Mr. Bedford Alone

In a little while it seemed to me as though I had always been alone on the moon. I hunted for a time with a certain intentness, but the heat was still very great, and the thinness of the air felt like a hoop about one’s chest. I came presently into a hollow basin bristling with tall, brown, dry fronds about its edge, and I sat down under these to rest and cool. I intended to rest for only a little while. I put down my clubs beside me, and sat resting my chin on my hands. I saw with a sort of colourless interest that the rocks of the basin, where here and there the crackling dry lichens had shrunk away to show them, were all veined and splattered with gold, that here and there bosses of rounded and wrinkled gold projected from among the litter. What did that matter now? A sort of languor had possession of my limbs and mind, I did not believe for a moment that we should ever find the sphere in that vast desiccated wilderness. I seemed to lack a motive for effort until the Selenites should come. Then I supposed I should exert myself, obeying that unreasonable imperative that urges a man before all things to preserve and defend his life, albeit he may preserve it only to die more painfully in a little while.

Before long, I felt as though I had always been alone on the moon. I searched with some determination for a while, but the heat was still intense. The thin air felt like a band around my chest. Soon I came to a hollow basin, with tall, dry brown fronds bristling around its edge. I sat down beneath them to rest and cool off. I meant to rest for only a little while. I put my clubs beside me and sat with my chin resting on my hands. Here and there, the dry, crackling lichens had shrunk back from the rocks in the basin. I noticed with a kind of dull interest that all the exposed rocks were veined and splattered with gold. Here and there, rounded, wrinkled lumps of gold stuck out from the debris. What did that matter now? A kind of weariness had taken hold of my body and mind. I did not believe for a moment that we would ever find the sphere in that vast, dried-out wilderness. I seemed to have no reason to make an effort until the Selenites came. Then, I supposed, I would struggle, obeying that unreasonable urge to preserve and defend one's life above all else. A man may save his life only to die more painfully a little while later.

Why had we come to the moon?

Why had we come to the moon?

The thing presented itself to me as a perplexing problem. What is this spirit in man that urges him for ever to depart from happiness and security, to toil, to place himself in danger, to risk even a reasonable certainty of death? It dawned upon me up there in the moon as a thing I ought always to have known, that man is not made simply to go about being safe and comfortable and well fed and amused. Almost any man, if you put the thing to him, not in words, but in the shape of opportunities, will show that he knows as much. Against his interest, against his happiness, he is constantly being driven to do unreasonable things. Some force not himself impels him, and go he must. But why? Why? Sitting there in the midst of that useless moon gold, amidst the things of another world, I took count of all my life. Assuming I was to die a castaway upon the moon, I failed altogether to see what purpose I had served. I got no light on that point, but at any rate it was clearer to me than it had ever been in my life before that I was not serving my own purpose, that all my life I had in truth never served the purposes of my private life. Whose purposes, what purposes, was I serving? ... I ceased to speculate on why we had come to the moon, and took a wider sweep. Why had I come to the earth? Why had I a private life at all? ... I lost myself at last in bottomless speculations....

The question puzzled me. What is this spirit in man that forever urges him to leave happiness and security behind, to work hard, to put himself in danger, and even to face almost certain death? Up there on the moon, I realized something I should always have known. Man is not made simply to be safe, comfortable, well fed, and entertained. Give almost any man the chance to show this, rather than asking him in words, and he will. He is constantly driven to do unreasonable things, against his own interests and happiness. Some force outside himself drives him, and he must go. But why? Why? Sitting there among that useless moon gold and the things of another world, I looked back over my whole life. Assuming I was going to die stranded on the moon, I could not see what purpose I had served. I found no answer to that question. But at least something was clearer to me than ever before. I was not serving my own purpose. In truth, I had never spent my life serving the purposes of my private life. Whose purposes was I serving, and what were they? ... I stopped wondering why we had come to the moon and thought more broadly. Why had I come to the earth? Why did I have a private life at all? ... At last, I lost myself in endless speculation....

