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from The Arrow,
"An illustrated journal of Canadian wit and humour."
Vol 01, no 15 (1886-jul-17), p07

   I was engaged in the great experiments at Paris which were rapidly clearing away the difficulties of aerial navigation. Already almost absolute control had been obtained of the gigantic machine, whose buoyancy far exceeded any that had been previously constructed.

   A fortunate combination of events had made this possible. Chemical research had nearly at the same date solved two difficulties — one the manner in which that lightest of metals, aluminium, could be produced in large quantities as cheaply as iron; the other the production of a gas so light that it was difficult to express relation as to weight with hydrogen.

   To navigate our balloons, if they could now be so called, for they were more like gigantic torpedo boats, near the earth, a large amount of the propelling power had to be used in keeping them down: it was only with a full cargo that they remained near equilibrium.

   One great evil and danger was incurred in the use of the new ethereal gas: it at once exploded with terrific violence when brought in contact with oxygen and its gaseous compounds. It was therefore impossible to lessen the buoyancy of these machines by ejecting the gas into the atmosphere. Fortunately, the ether had very little expansive power, and there was no danger of the bursting of the gigantic aluminium capsule at high altitudes.

   On a memorable occasion, on the 4th of June, 1894, Dr. Alorado, the great inventor, M. Jardine, the Government official appointed to watch the experiment, and myself, ascended from the Champ de Mars about noon. We intended to run to Brest, in the teeth of a strong north-wester. There we were to take in a party of eminent scientific men, and return via Bordeaux. We expected to be in Paris again about 9 p.m. The moorings were loosened and the electric machinery started at the same moment. In spite the rapid action of the depressing fan, we ascended with great rapidity. At 2,000 feet altitude, the Doctor turned on another current, to prevent a greater ascent. Paris was already out of sight in the east. A loud sharp crack gave evidence of some accident. We regarded each other in consternation.

   The Doctor looked below, and pointed without speaking. The earth seemed flying away into space. Already we could again see Paris; and beyond, far beyond, are those the Alps rising up? As we look, we see even into Italy. Instantly we seize our receptacles of compressed air, which we always carry. Not a moment too soon — a second later M. Jardine's dog falls in convulsions, and expires on the floor of the car.

   Our rapidity of ascent seems to increase. Looking to the north, the faint outline of the British Islands is distinctly visible. A great cloud of black smoke shows where the metropolis of the world sends up its voice of millions.

   By the medium of a telephone we can communicate by speech. "The reversing fan has broken," said the Doctor. "Can nothing be done?" inquired M. Jardine. "Nothing," I said, gloomily; "if we attempt to let out the gas, we shall be blown into atoms in a moment. We must let fate do what it will with us; perhaps we may reach some planet, or the moon." "We are rising still more rapidly," remarked the Doctor. "The high velocity through the air has produced an electrical state in the balloon antagonistic to the earth, which is now repelling us into space."

   We looked at the chronometer; it was only 12.50. In fifty minutes we had reached an altitude from which we could see the configuration of northern Europe laid out as in a map. Our speed augmented each moment. In one hour the earth hung a great brazen ball below us, with a crescent of darkness creeping up on the eastern edge. Rapidly the circumference of the planet seemed to diminish. We were shooting outward with a velocity equal to a shooting star, yet there was no sense of motion, no vibration; our only index was the rapid dwindling away of our mother earth. Probably at one time we attained a rate of upwards of 100,000 miles an hour.

   Our position was so wonderful, so marvellous, so exciting that we lost sight of the peril of our ultimate destiny. We had left the the earth and were yet living; might we not continue to exist; might we not be the pioneers of the human race who would open the way to other worlds, greater, more beautiful, more excellent than the one we had left behind, which mankind had nearly filled with an overteeming population. Thoughts like these passed through our minds, and very few words were spoken.

