wireless from — Where?
As I put on this headpiece I felt severely the physical and mental strain to which I had been subjected, and suffered a curious feeling that I do not know how to describe, except that it seemed half utter fatigue, and half excitement. I passed the signal, and then spoke the call word, and nearly jumped out of the chair at the sound of my own voice. This should not have been very distinct to me, so effective are the ear-pieces or receivers, as excluders of all sounds not coming by "wireless"; yet I seemed to have shouted.
Trying again, and speaking softly, it had the same effect. Having waited in vain for an answer from the neighboring (neighboring!—three thousand miles) station, I removed the headpiece and sat still for a moment. Then I found why my voice had seemed a shout. My nerves, or whatever the proper word may be, were in a state of unnatural exaltation. Incredible as it may appear, the murmur of the wavelets all round the islet was clearly audible to me. The gentlest of breezes seemed to hiss over the bungalow. The creak of a board was like a pistol-shot.
A Breaking Communication
Once more I assumed the headpiece and signalled again, and again. The clang of the call-signal at the receiving station is audible for some distance; it is not necessary to have on the head-piece to receive it. The fact of getting no reply proved there was no one in attendance, at the moment, at either of the two stations we communicated with. It is true the hour was an unusual one, in fact oue at which no call had ever been sent before, and that could he the only reason why I was left without reply. It was an illustration of how even the best can get slack under such circumstances. I felt at the time that this went some way to vindicate Lieutenant Wilson's methods, whose faults, whatever they might have been, certainly did not lie in the direction of slackness. No one could have signalled us at any moment, day or night, during his command here without receiving an immediate answer.
Keeping on the headpiece, I waited, calling up at intervals.
How long this went on I cannot say, but after some shorter or longer time a thing happened that I cannot explain unless by supposing it the result ​of the state of physical exhaustion to which I had reduced myself. While I waited, I fell asleep. My head must have dropped forward on the signal-table, at which I sat, and with the head-piece still attached, sleep suddenly overcame me.
On waking, I seemed to come suddenly to my full senses, and it immediately struck me with a shock of surprise that it was no longer night!
It did not take me a moment to realize the fearful neglect of duty of which I had been guilty, recalling as I did the fact that it could not have been much more than an hour after sunset when I fell asleep. My first act was to look at the chronometer. It marked four o'clock. This was absolutely bewildering, for at four o'clock it would not be already light. Hastily removing the head-piece, I walked out of the station-house. The sun was approaching the west! There could only be one explanation—I had slept over twenty hours.
Remembering that as yet no account of the tragedy of yesterday had been despatched, and the urgent need of bringing the facts to the knowledge of the Admiralty, so that relief might be sent, I hastened back to the instrument. Here another surprise awaited me, to make you understand which, a little explanation is necessary. It is part of our instructions that, when telephoning, every word as spoken must be written down in shorthand, and every word spoken at the other end, must be taken down as received. This gives the Admiralty two records of everything that passes, one at each station, which should exactly correspond.
On opening the Record Book, imagine my surprise to find written down, in my own short-hand, the report of a long conversation with the Queensland Station, in which I had apparently given a full account of everything that had happened, and received replies and instructions, I tried to recollect something of this, but in vain. My memory was, as it still is, and no doubt always will be, a complete blank respecting it. The only explanation that seemed possible was that I had done this in my sleep, or in some state resembling sleep, brought on by the abnormal condition in which I had been the evening before.
A Change in Physical Condition
IT now occurred to me for the first time what a great change there was in me, as compared with the day previous. Incredible as this unremembered signalling appeared, and nothing but the evidence of my own notes staring me in the face would have convinced me of it, it seemed almost as strange that such a disturbed sleep as it evidently must have been, could have restored me in the way it had. My nervous condition had quite vanished, for I found myself as collected as ever before in my life. It might therefore be said I was more than restored, for I could scarcely recognize myself as the same individual that had spent the last few weeks, and especially the last days, in torturing worry and foreboding.
It seemed as though the very catastrophe I had apprehended had, by its occurrence, relieved my mind from the strain. If any one had told me some mouths ago, say when last we saw each other, that under such circumstances as these—of horror, isolation, responsibility—I should be able to take it so calmly, I should have been the last to believe it.
It next occurred to me that I was fearfully hungry, as well might be the case, and the need suddenly appeared so pressing that it had to be at once attended to. Never had food tasted so good, and yet, before I had proceeded far, a mouthful seemed to turn to ashes. The Record Book certainly contained an account of messages in my handwriting, but what evidence was there that it was other than an acted dream? Dropping my food, hunger forgotten, I went to the instrument, and in less than a minute was talking with Queensland. My relief was great as I found my account fully confirmed. They had received my report, and now renewed the instruction to keep as constantly on duty as I am physically capable of.
Since finishing my interrupted meal, I have written you this account, while keeping within sound of the call-signal. It is almost the hour at which I yesterday fell asleep at the instrument. That will not happen again, but I shall put on the headpiece. It is not necessary, but somehow I feel as though called to the instrument. So good-bye, dear May, for the present.
CHAPTER III
What the "Sagitta" Discovered
IT was the afternoon of the 11th of October. The cruiser Sagitta was taking a wireless telegragh staff, men whose leave had expired, from New Zealand, where their last duty had been, to the relief of the station at Wei-hai-wei. About six bells, a radio message was received in code from a station on the Eastern Extension Cable. "Take staff on board with all dispatch to relief of Station X. All communication ceased. Report on arrival."
When Captain Evered received this communication he was already well north of the Bismarck Archipelago. As he read it his face could not have become graver had he seen an approaching typhoon, on the horizon. In a figurative sense that is what he did see.
Promptly the nose of his thirty knotter was deflected to the north-east, and she was sent racing at her best pace on the new route, which lay through the countless islands of the Caroline and Marshall groups, to where the bottom of the Pacific falls into the Ammen Deep, near which his goal was situated.
He knew that something unusual must have happened, but the secrecy of the Service precluded the possibility of his asking questions. It was very possible, he thought, that Whitehall knew no more than he. "All communication ceased" was what lent color to the natural thought that had instantly occurred to him. Two young and healthy men are not likely to be totally incapacitated from duty at the same moment—from natural causes.
Thinking of the two young men concerned in the present case, his thoughts took another turn, and, judging by his expression, it did not seem a particularly pleasant one. Encountering the ship's doctor on deck soon after the change of course, he said:
"What do you think of this message, Anderson? Have you any theory?"
"Illness, probably," was the reply.
"Perhaps," said Captain Evered la a tone of doubt, "or worse."
