Across the Zodiac (9 page)

At 18h. I was within 8000 miles of the surface, and could observe Mars
distinctly as a world, and no longer as a star. The colour, so
remarkable a feature in his celestial appearance, was almost equally
perceptible at this moderate elevation. The seas are not so much blue
as grey. Masses of land reflected a light between yellow and orange,
indicating, as I thought, that orange must be as much the predominant
colour of vegetation as green upon Earth. As I came still lower, and
only parts of the disc were visible at once, and these through the
side and end windows, this conviction was more and more strongly
impressed upon my mind. What, however, was beyond denial was, that if
the polar ice and snow were not so purely and distinctly white as they
appear at a distance upon Earth, they were yet to a great extent
devoid of the yellow tinge that preponderated everywhere else. The
most that could be said was, that whereas on Earth the snow is of that
white which we consider absolute, and call, as such, snow-white, but
which really has in it a very slight preponderance of blue, upon Mars
the polar caps are rather cream-white, or of that white, so common in
our flowers, which has in it an equally slight tinge of yellow. On the
shore, or about twenty miles from the shore of the principal sea to
the southward of the equator, and but a few degrees from the equator
itself, I perceived at last a point which appeared peculiarly suitable
for my descent. A very long range of mountains, apparently having an
average height of about 14,000 feet, with some peaks of probably twice
or three times that altitude, stretched for several hundred miles
along the coast, leaving, however, between it and the actual
shore-line an alluvial plain of some twenty to fifty miles across. At
the extremity of this range, and quite detached from it, stood an
isolated mountain of peculiar form, which, as I examined it through
the telescope, appeared to present a surface sufficiently broken and
sloped to permit of descent; while, at the same time, its height and
the character of its summit satisfied me that no one was likely to
inhabit it, and that though I might descend-it in a few hours, to
ascend it on foot from the plain would be a day's journey. Towards
this I directed my course, looking out from time to time carefully for
any symptoms of human habitation or animal life. I made out by degrees
the lines of rivers, mountain slopes covered by great forests,
extensive valleys and plains, seemingly carpeted by a low, dense, rich
vegetation. But my view being essentially of a bird's-eye character,
it was only in those parts that lay upon my horizon that I could
discern clearly the height of any object above the general level; and
as yet, therefore, there might well be houses and buildings,
cultivated fields and divisions, which I could not see.

Before I had satisfied myself whether the planet was or was not
inhabited, I found myself in a position from which its general surface
was veiled by the evening mist, and directly over the mountain in
question, within some twelve miles of its summit. This distance I
descended in the course of a quarter of an hour, and landed without a
shock about half an hour, so far as I could judge, after the Sun had
disappeared below the horizon. The sunset, however, by reason of the
mists, was totally invisible.

I will not attempt to express the intensity of the mingled emotions
which overcame me as I realised the complete success of the most
stupendous adventure ever proposed or even dreamed by man. I don't
think that any personal vanity, unworthy of the highest lessons I had
received, had much share in my passionate exultation. The conception
was not original; the means were furnished by others; the execution
depended less on a daring and skill, in which any courageous traveller
or man of science knowing what I knew might well have excelled me,
than on the direct and manifest favour of Providence. But this
enterprise, the greatest that man had ever attempted, had in itself a
charm, a sanctity in my eyes that made its accomplishment an
unspeakable satisfaction. I would have laid down life a dozen times
not only to achieve it myself, but even to know that it had been
achieved by others. All that Columbus can have felt when he first set
foot on a new hemisphere I felt in tenfold force as I assured myself
that not, as often before, in dreams, but in very truth and fact, I
had traversed forty million miles of space, and landed in a new world.
Of the perils that might await me I could hardly care to think. They
might be greater in degree.