   Some hours had elapsed, when we were conscious of a curious sensation; we felt as if some power were impelling us to rise towards the balloon over our heads. It was like, but more gradual, to the sensation projecting you forward when the brakes are suddenly applied on the cars. We regarded each other inquiringly; when suddenly, without a moment's warning, the whole machine with one tremendous swirl turned over; we lost sight of the old earth which was now over our heads, and saw below us —

(To be continued).

from The Arrow,
Vol 01, no 16 (1886-jul-24), p08

(Continued).

   Utterly marvellous and beyond description was the scene so suddenly and unexpectedly revealed to us. There was no mistake about it: there was the moon lying beneath our feet — the same old moon we had gazed at in childhood, vainly trying to make out the man, the solitary man, who was supposed to live there; the same old moon which had later helped by its light to stir the dormant sentiment of passion in our youthful hearts; and again the same moon which had excited mature and scientific curiosity when we inspected it critically through the best telescopes obtainable, searching the bottom of its profound craters and viewing with respect its gigantic and rugged peaks. And now we were poised only a few miles above it. How far up we did not know; afterwards we ascertained by measurement we were nearly forty miles.

   So clear was the air, or rather the absence of it — for on our side, that is, the side of the moon always next the earth, we soon found that there was no air whatever — that had we not known from the comparatively small appearance of the mountains we must be at a considerable altitude, we would have thought we were only a mile or two above the surface.

   Every peak, every valley, every detail of form was as clearly defined and sharply cut as if we were looking at a model lying on a table, illuminated by an intense electric light. Yet what desolation! What chaos! What an awful and blighted deadness! The remnants and ruins of a world long departed: no streams, no seas, no lakes, no sign of verdure — a frightful and horrible wilderness of terrible yawning chasms and distorted peaks which for centuries had only known change from a hundredfold tropical heat to hundreds of degrees below zero, as the monotonous days and nights each of fourteen days, rolled in their ceaseless course.

   M. Jardine was the first to find his voice. It sounded grave and sad, as might, be expected of a man speaking for the first time in another world. "Gentlemen," he said, "I congratulate you on having arrived."

   "But," said Alorado, interrupting, "now we are here, what are we to do? How are we to descend?"

   "For my part, I can't understand," replied M. Jardine, "why we don't descend; there can be little if any atmosphere. Look at the barometer." Looking, we saw in astonishment that the mercury was all in the bulb. That meant no atmospheric pressure whatever. Besides, we were too high, in any case, to be floating in any atmosphere so insignificant a sphere as the moon could enjoy.

   A thought struck me. "We must," I exclaimed "be balanced between the repulsive power of the earth and the moon."

   "If that is the case," said Alorado, "the greater power — that of the earth — will drive us on a course which will maintain a radial distance from the centre of the moon. Let us watch."

   After a time we were able to see that some of the great peaks were changing their position in relation to our point of view. We were evidently moving. But where? We looked with anxiety again at the instruments. The mercury remained invisible in the barometer; the chronometer was still going. It was yet early in the afternoon. Then it became evident that our velocity was increasing. We were travelling over the surface of the moon with considerable speed.

   "How," said M. Jardine, after a few moments of silence, "if we are carried to the other side of the satellite. The forces which move us must drive us in such a direction. The only question is, if when we arrive at a point where the repulsive action of the moon is not balanced by that of the earth, shall we not be driven off again into space?"

   "That is quite true," said Alorado, "but I have an idea that a body like the moon, always rotating with one face to a large attracting centre, will maintain opposite electrical conditions on its opposing sides."

   "If that is the case," I said, "as there is no atmosphere, so soon as we get within the girdle of attraction we shall fall like a stone and be dashed to pieces."

   "No, you are wrong," said M. Jardine; "the attraction will only act gradually as we approach the other side, and if such conditions do exist, we shall glide to the surface like a thistle-down."

   "Look!" said Alorado, suddenly interrupting him, "are we not certainly nearer the surface, and in part on the horizon; surely there is something like a bank of clouds."

   "But," I remarked, "even if all this is true, as we approach the surface, what is to prevent us running against one of these gigantic mountains? That would be destruction."

