Under the Moons of Mars: A History and Anthology of the Scientific Romance in the Munsey Magazines, 1912-1920

by Sam Moskowitz (ed. )

  "But sudden the ground begun to shake under my feet, and the air was full of a queer, grinding, groaning sound, like the very earth was in pain.

  "I turned around sharp. There sat Nelson, holding his bleeding toe in both fists and giving vent to such awful words as no decent sea-going lady would ever speak nor hear to!

  " 'Stop it, stop it!' I shrieked at him, but 'twas too late.

  "Island or no island, Anita was a lady, too! She had a gentle heart, but she knowed how to behave when she was insulted.

  "With one terrible, great roar a spout of smoke and flame belched up out o' the heart of Anita's crater hill a full mile into the air!

  "I guess Nelson stopped swearing. He couldn't have heard himself, anyways. Anita was talking now with tongues of flame and such roars as would have bespoke the raging protest of a continent.

  "I grabbed that fool man by the hand and run him down to the water. We had to swim good and hard to catch up with our only hope, the floater. No bark rope could hold her against the stiff breeze that was now blowing, and she had broke her cable. By the time we scrambled aboard great rocks was falling right and left. We couldn't see each other for a while for the clouds of fine gray ash.

  "It seemed like Anita was that mad she was flinging stones after us, and truly I believe that such was her intention. I didn't blame her, neither!

  "Lucky for us the wind was strong and we was soon out of range.

  " 'So!' says I to Nelson, after I'd got most of the ashes out of my mouth, and shook my hair clear of cinders. 'So, that was the reason you up and left sudden when you was there before! You aggravated that island till the poor thing druv you out!'

  " 'Well,' says he, and not so meek as I'd have admired to see him, 'how could I know the darn island was a lady?'

  " 'Actions speak louder than words,' says I. 'You should have knowed it by her ladylike behavior!'

  " 'Is volcanoes and slingin' hot rocks ladylike?' he says. 'Is snakes ladylike? T'other time I cut my thumb on a tin can, I cussed a little bit. Say—just a liT bit! An' what comes at me out o' all the caves, and out o' every crack in the rocks, and out o' the very spring o' water where I'd been drinkin'? Why snakes! Snakes, if you please, big, little, green, red and sky-blue-scarlet! What'd I do? Jumped in the water, of course. Why wouldn't I? I'd rather swim and drown than be stung or swallowed to death. But how was I t' know the snakes come outta the rocks because I cussed?'

  " 'You, couldn't,' I agrees, sarcastic. 'Some folks never knows a lady till she up and whangs 'em over the head with a brick. A real, gentle, kind-like warning, them snakes were, which you would not heed! Take shame to yourself, Nelly,' says I, right stern, 'that a decent little island like Anita can't associate with you peaceable, but you must hurt her sacredest feelings with language no lady would stand by to hear!'

  "I never did see Anita again. She may have blew herself right out of the ocean in her just wrath at the vulgar, disgustin' language of Nelson Smith. I don't know. We was took off the floater at last, and I lost track of Nelson just as quick as I could when we was landed at Frisco.

  "He had taught me a lesson. A man is just full of mannishness, and the best of 'em ain't good enough for a lady to sacrfice her sensibilities to put up with.

  "Nelson Smith, he seemed to feel real bad when he learned I was not for him, and then he apologized. But apologies weren't no use to me. I could never abide him, after the way he went and talked right in the presence of me and my poor, sweet lady friend, Anita!"

  Now I am well versed in the lore of the sea in all ages. Through mists of time I have enviously eyed wild voyagings of sea rovers who roved and spun their yarns before the stronger sex came into its own, and ousted man from his heroic pedestal. I have followed—across the printed page—the wanderings of Odysseus. Before Gulliver I have burned the incense of tranced attention; and with reverent awe considered the history of one Munchausen, a baron. But alas, these were only men!

  In what field is not woman our subtle superior?

  Meekly I bowed my head, and when my eyes dared lift again, the ancient mariness had departed, leaving me to sorrow for my surpassed and outdone idols. Also with a bill for macaroons and tea of such incredible proportions that in comparison therewith I found it easy to believe her story!

