Across the Zodiac. A story of adventure, etc

Front matter

a ACROSS THE ZODIAC ' SUDDENLY, WITH A TEARING SOUND, THE CAR PARTED FROM ITS FASTENINGS' Frontispiece ACROSS THE ZODIAC H Stot^ of Hbventure BV EDWIN PALLANDER WITH A FRONTISPIECE Xonfcon DIGBY, LONG & CO., PUBLISHERS 1 8 Bouverie Street, Fleet Street, E.C. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. A Novel Species of Star, .... i II. 'Væ Victis !' 17 III. Into the Desert 23 IV. Across the Vatna Jokui.l, 33 V. 'Dura Gravitas,' 48 VI. Some Explanations, ..... 60 VII. A Few Days on the Moon, ... 74 VIII. A Buried Nation 86 IX. Comets and Meteors, . . . . . 99 X. A Lonely World, 113 XI. The Mist of Life, . . . 127 XII. The Ringed World, 138 XIII. Across the Dark Sea, .... 157 XIV. The Girdle of Fire, 168 Contents CHAP. PAGE XV. A Strange Burial 191 XVI. In Tow of a Comet 209 XVII. Some Revelations, 219 XVIII. A Mutiny and Its End, . . . . 231 XIX.

Want of Air, 239 XX. The Flower Kingdom 249 XXI. Imprisonment and — 271 XXII. A Fall of Ten Million Miles, . . 278 XXIII. The Last of Captain Chlamyl, . . 288 XXIV. Between Dawn and Sunset, . . . 296 XXV. Conclusion

Chapter I

A NOVEL SPECIES OF STAR The year 1 88 — was in many ways noteworthy to astronomers. Not to make mention of Schiaparelli's indefatig able researches on the surface geography and physical conditions of the earth's sister-planet Mars, which resulted in the publication of those fine charts destined to immortalise the Italian observer's name — not to speak of the learned labours of Secchi, and the ponderous volumes of printed matter which Monsieur Flammarion con ferred as a heritage on our volatile next-door neighbours — not to dwell on the invaluable boon conferred on the noble science by the works of Sir Robert Ball on the sun, by the discoveries of Palisa among the minor planets, or by Struve's sage calculations concerning the nature of Saturn's mysterious rings — setting all these valuable offer ings at the shrine of Urania aside for a moment, there was one topic which far outweighed the rest, one all absorbing question which deeply agitated the minds of learned and unlearned, of credulous amateurs and sceptical professors.

The details concerning the mysterious and puzzling apparition which seemed to defy both A telescopes and transit circles, before which the spectroscope was impotent and the theories of Newton, Laplace, Galileo, Kant, Kepler, Arago, bald and unconvincing, appeared simultaneously in the scientific and commercial periodicals of both hemispheres. In fact, a lucky chance favoured astronomers both in France and America. New York, Washington and Paris had been blessed with cloudless skies for some weeks past. The month was June — an awkward month for accurate observations, owing to the disturbing influence of the heated summer atmosphere, but certainly propitious as far as absence of cloud was con cerned. The heavens were unveiled to the curious eyes of French and American savants, and a score of giant equatorials eagerly scanned the dark abyss in hopes of wresting from Nature some more of those jewelled secrets which she guards so jealously in her casket.

On the night of the 15th, one of the humbler luminaries of the Observatoire Nationale was engaged in making some observations on the occultation of stars behind the moon, when his attention was drawn to a new object which had entered the field of the telescope, and was de liberately travelling across the silver disc of the earth's satellite in a direction, as far as the observer could judge during his first painful five-minute scrutiny, nearly parallel to the plane of the ecliptic. A long, narrow body, cylindrical in shape and opaque in texture, was hovering between the twin peaks of the Hersynian Mountains, proceeding gradually across the moon's surface in the direction of Mount Euler. The astronomer rubbed his eyes and called an assistant. An examination of the outer lenses showed that the apparition was due to no dust no the surface of the glasses.

