Submerged

The chamber which was destined to be the scene of our unforgettable experience was a charmingly feminine sitting-room, some fourteen or sixteen feet square. At the end of it, divided by a curtain of red velvet, was a small apartment which formed the Professor's dressing-room. This in turn opened into a large bedroom. The curtain was still hanging, but the boudoir and dressing-room could be taken as one chamber for the purposes of our experiment. One door and the window frame had been plastered round with varnished paper so as to be practically sealed. Above the other door, which opened on to the landing, there hung a fanlight which could be drawn by a cord when some ventilation became absolutely necessary. A large shrub in a tub stood in each corner.

The room where we were to have our unforgettable experience was a charmingly feminine sitting room, about fourteen to sixteen feet square. At the far end, a red velvet curtain separated it from a small room that served as the Professor's dressing room. The dressing room opened into a large bedroom. The curtain was still hanging, but for our experiment, the sitting room and dressing room could be treated as one room. One door and the window frame had been sealed almost completely with varnished paper. Above the other door, which opened onto the landing, was a fanlight window. It could be opened with a cord if ventilation became absolutely necessary. A large shrub in a tub stood in each corner.

"How to get rid of our excessive carbon dioxide without unduly wasting our oxygen is a delicate and vital question," said Challenger, looking round him after the five iron tubes had been laid side by side against the wall. "With longer time for preparation I could have brought the whole concentrated force of my intelligence to bear more fully upon the problem, but as it is we must do what we can. The shrubs will be of some small service. Two of the oxygen tubes are ready to be turned on at an instant's notice, so that we cannot be taken unawares. At the same time, it would be well not to go far from the room, as the crisis may be a sudden and urgent one."

"How to get rid of our excess carbon dioxide without wasting too much oxygen is a delicate and vital question," said Challenger. He looked around after the five iron tubes had been laid side by side against the wall. "With more time to prepare, I could have brought the full concentrated force of my intelligence to bear on the problem. But as things stand, we must do what we can. The shrubs will be of some small help. Two of the oxygen tubes are ready to be turned on at a moment's notice, so we cannot be caught unprepared. At the same time, it would be wise not to go far from the room. The crisis may come suddenly and demand urgent action."

There was a broad, low window opening out upon a balcony. The view beyond was the same as that which we had already admired from the study. Looking out, I could see no sign of disorder anywhere. There was a road curving down the side of the hill, under my very eyes. A cab from the station, one of those prehistoric survivals which are only to be found in our country villages, was toiling slowly up the hill. Lower down was a nurse girl wheeling a perambulator and leading a second child by the hand. The blue reeks of smoke from the cottages gave the whole widespread landscape an air of settled order and homely comfort. Nowhere in the blue heaven or on the sunlit earth was there any foreshadowing of a catastrophe. The harvesters were back in the fields once more and the golfers, in pairs and fours, were still streaming round the links. There was so strange a turmoil within my own head, and such a jangling of my overstrung nerves, that the indifference of those people was amazing.

A broad, low window opened onto a balcony. The view was the same one we had already admired from the study. Looking out, I saw no sign of disorder anywhere. A road curved down the hillside directly below me. A cab from the station was slowly struggling up the hill. It was one of those ancient relics found only in our country villages. Farther down, a nursemaid was pushing a baby carriage and leading another child by the hand. Blue smoke rose from the cottages, giving the whole broad landscape an air of settled order and homely comfort. Nowhere in the blue sky or on the sunlit earth was there any sign of impending disaster. The harvesters were back in the fields, and golfers were still making their way around the course in pairs and fours. My own mind was in such turmoil and my nerves were so strained that the indifference of those people amazed me.

"Those fellows don't seem to feel any ill effects," said I, pointing down at the links.

"Those men don't seem to be suffering any ill effects," I said, pointing down at the golf course.

"Have you played golf?" asked Lord John.

"Have you played golf?" asked Lord John.

"No, I have not."

"No, I haven't."

"Well, young fellah, when you do you'll learn that once fairly out on a round, it would take the crack of doom to stop a true golfer. Halloa! There's that telephone-bell again."

"Well, young fellow, when you do, you'll learn that once a true golfer is out on a round, only the end of the world could stop him. Hello! There's the telephone bell again."

From time to time during and after lunch the high, insistent ring had summoned the Professor. He gave us the news as it came through to him in a few curt sentences. Such terrific items had never been registered in the world's history before. The great shadow was creeping up from the south like a rising tide of death. Egypt had gone through its delirium and was now comatose. Spain and Portugal, after a wild frenzy in which the Clericals and the Anarchists had fought most desperately, were now fallen silent. No cable messages were received any longer from South America. In North America the southern states, after some terrible racial rioting, had succumbed to the poison. North of Maryland the effect was not yet marked, and in Canada it was hardly perceptible. Belgium, Holland, and Denmark had each in turn been affected. Despairing messages were flashing from every quarter to the great centres of learning, to the chemists and the doctors of world-wide repute, imploring their advice. The astronomers too were deluged with inquiries. Nothing could be done. The thing was universal and beyond our human knowledge or control. It was death—painless but inevitable—death for young and old, for weak and strong, for rich and poor, without hope or possibility of escape. Such was the news which, in scattered, distracted messages, the telephone had brought us. The great cities already knew their fate and so far as we could gather were preparing to meet it with dignity and resignation. Yet here were our golfers and laborers like the lambs who gambol under the shadow of the knife. It seemed amazing. And yet how could they know? It had all come upon us in one giant stride. What was there in the morning paper to alarm them? And now it was but three in the afternoon. Even as we looked some rumour seemed to have spread, for we saw the reapers hurrying from the fields. Some of the golfers were returning to the club-house. They were running as if taking refuge from a shower. Their little caddies trailed behind them. Others were continuing their game. The nurse had turned and was pushing her perambulator hurriedly up the hill again. I noticed that she had her hand to her brow. The cab had stopped and the tired horse, with his head sunk to his knees, was resting. Above there was a perfect summer sky—one huge vault of unbroken blue, save for a few fleecy white clouds over the distant downs. If the human race must die to-day, it was at least upon a glorious death-bed. And yet all that gentle loveliness of nature made this terrific and wholesale destruction the more pitiable and awful. Surely it was too goodly a residence that we should be so swiftly, so ruthlessly, evicted from it!

