At the time we tied our car to the rocks, to prevent us from drifting away from the earth, we did not anticipate that the fastenings would receive any very severe strain, but now the velocity of the wind was such that there was great danger of our breaking away. The moon was not a very hospitable place, to be sure, as we had thus far found it, but still we preferred it to the alternative of flying off into space in our glass car and becoming a new species of meteor.
And yet it seemed to be courting instant death to attempt to leave the car and seek for other shelter. We could not decide which course to take. Both were so full of peril that there seemed to be no possible safety in either.
As I review our situation now, and think of us spinning along on that defunct world we knew not whither, with no ray of light to illumine the darkness of our future or show us the least chance of escape from our desperate plight, it is astonishing to me that we did not give up all hope and lie down and die at once. It only shows what the human body can endure and of what stuff our minds are made. I think it would not be making a rash statement to say that no man ever found himself in a worse situation and survived.
But help was nearer than we supposed. From what we had seen of the moon we could not have imagined a more unexpected thing than that which happened to us then. Suddenly, above the roar of the wind and the thumping of our car on the rocks, even above the tumult of our spirits, there came to us the strains of more than earthly music. Whether it was from voice or instrument we could not tell, and in its sweetness and power it was absolutely indescribable. At first we did not try to discover its source but were content to sit and quietly enjoy it, as it fell gently upon us, pervading our whole being and so filling us with courage and strength that we seemed to be transformed into new men.
Then, wondering if we could discover from whence the notes came, we turned and looked about us, when there was revealed to us a vision of beauty which filled and satisfied the sense of sight as completely as our ears had been enchanted with the angelic music.
Not far from our car, with her flowing garments nearly torn from her in the fierceness of the gale, was a young girl, stretching out her hands imploringly toward us and pouring forth her voice in that exquisite song. We soon discovered it was not for herself that she was anxious, but for us; for when she observed that she had attracted our attention she smiled and turned to go back the way she had come, beckoning us with hand and eye to follow her, and still singing her sweet but unintelligible words. Perhaps I flattered myself, but I thought she was looking at me more than at my companion, and I began with great eagerness to unfasten the door of the car.
“Wait!” cried the doctor. “Where are you going?”
I could not stop an instant, but answered with feeling:
“Going? I am going wherever she is going. I’ll follow her to the end of the moon if necessary, though the surface be everywhere as bleak as our own north pole.”
“Well,” he replied, “if it is such a desperate case as that, I’ll have to go along to take care of you.”
I found that when such a woman beckons and such a voice calls there is but one thing to do. The sirens were not to be mentioned in comparison. Twenty thousand hurricanes could not have prevented me from attempting to follow where she led as long as I had breath.
We reached the ground in safety, and with the greatest difficulty made our way in the footsteps of our guide, leaving all our possessions behind us, to the doctor’s murmured regret. And now the words of the singer seemed to take on a joyous meaning, and we could almost distinguish her invitation to follow her to a place where the wind did not blow and where our present troubles would be over. She kept well in the lead but walked only as fast as our strength would allow, looking back constantly to encourage us with her smile and ravishing one heart at least with the melody of her song.
Presently we came to the edge of an immense crater, hundreds of feet deep and as empty and cold as all the others we had seen on the moon. Instead of going around this, our leader chose a narrow ravine and took us down the steep side to the bottom of the crater. We supposed she did this just to give us protection from the wind, and we were very much sheltered, but she did not stop here. Entering one of the many fissures in the rocks, she led us into a narrow passage whose floor descended so rapidly and whose solid roof shut out the light so quickly that in ordinary circumstances we would have hesitated about proceeding. But, although it was soon absolutely dark, we kept on, guided by that marvelous voice, now our sole inspiration.
“Come, come, fear no harm,” it seemed to say, and we were content to follow blindly, even the doctor no longer objecting.
{Illustration: “POURING FORTH HER VOICE IN THAT EXQUISITE SONG."}
How many hours we proceeded in this way, going down, down, all the time, toward the center of the globe, I have no means of telling; but I distinctly remember that we began, after a time, to find, to our great joy, that the air was becoming denser and we could breathe quite freely. This gave us needed strength and justified the faith with which our mysterious deliverer had filled us.