No insect could possibly have got into the instrument, nor would any insect, of known species, crawl with such accurate and methodical regularity. The oblong shape of the disturbing visitor utterly precluded the possibility of its being a satellite of any sort, kind or description. Celestial bodies are, in fact, always spherical. The rotating movement to which they are subjected assures obedience to this natural law. Slight differences of diameter between the poles and the equator, occasioned by centrifugal force, are all that can be counted upon. Decidedly, the theory of a new and undiscovered celestial body was untenable. What was it then ? A freak of optics ? a trail of vapour ? the debris of a vanished aerolite ? This last hypothesis seemed the most reasonable of the lot. Vagrant comets traversing space are as liable to accidents of this kind as express trains.

A thousand influences may be at work to produce a breaking up of their constituent parts. Heat, cold, an explosion of mephitic gases, the counter attraction of two wandering stars, the shock occasioned by the chance rencontre with a sister aerolite. All these things may tend to the dis memberment of the solid shell. To calculate the elements, the density, atomic weight and specific gravity of this body would be a lengthy and delicate operation. The eye-piece of the great equatorial was for an hour monopolised by a crowd of excited, gesticulating savants, pro pounding questions, offering theories, contradicting each other and being in their turn contradicted. Here the ruling head of the observatory stepped in. A lynx-eyed old mathematician in a frieze coat, a battered felt hat and voluminous neck-tie.

At his suggestion the place was cleared and some observations were taken. The body was evidently a large one. Seen through the twenty-six inch equatorial, its length equalled, or seemed to equal, the diameter of the crater of Tycho. This, if it were travelling actually across the surface of the moon, would give it a length of eighty-seven kilometres or so. \_ On the other hand, it might be merely floating in the terrestrial atmosphere — a disenchanting fact which might bring its length down to a paltry hundred feet, or even less. This theory, fortunately for the dignity of the apparition, was instantly rejected. The force of gravitation on the earth and for two hundred miles round it, is such that no body can keep up its position as satellite unless it moves with a speed of at least several hundred yards a second.

Now, such a speed would, if the strange body were really only circling at such a moderate distance, cause it to traverse the entire lunar disc in a few minutes, or less. During an hour's careful watching, the long black line was noted to have moved regularly across the landscape, from the peaks of Mount Hersynian to a position some hundred and fifty miles south of Mount Aristarchus. Would it continue its even journey, or swerve off in a curve across the lunar Carpathians or across the Sea of Rain ? No. It held steadily on its course, and defied all attempts to convict it of any irregu larity. Modern astronomers are hardly the people to allow grass to grow under their feet, and important discoveries rarely remain secret even for a few hours. A telephone connected the Paris Observatory with the observatories of Rome, Madrid, Lisbon Berlin and Kiev, and the news spread like wildfire.

A message despatched to Greenwich resulted in disappointment. England, on whose territory the sun is never supposed to set, and in whose capital city the orb of day hardly ever rises, was enveloped in a bank of damp, drizzling cloud, which allowed not even the faintest vestige of a moon to be seen. Greenwich would clearly for once in a way not mingle its voice in the matter. But if England was ' out of it,' America was not. Within two hours of the first appearance of the strange phenomenon, a telegram was received from Washington, apprising the director of the French Observatory that he was not the only interested party. Owing to the difference in longitude, Washington being some five hours behind Paris in time, the moon's new satellite would, weather permitting, be at the disposition of the worthy Yankee star-gazers long after it had been chased out of existence for the Europeans by the rising sun.

After all, what was to prevent the phenomenon being followed systematically through the telescopes of a hundred observatories? Nothing — if only the moon was visible. Communication was therefore immediately opened with San Francisco, Pekin, Calcutta, Bombay, Constantinople, Cairo and Algiers. A thousand observers would set to work, and it must be a remarkably smart aerolite to slip through their fingers. Towards 2 a.m. a new development presented itself to the Parisian savants. The long, black object, which was then about to cross the lunar Apennines, had increased in size. The learned Monsieur M , who was officiating at the eye-piece of the vast equatorial, at first refused to believe his eyes. By means of an ingeniously - designed photographic apparatus, a negative was taken and compared with a similar one, obtained at the first appearance of the strange satellite.