​ "What do you mean, sir?" was the startled re- tort. "Do you think that Germany — ~ ft "My first thought was that the storm had burst," said Captain Evered; "but if such an idea had been entertained at home, the message would have been worded differently. We live in such ticklish times that every precaution must be taken, hut I don't think that is the explanation." No Communication with Station X i( P g "SEEN have you some other theory?" n "I don't like to call it a theory, but I JL brought those two fellows out from Eng- land, and I can't forget what an ill-paired couple - they were." Captain Evered lit a cigarette. "In other words, you think it possible there has been trouble?" queried the doctor. "You were not with us on the outward voyage, and»so have not met them. Wilson showed every sign of being a martinet, and a surly one at that. Macrae, the engineer and operator, is more difficult to describe. He is well-meaning, but with little edu- cation, very nervous, and of weak will; no vice, hut no ballast. So we have the undisciplined temper of one, the peculiar, unstable character of the other, and extremely trying conditions — how trying they can be is known only to those who have been boxed up together for months in that way." "I hope there has been no row between them!" "Very likely not; but nothing would surprise me very much. The one thing certain is that neither of them is on duty, and the more I think of it, the less I believe in outside interference. Such a thing would be an overt act of war, of which there would be other signs by now." ..-'""Station X was thoroughly fitted for radio tele- graphy, as well as with the incomparably larger plant for long-distance telephony. As the distance between herself and the island diminished, the Sagitta made repeated efforts to call up the station, but received no xeply. On the morning of the 14th the island was raised, a tiny ■ speck on the ocean's rim. When near enough for the glass to show every detail on cliff and shore, the cruiser made the tour of it, as a measure of precaution ; but no sign of life was visible, either on land or water. She then fired a rocket to attract attention, and waited, but in vain. Captain Evered's face was the picture of aston- ishment. What had happened to the Chinaman, even assuming the worst in regard to Macrae and Wil- son? Turning to his first lieutenant, he said: "Mr. Fletcher, take the cutter and go and investi- gate. Anderson will go with you. Let the men stay by the boat while you and Anderson land. If yciu see no sign of any one, signal me to that effect; and proceed to the station-house. Take your revolvers. Be careful to disturb nothing that has any bearing on what has happened, and return as soon as you Landing from the "Sagitta" THE boat's crew were piped away and were soon pulling for the shelving beach. The two officers landed and proceeded, to climb the cliff. They stood for a moment, the whole in- terior of the island lying like a map before them. They were watched with much curiosity from the Sagitta. In order to preserve the secret of Station X every precaution had been taken to hide from the non-commissioned ranks the fact that there was any / secret connected with it, or anything different from the other various stations periodically visited. As it is always the unusual that is most like to-be talked about, Captain Evered intended to take every means to hide any discovery of a remarkable ija- ture in connection with the present visit. That there was something out of the usual routine could not be hidden, but he hoped that the statement that there was a case of sickness on the island would he sufficient explanation, whatever the full facts of the ease might be. This was why the doctor had been made one of the landing-party. The agreed sign that nothing was visible was . made, and the two men disappeared over the cliff. "The station looks all right, at all events," said the doctor, "but no sign of anybody. Where the dickens can the fellows have got to?" They pressed on for the station-house, and pushed open the door, which was closed but not latched. On the floor, on its back, lay the body of Macrae, ■-. with an overturned chair beside him. .The appear- ^ anee irresistibly suggested that the poor' fellow had been sitting at the table in front of the instrument, when, from some unexplained cause, he had fallen backward, chair and all, striking the floor with the back of his head. There was no sign that he had made any subsequent effort. "Dead!" said the doctor, after a brief examina- tion; "but where are the others?" ' Catalepsy or Death! THE various rooms of the bungalow-built sta- tion-house were thoroughly searched, but there was nothing to throw any light on th.:ir absence. "Can you tell the cause of the operator's death, Anderson?" inquired Lieutenant Fletcher. "No," replied the doctor; "thereTs no sign of violence. It's very strange."- "Possihly the papers will show something of what has happened," suggested Fletcher, "but I think we'd better not interfere with them. I'll go back and report. No doubt the chief will then come ashore." "Right-oh!" said the doctor, who had turned his attention again to the body in the signal-room. Lieutenant Fletcher accordingly returned to the Sagitta and made his 'report, with the result that Captain Evered immediately decided to go ashore himself and make a personal examination of* the island. On arriving at the station-house, he went straight to the signal-room, where he found Dr. Anderson kneeling by the body of Macrae. ■ "Fletcher and I thought you had better see the place before anything was touched, sir," said An- derson, looking up. "He's dead?" questioned Captain Evered, indicat- ing Macrae. "I thought so at first," was the reply. Captain Evered looked sharply at the speaker, for both in the words and tone there was a significance. Answering the look, Anderson proceeded : "I have made a further examination, and I'm not now ​certain that my first report was at all correct."
While speaking he was placing the body in what, for a living person, would have been a more easy attitude.
"It is true that I can find no sign of life whatever, neither pulse nor temperature; but on the other hand, I can find no certain sign of death. You see there is no rigor, nor any sign of decay. The cessation of signals implies that he may have lain in this state for four days, and in this climate too."
"But," said Captain Evered, "is such a state of death in life possible?"
"It is difficult to say what is possible in this way," said the doctor; "but if this is trance, it is the most extraordinary case that has ever come to my knowledge."
"Meanwhile what should be done?"
"He must be got on board as quickly as possible, and receive treatment."
Captain Evered did not reply for a moment. He was looking at the thing from the Service point of view.
"Well," he said at length, "what must be, must be; it is true we could not very well leave him here, but it's unfortunate. But what of the others? Where are they?"
"We've seen no sign of them," said Anderson, "and in your absence Fletcher would not refer to the signal records to see what light they might throw on things."
Examining the Signal-Books
ACTING on the hint, Captain Evered went to the signal-book and began to read. The first thing he noticed, for in the circumstances he began at the end, was that the last signalling which took place was on October 10th, that is the day before he had been ordered to change his course. Turning back the leaves, he at once came upon Macrae's report of the tragedy. This showed him that the Admiralty was already in possession of the facts so far. It did not show him the first arrangement made for Macrae's relief, and which, for the sake of greater despatch when Macrae no longer responded, had been altered by sending the Sagitta. Captain Evered now gave the terrible details to his companion, and requested him to find the place where the bodies were buried.
While Anderson was thus employed, Captain Evered turned to Macrae's diary, which under the circumstances he felt justified in examining. This he scanned over from the beginning, reading a little here and there, and soon seeing that it was a most improper account to have written, containing many indications that, in certain hands, would have afforded undesirable clues. As he came to Macrae's description of the death of his companions and the effect on himself, Captain Evered became confirmed in the view he had always held, that Macrae had never been a man suited to this kind of duty.
As he read the astonishing document, he came to the inevitable conclusion that the poor fellow's brain had been turned by the event that had happened and that the latter part of the diary was but the ravings of a lunatic. In fact, Macrae seemed, pathetically enough, to have had a suspicion of the fact himself.
Putting down the diary as the doctor returned to the signal-room, Captain Evered said:
"Well, have you found the spot?"
"Yes, sir, I've found the grave," was the reply.
"Then that so far verifies his report, but it is necessary that our arrival and discovery should be reported for the information of the Admiralty. I believe you are a motorist, Anderson, and no doubt you can re-charge with petrol and start the engine."
Whilst Dr. Anderson busied himself about this, Captain Evered wrote out his report for despatch. This concluded, he turned to the doctor.
"That a row of some sort should have happened here would not have surprised me, but to find all dead is beyond my worst anticipations. What do you now make of him?"
"I can only repeat what I have before said. He must be brought on board," said the doctor, "but I have little hope for him."
"Then," was the reply, "when the report is sent and the relief staff landed, you must take him on board on a covered stretcher with as little remark as possible. Say he is in a comatose condition, and too ill to remain here. With care, his peculiar state need not be made apparent. The absence of the other two will not be spoken of, and there will not be much to call special attention to the affair among the crew."
The Injured Operator Taken on Board the Naval Cruiser
LEAVING Dr. Anderson in charge of the station, Captain Evered went down to the boat and returned on board. He explained the situation to the officer about to take charge, and sent him, with his engineer-operator and servant to take immediate possession on the island, instructing him to call up British Columbia, and advise-that the station was again in working order.
Under the excuse of waiting until the repairs rendered necessary by "the recent explosion at the station" had been carried out, the Sagitta stood by until sunset. In the fading light the "injured" operator was placed on a litter, and, under the doctor's supervision, brought on board. Long before that, the Sagitta had received her orders from home to proceed to Hong-Kong.
Captain Evered had brought Macrae's diary away with him, and how went carefully through the latter part of it. He was quite convinced of the truth of the version given respecting the fatal occurrence between Wilson and the Chinaman. There were further entries under the dates of the two subsequent days. The former had been first written in shorthand, in the manner a message is taken down as received, which, in fact, it pretended to have been; and had afterwards been re-written in long-hand. The entry under the second date, the last entry in the diary, was still in shorthand only. It was the former that had been considered by, Captain Evered, when on the island, to be proof of the writer's insanity.
Deciphering the Short-hand Diary
AT the first opportunity he spoke to Dr. Anderson on the subject. "I should like you," he said, "to run through this entry of his. The poor fellow seems to have had the most ​ary delusion one could imagine. What do you make of him now?"
"Absolutely no change. In my opinion, if it is trance, it must end in death, with probably nothing to show the precise moment of the change. Do these writings of his throw any light on how he came in the position in which we found him?"
"So far as it is written out, no; but half of it is still in the original shorthand. This I can't read myself, and I rather hesitate about putting it in the hands of any one on board who can."
"Well, as you propose to hand the papers to me, I'll see what I can make of it. If it's Pitman's and fairly well written, I think I may be able to make it out, and if you wish, I'll write it out for you."
"Thanks. If it's anything like the record of the day previous, I confess I should like to see it, wild delusion though it be. But take it and read it. Its very existence, from beginning to end, shows how unfit he was for the secret service of one of these stations. Where his madness began I leave you to decide. At all events he seems mad enough towards the finish."