  All-Story Weekly

  June 22, 1918

  THE MOON POOL

  by A. Merritt

  It is hard for devotees to understand that A. Merritt, despite his considerable following, belongs to the same school of writing and follows the tradition of Edgar Rice Burroughs. The major divergence is that he weaves his adventures in a lacy atmosphere of the near-poetic, assisting the reader's escape into a time and place of fearful wonder. The result has been that he has survived every change in mode of science fiction, with never a year since the appearance of his first story when some of his works were not in print.

  He was born Abraham Merritt, January 20, 1884, in Beverly, New Jersey, the son of Quaker parents. He attended lectures at the University of Pennsylvania, to become a lawyer but never finished because of inadequate finances. Instead, he accepted a job as a cub reporter on a Philadelphia newspaper at the age of nineteen. Eventually he rose to night editor of the PHILADELPHIA INQUIRER, predominantly due to his flair for covering lurid happenings of murder, executions, lynchings, and similarly gruesome events.

  As a result of his work as Philadelphia correspondent for THE SUNDAY SUPPLEMENT of the Hearst newspapers, he was offered a position on that publication, which he accepted in 1912. THE SUNDAY SUPPLEMENT metamorphosed into the AMERICAN WEEKLY, and when its editor, Morrill Goddard, died in 1937, A. Merritt inherited the top spot. He died August 30, 1943, of a heart attack at Indian Rock Beach, Florida, where he had a vacation home.

  In quantity, he produced relatively little in his lifetime: eight novels, two novelettes, six short stories, and an assortment of unfinished manuscripts, articles, and poems. He proved that volume is not the important criterion of a man's popularity, for The Moon Pool, The Ship of Ishtar, Dwellers in a Mirage, Seven Footprints to Satan, and Creep, Shadow! are among the most famed titles in the canon of fantastic literature.

  Nothing new was completed by him the last nine years of his life, largely because of the demands that running the then immensely successful AMERICAN WEEKLY made on his time. ARGOSY printed all but a few of his short stories. At the end they paid him well, $2,500 for Burn Witch Burn!, which ran about 53,000 words, and $3,500 for Creep, Shadow!, which was 82,500 words in length, but his primary reason for contributing to them was an agreement, that they would never change a single word without permission. He regarded himself as an amateur writing for personal satisfaction and glory. He several times wrote short stories free of charge for amateur science-fiction fan magazines as a token of appreciation for the marvelous reader reception that audience had given him.

  The long novelette The Moon Pool, which is reprinted in full here, was the work that virtually overnight created A. Merritt's reputation as a writer of scientific romances. It reveals all of his remarkable ability to create a colorful background, his adroit blending of fantasy and science, and his inspired talent to transmit an emotional mood along with his action. A sequel, Conquest of the Moon Pool, was combined with the original novelette for hardcover publication in 1919. In adapting the The Moon Pool for the book, A. Merritt very considerably condensed and rewrote the story. This appearance of The Moon Pool is the first time it has ever appeared, uncut and unchanged, in a book.

  1. THE THROCKMARTIN MYSTERY

  I AM breaking a long silence to clear the name of Dr. David Throckmartin and to lift the shadow of scandal from that of his wife and of Dr. Charles Stanton, his assistant. That I have not found the courage to do so before, all men who are jealous of their scientific reputations will understand when they have read the facts entrusted to me alone.

  I shall first recapitulate what has actually been known of the Throckmartin expedition to the island of Ponape in the Carolines—the Throckmartin My
stery, as it is called.

  Dr. Throckmartin set forth, you will recall, to make some observations of Nan-Matal, that extraordinary group of island ruins, remains of a high and prehistoric civilization, that are clustered along the vast shore of Ponape. With him went his wife to whom he had been wedded less than half a year. The daughter of Professor Frazier-Smith, she was as deeply interested and almost as well informed as he upon these relics of a vanished race that titanically strew certain islands of the Pacific and form the basis for the theory of a submerged Pacific continent.