   Rapidly what appeared at first a bank of clouds approached, or rather we ran towards it; as we travelled on, the surface below became smoother. No longer such gigantic peaks and immense yawning craters to be seen. Soon there were merely gentle undulations, and then (could it be water?) a silver thread seemed to wander on away from us, and lose itself in a large surface of polished silver. Lower and lower we came. Surely there must be some kind of trees on that hillside. We were rapidly nearing the earth, that is the moon, but were not now travelling fast; in fact, the forward movement seemed nearly arrested. Alorado spoke again:

   "We can't be more than half a mile above the surface now," he said; "very soon we shall be on it."

   To me it suddenly seemed I saw some crowd of moving things; were they animals or human beings? No, they were animals — at least they did not move erect as a man. Then I thought I heard a sound. I glanced at the barometer; it stood at 25 inches.

   "Gentlemen," I said, "we can discard our air chambers; we have an atmosphere."

   "Gently," said M. Jardine, "we have an atmosphere, true, but of what is it composed? Let us try it."

   He drew a match from his pocket and struck it. It burned with a brilliancy almost equal to magnesium wire.

   "There is an excess of oxygen," he said. "Let us wait."

   In a few minutes he tried again. The brilliancy of combustion was much less. "Not yet," he said, stopping us with a gesture. He took up a small glass vessel, placed in it a lighted taper and watched it. The taper burned and was gradually extinguished.

   "Probably this air," he said, "is the same as that of the earth; let us try it, but one at a time; I will begin." He removed his air chamber, and we watched him with interest draw his first inspiration in a strange planet.

(To be continued).

Toronto advertisement from The Arrow (1886)

from The Arrow,
Vol 01, no 17 (1886-jul-31), p08-09

(Continued).

   A few deep inhalations, and Alorado turned to us with a smile. "At any rate," he said, "we shall be able to exist here so far as air is concerned. Throw aside your air chambers, and listen to what I have to say to you."

   We obeyed, and waited for him to continue his remarks. He was, however, silent for a few seconds, and seemed plunged in profound thought. "We are waiting," I remarked. "Yes," he said, "I know. I was revolving in my mind the means by which we are to descend to the terra firma we see below us. It is a problem not easy of solution. Our position is similar to that we encountered when we left the earth only a few hours ago. It is true, however, we did not fly upwards and outwards from the moon as we did from the earth, which is rather extraordinary, for the atmospheric pressure is about the same, and yet the force of gravity of the moon must be many times less than that of the planet we have quitted."

   "There is evidently," said Jardine, "some modification of natural forces here with which we are unacquainted. We must wait again for the solution of the difficulty which will no doubt take place. How high are we above the ground now, do you believe?"

   "Probably," I said, doubtfully, "about five hundred feet; but we are now directly over the summit of a range of mountains. To the right and left the elevation seems to be the same as far as we can see, but on in front the ground seems to fall away abruptly, and in a short time we shall be at a much greater elevation above the land immediately below us."

   The balloon progressed rapidly, and we passed the ridge in a very short period. To our great amazement, it seemed that we were following the contour of the ground; in fact, that we fell as rapidly as the hillside sloped away. "Look," exclaimed M. Jardine, "we are entering the shadow," and unanimously we turned to look at the sun just disappearing behind the crest of the ridge. There was the sun looking much the same as he always did on earth. But what was that other immense disk above him, half of it illuminated with a bright copper light, and half merely shadowed faintly, as we see the dark half of the moon on a clear night. One exclamation escaped us: "The earth! the earth!"

   "This is most extraordinary," exclaimed Alorado.

   "Yes," said M. Jardine; "how can the earth have moved? Why do we fall? At any rate, it must be an immense mountain." Alorado seemed again rapt in thought, and at length he said: "Gentlemen, I don't think it is a mountain, and I don't think we are falling at all." "Not a mountain! Not falling!" we exclaimed. "What do you mean? Can't we believe our eyes?"

   "Most certainly not; the eyes are always deceiving one. I will tell you what I mean, but first let me ask you, do you not notice anything peculiar in the position of the balloon in relation to the ground below us?" "Well, nothing." "Yes, I do," said I. "Well, what?" "Why, instead of the line of our suspension making an obtuse angle with the slope of the mountain, it forms a right angle. The attraction of gravity is, therefore acting directly on the centre of the mountain, not to the centre of the moon."