At length we were gladdened by a glimmer of light ahead of us, which increased until our path was all illumined with a beautiful soft haze. Soon the way broadened and grew still brighter, and then we were led forth into an open street, which seemed to be part of a small village. There were but few houses, and even these, although they showed signs of a former grandeur, were sadly in need of care. Not a creature of any kind was stirring, and in our hasty review the whole place looked as if it might have been deserted by its inhabitants for a hundred years. There was one spot, however, so retired as to be entirely hidden from our view at first, which had anything but a deserted appearance. The house was small, but it was a perfect bower of beauty, half-concealed with a mass of flowers and vines. Here our journey ended, for our guide led us to the door and, entering, turned and invited us to follow her.
The doctor and I were tired enough to accept with eagerness her hospitality, and soon we were all seated in a pleasant room, which was filled with the evidences of a refined taste. Now we had a much better opportunity to observe the resplendent beauty of our new friend, and we found, also, that her manners were as captivating as her other personal qualities. At intervals, all through our long walk, her song had ceased and we expected she would make some attempt to speak to us; but being disappointed in this, it struck me after we had entered the house that I ought to end the embarrassment by addressing her. The circumstances of our meeting were peculiar, to say the least, and, of all the thousand things I might have appropriately said, nothing could have been more meaningless or have better shown the vacant condition of my mind than the words I chose.
“It’s a fine day,” I said, looking square in her eyes and trying to speak pleasantly.
In answer she gave me a smile which almost deprived me of what little wit remained, and at the same time emitted one exquisite note.
I was now at the end of my resources. I had always thought I could talk on ordinary topics as well as the average man, but in the presence of this girl, with everything in the world unsaid, I could not think of one word to say. The doctor soon saw my predicament and hastened to assist me, and the remark which he selected shows again his wonderful self-possession in the midst of overwhelming difficulties. He waved his hand gently toward me to attract her attention and said:
“My friend and I are from the United States and have come to make you a visit. This is your home, I suppose, away down here in the middle of the moon? It is very kind of you to bring us here. I hope you will excuse me for my rudeness, but what time do you have supper?”
This time three little notes of the same quality as before and then a little trill, and the whole accompanied by a smile so sweet that I suddenly began to wish the doctor had been blown off the top of the moon. It was a wicked thought and I put it away from me as quickly as possible, being assisted by the recollection that the doctor had a charming wife already, who was no doubt thinking of him at this very moment.
We were not making much progress in opening conversation, but our charming hostess seemed to understand either the doctor’s words or his looks, for, stepping into another room, she called us presently to sit down to a table well supplied with plain but substantial food. She soon made us feel quite at home, just by her easy and agreeable ways. We did not once hear her voice in ordinary speech, and at length we began to suspect, what we afterward learned to be true, that she talked as the birds talk, only in song. Whether she used her language or ours she would always sing or chant her words, and every expression was perfect in rhythm and melody.
The doctor and I hesitated to say much to each other, out of deference to the feelings of this fair lunarian, but he took occasion to remark to me quietly that as she could not tell us her name just yet he proposed to call her Mona {Footnote: Mona is old Saxon for moon.} for the present. I assented easily, as it made little difference to me what we called her, if she would only remain with us.
It happened that the doctor, who knew everything, was well acquainted with dactylology and the latest sign language, used in the instruction of deaf mutes, and as it seemed likely that our stay in our present abode might be a prolonged one, he told me he would try to teach Mona to converse with us. I could not object, although I secretly wished I could have taken the place of instructor. But it soon occurred to me that I must be a fellow pupil, if we were all to talk in that way; and so, with this bond of sympathy established between us, Mona and I began our lessons.
During the closing years of the century great progress had been made, on the earth, in the method of talking by arbitrary signs and motions. The movements of the body and limbs and the great variety of facial expressions were all so well adapted to the ideas to be represented that it was comparatively easy for an intelligent person to learn to make known many of his thoughts. As our studies progressed day after day it began to dawn on me that Mona, in spite of the disadvantage of not knowing our spoken language, was learning faster than I was. I was somewhat chagrined at this at first, but it finally turned out to my advantage, for the doctor announced one day that Mona had acquired all he knew and could thenceforth teach me if I pleased. Here was a bond of sympathy that I had not looked for, but I was glad enough to avail myself of it, and delighted to find that Mona was also pleased with the plan. With her for a teacher it did not take me long to finish. Her graceful movements made poetry of the language, and the web she was weaving around my heart was strengthened every hour.
As Mona gradually learned to express herself to our comprehension we began to ask her questions about herself and her history. The doctor, being less under the spell of her charms than I was, showed a greater curiosity, and one of the first things he asked was:
“When do you expect the other members of your family home?”
Mona was at first puzzled, but saw his meaning as soon as the motions were repeated, and answered with a few simple signs:
“I have no friends to come home. I am alone.”