My thoughts became vague and cloudy, no longer leading in definite directions. I had not felt heavy or weary—I cannot imagine one doing so upon the moon—but I suppose I was greatly fatigued. At any rate I slept.

My thoughts grew vague and cloudy. They no longer led in any clear direction. I hadn't felt heavy or tired. I can't imagine anyone feeling that way on the moon. But I suppose I was very fatigued. In any case, I fell asleep.

Slumbering there rested me greatly, I think, and the sun was setting and the violence of the heat abating, through all the time I slumbered. When at last I was roused from my slumbers by a remote clamour, I felt active and capable again. I rubbed my eyes and stretched my arms. I rose to my feet—I was a little stiff—and at once prepared to resume my search. I shouldered my golden clubs, one on each shoulder, and went on out of the ravine of the gold-veined rocks.

I think sleeping there rested me greatly. While I slept, the sun was setting and the fierce heat was easing. At last, a distant clamor woke me, and I felt active and capable again. I rubbed my eyes and stretched my arms. I stood up, a little stiff, and immediately prepared to continue my search. I put my golden clubs over my shoulders, one on each, and continued out of the ravine of gold-veined rocks.

The sun was certainly lower, much lower than it had been; the air was very much cooler. I perceived I must have slept some time. It seemed to me that a faint touch of misty blueness hung about the western cliff. I leapt to a little boss of rock and surveyed the crater. I could see no signs of mooncalves or Selenites, nor could I see Cavor, but I could see my handkerchief far off, spread out on its thicket of thorns. I looked about me, and then leapt forward to the next convenient view-point.

The sun was certainly lower, much lower than it had been. The air was much cooler. I realized I must have slept for some time. A faint bluish mist seemed to hang around the western cliff. I jumped onto a small rock and looked over the crater. I could see no signs of mooncalves or Selenites, and I could not see Cavor. But I could see my handkerchief far away, spread out on the thicket of thorns. I looked around, then jumped forward to the next place where I could get a good view.

I beat my way round in a semicircle, and back again in a still remoter crescent. It was very fatiguing and hopeless. The air was really very much cooler, and it seemed to me that the shadow under the westward cliff was growing broad. Ever and again I stopped and reconnoitred, but there was no sign of Cavor, no sign of Selenites; and it seemed to me the mooncalves must have been driven into the interior again—I could see none of them. I became more and more desirous of seeing Cavor. The winged outline of the sun had sunk now, until it was scarcely the distance of its diameter from the rim of the sky. I was oppressed by the idea that the Selenites would presently close their lids and valves, and shut us out under the inexorable onrush of the lunar night. It seemed to me high time that he abandoned his search, and that we took counsel together. I felt how urgent it was that we should decide soon upon our course. We had failed to find the sphere, we no longer had time to seek it, and once these valves were closed with us outside, we were lost men. The great night of space would descend upon us—that blackness of the void which is the only absolute death. All my being shrank from that approach. We must get into the moon again, though we were slain in doing it. I was haunted by a vision of our freezing to death, of our hammering with our last strength on the valve of the great pit.

I searched in a semicircle, then came back in a wider arc. It was exhausting and seemed hopeless. The air was much cooler, and the shadow beneath the western cliff seemed to be growing wider. I stopped again and again to look around, but there was no sign of Cavor or the Selenites. I could see no mooncalves either. They seemed to have been driven back into the interior. I grew more and more eager to see Cavor. The winged outline of the sun had sunk low. It was now scarcely one sun’s diameter above the edge of the sky. I was troubled by the thought that the Selenites would soon close their lids and valves. They would shut us outside as the lunar night bore down on us. It seemed high time for Cavor to give up his search, so we could decide together what to do. I felt how urgently we needed to choose our course. We had failed to find the sphere, and we no longer had time to look for it. Once the valves closed with us outside, we were lost. The great night of space would descend on us, the blackness of the void that is the only absolute death. My whole being shrank from its approach. We had to get back inside the moon, even if we were killed doing it. I was haunted by a vision of us freezing to death. I saw us hammering with our last strength on the valve of the great pit.