   "That is exactly what I had discovered," said Alorado, "and I inferred from that fact that it was not a mountain, and that we were not falling."

   "Consequently?"

   "Consequently the moon is flat on this side — a true plane without curvature; possibly it may be even concave, and if that be so, we shall discover it later." We saw at once it must be as he said. What we had taken for a mountain range was actually the corner — the edge of the hemisphere. We had discovered that the moon was round on one side and flat on the other, like half an orange.

   The balloon still travelled on, although now it evidently could not be influenced by the repulsive power of the earth. Possibly there might be some current of air, which, of course, in a balloon would not be felt; and in fact, over our heads, high up, some light clouds seemed drifting the contrary way to that in which we were progressing.

   There was yet light enough in plenty for us to see the land below us. There was no marked difference from what we might have seen had we been floating over a wild country on our native planet. There were streams, and hills and woods: even sometimes we caught sight of strange animals, but not distinctly enough to be able to mark their special peculiarities. The only distinct impression we had was that they seemed to move in the same manner as the great Australian marsupials — by leaps and bounds.

   Darkness was, however, rapidly gathering round us, and everything was growing more and more indistinct, when at once, as if a gigantic electric light had been turned on, the whole panorama was again illuminated with a soft, gentle light, which appeared to proceed from the region in front of us, yet was equitably diffused over the whole of visible space.

   As we proceeded the light increased. Everything below us was quite distinct, yet we could detect no sign of human habitation, no evidence of civilization: all seemed as the hand of nature had left it.

   "If we could but get down," said Alorado, "we might live in comparative comfort; the animals we have seen must some of them surely be edible, and of water and wood there are abundance. Really, I am getting hungry."

   "So are we," said Jardine and myself. The mere mention of food at once recalled us to consciousness of the fact that it was many hours since we had taken any nourishment. We had with us in the car coffee, wine, and a little store of potted meats and biscuits. We turned to them with a will, and soon our jaws were working as hard and with as satisfactory results as they had ever done below or above, whichever we might choose to call it.

   "I think," said M. Jardine, after a time, in a pause in the repast, "our best chance will be, if we should come to a large body of water, to let out our anchorage rope, of which we have nearly five hundred foot, and then descend by it and drop into the water. We are all good swimmers and might reach land; besides, we can each take our air chambers, which would support us easily in the water."

   "It is a chance, certainly," said Alorado, "but can we rely on being able to maintain our hold on the rope long enough to got down safely? We very likely will become exhausted, and fall long before we get down five hundred foot."

   "At least it will be better than starving in the balloon," I said; "and I, for one vote for the trial, if no other chance comes to us."

   "You won't have to wait long," said M. Jardine, "for here below us is the water."

   Below us was the water — a boundless sea, stretching away, away, towards the point from which radiated the mysterious light — a sea which was unruffled by the breeze, if breeze it were, which carried us on — translucent, more translucent, than glass.

   There is a lake amongst the Rocky Mountains which travellers report of such marvellous clearness that the fish can be seen sporting in depths of over a hundred feet; and this lunar sea, perhaps from its inherent purity, and perhaps from the altitude from which we were gazing down on it, was visible in its greatest depths. Indeed, it seemed even to be more intensely lighted than the air above it.

   As we gazed over the side of the car, could it be possible that we saw a submerged city, strange in architecture and of a weird appearance. There, laid out before us as in a map, appeared streets, squares and spaces, even gardens; for the submarine plants had taken the place of the shrubs and flowers which had originally flourished before the calamity which had sunk the city in the flood.

   But what were those brilliant, white, luminous lines which bordered every row of buildings, from which radiated an illuminating power which seemed to pervade the surrounding watery space. As we looked, we hovered over an immense building which had an enormous domelike roof of an oblong form. Far larger than any building on earth, it covered several acres. As we looked, the gigantic folding doors opened and from, them poured a crowd of beings in form like men, like women, like children. Yet how different. Instead of walking, they swam. Each had, where the wings of fabled spirits are placed, immense fins, and they moved with incredible swiftness and ease. Looking through our strong glasses, it was evident that much excitement was agitating these fish men; they were darting upwards towards the surface of the water. Could they see us?

