Summary of Mr. Cavor's First Six Messages

The two earlier messages of Mr. Cavor may very well be reserved for that larger volume. They simply tell, with greater brevity and with a difference in several details that is interesting, but not of any vital importance, the bare facts of the making of the sphere and our departure from the world. Throughout, Cavor speaks of me as a man who is dead, but with a curious change of temper as he approaches our landing on the moon. “Poor Bedford,” he says of me, and “this poor young man,” and he blames himself for inducing a young man, “by no means well equipped for such adventures,” to leave a planet “on which he was indisputably fitted to succeed” on so precarious a mission. I think he underrates the part my energy and practical capacity played in bringing about the realisation of his theoretical sphere. “We arrived,” he says, with no more account of our passage through space than if we had made a journey of common occurrence in a railway train.

Mr. Cavor’s two earlier messages may well be saved for that longer volume. They simply give a briefer account of how we made the sphere and left the world. Several details differ in interesting ways, but none are vitally important. Throughout, Cavor speaks of me as a dead man. But his tone changes curiously as he approaches our landing on the moon. He calls me “Poor Bedford” and “this poor young man.” He blames himself for persuading a young man, “by no means well equipped for such adventures,” to leave on so risky a mission. He says I left a planet “on which he was indisputably fitted to succeed.” I think he underrates the part my energy and practical ability played in making his theoretical sphere a reality. “We arrived,” he says. He tells us no more about our passage through space than if we had made an ordinary train journey.

And then he becomes increasingly unfair to me. Unfair, indeed, to an extent I should not have expected in a man trained in the search for truth. Looking back over my previously written account of these things, I must insist that I have been altogether juster to Cavor than he has been to me. I have extenuated little and suppressed nothing. But his account is:—

And then he becomes increasingly unfair to me. He is more unfair than I would have expected from a man trained to seek the truth. Looking back at the account I have written, I must insist that I have been much fairer to Cavor than he has been to me. I have excused little and left nothing out. But his account is:

“It speedily became apparent that the entire strangeness of our circumstances and surroundings—great loss of weight, attenuated but highly oxygenated air, consequent exaggeration of the results of muscular effort, rapid development of weird plants from obscure spores, lurid sky—was exciting my companion unduly. On the moon his character seemed to deteriorate. He became impulsive, rash, and quarrelsome. In a little while his folly in devouring some gigantic vesicles and his consequent intoxication led to our capture by the Selenites—before we had had the slightest opportunity of properly observing their ways....”

“It soon became clear that the sheer strangeness of our situation and surroundings was making my companion overly excited. We weighed much less, and the thin air was rich in oxygen. As a result, our muscles had a much greater effect than usual. Strange plants grew rapidly from hidden spores, and the sky glowed with a lurid light. On the moon, his character seemed to get worse. He became impulsive, reckless, and quarrelsome. Before long, he foolishly ate some gigantic vesicles and became intoxicated. As a result, the Selenites captured us before we had the slightest chance to properly observe their ways....”

(He says, you observe, nothing of his own concession to these same “vesicles.”)

(Notice that he says nothing about his own concession to these same “vesicles.”)

And he goes on from that point to say that “We came to a difficult passage with them, and Bedford mistaking certain gestures of theirs”—pretty gestures they were!—“gave way to a panic violence. He ran amuck, killed three, and perforce I had to flee with him after the outrage. Subsequently we fought with a number who endeavoured to bar our way, and slew seven or eight more. It says much for the tolerance of these beings that on my recapture I was not instantly slain. We made our way to the exterior and separated in the crater of our arrival, to increase our chances of recovering our sphere. But presently I came upon a body of Selenites, led by two who were curiously different, even in form, from any of these we had seen hitherto, with larger heads and smaller bodies, and much more elaborately wrapped about. And after evading them for some time I fell into a crevasse, cut my head rather badly, and displaced my patella, and, finding crawling very painful, decided to surrender—if they would still permit me to do so. This they did, and, perceiving my helpless condition, carried me with them again into the moon. And of Bedford I have heard or seen nothing more, nor, so far as I can gather, has any Selenite. Either the night overtook him in the crater, or else, which is more probable, he found the sphere, and, desiring to steal a march upon me, made off with it—only, I fear, to find it uncontrollable, and to meet a more lingering fate in outer space.”