  Mrs. Throckmartin, it will be recalled, was much younger, fifteen years at least, than her husband. Dr. Charles Stanton, who accompanied them as Dr. Throckmartin's assistant, was about her age. These three and a Swedish woman, Thora Helversen, who had been Edith Throckmartin's nurse in babyhood and who was entirely devoted to her, made up the expedition.

  Dr. Throckmartin planned to spend a year among the ruins, not only of Ponape, but of Lele—the twin centers of that colossal riddle of humanity whose answer has its roots in immeasurable antiquity; a weird flower of man-made civilization that blossomed ages before the seeds of Egypt were sown; of whose arts we know little and of whose science and secret knowledge of nature nothing.

  He carried with him complete equipment for his work and gathered at Ponape a dozen or so natives for laborers. They went straight to Metalanim harbor and set up their camp on the island called Uschen-Tau in the group known as the Nan-Matal. You will remember that these islands are entirely uninhabited and are shunned by the people on the main island.

  Three months later Dr. Throckmartin appeared at Port Mooresby, Papua. He came on a schooner manned by Solomon Islanders and commanded by a Chinese half-breed captain. He reported that he was on his way to Melbourne for additional scientific equipment and whites to help him in his excavations, saying that the superstition of the natives made their aid negligible. He went immediately on board the steamer Southern Queen which was sailing that same morning. Three nights later he disappeared from the Southern Queen and it was officially reported that he had met death either by being swept overboard or by casting himself into the sea.

  A relief-boat sent with the news to Ponape found the Throckmartin camp on the island Uschen-Tau and a smaller camp on the island called Nan-Tanach. All the equipment, clothing, supplies were intact. But of Mrs. Throckmartin, of Dr. Stanton, or of Thora Helversen they could find not a single trace!

  The natives who had been employed by the archeologist were questioned. They said that the ruins were the abode of great spirits— ani — who were particularly powerful when the moon was at the full. On these nights all the islanders were doubly careful to give the ruins wide berth. Upon being employed, they had demanded leave from the day before full moon until it was on the wane and this had been granted them by Dr. Throckmartin. Thrice they had left the expedition alone on these nights. On their third return they had found the four white people gone and they "knew that the ani had eaten them." They were afraid and had fled.

  That was all.

  The Chinese half caste was found and reluctantly testified at last that he had picked Dr. Throckmartin up from a small boat about fifty miles off Ponape. The scientist had seemed half mad, but he had given the seaman a large sum of money to bring him to Port Moresby and to say, if questioned, that he had boarded the boat at Ponape harbor.

  That is all that has been known to anyone of the fate of the Throckmartin expedition.

  Why, you will ask, do I break silence now; and how came I in possession of the facts I am about to set forth?

  To the first I answer: I was at the Geographical Club recently and I overheard two members talking. They mentioned the name of Throckmartin and I became an eavesdropper. One said:

  "Of course what probably happened was that Throckmartin killed them all. It's a dangerous thing for a man to marry a woman so much younger than himself and then throw her into the necessarily close company of exploration with a man as young and as agreeable as Stanton was. The inevitable happened, no doubt. Throckmartin discovered; avenged himself. Then followed remorse and suicide."

  "Throckmartin didn't seem to be that kind," said the other thoughtfully.

  "No, he didn't," agreed the first.

  "Isn't there another story?" went on the second speaker. "Something about Mrs. Throckmartin running away with Stanton and taking the woman, Thora, with her? Somebody told me they had been recognized in Singapore recently."

  "You can take your pick of the two stories," replied the other man. "It's one or the other I suppose."

  It was neither one nor the other of them. I know—and I will answer now the second question—because I was with Throckmartin when he— vanished. I know what he told me and I know what my own eyes saw. Incredible, abnormal, against all the known facts of our science as it was, I testify to it. And it is my intention, after this is published, to sail to Ponape, to go to the Nan-Matal and to the islet beneath whose frowning walls dwells the mystery that Throckmartin sought and found— and that at the last sought and found Throckmartin!

  I will leave behind me a copy of the map of the islands that he gave me. Also his sketch of the great courtyard of Nan-Tanach, the location of the moon door, his indication of the probable location of the moon pool and the passage to it and his approximation of the position of the shining globes. If I do not return and there are any with enough belief, scientific curiosity and courage to follow, these will furnish a plain trail.