Doubt was no longer possible. The size of the object had increased by one-fourth during the last three hours. This immediately toppled over the idea of its being a satellite of either the moon or the earth. It must be a meteorite, and a meteorite of con siderable size. Nor was that all. It was directing its course towards the earth, and would probably fall on its surface within twenty-four hours. Such occurrences are frequent in all parts of the globe, and rarely formidable. The dense layer of atmosphere surrounding our planet is, thanks to the resistance it offers to any penetrating body, an effectual safeguard against meteors, stray comets, aerolites and star - dust generally. The enormous rates of speed with which celestial bodies of all kinds travel are well known — speeds so high as to entirely preclude the possibility of their penetrating the atmospheric couch to any depth.

The friction they undergo while passing through the outer layers is sufficient, in most cases, to melt them instantaneously, and a rain of shooting stars is all that remains of the audacious wanderer. The learned Frenchmen shrugged their shoulders. Some quiet hamlet in Italy or Switzerland would have a display of fire works gratis — that was all. Next morning the daily papers announced a brilliant shower of meteorites near Ravenna, the observations taken in Paris and New York were compared ; ' it's all over — the fuss was for nothing,' was the general opinion. One man, however, chose to differ. This was the head astronomer of the United States Observ atory at Washington. He certainly had sense enough to keep his opinion to himself, but still — cylindrical meteorites closely resembling a torpedo boat in shape are not seen floating across the moon's disc every day.

The worthy man collected his papers, his photographs, his chronometrical data, shut them securely up in his bureau, and waited. For some months all went on serenely, and the solar system reposed, figuratively speaking, in calm and regular tranquillity. Then an incident happened which once more made the pulses of star gazers beat in double-quick time. This incident was none other than a second ap pearance of the mysterious aerolite, which crossed unceremoniously the field of an English telescope on the night of the seventeenth of August between the hours of 10 and n p.m. Nor was this all. The extraordinary apparition did not, as on the occasion of its first appearance, merely content itself with floating peacefully through the dark void of night. It shone, it threw out beams of light, leaving a long luminous trail in its wake, like the trail of a high-speed comet.

Suddenly, while the observer was attentively following its movements, the beam of light was observed to shift its position in a most erratic manner. It wavered, first up, then down, then disappeared altogether for some time. At the end of half-an-hour it again became visible. This time it was the light only, minus the luminous tail. It mounted steadily up through the dark ocean of space, and at length disappeared entirely at a point almost vertically above the head of the observer. Clearly it was no meteor. Meteors do not habitually flee the earth, they are attracted by it. What it resembled most of all was a rocket — but what manner of rocket ! The skill of modern pyrotechnists is well known, but what master of the science would undertake to construct such an aerial prodigy? The duration of an ordinary rocket's flight is from ten to thirty seconds.

This one had flaunted its magnificence during at least half-an-hour. Besides, how about the shifting beam of light ? Rockets do not change the position and angle of their tail at a moment's notice, nor, indeed, do they continue to ascend vertically after their trail of sparks ceases to glow. It was a meteorite, evidently, and a meteorite of the most unaccountable peculiarities. The American astronomers were telegraphed to. They had seen nothing — nor indeed was it likely that they could have seen anything. A star pass ing within a paltry few thousand miles of Greenwich would be wholly invisible to the Columbians, and the Greenwich observers had concluded, from the speed and behaviour of the stranger, that it could not have been navigating the heavens at a very much greater distance. The details of this were given to the public, of course, in the columns of those journalistic colossi, the Standard, the Daily Telegraph and the Illustrated London News.

It is marvellous how indifferent the average Englishman is to the prodigies which Nature performs around him in the solar system. Within a week of the occur rence the whole affair was forgotten, and the very astronomer who had sighted the phenomenon was ready to give the lie to his own senses and declare himself the victim of a hallucination. All these things I remember now clearly enough, though at the time I was too absorbed in other matters to give much heed to them. In fact, I had just been elected member of an expedition for ex ploring the unknown sources of the Brahmapootra and the northern slopes of the Himalaya Moun tains. My book on Iceland and my two volumes of published matter respecting the recent eruption of Krakatoa had secured this honour for me. Yes, the 'distinguished young explorer and geolo gist, Henry Ralphcourt, Esq., F.R.S., A.S.T.E., etc' had consented to confer his aid in the important matter of surveying the mysterious source of the great sister of the Ganges, and in the still more im portant matter (as far as the safety ofthe expedition was concerned) of doctoring the Tibetan Lamas into something approaching amiability.

