This Earth Shall Die

: The Crack Of Doom

My memory does not serve me well in the scenes which immediately

preceded the closing of the drama in which Brande was chief actor. It is

doubtless the transcendental interest of the final situation which

blunts my recollection of what occurred shortly before it. I did not

abate one jot of my determination to fight my venture out unflinching,

but my actions were probably more automatic than reasoned, as the time

of our
last encounter approached. On the whole, the fight had been a

fair one. Brande had used his advantage over me for his own purpose as

long as it remained with him. I used the advantage as soon as it passed

to me for mine. The conditions had thus been equalised when, for the

third and last time, I was to hear him address his Society.



This time the man was weak in health. His vitality was ebbing fast, but

his marvellous inspiration was strong within him, and, supported by it,

he battled manfully with the disease which I had manufactured for him.

His lecture-room was the fairy glen; his canopy the heavens.



I cannot give the substance of this address, or any portion of it,

verbatim as on former occasions, for I have not the manuscript. I doubt

if Brande wrote out his last speech. Methodical as were his habits it is

probable that his final words were not premeditated. They burst from him

in a delirium that could hardly have been studied. His fine frenzy could

not well have originated from considered sentences, although his

language, regarded as mere oratory, was magnificent. It was appalling in

the light through which I read it.



He stood alone upon the rock which overtopped the dell. We arranged

ourselves in such groups as suited our inclinations, upon some rising

ground below. The great trees waved overhead, low murmuring. The

waterfall splashed drearily. Below, not a whisper was exchanged. Above,

the man poured out his triumphant death-song in sonorous periods.

Below, great fear was upon all. Above, the madman exulted wildly.



At first his voice was weak. As he went on it gained strength and depth.

He alluded to his first address, in which he had hinted that the

material Universe was not quite a success; to his second, in which he

had boldly declared it was an absolute failure. This, his third

declaration, was to tell us that the remedy as far as he, a mortal man,

could apply it, was ready. The end was at hand. That night should see

the consummation of his life-work. To-morrow's sun would rise--if it

rose at all--on the earth restored to space.



A shiver passed perceptibly over the people, prepared as they were for

this long foreseen announcement. Edith Metford, who stood by me on my

left, slipped her hand into mine and pressed my fingers hard. Natalie

Brande, on my right, did not move. Her eyes were dilated and fixed on

the speaker. The old clairvoyante look was on her face. Her dark pupils

were blinded save to their inward light. She was either unconscious or

only partly conscious. Now that the hour had come, they who had believed

their courage secure felt it wither. They, the people with us, begged

for a little longer time to brace themselves for the great crisis--the

plunge into an eternity from which there would be no resurrection,

neither of matter nor of mind.



Brande heeded them not.



"This night," said he, with culminating enthusiasm, "the cloud-capped

towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, shall dissolve. To

this great globe itself--this paltry speck of less account in space than

a dew-drop in an ocean--and all its sorrow and pain, its trials and

temptations, all the pathos and bathos of our tragic human farce, the

end is near. The way has been hard, and the journey overlong, and the

burden often beyond man's strength. But that long-drawn sorrow now shall

cease. The tears will be wiped away. The burden will fall from weary

shoulders. For the fulness of time has come. This earth shall die! And

death is peace.



"I stand," he cried out in a strident voice, raising his arm aloft, "I

may say, with one foot on sea and one on land, for I hold the elemental

secret of them both. And I swear by the living god--Science

incarnate--that the suffering of the centuries is over, that for this

earth and all that it contains, from this night and for ever, Time

will be no more!"



A great cry rose from the people. "Give us another day--only another

day!"



But Brande made answer: "It is now too late."



"Too late!" the people wailed.



"Yes, too late. I warned you long ago. Are you not yet ready? In two

hours the disintegrating agent will enter on its work. No human power

could stop it now. Not if every particle of the material I have

compounded were separated and scattered to the winds. Before I set my

foot upon this rock I applied the key which will release its inherent

energy. I myself am powerless."



"Powerless," sobbed the auditors.



"Powerless! And if I had ten thousand times the power which I have

called forth from the universal element, I would use it towards the

issue I have forecast."



Thereupon he turned away. Doom sounded in his words. The hand of Death

laid clammy fingers on us. Edith Metford's strength failed at last. It

had been sorely tested. She sank into my arms.



