extensive field and walked toward a large shed that stood near its centre.
It was a most beautiful evening near the beginning of August 1909, clear and calm. The sun had only just passed below the horizon, the sky immediately above it being a rippled glory of gold, merging higher up into gold flecked with crimson, then into a placid sea of pale apple-green. Above this were fleecy clouds of delicate rose-pink, which reflected their splendours upon the higher parts of the surrounding hills, the latter standing out clear and sharp, and glowing with roseate hues, whilst their bases were seen dimly as through a thin veiling of purple mist.
Surely nothing could be better for the commencement of our long-planned trip. The moon would not rise until about a quarter-past nine, and darkness would have descended by the time we were ready to start. This was exactly what we required, because we did not wish either our preparations or our departure to be observed.
Just as we arrived within hail of the shed the door opened, and a rugged-featured man with sandy hair stepped out. This was Kenneth M’Allister, our engineer and general factotum in all mechanical matters—a typical specimen of a Scotch engineer. He had followed his profession in its different phases on tramp-steamers, on ocean liners, naval gunboats, and even on battle-ships, besides having served for several years in the workshops of a great firm of electrical engineers.
Whether repairing a broken propeller-shaft two or three scores of tons in weight, the most intricate machinery, or the most delicate electric mechanism, he was equally at home and sure in his work; in fact nothing seemed to come amiss to him. His machinery was always the object of his most anxious care, and, providing that all worked satisfactorily, nothing else troubled him much.
“Well, M’Allister,” I called to him, “is everything ready for our trip to-night?”
“Heh, mon,” he replied, “everything is all ready; will you look in and take a turn round the ship?”
“Certainly we will,” I answered; so we all went into the shed, where we gazed with equal pride and satisfaction upon the splendid shining object which was housed therein. Here, in perfect readiness for its destined service, was our air-ship—if it could be so called—upon which we three had expended years of thought, experiment, and work.
Outwardly it was shaped somewhat like a fish, being constructed of a special metal—our joint invention— which we had named “martalium.” The metal was composed of aluminium and two other rarer metals which, when combined together, produced a substance almost as light as aluminium, yet many times harder and tougher than case-hardened steel; whilst its surface shone like burnished silver and could never in any circumstances become tarnished or affected by rust.
The ship was ninety-five feet in length, and its diameter twenty feet in the broadest part, tapering off to a point at either end.
With the exception of the steering and balancing fans, there was no machinery whatever visible on the exterior of the vessel. Several windows along each side, together with a few at the top and bottom of the vessel, gave light to the interior, and would allow for observations being made in any direction. These windows were all constructed of a special toughened glass obtained from Vienna, very thick and warranted to withstand the hardest blows. Along each side of the vessel there was an observation platform or gallery on to which the exterior doors opened, and each gallery was provided with a protecting railing.
The interior of the ship was divided into five separate compartments, the rear one being the general living and sleeping room, having observation windows so arranged as to command an outlook in all directions. The next compartment was mainly a store-room, but, like all the others, could be used for observation purposes; next to that was a small compartment intended for a special purpose which will hereafter be apparent; then another containing water storage, apparatus for compressing or rarefying air, as well as machinery for producing the latter chemically.
Lastly, right in the forepart of the vessel was M’Allister’s special sanctum, containing the driving, lighting, warming, and steering machinery, but electric buttons and switches were also provided for controlling these in every compartment, so that whichever one we happened to be in we were prepared for all emergencies. Periscopes capable of being turned in all directions also communicated with every compartment, thus we could always see what might be around us.
All the machinery was either electric or magnetic, some of it being very simple; other portions were extremely intricate, but nearly all was the outcome of our joint inventions. Such parts as could not profitably be made by ourselves had been carefully distributed between several firms of founders and engineers, in order that none could have any means of discovering the use to which they were intended to be put. The whole of the shell of the vessel was double, with a packed space between the two skins; and each door opened into a small lobby, having another door on the farther side, to ensure that every part might be kept perfectly air-tight when required.
By the time we had completed a thorough inspection of the vessel and its machinery, and overhauled the stores to make sure that everything requisite was on board, it had become nearly dark, so, moving a switch, M’Allister swung open the great doors at the end of the shed. The vessel was standing upon a low trolley having many wheels running on rails, with a small electric motor beneath it, and, upon M’Allister moving the trolley switch, the whole affair glided smoothly out into the open field. I may as well confess that we owed this trolley and the mode of its working to ideas gained during an inspection of the construction and working of the conduit trams belonging to the London County Council.
When the vessel was out in the open we congratulated ourselves upon its splendid proportions and business-like appearance.
I asked M’Allister whether “he was satisfied with the result of our labours?”
“Mon,” he replied, “she’s grand, and it’s fine to have the handling of such machinery; everything works as slick as grease!” It was a pleasure to hear him talk about his machines, for he was always so enthusiastic where they were concerned.
“Now,” I suggested, “before we start we’ll give our good ship her name.”
“Bravo!” said John Claxton, “and we’ll drink to her success, a good voyage and a safe return”; and he was so struck by the brilliancy of his idea that he actually took his pipe from his lips, and, holding it in his hand, regarded it with thoughtful contemplation for quite three minutes.
I accordingly went to the store-room and brought out two bottles of champagne. Directly M’Allister saw them he entered a vigorous and emphatic protest, saying, “Heh, Professor! you’re surely not going to celebrate this most auspicious event with such poor fizzy stuff as champagne? Let’s have a wee drop of good old Scotch whisky, and do the thing properly!”
John Claxton here interposed: “Let M’Allister have his whisky if he prefers it, and we’ll have the ‘fizz’!” So I went laughing to the store again and returned with a bottle of special Scotch, whereat M’Allister’s eye gleamed as he smiled approval.
Then, taking up a bottle of the champagne, I broke it over the prow of the vessel, and we solemnly christened her the Areonal in honour of the planet for which we were bound.
Raising high our glasses we gave the toast of “The Areonal; may she and her passengers have a good voyage and a safe return home!” M’Allister peered over the rim of his glass, and, with upturned eyes, remarked that “his old wife in Glasgow would be looking for his safe return in a few months’ time”; then his glass slowly tipped up, and the old Scotch whisky disappeared.
Claxton and I at once stepped on board the vessel, and having just set the machinery slowly moving so as to raise the vessel a few feet, I put on the neutral power so that the ship remained poised in the air. M’Allister ran the trolley back into the shed, closed the doors, and switched off the electric current; then climbed the extending ladder, and came on board, John steadying the vessel by an anchor rope in the meantime.
M’Allister took over the command of the machinery, and, setting it in motion, the Areonal at once rose slowly and gracefully straight up into the air.
John and I were standing outside on the platform, from whence, looking toward the house, we could plainly see Mrs. Challen at the open door of our sitting-room waving farewell to us—her figure silhouetted against the bright light of the room. We waved back to her in response, but I am very doubtful if she could see our signal, as she was looking into the darkness.
We now rose rapidly as M’Allister switched on more power, and far away to the northward we could see over the whole extent of the vast metropolis, with its countless miles of lighted streets. On turning towards the east the Crystal Palace, which was lighted up, was a very conspicuous object against the skyline over the Sydenham