"What do you suppose caused him to lose his reason?"
"I don't feel the least doubt about that," said Captain Evered. "He was a young fellow of considerable ability, but of the nervous, imaginative sort, unsuited in any case to the life incidental to such a post; and when the event happened that left him there alone, under circumstances that would have been trying to any one, he simply went all to pieces. However, read the first part of this, that is already written out, and tell me what you think of it."
Brain and nerve disorders had always been the branch of his profession that had special attraction for Dr. Anderson, and the vagaries of unhinged and abnormal minds had been a particular study of his. It was, therefore, with scientific interest that he took Macrae's writings for perusal. After reading the part that has already been repeated here, he came to the point where Macrae, in the signal-room, finished his daily entry or letter with the avowed intention of going to the instrument and putting on the receiver or headpiece; to quote his own words, "as though called upon" to do so.
CHAPTER IV
The Mysterious Voice
WHAT Dr. Anderson began to read in his cabin ran as follows:—
It is not very agreeable, my dear May, to write what I feel must inevitably make you to believe me to be perfectly mad. And will you be, far wrong? That is the question I am constantly asking myself. At all events, here are what appear to me to be the exact particulars of my experience.
After finishing my letter to you yesterday, I went and put on the headpiece, without knowing myself quite why I did so. Almost immediately after the receivers were covering my ears I heard a voice, and it at once struck me as a very peculiar voice, very pleasant and musical, but quite different somehow from any I had ever heard. It said, "Macrae, are you there?"
Having answered, I was surprised, after a short interval, to hear the voice repeat the same question, as though I had not been heard. But then it occurred to me that I had replied in a very low tone, instead of the rather loud and distinct manner of speaking we are instructed to use. So I endeavored this time to reply louder, but found that I seemed to have almost entirely lost my voice. I could only answer in the same manner as before. There was a minute's silence, and then the same question repeated. My inability to reply otherwise than as before was most disconcerting, for, I reflected, while that state of things continued, I was, for the purpose of radio telephony, absolutely useless. As the only one at the station, this would be serious. "Using my best effort, but without any extra result from it, I answered, "Yes! I am attending. Who are you?" Once more the same question came through the receiver. While I sat still, wondering what I should do about it, the voice spoke again. I had been heard.
And now, dear May, try to believe me, however difficult. Think, should I choose such a terrible time as this for romancing? No! either this great marvel has really happened, or else I am—but no; I must, must keep away that terrible thought.
The Strange Message From An Unknown Source
THE voice said, "You attend! Now, listen, and do not be induced to leave the instrument, or fail in the closest attention, by the surprise of what you hear. Also understand that six minutes will elapse before any answer can reach you in reply to any question or remark of yours. I am not speaking to you from any point on your planet, but from your nearest neighboring world, which you call Venus."
"But," I interrupted, "you called me by name!"
"This," went on the voice, "is an event in the history of your world, the immense importance of which, others of your fellow-beings will be much better able to realize than you. Of greater importance to your world than ours, in view of the fact that we are more advanced in intellect and knowledge than yourselves, and have therefore less to learn from you than you from us. Having gleaned all we can from yourself, I will, pending arrangements that must be made for your savants to converse with us, give you some information respecting ourselves and the world from which I speak to you. Yes; I called you by name! You do not remember, but we have been in conversation already for twenty hours—as long as your nature could hold out. This I will at once explain to you.
"What you call radio telegraphy is the launching through space of etheric impulses, which travel outward from the generating centre indefinitely in all directions. The medium in which these impulses are propagated is universal. Unlike sound signals, which, propagated in the air, must be bounded by the atmosphere, these etheric signals have no definite bounds; they are easily detectable here, and much further. Consequently, your radio conversations have been eagerly listened to on my world, and have aroused an interest that you will scarcely understand.
"From a time, thousands of years before your recorded history commences, we have desired to converse with you. During all these ages we have been able to see you, but not to speak to you. This ​we have ardently wished, not only that we might help you forward, but that we might have the means of solving a thousand problems relating to your world, and especially to your (to us) bewilderingly incomprehensible 'human' nature, as denoted by your acts. So, although the subject-matter of most of your radio messages is of trivial interest in itself, the light it has thrown on the mentality of your species lends to every word a profound interest,
Interplanetary Telephony
WHEN, at last, you discovered telephony we recognized that communication should soon follow, and we did all we could to attract your attention. But you persistently remained deaf to our words. From this we found put that your powers of hearing were insufficient for the purpose of interplanetary communication, which would therefore remain for ever impossible unless some means of establishing mental rapport with some one of you could be devised. In the latter events, through the exalted condition of the sensorial faculties that could be induced, and especially as controlled by hypnotic influence, we still hoped success might be obtained.
"The difficulty, however, of bringing this about remained unconquerable, and, in the event, chance alone has decided it.
"This chance depended on the accident of one of your own particular nature or character being thrown by unwonted circumstances, and your isolated position, into a mental condition, one symptom of which was an abnormal functional exaltation of the sensorial ganglia.
"On the night of what you call October 7, in this condition of nervous exaltation, and physical exhaustion, you, to outward appearance, fell asleep at the instrument. Sleep is one of the natural phenomena that, with you, seem to be still curiously uncomprehended. For the present, I will merely say that your sub-consciousness was especially wide awake, and could hear my call. You answered, and the rest was easy. Improving the adjustment of your already responsive condition by hypnotic suggestion, for twenty hours we remained in the closest mental rapport. This time was employed, except for short intervals, when I assisted you in the performance of the work of your station, in getting from you all the information on things human and terrestrial that you are capable of giving. You have resolved a thousand questions that have been debated here for millenniums. We regret to find your strange lack of information on subjects evidently within the present acquirements of your race. Why are not all — but of that, another time. It may please you to know that, although at present an undistinguished individual on Earth, you are at this moment the most celebrated on Venus."
The Voice Said, "Your Nearest Neighbour"
THE voice ceased, and can you wonder, dear May, that words in reply failed me for a time. Among a hundred thoughts crowding through my mind the one which persisted with most force was, Could this be real? "Your nearest neighbour," the voice said. I do not know what it means. The horrible idea took shape, this is delusion, madness! I cannot blame you that, like any one else, you will be driven to that conclusion. It must be so much easier to think that trouble has driven another poor wretch out of his mind, than to believe that some one has spoken to him from the stars!
After a time — I do not know how long— I pulled myself together sufficiently to make an answer. I tried to speak into the receiver, but found that I could only speak in the same low tone as before. "How is it, then," I asked, "if I could only hear you at first in consequence of a special state I was then in, that I can hear you now?" But, try as I would, I could not raise my voice. Finally, I gave up the attempt, and sat dejected at this impotence. While I sat with my head bent, the voice began to speak — to answer! I was astounded that so low a tone should have been effectual.
"Because you are still in a 'special state,' as you call it," the voice said; - "that is, under my hypnotic control, as established by me at our first interview. It is in obedience to my suggestion that you came to this interview, and that you can now only speak in a low tone to me. To others you are able to speak as loudly as you desire. Although your consciousness is now awake, and you do not feel the control, still it is perfect, as your loss of voice proves. This I ordered, partly that I might have that proof which is necessary, and partly that our conversation might be private, as none of your fellow-beings can hear you, and you alone can of course hear me."
"How then are others going to talk with you?"
"At first through you; then, I hope, directly, in a way you will see when the time comes."
"But no one will believe me. Every one will think me mad, rather than suppose a human voice has reached me from such a distance."
"There will be no difficulty; at this, or subsequent interviews, there will be plenty of subject-matter, in your notes, that it will be evident did not emanate from you. But do not say 'a human voice'; you must not suppose me to be in the least human."
It Is Venus That Has Been Speaking to Station X
"WHAT are you then?" I said, and, dear May, you have no idea what a horrible shiver ran down my spine as I asked. I had become already a little accustomed to the ringing musical voice, and, drawn by it, had, I think, all unconsciously, begun to picture a fellow-being speaking to me from this other world, not without sympathy. But now all that feeling instantly vanished; nothing remained but a sense of the hideous uncanniness of it all.