And he goes on to say: “We came to a difficult passage with them, and Bedford misunderstood some of their gestures.” Pretty gestures they were! “He gave way to panic and violence. He ran wild and killed three. After this outrage, I had no choice but to flee with him. Later, we fought several more who tried to block our way, and killed seven or eight of them. It says much for the tolerance of these beings that they did not kill me immediately when they recaptured me. We reached the surface and separated in the crater where we had arrived. We hoped this would improve our chances of finding our sphere. But soon I came upon a group of Selenites, led by two who were strangely different from any we had seen before. Even their bodies were different. They had larger heads and smaller bodies and were wrapped in much more elaborate coverings. I managed to avoid them for a while, but then I fell into a crevasse. I cut my head rather badly and dislocated my kneecap. Crawling was very painful, so I decided to surrender, if they would still allow me to. They did, and when they saw how helpless I was, they carried me back into the moon. I have heard and seen nothing more of Bedford. As far as I can tell, neither has any Selenite. Either night overtook him in the crater, or he found the sphere and made off with it, hoping to get ahead of me. The second possibility is more likely. But I fear he found he could not control it and met a slower death in outer space.”

And with that Cavor dismisses me and goes on to more interesting topics. I dislike the idea of seeming to use my position as his editor to deflect his story in my own interest, but I am obliged to protest here against the turn he gives these occurrences. He said nothing about that gasping message on the blood-stained paper in which he told, or attempted to tell, a very different story. The dignified self-surrender is an altogether new view of the affair that has come to him, I must insist, since he began to feel secure among the lunar people; and as for the “stealing a march” conception, I am quite willing to let the reader decide between us on what he has before him. I know I am not a model man—I have made no pretence to be. But am I that?

And with that, Cavor dismisses me and moves on to more interesting topics. I dislike seeming to use my position as his editor to turn his story to my own advantage. But I must protest against the way he describes these events. He said nothing about that desperate message on the blood-stained paper. In it, he told, or tried to tell, a very different story. I must insist that his account of a dignified surrender is entirely new. It came to him only after he began to feel safe among the lunar people. As for the idea that I was “stealing a march,” I am quite willing to let the reader decide between us based on what he has read. I know I am not a model man. I have never pretended to be one. But am I that?

However, that is the sum of my wrongs. From this point I can edit Cavor with an untroubled mind, for he mentions me no more.

However, that is the full extent of the wrongs done to me. From this point on, I can edit Cavor with a clear mind, because he mentions me no more.

It would seem the Selenites who had come upon him carried him to some point in the interior down “a great shaft” by means of what he describes as “a sort of balloon.” We gather from the rather confused passage in which he describes this, and from a number of chance allusions and hints in other and subsequent messages, that this “great shaft” is one of an enormous system of artificial shafts that run, each from what is called a lunar “crater,” downwards for very nearly a hundred miles towards the central portion of our satellite. These shafts communicate by transverse tunnels, they throw out abysmal caverns and expand into great globular places; the whole of the moon’s substance for a hundred miles inward, indeed, is a mere sponge of rock. “Partly,” says Cavor, “this sponginess is natural, but very largely it is due to the enormous industry of the Selenites in the past. The enormous circular mounds of the excavated rock and earth it is that form these great circles about the tunnels known to earthly astronomers (misled by a false analogy) as volcanoes.”

It seems that the Selenites who found him carried him down “a great shaft” to somewhere inside the moon. They used what he describes as “a sort of balloon.” His account is rather confused, but other messages, both from the same time and later, contain passing references and hints. From these, we gather that the “great shaft” is one of an enormous system of artificial shafts. Each shaft runs from what is called a lunar “crater” down almost a hundred miles toward the moon’s center. Cross tunnels connect the shafts. Vast caverns branch off from them, and the shafts widen into great spherical spaces. Indeed, for a hundred miles inward, the whole substance of the moon is little more than a sponge of rock. “Partly,” says Cavor, “this sponginess is natural, but much of it is due to the enormous industry of the Selenites in the past. The enormous circular mounds of excavated rock and earth form these great circles around the tunnels. Earthly astronomers call them volcanoes, misled by a false comparison.”

It was down this shaft they took him, in this “sort of balloon” he speaks of, at first into an inky blackness and then into a region of continually increasing phosphorescence. Cavor’s despatches show him to be curiously regardless of detail for a scientific man, but we gather that this light was due to the streams and cascades of water—“no doubt containing some phosphorescent organism”—that flowed ever more abundantly downward towards the Central Sea. And as he descended, he says, “The Selenites also became luminous.” And at last far below him he saw, as it were, a lake of heatless fire, the waters of the Central Sea, glowing and eddying in strange perturbation, “like luminous blue milk that is just on the boil.”