I took no thought any more of the sphere. I thought only of finding Cavor again. I was half inclined to go back into the moon without him, rather than seek him until it was too late. I was already half-way back towards our handkerchief, when suddenly—

I no longer thought about the sphere. I thought only about finding Cavor again. I was almost ready to go back into the moon without him rather than search for him until it was too late. I was already halfway back to our handkerchief when suddenly...

I saw the sphere!

I saw the sphere!

I did not find it so much as it found me. It was lying much farther to the westward than I had gone, and the sloping rays of the sinking sun reflected from its glass had suddenly proclaimed its presence in a dazzling beam. For an instant I thought this was some new device of the Selenites against us, and then I understood.

It found me more than I found it. It lay much farther west than I had gone. The slanting rays of the setting sun reflected off its glass, suddenly revealing it in a dazzling beam. For a moment, I thought the beam was some new device the Selenites were using against us. Then I understood.

I threw up my arms, shouted a ghostly shout, and set off in vast leaps towards it. I missed one of my leaps and dropped into a deep ravine and twisted my ankle, and after that I stumbled at almost every leap. I was in a state of hysterical agitation, trembling violently, and quite breathless long before I got to it. Three times at least I had to stop with my hands resting on my side and in spite of the thin dryness of the air, the perspiration was wet upon my face.

I threw up my arms, let out a ghostly shout, and set off toward it in enormous leaps. I missed one leap, fell into a deep ravine, and twisted my ankle. After that, I stumbled on almost every leap. I was hysterical and trembling violently. I was completely out of breath long before I reached it. At least three times, I had to stop and rest my hands on my side. Despite the thin, dry air, my face was wet with sweat.

I thought of nothing but the sphere until I reached it, I forgot even my trouble of Cavor’s whereabouts. My last leap flung me with my hands hard against its glass; then I lay against it panting, and trying vainly to shout, “Cavor! here is the sphere!” When I had recovered a little I peered through the thick glass, and the things inside seemed tumbled. I stooped to peer closer. Then I attempted to get in. I had to hoist it over a little to get my head through the manhole. The screw stopper was inside, and I could see now that nothing had been touched, nothing had suffered. It lay there as we had left it when we had dropped out amidst the snow. For a time I was wholly occupied in making and remaking this inventory. I found I was trembling violently. It was good to see that familiar dark interior again! I cannot tell you how good. Presently I crept inside and sat down among the things. I looked through the glass at the moon world and shivered. I placed my gold clubs upon the table, and sought out and took a little food; not so much because I wanted it, but because it was there. Then it occurred to me that it was time to go out and signal for Cavor. But I did not go out and signal for Cavor forthwith. Something held me to the sphere.

I thought of nothing but the sphere until I reached it. I even forgot my worry about where Cavor was. My last leap sent my hands crashing against its glass. Then I lay against it, panting and trying in vain to shout, “Cavor! Here is the sphere!” When I had recovered a little, I peered through the thick glass. The things inside looked jumbled. I bent down to look closer. Then I tried to get in. I had to tilt the sphere a little to get my head through the manhole. The screw stopper was inside. Now I could see that nothing had been touched or damaged. Everything lay as we had left it when we dropped out into the snow. For a while I was completely occupied, checking everything over and over. I found I was trembling violently. It was good to see that familiar dark interior again! I cannot tell you how good. After a while, I climbed inside and sat down among the things. I looked through the glass at the moon world and shivered. I put my gold clubs on the table and found a little food. I ate it, not so much because I wanted it, but because it was there. Then it occurred to me that it was time to go out and signal for Cavor. But I did not go out and signal for Cavor right away. Something held me to the sphere.