"I am," answered the voice, "one of the dominating race on Venus, just as you are one of the dominating race on Earth, and do not be surprised or offended when I inform you that, were we on your Earth, and able to live there, we should, by virtue of our greater mental powers, have no more difficulty in dominating you than you have in dominating your horses and cattle."
If this is true, May, thank God for the gulf of distance between us! While speaking of distance, do not forget that in these conversations there is always a wait of about six minutes for replies. If, as I suppose, this is in consequence of the distance, ​it gives me some idea of what it must be. In signalling Queensland or British Columbia I have often noticed there is no interval at all detectable.
"How is it then," I asked, "that if you are not a human being, you speak to me with a human voice?"
"A very reasonable question," said the voice, "showing that you realize that the sounds of human speech could only be made by human, or in some measure human-like organs. But the explanation is very simple. When first radio telephony was invented by you, that is, when first we heard your voice on our receivers, we immediately learned your languages. (That you should have more than one shows how crude is still your social—but of that later.) Our next care was to make a mechanism that could give out the sounds alluded to. This I employ as you might play on an organ, and it is sounds so produced that you hear."
The Wonderful Intelligence of the Venus People
AS I listened to these last words of the voice I felt a lightening of the load of dread, the suspicion of my own insanity, that weighed on me. Surely, mad or sane, no such ideas could spring up spontaneously in my head. Some one, somewhere was communicating with me.
"Until you used radio telephony, we were ignorant of the sounds you made in communicating with each other; and it seems to be practically sounds alone that you employ—a curious limitation!"
"But," I said, "you could see us before that? You knew that this world was inhabited?"
"We have known it for a hundred thousand years, and more, and during all that time have been close and interested observers of the happenings on your globe, placed as you are peculiarly well for our observation. While we were still not, on the whole, more advanced mentally than you are now, we had already constructed an instrument which enabled us to do this. The fact that you have not yet done so is because you are mentally constituted in a totally different manner, which inclines you to devote your study and efforts in other directions. That is to say, primarily so. The observation of nature, and the universe in which we live, would appear to you of infinitely less importance than matters which, to us, appear futile and trivial."
"I am sorry that I have not had the time to study these things," I said, "but I thought Mars was the nearest world to us, not Venus; and I have seen some talk about its being perhaps inhabited. I should take an interest in science, but I have had no time, with my living to get."
Mars Is Also Inhabited
"NO doubt," said the voice, "but your savants will be under no misapprehension as to the relative distances of Venus and Mars. You have seen more respecting Mars because it is better placed for your observation. I can inform you that it is inhabited. Of all the things we shall speak of, this is the most vital. to you. But we will not enter on it until to-morrow, as the time for our present conversation is now nearly ended."
This, of course, seemed very surprising to me, and I cannot now see at all what it could mean. It does not seem to me that any news about the inhabitants of Mars could be of much importance to us as information of practical benefit to ourselves. On hearing that the present conversation was about to end, I said, "Will you, or can you, give me some proof, that others will accept, that this conversation has actually taken place, and is not merely my own imagination?"
"What kind of proof do you suggest?"
"Something that could not he known to me in any other way, as, for instance, a description of the thing you said you could see us with so long ago, when no cleverer than we are. Nobody could believe that I had invented such a thing as that must be."
"Very well! As you may not be able to follow all the description, which I must render short, write with care the words you hear, so that others may be able to understand it, even where you may not be able to do so.
"Given perfect workmanship, the power of a telescope depends on the area of its objective lens. This is not on account of any superiority of definition, but on its greater light-gathering power. The image it produces is capable of greater magnification because better illuminated. But beyond certain moderate dimensions the practical difficulties in the making of optically perfect objectives increases out of proportion to the extra area. For this reason our savants turned their endeavors to the discovery of some way of making a number of objectives, arranged in series, yield one perfect image of the object.
Double Refraction and Polarization
"THERE are certain crystals, which probably you have personally never heard of, which are doubly refracting. When a single ray of light enters one of these crystals in a certain direction it divides into two, which proceed in diverging paths and emerge as two rays. If the ray or beam of light entering the crystal carries an image of some object, the sides of the crystal can easily be so cut that both the emerging beams carry perfectly the same image. Conversely, if two rays enter the crystal in the paths by which the first mentioned left it, they will unite and emerge as one ray.
"The rest is obvious. A battery of objectives and as many intervening crystals is arranged. Into each intervening crystal enter two beams in the requisite paths mentioned, the one of which comes from the object direct through one of the objectives, the other is the emerging beam from the crystal next before it in series, and which is the united beams from an objective and the crystal still next before. By this means the beam emerging from the crystal last in series is composed of the united beams of all the objectives, and, if the manufacture and optical arangement is perfect, will carry a perfect image of the object, with light in proportion to the united area, of all the objectives. The arrangement of the minor lenses, and the method of dealing with the polarization, will be so obvious to your opticians that it can be here omitted."
"What," I said, "is polarization?"
"There is no time now," said the voice, "for further description, and the fact that you do not know, renders my description the more valuable to you for the purpose for which you asked it. Your people will know all about it. We must now cease ​to communicate, and you will be unable to hear until to-morrow at the same hour as to-day, when you will come again to the instrument."
Getting to the End of the Dialogue
SO there our conversation ceased, and I said no more; in fact, I had a curious feeling as though forbidden to do so. I hope I shall soon be relieved of this dreadful post. Headquarters tell me relief is coming as quickly as possible. I have nothing to say against the friendly sort of voice I have listened to, or the communication it has made. I owe it something for having, at our first interview, in my sleep, evidently quieted my nerves, when I was probably on the high road, to madness. Very possibly that saved my reason. All the same, I cannot forget that I am hundreds of miles from a living soul, and it makes my flesh creep to listen to the voice of one who tells me openly he is not a human being at all! What, I wonder, can he be like! I dare not think of it!
I have not reported officially any of the above conversation. What would be the use? At least I am now sure of the existence of some one who has talked to me. I can feel his personal influence too strongly to doubt it, apart from any other evidence. But that does not prove his words are true, or that he speaks from Venus. Perhaps some lying and wandering spirit—but I will not think about it. What would I not give to be off this awful rock that seems lost in the remotest wilderness of the Ocean. I used to like to look around from the cliff edge, and see the far-off circle of the horizon without a spot in any direction to break its line, but now I dread it. I have resolved not to attend at the instrument at the time the voice has appointed. Let the next conversation be when there are others here.
End of the Diary
WITH a few love sentences, principally expressing the desire for an early reunion, the diary ended for the day. Under date of the next day, and precisely at the hour appointed by the, voice, evidently in spite of Macrae's resolve to the contrary, a further conversation had taken place and been recorded. This was only in shorthand, and, while the doctor was puzzling over the first words of it, the door opened and Captain Evered entered.
"Well, Anderson! What do you think of the poor fellow's ravings? Curious delusion, wasn't it?"
"More than curious; but between ourselves they don't read to me like ravings at all! There is a curious problem here that at the moment, I must admit, puzzles me. If Macrae were a man of scientific attainments it would be still very curious as an instance of self-delusion. But the number of such cases is very great, and this could simply pass as a noteworthy specimen among them. But if he was only the uneducated man you have given me to understand, then this document is the most astonishing thing I've ever heard of. Yet I suppose we can accept his own version of it?"
"Well, you know more about this kind of thing than I, but to me it simply reads like the ravings of a lunatic!"
"But these are not ravings! What he has written as the words of the voice indicate considerable scientific knowledge, and if Macrae did not himself possess it, the theory of his madness would not account for it. Let us dissect it a little. Either he had considerable scientific knowledge when he landed——"
"My dear Anderson, I watched him closely during a long voyage while endeavoring to establish better relations between him and poor Wilson. I had several conversations with him, and drew him out, and you may absolutely rely on it that he was just an ignorant, unread mountain lad, but very imaginative. He had applied himself diligently to the practical part of radio telegraphy—and subsequently telephony. He knew next to nothing of the scientific theory of it, but was very competent in the engineering and general working. As for general scientific knowledge, he simply had none."
"Perhaps," pursued the doctor, "he took books with him and studied on the island."
"Nothing of the kind was landed."
"Or he was instructed by Wilson during their spare time," suggested the doctor.
"Absolutely out of the question, Wilson would as soon have thought of instructing a mountain goat."
Discussing the Conclusion of the Diary
THEN he has been in wireless communication with some one, somewhere, who has thought it worth his while to hold this conversation with him; that is the only explanation of this," said Dr. Anderson, tapping the manuscript before him.