  I will now proceed straightforwardly with my narrative.

  For six months I had been on the d'Entrecasteaux Islands gathering data for the concluding chapters of my book upon "Flora of the Volcanic Islands of the South Pacific." The day before, I had reached Port Moresby and had seen my specimens safely stored on board the Southern Queen. As I sat on the upper deck that morning I thought, with homesick mind, of the long leagues between me and Melbourne and the longer ones between Melbourne and New York.

  It was one of Papua's yellow mornings, when she shows herself in her most somber, most baleful mood. The sky was a smoldering ocher. Over the island brooded a spirit sullen, implacable and alien; filled with the threat of latent, malefic forces waiting to be unleashed. It seemed an emanation from the untamed, sinister heart of Papua herself —sinister even when she smiles. And now and then, on the wind, came a breath from unexplored jungles, filled with unfamiliar odors, mysterious, and menacing.

  It is on such mornings that Papua speaks to you of her immemorial ancientness and of her power. I am not unduly imaginative but it is a mood that makes me shrink—I mention it because it bears directly upon Dr. Throckmartin's fate. Nor is the mood Papua's alone. I have felt it in New Guinea, in Australia, in the Solomons and in the Carolines. But it is in Papua that it seems most articulate. It is as though she said: "I am the ancient of days; I have seen the earth in the throes of its shaping; I am the primeval; I have seen races born and die and, lo. in my breast are secrets that would blast you by the telling, you pale babes of a puling age. You and I ought not be in the same world; yet I am and I shall be! Never will you fathom me and you I hate though I tolerate! I tolerate—but how long?"

  And then I seem to see a giant paw that reaches from Papua toward the outer world, stretching and sheathing monstrous claws.

  All feel this mood of hers. Her own people have it woven in them, part of their web and woof; flashing into light unexpectedly like a soul from another universe; masking itself as swiftly.

  I fought against Papua as every white man must on one of her yellow mornings. And as I fought I saw a tall figure come striding down the pier. Behind him came a Kapa-Kapa boy swinging a new valise. There was something familiar about the tall man. As he reached the gangplank he looked up straight into my eyes, stared at me for a moment and waved his hand. It was Dr. Throckmartin!

  Coincident with my recognition of him there came a shock of surprise that was definitely—unpleasant. It was Throckmartin—but there was something disturbingly different about him and the ma
n I had known so well and had bidden farewell less than a year before. He was then, as you know, just turned forty, lithe, erect, muscular; the face of a student and of a seeker. His controlling expression was one of enthusiasm, of intellectual keenness, of—what shall I say—expectant search. His ever eagerly questioning brain had stamped itself upon his face.

  I sought in my mind for an explanation of that which I had felt on the flash of his greeting. Hurrying down to the lower deck I found him with the purser. As I spoke he turned and held out to me an eager hand—and then I saw what the change was that had come over him!

  He knew, of course, by my face the uncontrollable shock that my closer look had given me. His eyes filled and he turned briskly to the purser; then hurried off to his stateroom, leaving me standing, half dazed.

  At the stair he half turned.

  "Oh, Goodwin," he said. "I'd like to see you later. Just now—there's something I must write before we start—"

  He went up swiftly.

  " 'E looks rather queer—eh?" said the purser. "Know 'im well, sir? Seems to 'ave given you quite a start, sir."

  I made some reply and went slowly to my chair. I tried to analyze what it was that had disturbed me so; what profound change in Throckmartin that had so shaken me. Now it came to me. It was as though the man had suffered some terrific soul searing shock of rapture and horror combined; some soul cataclysm that in its climax had remolded his face deep from within, setting on it the seal of wedded joy and fear. As though indeed ecstasy supernal and terror infernal had once come to him hand in hand, taken possession of him, looked out of his eyes and, departing, left behind upon him ineradicably their shadow.

  Alternately I looked out over the port and paced about the deck, striving to read the riddle; to banish it from my mind. And all the time still over Papua brooded its baleful spirit of ancient evil, unfathomable, not to be understood; nor had it lifted when the Southern Queen lifted anchor and steamed out into the gulf.