After all, everything was coming right. There would be still time for us to get more of the magic stone that gives one mastery over men. Away there, close handy, was gold for the picking up; and the sphere would travel as well half full of gold as though it were empty. We could go back now, masters of ourselves and our world, and then—

After all, everything was turning out right. There would still be time to get more of the magic stone that gives one power over men. Gold was close by, there for the taking. And the sphere would travel just as well half full of gold as it would empty. We could go back now, masters of ourselves and our world, and then...

I roused myself at last, and with an effort got myself out of the sphere. I shivered as I emerged, for the evening air was growing very cold. I stood in the hollow staring about me. I scrutinised the bushes round me very carefully before I leapt to the rocky shelf hard by, and took once more what had been my first leap in the moon. But now I made it with no effort whatever.

At last, I pulled myself together and struggled out of the sphere. I shivered as I came out because the evening air was growing very cold. I stood in the hollow, staring around me. I looked very carefully at the bushes around me before leaping to the nearby rocky ledge. Then I repeated what had been my first leap on the moon. But now I made the leap with no effort at all.

The growth and decay of the vegetation had gone on apace, and the whole aspect of the rocks had changed, but still it was possible to make out the slope on which the seeds had germinated, and the rocky mass from which we had taken our first view of the crater. But the spiky shrub on the slope stood brown and sere now, and thirty feet high, and cast long shadows that stretched out of sight, and the little seeds that clustered in its upper branches were brown and ripe. Its work was done, and it was brittle and ready to fall and crumple under the freezing air, so soon as the nightfall came. And the huge cacti, that had swollen as we watched them, had long since burst and scattered their spores to the four quarters of the moon. Amazing little corner in the universe—the landing place of men!

The vegetation had grown and died rapidly, and the rocks looked completely different. But we could still make out the slope where the seeds had sprouted. We could also see the rocky mass from which we had first viewed the crater. The spiky shrub on the slope was now brown and withered, and thirty feet high. It cast long shadows that stretched out of sight. The little seeds clustered in its upper branches were brown and ripe. The shrub’s work was done. It was brittle, ready to fall and crumble in the freezing air as soon as night came. And the huge cacti we had watched swell had long since burst, scattering their spores in every direction across the moon. What an amazing little corner of the universe, the landing place of men!

Some day, thought I, I will have an inscription standing there right in the midst of the hollow. It came to me, if only this teeming world within knew of the full import of the moment, how furious its tumult would become!

Someday, I thought, I will put an inscription right there in the middle of the hollow. It struck me that if the teeming world within knew the full meaning of this moment, its uproar would be furious!

But as yet it could scarcely be dreaming of the significance of our coming. For if it did, the crater would surely be an uproar of pursuit, instead of as still as death! I looked about for some place from which I might signal Cavor, and saw that same patch of rock to which he had leapt from my present standpoint, still bare and barren in the sun. For a moment I hesitated at going so far from the sphere. Then with a pang of shame at that hesitation, I leapt....

But it could hardly yet have imagined what our arrival meant. If it had, the crater would surely be in an uproar as they pursued us, instead of being as still as death! I looked around for a place where I could signal Cavor. I saw the same patch of rock he had jumped to from where I now stood. It was still bare and barren in the sunlight. For a moment, I hesitated to go so far from the sphere. Then, ashamed of my hesitation, I jumped....

From this vantage point I surveyed the crater again. Far away at the top of the enormous shadow I cast was the little white handkerchief fluttering on the bushes. It was very little and very far, and Cavor was not in sight. It seemed to me that by this time he ought to be looking for me. That was the agreement. But he was nowhere to be seen.

From there, I looked over the crater again. Far away, at the top of my enormous shadow, the little white handkerchief fluttered on the bushes. It was very small and very far away, and Cavor was nowhere in sight. I thought he should be looking for me by now. That was our agreement. But I could not see him anywhere.

I stood waiting and watching, hands shading my eyes, expecting every moment to distinguish him. Very probably I stood there for quite a long time. I tried to shout, and was reminded of the thinness of the air. I made an undecided step back towards the sphere. But a lurking dread of the Selenites made me hesitate to signal my whereabouts by hoisting one of our sleeping-blankets on to the adjacent scrub. I searched the crater again.

