CHAPTER 6
Across the Void
FOR a moment I withdrew from the eyepiece and looked at the moon with naked eyes. She was now far in the western sky, shining with a silvery radiance, brighter than I had ever seen before. How lovely, how distant, how far away she seemed now!. That great barrier of distance, erected by nature, seemed greater than ever before, because it cut me off from tht only lover I ever had. If I could have only crossed that void, even for a few minutes, and given him a refreshing drink of cool water or some wholesome, nourishing food, and spoken a few words of comfort. If I could have established even the faintest personal link between us; if he could only know, as he plodded his weary way across that ancient sea-bottom, that there was on another world one watching him and sympathizing with his suffering. But that could never be. No invention which our race was capable of producing could span that void. I must continue to watch him suffer and die, without his ever being aware of my existence. After the moon had gone too low in the western sky to continue my observation, I put the giant lens away. I knew that fifteen hours, must pass before I could see him again. Fifteen hours of intense physical suffering for him and fifteen hours of mental anguish for me. My sleep that night was anything but restful; my dreams were anything but refreshing. The man in the moon had captured my mind as well as my heart—my thoughts, either asleep or awake, were constantly of him. For hours I rolled and tossed from one side of the bed to the other, while I dreamed of my man in the moon. He was calling me, asking for water, for food and for protection from the broiling sun. In his voice I recognized the agony of a man hopelessly in love and it gave me a certain degree of painful pleasure to think that my mad passion for him was being returned.
At last another night came and the moon finally appeared in the east. Her ascension into the sky was slower than ever, as if she dreaded showing me the tragic events. I did not need the telescope to see what she was trying to hide. Her face was no longer a perfect sphere, a portion of her eastern limb was already hidden in the darkness of the lunar night. Within a short time, it would creep up and cover the Sea of Serenity. The man in the moon would then find protection from the torrid heat. But I shuddered when I thought of that other extreme—absolute zero, the temperature of outer space. He must reach Mt. Despair soon or perish.
When the proper time came for using the telescope, I first turned it to the eastern edge of the moon, where the shadows of night were approaching. Already the circular mountains around Mare Crisium were throwing their long shadows across the sea-bottom. Suddenly I thought of those poor flat-footed creatures and the ruthless fire. I brought my field of vision down to the disaster and all that was left of them were black, charred bodies which in the dead ashes gave mute testimony of the terrible tragedy. Those who were still alive sensed the approach of darkness and were hurrying to the shelter of the numerous caves in the mountain. Those who had escaped unhurt were helping their wounded companions in every way possible. This humane act, which is uncommon among the brutes, spoke well for their rudimentary intelligence. I surmised that they stood about midway between that of primitive man and the ape.
But I could not spend much time with these unfortunate creatures, before hurrying over to the Sea of Serenity, where the man in the moon was putting up a desperate but losing fight against the cruel forces of nature.
I found him about sixty miles nearer his goal. During the last fifteen hours he must have been walking constantly and it was now showing on him. He stumbled and fell every few minutes, under the weight of his heavy boxes, only to rise again and continue his tiresome journey. At last he unloaded his burden, ate his miserable lunch and took his bearings. After swallowing one of those mysterious tablets, he divided his burden and placed half of it on a high rock, where he could find it again. He how shouldered his remaining boxes and moved onward at a greater speed than before.
His progress that night was much slower than usual. His path was more rugged and the lightened burden did not compensate for his increasing fatigue. His drug was losing some of its resuscitating powers, as his body became more accustomed to it. The time would soon come when it would fail to revive him at all and his lifeless form would be lying on the hot sands, shriveling and drying up, under the merciless sun.
During the next seventy-two hours I watched him by night and dreamed of him by day. As his suffering increased, my pity and love for him increased also. By a superhuman effort, he had managed to keep going, though he stumbled at every step and often fell headlong, where he would lie like dead—his tortured face in the burning sands. By a strength of will, I had kept my secret from my father, although at times I wanted to scream out my anguish to him.
How long could I endure this cruel sight? How could I maintain my own sanity? When I looked at a mirror, my image frightened me. I had become so pale and emaciated from loss of sleep and continual brooding that I could not recognize myself. I saw that if this were to continue much longer my fate would be insanity.
This horrible thought brought me momentarily to my senses. “You must stop worrying,” I told myself. “Your conduct is unworthy of the man you love. If you can not help him, you can at least help yourself. If he knew of you, would he want you to worry yourself into insanity! A woman worthy of that extraordinary man must be herself extraordinary—one who will not cry herself to death, but follow bravely, face overwhelming odds and at least make an effort to help him. Where is all of that Brewster Grit?”
The Fire
ON the last night that I saw him, he had reached the limits of physical suffering and endurance. His sun-helmet had been lost long ago and I had seen that once beautiful face undergo the terrible stages of sunburn, until it now looked like a half-cooked steak! But determination and defiance were marked on every parched line. His clothing was tattered and torn to shreds; where the tender flesh had been exposed to the sun, it had first been sunburned, then blistered, now broiled and covered with sand and dirt, where he had fallen so often.