They took him down this shaft in the “sort of balloon” he describes. At first they passed into inky darkness, then into a region where the phosphorescence steadily grew brighter. Cavor’s reports show a curious disregard for detail in a scientist. But we gather that the light came from streams and cascades of water that flowed down toward the Central Sea. The water grew more abundant as it flowed downward and “no doubt contained some phosphorescent organism.” As he descended, he says, “The Selenites also became luminous.” At last, far below him, he saw what looked like a lake of heatless fire. It was the water of the Central Sea, glowing and swirling in strange turbulence, “like luminous blue milk that is just on the boil.”

“This Lunar Sea,” says Cavor, in a later passage, “is not a stagnant ocean; a solar tide sends it in a perpetual flow around the lunar axis, and strange storms and boilings and rushings of its waters occur, and at times cold winds and thunderings that ascend out of it into the busy ways of the great ant-hill above. It is only when the water is in motion that it gives out light; in its rare seasons of calm it is black. Commonly, when one sees it, its waters rise and fall in an oily swell, and flakes and big rafts of shining, bubbly foam drift with the sluggish, faintly glowing current. The Selenites navigate its cavernous straits and lagoons in little shallow boats of a canoe-like shape; and even before my journey to the galleries about the Grand Lunar, who is Master of the Moon, I was permitted to make a brief excursion on its waters.

“This Lunar Sea,” Cavor says in a later passage, “is not a stagnant ocean. A solar tide keeps it flowing around the lunar axis. Strange storms stir its waters, which boil and rush about. At times, cold winds and thunder rise from the sea into the busy passages of the great ant-hill above. The water gives off light only when it is moving. During its rare periods of calm, it is black. Usually, its waters rise and fall in an oily swell. Flakes and large rafts of shining, bubbly foam drift along with the sluggish, faintly glowing current. The Selenites travel through its cavernous straits and lagoons in small, shallow boats shaped like canoes. I was allowed to make a brief excursion on the sea before my journey to the galleries around the Grand Lunar. He is Master of the Moon.

“The caverns and passages are naturally very tortuous. A large proportion of these ways are known only to expert pilots among the fishermen, and not infrequently Selenites are lost for ever in their labyrinths. In their remoter recesses, I am told, strange creatures lurk, some of them terrible and dangerous creatures that all the science of the moon has been unable to exterminate. There is particularly the Rapha, an inextricable mass of clutching tentacles that one hacks to pieces only to multiply; and the Tzee, a darting creature that is never seen, so subtly and suddenly does it slay...”

“The caverns and passages naturally twist and turn. Many of these routes are known only to expert pilots among the fishermen. Selenites are often lost forever in the maze. I am told that strange creatures lurk in its most distant recesses. Some are terrible and dangerous, and all the science of the moon has been unable to wipe them out. There is the Rapha in particular, a tangled mass of grasping tentacles. If you hack it to pieces, you only multiply it. And there is the Tzee, a darting creature that is never seen because it kills so stealthily and suddenly...”

He gives us a gleam of description.

He gives us a glimpse of what it was like.

“I was reminded on this excursion of what I have read of the Mammoth Caves; if only I had had a yellow flambeau instead of the pervading blue light, and a solid-looking boatman with an oar instead of a scuttle-faced Selenite working an engine at the back of the canoe, I could have imagined I had suddenly got back to earth. The rocks about us were very various, sometimes black, sometimes pale blue and veined, and once they flashed and glittered as though we had come into a mine of sapphires. And below one saw the ghostly phosphorescent fishes flash and vanish in the hardly less phosphorescent deep. Then, presently, a long ultra-marine vista down the turgid stream of one of the channels of traffic, and a landing stage, and then, perhaps, a glimpse up the enormous crowded shaft of one of the vertical ways.

“This trip reminded me of what I had read about the Mammoth Caves. I could have imagined I had suddenly returned to earth if two things had been different. I would have needed a yellow torch instead of the blue light that filled the place. And instead of a scuttle-faced Selenite operating an engine at the back of the canoe, I would have needed a solid-looking boatman with an oar. The rocks around us varied greatly. Some were black, while others were pale blue and streaked with veins. Once, they flashed and glittered as though we had entered a sapphire mine. Below us, ghostly glowing fish flashed and vanished in the depths, which glowed almost as brightly. Then, soon, we had a long view down the murky, deep-blue stream of one of the traffic channels. There was a landing stage, and then, perhaps, a glimpse up the enormous crowded shaft of one of the vertical ways.