I stood waiting and watching, shading my eyes with my hands, expecting to see him at any moment. I probably stood there for quite a long time. I tried to shout and was reminded how thin the air was. I took a hesitant step back toward the sphere. But I was still afraid of the Selenites, so I hesitated to signal my location by raising one of our sleeping blankets on the nearby scrub. I searched the crater again.

It had an effect of emptiness that chilled me. And it was still. Any sound from the Selenites in the world beneath had died away. It was as still as death. Save for the faint stir of the shrub about me in the little breeze that was rising, there was no sound nor shadow of a sound. And the breeze blew chill.

It felt empty, and that chilled me. Everything was still. The sounds of the Selenites in the world below had died away. It was as still as death. A light breeze was rising, and the shrubs around me stirred faintly. Apart from that, there was not the slightest sound. And the breeze was cold.

Confound Cavor!

Damn Cavor!

I took a deep breath. I put my hands to the sides of my mouth. “Cavor!” I bawled, and the sound was like some manikin shouting far away.

I took a deep breath. I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Cavor!” I shouted, and it sounded like a tiny man shouting far away.

I looked at the handkerchief, I looked behind me at the broadening shadow of the westward cliff, I looked under my hand at the sun. It seemed to me that almost visibly it was creeping down the sky.

I looked at the handkerchief. Then I looked behind me at the widening shadow of the cliff to the west. I shaded my eyes with my hand and looked at the sun. It seemed to be creeping down the sky almost visibly.

I felt I must act instantly if I was to save Cavor. I whipped off my vest and flung it as a mark on the sere bayonets of the shrubs behind me, and then set off in a straight line towards the handkerchief. Perhaps it was a couple of miles away—a matter of a few hundred leaps and strides. I have already told how one seemed to hang through those lunar leaps. In each suspense I sought Cavor, and marvelled why he should be hidden. In each leap I could feel the sun setting behind me. Each time I touched the ground I was tempted to go back.

I felt I had to act at once if I was going to save Cavor. I pulled off my vest and threw it onto the dry, sharp branches of the shrubs behind me as a marker. Then I set off in a straight line toward the handkerchief. Perhaps it was a couple of miles away, a few hundred leaps and strides. I have already described how you seemed to hang in the air during those lunar leaps. Each time I hung in the air, I looked for Cavor and wondered why he was hidden. With each leap, I could feel the sun setting behind me. Each time I touched the ground, I was tempted to go back.

A last leap and I was in the depression below our handkerchief, a stride, and I stood on our former vantage point within arms’ reach of it. I stood up straight and scanned the world about me, between its lengthening bars of shadow. Far away, down a long declivity, was the opening of the tunnel up which we had fled, and my shadow reached towards it, stretched towards it, and touched it, like a finger of the night.

One last leap brought me into the hollow below our handkerchief. Another stride brought me to our old lookout point, within arm’s reach of the handkerchief. I stood up straight and surveyed the world around me, between its lengthening bars of shadow. Far away, down a long slope, was the entrance to the tunnel we had fled through. My shadow reached toward it, stretched toward it, and touched it, like a finger of the night.

Not a sign of Cavor, not a sound in all the stillness, only the stir and waving of the scrub and of the shadows increased. And suddenly and violently I shivered. “Cav—” I began, and realised once more the uselessness of the human voice in that thin air. Silence. The silence of death.

There was no sign of Cavor, not a sound in the stillness. Only the scrub and shadows stirred and waved more and more. Suddenly, I shivered violently. “Cav...” I began, then realized again that the human voice was useless in that thin air. Silence. The silence of death.

Then it was my eye caught something—a little thing lying, perhaps fifty yards away down the slope, amidst a litter of bent and broken branches. What was it? I knew, and yet for some reason I would not know. I went nearer to it. It was the little cricket-cap Cavor had worn. I did not touch it, I stood looking at it.