From time to time during and after lunch, a loud, insistent ring called the Professor to the telephone. He gave us the news as it reached him, in a few brief sentences. Nothing so terrible had ever been recorded in the world’s history. The great shadow was creeping up from the south like a rising tide of death. Egypt had passed through its delirium and was now unconscious. Spain and Portugal had fallen silent after a wild frenzy. During the frenzy, the Clericals and the Anarchists had fought each other desperately. No more cable messages were coming from South America. In North America, the southern states had succumbed to the poison after terrible racial riots. North of Maryland, the effect was not yet pronounced. In Canada it was hardly noticeable. Belgium, Holland, and Denmark had each been affected in turn. Desperate messages were flashing from everywhere to the great centers of learning and to world-renowned chemists and doctors. The messages begged for their advice. Astronomers, too, were flooded with inquiries. Nothing could be done. The poison was everywhere, beyond human knowledge or control. It meant death, painless but inevitable, for young and old, weak and strong, rich and poor. There was no hope or possibility of escape. Such was the news the telephone had brought us in scattered, frantic messages. The great cities already knew their fate and, as far as we could tell, were preparing to meet it with dignity and resignation. Yet our golfers and laborers were like lambs playing under the shadow of the knife. It seemed amazing. And yet how could they know? It had all come upon us in one giant stride. What was there in the morning paper to alarm them? And now it was only three in the afternoon. Even as we watched, some rumor seemed to have spread. We saw the reapers hurrying from the fields. Some golfers were returning to the clubhouse. They were running as if taking shelter from a rain shower. Their little caddies followed behind them. Others continued their game. The nurse had turned and was hurrying back up the hill with her baby carriage. I noticed that she had her hand to her forehead. The cab had stopped, and the tired horse was resting with his head hanging down to his knees. Above us was a perfect summer sky, a vast dome of unbroken blue. Only a few soft white clouds floated over the distant hills. If the human race had to die today, it was at least on a glorious deathbed. And yet nature’s gentle beauty made the terrible destruction of so many lives even more pitiful and awful. Surely our home was too beautiful for us to be driven from it so swiftly and ruthlessly!

But I have said that the telephone-bell had rung once more. Suddenly I heard Challenger's tremendous voice from the hall.

But as I said, the telephone bell had rung again. Suddenly, I heard Challenger's booming voice from the hall.

"Malone!" he cried. "You are wanted."

"Malone!" he shouted. "Someone wants you."

I rushed down to the instrument. It was McArdle speaking from London.

I rushed down to the instrument. McArdle was speaking from London.

"That you, Mr. Malone?" cried his familiar voice. "Mr. Malone, there are terrible goings-on in London. For God's sake, see if Professor Challenger can suggest anything that can be done."

"Is that you, Mr. Malone?" cried the familiar voice. "Mr. Malone, terrible things are happening in London. For God's sake, see if Professor Challenger can suggest anything we can do."

"He can suggest nothing, sir," I answered. "He regards the crisis as universal and inevitable. We have some oxygen here, but it can only defer our fate for a few hours."

“He has no suggestions, sir,” I replied. “He believes the crisis is worldwide and unavoidable. We have some oxygen here, but it can only delay our fate for a few hours.”

"Oxygen!" cried the agonized voice. "There is no time to get any. The office has been a perfect pandemonium ever since you left in the morning. Now half of the staff are insensible. I am weighed down with heaviness myself. From my window I can see the people lying thick in Fleet Street. The traffic is all held up. Judging by the last telegrams, the whole world——"

"Oxygen!" cried the distressed voice. "There is no time to get any. The office has been in complete chaos since you left this morning. Now half the staff are unconscious. I feel terribly heavy myself. From my window, I can see people lying everywhere in Fleet Street. All traffic has stopped. Judging by the latest telegrams, the whole world..."

His voice had been sinking, and suddenly stopped. An instant later I heard through the telephone a muffled thud, as if his head had fallen forward on the desk.

His voice had been growing fainter, and suddenly it stopped. A moment later, I heard a muffled thud through the phone. It sounded as if his head had fallen forward onto the desk.

"Mr. McArdle!" I cried. "Mr. McArdle!"

"Mr. McArdle!" I cried. "Mr. McArdle!"

There was no answer. I knew as I replaced the receiver that I should never hear his voice again.

There was no answer. As I hung up, I knew I would never hear his voice again.

At that instant, just as I took a step backwards from the telephone, the thing was on us. It was as if we were bathers, up to our shoulders in water, who suddenly are submerged by a rolling wave. An invisible hand seemed to have quietly closed round my throat and to be gently pressing the life from me. I was conscious of immense oppression upon my chest, great tightness within my head, a loud singing in my ears, and bright flashes before my eyes. I staggered to the balustrades of the stair. At the same moment, rushing and snorting like a wounded buffalo, Challenger dashed past me, a terrible vision, with red-purple face, engorged eyes, and bristling hair. His little wife, insensible to all appearance, was slung over his great shoulder, and he blundered and thundered up the stair, scrambling and tripping, but carrying himself and her through sheer will-force through that mephitic atmosphere to the haven of temporary safety. At the sight of his effort I too rushed up the steps, clambering, falling, clutching at the rail, until I tumbled half senseless upon by face on the upper landing. Lord John's fingers of steel were in the collar of my coat, and a moment later I was stretched upon my back, unable to speak or move, on the boudoir carpet. The woman lay beside me, and Summerlee was bunched in a chair by the window, his head nearly touching his knees. As in a dream I saw Challenger, like a monstrous beetle, crawling slowly across the floor, and a moment later I heard the gentle hissing of the escaping oxygen. Challenger breathed two or three times with enormous gulps, his lungs roaring as he drew in the vital gas.

