CHAPTER III

THE VISION OF A NEW WORLD

Perfect silence, perfect stillness, and the clouds whirled round and round outside.

In vain they tried to move the ship. The engines worked smoothly, and with perfect rhythm, but were powerless to propel the Argenta.

The death of Murdoch had a terribly depressing effect on every one—they all missed his kindly brusqueness, his forethought and stolid help.

When Masters was sufficiently recovered he told his story. “I got through the ether all right,” said he. “I was through in a second and was standing on the exposed deck at the mercy of the elements. The cold was intense—I’ve never before experienced anything like it. In those few seconds it just cut through me. I could hardly see—my eyes filled with water, and smarted terribly as the gaseous vapour touched them. I lowered my handkerchief for the tiniest fragment of a second, and drew a very slight breath. The effect was terrible. My lungs felt as if they would burst—my mouth felt as if it had been seared with hot irons—my senses reeled; I felt as if I should fall. Then I became conscious of Murdoch lying huddled at my feet. I pulled him into the cabin after me, and well,—you know the rest. Poor Murdoch—I was too late.”

The excitement following the loss of Murdoch and Masters’ adventure after him, had made the hungry prisoners forget the emptiness of their larder. They all sat down to a hearty meal, and it was only at the end they realized it meant their being on still shorter rations in the future. And only too soon the larders were indeed empty! Mavis grew too weak to move, and lay helpless on her bed, her baby at her breast. Masters was the last to give in, and as he walked unsteadily to his cabin, he had visions of Sir John on one chair and Alan on another, each vainly trying to whisper words of comfort to the other.

Still the ship remained motionless—the stillness was of the grave.

Suddenly a whitish beam of light shot out through the clouds, and Alan saw a new moon rising. And as he watched he saw another skim the heavens, and another, and yet another. He looked at them in perplexity—four pink tipped crescents in the sky!

“Four Moons! God!” he cried. “The four satellites of Jupiter! Or should there be eight? Four—eight—eight—four.” His brain muddled. Four Moons visible at once! Jupiter! He was witnessing the rise of four of the planet’s moons! He was watching them through the misty clouds—then came a blessed sense of oblivion, and he too, lost consciousness. When he awoke again, it was with a feeling that the Argenta was again moving through space—moving slowly, but with a speed that was gradually quickening. He staggered to his feet, and bent over his uncle. Sir John was still breathing, but there was a curious greyness in his face, and Alan moistened his lips with a drop of brandy. The old man moved, and opened his eyes. “Drink a little,” said Alan kindly. “It will do you good.”

Sir. John managed to swallow a little of the burning fluid, and sighing naturally, closed his eyes in sleep. With difficulty, Alan managed to reach Desmond’s room, for he was very weak. He found Mavis lying on her bed, hardly breathing: the babe lay in her arms sleeping peacefully. She had given the very essence of her strength to her child, and he had scarcely suffered at all.

Desmond was breathing heavily, jerkily, the breath came like sobs from between his clenched teeth. Alan forced some of the brandy between his lips and said huskily, “Dez, old boy: don’t leave me, old chap; we’ve been through some tight corners, don’t give up yet.”

Desmond struggled to a sitting position. “Good old Lanny,” he muttered.

“I must see Masters,” said Alan. “Keep up, if you can, till I return.”

Alan reeled from side to side in his weakness as he struggled on to Masters’ cabin. It was empty! He was almost too weak to think or act coherently.

“Masters,” he moaned. “Where are you?” Slowly he made his way back to the little room in the bows, and as he neared it, a brilliant beam of light shot across his path. The unexpectedness of it threw him off his balance, and he would have fallen, had not Masters rushed forward and put his arm about him.

The light was strong. So strong that they could feet the heat of its rays through the little glass window.

“What is it?” he asked.

Masters could hardly speak. His lips were swollen and blackened, and his tongue parched. “Help,” said he thickly. “That light is like a magnet—it is drawing us somewhere. It’s sent out by human agency I am sure. See how it flutters and fades, only to come bright again.” They watched the ray—it was focussed directly on the bows, and it seemed to be drawing them closer and closer to some harbour of refuge. Still they were going through the encircling clouds, which had suddenly turned to a most beautiful roseate hue. Then without any warning they emerged and found they were gazing on the most wonderful scene they had ever beheld.

It was more wonderful than their thoughts could have expressed. Imagine hovering over the most wondrous piece of natural scenery—double—treble its beauty, and even then you could have no idea of the grandeur, the poetry of the picture they gazed upon.

They were, perhaps, three thousand feet up. Mountains rose all round with rocky crevasses, and wonderful waterfalls dashing down their sides. Foaming waters trickled and bubbled and laughed by the sides of grassy paths. An inland lake glowed in the glory of the sunshine. Trees of all kinds nestled in the valleys and climbed the hillsides.

A sea—a glorious azure sea—with dancing waves and white flecked foam rolled merrily in and out on wonderful white sands. There were rocks and caves, and velvety grass slopes along the sea shore; babbling brooks merged into the blue, blue waters; tall lilies, virginal white, mingled with roses, red like wine, and grew in clusters at the water’s edge. All was nature at her best—unspoiled by man.

Wooded islets were dotted about in still more wonderful bays; birds white as snow, birds with plumage rainbow-hued floated idly on the waters, and added to the picturesque beauty. They could see little buildings nestling among the trees here and there, buildings that, like the châlets of Switzerland, only added to the beauty of the scene.