Then something caught my eye. It was a small thing lying perhaps fifty yards down the slope, among bent and broken branches. What was it? I knew, yet for some reason I would not admit it. I went closer. It was the little cricket cap Cavor had worn. I did not touch it. I stood looking at it.

I saw then that the scattered branches about it had been forcibly smashed and trampled. I hesitated, stepped forward, and picked it up.

Then I saw that the scattered branches around it had been violently smashed and trampled. I hesitated, stepped forward, and picked it up.

I stood with Cavor’s cap in my hand, staring at the trampled reeds and thorns about me. On some of them were little smears of something dark, something that I dared not touch. A dozen yards away, perhaps, the rising breeze dragged something into view, something small and vividly white.

I stood holding Cavor’s cap, staring at the trampled reeds and thorns around me. Some had small smears of something dark on them, something I didn’t dare touch. Perhaps a dozen yards away, the rising breeze dragged something into view. It was small and vividly white.

It was a little piece of paper crumpled tightly, as though it had been clutched tightly. I picked it up, and on it were smears of red. My eye caught faint pencil marks. I smoothed it out, and saw uneven and broken writing ending at last in a crooked streak upon the paper.

It was a small piece of paper, tightly crumpled as if someone had gripped it tightly. I picked it up and saw red smears on it. I noticed faint pencil marks. I smoothed out the paper and saw uneven, broken writing that ended in a crooked streak.

I set myself to decipher this.

I set out to figure this out.

“I have been injured about the knee, I think my kneecap is hurt, and I cannot run or crawl,” it began—pretty distinctly written.

“I have injured my knee. I think my kneecap is hurt, and I cannot run or crawl,” it began. The writing was fairly clear.

Then less legibly: “They have been chasing me for some time, and it is only a question of”—the word “time” seemed to have been written here and erased in favour of something illegible—“before they get me. They are beating all about me.”

Then, in less legible writing: “They have been chasing me for some time, and it is only a matter of”. The word “time” seemed to have been written here, then erased and replaced with something illegible. “before they catch me. They are searching all around me.”

Then the writing became convulsive. “I can hear them,” I guessed the tracing meant, and then it was quite unreadable for a space. Then came a little string of words that were quite distinct: “a different sort of Selenite altogether, who appears to be directing the—” The writing became a mere hasty confusion again.

Then the writing became erratic. I guessed the scrawl meant “I can hear them.” After that, it was unreadable for a while. Then came a short string of clear words: “a different sort of Selenite altogether, who appears to be directing the...” The writing became a hurried jumble again.

“They have larger brain cases—much larger, and slenderer bodies, and very short legs. They make gentle noises, and move with organized deliberation...

“They have much larger skulls, slimmer bodies, and very short legs. They make soft sounds and move with orderly deliberation...

“And though I am wounded and helpless here, their appearance still gives me hope.” That was like Cavor. “They have not shot at me or attempted... injury. I intend—”

“Though I am wounded and helpless here, seeing them still gives me hope.” That was like Cavor. “They have not shot at me or tried to... hurt me. I intend...”

Then came the sudden streak of the pencil across the paper, and on the back and edges—blood!

Then the pencil suddenly streaked across the paper, and on the back and edges, there was blood!

And as I stood there stupid, and perplexed, with this dumbfounding relic in my hand, something very soft and light and chill touched my hand for a moment and ceased to be, and then a thing, a little white speck, drifted athwart a shadow. It was a tiny snowflake, the first snowflake, the herald of the night.

As I stood there, stunned and confused, holding this astonishing relic, something very soft, light, and cold briefly touched my hand. Then it was gone, and a tiny white speck drifted across a shadow. It was a tiny snowflake, the first snowflake, heralding the night.

I looked up with a start, and the sky had darkened almost to blackness, and was thick with a gathering multitude of coldly watchful stars. I looked eastward, and the light of that shrivelled world was touched with sombre bronze; westward, and the sun robbed now by a thickening white mist of half its heat and splendour, was touching the crater rim, was sinking out of sight, and all the shrubs and jagged and tumbled rocks stood out against it in a bristling disorder of black shapes. Into the great lake of darkness westward, a vast wreath of mist was sinking. A cold wind set all the crater shivering. Suddenly, for a moment, I was in a puff of falling snow, and all the world about me grey and dim.