Expeditions in Tibet were usually reputed to end in only two ways. Either the explorers were unceremoniously driven out of the country backwards, or else they were equally unceremoniously massacred. The attempt was now to be made on a somewhat larger scale than heretofore — nearly a hundred persons being deputed to take part in it, out of which sixty were well-seasoned natives armed with quick-firing rifles and cutlasses, besides the usual armament of Bibles and cheap liberty silks — emblems of a great and humane civilisation, where Mahatmas were synony mous for impostors, and the star of polyandry had not yet risen. ' You see, professor,' explained my worthy friend Hatton, whose fame had been assured since his recent return from South Africa in company with two baboons, a lion-cub and an interesting collection of Orange River molluscs. ' You see it's just as well to be on the safe side.

If the Bibles don't fetch 'em, I guess that will.' That was a sleek, shining nickel-plated cannon, of the kind patented by the ingenious Mr Maxim, and warranted to discharge several hundred shots a minute at least — if I remember rightly. Ned Hatton patted the shining muzzle of the instrument affectionately with his horny hand, as a man might pat the shoulder of a friend to whose prowess he expected to owe his life in the near future. Let me endeavour to describe Ned Hatton. A tall, magnificently bony specimen of humanity, with a complexion slightly sallowed by exposure to tropical suns, and piercing, deep-set eyes, which gave a certain expression of genius, an expression which was the making of him, from an artistic point of view, and served to convert him from a lanky, decidedly ugly son of brother Jonathan into what the French call, not incorrectly, a beau laid.

Ned had been, as is usual with most suc cessful explorers, thrown upon the world to shift for himself at a very early age. He had been suc cessively, miner, gold-digger, cattle-rancher, South sea trader, Australian sheep-farmer, and instructor in matters connected with general education to the eldest son ofthe King of Siam. ' The profitablest job I ever had in my life,' Ned used to remark. Then, by way of explanation, ' You see, you could swipe such a lot.' This last was a petite dose of brag, for although the King of Siam was famed for the negligent way in which he was wont to leave jewelled sabres, pearl necklaces, golden spittoons, etc., lying around ' kinder promiscuous,' although guards were scarce in the royal palace and policemen unknown, Ned Hatton was the soul of honesty, and precious gems, even when left by the wayside, had no attraction for him.

In addition to these virtues, he was singularly courteous, and invariably addressed me respectfully as ' professor ' (my services as lecturer on geology and palaeontology at the University of Cambridge had secured honourable possession of the title for me some years before) — he had seen too much during his life not to know the value of learning and was always inclined to rather over estimate the worth of a savant than otherwise. This last peculiarity, it must be confessed, was the jewel in Ned's crown, for men of great and purely practical experience are as a rule given to sneering at theoretical scientists, whom they are somewhat too prone to regard as visionary dreamers. Ex ceptions prove the rule. Ned Hatton was certainly a very strong exception. Our departure for India had been fixed.

We were to weigh anchor on the fifteenth of September. It was now nearly a month since anything had been heard of the curious astronomical phenomenon which had puzzled people in June and August. The question seemed buried for good, when, on a certain dark night, either the tenth or eleventh of the month, I am not sure which, an incident happened which served to bring it forward once more. Instead of being a merely telescopic curiosity, however, the phenomenon assumed seriously alarming proportions. From an in offensive speck of black, gliding noiselessly across the vault of heaven, it became a rushing, roaring cometary demon, large enough and noisy enough to frighten half-a-dozen superstitious French villages out of their wits, and set a hundred newspapers into unscientific and un systematic activity.

On the evening when the prodigy occurred, the steam yawl, Fleur de Lys, was proceeding leisurely along the coast of Brittany, some ten miles west of St Malo. The sea was enveloped in a thick mantle of fog, a fact that rendered it necessary to proceed at half speed, sounding the whistle loudly at intervals of thirty seconds or so. At ten o'clock, the new moon slightly whitened the mist with its rays. The Fleur de Lys seemed to be floating in a cloud of dense and luminous vapour. Suddenly a clamour arose. The engine bells clanged furiously, and the triple - bladed screw churned the water astern into a lurid patch of snowy foam. Through the fog ahead loomed a gigantic shadow, rendered still more gigantic and awe-inspiring by the weird light of the veiled moon. The efforts of the machinery being insufficient to stop her, the Fleur de Lys crashed unceremoni ously into the side of the ominous-looking stranger, snapping her bowsprit off sharply, and considerably damaging her prow and figure-head.