At that instant, just as I stepped back from the telephone, the thing struck us. It was as if we were bathers standing shoulder-deep in water, suddenly submerged by a rolling wave. An invisible hand seemed to close quietly around my throat, gently squeezing the life out of me. I felt immense pressure on my chest and a terrible tightness in my head. My ears rang loudly, and bright flashes appeared before my eyes. I staggered toward the stair railing. At the same moment, Challenger rushed past me, snorting like a wounded buffalo. He was a terrifying sight, with a red-purple face, bulging eyes, and bristling hair. His little wife, apparently unconscious, was slung over his massive shoulder. He stumbled and thundered up the stairs, scrambling and tripping. But through sheer willpower, he carried them both through the poisonous air to temporary safety. Seeing his effort, I too rushed up the stairs. I climbed, fell, and grabbed at the rail until I collapsed face down on the upper landing, half unconscious. Lord John's fingers gripped my coat collar like steel. A moment later, I lay on my back on the boudoir carpet, unable to speak or move. The woman lay beside me. Summerlee was hunched in a chair by the window, his head almost touching his knees. As if in a dream, I saw Challenger crawling slowly across the floor like a monstrous beetle. A moment later, I heard the gentle hiss of escaping oxygen. Challenger took two or three enormous breaths, his lungs roaring as he drew in the vital gas.

"It works!" he cried exultantly. "My reasoning has been justified!" He was up on his feet again, alert and strong. With a tube in his hand he rushed over to his wife and held it to her face. In a few seconds she moaned, stirred, and sat up. He turned to me, and I felt the tide of life stealing warmly through my arteries. My reason told me that it was but a little respite, and yet, carelessly as we talk of its value, every hour of existence now seemed an inestimable thing. Never have I known such a thrill of sensuous joy as came with that freshet of life. The weight fell away from my lungs, the band loosened from my brow, a sweet feeling of peace and gentle, languid comfort stole over me. I lay watching Summerlee revive under the same remedy, and finally Lord John took his turn. He sprang to his feet and gave me a hand to rise, while Challenger picked up his wife and laid her on the settee.

"It works!" he cried triumphantly. "My reasoning was right!" He was on his feet again, alert and strong. Holding a tube, he rushed over to his wife and held it to her face. Within seconds, she moaned, stirred, and sat up. He turned to me, and I felt life flowing warmly through my arteries. I knew it was only a brief reprieve. Yet, though we speak carelessly of the value of life, every hour now seemed priceless. I had never felt such a thrill of physical joy as I did when life came rushing back. The weight lifted from my lungs, and the band around my forehead loosened. A sweet sense of peace and gentle, relaxed comfort came over me. I lay watching Summerlee revive with the same treatment, and finally Lord John took his turn. He sprang to his feet and gave me a hand up. Meanwhile, Challenger picked up his wife and laid her on the sofa.

"Oh, George, I am so sorry you brought me back," she said, holding him by the hand. "The door of death is indeed, as you said, hung with beautiful, shimmering curtains; for, once the choking feeling had passed, it was all unspeakably soothing and beautiful. Why have you dragged me back?"

"Oh, George, I'm so sorry you brought me back," she said, holding his hand. "The door of death really is hung with beautiful, shimmering curtains, just as you said. Once the choking feeling passed, everything was so soothing and beautiful that I can't put it into words. Why did you drag me back?"

"Because I wish that we make the passage together. We have been together so many years. It would be sad to fall apart at the supreme moment."

"Because I want us to make the journey together. We have been together for so many years. It would be sad to be separated at the final moment."

For a moment in his tender voice I caught a glimpse of a new Challenger, something very far from the bullying, ranting, arrogant man who had alternately amazed and offended his generation. Here in the shadow of death was the innermost Challenger, the man who had won and held a woman's love. Suddenly his mood changed and he was our strong captain once again.

For a moment, his tender voice revealed a new side of Challenger. This was far from the bullying, ranting, arrogant man who had alternately amazed and offended his generation. Here, in the shadow of death, was the real Challenger, the man who had won and kept a woman’s love. Suddenly, his mood changed, and he was our strong captain once again.

"Alone of all mankind I saw and foretold this catastrophe," said he with a ring of exultation and scientific triumph in his voice. "As to you, my good Summerlee, I trust your last doubts have been resolved as to the meaning of the blurring of the lines in the spectrum and that you will no longer contend that my letter in the Times was based upon a delusion."

"Of all humanity, I alone saw and predicted this catastrophe," he said, his voice ringing with joy and scientific triumph. "As for you, my good Summerlee, I trust your last doubts about the blurred lines in the spectrum have been resolved. I trust you will no longer argue that my letter in the Times was based on a delusion."

For once our pugnacious colleague was deaf to a challenge. He could but sit gasping and stretching his long, thin limbs, as if to assure himself that he was still really upon this planet. Challenger walked across to the oxygen tube, and the sound of the loud hissing fell away till it was the most gentle sibilation.

For once, our combative colleague ignored a challenge. He could only sit gasping and stretching his long, thin limbs. He seemed to be reassuring himself that he was still on this planet. Challenger walked over to the oxygen tube. The loud hissing faded to a gentle whisper.

"We must husband our supply of the gas," said he. "The atmosphere of the room is now strongly hyperoxygenated, and I take it that none of us feel any distressing symptoms. We can only determine by actual experiments what amount added to the air will serve to neutralize the poison. Let us see how that will do."

"We must conserve our supply of gas," he said. "The air in the room now contains a great deal of extra oxygen. I take it that none of us are experiencing any troubling symptoms. Only experiments can tell us how much gas we need to add to the air to neutralize the poison. Let us see how this amount works."

We sat in silent nervous tension for five minutes or more, observing our own sensations. I had just begun to fancy that I felt the constriction round my temples again when Mrs. Challenger called out from the sofa that she was fainting. Her husband turned on more gas.

We sat in nervous silence for five minutes or more, paying attention to how we felt. I had just begun to think I felt the tightness around my temples again when Mrs. Challenger called from the sofa that she was fainting. Her husband turned on more gas.

"In pre-scientific days," said he, "they used to keep a white mouse in every submarine, as its more delicate organization gave signs of a vicious atmosphere before it was perceived by the sailors. You, my dear, will be our white mouse. I have now increased the supply and you are better."

"Before the days of modern science," he said, "they used to keep a white mouse in every submarine. Because the mouse was more sensitive, it showed signs of foul air before the sailors noticed it. You, my dear, will be our white mouse. I have now increased the supply, and you are better."

"Yes, I am better."

"Yes, I'm better."

"Possibly we have hit upon the correct mixture. When we have ascertained exactly how little will serve we shall be able to compute how long we shall be able to exist. Unfortunately, in resuscitating ourselves we have already consumed a considerable proportion of this first tube."

"Perhaps we have found the right mixture. Once we know exactly how little we need, we can calculate how long we can survive. Unfortunately, we have already used a considerable amount from this first tube to revive ourselves."

"Does it matter?" asked Lord John, who was standing with his hands in his pockets close to the window. "If we have to go, what is the use of holdin' on? You don't suppose there's any chance for us?"

"Does it matter?" asked Lord John. He stood close to the window with his hands in his pockets. "If we have to go, what's the use of holding on? You don't suppose there's any chance for us?"

Challenger smiled and shook his head.

Challenger smiled and shook his head.

"Well, then, don't you think there is more dignity in takin' the jump and not waitin' to be pushed in? If it must be so, I'm for sayin' our prayers, turnin' off the gas, and openin' the window."

"Well, then, don't you think it's more dignified to take the jump than wait to be pushed in? If it must be so, I'm for saying our prayers, turning off the gas, and opening the window."

"Why not?" said the lady bravely. "Surely, George, Lord John is right and it is better so."

"Why not?" the lady said bravely. "Surely, George, Lord John is right, and it's better this way."

"I most strongly object," cried Summerlee in a querulous voice. "When we must die let us by all means die, but to deliberately anticipate death seems to me to be a foolish and unjustifiable action."

"I strongly object," cried Summerlee in a complaining voice. "When we must die, let us die. But deliberately hastening our deaths seems foolish and unjustifiable to me."

"What does our young friend say to it?" asked Challenger.

"What does our young friend think of it?" asked Challenger.

"I think we should see it to the end."

"I think we should see it through to the end."

"And I am strongly of the same opinion," said he.

"And I strongly agree," he said.

"Then, George, if you say so, I think so too," cried the lady.

"Then, George, if you think so, I do too!" the woman cried.

"Well, well, I'm only puttin' it as an argument," said Lord John. "If you all want to see it through I am with you. It's dooced interestin', and no mistake about that. I've had my share of adventures in my life, and as many thrills as most folk, but I'm endin' on my top note."

"Well, well, I'm only putting it forward as an argument," said Lord John. "If you all want to see it through, I'm with you. It's terribly interesting, there's no doubt about that. I've had my share of adventures in my life, and as many thrills as most people. But I'm ending on a high note."

"Granting the continuity of life," said Challenger.

"Assuming life continues," said Challenger.

"A large assumption!" cried Summerlee. Challenger stared at him in silent reproof.

"That's a big assumption!" cried Summerlee. Challenger stared at him in silent disapproval.

"Granting the continuity of life," said he, in his most didactic manner, "none of us can predicate what opportunities of observation one may have from what we may call the spirit plane to the plane of matter. It surely must be evident to the most obtuse person" (here he glared a Summerlee) "that it is while we are ourselves material that we are most fitted to watch and form a judgment upon material phenomena. Therefore it is only by keeping alive for these few extra hours that we can hope to carry on with us to some future existence a clear conception of the most stupendous event that the world, or the universe so far as we know it, has ever encountered. To me it would seem a deplorable thing that we should in any way curtail by so much as a minute so wonderful an experience."

"Assuming life continues after death," he said in his most lecturing manner, "none of us can say what opportunities we may have to observe the material world from what we might call the spirit plane. Surely even the dullest person must see that" (here he glared at Summerlee) "while we are material ourselves, we are best able to observe and judge material events. Therefore, only by staying alive for these few extra hours can we hope to carry a clear understanding into some future existence. We can understand the most stupendous event the world, or the universe as far as we know it, has ever encountered. To me, it would seem a terrible thing to cut such a wonderful experience short by even one minute."

"I am strongly of the same opinion," cried Summerlee.

"I strongly agree," cried Summerlee.

"Carried without a division," said Lord John. "By George, that poor devil of a chauffeur of yours down in the yard has made his last journey. No use makin' a sally and bringin' him in?"

"Passed unanimously," said Lord John. "By George, that poor devil of a chauffeur of yours in the yard has made his last journey. No use going out and bringing him in?"

"It would be absolute madness," cried Summerlee.

"That would be completely crazy," cried Summerlee.

"Well, I suppose it would," said Lord John. "It couldn't help him and would scatter our gas all over the house, even if we ever got back alive. My word, look at the little birds under the trees!"

"Well, I suppose it would," said Lord John. "It couldn't help him and would scatter our gas all over the house. And that's even if we got back alive. Good heavens, look at the little birds under the trees!"

We drew four chairs up to the long, low window, the lady still resting with closed eyes upon the settee. I remember that the monstrous and grotesque idea crossed my mind—the illusion may have been heightened by the heavy stuffiness of the air which we were breathing—that we were in four front seats of the stalls at the last act of the drama of the world.

We pulled four chairs up to the long, low window. The lady was still resting on the sofa with her eyes closed. I remember a monstrous, grotesque idea crossing my mind. The heavy, stuffy air we were breathing may have made the illusion stronger. It seemed we were in four front-row theater seats, watching the final act of the world’s drama.

In the immediate foreground, beneath our very eyes, was the small yard with the half-cleaned motor-car standing in it. Austin, the chauffeur, had received his final notice at last, for he was sprawling beside the wheel, with a great black bruise upon his forehead where it had struck the step or mud-guard in falling. He still held in his hand the nozzle of the hose with which he had been washing down his machine. A couple of small plane trees stood in the corner of the yard, and underneath them lay several pathetic little balls of fluffy feathers, with tiny feet uplifted. The sweep of death's scythe had included everything, great and small, within its swath.

Immediately below us was the small yard, with the half-cleaned car standing in it. Austin, the chauffeur, had received his final notice at last. He lay sprawled beside the wheel, with a great black bruise on his forehead. He had struck his forehead on the step or the fender as he fell. He still held the nozzle of the hose he had been using to wash the car. Two small plane trees stood in the corner of the yard. Beneath them lay several pathetic little balls of fluffy feathers, their tiny feet pointing upward. Death's scythe had swept up everything in its path, great and small.

Over the wall of the yard we looked down upon the winding road, which led to the station. A group of the reapers whom we had seen running from the fields were lying all pell-mell, their bodies crossing each other, at the bottom of it. Farther up, the nurse-girl lay with her head and shoulders propped against the slope of the grassy bank. She had taken the baby from the perambulator, and it was a motionless bundle of wraps in her arms. Close behind her a tiny patch upon the roadside showed where the little boy was stretched. Still nearer to us was the dead cab-horse, kneeling between the shafts. The old driver was hanging over the splash-board like some grotesque scarecrow, his arms dangling absurdly in front of him. Through the window we could dimly discern that a young man was seated inside. The door was swinging open and his hand was grasping the handle, as if he had attempted to leap forth at the last instant. In the middle distance lay the golf links, dotted as they had been in the morning with the dark figures of the golfers, lying motionless upon the grass of the course or among the heather which skirted it. On one particular green there were eight bodies stretched where a foursome with its caddies had held to their game to the last. No bird flew in the blue vault of heaven, no man or beast moved upon the vast countryside which lay before us. The evening sun shone its peaceful radiance across it, but there brooded over it all the stillness and the silence of universal death—a death in which we were so soon to join. At the present instant that one frail sheet of glass, by holding in the extra oxygen which counteracted the poisoned ether, shut us off from the fate of all our kind. For a few short hours the knowledge and foresight of one man could preserve our little oasis of life in the vast desert of death and save us from participation in the common catastrophe. Then the gas would run low, we too should lie gasping upon that cherry-coloured boudoir carpet, and the fate of the human race and of all earthly life would be complete. For a long time, in a mood which was too solemn for speech, we looked out at the tragic world.

Over the yard wall, we looked down at the winding road to the station. At the bottom lay a group of reapers we had seen running from the fields. They were in a heap, their bodies crossing one another. Farther up, the nursemaid lay with her head and shoulders resting against the grassy bank. She had taken the baby from the pram. It lay motionless in her arms, bundled in blankets. Close behind her, a tiny patch by the roadside showed where the little boy lay. Still closer to us, the dead cab horse knelt between the shafts. The old driver hung over the splashboard like a grotesque scarecrow, his arms dangling absurdly in front of him. Through the window, we could just make out a young man sitting inside. The door was swinging open, and his hand gripped the handle, as if he had tried to jump out at the last instant. Beyond them lay the golf course. As in the morning, the dark figures of golfers dotted the grounds. They lay motionless on the grass or among the heather at the edge of the course. On one green, eight bodies lay stretched out. A foursome and their caddies had kept up their game to the last. No bird flew in the blue sky. No person or animal moved across the vast countryside before us. The evening sun shone peacefully over it all. But the stillness and silence of universal death hung over the scene. We would soon join the dead. For now, a single fragile sheet of glass kept us from sharing the fate of all our kind. It held in the extra oxygen that counteracted the poisoned ether. One man's knowledge and foresight could preserve our little oasis of life in the vast desert of death. They could save us from joining the common catastrophe for a few short hours. Then the gas would run low, and we too would lie gasping on the cherry-colored boudoir carpet. The fate of the human race and all earthly life would be complete. For a long time, too solemn to speak, we looked out at the tragic world.

"There is a house on fire," said Challenger at last, pointing to a column of smoke which rose above the trees. "There will, I expect, be many such—possibly whole cities in flames—when we consider how many folk may have dropped with lights in their hands. The fact of combustion is in itself enough to show that the proportion of oxygen in the atmosphere is normal and that it is the ether which is at fault. Ah, there you see another blaze on the top of Crowborough Hill. It is the golf clubhouse, or I am mistaken. There is the church clock chiming the hour. It would interest our philosophers to know that man-made mechanisms have survived the race who made it."

"There is a house on fire," Challenger said at last, pointing to a column of smoke rising above the trees. "I expect there will be many more, and possibly whole cities in flames. After all, many people may have collapsed while holding lights. The fact that fires are burning shows that the oxygen level in the atmosphere is normal. It must be the ether that is at fault. Ah, there is another fire on top of Crowborough Hill. Unless I am mistaken, that is the golf clubhouse. There is the church clock chiming the hour. Our philosophers would be interested to know that human-made mechanisms have survived the race that made them."

"By George!" cried Lord John, rising excitedly from his chair. "What's that puff of smoke? It's a train."

"Good heavens!" cried Lord John, jumping excitedly from his chair. "What's that puff of smoke? It's a train."

We heard the roar of it, and presently it came flying into sight, going at what seemed to me to be a prodigious speed. Whence it had come, or how far, we had no means of knowing. Only by some miracle of luck could it have gone any distance. But now we were to see the terrific end of its career. A train of coal trucks stood motionless upon the line. We held our breath as the express roared along the same track. The crash was horrible. Engine and carriages piled themselves into a hill of splintered wood and twisted iron. Red spurts of flame flickered up from the wreckage until it was all ablaze. For half an hour we sat with hardly a word, stunned by the stupendous sight.

We heard its roar, and soon it came flying into view. It seemed to me to be moving at tremendous speed. We had no way of knowing where it had come from or how far it had traveled. Only a miracle of luck could have allowed it to travel any distance. But now we were about to see its terrible end. A train of coal trucks stood motionless on the track. We held our breath as the express roared along the same track. The crash was horrible. The engine and carriages piled up into a hill of splintered wood and twisted iron. Red flames flickered up from the wreckage until it was all ablaze. For half an hour we sat and hardly spoke, stunned by the overwhelming sight.

"Poor, poor people!" cried Mrs. Challenger at last, clinging with a whimper to her husband's arm.

"Poor, poor people!" Mrs. Challenger cried at last, whimpering as she clung to her husband's arm.

"My dear, the passengers on that train were no more animate than the coals into which they crashed or the carbon which they have now become," said Challenger, stroking her hand soothingly. "It was a train of the living when it left Victoria, but it was driven and freighted by the dead long before it reached its fate."