I looked up with a start. The sky had darkened almost to black, and a growing multitude of coldly watchful stars filled it. I looked east, and the light on that shriveled world had taken on a dark bronze color. I looked west, and the sun was touching the crater’s rim, sinking out of sight. A thickening white mist had robbed it of half its heat and splendor. Against the sun, all the shrubs and jagged, jumbled rocks stood out as a bristling jumble of black shapes. A vast wreath of mist was sinking into the great lake of darkness to the west. A cold wind set the whole crater shivering. Suddenly, for a moment, a puff of falling snow surrounded me, and the whole world around me was gray and dim.

And then it was I heard, not loud and penetrating as at first, but faint and dim like a dying voice, that tolling, that same tolling that had welcomed the coming of the day: Boom!... Boom!... Boom!...

Then I heard the tolling again. It was not loud and piercing as before, but faint and dim, like a dying voice. It was the same tolling that had welcomed the coming of the day: Boom!... Boom!... Boom!...

It echoed about the crater, it seemed to throb with the throbbing of the greater stars, the blood-red crescent of the sun’s disc sank as it tolled out: Boom!... Boom!... Boom!...

It echoed around the crater. It seemed to pulse with the great stars. The blood-red crescent of the sun sank as the sound rang out: Boom!... Boom!... Boom!...

What had happened to Cavor? All through that tolling I stood there stupidly, and at last the tolling ceased.

What had happened to Cavor? I stood there stupidly the whole time the tolling continued. At last, it stopped.

And suddenly the open mouth of the tunnel down below there, shut like an eye and vanished out of sight.

And suddenly, the open mouth of the tunnel below closed like an eye and vanished from sight.

Then indeed was I alone.

Then I truly was alone.

Over me, around me, closing in on me, embracing me ever nearer, was the Eternal; that which was before the beginning, and that which triumphs over the end; that enormous void in which all light and life and being is but the thin and vanishing splendour of a falling star, the cold, the stillness, the silence—the infinite and final Night of space.

The Eternal was above me and all around me, closing in, embracing me ever more closely. It was there before the beginning and triumphs over the end. In that enormous void, all light, life, and existence are only the faint, fading brilliance of a falling star. There was the cold, the stillness, the silence, the endless and final Night of space.

The sense of solitude and desolation became the sense of an overwhelming presence that stooped towards me, that almost touched me.

My sense of loneliness and desolation became a sense of an overwhelming presence. It leaned toward me, almost touching me.

“No,” I cried. “No! Not yet! not yet! Wait! Wait! Oh, wait!” My voice went up to a shriek. I flung the crumpled paper from me, scrambled back to the crest to take my bearings, and then, with all the will that was in me, leapt out towards the mark I had left, dim and distant now in the very margin of the shadow.

“No,” I cried. “No! Not yet! Not yet! Wait! Wait! Oh, wait!” My voice rose to a shriek. I threw the crumpled paper away and scrambled back to the crest to get my bearings. Then, with all the will I had, I leaped toward the mark I had left. It was dim and distant now, at the very edge of the shadow.

Leap, leap, leap, and each leap was seven ages.

Leap, leap, leap, and each leap lasted seven ages.

Before me the pale serpent-girdled section of the sun sank and sank, and the advancing shadow swept to seize the sphere before I could reach it. I was two miles away, a hundred leaps or more, and the air about me was thinning out as it thins under an air-pump, and the cold was gripping at my joints. But had I died, I should have died leaping. Once, and then again my foot slipped on the gathering snow as I leapt and shortened my leap; once I fell short into bushes that crashed and smashed into dusty chips and nothingness, and once I stumbled as I dropped and rolled head over heels into a gully, and rose bruised and bleeding and confused as to my direction.