They could hardly be other in kind, than those which a traveller might
incur in Papua, or Central Africa, or in the North-West Passage. They
could have none of that wholly novel, strange, incalculable character
which sometimes had given to the chances of my etherial voyage a vague
horror and mystery that appalled imagination. For the first time
during my journey I could neither eat nor sleep; yet I must do both. I
might soon meet with difficulties and dangers that would demand all
the resources of perfect physical and mental condition, with heavy
calls on the utmost powers of nerve and muscle. I forced myself,
therefore, to sup and to slumber, resorting for the first time in many
years to the stimulus of brandy for the one purpose, and to the aid of
authypnotism for the other. When I woke it was 8h. by my chronometer,
and, as I inferred, about 5h. after midnight of the Martial meridian
on which I lay. Sleep had given me an appetite for breakfast, and
necessary practical employment calmed the excitement natural to my
situation. My first care, after making ready to quit the Astronaut as
soon as the light around should render it safe to venture into scenes
so much more utterly strange, unfamiliar, and unknown than the wildest
of the yet unexplored deserts of the Earth, was to ascertain the
character of the atmosphere which I was presently to breathe. Did it
contain the oxygen essential to Tellurian lungs? Was it, if capable of
respiration, dense enough to sustain life like mine? I extracted the
plug from the tubular aperture through which I had pumped in the extra
quantity of air that the Astronaut contained; and substituted the
sliding valve I had arranged for the purpose, with a small hole which,
by adjustment to the tube, would give the means of regulating the
air-passage at pleasure. The difficulty of this simple work, and the
tremendous outward pressure of the air, showed that the external
atmosphere was very thin indeed. This I had anticipated. Gravity on
the surface of Mars is less than half what it is on Earth; the total
mass of the planet is as two to fifteen. It was consequently to be
expected that the extent of the Martial atmosphere, and its density
even at the sea-level, would be far less than on the heavier planet.
Rigging the air-pump securely round the aperture, exhausting its
chamber, and permitting the Martial air to fill it, I was glad to find
a pressure equal to that which prevails at a height of 16,000 feet on
Earth. Chemical tests showed the presence of oxygen in somewhat
greater proportion than in the purest air of terrestrial mountains. It
would sustain life, therefore, and without serious injury, if the
change from a dense to a light atmosphere were not too suddenly made.
I determined then gradually to diminish the density of the internal
atmosphere to something not very much greater than that outside. For
this purpose I unrigged the air-pump apparatus, and almost, but not
quite, closed the valve, leaving an aperture about the twentieth part
of an inch in diameter. The silence was instantly broken by a whistle
the shrillest and loudest I had ever heard; the dense compressed
atmosphere of the Astronaut rushing out with a force which actually
created a draught through the whole vessel, to the great discomfiture
of the birds, which roughed their feathers and fluttered about in
dismay. The pressure gauge fell with astonishing rapidity, despite the
minuteness of the aperture; and in a few minutes indicated about 24
barometrical inches. I then checked the exit of the air for a time,
while I proceeded to loosen the cement around the window by which I
had entered, and prepared for my exit. Over a very light flannel
under-vesture I put on a mail-shirt of fine close-woven wire, which
had turned the edge of Mahratta tulwars, repelled the thrust of a
Calabrian stiletto, and showed no mark of three carbine bullets fired
point-blank. Over this I wore a suit of grey broadcloth, and a pair of
strong boots over woollen socks, prepared for cold and damp as well as
for the heat of a sun shining perpendicularly through an Alpine
atmosphere. I had nearly equalised the atmospheric pressure within and
without, at about 17 inches, before the first beams of dawn shone
upward on the ceiling of the Astronaut. A few minutes later I stepped
forth on the platform, some two hundred yards in circumference,
whereon the vessel rested. The mist immediately around me was fast
dispersing; five hundred feet below it still concealed everything. On
three sides descent was barred by sheer precipices; on the fourth a
steep slope promised a practicable path, at least as far as my eye
could reach. I placed the weaker and smaller of my birds in portable
cages, and then commenced my experiment by taking out a strong-winged
cuckoo and throwing him downwards over the precipice. He fell at first
almost like a stone; but before he was quite lost to sight in the
mist, I had the pleasure of seeing that he had spread his wings, and
was able to sustain himself. As the mist was gradually dissolving, I
now ventured to begin my descent, carrying my bird-cages, and
dismissing the larger birds, several of which, however, persistently
clung about me. I had secured on my back an air-gun, arranged to fire
sixteen balls in succession without reloading, while in my belt,
scabbarded in a leathern sheath, I had placed a well and often tried
two-edged sword. I found the way practicable, though not easy, till I
reached a point about 1000 feet below the summit, where farther
progress in the same direction was barred by an abrupt and impassable
cleft some hundred feet deep. To the right, however, the mountain side
seemed to present a safe and sufficiently direct descent. The sun was
a full hour above the horizon, and the mist was almost gone. Still I
had seen no signs of animal life, save, at some distance and in rapid
motion, two or three swarms of flying insects, not much resembling any
with which I was acquainted. The vegetation, mostly small, was of a
yellowish colour, the flowers generally red, varied by occasional
examples of dull green and white; the latter, however, presenting that
sort of creamy tinge which I had remarked in the snow. Here I released
and dismissed my birds one by one. The stronger and more courageous
flew away downwards, and soon disappeared; the weakest, trembling and
shivering, evidently suffering from the thinness of the atmosphere,
hung about me or perched upon the cages.