"There are," said Captain Evered, "only two stations on earth that have the necessary apparatus for communication, by telephone, with Station X. No one at either, unless as mad as Macrae himself, would venture so far as to contravene the regulations for such a purpose. Using the Morse code, the signals of any vessel within a wide range are received, but it is forbidden to answer. Therefore, if we are driven to believe he received the messages from somewhere, we must, it seems, accept the version of Jupiter, or wherever it is he claims it for."
Anderson did not join in the Captain's laugh.
"Well, then," said Captain Evered, "as you will not, I see, accept my simple explanation, tell me what it is in his account that causes the difficulty."
"Certainly. Did you notice this account of a kind of compound telescope?"
"I saw there was some description of something in that way," was the reply; "is there anything in it?"
"I do not say it is workable; in fact, in my opinion it is not, but it is quite understandable; and the theory is all right. The difficulties, although probably fatal, are merely mechanical. So far as I am aware, the idea is quite new. In the hands of superior beings, such as this Venerian claims they are, mechanical difficulties would disappear. So that, in the first place, the story hangs together all right, and secondly Maerae could not have invented it. Further, while reading it, I checked off the position of Venus at the date of the writing, and calculated roughly the distance. I find that at the speed of these Hertzian waves it would be at​ most exactly a three-minute journey. So that Ma- crae's six minutes for replies is quite correct. Again, there are the remarks of the supposed Venerian as to the backward state, socially, of us terrestrials, in not adopting a universal language, and on other social questions. Can you imagine them as emanat- ing from Macrae? Speaking of languages, does this writing strike you, where the Venerian is sup- posed to he speaking, as being iu Macrae's style?" "By Jove! Anderson, you are right! Now this really is interesting. Perhaps this shorthand that follows will throw light on it, as well as on his present condition. Ey the by, I hope it won't last much longer. It becomes increasingly difficult to keep it from the crew." "I am glad to see you are at last interested. But there is a task before me here. It is so long since I used Pitman that I have almost forgotten the signs." It proved quite as difficult as the doctor expected, and it was far into the night before he had finished, ' but he was too absorbed in the contents to leave it before it was done. CHAPTER V Captain Evered Gets the Transcription THE next morning Dr. Anderson Banded to Captain Evered his transcription of Macrae's, shorthand. "What do you make of it?" was the question as they walked towards the captain's cabin. 'Td rather not say until you've read it, sir," was the response, "lest you think me mad as you think Macrae. Now I'm going to turn in. I've not long -...finished it." ~Jn order to keep Macrae's condition from the crew, and for the doctor's better private observa- tion of him, Anderson had given up his cabin, and was for the time accommodated in a scrfeened-off corner of the barbette. Transcription of the Mysterious Communication CAPTAIN Evered shut himself in his cabin, and unfolded the manuscript which ran : "Are you there, Macrae?" "Yes, I am here, although on thinking it over after our talk yesterday, I decided not to be." "Why?" "I decided I would prefer to leave it until there were others here with me. Since you told me I was not listening to a human voice, I seem, somehow, to shrink from it; it is uncanny. Also, some time after I left the instrument, the doubt came back, that it might be all a delusion." "So you decided not to come to the instrument for this appointment, but, as the time approached, you altered your mind, or rather, your mind altered, and you felt inclined to attend; is that so?" "Well, yes, that is exactly how it was." "Quite so; that is as it should be. While you are talking with me, do you entertain any doubt of my ■ existence ?" "Not at the time. I can distinctly feel that you are somewhere; that there is some one besides myself." > "Exactly. Across the abyss you feel my personal influence, I think, Macrae, you must be exception- ally adapted, even among your impressionable spe- cies, for the role you are filling. Be quite convinced of my objective reality; from this time onward dis- miss any idea to the contrary from your mind; let no such doubt occur to you again. With respect to the other point you raise, although you do not know anything of bodily forms here, do not let that trouble you. The curiosity that will doubtless exist among your fellow-beings respecting us shall be fully satisfied later. For the present, try to realize that the body is but the raiment; it is the being who is clothed with it that alone signifies. "In view of what I am about to say to you, it is essential that you should keep that fixed in your mind, as it will help you to understand. For the rest, look upon us here as the friends of your kind. How urgently you are in need of our assistance you are about to learn; for it has been decided here that, in view of this wonderful opportunity, which accident might interfere with, not another day should be lost in acquainting you with the particu- lars. As the message is not for you alone, be very careful in your written report of it. Now listen attentively. A Warning from a Friendly Planet TERRIBLE danger threatens, from which "A nothing but the fortunate accident of your getting in communication first with me, may save you— ^if saved you are to be. "That you should the better understand what you are about to hear, it is necessary to begin by recounting to you some long past events, relating to life in other worlds than yours or mine. "The mystery of the origin of life, like that of matter, is an ocean depth where no plummet of the finite mind can find a bottom. It is sufficient illus- tration of the crudity of your ideas on the subject that there should be any doubt among you as to the other planetary members of our System being in- habited. You now have proof that.one other is so, and must take my word for it that there is good reason why no planet under such temperature and other conditions as render life possible, can remain barren of organic development. "But there have been time3 in the past when such conditions have not obtained, when the various members of our System have been too heated for life to be possible. In consequence of the more rapid cooling of the smaller planets, the first to be the scene of life was your satellite, the Moon. This was millions of years ago, and the climatic conditions on it then were very different from now. It then had abundant atmosphere and humidity and afforded a site for life development long ages before your world, or ours, was so suited. "The inevitable result under these conditions fol- lowed. It became covered with a myriad forms of living creatures, out of which finally emerged one, by virtue of its mental superiority, combined with sufficient bodily fitness, to dominate all. In obedi- ence to the laws of development, this race advanced to higher and higher powers, attaining a position similar to that held by you in your world, and by U3 in ours. Now you must conceive the lapse of a vast period of time before the great tragedy, of which
About Lunarians and Their History
"IN the course of unnumbered thousands of years, the Lunarians, as we will call them, had developed in powers, both mental and physical, far beyond either yours or ours at the present day. At that time the Earth and Venus were still without other than the lower forms of life, in consequence of their more recent habitability. The only other place where life had now advanced to the higher plane was the much smaller planet, Mars. At the time when the dominating race on Mars had arrived approximately at your present mental status, the Lunarians were vastly advanced.
"The Moon was palpably growing old, and unfitted for the easy maintenance of its inhabitants. As it had been the first to be habitable, so it would be the first to be uninhabitable. As to the causes of this, I cannot enter now, but will explain them on a future occasion. The near neighborhood of your Earth had much to do with it. The Lunarians saw ahead of them the time when daily revolution would altogether cease, and induce conditions, apart from the shrinkage of atmosphere and moisture, impossible for them any longer to combat. Generation after generation the contest with Nature, under less and less easy terms, became more strenuous. In judging the Lunarians, it is but just to recall all the facts.
"The science and intellect of these beings enabled them to make a minute investigation into the local conditions prevailing on the other members of the Solar System, or at all events, of the four inner members of it. They began to discuss the question—were there any among these that would afford a better home, if attainable? There was one—Mars! But this was already inhabited by beings of high intelligence, and with whom the Lunarians had succeeded in establishing communication. Could Mars be reached? There was a way; so horrible in its selfishness, so fiendish in its unspeakable wickedness, that the mind shrinks from thought contact with it, even after the lapse of a million years. But it is now my painful duty to tell you the terrible narrative.
"The Lunarians knew the double impracticability of transferring their bodies to Mars; impossible to launch themselves those millions of miles across the Zodiac and live, impossible to continue existence in the new world, even if they could safely arrive there.
Bacteria of the Different Planets
"THE conditions of health quite as much as the conditions of disease, depend on the microscopic forms of life, which teem both in our bodies and in our surroundings. The greater number of the latter are only innocuous because, by being, ab initio, accustomed to their action, we have acquired immunity. But these bacterial and other low forms of life are quite different on Mars from those which are common to the Earth and her satellite. The result would be that no animal form of life from the one could continue to exist on the other. It would be the defenceless victim to unnumbered new diseases, any one of which would be fatal. Yet there was a way.