Before me, the pale, serpent-ringed section of the sun sank lower and lower. The advancing shadow swept toward the sphere, threatening to engulf it before I could reach it. I was two miles away, more than a hundred leaps. The air around me was thinning as if under an air pump, and the cold was gripping my joints. But if I had died, I would have died leaping. Twice, my foot slipped on the gathering snow as I jumped, cutting my leap short. Once I landed in bushes that crashed and broke into dusty chips and nothingness. Another time, I stumbled as I landed and rolled head over heels into a gully. I got up bruised and bleeding, unsure which way to go.

But such incidents were as nothing to the intervals, those awful pauses when one drifted through the air towards that pouring tide of night. My breathing made a piping noise, and it was as though knives were whirling in my lungs. My heart seemed to beat against the top of my brain. “Shall I reach it? O Heaven! Shall I reach it?”

But those incidents were nothing compared with the intervals. During those awful pauses, I drifted through the air toward the pouring tide of night. My breathing made a high-pitched noise, and it felt as if knives were whirling in my lungs. My heart seemed to beat against the top of my brain. “Will I reach it? Oh, Heaven! Will I reach it?”

My whole being became anguish.

My whole being was in agony.

“Lie down!” screamed my pain and despair; “lie down!”

“Lie down!” my pain and despair screamed. “Lie down!”

The nearer I struggled, the more awfully remote it seemed. I was numb, I stumbled, I bruised and cut myself and did not bleed.

The closer I struggled, the more terribly distant it seemed. I was numb. I stumbled, bruised and cut myself, but did not bleed.

It was in sight.

It was in sight.

I fell on all fours, and my lungs whooped.

I fell on my hands and knees, gasping for air.

I crawled. The frost gathered on my lips, icicles hung from my moustache, I was white with the freezing atmosphere.

I crawled. Frost gathered on my lips. Icicles hung from my mustache, and the freezing air turned me white.

I was a dozen yards from it. My eyes had become dim. “Lie down!” screamed despair; “lie down!”

I was twelve yards from it. My vision had grown dim. “Lie down!” despair screamed. “Lie down!”

I touched it, and halted. “Too late!” screamed despair; “lie down!”

I touched it and stopped. “Too late!” despair screamed. “Lie down!”

I fought stiffly with it. I was on the manhole lip, a stupefied, half-dead being. The snow was all about me. I pulled myself in. There lurked within a little warmer air.

I struggled stiffly with it. I was on the edge of the manhole, dazed and half dead. Snow surrounded me. I pulled myself inside. The air there was a little warmer.

The snowflakes—the airflakes—danced in about me, as I tried with chilling hands to thrust the valve in and spun it tight and hard. I sobbed. “I will,” I chattered in my teeth. And then, with fingers that quivered and felt brittle, I turned to the shutter studs.

The snowflakes, the airflakes, danced around me as I tried to push the valve in with freezing hands. I screwed it tight and hard. I sobbed. “I will,” I said, my teeth chattering. Then, with trembling fingers that felt brittle, I turned to the shutter studs.

As I fumbled with the switches—for I had never controlled them before—I could see dimly through the steaming glass the blazing red streamers of the sinking sun, dancing and flickering through the snowstorm, and the black forms of the scrub thickening and bending and breaking beneath the accumulating snow. Thicker whirled the snow and thicker, black against the light. What if even now the switches overcame me? Then something clicked under my hands, and in an instant that last vision of the moon world was hidden from my eyes. I was in the silence and darkness of the inter-planetary sphere.

I fumbled with the switches. I had never operated them before. Through the fogged glass, I could dimly see the blazing red rays of the setting sun dancing and flickering through the snowstorm. The dark shapes of the scrub grew thicker, bending and breaking under the accumulating snow. The snow swirled ever more thickly, black against the light. What if the switches defeated me even now? Then something clicked under my hands, and in an instant that last view of the moon world vanished from sight. I was in the silence and darkness of the interplanetary sphere.