The expression we put into our faces told her of our sorrow and sympathy better than any words, and the doctor continued:
“But these other houses! Surely they are not all empty?”
“Yes,” she replied, “their inmates are all gone. I am the only inhabitant left.”
And then she told us from time to time that there were no other villages anywhere in the moon and that she was absolutely the last of her race. Our method of conversation was not free enough to allow her to tell us how she had discovered the truth of this astounding information, and there were a thousand other questions for whose answers we were obliged to wait, but not forever.
The doctor and I talked freely to each other now, and playfully said a great many things to Mona, who, though she did not understand them, laughed with us and gave us much pleasure with her easy, unembarrassed manner and piquant ways. And she not only jabbered away with hands and face in the manner we had taught her, but she did not cease also to make life bright for us by repaying us in our own coin and talking to us in her natural, delicious way. With such music in the house life could not be dull.
My infatuation increased as the days went by, and I began to seek every possible occasion to be alone with Mona. I often encouraged the doctor to go out and learn what he could of our surroundings, excusing myself from bearing him company on the ground that I did not think it safe to leave Mona alone. Or if Mona wanted to go out I would suggest to the doctor that I needed the exercise also, and that he really ought to be writing down our experiences while he had leisure, as there was no telling how soon the moon would land us somewhere.
I did not then know whether the doctor saw through my designs or not. I thought not, for I did not suppose he was ever so deeply in love as I was. But if he did he was good enough to take my little hints and say nothing.
On these occasions, whether Mona and I remained in the house or walked abroad, I wasted no time in asking her more questions about the moon or such trivial matters, but spent all my efforts in trying to establish closer personal relations between us. While she was exceedingly pleasant and agreeable, she did not seem to understand my feeling exactly, although I tried in every way to show her my heart. She was not coquettish, but perfectly unaffected, and simply did not realize my meaning. For once the sign language did not prove adequate; and so, as my feelings would not be controlled, I was fain to resort to my natural tongue, and poured forth my love to my own satisfaction if not to her comprehension. I did not stint the words, astonishing myself at the fullness of my vocabulary, and hoping that the fervor of my manner and the passion exhibited in my voice would make the right impression on my companion.
Day after day, as opportunity offered, I returned to the same theme. Mona was sympathetic in her own charming way, but apparently not affected in the manner I was looking for. And still, “I love you, I love you,” was repeated in her ears a thousand times. The fact that she did not understand the words made me all the more voluble, and I lavished my affectionate terms upon her without restraint.
One day, after this had been going on for some time, the doctor came in from a walk and found us together as usual. He had a rare blossom in his hand, and stepping to Mona’s side he offered it to her with some gallantry. She accepted it with a beaming countenance which set my heart to thumping, and then she burst forth in a strain so sweet that it thrilled my whole being and roused in me again that jealous fear that Mona was learning to care more for the doctor than for me. But how shall I describe my emotions when she suddenly blended syllables of our language with the accents of her song, and, still looking into the doctor’s eyes, closed her entrancing melody with the burning words, “I love you”?
I wonder how other men have borne such a shock as that. It seemed to me that by simply living during the next few minutes I was proving myself stronger than others. And I was able to think, too. It occurred to me that perhaps Mona was merely a parrot, repeating, with no perception of their meaning, words which she had so often heard from me. But this idea passed swiftly away when I remembered the warmth of her expression and the ardor of her manner, both of which, alas, she had also learned from me.
As I recovered somewhat from the effects of the blow I found Mona’s eyes were fixed on me, and she looked so innocent, so entirely unconscious of wrong, that if I had any anger in my heart it melted away and left me more her slave than ever. There was something in her behavior which I could not comprehend, and it was evident that she had not yet acquired any particular fondness for me, but these were not sufficient reasons to make me cease to care for her. My love was too strong to give her up, even after I had just heard her declare, in such a passionate way, her love for another. These thoughts passed through my mind as she beamed upon me in her radiant beauty, smiling as sweetly as ever, as if to encourage me still to live and hope.
But how did the doctor receive this remarkable love-song? Like the philosopher he was. Being astonished beyond measure at what he had heard, he sat and pondered the subject for some minutes. What chiefly interested him was not the personal element in Mona’s words, which was so vital a point to me, but the fact that she could make use of any words of our language. The possibilities which this fact opened up to him were of the greatest moment. If Mona could learn to talk freely she would be able to give us much information that would be of great scientific value. After he had pursued these thoughts a while it suddenly struck him that the expression she had used was a singular one to begin with, and he turned to me and laughingly said:
“You must have taught her those words. I did not.”
