She replied that she had neither relatives nor friends to trouble about, so there was no need to take any time over it, for she would only be too pleased to retain her old position, and would do her best to make me comfortable. I assured her that I had no doubt whatever upon that point; thus it was all settled there and then, and she has remained with me ever since.
My aunt was long since dead, but my two cousins, James and Timothy Snayleye, lived in London: so I thought I would go over to apprise them of my return home. They, however, received me so very coldly that, beyond saying I had been to Mars and back again, and giving a few details of what we had seen there, I did not tell them very much.
They asked a few questions now and then, but evinced very little interest in my affairs, though I noticed them frequently exchanging nods and winks with each other. I soon left, but after such a reception, was rather surprised when James Snayleye walked into my house the next day and asked to be allowed to call in a day or two and bring with him a couple of friends who were interested in Mars, and would like to hear anything I could tell them. I did not altogether care about discussing my adventures with entire strangers, but, as he was so very pressing, in the end I agreed to see them.
When they arrived I was greatly surprised to find that, instead of being persons of about the same age as my cousin, both were elderly men. One was introduced to me as Mr. Josias Googery, a Justice of the Peace, and the other as Dr. Loonem.
We had no sooner sat down than the doctor started the conversation by asking, in an unctuous tone of voice, several questions about my trip—“Whether, ah, it was really true that I had, ah, travelled all the way to Mars and back again in, ah, a vessel of our own construction?”
All the time he was speaking he was performing the operation known as “washing the hands with invisible soap,” a trick which always has an irritating effect upon my nerves.
In answer to his question I said, “It was quite true that I had been to Mars,” and mentioned a few particulars of our trip.
Mr. Googery then put a few questions to me, and, as I replied, he interjected after almost every sentence that I spoke, “Ah! h’m, yes, just so,” James Snayleye sitting by all the time with a sneering grin upon his face which I found very aggravating.
When I had told them as much as I thought necessary, they both started cross-examining me in such an impertinent and sceptical manner that at length I became extremely irritated, and declined to answer any more questions. Whereupon Dr. Loonem proceeded to wash his hands again, saying in an oily manner, as though addressing a child, “Pray, ah, don’t excite yourself, my dear sir; don’t, ah, excite yourself! You know, ah, it’s not good for you!”
This was too much for flesh and blood to bear, so I rose and said that as I had an important engagement to attend to, I could not spare any more time that day, at the same time ringing the bell for Mrs. Challen to show them out.
She did so, and returned in a state of indignation, saying, she did not like those people at all, they were so rude; and that as they were passing through the doorway she heard the doctor say, “It’s a clear case enough; did you notice the gleam in his eyes? that alone is sufficient to settle it!” To this Mr. Googery had replied, “Ah, h’m, yes, just so!”
“Well, Mrs. Challen,” I said, “please understand that if either of those people calls again, I am not at home.”
“Certainly, sir,” she answered with great alacrity, as she went out of the room.
It was no mere excuse, but perfectly correct, when I told those people I had an important engagement to attend to. An old friend of mine, Sir Lockesley Halley, was President of the Dedlingtonian Astronomical Society, and, after hearing my account of Mars, said he would be very glad if I could attend the meeting of his Society on the following evening and give a short address on the subject.
I was rather averse from this, as the Society was not a large one, though it had several clever men in it, and I knew that the professionals who controlled it, and also the majority of the members, prided themselves on being exponents of what they termed “sane and unsensational astronomy”; which in some cases amounted to saying that they were a long way behind the times.
It is an interesting fact that we owe a large proportion of our knowledge of planetary detail to the work of enthusiastic amateur observers. In this Society, indeed, nearly all the best observational work was done by the non-professional class; and when, as the result of their systematic and painstaking work, they noted on their planetary drawings some lines or markings which had not previously been recorded, one would have thought their original work would have been commended. It was, however, not unusual in such cases for a professional to rise and calmly declare that the new markings were only illusions, such as he had often predicted would be claimed as discoveries.
Thus the amateurs were kept in their proper places; but the professionals did not always prove to be correct in their strictures and pronouncements.
In these circumstances, I did not expect much credence to be given to anything fresh that might be stated in my address, and therefore I rather demurred to Sir Lockesley’s proposal. He, however, made such a personal matter of it that, as he was an extremely able man and a good fellow, I at last consented to do as he wished.
M’Allister accompanied me to the meeting and sat among the audience. After a few introductory remarks from Sir Lockesley, I gave my address, which lasted about half-an-hour; but it was received even more chillingly than I had anticipated, and the few comments made by the members were nearly all indicative of scepticism of my statements and unbelief in my bona fides. A scientific audience is usually rather cold and unenthusiastic; but, in the present case, except for one or two isolated hand-claps, the vote of thanks was allowed to pass sub silentio. Sir Lockesley, of course, could not help this, and I saw that he was much annoyed at my reception.
The meeting then split up into groups, lingering here and there to discuss my statements as they moved toward the door; and M’Allister told me that, as he stood near a group, he heard one man exclaim, “It’s all arrant nonsense! five minutes with my 12-1/16-inch reflector would convince any sane man that there are no fine lines to be seen on Mars, because none exist!” This brought a murmur of assent; then some one else said, “Well, I certainly see some of the lines with my 7-1/2-inch, but regard them as illusions”; and he also received some support.
Another man then spoke up, remarking, “My experience does not agree with yours, gentlemen, for when I used a 6-inch refractor I could see some of the lines, yet felt doubtful of their actuality; but since I have used a 12- inch reflector my opinion has entirely changed. The lines are visible whenever the atmospheric conditions are favourable, and are seen with so much certainty that I have long abandoned my doubts of their representing real markings!” “Hear, hear!” said several, “and in a clearer atmosphere you would see still more!”
This was the Martian controversy in a nut-shell: for so much depends upon individual eyesight, instrumental power, and good atmospheric conditions. Even the finest instruments fail when observational conditions are unfavourable!
Many other people to whom I spoke about my trip to Mars exhibited the same incredulity as those at the meeting. I showed two persons, whom I thought would be open to conviction, some photographic views in their natural colours, which I had brought home with me. One of them looked at the pictures, then handed them to his friend, with the remark: “Clever fakes, aren’t they? you can do almost anything with the camera nowadays!”
Similar opinions were either expressed or implied by others who saw them, so now I keep all such things to myself.
Two days after the meeting Sir Lockesley called to have a chat with me, and, whilst we were conversing, Mrs. Challen announced that two men insisted upon seeing me, although she told them I was engaged.
“Well,” I said, “show them into the next room and I will soon dispose of them”; then asking Sir Lockesley to excuse me a few minutes, I passed through the folding doors which separated the two rooms.
The men were perfect strangers to me, and clearly not of a class with which I should care to make acquaintance.
“To what do I owe this visit?” I inquired, as I entered the room.
“Beg pardon, sir,” said one of the men, “but we wished to see you on urgent business, and ask you to come with us. There is a carriage at the door!”
“But who are you, and where do you wish me to go?” I inquired.
He hummed and haa-ed, then said, “A friend desired to see me at once, and it was only a short journey!”
