CHAPTER 4
The Selenites
TWO nights passed before I was able to attempt a look at the moon. Because of the arrangement of the lens and mirror of the Brewster Telescope, it could not be used for observing any star lower than fifteen degrees above the horizon in the south, twenty degrees in the east and west and twenty-four degrees in the north. The lens was located due north of the observation car, which accounted for the variations and limits to which the lens and mirror could be turned. This, together with increased atmospheric interference, , made it impossible to view anything on the horizon.
The first night I looked at the moon, observation was not good. Neither was the pendulum adjusted properly and, within half an hour, the moon would be out of the range of vision. The second night, the moon was visible for only one hour and twenty minutes. I did not have time to do much, but of one thing I was certain, I had found the proper adjustment of the pendulum.
By the next night, almost half of the surface of the moon was visible and I had over two hours to look at it. I first used the lowest-powered eyepiece of all, which did not magnify much more than the highest-powered eyepieces of ordinary telescopes. But everything was so much brighter; I had to use the iris shutter to stop down the lens before my eyes could endure the dazzling radiance. I could now see such familiar features as Theophilus, Maskelyne, the Apennines, the various “seas,” and Mare Crisium, the “Sea of Crises”—that dark, deep depression on the moon’s eastern limb, which father said was Inhabited. Using a more powerful eyepiece, I brought the field of vision down smaller until it just covered that ancient sea-bottom, three hundred miles in diameter, surrounded by an almost circular ring of mountains. The black shadow from the high mountain did not now look so dark.
As I used a more powerful eyepiece, the subject apparently moved many miles closer. I was surprised to see the dark shadows become lighter. What could be the cause of this? Was there an atmosphere like our own in this deep sea-bottom? Hurriedly, I changed to a still more powerful set of lenses and the shadows continued to soften. I could actually see objects within the shadows which were formerly black as midnight. This was almost a direct contradiction to the findings of other observers. Was it “Earthshine” that caused the shadows to soften! I decided that it was; the earth would now appear as but little more than “half-earth” to an observer on the moon and it would be coming from my direction, like a searchlight, eight times as bright as moonlight.
At the time this seemed the answer to me but, as I was later to learn, at full moon, when the earth did not shine on the moon at all, the shadows were still soft. The real reason was this: A lens 1200 inches in diameter admits 625 times as much light as a lens 48 inches in diameter. Sunlight, reflected from objects on the surface of the moon, softened the shadows; but the smaller lens did not admit enough light to make this noticeable on the earth.
But to return to the Sea of Crises. By changing to a more powerful eyepiece, I moved closer to the surface. The interference of the terrestrial atmosphere gave everything a milky, cloudlike appearance, just as if we were looking through a fog. By stopping down the lens, some of this could be eliminated; but the light from the object under observation was decreased . But a satisfactory position of the iris shutter found, making it possible to see without too much difficulty.
My first vision of the surface of the moon with the most powerful eyepiece showed an almost level plain, free from both vegetation and sand. No evidence of even the slightest atmosphere was found, and I was inclined to think father was joking when he said life was possible on the surface of the moon. I moved the lens toward the circular ring of mountains and the smooth level appearance of the surface was broken by small craters, many of which did not seem to be more than a foot or two in diameter. Their height in most cases was greater than their diameter. The surface became more uneven as the lower slopes of the mountains came into view. I could now distinguish a form of brown, grassy vegetation. A few minutes later I discovered a small spring of water at the head of a short stream, which ended by soaking into the sand and silt. In spite of the heat from the sun, which has been estimated at two-thirds greater than that received on the surface of the earth, there was no evidence of evaporation. I can give no cause for this; it is just one of the many unsolved mysteries of our satellite.
An examination of this sparse brown grass led to the discovery of a strange animal that almost defies description. Strange animals or objects can be described only by a comparison with familiar things. Therefore, my description of this strange Selenite must be vague and probably misleading. By taking considerable license, this fellow could be said to look like an ape; but an ape looks more like a man than this Selenite like an ape.
At least that was my conclusion. Father who always credited me with too much imagination laughed when I told him of it and said that even with our telescope it was impossible to distinguish objects so definitely. This led later to a conflict over another observation. But let it be said here that father disputed my claim to have seen the features of Selenites.
But as I first saw one, he was eating this coarse brown grass, using his forefeet or apelike hands to feed himself. He walked erect like a man, but his arms were long enough to reach the ground. His body was hairless, but the skin was thick and full of wrinkles, like that of an elephant. The head was quite small and presented an apelike appearance. The ears were almost invisible, while two grotesque holes in the face served as nostrils. The jaw was large and massive, but I was unable to see the teeth, to determine whether or not he was entirely herbivorous. His chest was much smaller than one would expect to find on a creature living in a rarefied atmosphere. The abdomen was unusually large, which caused me to think their eating habits were about the same as that of our cattle,
The legs were short and thick, but showed unusual muscular development, which did not seem necessary on a world where the force of gravity was so weak. But his feet were the strangest part of his anatomy. No creature of the earth ever had feet like these. They looked like large, flat caricatures of human feet, but their width was greater than the height of the grotesque creature himself, and the length of the feet was in proportion to the width. If it were not for their use they would look more like big leathery blankets than feet. Fortunately, the feet could be folded up and be made to cover much less territory, while he was feeding.
Soon another of these flat footed Selenites came slowly gliding down the slope of the mountain, using his feet for wings. He had all the grace and agility of an athlete on skis, or some creature from the Arabian Nights, riding a magic carpet. When they attempted to fly upwards, their efforts were more ludicrous. The motion of their feet was comparable to that of a duck, but they moved more rapidly than the wings of a sparrow. This explained both the cause and purpose of those massive leg muscles.