“In one great place heavy with glistening stalactites a number of boats were fishing. We went alongside one of these and watched the long-armed Selenites winding in a net. They were little, hunchbacked insects, with very strong arms, short, bandy legs, and crinkled face-masks. As they pulled at it that net seemed the heaviest thing I had come upon in the moon; it was loaded with weights—no doubt of gold—and it took a long time to draw, for in those waters the larger and more edible fish lurk deep. The fish in the net came up like a blue moonrise—a blaze of darting, tossing blue.

“In one vast place filled with glistening stalactites, several boats were fishing. We went alongside one and watched the long-armed Selenites haul in a net. They were small, hunchbacked insects with very strong arms, short, bowed legs, and wrinkled face-masks. As they pulled, the net seemed the heaviest thing I had encountered on the moon. It was loaded with weights, no doubt made of gold. It took a long time to pull in because the larger, more edible fish lurk deep in those waters. The fish in the net rose like a blue moonrise, a blaze of darting, tossing blue.

“Among their catch was a many-tentaculate, evil-eyed black thing, ferociously active, whose appearance they greeted with shrieks and twitters, and which with quick, nervous movements they hacked to pieces by means of little hatchets. All its dissevered limbs continued to lash and writhe in a vicious manner. Afterwards, when fever had hold of me, I dreamt again and again of that bitter, furious creature rising so vigorous and active out of the unknown sea. It was the most active and malignant thing of all the living creatures I have yet seen in this world inside the moon....

“Among their catch was a black creature with many tentacles and evil eyes. It was ferociously active. They greeted its appearance with shrieks and twitters, then hacked it to pieces with little hatchets, using quick, nervous movements. All its severed limbs continued to lash and writhe viciously. Later, when I had a fever, I dreamed again and again of that bitter, furious creature rising so vigorously from the unknown sea. It was the most active and malignant of all the living creatures I have yet seen in this world inside the moon....

“The surface of this sea must be very nearly two hundred miles (if not more) below the level of the moon’s exterior; all the cities of the moon lie, I learnt, immediately above this Central Sea, in such cavernous spaces and artificial galleries as I have described, and they communicate with the exterior by enormous vertical shafts which open invariably in what are called by earthly astronomers the ‘craters’ of the moon. The lid covering one such aperture I had already seen during the wanderings that had preceded my capture.

“The surface of this sea must be nearly two hundred miles, if not more, below the moon’s outer surface. I learned that all the moon’s cities lie directly above this Central Sea. They are in cavernous spaces and artificial galleries like those I have described. The cities connect to the exterior through enormous vertical shafts. These shafts always open in what earthly astronomers call the moon’s ‘craters’. During my wanderings before my capture, I had already seen the lid covering one such opening.

“Upon the condition of the less central portion of the moon I have not yet arrived at very precise knowledge. There is an enormous system of caverns in which the mooncalves shelter during the night; and there are abattoirs and the like—in one of these it was that I and Bedford fought with the Selenite butchers—and I have since seen balloons laden with meat descending out of the upper dark. I have as yet scarcely learnt as much of these things as a Zulu in London would learn about the British corn supplies in the same time. It is clear, however, that these vertical shafts and the vegetation of the surface must play an essential role in ventilating and keeping fresh the atmosphere of the moon. At one time, and particularly on my first emergence from my prison, there was certainly a cold wind blowing down the shaft, and later there was a kind of sirocco upward that corresponded with my fever. For at the end of about three weeks I fell ill of an indefinable sort of fever, and in spite of sleep and the quinine tabloids that very fortunately I had brought in my pocket, I remained ill and fretting miserably, almost to the time when I was taken into the presence of the Grand Lunar, who is Master of the Moon.

“I do not yet know much precisely about the moon’s less central regions. An enormous system of caverns shelters the mooncalves at night. There are also slaughterhouses and similar places. In one of these, Bedford and I fought the Selenite butchers. Since then, I have seen balloons loaded with meat descending from the darkness above. So far, I have learned scarcely more about these things than a Zulu in London would learn about British grain supplies in the same time. It is clear, however, that these vertical shafts and the vegetation on the surface must be essential to ventilating the moon’s atmosphere and keeping it fresh. At one time, especially when I first emerged from my prison, a cold wind was certainly blowing down the shaft. Later, a kind of hot wind blew upward, coinciding with my fever. For after about three weeks, I fell ill with a fever I could not identify. Despite sleep and the quinine tablets I had very fortunately brought in my pocket, I remained ill and miserably restless. I stayed that way almost until I was taken before the Grand Lunar, who is Master of the Moon.