"Have you thought of the fact that so far as your will is concerned you are now completely under my influence? That it was an easy thing for me to hold intercourse with you for twenty hours without your knowledge? That without even knowing why, without consciousness of the outside influence, you came to this present interview at the appointed moment, and in spite of your having resolved to the contrary? What you do not realize is that you had no option in the matter. That lay entirely with me. But such powers as mine, while no doubt greater in degree, although not perhaps very different in kind, from what is known on your Earth, are as nothing, compared to the powers possessed by the Lunarians, both now and at the time I speak of, when neither your world nor mine had a reasoning being on it.
"It was an easy thing for a Lunarian to establish with a fellow-being, by mutual consent, a mental rapport, and not only thus to exchange ideas without outward physical means, but even to exchange personalities, which practically amounts to exchanging bodies. But it need not be with a fellow Lunarian. It could be with any being of sufficiently high mental-status to be brought on the same plane of mental rapport, and mere physical distance had nothing to do with it. In the case of weaker beings, no mutual consent was necessary. Once that intercourse enabled them by hypnotic influence to establish this rapport, they could compel the weaker will. The awful idea was conceived, and in due course remorselessly carried out, of effecting bodily exchange with the unfortunate Martians of those days.
An Appalling Interplanetary Crime
"INTO all the details of this appalling crime, extending over weeks, it is not necessary to enter. The science of the Lunarians, amplified as to Martian local conditions by intercourse with their intended victims, enabled them to acquire in advance all the needed particulars and data for successfully mastering, and dealing with, the new conditions, so that in taking possession of their, to them, new bodies, they were at no loss as to procedure. On the contrary, each Martian awoke from his hypnotic sleep to find himself, not himself, so far as his bodily form was concerned, but some strange, and, to him, loathsome creature, in a world of which he knew nothing. Reason could not stand so great a shock; in raving dementia he died. So six hundred million beings of high intellect and culture perished. This is the greatest tragedy that our Sun has ever looked on.
"The invaders now inhabited a new world full of life and beauty, with a fauna and flora of infinite variety, splendor and novelty, and general conditions of life making their existence as a race pleasant and easy. But everything in the Universe is a means to an end, and crime is no exception, and its end is not happiness. The essence of crime is selfishness. The crime of the Lunarians, whom we will henceforth speak of as Martians, was a race crime. It was not lacking in heroic qualities so far as the individuals who carried it out were concerned. To them personally the advantages were questionable, the sacrifice inevitable.
"It must be remembered that each of them, no less than his victim, now inhabited a body at least as unattractive to him as his to the poor unfortunate who had been forced into it. More so: the older and vastly superior of the two races could not but feel ​degraded by the more primitive and undeveloped bodily form, and one far less suited, by the modelling effect of ages of adaptation, to be the tools of his will. In this connection the matter of language alone need be mentioned, it having to be translated into entirely new sounds of articulation. Time only could alleviate these conditions, and the passing of the generation alone entirely remove them.
"The excuse the Martians made for themselves was that the conditions of Lunar life were becoming such as to threaten, by deteriorating their bodily welfare, to impair their mental powers, to lower, and ultimately extinguish, the splendid intellect of which they were so justly proud. If, they pleaded, one of the two races must perish, why should not the higher survive? Note that their argument, in speaking of races, disdains the mere physical part, and deals alone with that which dwells in it; for of course, in their transfer, so far as the physical form was concerned, it was the higher which perished.
The Martians Could Not Exist on the Earth or in Venus
"AND now the sequel. Too late it came to their knowledge, in the light of the future ages, that their previous abode had not been so nearly uninhabitable as they had feared; that it had been calculated to last as their abode as a race, possible of habitation, until its greater companion sphere was fit for their reception; that the increasing difficulties of lunar existence were exactly calculated, not to destroy, but to stimulate and enhance their powers of both mind and body, until their physical transfer to Earth was possible; that their growing science would have been in good time sufficient to carry this out in a perfectly legitimate way, by launching their bodies across the comparatively trivial distance to their terrestrial goal, where they would have been competent to live and advance; for the bacterial forms of life on the Earth and its satellite are the same.
"At this moment, so great has been their scientific advance, that the problem of making the journey and arriving safely on Earth, not merely from the Moon, but from Mars, is within their ability to solve; but, as already mentioned, it would, from the latter, be fatal, as Martian organisms could not exist on Earth, or, we are thankful to say, on Venus either. From this natural and happy denouement they have, therefore, forever cut themselves off, to their eternal regret. They see the error of the evil deed of their ancestors, but do not see any way to avoid its consequence by any deed less evil. But they are as anxious to leave Mars as their ancestors were to gain it. One reason is that from the moment of their arrival on Mars, a result that they wholly failed to foresee, they have intellectually ceased to advance. Scientifically, only, have they advanced; a very different thing. The other reason is that Mars is now growing old.
The Fall of the Lunarians
"BEFORE the evil bought occurred to the Lunarians, they were, in all respects, an advancing and a noble people; natural heirs to a heritage the full extent of which is even now not apparent. Wherever their gaze might fall on the worlds around them, they could see that there was nothing equal to themselves. Their industry ever kept pace with their intellect; their stupendous energy was always equal to the heightening struggle with Nature. The mastery they gained over their globe and its conditions surpassed praise. As water, and even atmosphere, began to fail them, the enormous circular reservoirs they made for its conservation, and which must be so plainly visible from your Earth, stand to this day, in their roofless ruin, everlasting monuments to their abilities.
"It is now maddening to the Martian, still immeasurably our superior, to see us ever advancing, however slowly, however painfully, ever advancing on the road where he stands motionless, destined, as it seems, to be overtaken and passed in the race. From the days of his forefathers' iniquity his former nobility seems dead. His intellect, vast as it is beyond our power to measure, seems no longer harmonised to high ideals, but to evil, which is probably the reason why it is stagnant.
"And now we come to your danger, and, with your mind prepared by the history to which you have listened, it can be stated in a single sentence. As he treated the former Martians, so he——"
Abrupt End of the Manuscript
HERE the shorthand manuscript ceased abruptly. It was evidently at this point that the occurrence happened, whatever it might have been, that caused Macrae not only to cease his notes, but to fall to the floor in the remarkable condition in which he still lay.
For some minutes Captain Evered sat gazing straight in front of him. Then he rang for his orderly and instructed him to ask Dr. Anderson to come to his cabin at once.
As he entered, Anderson looked quickly at his superior. "Sit down," was all Captain Evered said.
After fully a minute's pause, he continued: "Mad as a March hare, what?"
"I question it," remarked Anderson dryly, not yet recovered from the unceremonious interruption of his long-deferred sleep.
"But the fellow didn't know what he was writing about," persisted Captain Evered.
"Well, somebody did!" said Anderson quietly. "I don't think you can read this over carefully, and seriously believe that it bears any resemblance to the incoherences of madness, or could be composed by any one who did not know what he was doing."
"Great Scot! You are not telling me that you believe this story?"
"That is hardly the question, sir. I think we may leave the truth or otherwise of the narrative on one side for the moment. The question is: where did it come from?"
"Well, it came from Macrae, of course. We can't go beyond that."
"I never saw Macrae to speak to," said Anderson; "you have. You have described him to me, his character, and his education, or rather, lack of it. I accept your account of him as correct. But that story," pointing to the papers in Evered's hand, "touches on points of astronomy, evolution, physiology and other sciences, and always after the manner of one well acquainted with them, or at least, in a way certainly impossible to one so entirely ignorant of them as you know Macrae to have been."
​Dr. Anderson leaned back with the air of a man who challenges confutation.
"Quite so!" said Captain Evered. "I see your point. I'll go through this again, and we will have a further talk about it. What is your theory?"
"So far, I have none, sir," replied Anderson; "none whatever! I'm completely at fault!"
A Theory Searched for to Solve the Mystery
IN the course of the day Captain Evered read Macrae's story again, looking out for the different points indicated by the doctor, and he realized the force of his observations.
"Anderson is right," he muttered. "Macrae no more wrote this out of his own head than I did; couldn't have done it. Who the devil did it?"
Captain Evered had arrived at the same point previously reached by Dr. Anderson.
The doctor was meanwhile curious as to the result of Evered's further study of the document. Towards evening he was sent for.
"Queer thing, this radio telegraphy and telephony, Anderson," said Captain Evered, as the doctor entered his cabin. "Do you believe in the planets being inhabited?"