The injuries not being sufficiently grave to retard her progress, the Fleur de Lys reached St Malo at midnight, and the news of her rencontre spread like wildfire through the quiet town. What was the vessel ? The captain of the Fleur de Lys could not say. She was unlike anything he had ever seen, and had appeared to him to be made of frosted silver. She had made no sign, either by bell or whistle. There seemed to be no life stirring on board of her, no lights, no watch, no helmsman. Had the Fleur de Lys damaged her ? That was hardly likely. From the way in which the yawl rebounded after the shock, it looked as though she had struck a hard, impenetrable body of solid armour-plate, rather than a yielding wall of planks. What was her length ? It was impossible to guess at her length, even remotely.

The Fleur de Lys had drifted away almost immediately, and the stranger ship was lost in the fog before she could be attentively scrutinised. The affair was not sufficiently remarkble, how ever, to prevent the honest maritime population of St Malo from sleeping soundly. Within two or three hours of his landing, even the captain of the damaged Fleur de Lys was snoring loudly beneath his voluminous feather bed. towards four in the morning everyone awoke with a start. The cloaked and hooded watchmen, silently pacing the streets, paused to cross them selves devoutly ; the sailors in the harbour sprang to their feet, then fell on their knees, quaking with superstitious fear. Across the dark sky, slightly yellowed in the east by the bars of approaching sunrise, a huge shadow, black and terrible, was dashing with a roar like muffled thunder.

A fiery tail, some miles in length apparently, swept along the sky in the track of the monster, now striking the clouds, now falling on the sea, wavering hither and thither like a gigantic arm of fire in act of striking. The prodigy did not last long. The speed of the monster was such that within a minute of its startling appearance it had disappeared among the southern clouds, its fiery tail being visible for some minutes later. St Malo was not the only town favoured by this supernatural sight. In case there might have been any doubt as to the authenticity of the flying demon, news was received and accounts of the phenomenon collected from the towns of Rennes, Vitry, Angers, Sammer, Chatellerault, Poitiers, Lussac and Limoges, this last-named one being also the last place where the giant meteor had been seen.

The event caused a considerable commotion, in the scientific world as well as the journalistic. The consumption of ink during the following week must have been something fabulous. Everyone had an opinion, and everyone hastened to offer it. In the midst of the confusing flood of nonsense which poured in from all sides as from a burst ing reservoir, the learned members of the Paris Observatory managed to collect some really satis factory data. The course of the meteor had been S.S.E. Its speed must have been considerable, as within the space of a brief quarter-of-an-hour it had been observed at over fifty points, along a line nearly two hundred miles in length. This meant a rapidity of some eight hundred miles per hour. At that rate this noisy visitant from other worlds would take only three hours to go from London to New York, five hours to go from London to San Francisco, eight to go from Paris to Pekin, etc.

Another significant fact, eminently calculated to set savants at loggerheads with each other, was that the meteor, which had passed comparatively close to the town of St Malo, had gradually risen higher and higher as it proceeded southwards, till, as the citizens of Limoges reported, it had merely appeared as a strip of light far above the clouds before vanishing completely into space, which it did within sight ofthe principal Limousin observers, at exactly twenty-six minutes past four. Incredible as it was, the aerolitic marvel had travelled away from the earth instead of towards it. This is of course an unheard of thing in the annals of what, for want of a better word, we might call meteorology. Wandering celestial bodies fall on the earth be cause attracted by it, and for no other reason.

The newspaper controversy waxed hot and furious. Was it a rocket, a flying machine, a shooting star, or (happy inspiration of a daring contributor) a stone hurled from the crater of some distant volcano? A column of figures followed, proving conclusively that stones do occasionally fly from the fiery mouths of volcanoes in action, and fly to a considerable distance, too, as Sir W. Hamilton proved by the examination of stones thrown from the crater of Sicilian Etna. This was all very well. No doubt such an occurrence was quite within the range of possi bilities. Unfortunately, there was one factor wanting to make the explanation plausible. It was an important one — the volcano. If theorising could explain the mystery, it would not remain a mystery long. The sun of volcanic debris having abruptly set, astronomy once more came forward.