"My dear, the passengers on that train were no more alive than the coal they crashed into. They were no more alive than the carbon they have now become," said Challenger, stroking her hand to soothe her. "It was a train of living people when it left Victoria. But long before the crash, the driver and passengers were dead."

"All over the world the same thing must be going on," said I as a vision of strange happenings rose before me. "Think of the ships at sea—how they will steam on and on, until the furnaces die down or until they run full tilt upon some beach. The sailing ships too—how they will back and fill with their cargoes of dead sailors, while their timbers rot and their joints leak, till one by one they sink below the surface. Perhaps a century hence the Atlantic may still be dotted with the old drifting derelicts."

"The same thing must be happening all over the world," I said, as I pictured the strange events. "Think of the ships at sea. They will steam on and on until their furnaces die down or they run full speed onto a beach. The sailing ships too will drift back and forth with their cargoes of dead sailors. Their timbers will rot and their joints will leak, until they sink one by one. Perhaps a century from now, the Atlantic may still be dotted with the old drifting wrecks."

"And the folk in the coal-mines," said Summerlee with a dismal chuckle. "If ever geologists should by any chance live upon earth again they will have some strange theories of the existence of man in carboniferous strata."

"And the people in the coal mines," said Summerlee with a gloomy chuckle. "If geologists should ever happen to live on earth again, they will have some strange theories about humans in Carboniferous rock layers."

"I don't profess to know about such things," remarked Lord John, "but it seems to me the earth will be 'To let, empty,' after this. When once our human crowd is wiped off it, how will it ever get on again?"

"I don't claim to know about such things," said Lord John, "but it seems to me the earth will be 'For rent, empty,' after this. Once the human race is wiped out, how will it ever start again?"

"The world was empty before," Challenger answered gravely. "Under laws which in their inception are beyond and above us, it became peopled. Why may the same process not happen again?"

"The world was empty before," Challenger replied gravely. "Then people came to live in it, under laws whose origins are beyond our understanding and control. Why couldn't the same process happen again?"

"My dear Challenger, you can't mean that?"

"Challenger, you can't mean that?"

"I am not in the habit, Professor Summerlee, of saying things which I do not mean. The observation is trivial." Out went the beard and down came the eyelids.

"I don't make a habit of saying things I don't mean, Professor Summerlee. Your observation is trivial." His beard jutted out and his eyelids lowered.

"Well, you lived an obstinate dogmatist, and you mean to die one," said Summerlee sourly.

"Well, you've lived as a stubborn know-it-all, and you mean to die one," said Summerlee bitterly.

"And you, sir, have lived an unimaginative obstructionist and never can hope now to emerge from it."

"And you, sir, have lived as an unimaginative obstructionist, and you can never hope to be anything else now."

"Your worst critics will never accuse you of lacking imagination," Summerlee retorted.

"Even your worst critics would never say you lack imagination," Summerlee shot back.

"Upon my word!" said Lord John. "It would be like you if you used up our last gasp of oxygen in abusing each other. What can it matter whether folk come back or not? It surely won't be in our time."

"Honestly!" said Lord John. "It would be just like you to use our last breath of oxygen arguing with each other. What does it matter whether people come back or not? It surely won't happen in our lifetime."

"In that remark, sir, you betray your own very pronounced limitations," said Challenger severely. "The true scientific mind is not to be tied down by its own conditions of time and space. It builds itself an observatory erected upon the border line of present, which separates the infinite past from the infinite future. From this sure post it makes its sallies even to the beginning and to the end of all things. As to death, the scientific mind dies at its post working in normal and methodic fashion to the end. It disregards so petty a thing as its own physical dissolution as completely as it does all other limitations upon the plane of matter. Am I right, Professor Summerlee?"

"That remark, sir, reveals your own very clear limitations," said Challenger sternly. "The true scientific mind is not confined by its own place in time and space. It builds an observatory on the boundary of the present, which separates the infinite past from the infinite future. From this secure position, it ventures to the beginning and the end of all things. As for death, the scientific mind dies at its post, working normally and methodically to the end. It pays no more attention to so petty a thing as its own physical dissolution than it does to any other limitation of the material world. Am I right, Professor Summerlee?"

Summerlee grumbled an ungracious assent.

Summerlee grumbled his reluctant agreement.

"With certain reservations, I agree," said he.

"I agree, with some reservations," he said.

"The ideal scientific mind," continued Challenger—"I put it in the third person rather than appear to be too self-complacent—the ideal scientific mind should be capable of thinking out a point of abstract knowledge in the interval between its owner falling from a balloon and reaching the earth. Men of this strong fibre are needed to form the conquerors of nature and the bodyguard of truth."

"The ideal scientific mind," Challenger continued, "should be able to think through a point of abstract knowledge while its owner falls from a balloon to the ground. I speak in the third person so I don't appear too pleased with myself. Men of such strength are needed to conquer nature and guard the truth."

"It strikes me nature's on top this time," said Lord John, looking out of the window. "I've read some leadin' articles about you gentlemen controllin' her, but she's gettin' a bit of her own back."

"Seems to me nature's on top this time," said Lord John, looking out the window. "I've read some newspaper editorials about you gentlemen controlling her, but she's getting a bit of her own back."

"It is but a temporary setback," said Challenger with conviction. "A few million years, what are they in the great cycle of time? The vegetable world has, as you can see, survived. Look at the leaves of that plane tree. The birds are dead, but the plant flourishes. From this vegetable life in pond and in marsh will come, in time, the tiny crawling microscopic slugs which are the pioneers of that great army of life in which for the instant we five have the extraordinary duty of serving as rear guard. Once the lowest form of life has established itself, the final advent of man is as certain as the growth of the oak from the acorn. The old circle will swing round once more."

"This is only a temporary setback," said Challenger confidently. "What are a few million years in the great cycle of time? As you can see, plant life has survived. Look at the leaves of that plane tree. The birds are dead, but the tree is flourishing. In time, the plant life in ponds and marshes will give rise to tiny, crawling, microscopic slugs. They will be the pioneers of the great army of life. For now, we five have the extraordinary duty of serving as its rear guard. Once the lowest form of life has established itself, the eventual arrival of humans is certain. It is as certain as an oak growing from an acorn. The old cycle will come around once more."