The scene I now contemplated was exceedingly novel and striking. The
sky, instead of the brilliant azure of a similar latitude on earth,
presented to my eye a vault of pale green, closely analogous to that
olive tint which the effect of contrast often throws over a small
portion of clear sky distinguished among the golden and rose-coloured
clouds of a sunset in our temperate zones.

The vapours which still hung around the north-eastern and
south-eastern horizon, though dispelled from the immediate vicinity of
the Sun, were tinged with crimson and gold much deeper than the tints
peculiar to an earthly twilight. The Sun himself, when seen by the
naked eye, was as distinctly golden as our harvest moon; and the whole
landscape, terrestrial, aerial, and celestial, appeared as if bathed
in a golden light, wearing generally that warm summer aspect peculiar
to Tellurian landscapes when seen through glass of a rich yellow tint.
It was a natural inference from all I saw that there takes place in
the Martial atmosphere an absorption of the blue rays which gives to
the sunlight a predominant tinge of yellow or orange. The small rocky
plateau on which I stood, like the whole of the mountainside I had
descended, faced the extremity of the range of which this mountain was
an outpost; and the valley which separated them was not from my
present position visible. I saw that I should have to turn my back
upon this part of the landscape as I descended farther, and therefore
took note at this point of the aspect it presented. The most prominent
object was a white peak in the distant sky, rising to a height above
my actual level, which I estimated conjecturally at 25,000 feet,
guessing the distance at fifty miles. The summit was decidedly more
angular and pointed, less softened in outline by atmospheric
influences, than those of mountains on Earth. Beyond this in the
farthest distance appeared two or three peaks still higher, but of
which, of course, only the summits were visible to me. On this side of
the central peak an apparently continuous double ridge extended to
within three miles of my station, exceedingly irregular in level, the
highest elevations being perhaps 20,000, the lowest visible
depressions 3000 feet above me. There appeared to be a line of
perpetual snow, though in many places above, this line patches of
yellow appeared, the nearer of which were certainly and the more
distant must be inferred to be covered with a low, close herbaceous
vegetation. The lower slopes were entirely clothed with yellow or
reddish foliage. Between the woods and snow-line lay extensive
pastures or meadows, if they might be so called, though I saw nothing
whatever that at all resembled the grass of similar regions on Earth.
Whatever foliage I saw—as yet I had not passed near anything that
could be called a tree, and very few shrubs—consisted distinctly of
leaves analogous to those of our deciduous trees, chiefly of three
shapes: a sort of square rounded at the angles, with short projecting
fingers; an oval, slightly pointed where it joined the stalk; and
lanceolate or sword-like blades of every size, from two inches to four
feet in length. Nearly all were of a dull yellow or copper-red tinge.
None were as fine as the beech-leaf, none succulent or fleshy; nothing
resembling the blades of grass or the bristles of the pine and
cedar tribes was visible.