The airship had stopped suddenly, and they were unable to move her, and still they hovered over the wonderful land. Sea—sky—both of a most glorious blue; the verdure of this new land was green—“The same as our world,” murmured Alan.

“But with what a difference,” whispered Sir John.

“I never knew what the sea was until now,” said Alan. “I never realized what ‘colour’ was—what blue or green meant, until I looked down yonder.”

New life was born in the three men. “I’ll call Desmond,” said Alan. Mavis was lying as he had left her—white, inert, silent. “Leave her,” he told his cousin. “She will be quite safe; but we’ve news at last—we are in sight of land.”

When he reached the bows again, he saw they had dropped a few hundred feet, and were now well below the summit of the mountains.

Below them, in a fertile valley, they saw what they thought were six giant birds running along a field. They rose, soared straight up, and flew directly toward the Argenta. They were like swans with outstretched wings, and necks like swans; but never had they seen birds of such a monstrous size.

“They are as big as a small plane,” said Sir John wonderingly.

“By Jove, I believe that’s what they are,” said Alan.

As the “birds” drew nearer, they could see that the body was in reality the car of the plane. Soon six were circling round the Argenta, and the prisoners within could see figures standing in the cars of the strange looking aeroplanes.

The Argenta gave a jolt, and quivered from stem to stern, and they felt themselves sinking. The newcomers had thrown out some kind of grappling rope and were pulling them to earth. They were nearer to this wonderful country. Already they could see the brilliant flowers—trees laden with wonderful fruit and bright plumaged birds fluttering about without any sign of fear.

“Release the shutters,” said Alan hoarsely.

“No,” said Sir John with decision. “Remember we have on board a defenceless woman and her child. We don’t yet know if we are in the hands of friends or enemies. I’ll get my revolver. Dez, my boy, I’ll give it to you. Stay in your cabin and be prepared. You understand?”

“Shoot—her?” asked Desmond hoarsely.

Sir John bowed his head. “Surely you would rather do it than me?”

“Yes—but—”

“There is no ‘but,’ my boy. Rather death than horrors unnameable. Stay in the cabin with your wife and child. If I think we are in good hands I will call you. Otherwise, I will give our whistle—the one we used when you were boys—the three sharp calls, and a long minor note,” and he illustrated it softly. “If you hear that,—don’t hesitate, my boy.” They gripped hands, and Desmond, dazed, speechless, walked unsteadily out of the room, and they heard the click of his cabin door as it closed behind him.

Slowly, but surely the Argenta was being dragged down to the field below. At last they touched solid ground—there was a scrunch and a grating—they were on some earth at last.

“Alan,” said Sir John grimly. “I have two other revolvers on board. Masters, if the worst comes to the worst, and I give the warning whistle for Mr. Desmond, go in to him. If he does not turn the weapon on himself do it for him—and keep a spare bullet for yourself.”

“I understand, sir.”

The six white “birds” had also reached land, and from out of the bodies they saw strange figures appear. The figures were like themselves—yet how different! The men approaching were perhaps under average height, but they were beautifully moulded, muscular with a symmetry of form that was glorious to behold.

All but one wore white—a garment that reached to their feet, and which resembled in shape a Roman toga. This white garment was embroidered with richly coloured silks at the neck, wrists and hem. On their heads, they wore fillets of gold. The leader was garbed in a garment of the same shape, but of a glorious blue bound with gold, and his fillet was studded with gems that shone and flashed in the sunlight. All walked up to the Argenta and smiled through the little window at the occupants. Then the leader opened his hands—held them up empty, and with a charming smile, bowed low before them. Then he seemed to issue a command, and all the others, there were altogether perhaps thirty of them, followed his example, and bowed before them.

“They look friendly,” said Sir John. “Masters, let the shutters be raised—then stand near Mr. Desmond’s cabin. If I shout—‘view halloo!’ bid him to come out on to the upper deck, but—”

“But if I hear the whistle, sir, I shall know what to do.”

“Keep your revolver hidden, Alan,” said Sir John, and they made their way to the upper deck.

They waited in silence for the ether to be pumped back into its cylinders, and for the shutters to lift. Gradually light came creeping in through chinks here and there—higher and higher was lifted the moving metal, until at last the two men drank in fresh air and bathed in glorious sunshine once again. They found they could scarcely move along the deck—in fact it was with the greatest difficulty they could keep their balance. They felt horribly material and gross.

“What is it?” whispered Alan.

“The law of gravity, my boy. Wherever we are, I should say it is about three times the strength of that we were used to when we were on Terra. I think we have about trebled our weight.”

The strangers had advanced—the leader was smiling graciously. He gave another command, and his band of followers came to a sudden halt, and he approached the Argenta—alone. He addressed them in a language they did not understand.

“I do not understand—” commenced Sir John, but before he could say any more the stranger spoke—haltingly it is true, and as if unused to it, but he spoke in English.

“Where are we?” cried Sir John in amazement.

“You are on, what I think you would call—Jupiter.”

“Jupiter?”

“Yes. And may I welcome you strangers to our land of plenty. I know not who you are or whence you come—but you are welcome—very welcome. But you look tired—”

“You are not enemies, then?” cried Sir John.

“Enemies?” repeated the Jovian. “I understand not the word.”

“You are friends?”

“Friends of course—we are all friends. Can you find a more beautiful word than friendship?”

“Thank God! Thank God!” cried Sir John, and with a wild “View Halloo” issuing from his lips, he fell senseless to the ground.