"But the poison?" I asked. "Will that not nip life in the bud?"

"But what about the poison?" I asked. "Won't it stop life before it can begin?"

"The poison may be a mere stratum or layer in the ether—a mephitic Gulf Stream across that mighty ocean in which we float. Or tolerance may be established and life accommodate itself to a new condition. The mere fact that with a comparatively small hyperoxygenation of our blood we can hold out against it is surely a proof in itself that no very great change would be needed to enable animal life to endure it."

"The poison may be just a layer in the ether, like a poisonous Gulf Stream crossing the mighty ocean in which we float. Or life may develop a tolerance and adapt to this new condition. We can withstand the poison with only a relatively small increase in the oxygen in our blood. Surely that alone proves that animal life would not need to change very much to endure it."

The smoking house beyond the trees had burst into flames. We could see the high tongues of fire shooting up into the air.

The smoking house beyond the trees had burst into flames. We could see flames shooting high into the air.

"It's pretty awful," muttered Lord John, more impressed than I had ever seen him.

"It's pretty awful," Lord John muttered. He seemed more impressed than I had ever seen him.

"Well, after all, what does it matter?" I remarked. "The world is dead. Cremation is surely the best burial."

"Well, what does it matter anyway?" I said. "The world is dead. Surely cremation is the best way to bury it."

"It would shorten us up if this house went ablaze."

"If this house caught fire, it would cut our lives short."

"I foresaw the danger," said Challenger, "and asked my wife to guard against it."

"I saw the danger coming," said Challenger, "and asked my wife to guard against it."

"Everything is quite safe, dear. But my head begins to throb again. What a dreadful atmosphere!"

"Everything is perfectly safe, dear. But my head is starting to throb again. What awful air!"

"We must change it," said Challenger. He bent over his cylinder of oxygen.

"We must change it," said Challenger. He bent over his oxygen cylinder.

"It's nearly empty," said he. "It has lasted us some three and a half hours. It is now close on eight o'clock. We shall get through the night comfortably. I should expect the end about nine o'clock to-morrow morning. We shall see one sunrise, which shall be all our own."

"It's nearly empty," he said. "It has lasted us about three and a half hours. It's nearly eight o'clock now. We'll get through the night comfortably. I expect the end around nine o'clock tomorrow morning. We'll see one sunrise, and it will be all our own."

He turned on his second tube and opened for half a minute the fanlight over the door. Then as the air became perceptibly better, but our own symptoms more acute, he closed it once again.

He turned on his second tube and opened the small window above the door for half a minute. The air became noticeably better, but our symptoms grew worse, so he closed the window again.

"By the way," said he, "man does not live upon oxygen alone. It's dinner time and over. I assure you, gentlemen, that when I invited you to my home and to what I had hoped would be an interesting reunion, I had intended that my kitchen should justify itself. However, we must do what we can. I am sure that you will agree with me that it would be folly to consume our air too rapidly by lighting an oil-stove. I have some small provision of cold meats, bread, and pickles which, with a couple of bottles of claret, may serve our turn. Thank you, my dear—now as ever you are the queen of managers."

"By the way," he said, "people cannot live on oxygen alone. It's past dinnertime. Gentlemen, when I invited you to my home, I hoped we would have an interesting reunion. I also intended to serve you a proper meal. But we must do what we can. I'm sure you'll agree that lighting an oil stove would use up our air too quickly. I have some cold meat, bread, and pickles. Those, along with a couple of bottles of claret, may do for us. Thank you, my dear. As always, you are the queen of managing things."

It was indeed wonderful how, with the self-respect and sense of propriety of the British housekeeper, the lady had within a few minutes adorned the central table with a snow-white cloth, laid the napkins upon it, and set forth the simple meal with all the elegance of civilization, including an electric torch lamp in the centre. Wonderful also was it to find that our appetites were ravenous.

It was remarkable how quickly the lady prepared the table, with the self-respect and sense of propriety of a British housekeeper. Within minutes, she had covered the central table with a snow-white cloth and laid out the napkins. She served the simple meal with all the elegance of civilization, including an electric torch lamp in the center. It was also remarkable to find that our appetites were ravenous.

"It is the measure of our emotion," said Challenger with that air of condescension with which he brought his scientific mind to the explanation of humble facts. "We have gone through a great crisis. That means molecular disturbance. That in turn means the need for repair. Great sorrow or great joy should bring intense hunger—not abstinence from food, as our novelists will have it."

"It shows how deeply we have been affected," said Challenger. He spoke condescendingly, using his scientific mind to explain a simple fact. "We have been through a great crisis. That means a disturbance at the molecular level. This in turn means the body needs to repair itself. Great sorrow or great joy should make us intensely hungry, not put us off food, as novelists would have us believe."

"That's why the country folk have great feasts at funerals," I hazarded.

"That's why people in the countryside have big feasts at funerals," I guessed.

"Exactly. Our young friend has hit upon an excellent illustration. Let me give you another slice of tongue."

"Exactly. Our young friend has found an excellent example. Let me give you another slice of tongue."

"The same with savages," said Lord John, cutting away at the beef. "I've seen them buryin' a chief up the Aruwimi River, and they ate a hippo that must have weighed as much as a tribe. There are some of them down New Guinea way that eat the late-lamented himself, just by way of a last tidy up. Well, of all the funeral feasts on this earth, I suppose the one we are takin' is the queerest."

"The same with savages," said Lord John, cutting into the beef. "I've seen them burying a chief up the Aruwimi River. They ate a hippo that must have weighed as much as a tribe. There are some of them down New Guinea way that eat the dead person himself, just by way of a final cleanup. Well, of all the funeral feasts on this earth, I suppose the one we are taking is the strangest."

"The strange thing is," said Mrs. Challenger, "that I find it impossible to feel grief for those who are gone. There are my father and mother at Bedford. I know that they are dead, and yet in this tremendous universal tragedy I can feel no sharp sorrow for any individuals, even for them."

