Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 283, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 November 1910 — A COLUMBUS OF SPACE. [ARTICLE]

A COLUMBUS OF SPACE.

- Continued from Page One, face as hffreached at and touched a polished Anob. Instantly we felt that the car was rising. It rocked a little, like a boat in wavy .water. We were startled, but not frightened. “Well, Edmund, what kind of a balloon is this?” Jack asked in his careless way. “It’s considerable more than a balloon,” was the short reply. We saw him touch another knob, and felt that the car had come to rest, though it still rocked gently. Then Edmund unlocked the shutter at one side, and disclosed a many-paned window of thick glass. We all Sprang to our feet and looked out. Below us were roofs and tops of trees. “We’re about 200 feet up,” said-Ed-mund. “What do you think of it?” “Wonderful! Wonderful!” we all exclaimed. But,” persisted Jack, “what are you going to do with it.” Again Edmund’s eyes flashed, and he said: “You’ll see!” The scene out of the window was beautiful. The city lights were nearly all below our level, and away off ever the New Jersey horizon I noticed the planet Venus, near to setting, and as brilliant as a diamond. I am something as a star-gazer, and I called Edmund’s attention to the planet, as he happened to be standing beside me. “Fine, isn’t she?” he said. “Finest world hr the solar system. And Schiaparelli says she’s got two sides to her, one side always daylight and the other always night.” I was surprised at his exhibition of astronomic lore, for I had never known that he had given any attention to the subject. But a moment later all this was forgotten, fpr Edmund suddenly pushed us back from the window and closed the shutter. “Going down again so soon?” asked Jack, a little banteringly as before. , Edmund smiled. “Going,” he said simply, and put his hand on one of the knobs, pressing it gently. We felt ourselves moving very slowly. “That’s righ,t, Edmund,” Jack put in again. “Let us down easy; I don’t like bumps.” We all expected at every instant to feel the car touch the cradle from which it had started. But we were mistaken. What really did happen can better be described tn the words of Will Church, who, you will remember, had been left outside in the shanty. I got the account from him long afterward. He had written it cut and put it away in a safe as a sort of historic document. Here is Church’s narrative, omitting the introduction, which read like a lawyer’s brief: When we went over from the club to Stonewall’s laboratory, I dropped behind the others because the four of them took up the full width of the sidewalk. Stonewall was talking to them, and my attention was attracted by something uncommon in his manner. I can’t describe it very well, but there was an indefinite carriage of the head which suggested to me the thought that everything was not exactly as it should be. I don’t mean that I thought him crazy, or anything of that kind, but I was convinced that he had some scheme in his mind to fool us. I bitterly repented, when things turned out as they did, that I had not whispered a word in the ears of the others. But that would have been difficult, and, besides, I didn’t think that the matter was anything serious. Nevertheless, I determined to stay out of it, so that the laugh should not be on me, at any rate. Accordingly, when the others entered the car I kept away, and when Stonewall called me I did not answer. As he closed the door of the car for the first time the impression came to me that it might be something serious, but it was then too late to interfere. I was greatly astonished when, without the slightest apparent reason, the car began to rise in the air. I

hadn’t taken it for anything in the nature of a balloon, and this hasn’t the kind of practical joke I was looking for, though if I had not been so stupid I might have guessed it when I saw Stonewall open the roof of the shanty. It was with much trepidation that I saw the thing, which really looked diabolical with its polished sides glinting in the electric light, rise silently through the roof, and float mysteriously upward. I felt when it stopped at a height of a couple of hundred feet, and I said to myself that they would soon drop down again, and perhaps, after all, they would turn the laugh against me for being afraid. • "But in a-little while the car began to move again, slowly rising, and shining like some mail-clad monster in the light of the arc lamps below. An indefinable terror commenced to creep over me, and I shivered as I watched the thing. It moved very deliberately, and in five minutes had not risen more than 500 feet. Suddenly it made a dart, and seemed to shoot skyward. Then it circled, like a strange bird taking its bearings, and rushed off westward, until I lost sight of it behind some tall buildings. I ran out into the street, but could not catch sight of it again.

They were gone! I almost sank upon the pavement in my helpless excitement. A policeman was passing: “Officer! Officer!” 4 said. “Have you seen it?” “Seen what?” asked the bluecoat, twirling his club. “The car—the balloon,” I stammered. I ain’t seen no balloon. I guess yer drunk. Ye’d better git along home.” There was no use trying to explain matters to him, so I entered the shanty again, and sat down on the supports on which the car had rested. I remained a long time staring up through the opening in the roof, and hoping against hope to see them come back. It must have been midnight before I finally went home, sorely puzzled in mind, bitterly blaming myself for having kept my suspicions unuttered. I got to sleep, but I had horrible dreams.

The next day I was up early, looking tlfrough all the papers in the hope of finding something abput the mysterious car. But there was not a word I watched for several days with the same result. I cannot describe my feelings. My friends seemed to have been snatched away by some mystic agency, and the horror of the thing almost drove me crazy. Then members of their families—luckily none of them were married—began to come to me with inquiries. What could I say? Still believing that they would come back, I invented a story that they had gone off on a hunting expedition. But when a week had passed, and then two weeks, without any news, I was in despair. I had to give them up. Remembering how near we were to the coast, I concluded that they had drifted over the ocean and gone down. It was hard for me, after the lie I had told, to let the truth come out at last. The authorities took the matter up and ransacked Stonewall’s laboratory and the shanty, without finding anything to throw light on the mystery. After a while the sensation died out, the-papers ceased to talk about it, and I was left to my lonesomeness and my regrets. A year now passed with no news. I write this on the anniversary of their departure. My friends I know are dead—somewhere. What an experience it has been! When your friends die and. you see them buried it is hard enough, but when they disappear in a flash, and leave no token behind, it is almost beyond endurance. (To be continued.)