Challenges
: The Iron HeelAfter the guests had gone, father threw himself into a chair and gave
vent to roars of Gargantuan laughter. Not since the death of my mother
had I known him to laugh so heartily.
"I'll wager Dr. Hammerfield was never up against anything like it in his
life," he laughed. "'The courtesies of ecclesiastical controversy!' Did
you notice how he began like a lamb--Everhard, I mean, and how quickly
he became a r
have made a good scientist if his energies had been directed that way."
I need scarcely say that I was deeply interested in Ernest Everhard. It
was not alone what he had said and how he had said it, but it was the
man himself. I had never met a man like him. I suppose that was why, in
spite of my twenty-four years, I had not married. I liked him; I had to
confess it to myself. And my like for him was founded on things
beyond intellect and argument. Regardless of his bulging muscles and
prize-fighter's throat, he impressed me as an ingenuous boy. I felt
that under the guise of an intellectual swashbuckler was a delicate and
sensitive spirit. I sensed this, in ways I knew not, save that they were
my woman's intuitions.
There was something in that clarion-call of his that went to my heart.
It still rang in my ears, and I felt that I should like to hear it
again--and to see again that glint of laughter in his eyes that belied
the impassioned seriousness of his face. And there were further reaches
of vague and indeterminate feelings that stirred in me. I almost loved
him then, though I am confident, had I never seen him again, that the
vague feelings would have passed away and that I should easily have
forgotten him.
But I was not destined never to see him again. My father's new-born
interest in sociology and the dinner parties he gave would not permit.
Father was not a sociologist. His marriage with my mother had been very
happy, and in the researches of his own science, physics, he had been
very happy. But when mother died, his own work could not fill the
emptiness. At first, in a mild way, he had dabbled in philosophy; then,
becoming interested, he had drifted on into economics and sociology. He
had a strong sense of justice, and he soon became fired with a passion
to redress wrong. It was with gratitude that I hailed these signs of a
new interest in life, though I little dreamed what the outcome would
be. With the enthusiasm of a boy he plunged excitedly into these new
pursuits, regardless of whither they led him.
He had been used always to the laboratory, and so it was that he turned
the dining room into a sociological laboratory. Here came to dinner
all sorts and conditions of men,--scientists, politicians, bankers,
merchants, professors, labor leaders, socialists, and anarchists. He
stirred them to discussion, and analyzed their thoughts of life and
society.
He had met Ernest shortly prior to the "preacher's night." And after the
guests were gone, I learned how he had met him, passing down a street at
night and stopping to listen to a man on a soap-box who was addressing
a crowd of workingmen. The man on the box was Ernest. Not that he was
a mere soap-box orator. He stood high in the councils of the socialist
party, was one of the leaders, and was the acknowledged leader in the
philosophy of socialism. But he had a certain clear way of stating the
abstruse in simple language, was a born expositor and teacher, and
was not above the soap-box as a means of interpreting economics to the
workingmen.
My father stopped to listen, became interested, effected a meeting, and,
after quite an acquaintance, invited him to the ministers' dinner. It
was after the dinner that father told me what little he knew about him.
He had been born in the working class, though he was a descendant of
the old line of Everhards that for over two hundred years had lived
in America.* At ten years of age he had gone to work in the mills,
and later he served his apprenticeship and became a horseshoer. He was
self-educated, had taught himself German and French, and at that time
was earning a meagre living by translating scientific and philosophical
works for a struggling socialist publishing house in Chicago. Also, his
earnings were added to by the royalties from the small sales of his own
economic and philosophic works.
* The distinction between being native born and foreign born
was sharp and invidious in those days.
This much I learned of him before I went to bed, and I lay long awake,
listening in memory to the sound of his voice. I grew frightened at
my thoughts. He was so unlike the men of my own class, so alien and so
strong. His masterfulness delighted me and terrified me, for my fancies
wantonly roved until I found myself considering him as a lover, as a
husband. I had always heard that the strength of men was an irresistible
attraction to women; but he was too strong. "No! no!" I cried out. "It
is impossible, absurd!" And on the morrow I awoke to find in myself
a longing to see him again. I wanted to see him mastering men in
discussion, the war-note in his voice; to see him, in all his certitude
and strength, shattering their complacency, shaking them out of their
ruts of thinking. What if he did swashbuckle? To use his own phrase, "it
worked," it produced effects. And, besides, his swashbuckling was a fine
thing to see. It stirred one like the onset of battle.
Several days passed during which I read Ernest's books, borrowed from my
father. His written word was as his spoken word, clear and convincing.
It was its absolute simplicity that convinced even while one continued
to doubt. He had the gift of lucidity. He was the perfect expositor.