"Professor Rudge is firmly convinced that one at least is. He considers Schiaparelli's discoveries to have absolutely proved it so far as Mars is concerned. He wants in fact to try and signal to them in some way. Other scientists are convinced that, if that planet is not inhabited, it shows many signs that it is not uninhabitable,"
"So Budge wants to get into communication with them, does he? A possibly dangerous proceeding, according to this," said Captain Evered, tapping the manuscript.
Their eyes met for a moment. The doctor remained silent.
"Look here, Anderson, I believe we're both agreed that this yarn of Macrae's is quite the tallest we've ever heard, and also that there is some mystery about it that wants clearing up. The infernal thing has been running through my head all day, and I am no forwarder. Are you?"
"Your case, sir, is mine exactly. I'm stuck," Anderson confessed.
"Then what ought I to do?"
"If you really wish to know what I should do were I in your place, sir, I should ask the Admiralty to trust some eminent scientist, such as Professor Rudge, whom we just mentioned, with the secret of the Station, and place Macrae's writings in his hands—and so wash yours of all responsibility."
"Capital! That's what I'll do. There is a further point in its favor. Professor Rudge, as the inventor of the method of this new system of telephony without which these long distance installations would have been impossible, was called into consultation when they were contemplated and their sites chosen. He already knows of the existence of Station X."
"Then there can be no difficulty. I only wish in addition to placing the papers in his hands, we could place there Macrae also, poor fellow."
"You still see no chance of his recovery? If he is not actually dead, it cannot be quite hopeless, can it?"
(illegible text) quite convince he will not recover, but insensibly merge from his trance into death," said Anderson, with conviction.
Here their conversation was interrupted by some one knocking at the door.
"Come in," said Captain Evered, and a sailor put in his head.
"If you please, sir, Mr. Macrae has got out of his bunk, and is walking about the ship in his blanket, asking for you, sir. He seems a bit dazed like."
"Ye gods!" muttered Anderson, as he and Captain Evered left the cabin.
CHAPTER VI
Professor Rudge Investigates
NEVER was a medical man more pleased at a wrong diagnosis than Dr. Anderson in regard to the mysterious case of Alan Macrae. To the natural satisfaction of seeing the return to life of a patient of whom he had despaired, was added the anticipation of probing further the interesting problem that now engrossed their thoughts. There was now a chance that he would be able to investigate for himself, not only into the mental state of Macrae, but also into his character and attainments, and so definitely satisfy himself as to whether this alleged communication had taken place. He had already convinced himself that a belief in its possibility was far from scientifically absurd, and he knew that in this he was backed by some of the most eminent scientists of the day.
On taking charge of his patient, he at once saw that the poor fellow was not so much "dazed" as excited, and it was some time before he could be soothed—not, in fact, until it had been explained to him how he came to be on board the Sagitta. Dr. Anderson answered his questions while getting him as quickly as possible back to his cabin. Macrae then gradually calmed down, took nourishment, and slept, thereby relieving Dr. Anderson from the fears he was beginning to entertain.
A Quick Recovery of the Operator from his Catalyptic State
AFTER this he made a quick recovery, showing that there was nothing organically wrong, and that the elasticity of youth had not been permanently impaired. Two days elapsed before Dr. Anderson would allow his patient to be questioned as to what had happened to him in the signal-room of Station X. Macrae on his part showed no disposition to discuss the subject. It was partly on account of this tacit avoidance of it on the invalid's part that Dr. Anderson deprecated the subject being forced on him too soon. "The blow," he said, "whatever it was, was struck on the nervous system, and if there is any danger for him, it is there we must look for it."
Toward the close of the second day, Macrae seemed so fully himself again, apart from some physical weakness, that the doctor decided that there would be no harm in a little judicious questioning. He had already convinced himself that there was no trace of insanity in his patient.
He therefore determined to ascertain if Macrae were really averse to entering on the topic, and, if not, to prepare him for a visit from Captain Evered.
​"Surely, sir," said Macrae, on seeing the doctor enter, "I am well enough to get up now. In fact, there is nothing the matter with me except weakness through lying here so long!"
"And not having had anything to eat for a week before that, my lad; you might include that, eh? However, I intend to let you loose tomorrow. You must not think a couple of days' rest and judicious stoking too much after your experience.
Talking about your experience, there is no wish to press you to go into that subject before you feel well enough, but the Captain wants to have a talk with you.
"I have been expecting this, sir. I must of course explain, although the thing 1 shall have to tell has nothing to do with my official duties."
"What thing?" asked the doctor.
Talking It Over with the Operator
"MY experience on the island, sir. It's so strange that no one will believe it. I can scarcely believe it myself. It is not very pleasant to know that I shall be looked upon as either mad or a liar."
"Don't be so sure of that, and you mustn't regard your talks with the Captain or me as official examinations. That will, no doubt, come later in London. You shall tell us just as much or as little as you wish, and on no account go into anything that will unduly excite you."
"When speaking of it, sir, I would prefer to tell the whole thing, but I don't quite know how to begin. The Captain of course knows how I came to be alone on the island."
"Yes—ah, here he is!" he broke off, as Captain Evered entered.
"Well, Macrae," he said, smiling pleasantly, "feel better?"
"I am all right now, I think, sir; but this dreadful affair with Lieutenant Wilson, and the mysteries on top of it, have been a bit too much for me."
"You were surprised to find yourself on board the Sagitta, I expect?" suggested Captain Evered.
"Yes, sir, I did not expect that."
"Do you remember all that took place at the station? Of course I have seen the official record, and have also looked through your private account of your experiences, I am afraid it will have to be impounded, as it contains several things that might give away the position of the station if it fell into improper hands."
"I'm very sorry, sir," said Macrae, coloring, "if I've done anything wrong."
"Not intentionally, I am sure," said Captain Evered kindly; "but perhaps you have not quite realized the extreme caution requisite. Tomorrow, probably, we shall be landing you at Hong-Kong. Remember the solemn engagement you made when signing on not to communicate anything to an unauthorized person in any way referring to Station X. We will speak of that again in the morning. Just now Dr. Anderson and I wish to hear your last recollections on the island. Can you tell us how you came to be as we found you?"
"I am glad to hear that you have read my diary, sir, for although it was not intended for any one but the girl I am engaged to, it saves a lot of explanation now. I can quite well see that any one reading what I have written must naturally put me down for either a liar or a lunatic. But I can solemnly assure you, sir, that what I have written is the truth."
"You remember all you have written?" asked Captain Evered. "You remember having conversations with some one who informed you he was speaking to you from another planet—in fact, from Venus?"
"I remember all quite clearly," said Macrae earnestly, "and I have written down the exact words that passed. The last conversation is still in shorthand only. If you wish, sir, I will now write it out."
"I was about to tell you when Captain Evered came in," said Anderson, "that I have transcribed your shorthand. So that brings us down to the point where it ends so abruptly."
The Interruption of the Communication
MACRAE hesitated for a moment, as if loth to enter upon so distasteful a topic.
"Yes," he said, at length, "it does leave off suddenly. That was when the interruption came."
"The interruption?" said the doctor. "What interruption?"
"Well, sir, it all began and ended in a few seconds. I scarcely know how to describe it. The voice was speaking to me, and seemed to be about to warn me of something, when suddenly there was another voice, a greater voice, oh! a voice"—Macrae sat up, and his hearers were surprised to see the look of awe that came into his face—"I cannot describe it. It seemed to have great authority."
"What did it say?" said the doctor.
After a pause, during which Macrae was evidently taxing his memory, he said:
"I cannot recall it. I seem to have a sort of remembrance of something; that is the only way I can say it, but it is misty, all covered up. I can't remember the words, only the voice.
Seeing the examination had proceeded as far as was good for his patient, Dr. Anderson half rose with a view to close the conversation, but Captain Evered motioned him to sit down again. He then said to Macrae:
"You said, 'a great voice.' Do you mean a louder voice, one that you could hear more distinctly, and which drowned the other?"
"I don't know that it was a louder voice," said Macrae; "but there was something in the tone, the force of it, that would make one attend. I can't describe it any more."
"It had a great influence on you, then?" inquired Captain Evered.
"Yes; a great influence," replied Macrae, with an involuntary shudder.
"How long did it last?"