"Courage, true heart, our time has come," I whispered. "We start for the

steamer at once. The horses are ready." My arrangements had been already

made. My plan had been as carefully matured as any ever made by Brande

himself.



"How many horses?"



"Three. One for you; another for Natalie; the third for myself. The rest

must accept the fate they have selected."



The girl shuddered as she said, "But your interference with the formula?

You are sure it will destroy the effect?"



"I am certain that the particular result on which Brande calculates will

not take place. But short of that, he has still enough explosive matter

stored to cause an earthquake. We are not safe within a radius of fifty

miles. It will be a race against time."



"Natalie will not come."



"Not voluntarily. You must think of some plan. Your brain is quick. We

have not a moment to lose. Ah, there she is! Speak to her."



Natalie was crossing the open ground which led from the glen to Brande's

laboratory. She did not observe us till Edith called to her. Then she

approached hastily and embraced her friend with visible emotion. Even to

me she offered her cheek without reserve.



"Natalie," I said quickly, "there are three horses saddled and waiting

in the palm grove. The Esmeralda is still lying in the harbour where

we landed. You will come with us. Indeed, you have no choice. You must

come if I have to carry you to your horse and tie you to the saddle. You

will not force me to put that indignity upon you. To the horses, then!

Come!"



For answer she called her brother loudly by his name. Brande immediately

appeared at the door of his laboratory, and when he perceived from whom

the call had come he joined us.



"Herbert," said Natalie, "our friend is deserting us. He must still

cling to the thought that your purpose may fail, and he expects to

escape on horseback from the fate of the earth. Reason with him yet a

little further."



"There is no time to reason," I interrupted. "The horses are ready. This

girl (pointing as I spoke to Edith Metford) takes one, I another, and

you the third--whether your brother agrees or not."



"Surely you have not lost your reason? Have you forgotten the drop of

water in the English Channel?" Brande said quietly.



"Brande," I answered, "the sooner you induce your sister to come with me

the better; and the sooner you induce these maniac friends of yours to

clear out the better, for your enterprise will fail."



"It is as certain as the law of gravitation. With my own hand I mixed

the ingredients according to the formula."



"And," said I, "with my own hand I altered your formula."



Had Brande's heart stopped beating, his face could not have become more

distorted and livid. He moved close to me, and, glaring into my eyes,

hissed out:



"You altered my formula?"



"I did," I answered recklessly. "I multiplied your figures by ten where

they struck me as insufficient."



"When?"



I strode closer still to him and looked him straight in the eyes while I

spoke.



"That night in the Red Sea, when Edith Metford, by accident, mixed

morphia in your medicine. The night I injected a subtle poison, which I

picked up in India once, into your blood while you slept, thereby

baffling some of the functions of your extraordinary brain. The night

when in your sleep you stirred once, and had you stirred twice, I would

have killed you, then and there, as ruthlessly as you would kill mankind

now. The night I did kill your lieutenant, Rockingham, and throw his

body overboard to the sharks."



Brande did not speak for a moment. Then he said in a gentle,

uncomplaining voice:



"So it now devolves on Grey. The end will be the same. The Labrador

expedition will succeed where I have failed." To Natalie: "You had

better go. There will only be an explosion. The island will probably

disappear. That will be all."



"Do you remain?" she asked.



"Yes. I perish with my failure."



"Then I perish with you. And you, Marcel, save yourself--you coward!"



I started as if struck in the face. Then I said to Edith: "Be careful to

keep to the track. Take the bay horse. I saddled him for myself, but you

can ride him safely. Lose no time, and ride hard for the coast."



"Arthur Marcel," she answered, so softly that the others did not hear,

"your work in the world is not yet over. There is the Labrador

expedition. Just now, when my strength failed, you whispered 'courage.'

Be true to yourself! Half an hour is gone."



At length some glimmer of human feeling awoke in Brande. He said in a

low, abstracted voice: "My life fittingly ends now. To keep you,

Natalie, would only be a vulgar murder." The old will power seemed to

come back to him. He looked into the girl's eyes, and said slowly and

sternly: "Go! I command it."



Without another word he turned away from us. When he had disappeared

into the laboratory, Natalie sighed, and said dreamily:



"I am ready. Let us go."



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