Yet, in spite of his style, there was much that I did not like. He laid
too great stress on what he called the class struggle, the antagonism
between labor and capital, the conflict of interest.
Father reported with glee Dr. Hammerfield's judgment of Ernest, which
was to the effect that he was "an insolent young puppy, made bumptious
by a little and very inadequate learning." Also, Dr. Hammerfield
declined to meet Ernest again.
But Bishop Morehouse turned out to have become interested in Ernest,
and was anxious for another meeting. "A strong young man," he said; "and
very much alive, very much alive. But he is too sure, too sure."
Ernest came one afternoon with father. The Bishop had already arrived,
and we were having tea on the veranda. Ernest's continued presence in
Berkeley, by the way, was accounted for by the fact that he was taking
special courses in biology at the university, and also that he was hard
at work on a new book entitled "Philosophy and Revolution."*
* This book continued to be secretly printed throughout the
three centuries of the Iron Heel. There are several copies
of various editions in the National Library of Ardis.
The veranda seemed suddenly to have become small when Ernest arrived.
Not that he was so very large--he stood only five feet nine inches; but
that he seemed to radiate an atmosphere of largeness. As he stopped to
meet me, he betrayed a certain slight awkwardness that was strangely at
variance with his bold-looking eyes and his firm, sure hand that clasped
for a moment in greeting. And in that moment his eyes were just as
steady and sure. There seemed a question in them this time, and as
before he looked at me over long.
"I have been reading your 'Working-class Philosophy,'" I said, and his
eyes lighted in a pleased way.
"Of course," he answered, "you took into consideration the audience to
which it was addressed."
"I did, and it is because I did that I have a quarrel with you," I
challenged.
"I, too, have a quarrel with you, Mr. Everhard," Bishop Morehouse said.
Ernest shrugged his shoulders whimsically and accepted a cup of tea.
The Bishop bowed and gave me precedence.
"You foment class hatred," I said. "I consider it wrong and criminal
to appeal to all that is narrow and brutal in the working class. Class
hatred is anti-social, and, it seems to me, anti-socialistic."
"Not guilty," he answered. "Class hatred is neither in the text nor in
the spirit of anything I have every written."
"Oh!" I cried reproachfully, and reached for his book and opened it.
He sipped his tea and smiled at me while I ran over the pages.
"Page one hundred and thirty-two," I read aloud: "'The class struggle,
therefore, presents itself in the present stage of social development
between the wage-paying and the wage-paid classes.'"
I looked at him triumphantly.
"No mention there of class hatred," he smiled back.
"But," I answered, "you say 'class struggle.'"
"A different thing from class hatred," he replied. "And, believe me,
we foment no hatred. We say that the class struggle is a law of social
development. We are not responsible for it. We do not make the class
struggle. We merely explain it, as Newton explained gravitation. We
explain the nature of the conflict of interest that produces the class
struggle."
"But there should be no conflict of interest!" I cried.
"I agree with you heartily," he answered. "That is what we socialists
are trying to bring about,--the abolition of the conflict of interest.
Pardon me. Let me read an extract." He took his book and turned back
several pages. "Page one hundred and twenty-six: 'The cycle of class
struggles which began with the dissolution of rude, tribal communism
and the rise of private property will end with the passing of private
property in the means of social existence.'"
"But I disagree with you," the Bishop interposed, his pale, ascetic face
betraying by a faint glow the intensity of his feelings. "Your premise
is wrong. There is no such thing as a conflict of interest between labor
and capital--or, rather, there ought not to be."
"Thank you," Ernest said gravely. "By that last statement you have given
me back my premise."
"But why should there be a conflict?" the Bishop demanded warmly.
Ernest shrugged his shoulders. "Because we are so made, I guess."
"But we are not so made!" cried the other.
"Are you discussing the ideal man?" Ernest asked, "--unselfish and
godlike, and so few in numbers as to be practically non-existent, or are
you discussing the common and ordinary average man?"
"The common and ordinary man," was the answer.
"Who is weak and fallible, prone to error?"
Bishop Morehouse nodded.
"And petty and selfish?"
Again he nodded.
"Watch out!" Ernest warned. "I said 'selfish.'"
"The average man IS selfish," the Bishop affirmed valiantly.
"Wants all he can get?"
"Wants all he can get--true but deplorable."
"Then I've got you." Ernest's jaw snapped like a trap. "Let me show you.
Here is a man who works on the street railways."
"He couldn't work if it weren't for capital," the Bishop interrupted.
"True, and you will grant that capital would perish if there were no
labor to earn the dividends."
The Bishop was silent.
"Won't you?" Ernest insisted.