“I shall have to acknowledge it,” I replied, “but I assure you I did not influence her to make such use of them.”
“No, I suppose not; but that question is of small account beside the knowledge that Mona has begun to learn our speech. Now let us give all our attention to her instruction.”
We did so from that hour, the doctor from high motives of philosophy and philanthropy, while I was actuated by more selfish reasons. Although I had learned that I had been too hasty in my attempt to gain Mona’s affections I did not despair of success. I should have to take time and approach the citadel of her untutored heart with more caution. In the pleasant task of teaching her the intricacies of the English language I anticipated many delightful opportunities of leading her into the Elysian fields of romance. If she could learn to understand fully my intense feeling for her I had no doubt she would return my passion. With such a hopeful spirit does the love god inspire his happy victims.
In order to assist in the realization of these rosy fore-thoughts, I suggested to the doctor that each of us should take his turn in Mona’s instruction, so as to make it as easy and informal for her as possible. He had no objections to make, and we began a task which proved to be much simpler than we had imagined. Mona had heard us talk so much that she had half-learned a great many words and expressions, and her remarkable quickness of intellect helped her to pick up their meaning rapidly as soon as we gave her systematic aid. Hence it was not long before she began to converse with considerable freedom.
From the first the doctor and I had been curious to know if she would give up the musical tone and simply talk as we did, and we were pleasantly surprised to find that her song was not interrupted by the form of words she used. Whatever the phrase she wanted to employ she turned it into verse on the instant and chanted it forth in perfect melody. So spontaneous was every expression that her very thoughts seemed to be framed in harmony. Her voice was not obtrusive nor monotonous and generally not loud, but was always well adapted to the sense of what she was singing. The tones mostly used in conversation were low and sweet, like rippling water, but these were constantly varied by the introduction of notes of greater power and range.
To have such use made of our rugged speech was a revelation to us, and words, as we employ them, are inadequate to express our enjoyment of Mona’s song, when to its former beauty was added the clear enunciation of language that we could understand.
It was through this rare medium that the doctor and I learned, from day to day, something of the history of Mona’s race. The surface of the moon had once been peopled, as we supposed, but as the day of decay and death approached the outside of the globe became too inhospitable to longer support life. The interior had cooled and contracted, and as the solid crust was rigid enough to keep its place, great, sublunar caverns had been formed. Into these rushed the water and the atmosphere, accompanied by the few remaining inhabitants. The conditions were not favorable, in such places, to the continuation of the race, although their advanced knowledge in every direction prevented them from melting away suddenly.
Settlements had been formed in many different sections of the moon, and interior communication was established between them. As the people gradually passed away, those who remained naturally drew nearer together until at last the remnant of the population of the globe were all gathered in the little village where we were now living. Here the process still went on, and year after year saw a constantly diminishing number. A few years before our arrival Mona’s last companion, a girl of her own age, had died, and ever since then this tuneful creature, possessed of the most sunny disposition we had ever known, had lived alone, with the knowledge that there was not another living being in all the moon.
“So you see,” she sang, “I was as glad to find you as you were to hear me.”
“But,” asked the doctor, “how did you know we were out there, nearly ready to be blown off into space?”
“I didn’t know it till I saw you. I went out to try to discover what was the matter with my old world. For some time I had had the queerest sensations imaginable. I was accustomed to being out of doors a great deal, and I first began to notice that I could walk and run more easily than before. I was becoming rather sprightly for one who was so soon to pass off this deserted stage. Then everything I took up seemed to be growing marvelously light, and I began to have a feeling that I must hold on to all my movable possessions, to keep them from getting away. After this unaccountable state of things had existed for a while, there came, one day, a terrible shock, which threatened to crack the moon’s skull and rattle its fragments down upon my head. This was followed at intervals by similar or lighter shocks, and it was all so exceedingly unusual that I became very curious to know what was happening. Then all was quiet for many days, but when at length the quakings began again my natural instinct of self-preservation told me I ought not to take the risk of another such siege, and so I started to make my way to the surface by a well-known path. The trouble did not continue as I feared, but I kept on, fortunately for you as well as for myself, and found the outside world too uncomfortable a place for any of us to remain in longer than necessary.”
This halting prose represents the meaning of what Mona said, but it gives a feeble idea of the beauty of her poetic expressions, chanted in melodious phrase and in ever-changing, ever-joyous tune.
We replied by explaining to her what had happened to her disjointed world, sheltered home.
All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg