Has the glacial age come again? I do not know. I can only say that we have no certain knowledge of the original cause of the glacial period and we cannot say definitely that it did not begin in precisely this fashion. We have volcanoes which radiate incredible quantities of heat to the country surrounding them. No phenomenon like this has occurred before, but it may be that some unknown cause may bring to the surface a condition the antithesis of a volcano, which, instead of radiating heat, will bring on local glacier-like conditions. One might go farther and suggest that the earth may alternate between periods of volcanic activity, during which it is warm and conditions are favorable for habitation and growth, and periods of this new anti-volcanic activity during which frigidity is normal, and mankind may be forced to take refuge in the tropic zones. Still, I cannot say definitely.
The eminent scientist went on for two full columns, during which he refused to say anything definite, but suggested so many alarming possibilities that every one who read the Tribunal was thrown into a state of mind not far from panic. He offered no explanation of the plume of steam.
When the appearance of the black flyer became known in the newspaper offices, city editors threw up their hands. The less conservative printed the wildest explanations. They put forth a virulent-organism theory, which, it must be admitted, was no farther from the truth than most of the others. The story began with an interview with the boatswain in charge of the boat crew from the destroyer:
We were ordered to take the men off the ice and to take especial care not to be nipped ourselves. We rowed carefully toward the edge of the ice cake, with the light of the searchlights to guide us. We would see where the floe began, when the waves dropped back from it.
I’ve been in Northern seas, but I never saw anything like that. The edge of the ice wasn’t smooth and worn away by the waves. It was rough with frost crystals that reached out like ringers grabbing at the things near by.
When we came close to the edge some of the men in my boat were scared, and I don’t blame them. I’d dipped my hand overboard and the water was warm—and, twenty feet away there was that mass of ice! We backed up to the ice-cake and took off the men.
I was looking over the side of the lifeboat, and saw those long crystals forming and growing while I watched. They were huge, from two feet long for the largest to three or four inches for the smallest. They reached out and reached out terribly. The stern of the boat was touching the ice, and I saw them reaching for the hull like the tentacles of an octopus. They fastened on and began to grow thicker.
We took oars and smashed them, feeling frightened as one is frightened in a nightmare. As fast as we broke them they formed again, and the men on the ice seemed to be rotten slow getting into the boat, though I don’t doubt but they were hurrying all they knew how. When they were all aboard we had to work like mad to get clear.
The paper went on to expound its own idea of what had happened:
The sinister growth of the ice crystals is significant. There has always been notice of and comment upon the striking similarity between the growth of crystals and the growth of plants. Until now all scientific textbooks have said that crystals could only grow in a supersaturate solution of their own substance, and claimed that they were not organic growths—in the sense of growths caused by an intelligence within the crystal. Is it not possible that the scientists have been wrong? Is it not possible that crystals are growths in the same way that plants are growths? Granting that, what is to keep a scientist from isolating and cultivating the crystal embryo?
We have done that with germs, and with the life germs in eggs and plants. We can even use a process of parthenogenesis and create monsters from the unfertilized eggs of frogs and sea urchins. Why could not this scientist experiment until the life germ of the ice crystal could be developed and enlarged? Why could not this development continue until the germ could not only create its crystals under the most favorable conditions of temperature, but at the normal temperature of water?
At the Harvard laboratories, water has been kept liquid far below its normal freezing point, and under tremendous pressure has been found to remain ice at a temperature of one hundred degrees Fahrenheit! Can we doubt that this appearance of ice at this extraordinary season is due to the malicious activities of a foreign government, envious of our magnificent merchant marine and commerce?
The explanation was ingenious, but though the scientific facts quoted were quite correct the inference was hardly justifiable. Water can and does reach a temperature several degrees below 32° Fahrenheit without solidifying—as may be proved by putting a glass of water in a cold room in winter—but the slightest jar causes the instantaneous formation of ice crystals, and in a little while the whole mass is solid. The fact of “hot” ice must also be admitted, but it requires a pressure of rather more than fifty tons to the square inch, and is rarely attempted.
This paper also was forced to admit as inexplicable the plume of steam which rose from a thousand to fifteen hundred feet into the air. In any event, the claim that a certain unfriendly foreign government was trying to ruin the commerce of the United States was effectively squashed by cablegrams from Gibraltar, Folkestone, and Yokohama. Three great icebergs had formed in the Straits of Gibraltar and extended until they joined, when a solid mass of ice made a bridge that once more rejoined the continents of Africa and Europe, from Ceuta to the Rock. The plumes of steam were visible here, too. Three mighty columns of white mist rose at equal distances across the gap.
Folkestone harbor was a mass of ice. A great transatlantic liner had been caught in the expanding berg, and the huge hull had been crushed like so much cardboard. The passengers and crew had escaped across the ice. The great steam plume made a wonderful sight for miles around. Yokohama was similarly visited. Three battleships of the Japanese fleet were frozen in and their hulls cracked and broken. The plume of steam—nearly two thousand feet high—had aroused the latent superstition of the Japanese and was being exorcised in every Shinto temple in the kingdom.
The panic which was engendered by the mysteries of the icebergs and the unknown motives of the men so obviously responsible for their appearance grew in intensity. New York was in a blue funk. The police felt the tremor that means that at any moment the crowds thronging the streets might break and from sheer panic become uncontrollable. Every patrolman wore a worried frown and worked like mad to keep the crowds moving, moving always. The strain was becoming greater, however, and troops were being hastily moved into the city when an announcement was made by the British foreign office:
It has been decided to make public a communication received at the Foreign Office bearing on the blocking of Folkestone harbor, the Straits of Gibraltar, Yokohama, and New York. The communication is dated from “The Dictatorial Residence,” and reads as follows:
“To the Premier of Great Britain: You are informed that the blocking of Folkestone harbor, as well as that of the Straits of Gibraltar, New York, and Yokohama, is evidence of my intention and power to assume control of the governments of the world as dictator. Present administrations and systems of government will continue in power under my direction and subject to my commands. The machinery of the League of Nations is to be used to enforce my decrees. You will readily understand that the same means I used to block the harbors and straits now frozen over can be extended indefinitely. Rivers can be made to cease to flow, lakes to irrigate, and all commerce and agriculture forced to suspend its activity. This will be done, if it is made necessary by the refusal of the governments of the world to accede to my demands. Given under my hand at the dictatorial residence,
“(Signed) Wladislaw Varrhus.”
The foreign office offers this communication to allay the fears of the public that a new glacial period may be imminent, but at the same time it wishes to assure the British people that the demands of the writer are not taken seriously. It is evident that the maker of such absurd demands is insane, and
though he may be able to cause perhaps serious inconvenience to commerce, a means of nullifying his invention will be forthcoming in a short while. British scientists are studying the Folkestone phenomena and are confident of a prompt solution of the problem.
Though it might have been expected that such an announcement as that of the intention of an unknown and probably insane man to make himself ruler of the world would have caused even greater panic, the reverse was actually the case. The motive behind the creation of the icebergs was made so clear that the world settled back with a sort of sporting interest to see what would happen. It had not long to wait.
A hint came by some underground channel that Professor Hawkins had offered a suggestion to the American government that had been accepted as a basis for experiment. A reporter went post-haste to the professor’s home. He was admitted, but the professor would not see him at the moment. The reporter sat down patiently to wait. A motorcar drove up to the house and a man in soldier’s uniform stepped out. The reporter gave a whistle. A second car discharged a quietly dressed man in civilian clothes attended by two other army officers. The reporter stared. He recognized the men. Most people on two continents would have recognized them. They passed through the house to the professor’s laboratory at the rear. A long time passed. The reporter fidgeted nervously. Some conference of colossal importance was taking place back there in the laboratory.
It was an hour later that the visitors left. With them went a young man the reporter had not seen before. The professor came slowly into the room and smiled apologetically.
“I am very sorry to have kept you waiting, but it was necessary. I think that in about two hours I will have some news for you. In the meantime there is nothing more to say.”
“Can you tell me what really happened? How did this Varrhus make the berg?”
“It’s the simplest thing in the world,” said the professor with a smile. “I’ve managed to duplicate it on a small scale back in my laboratory. Suppose you come back there and I’ll show you.”
A girl appeared in the doorway with a worried frown on her face.
“Father, has Teddy gone?”
“Yes. We’ll hear in about two hours.” The professor turned to the reporter with instinctive courtesy. “This is my daughter, Evelyn.”