The Bishop nodded.
"Then our statements cancel each other," Ernest said in a matter-of-fact
tone, "and we are where we were. Now to begin again. The workingmen
on the street railway furnish the labor. The stockholders furnish the
capital. By the joint effort of the workingmen and the capital, money is
earned.* They divide between them this money that is earned. Capital's
share is called 'dividends.' Labor's share is called 'wages.'"
* In those days, groups of predatory individuals controlled
all the means of transportation, and for the use of same
levied toll upon the public.
"Very good," the Bishop interposed. "And there is no reason that the
division should not be amicable."
"You have already forgotten what we had agreed upon," Ernest replied.
"We agreed that the average man is selfish. He is the man that is. You
have gone up in the air and are arranging a division between the kind
of men that ought to be but are not. But to return to the earth, the
workingman, being selfish, wants all he can get in the division. The
capitalist, being selfish, wants all he can get in the division. When
there is only so much of the same thing, and when two men want all they
can get of the same thing, there is a conflict of interest between labor
and capital. And it is an irreconcilable conflict. As long as workingmen
and capitalists exist, they will continue to quarrel over the division.
If you were in San Francisco this afternoon, you'd have to walk. There
isn't a street car running."
"Another strike?"* the Bishop queried with alarm.
* These quarrels were very common in those irrational and
anarchic times. Sometimes the laborers refused to work.
Sometimes the capitalists refused to let the laborers work.
In the violence and turbulence of such disagreements much
property was destroyed and many lives lost. All this is
inconceivable to us--as inconceivable as another custom of
that time, namely, the habit the men of the lower classes
had of breaking the furniture when they quarrelled with
their wives.
"Yes, they're quarrelling over the division of the earnings of the
street railways."
Bishop Morehouse became excited.
"It is wrong!" he cried. "It is so short-sighted on the part of the
workingmen. How can they hope to keep our sympathy--"
"When we are compelled to walk," Ernest said slyly.
But Bishop Morehouse ignored him and went on:
"Their outlook is too narrow. Men should be men, not brutes. There will
be violence and murder now, and sorrowing widows and orphans. Capital
and labor should be friends. They should work hand in hand and to their
mutual benefit."
"Ah, now you are up in the air again," Ernest remarked dryly. "Come back
to earth. Remember, we agreed that the average man is selfish."
"But he ought not to be!" the Bishop cried.
"And there I agree with you," was Ernest's rejoinder. "He ought not to
be selfish, but he will continue to be selfish as long as he lives in a
social system that is based on pig-ethics."
The Bishop was aghast, and my father chuckled.
"Yes, pig-ethics," Ernest went on remorselessly. "That is the meaning
of the capitalist system. And that is what your church is standing
for, what you are preaching for every time you get up in the pulpit.
Pig-ethics! There is no other name for it."
Bishop Morehouse turned appealingly to my father, but he laughed and
nodded his head.
"I'm afraid Mr. Everhard is right," he said. "LAISSEZ-FAIRE, the
let-alone policy of each for himself and devil take the hindmost. As Mr.
Everhard said the other night, the function you churchmen perform is to
maintain the established order of society, and society is established on
that foundation."
"But that is not the teaching of Christ!" cried the Bishop.
"The Church is not teaching Christ these days," Ernest put in quickly.
"That is why the workingmen will have nothing to do with the Church.
The Church condones the frightful brutality and savagery with which the
capitalist class treats the working class."
"The Church does not condone it," the Bishop objected.
"The Church does not protest against it," Ernest replied. "And in so far
as the Church does not protest, it condones, for remember the Church is
supported by the capitalist class."
"I had not looked at it in that light," the Bishop said naively. "You
must be wrong. I know that there is much that is sad and wicked in
this world. I know that the Church has lost the--what you call the
proletariat."*
* Proletariat: Derived originally from the Latin PROLETARII,
the name given in the census of Servius Tullius to those who
were of value to the state only as the rearers of offspring
(PROLES); in other words, they were of no importance either
for wealth, or position, or exceptional ability.
"You never had the proletariat," Ernest cried. "The proletariat has
grown up outside the Church and without the Church."
"I do not follow you," the Bishop said faintly.
"Then let me explain. With the introduction of machinery and the factory
system in the latter part of the eighteenth century, the great mass of
the working people was separated from the land. The old system of labor
was broken down. The working people were driven from their villages and
herded in factory towns. The mothers and children were put to work at
the new machines. Family life ceased. The conditions were frightful. It
is a tale of blood."
"I know, I know," Bishop Morehouse interrupted with an agonized
expression on his face. "It was terrible. But it occurred a century and
a half ago."
"And there, a century and a half ago, originated the modern
proletariat," Ernest continued. "And the Church ignored it. While a
slaughter-house was made of the nation by the capitalist, the Church
was dumb. It did not protest, as to-day it does not protest. As Austin
Lewis* says, speaking of that time, those to whom the command 'Feed my
lambs' had been given, saw those lambs sold into slavery and worked to
death without a protest.** The Church was dumb, then, and before I go on
I want you either flatly to agree with me or flatly to disagree with me.
Was the Church dumb then?"
* Candidate for Governor of California on the Socialist
ticket in the fall election of 1906 Christian Era. An
Englishman by birth, a writer of many books on political
economy and philosophy, and one of the Socialist leaders of
the times.
** There is no more horrible page in history than the
treatment of the child and women slaves in the English
factories in the latter half of the eighteenth century of
the Christian Era. In such industrial hells arose some of
the proudest fortunes of that day.
Bishop Morehouse hesitated. Like Dr. Hammerfield, he was unused to this
fierce "infighting," as Ernest called it.
"The history of the eighteenth century is written," Ernest prompted. "If
the Church was not dumb, it will be found not dumb in the books."
"I am afraid the Church was dumb," the Bishop confessed.
"And the Church is dumb to-day."
"There I disagree," said the Bishop.
Ernest paused, looked at him searchingly, and accepted the challenge.
"All right," he said. "Let us see. In Chicago there are women who toil
all the week for ninety cents. Has the Church protested?"
"This is news to me," was the answer. "Ninety cents per week! It is
horrible!"
"Has the Church protested?" Ernest insisted.
"The Church does not know." The Bishop was struggling hard.
"Yet the command to the Church was, 'Feed my lambs,'" Ernest sneered.
And then, the next moment, "Pardon my sneer, Bishop. But can you
wonder that we lose patience with you? When have you protested to your
capitalistic congregations at the working of children in the Southern
cotton mills?* Children, six and seven years of age, working every night
at twelve-hour shifts? They never see the blessed sunshine. They die
like flies. The dividends are paid out of their blood. And out of the
dividends magnificent churches are builded in New England, wherein your
kind preaches pleasant platitudes to the sleek, full-bellied recipients
of those dividends."
* Everhard might have drawn a better illustration from the
Southern Church's outspoken defence of chattel slavery prior
to what is known as the "War of the Rebellion." Several
such illustrations, culled from the documents of the times,
are here appended. In 1835 A.D., the General Assembly of
the Presbyterian Church resolved that: "slavery is
recognized in both the Old and the New Testaments, and is
not condemned by the authority of God." The Charleston
Baptist Association issued the following, in an address, in
1835 A.D.: "The right of masters to dispose of the time of
their slaves has been distinctly recognized by the Creator
of all things, who is surely at liberty to vest the right of
property over any object whomsoever He pleases." The Rev.
E. D. Simon, Doctor of Divinity and professor in the
Randolph-Macon Methodist College of Virginia, wrote:
"Extracts from Holy Writ unequivocally assert the right of
property in slaves, together with the usual incidents to
that right. The right to buy and sell is clearly stated.
Upon the whole, then, whether we consult the Jewish policy
instituted by God himself, or the uniform opinion and
practice of mankind in all ages, or the injunctions of the
New Testament and the moral law, we are brought to the
conclusion that slavery is not immoral. Having established
the point that the first African slaves were legally brought
into bondage, the right to detain their children in bondage
follows as an indispensable consequence. Thus we see that
the slavery that exists in America was founded in right."
It is not at all remarkable that this same note should have
been struck by the Church a generation or so later in
relation to the defence of capitalistic property. In the
great museum at Asgard there is a book entitled "Essays in
Application," written by Henry van Dyke. The book was
published in 1905 of the Christian Era. From what we can
make out, Van Dyke must have been a churchman. The book is a
good example of what Everhard would have called bourgeois
thinking. Note the similarity between the utterance of the
Charleston Baptist Association quoted above, and the
following utterance of Van Dyke seventy years later: "The
Bible teaches that God owns the world. He distributes to
every man according to His own good pleasure, conformably to
general laws."
"I did not know," the Bishop murmured faintly. His face was pale, and he
seemed suffering from nausea.
"Then you have not protested?"
The Bishop shook his head.
"Then the Church is dumb to-day, as it was in the eighteenth century?"
The Bishop was silent, and for once Ernest forbore to press the point.
"And do not forget, whenever a churchman does protest, that he is
discharged."
"I hardly think that is fair," was the objection.
"Will you protest?" Ernest demanded.
"Show me evils, such as you mention, in our own community, and I will
protest."
"I'll show you," Ernest said quietly. "I am at your disposal. I will
take you on a journey through hell."
"And I shall protest." The Bishop straightened himself in his chair, and
over his gentle face spread the harshness of the warrior. "The Church
shall not be dumb!"
"You will be discharged," was the warning.
"I shall prove the contrary," was the retort. "I shall prove, if
what you say is so, that the Church has erred through ignorance. And,
furthermore, I hold that whatever is horrible in industrial society is
due to the ignorance of the capitalist class. It will mend all that is
wrong as soon as it receives the message. And this message it shall be
the duty of the Church to deliver."
Ernest laughed. He laughed brutally, and I was driven to the Bishop's
defence.
"Remember," I said, "you see but one side of the shield. There is
much good in us, though you give us credit for no good at all. Bishop
Morehouse is right. The industrial wrong, terrible as you say it is,
is due to ignorance. The divisions of society have become too widely
separated."
"The wild Indian is not so brutal and savage as the capitalist class,"
he answered; and in that moment I hated him.
"You do not know us," I answered. "We are not brutal and savage."
"Prove it," he challenged.
"How can I prove it . . . to you?" I was growing angry.
He shook his head. "I do not ask you to prove it to me. I ask you to
prove it to yourself."
"I know," I said.
"You know nothing," was his rude reply.
"There, there, children," father said soothingly.
"I don't care--" I began indignantly, but Ernest interrupted.
"I understand you have money, or your father has, which is the same
thing--money invested in the Sierra Mills."
"What has that to do with it?" I cried.
"Nothing much," he began slowly, "except that the gown you wear is
stained with blood. The food you eat is a bloody stew. The blood of
little children and of strong men is dripping from your very roof-beams.
I can close my eyes, now, and hear it drip, drop, drip, drop, all about
me."
And suiting the action to the words, he closed his eyes and leaned back
in his chair. I burst into tears of mortification and hurt vanity. I had
never been so brutally treated in my life. Both the Bishop and my father
were embarrassed and perturbed. They tried to lead the conversation
away into easier channels; but Ernest opened his eyes, looked at me,
and waved them aside. His mouth was stern, and his eyes too; and in the
latter there was no glint of laughter. What he was about to say, what
terrible castigation he was going to give me, I never knew; for at that
moment a man, passing along the sidewalk, stopped and glanced in at us.
He was a large man, poorly dressed, and on his back was a great load of
rattan and bamboo stands, chairs, and screens. He looked at the house as
if debating whether or not he should come in and try to sell some of his
wares.
"That man's name is Jackson," Ernest said.
"With that strong body of his he should be at work, and not peddling,"*
I answered curtly.
* In that day there were many thousands of these poor
merchants called PEDLERS. They carried their whole stock in
trade from door to door. It was a most wasteful expenditure
of energy. Distribution was as confused and irrational as
the whole general system of society.
"Notice the sleeve of his left arm," Ernest said gently.
I looked, and saw that the sleeve was empty.
"It was some of the blood from that arm that I heard dripping from your
roof-beams," Ernest said with continued gentleness. "He lost his arm in
the Sierra Mills, and like a broken-down horse you turned him out on
the highway to die. When I say 'you,' I mean the superintendent and the
officials that you and the other stockholders pay to manage the mills
for you. It was an accident. It was caused by his trying to save the
company a few dollars. The toothed drum of the picker caught his arm. He
might have let the small flint that he saw in the teeth go through. It
would have smashed out a double row of spikes. But he reached for the
flint, and his arm was picked and clawed to shreds from the finger tips
to the shoulder. It was at night. The mills were working overtime. They
paid a fat dividend that quarter. Jackson had been working many hours,
and his muscles had lost their resiliency and snap. They made his
movements a bit slow. That was why the machine caught him. He had a wife
and three children."
"And what did the company do for him?" I asked.
"Nothing. Oh, yes, they did do something. They successfully fought the
damage suit he brought when he came out of hospital. The company employs
very efficient lawyers, you know."
"You have not told the whole story," I said with conviction. "Or else
you do not know the whole story. Maybe the man was insolent."
"Insolent! Ha! ha!" His laughter was Mephistophelian. "Great God!
Insolent! And with his arm chewed off! Nevertheless he was a meek and
lowly servant, and there is no record of his having been insolent."
"But the courts," I urged. "The case would not have been decided against
him had there been no more to the affair than you have mentioned."
"Colonel Ingram is leading counsel for the company. He is a shrewd
lawyer." Ernest looked at me intently for a moment, then went on. "I'll
tell you what you do, Miss Cunningham. You investigate Jackson's case."
"I had already determined to," I said coldly.
"All right," he beamed good-naturedly, "and I'll tell you where to
find him. But I tremble for you when I think of all you are to prove by
Jackson's arm."
And so it came about that both the Bishop and I accepted Ernest's
challenges. They went away together, leaving me smarting with a sense
of injustice that had been done me and my class. The man was a beast. I
hated him, then, and consoled myself with the thought that his behavior
was what was to be expected from a man of the working class.
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Stapi is a village consisting of about thirty huts, built of lava, at the south side of the base of the volcano. It extends along the inner edge of a small fiord, inclosed between basaltic walls of the strangest construction. Basalt is a brownish... But I Don't Think
As every thinking man knows, every slave always yearns for the freedom his master denies him... "But, gentlemen," said the Physician, "I really don't think we can consider any religion which has human sacrifice as an integral part... By Proxy
By DAVID GORDON It's been said that the act of creation is a solitary thing--that teams never create; only individuals. But sometimes a team may be needed to make creation effective.... Mr. Terrence Elshawe did not conform to the mental pi... By The Brookside
Scarcely had she seen the doctor admitted and the house door closed when an approaching pedestrian caught her eye. She recognized him at once, and a little more color stole into her round cheeks, while an unconscious smile touched her lips. The g... By The Naya's Orders
A SHORT time only did we remain in doubt as to the intention of the populace. The suppressed excitement found vent even before the clouds of choking smoke had rolled away. The signal had been given, and instantly they responded with fierce yells, ... Cachalots And Whales
During the nights of the 13th and 14th of March, the Nautilus returned to its southerly course. I fancied that, when on a level with Cape Horn, he would turn the helm westward, in order to beat the Pacific seas, and so complete the tour of the worl... Camille Penurot
When Heideck and his prisoner, Penurot, reached the Gefion he found the Commander on deck, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. He reported himself, and asked him to treat Penurot as a guest. "I was getting anxious about you," said the Capt... Captain Nemo's Thunderbolt
We looked at the edge of the forest without rising, my hand stopping in the action of putting it to my mouth, Ned Land's completing its office. "Stones do not fall from the sky," remarked Conseil, "or they would merit the name aerolites." A sec... Captain Servadac And His Orderly
At the time of which I write, there might be seen in the registers of the Minister of War the following entry: SERVADAC (Hector), born at St. Trelody in the district of Lesparre, department of the Gironde, July 19th, 18--. Property: 1200 fran... Captain Weston's Advent
"Bless my water ballast, but that certainly is a fine boat!" cried Mr. Damon, when he had been shown over the new craft. "I think I shall feel even safer in that than in the Red Cloud." "Oh, don't go back on the airship!" exclaimed Mr Sharp. "I... Captive
When Goork and his people saw that I had no token they commenced to taunt me. "You do not come from Kolk, but from the Sly One!" they cried. "He has sent you from the island to spy upon us. Go away, or we will set upon you and kill you." I ex... Captured
"Down deep," advised Captain Weston, as he stood beside Tom and Mr. Swift in the pilot house. "As far as you can manage her, and then forward. We'll take no more chances with these fellows." "The only trouble is," replied the young inventor, "th... Captured
As Thuria, swift racer of the night, shot again into the sky the scene changed. As by magic a new aspect fell athwart the face of Nature. It was as though in the instant one had been transported from one planet to another. It was the age-old miracle... Captured!
When I recovered consciousness I found myself lying in the sand with Mercer sitting beside me. It was still night. The tangled wreckage of our airplane lay near by; evidently Mercer had carried me out of it. I sat up. "I'm all right," I said.... Captured!
Certainly my situation was no less desperate. Unless I could find some method of compensating for my lost ballast, the inverse gravity of my inertron ship would hurl me continuously upward until I shot forth from the last air layer into space. I t... Card Trick
The game was stud. There were seven at the table, which makes for good poker. Outside of Nick, who banked the game, nobody looked familiar. They all had the beat look of compulsive gamblers, fogged over by their i... Carthoris And Thuvia
Upon a massive bench of polished ersite beneath the gorgeous blooms of a giant pimalia a woman sat. Her shapely, sandalled foot tapped impatiently upon the jewel-strewn walk that wound beneath the stately sorapus trees across the scarlet sward of... Cat And Mouse
The Warden needed to have a certain very obnoxious pest eliminated ... and he knew just the pest-eradicator he needed.... The Harn first came to the Warden's attention through its effect on the game population of an area in World... Caught!