Mount Despair was only two miles away, but he was exhausted. His burdens were all lost. Those cakes and that precious, though scalding water was all gone. His condition was too pitiful to describe. He was now crawling on his hands and knees, but worst of all, his greatest enemy was approaching. Night—with its terribly cold temperature in which nothing could live. Only two more hours remained and but two more miles to go.
Was it possible? For an ordinary man—no! For he man in the moon? Time alone could tell.
The details of the remainder of his journey must forever remain untold. I can not endure the torture of describing it. In Hell itself, no more pitiful scene can be expected. His only resource was his admirable grit and determination; his body was exhausted and the sight of his goal did not give him the added strength I had expected.
Thousands of large birds were hovering about the entrance of the caves in Mt. Despair. This was their nocturnal refuge also. If the man in the moon could reach them, he would have food. These birds were unlike any terrestrial birds; the shape of their beaks and feet proved that they were not carnivorous vultures, but some herbivorous type resembling pheasants or chickens, whose skill in flying was equal to that of a hawk. Several small animals, who also sensed the approach of darkness, were hurrying into the caves. But two miles away, in the cool protecting shadow of a huge rock, lay the man in the moon, flat on his face where he had fallen, probably for the last time. Darkness would soon be upon him, but he was unable to continue his journey. His strength was spent and his magnificent determination was broken. Was this the last act—the end of the hopeless struggle in the cruel drama? It was even a relief to think that he was dead and his sufferings were at an end.
With a scream of terror, the truth came to me. He was still alive, but he had rested too long. The dark shadows of night were now upon him. He struggled to his feet, but was unable to stand. His hands and knees were now bruised as badly as his feet; as the shadows of night fell over him, he was dragging his broken body forward, toward the cave in Mt. Despair. The “earth-shine” enabled me to see him for a few minutes longer, but our own dawn was now breaking in the east. Every second our atmosphere grew brighter and in a short time it was so dense that I could no longer see anything on the moon. Long after the sun had risen above the horizon, I continued to watch for another glimpse of my lover.
I was no longer a disciple of science, but just a woman —a miserable, heart-broken woman—with all the primitive instincts of one who had just seen her mate dying before her eyes. For a few moments or for a few hours, I do not know which, my actions were not recorded in my memory. My education, my science, my reason and my sanity had left me. I remember wandering aimlessly under the morning sun, but that memory is very indistinct. But I do know that strange noises, crackling and exploding brought me to my senses; I was lying on the ground a hundred feet from the observation car, which was in flames. My first thought was for the giant lens—the “Eye of the World.” I had forgotten to put it away, and the intense rays of the sun it collected had fired the car. I was unable to rise to my feet, I struggled, I screamed and then—I fainted.
When I came to my senses, I was In bed and my father was bathing my head with cold water. It was he who had dragged my senseless form from the vicinity of the car and saved the observatory from being a total wreck. The “Eye of the World” was saved, but all the eyepieces as well as everything within the observation car were completely destroyed.
Three months have now passed since the fire, and I am about restored to my former condition. But my mad love for the man in the moon will never leave me, It was a terrible blow to my father to think that within a few minutes’ time I had almost destroyed his lifetime of labor. He was in about as serious a condition as I, until Mr. W. O. Mitchell, the chief engineer who had installed the machinery and equipment years ago, arrived from Chicago. After an examination of father’s blueprints and old plans, Mitchell announced that a new observation car could be built and new lenses for the eyepieces could be made in Paris, although it would be a long time before the telescope could be again used.
Since I have been able to think properly, a new idea has come to me, that has given me considerable comfort. When our astronomers estimated the temperature of the lunar night at absolute zero, they reckoned without the invisible atmosphere. My knowledge of the weight of that atmosphere convinces me that it is capable of retaining much of the heat during the long night and it may be that the temperature never drops as low as the nights in Alaska. The change would not come as suddenly as the lunar darkness, so the man in the moon was probably waiting until the cool of the evening before resuming his journey, when his goal was in sight.
As I look at the moon, she seems to tell me that the object of my devotions is still alive. Our secret has never been told to anyone. This manuscript, therefore, shall not be made public until my greatest ambition has been realized and I have constructed a space-flyer capable of making the trip to the moon. I have discussed the matter with Mitchell and my father, and they believe the human intellect is capable of solving the problem. Father says he is able to finance any device that Mitchell thinks worth while. Somehow I feel that we will be successful and, after all, perhaps Fate has decreed that the greatest, wildest and most impossible dream of mankind—interplanetary travel—should be, solved by the female of the species,
The “Brewster Grit” is again at work. My mind is made up and if capital and human ingenuity, working hand in hand, are unable to solve this problem, it will be their first failure. But with my knowledge of the moon, my motives and my incentives, spurred on by love—the greatest and strongest of all human emotions —we shall not fail. Some day my tortured mind and broken heart will find a haven of refuge and a real welcome in the strong, protecting arms of my wonderful lover, the Man in the Moon.