"The strange thing is," said Mrs. Challenger, "I can't feel grief for those who have died. My father and mother are at Bedford. I know they are dead. Yet in this overwhelming tragedy that has affected everyone, I can't feel sharp sorrow for anyone, not even them."

"And my old mother in her cottage in Ireland," said I. "I can see her in my mind's eye, with her shawl and her lace cap, lying back with closed eyes in the old high-backed chair near the window, her glasses and her book beside her. Why should I mourn her? She has passed and I am passing, and I may be nearer her in some other life than England is to Ireland. Yet I grieve to think that that dear body is no more."

"And my old mother in her cottage in Ireland," I said. "I can picture her in her shawl and lace cap. She is leaning back with her eyes closed in the old high-backed chair near the window. Her glasses and book are beside her. Why should I mourn her? She has died, and I am dying. In some other life, I may be closer to her than England is to Ireland. Yet I grieve to think that her dear body is no more."

"As to the body," remarked Challenger, "we do not mourn over the parings of our nails nor the cut locks of our hair, though they were once part of ourselves. Neither does a one-legged man yearn sentimentally over his missing member. The physical body has rather been a source of pain and fatigue to us. It is the constant index of our limitations. Why then should we worry about its detachment from our psychical selves?"

“As for the body,” said Challenger, “we do not mourn our nail clippings or cut hair, though they were once part of us. A one-legged man does not long sentimentally for his missing leg either. The physical body has been a source of pain and fatigue for us. It is a constant reminder of our limitations. So why should we worry about its separation from our minds?”

"If they can indeed be detached," Summerlee grumbled. "But, anyhow, universal death is dreadful."

"If they can actually be separated," Summerlee grumbled. "But in any case, everyone dying is dreadful."

"As I have already explained," said Challenger, "a universal death must in its nature be far less terrible than a isolated one."

"As I have already explained," said Challenger, "a death that affects everyone must be far less terrible than an isolated death."

"Same in a battle," remarked Lord John. "If you saw a single man lying on that floor with his chest knocked in and a hole in his face it would turn you sick. But I've seen ten thousand on their backs in the Soudan, and it gave me no such feelin', for when you are makin' history the life of any man is too small a thing to worry over. When a thousand million pass over together, same as happened to-day, you can't pick your own partic'lar out of the crowd."

"Same in a battle," remarked Lord John. "If you saw one man lying on that floor with his chest crushed and a hole in his face, it would make you sick. But I've seen ten thousand lying on their backs in the Soudan, and it gave me no such feeling. When you are making history, any one man's life is too small a thing to worry over. When a thousand million pass over together, as happened today, you can't pick your own particular person out of the crowd."

"I wish it were well over with us," said the lady wistfully. "Oh, George, I am so frightened."

"I wish it were all over for us," said the lady wistfully. "Oh, George, I'm so frightened."

"You'll be the bravest of us all, little lady, when the time comes. I've been a blusterous old husband to you, dear, but you'll just bear in mind that G. E. C. is as he was made and couldn't help himself. After all, you wouldn't have had anyone else?"

"You'll be the bravest of us all, little lady, when the time comes. I've been a loud, blustering old husband to you, dear. But remember, G. E. C. was made this way and couldn't help himself. After all, you wouldn't have wanted anyone else, would you?"

"No one in the whole wide world, dear," said she, and put her arms round his bull neck. We three walked to the window and stood amazed at the sight which met our eyes.

"No one in the whole wide world, dear," she said, putting her arms around his thick, bull-like neck. The three of us walked to the window. We stood amazed at what we saw.

Darkness had fallen and the dead world was shrouded in gloom. But right across the southern horizon was one long vivid scarlet streak, waxing and waning in vivid pulses of life, leaping suddenly to a crimson zenith and then dying down to a glowing line of fire.

Darkness had fallen, and the dead world lay in gloom. But a long, vivid scarlet streak stretched across the southern horizon. It brightened and faded in vivid pulses of life. It suddenly leaped to a crimson peak, then died down to a glowing line of fire.

"Lewes is ablaze!"

"Lewes is on fire!"

"No, it is Brighton which is burning," said Challenger, stepping across to join us. "You can see the curved back of the downs against the glow. That fire is miles on the farther side of it. The whole town must be alight."

"No, Brighton is burning," said Challenger, stepping over to join us. "You can see the curved ridge of the downs against the glow. The fire is miles beyond the downs. The whole town must be on fire."

There were several red glares at different points, and the pile of debris upon the railway line was still smoldering darkly, but they all seemed mere pin-points of light compared to that monstrous conflagration throbbing beyond the hills. What copy it would have made for the Gazette! Had ever a journalist such an opening and so little chance of using it—the scoop of scoops, and no one to appreciate it? And then, suddenly, the old instinct of recording came over me. If these men of science could be so true to their life's work to the very end, why should not I, in my humble way, be as constant? No human eye might ever rest upon what I had done. But the long night had to be passed somehow, and for me at least, sleep seemed to be out of the question. My notes would help to pass the weary hours and to occupy my thoughts. Thus it is that now I have before me the notebook with its scribbled pages, written confusedly upon my knee in the dim, waning light of our one electric torch. Had I the literary touch, they might have been worthy of the occasion. As it is, they may still serve to bring to other minds the long-drawn emotions and tremors of that awful night.

There were several red glows in different places, and the pile of debris on the railway line still smoldered darkly. But all of them seemed like mere pinpoints of light compared with the monstrous fire throbbing beyond the hills. What a story it would have made for the Gazette! Had any journalist ever had such an opportunity and so little chance to use it? It was the scoop of scoops, and there was no one to appreciate it. Then, suddenly, my old instinct to record events came over me. These men of science could remain true to their life's work to the very end. Why shouldn't I, in my humble way, be just as faithful to mine? No human eye might ever see what I had written. But the long night had to be passed somehow, and for me at least, sleep seemed out of the question. My notes would help pass the weary hours and keep my thoughts occupied. So now I have my notebook before me, its pages covered in confused scribbles. I wrote them with the notebook on my knee, in the dim, fading light of our only electric torch. If I had a literary gift, the notes might have been worthy of the occasion. Even so, they may still convey to others the drawn-out emotions and tremors of that awful night.