   Suddenly the luminous bands round the buildings intensified; they became bands of electric light. The water was like a transparent lake of molten silver, the inhabitants of the city a host of angels hovering in the eternal light of the sun.

(To be continued).

Toronto advertisement from The Arrow (1886)

from The Arrow,
Vol 01, no 18 (1886-aug-07), p08-09

(Continued).

   How long we remained gazing speechless at the wonderful scene it is impossible to say. At length I became conscious that I was repeating aloud, as if by rote, the words "Then the moon is inhabited." I had evidently said this several times, for the eyes of my companions had turned from the scene below to gaze at me, and as I ceased speaking Jardine found his voice. "Yes, inhabited, certainly, but by whom? What are these? Are they men or mermaids? They appear to have a complete civilization of their own kind, but how are we to open communication with them? They live under water and we in air. No wonder we have never from earth recognized any sign of life. These people are condemned to live always in the depths of the sea."

   "Don't be too sure of that," said Alorado. "We are still not confined to earth and can navigate the air; perhaps they can do the same."

   "But," said I, "There is a difference. We are still in the air which we breathe. What they would have to do would be the equivalent of our plunging in the depths of the sea, and existing contrary to nature."

   "What about a diving bell," said Alorado, "and diver's dress and torpedo boats, to say nothing of the experimental eccentricity of the Englishman who built a boat with which he actually remained under water several hours, and travelled one hundred leagues."

   "True," rejoined M. Jardine; "and these people have evidently a very complete knowledge of electricity. Why should they not be skilful in other branches of science? And I believe we shall find them so. Look, see, what are they doing now?"

   A crowd of the moon men had gathered round what seemed a large building. They evidently expected something. Then there approached one who had some kind of authority, for room was made for him to pass.

   He arrived before the doors and signed to others. The doors were thrown open, and directly we saw appear from the building what looked like an imitation of our own balloon. The shape was the same, and there were evidently arrangements for driving it through water. The outer covering was, however, transparent. About one hundred of the moon men entered the machine through a hole in the bottom, which was closed and fastened with screws from the inside. The rest of the population stood back. One of the men inside touched a lever and at once an intense light was evolved from a point near the centre. At the same moment there was a revolving of fans, and the great machine rose gradually to the surface of the water.

   "They are coming to look at us nearer," said Alorado.

   "We can also see them," said M. Jardine.

   The machine was now on the surface, and we could see the moon men were looking at us through some kind of instruments. One who seemed in command made a signal, and the light in the centre became most vivid, the fans revolved with amazing rapidity, and to our astonishment, nay horror, the great machine rose from the water and went circling away in a grand curve round us.

   "See," said Alorado, "they are coming after us. They rise, they mount in circles, like a hawk after its quarry."

   "Great heavens!" I exclaimed, "suppose they run into us and open the aluminium capsule which contains the ether, with destruction for both them and ourselves. Turn on the machinery — let us escape."

   Alorado sprang to the electric governor. Our propelling power was intact for forward and upward motion. We were soon circling up higher and higher. It soon became clear that in spite of the enormous weight of the moon men's vessel, filled as it was with water, it mounted more rapidly than ourselves.

   Alorado looked grave. "There is only one last chance," he said, "a straight flight." He turned all our power on the propelling machinery, and steered directly away from the city.

   The moon men's vessel pursued, still gradually rising. Should we succeed in escaping? Escaping! Where to? Where were we bound? We must have been going full five hundred miles an hour, yet we did not gain on our pursuers. They came steadily on. Suddenly there was a flash of light and we could distinctly feel a slight electric shock

   "We are lost!" said M. Jardine. "They mean to destroy us, and they can easily effect their object with their batteries when they come closer to us." Alorado connected the batteries belonging to the now useless descending fan with the propelling power and doubled our speed.