“I will not dilate on the wretchedness of my condition,” he remarks, “during those days of ill-health.” And he goes on with great amplitude with details I omit here. “My temperature,” he concludes, “kept abnormally high for a long time, and I lost all desire for food. I had stagnant waking intervals, and sleep tormented by dreams, and at one phase I was, I remember, so weak as to be earth-sick and almost hysterical. I longed almost intolerably for colour to break the everlasting blue...”

“I will not dwell on how miserable I was,” he remarks, “during those days of illness.” He goes on at great length, giving details I leave out here. “My temperature,” he concludes, “stayed unusually high for a long time, and I lost all desire for food. I had sluggish waking periods and sleep troubled by dreams. At one point, I remember, I was so weak that I felt homesick for Earth and almost hysterical. I longed almost unbearably for some color to break the endless blue...”

He reverts again presently to the topic of this sponge-caught lunar atmosphere. I am told by astronomers and physicists that all he tells is in absolute accordance with what was already known of the moon’s condition. Had earthly astronomers had the courage and imagination to push home a bold induction, says Mr. Wendigee, they might have foretold almost everything that Cavor has to say of the general structure of the moon. They know now pretty certainly that moon and earth are not so much satellite and primary as smaller and greater sisters, made out of one mass, and consequently made of the same material. And since the density of the moon is only three-fifths that of the earth, there can be nothing for it but that she is hollowed out by a great system of caverns. There was no necessity, said Sir Jabez Flap, F.R.S., that most entertaining exponent of the facetious side of the stars, that we should ever have gone to the moon to find out such easy inferences, and points the pun with an allusion to Gruyère, but he certainly might have announced his knowledge of the hollowness of the moon before. And if the moon is hollow, then the apparent absence of air and water is, of course, quite easily explained. The sea lies within at the bottom of the caverns, and the air travels through the great sponge of galleries, in accordance with simple physical laws. The caverns of the moon, on the whole, are very windy places. As the sunlight comes round the moon the air in the outer galleries on that side is heated, its pressure increases, some flows out on the exterior and mingles with the evaporating air of the craters (where the plants remove its carbonic acid), while the greater portion flows round through the galleries to replace the shrinking air of the cooling side that the sunlight has left. There is, therefore, a constant eastward breeze in the air of the outer galleries, and an upflow during the lunar day up the shafts, complicated, of course, very greatly by the varying shape of the galleries, and the ingenious contrivances of the Selenite mind....

Soon he returns to the subject of the lunar atmosphere trapped in this sponge. Astronomers and physicists tell me that everything he says fully agrees with what was already known about the moon’s condition. Mr. Wendigee says earthly astronomers might have predicted almost everything Cavor says about the moon’s general structure. They could have done so if they had the courage and imagination to follow a bold inference to its conclusion. They now know with considerable certainty that the moon and earth are not so much satellite and primary as smaller and larger sisters. Both were made from a single mass and therefore from the same material. And since the moon’s density is only three-fifths of the earth’s, the only possible conclusion is that a vast system of caverns has hollowed it out. Sir Jabez Flap, F.R.S., is that most entertaining interpreter of the humorous side of the stars. He said we never needed to go to the moon to draw such easy conclusions. He drives home the joke with a reference to Gruyère, but he certainly might have announced his knowledge of the moon’s hollowness earlier. And if the moon is hollow, the apparent absence of air and water is, of course, easily explained. The sea lies inside, at the bottom of the caverns. The air travels through the great sponge of passages, according to simple physical laws. The moon’s caverns are, on the whole, very windy places. As sunlight moves around the moon, it heats the air in the outer passages on the sunlit side. The air’s pressure increases, and some of it flows out onto the surface. There it mixes with the evaporating air of the craters, where plants remove its carbon dioxide. Most of the air, however, flows through the passages to replace the shrinking air on the cooling side, which the sunlight has left. So there is a constant eastward breeze in the outer passages, and air flows up the shafts during the lunar day. The varying shapes of the passages and the ingenious devices of the Selenite mind, of course, greatly complicate these flows....