A Violent Blow—Oblivion
"AT once there was an interruption from the first voice, and sounds like a dispute, but not in words. It all began and ended so quickly, that it's a sort of jumble in my recollection. The only thing that remains clear is that two voices came through the instrument, and spoke to me at the same time. Although I can't remember the words, I know both seemed to exert ​me. The one seemed fighting the other, but the second voice was gaining. Then there was suddenly something like darkness, and a sharp command from the first voice. I seemed to be struck a violent blow on the buck of my head. The next thing I knew was finding myself on board this ship."
"That is absolutely all you know about it?" questioned Captain Evered.
"That is all, sir."
"Try and forget it for to-night," said the doctor. "Get to sleep as fast as you can, and to-morrow get up and have a turn on deck."
They wished him "good-night," and left the cabin. For hours the two men talked in the privacy of Captain Evered's cabin, but they ended as they began. Each knew that he was half carried away by the story Macrae had told, both from the internal evidence of the report itself, and his evident sincerity. At the same time each saw its extraordinary nature too clearly to admit yielding an entire belief in it, even to himself, much less to any one else.
"He seems perfectly sane to you?" questioned Captain Evered.
"Quite so; as rational as you or I," was the response.
"Well, I shall follow your advice respecting Professor Rudge," said Captain Evered. "There should be no difficulty in his seeing Macrae. We shall land him to-morrow, and from Hong-Kong he will be invalided home, accompanied by my report, and, of course, these writings of his. I shall report him as not, in my opinion, suited to this kind of service. You will be able to endorse that."
"I can," said Anderson. "Macrae is one of the subjective sort. Did you notice how full his diary is of himself?"
"Exactly. By the by, what did you make of two voices, and a blow on the head?"
"Well, I suppose two voices are not more mysterious than one," said Anderson. "If you can believe in one, why not two? According to him, there would appear to be disagreement sometimes, even among our friends the Venerians. There's a party, I suppose, who want to have nothing to do with us."
"Probably," smiled Captain Evered, adding, "I intend, in addition to suggesting that this account of his be submitted to Professor Rudge, to drop a private line or two to the Professor himself, letting him know there is something in the wind. A Government Department, my dear Anderson (being in this ease the Admiralty, I hope I am not speaking blasphemy), will go about as far as it is kicked. But I think Rudge will not let them shelve it."
The Operator Returns to His Sweetheart
SO it came about that Macrae found himself on the homeward journey much before he had anticipated when leaving England. It did not exhilarate him, as he was oppressed with a feeling of failure, without being able to see how he could have done differently. He was afraid that what would be looked upon as a preposterous story would militate against him, and the Government might not find him even home employment. This feeling of depression lasted until entering the Bay of Biscay, when grey skies reminded him of his native hills. The wind of the Atlantic, with a tooth in it, blew on him, and his spirits rose.
A telegram advised May Treherne of her lover's unexpected return, and she was at Portsmouth to meet him. Hers was one of the first faces he saw, and her welcome completed the cure that northern skies had begun.
Macrae's keen eyes did not fail to see in hers the involuntary question that tact was keeping from her lips, and he wondered how he was going to answer it, seeing that he was bound to secrecy.
It was no secret that he had been at a "wireless" station, and there could not be any breach of trust in saying the position was somewhat isolated. There were plenty which that description would suit. So he told her how, during a short absence of his from the station-house, his fellow workers had been murdered, and he had returned to find their dead bodies, and himself the only survivor; how he had fallen unconscious; how, in consequence of the shock to his system, he had been relieved, and placed on sick leave and ultimately sent back for service at a home station. He added that there were some other details which, in view of the strictness of official secrecy he could not divulge.
She was horrified at the tale, and clung to him in her gratitude that he had escaped.
"Suppose, dear Alan, you had been at the station when those wretches murdered your companions. You would have been murdered too. Oh! I am glad you are back in England. When I got your telegram I was awfully surprised."
He saw his explanation had relieved her mind of something. It also seemed to have loosened her tongue, for now he had very little to do but be a patient listener, and hear a full account of her somewhat uneventful history during his absence, and discuss plans for the future as modified by this new development.
The Government Investigations in London
THAT evening May Treherne returned to Plymouth, and Macrae proceeded to report himself in London. The next morning he presented himself at the Admiralty, and was given an hour at which to attend the next day, "when the report respecting him would have been read." He then found himself put through a very searching examination, for there had been considerable nervousness that some scheme of a possible enemy was at the bottom of the business. It came as a surprise to the officials to find that after the most exhaustive questioning, nothing could be gleaned to lend color to this suspicion.
It was obviously a relief to his examiners to find that everything went to indicate that the deaths took place as officially reported, first by Macrae himself, and afterwards by the Captain of the Sagitta. For the rest, it had of course been a curious case of delusions while under the influence of nervous shock. His diary was confiscated. He was reprimanded for having written it, and especially for including expressions that would serve as indications of things that were Government secrets. He would for the future be retained at home stations so long as no further indiscretion was committed, and was further directed to present himself for duty at the end of a month, granted as leave of absence.
The next day found Macrae at Plymouth, and ​now appeared the wisdom of Captain Everett in writing to Professor Rudge; for had he not done so, nothing further would have been heard of Macrae's experiences on the island of Station X.
The letter he received had not contained much information, but enough to make him want to know more. He had an interview with the First Lord and, as a result, Macrae's account of his experiences wag placed in his hands, with the request that all requisite caution should be employed.
Professor Rudge read Macrae's account with unbounded astonishment. When he had read the pages a second time his mind was made up. He was a man of quick decision, and equally quick action.
The next morning Macrae received a letter from Professor Rudge, enclosing a remittance for expenses, and asking him as a favor to come back to town, and call on him at his earliest convenience, "with a view to the further investigation of your recent remarkable experience." This phrase showed Macrae that his correspondent must be in touch with the authorities, and he felt bound to comply at once, although not without a grumble both on his part and that of his fiancée.
Examination of the Operator
AGAIN Macrae found himself put through an examination, this time it was more searching, more detailed, more minute, than any he had had before. Absolutely no point escaped the savant. He was at least as competent as Dr. Anderson to investigate the examinee as to his mental health, far more competent to probe his character, disposition, ways of thought and general knowledge, and form an accurate opinion as to his personal peculiarities. Macrae himself described the process as that of being turned completely inside out.
Before it was finished he had taken a great liking to the Professor. The training of the scientist had taught Professor Rudge to approach his subject without prejudice, and, under the influence of his sympathetic manner, Macrae opened out and laid himself bare, as he would not have believed possible. Next, the conversation was turned on the radio installation at the station, and Macrae found that, on the subject he knew most of, his knowledge was small compared with that of his examiner. He was questioned on every detail, however apparently irrelevant.
Professor Rudge Decides to Visit Station X
FINALLY they went through, almost word for word, the communications of "the voice." Innumerable questions were asked respecting the voice itself. He was very especially questioned, he could not tell why, regarding any peculiarity in respect to stress or accent on the various syllables, and modulation of intonation. He was able to reply very intelligently to this, being quick to understand the meaning of the question, no doubt the more so from being himself bi-lingual. He noticed that the Professor seemed pleased at eliciting the information that, while the articulation and pronunciation were accurate, accent and modulation were notably deficient, making the style rather monotonous. A special peculiarity volunteered by Macrae, was that every sentence seemed to end abruptly, with no falling of the voice, as though, in fact, it had been intended to add more.
At last, when the examination seemed almost over, Macrae himself ventured to put the question as to what conclusion, if any, his questioner had come to.
"I have come to several, Macrae; and as I observed that you have an uncomfortable feeling that people will doubt your sincerity, let me at once say that such a thing is not intelligently possible. Even with the greatest desire to deceive, you could not possibly have duped me for a moment on this matter."
"The voice spoke to me?" asked Macrae eagerly.
"Undoubtedly. There is not the least possibility that you are yourself deceived in that," replied the professor.
"I am very glad I came to see you, sir," said Macrae, with a sigh of relief; "and all I ask now is to forget the whole thing, voice, island and all."
"Then you ask a great deal too much, my boy!" said Professor Rudge, with a smile. "Shall I tell you how much you have interested me? The best way to do so is to tell you the intention I have formed. I am going to visit Station X, and I am going to take you with me!"
(To be Continued in the August Issue)
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published in 1926, before the cutoff of January 1, 1930.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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