A popular lecturer on cosmical phenomena suggested that a meteor might just skirt the terrestrial atmosphere without being attracted by our planet — if its velocity were sufficient, just as a boat may safely cross dangerous rapids if propelled at a high speed. What, de manded the Revue des Deux Mondes sarcastically, was the speed necessary to save a meteor from ignominiously alighting on our globe? About twenty thousand miles an hour was the answer. This finished the popular lecturer. No body, of any known material, could withstand, at such a rate, the impact of our atmosphere. Even a bomb of pure platinum, the most infusible sub stance yet discovered, must be instantly vaporised — clearly the aerolite theory did not count for much. Was it a flying machine, with an electrical search-light attached ?

It was not probable. Such machines had never been heard of yet, and even granting that aerial locomotion was a certainty, by what mechanical means could a flying machine pretend to reach a speed of eight hundred miles per hour. Figures were not wanting to show that no known material, however great its strength, could stand a strain that must inevitably wreck engines of any known pattern. No screw could turn with such rapidity, no wings beat the air with sufficient violence — no, the aerostat theory was likewise untenable. From among the princes of science, the formidable meteor was gradually but surely banished. Learned men are rarely apt to take an interest in cosmic phenomena which they themselves have not witnessed. The question was made the subject of furious controversy during a period of six weeks or so, then it dwindled and died a solitary death among the archives of the Bibliotheque^ Nationale and the British Museum Library.

Though neglected by the learned, it was taken up by the populace. It rapidly became the fashion. ' Meteor ' hats and ' aerolite ' cigar-holders were the rage. A popular publisher brought out a ' comet ' edition of Balzac's novels, and spectacular dramas representing aerial disasters in all their sinister variety took transitory possession of the stage Dust and ashes are the two final states of everything mundane, and the strange freak, that had been the terror of so many Breton sailors, was in its turn forgotten, as a riddle to be solved when the sea gives up its dead, not before. Owing to various causes, the departure of our Tibet expedition was postponed, and I just lingered long enough in Europe to witness the end of the excitement. On the twenty-third morning of December, we weighed anchor, and with a vague presentiment of future glory filling my breast, I marked the low, sandy promontory of Southampton water disappearing in the grey sea mist.

Ned Hatton, leaning with his back against the railing, indifferent alike to scenery and senti ment, whistled softly to himself. Come sunshine, come storm, we had the sources of the Brahmapootra in our mind's eye. They were a noble goal to aim at, and quite sufficient for any man. Vee Victis ! 17

Chapter II

VÆ VICTIS! It was certainly a fine thing to be so full of hope. Unfulfilled ambition is perhaps the most awful thing on earth — except spurned love, of which I can honestly say I know nothing, praise be to Allah. Of our entire expedition, only seven weary men dragged themselves back into Assam, across those cruel, sun-scorched mountains. Ned Hatton and myself were amongst the number. A gallant start up the river, a swamp-ridden, fever-laden camp, a score of rascally Tibetan spies, a cold reception in Lhassa, an imaginary insult offered to the Dali Lama, a midnight massacre and a precipitate flight through forests of thorn and tangle, over glacier and snow blocked pass, under falling rocks and withered pine branches. The scenes of our misery passed rapidly through my head in a disorderly jumble, like pictures in a phantasmagoria, or scenes in a play.

At least I might have died with the rest of our poor fellows. I, too, might have found a resting place beneath the shadow of those glorious mountains, with their eternal canopy of snow, with their sunlit peaks dreaming in the blue, far removed from petty mortal cares and sufferings. No such luck was mine, however. The voyage home partially restored my health, broken by typhoid and bilious fevers, into something like its normal condition. Whether it was the foggy London air, or the taint of fever that still hung about my system, or the effects of a Himalayan sunstroke, I do not know. What I do know, how ever, is that three weeks after my arrival in London B saw me once more prostrate — this time with brain fever. Hot, shooting pains in the head, visions of heavenly sunset clouds, dwindling down into the cold, uninteresting patterns adorning the wall paper, glimpses of snowy horrors, needles of ice penetrating my flesh, and feverish falls down endless rocky chasms.