   "Oh, now we have a chance," I said; "we are leaving them. But what is that in front?" Gigantic and vast beyond conception rose an immense pile; fully a hundred miles away it seemed to bar our path. We steered to the left, hoping to pass round it, but almost immediately we rose gradually on the gentle slope of the enormous mountain; up and up and up — thousands and thousands of feet — still upwards. The balloon was now nearly on its end, and we had to grasp anything in the car to prevent ourselves falling out. Still upwards! Then a frightful crash and all was darkness!

(To be continued).

from The Arrow,
Vol 01, no 19 (1886-aug-14), p06

(Continued).

   When I recovered consciousness I was lying on the bottom of the car, Alorado was feeling my pulse, while Jardine held some cordial to my lips. I recovered slowly. "Where are we?" I asked. "Drink this and I will tell you," said Jardine. I was soon able to sit up.

   "We are yet in the atmosphere of the moon," said Alorado, "but in a dense haze. Yet, I think we shall soon leave it. At present we are going towards the earth side of the moon, but we are at an enormous altitude." "What happened?" "We don't know. Some gigantic explosion took place at the moment we touched the summit of the mountain, and we were drawn upwards and outwards with frightful velocity. By the jerk you were thrown against the side of the car and lay stunned. We can only guess at our direction, but a great eruption, such as the one that took place, throws out lateral currents. Probably we were driven back over the path we had come. Already I begin to feel the influence of an extra quantity of oxygen in the air; that was the case you remember when we entered the lunar atmosphere. Let us resume our air chambers — to be caught in the pure oxygen belt would be death."

   We were soon reinstated in our air chamber. A match, burned a few minutes afterwards, showed like magnesium wire. The balloon was yet working and moving forward by the power of its machinery, but soon we must enter airless space and then we must depend on chance — our machinery would be useless in a vacuum.

   "The haze is thinner, I see a glimpse of something below," said I. In a few minutes we could make out the moon far below us; its appearance was a circle with one side depressed to a flattened curve. We were past the corner of the moon and were on the side next the earth. The sun was nearly over our heads and the earth was visible close to the balloon on the opposite side, showing merely a crescent.

   "We are leaving the moon," said M. Jardine, "for what reason I don't pretend to say; probably some further complication of electrical conditions resulting from the great eruption. The question is, are we going earthwards? If we are, we shall soon lose sight of the planet behind the balloon."

   We were evidently flying away from the moon as fast as we had approached it. Very soon the earth disappeared behind the balloon. The moon was dwindling away and was rapidly assuming the appearance we had all our lives been familiar with. Then there was the sensation repeated of the breaks being put on hard above, and we seemed to rise towards the balloon. Again the sickening swirl and we turned entirely over, and there below us was the North American continent.

   We could see the St. Lawrence below us and Montreal — at least where it ought to be. To the west dimly were the lakes, and to the south the Hudson and Lake Champlain.

   "Great goodness!" exclaimed Alorado, "we have got to earth again," as he threw aside his air chamber. He turned blue as the rarified air affected him. Instinctively he grasped the descending machine handle and turned it. To the wonder of all of us it acted, and we seemed to fall, so rapidly did the fan carry us earthwards.

   "Something must have been jerked back into place by the explosion," said M. Jardine.

   "Let us make for New York," I exclaimed, "we shall be there in an hour." And in an hour we descended gently in the Central Park, to the amazement of the citizens.

   The first question we asked was, "what day is it and the hour?" "Nine o'clock a.m." We had been away a little over twenty-four hours. Cable reports had come from Europe, and our loss was prominent in all the morning papers. The noon numbers could not be struck off fast enough to meet the demand. Of course we cabled Paris, and received a reply congratulating us on our escape and adventures.

   "Look at this," said Alorado to me that evening. He held a copy of the New York Herald of the morning. There was a telegraphic summary of an account of a terrible earthquake in Southern Russia. "That particular point of the earth, so far as I can calculate," he said, "was immediately the nearest to the moon at the moment the great eruption took place which drove us homeward."

 
[THE END]