I followed the flight of the pair as they joined the remainder of the herd. Here I saw more uses for these clumsy but useful feet. Some were lying flat on their backs, chewing their cud like cattle, with their huge feet above them like an umbrella to protect their bodies and eyes from the rays of the sun. While on the ground, their favorite means of locomotion was walking on their hands with their umbrella-like feet above them. But the strangest thing of all was to see one wrap his feet about his body like a big blanket and go to sleep. This protection was no doubt needed during the long lunar nights, when, if the estimates of our scientists are correct, the temperature goes close to absolute zero. The finding of life at all on the moon and the fact that these creatures used their feet for gliders convinced me that the moon had an atmosphere, which was entirely invisible. This atmosphere, no doubt, prevented the extreme low temperature from ever being reached, but at this time, I only knew that further study was necessary before any definite conclusions could be reached.
The perfectly natural and serious actions of these creatures made them more ridiculous and humorous than any group of circus clowns could pretend to be. I wish I could have taken more pictures on motion picture film; letting them be shown to an unsuspecting audience in a large theatre or the hide-bound astronomers who deny the possibility of life on the moon.
First Glimpses
THE next night I directed my telescope to the “terminator,” that part of the moon which divided the lunar day from the night—to the regions where the sun was just rising. I did not use the most powerful eyepiece this time, because I wanted to see a sunrise on the moon. Beginning at the lunar North Pole, I followed the path of the rising sun down to the Alps and watched those bright peaks and craters rise out of the darkness into the sunlight.
The moon’s motion on her axis is very slow. She makes but one complete rotation in about twenty-eight days. At her equator, this motion is only ten miles per hour, very slow when compared with that of the earth, which is one thousand miles per hour at the equator. But, owing to the moon’s smaller circumference, the horizon is much closer to an observer standing on the moon. His range of vision would be quite small; an object less than two miles away would be hidden below the horizon, unless of course, that object were rather high. Therefore, as the sunrise travels around the moon at the rate of ten miles per hour, it passes over one mile in about six minutes. This produces a very interesting effect when seen from the earth with a telescope of the proper size. Every second reveals a noticeable change in the shadows on the rocky surface, at this time of the lunar day.
The Apennine Mountains were already bathed in the sun’s rays; but the shortening of the long shadows, cast by those lofty summits, was one of the most beautiful and inspiring visions I had ever seen. As I moved the glass southward, I noticed a bright spot appear far to the west, in the darkness of the lunar night. I moved my lens to the spot and selected a more powerful eyepiece! I now recognized the brilliant summit of Copernicus, that lofty, giant crater, fifty miles in diameter, the highest crater on the moon’s visible hemisphere. As this mountain slowly raised itself out of Stygian dark-. ness into the magnificent sunlight, I could not control the emotions that rose within me. How would the sunrise in Arizona look to an observer at Copernicus, if he had a telescope equal to mine! It looks beautiful enough to me, when observed from any location; but it is so common that its beauties daily pass unnoticed by the two billion inhabitants of the earth.
I realized that five hours must elapse before the rays of the sun would reach the opposite side of the crater’s rim and, by that time, the moon would be out of the telescope’s range. I left Copernicus to rise out of the darkness as best he could and moved the glass southward where other parts of the little world were waiting for the sunrise. The rays of the sun were now striking the “Nubian Desert,” or as the old astronomers called it, Mare Nubium. I did not stop to observe anything in detail, but kept swinging the lens southward. A half hour later, I found a very brilliant line leading to the south east. I used a stronger lens and the line increased in brilliancy. By using the iris shutter to eliminate some of the light, I found that nothing could be seen except this bright line. I could not tell of what material it was composed; but I knew that, if the line were followed to its point of origin, it would lead to Tycho, the greatest mystery of our satellite.
As I examined it closer, I estimated its width at about half a mile. Its brightness, under the strong sunlight, was too dazzling and all attempts to eliminate some of the light proved unsatisfactory. It appeared to be composed of glass; although it might be something like rock crystal or some bright metal unknown to the earth. I changed to a weaker eyepiece and followed the “ray” to its point of origin; which was not the crater of Tycho, but a smaller crater in the side of that bright mountain. It would seem that, at some time in its remote past, when the moon was still cooling, these small craters opened up like huge trench mortars and threw their molten liquid discharge for hundreds of miles. Instead of traveling like a solid projectile, this substance strung itself out like a stream of molten wax and fell over smaller craters, hills and valleys.
The entire crater of Tycho seemed to be composed of this bright, shining substance, the surface of which is not smooth but full of tiny globes, peaks and depressions. Each of these reflected, in its spherical surface, a tiny image of the sun. With the lens stopped down to a minimum, I could see nothing but millions of these tiny solar images. Within the interior of the crater, I thought I could see something moving. Those points of light were changing their position, appearing and disappearing at random. Now and then a bright light would appear suddenly, eclipsing all others near it by its brilliancy. I am positive that I saw dark objects moving within the shadows.
Was it possible that Tycho is still molten like some of our volcanoes? Had I seen bubble-like formations and movements in the lava? No, that could not be; because I had seen neither steam nor smoke and the crater was invisible, except in the sunlight. Were these moving objects some form of animal life, some intelligent beings who were mining this mysterious substance! Was this bright material glass, made by Nature? Was it that brilliant substance found in ancient craters of Africa, known as diamonds? Was it rock-crystal? Was it silver or gold or some more valuable metal yet unknown on our planet! I do not know; if I were to give all my ideas, one would require the patience of Job to read them.
For two more nights I studied the crater of Tycho. Instead of solving its mystery, I only added to it. There is only one thing I can give as a fact: the intensity of the light increased each night as the rays of the sun struck the crater more directly, I will not attempt to tell all I failed to learn, but will pass on to a greater mystery, which I discovered a few nights later.