The days then passed uneventfully until at last the long-looked-for day arrived, and on the 24th September we were so close to Mars that we hoped to be able to land on the planet by two o’clock in the afternoon. We made ourselves a little sprucer than usual, as we wished to do credit to our own world; and M’Allister wore his overalls to protect his clothes, although our machinery was not nearly so messy to handle as steam-engines usually are.
We had already examined our three machine-guns so that they might be in readiness for any emergency, if some of the ideas of which we had read as to the probable ferocity of the Martians should prove correct. It had, however, been definitely agreed between us that the guns were only to be used as a last resort to defend our lives against a wanton attack, and were to be kept out of sight until they were really required. My own conception of the Martians was, however, a very different one, though I thought it quite right to be prepared for anything which might happen.
As Mars was only about twenty-five miles distant, its surface details could be fairly well seen through the clear thin atmosphere; and, with the aid of a glass, one question at least was definitely settled—the numerous lines of vegetation were fairly continuous; but there were no large canals to be seen, though we thought we could trace some narrow ones.
We could also see several rapidly moving specks in the sky, which, we suggested, might be air-ships of some kind; but they were so far off and indistinct, that we were unable to arrive at a definite conclusion.
Our speed having been gradually reduced, we were now only moving at the rate of twenty-five miles an hour, and it was therefore time to decide on a landing-place. John and M’Allister pointed out a conspicuous spot not very far from the centre of the visible surface of the planet, John remarking that we should be about right if we landed there, because several canals converged to it, and it must, therefore, be a place of some importance. On looking at the map we found that it was marked as the Nodus Gordii, or “Gordian Knot”; so, really, it seemed an appropriate landing-place for travellers who were desirous of solving mysteries.
“Very well, then,” I said, “we’ll land there if you like, but I had rather a fancy for a different spot, which is on the Sinus Titanum. It is that place over there, near the point where the vegetation curves down in both directions,” I remarked, as I pointed out the spot.
“Your place is rather nearer to the equator, and is probably pretty warm; but really it does not matter where we land so long as we arrive on the planet. Your votes are two to my one; so, as you have a thumping majority, go ahead, M’Allister, for the place you have chosen! We will see whether we can cut the Gordian Knot, if we cannot undo it!”
[Illustration: From a Globe made by M. Wicks Plate X
MARS. MAP III
“Sirapion,” the landing-place of the “Areonal,” is shown just above the point of the shaded portion near the top. The “Nodus Gordii,” where John wished to land, is seen between the double canal just above the Equator, on the left-hand side of the map.]
He accordingly directed his course towards the chosen spot; but we had not proceeded very far before everything below us suddenly disappeared, being quite blotted out by something of an ochre tint, which entirely obscured our view of the country.
“Professor,” exclaimed M’Allister, “what is the matter? I cannot see where we are going!”
“I can guess what it is,” I replied; “we have run into one of those sand-clouds I told you of the other evening, and until we get through, or it passes away, we shall see nothing else. Perhaps we had better go on very slowly.”
We went on accordingly, but instead of our getting through it, the cloud seemed to become denser and denser. However, we still pressed on, and, after what seemed quite a long time, we emerged into somewhat clearer air, although there was still a thin yellow cloud below us. Our course had been well maintained, for we seemed to be within ten miles of our destination, which we could just make out through the thin dust-cloud.
Presently M’Allister called out to me, “Professor, I don’t know what is wrong, but the machinery is slowing down so much that I am afraid we shall soon come to a dead stop! I have switched on more power, but it does not seem to make any difference!”
“Well, try a little stronger current,” I suggested; “but be careful not to overdo it, or we may land upon Mars more suddenly than we shall like.”
He tried this, but we had not moved more than a hundred yards when he found that farther progress was impossible. So here we were, only a few miles from our destination, yet prevented by an impalpable and unknown obstacle from reaching it!
We consulted together, but could find no solution of the mystery of this invisible barrier to our progress. Then John suggested that, as we could not go straight on, we should try a different course. So M’Allister altered our course a few points, and once more put on the speed power, only to be brought to a standstill again after a very short spurt.
“My word!” he exclaimed, “I’ll not be beaten like this. I’ve driven an old iron tramp-steamer through scores of miles of thick seaweed out in the tropics, although the machinery was almost worn out and the engines leaking at every joint. Here goes for full speed ahead!” he cried; and, so saying, he switched on full power, quite heedless of my shout of “Do be careful, M’Allister, or we shall all be smashed to pieces!”
“She’s got to go!” he replied grimly, “smash or no smash! I never was beaten yet when pushing my way through obstacles, and I’m too old a hand to be beaten now!”
However, he found he was beaten this time, for although he switched on the utmost power, it refused to give any evidence of its existence, and we had to rely on our neutral power in order to maintain our position in the air; though, as events proved, we could not have fallen.
The excitement and tension of the work had thrown M’Allister into a profuse perspiration; and, as he stood moodily mopping his brow with his handkerchief, I heard him muttering and swearing softly to himself. His blood was evidently up, for he made another desperate attempt to get the Areonal to move forward, wrenching his switches with angry jerks, but it all proved labour in vain.
“Well, what is to be done now, John?” I asked; “we have tried two courses without any effect!”
“I would suggest, Professor, that we should go up higher,” he replied, “so as to enable us to try again from another altitude, then, perhaps, we may pass above the obstacle.”
“A good thought that, John!” I cried. So up we went, the machinery working all right now, and our spirits rose as we soared higher; but, alas! after rising a few hundred yards, the machines began to slow down, and soon stopped altogether.
“The de’il himself must be taking a hand in this business!” exclaimed M’Allister, “for this beats the worst experience I ever had! We can’t go up, we can’t go down, and we can’t go forward! Whatever can we do, Professor? You’re a scientific man; can’t you suggest something which might help?”
“It’s a profound mystery to me, M’Allister,” I replied, “but we certainly do not want to remain hung up in space, so I suggest you should try several different courses. Surely, in some direction we shall find a way out of this, and get to our destination.”
This plan was tried, M’Allister doggedly setting his course first in one direction, then in another, and trying to put on enough power to force the vessel along; but time after time we came to a standstill after moving very slowly for a short distance.
“It looks as though we were to be hung up here indefinitely,” said John. “We do not seem able to get through this mysterious obstacle, whatever it may be, or whatever course we may try.”
“Oh, we’ve not tried all points yet,” I said. “We must not give up now we have got so close to the object of our trip. Take a fresh course, M’Allister.”
He took a fresh course, and another after that, but with exactly the same result.
I had never seen M’Allister in such a perturbed state before; he actually trembled all over with the intensity of his feelings, and his face had an expression of grim determination such as I should imagine might be seen on the face of a soldier at bay with his back to a wall, and fighting for his life against overwhelming numbers of assailants.
“My word!” he exclaimed, “yon’s Mars, and here’s us, but it doesn’t seem as if we should ever come together. Losh mon, bonnie Scotland for ever! Here goes for another try!” and he switched on the current again with a vicious pull.
We watched the machines with intense anxiety, wondering whether this new course would be any better than the others we had tried—whether the machines would keep moving, or slow down and stop as before.