The events of that memorable night formed a most emphatic contradiction to the prophecy in Macaulay's "Armada": "Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be." The speeches in the House of Commons and in the House of ... Celestial Phenomena Seen From Mars-m'allister Receives A Practical Lesson In Gravitation
Mars is really an ideal world for an astronomer to live in, its skies being so clear, the air so thin and pure, and the stars shining so brilliantly. Besides these advantages, the rapid movements of the two satellites of the planet resul... Center
Late July 2571 As Cortin recovered and the pain in her body eased to what Egan assured her was the best she could expect without further surgery, the burns on her hands took top priority, as she'd expected, on her list of personal grievance... Cerebrum
For thousands of years the big brain served as a master switchboard for the thoughts and emotions of humanity. Now the central mind was showing signs of decay ... and men w... Certain First Principles
"What's the matter?" asked Kemp, when the Invisible Man admitted him. "Nothing," was the answer. "But, confound it! The smash?" "Fit of temper," said the Invisible Man. "Forgot this arm; and it's sore." "You're rather liable to that sort... Chained In Warhoon
It must have been several hours before I regained consciousness and I well remember the feeling of surprise which swept over me as I realized that I was not dead. I was lying among a pile of sleeping silks and furs in the corner of a small room... Challenges
After the guests had gone, father threw himself into a chair and gave vent to roars of Gargantuan laughter. Not since the death of my mother had I known him to laugh so heartily. "I'll wager Dr. Hammerfield was never up against anything like it ... Champion And Chief
Early the next morning I was astir. Considerable freedom was allowed me, as Sola had informed me that so long as I did not attempt to leave the city I was free to go and come as I pleased. She had warned me, however, against venturing forth unar... Child-raising On Mars
After a breakfast, which was an exact replica of the meal of the preceding day and an index of practically every meal which followed while I was with the green men of Mars, Sola escorted me to the plaza, where I found the entire community engaged ... Chuck
Nobody had thought to brief them on the welcoming ceremonies at the airport, but Bradford had mentioned her team acting as bodyguards, so when it was their turn to leave the plane, Odeon took point and the other four formed a square around Corti... Citadel
He was looking for a privacy his strange personality needed. And--never quite seemed to achieve it. All his efforts were, somehow--great triumphs of the race, and great failures for him! I. The aging man was sweating profusely, and h... Clinging Brown Stuff
Bemused, appalled, the two gazed at this almost disembodied brain that held them captive. It continued to come steadily toward them, carried by its two faithful slaves; and the grotesque termite soldiers, that had closed about them in a hollow squ... Close To The Moon-i Give Some Information About It
We were now moving at a comparatively slow speed, yet the size of the moon's disc was very rapidly expanding as we approached nearer and nearer to it. In the course of a little over half-an-hour we were within ten miles of its surface, which ... Close Work
Ghek, in his happier days third foreman of the fields of Luud, sat nursing his anger and his humiliation. Recently something had awakened within him the existence of which he had never before even dreamed. Had the influence of the strange captive wo... Clutterbuck's Odd Behaviour
Scarcely had the Home Secretary departed when my maid announced that a patient was waiting to see me in my study. I left Sarakoff sitting tranquilly in the waiting-room and entered the study. A grave, precise, clean-shaven man was standing by th... Coal Town
THREE years after the events which have just been related, the guide-books recommended as a "great attraction," to the numerous tourists who roam over the county of Stirling, a visit of a few hours to the mines of New Aberfoyle. No mine in any ... Compassion Fuses The Professor's Heart
Next day we started early. We had to hasten forward. It was a three days' march to the cross roads. I will not speak of the sufferings we endured in our return. My uncle bore them with the angry impatience of a man obliged to own his weakness; Ha... Concerning Astronomy And Oysters
In spite of the bold front that he had assumed during the interview, the strain, not exactly of superstition but rather of supernaturalism which runs so strongly in the Kaiser's family, made it impossible for him to treat such a tremendous threat ... Concerning The Beast Folk
I WOKE early. Moreau's explanation stood before my mind, clear and definite, from the moment of my awakening. I got out of the hammock and went to the door to assure myself that the key was turned. Then I tried the window-bar, and found it firm... Concerns An Illustrated Paper
The river had disappeared! In front of us was a great green wall of solid rock, which seemed to tower into the sky above us, and to stretch away for miles to right and left. The curious part about it was that the rock was undoubtedly solid. The... Conclusion
Taking up my girl's body in my arms, I stumbled over the wreck-encumbered deck, and bore it to the state-room she had occupied on the outward voyage. Percival was too busy attending to wounded sailors to be interrupted. His services, I knew, were ... Conclusion
I put down the Manuscript, and glanced across at Tonnison: he was sitting, staring out into the dark. I waited a minute; then I spoke. "Well?" I said. He turned, slowly, and looked at me. His thoughts seemed to have gone out of him into a great... Conclusion
Thus ends the voyage under the seas. What passed during that night--how the boat escaped from the eddies of the maelstrom--how Ned Land, Conseil, and myself ever came out of the gulf, I cannot tell. But when I returned to consciousness, I was lyi... Condemned To The Torture
EAGER to witness the agony of the son of the powerful Naya of Mo, the crowd of evil-faced men in silken robes who surrounded their brutal chief watched with lively anticipation the preparations that were in a few moments in active progress. The bl... Conquest And Peace
The fleet sailed directly for Hooja's island, coming to anchor at its north-eastern extremity before the flat-topped hill that had been Hooja's stronghold. I sent one of the prisoners ashore to demand an immediate surrender; but as he told me after... Consequences Of A Discovery
11. "But it's got to be stopped," exclaimed Gootes. Miss Francis turned silently back to her flowerpot as though she'd forgotten us. Gootes coursed the kitchenfloor like a puzzled yet anxious hound. "Damn it, it's got to be stopped." He halfway ... Contains A Further Enigma
Back again at King's Cross. I seemed to have been travelling on the line all my life. Myra turned to Dennis to say good-bye. "I hope," she said bravely, "that when we meet again, Mr. Burnham, I shall be able to tell you that I can see you lookin... Contradictory Letters
To Mr. F. R. Starr, Engineer, 30 Canongate, Edinburgh. IF Mr. James Starr will come to-morrow to the Aberfoyle coal-mines, Dochart pit, Yarrow shaft, a communication of an interesting nature will be made to him. "Mr. James Starr will be await... Control Group
The cool green disk of Alphard Six on the screen was infinitely welcome after the arid desolation and stinking swamplands of the inner planets, an airy jewel of a world that might have been designed specifically for the hard-earned month of rest a... Conversation And Discovery
When I returned, dinner was ready. This meal was devoured by my worthy relative with avidity and voracity. His shipboard diet had turned his interior into a perfect gulf. The repast, which was more Danish than Icelandic, was in itself nothing, but... Corpang
Maskull did not awaken till long after Blodsombre. Leehallfae was standing by his side, looking down at him. It was doubtful whether ae had slept at all. "What time is it?" Maskull asked, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. "The day is passing," w... Corridors Of Peril
How long I slept upon the floor of the storeroom I do not know, but it must have been many hours. I was awakened with a start by cries of alarm, and scarce were my eyes opened, nor had I yet sufficiently collected my wits to quite realize where... Criminal Negligence
Somebody was going to have to be left behind ... and who it would be was perfectly obvious.... Warden Halloran smiled slightly. "You expect to have criminals on Mars, then?" he asked. "Is that why you want me?" "Of course we don... Cui Bono?
When I arrived at the Society's rooms on the evening for which I had an invitation, I found them pleasantly lighted. The various scientific diagrams and instruments had been removed, and comfortable arm-chairs were arranged so that a free passage ... Cully
Above him eighty feet of torpid, black water hung like a shroud of Death, and still he heard his ragged breathing. And something else. Cully concentrated on that sound, and the rhythmic pulsing of his heart. Somehow he had to retain a hold on ... Cum Grano Salis
Just because a man can do something others can't does not, unfortunately, mean he knows how to do it. One man could eat the native fruit and live ... but how? "And that," said Colonel Fennister glumly, "appears to be that." The pile of glowin... Damned If You Don't
You can and you can't; You will and you won't. You'll be damn'd if you do; You'll be damn'd if you don't. --LORENZO DOW; "Definition of Calvinism" We've all heard of the wonderful invention ... Daughters Of Doom
Deep in space lay a weird and threatening world. And it was there that Ben Sessions found the evil daughters . . . Beyond Ventura B there was no life; there was nothing but one worn out sun after another, each with its retinue of col... Dave
St. Thomas, Thursday, 20 Feb 2572 The Royal Family, the King's Household and staff, and favored nobles flew to Dragon's Lair; everyone else rode. So when Team Azrael and its prisoner left Middletown for the deliberately-isolated Royal retrea... Daylight At Last
When I opened my eyes I felt the hand of the guide clutching me firmly by the belt. With his other hand he supported my uncle. I was not grievously wounded, but bruised all over in the most remarkable manner. After a moment I looked around, and ... Dead Giveaway
Logic's a wonderful thing; by logical analysis, one can determine the necessary reason for the existence of a dead city of a very high order on an utterly useless planet. Obviously a shipping transfer point! Necessarily... "Mendez?" said ... Dead London
After I had parted from the artilleryman, I went down the hill, and by the High Street across the bridge to Fulham. The red weed was tumultuous at that time, and nearly choked the bridge roadway; but its fronds were already whitened in patch...