The girl shook hands.
“You want to know about the iceberg, too? Teddy has gone to break it up now.”
“To try to break it up,” corrected the professor with a smile. “‘Teddy’ is my assistant.”
“But how?” insisted the reporter. “You seem to be so confident, and everyone else does nothing but guess.”
“I’ll show you quite clearly,” the professor said gently, “if you’ll come back to the laboratory.”
They moved toward the rear of the house. A hullabaloo of whistles broke out in the harbor. The girl turned toward the professor.
“Teddy already?”
The professor frowned.
“He hasn’t had time.” He went to a window and looked out, inspecting the sky keenly. A slender black splinter hung suspended in the air. The professor flung open the window, and a musical humming filled the room. As they watched a smoking object detached itself from the black flyer and fell downward.
“That must be Varrhus,” said the professor.
A winged flyer with the insignia of the American aviation corps painted on the under surface of its wings darted into their field of vision. Black smoke trailed behind it as it shot toward the sinister black craft. There was an instant’s pause, and then little puffs of white mist appeared before the propeller of the aeroplane.
“He’s firing his machine gun!” said the reporter excitedly.
As he spoke the black flyer dropped like a stone, and the American plane shot above it. Almost instantly the black flyer checked in mid-air and rose vertically with amazing speed. The American plane drove on for a second, and then wavered. It began to climb stalled, and dropped toward the earth in a series of sideslips and maple-leaf turns. It came down erratically, crazily.
“Killed!” said the professor with compressed lips.
His daughter uttered a cry. “And Varrhus is getting away!”
The black flyer had become but the merest speck. It had attained an almost unbelievable height. Now it deliberately swung around and headed off toward the northeast with its same incredible speed.
CHAPTER III.
Teddy Gerrod was stuffing his feet into heavy, fur-lined arctic boots. Ten or twelve soldiers were loading clumsy, awkward-looking engines on improvised sledges resting on the ice at the foot of the fort embankments. Others were putting equally ungainly iron globes with winged metal rods attached to them on other sledges. A dozen be-furred and swathed figures came down the slope of the embankment and examined the preparations. A naval launch ran smartly alongside the edge of the ice, and a messenger came over at the double to the commandant of the fort, who stood by Teddy Gerrod. The messenger saluted.
“Sir, the object dropped from the black flyer was a tin float having a message attached. The smoke was from a smoke fuse, lighted to attract attention.”
He handed over the letter, saluted again, and retired. The commandant tore open the letter and read it through, then swore frankly.
“A threat to freeze the Croton reservoir and cut off New York City’s water supply if an answer to his previous demands is not given within forty-eight hours! And he can do it! Mr. Gerrod, you’ve simply got to settle this business. New York would go crazy if the people knew this. There’d be no way to supply the water the city has to have. And seven million people without water—”
Teddy smiled grimly.
“I’m going to try. Professor Hawkins is usually right, and we ought to be able to do something about this berg.”
A second messenger came up and saluted.
“Sir, Lieutenant Davis reports that the plane has been recovered and Lieutenant Curtiss’ body examined. There are no bullet marks, and the body seemed to be frozen solidly. He cannot say, as yet, what caused Lieutenant Curtiss’ death.”
“Frozen,” said Teddy laconically.
“In mid-air?” asked the commandant sharply. “And in a fraction of a second, wearing heavy aviator’s clothing?’’
Teddy nodded, and buttoned up the huge fur coat in which he was enveloped.
“I’m ready to start off now, if the sledges are.”
The little party moved away from the shore. The heavy mist still hung over the expanse of ice, but near the shore the ice was thinner. The sledges were roped together, and Teddy walked at the head. The party tugged at the ropes on the sledges, puffing out clouds of frosty breath at every exhalation. Teddy had taken the compass bearings of the steam plume, and after he had gone a hundred yards from the shore the wisdom of his course became apparent. They were completely surrounded by a thick fog in which objects five yards off were lost to view, Teddy, leading the small column, could not be seen except as a dim and shadowy figure by the men hardly more than two paces in his rear. He referred constantly to his compass, and once or twice glanced at the thermometer he had strapped on the sleeve of his great coat.
“Forty degrees,” he murmured to himself. “And in New York it’s eighty-four in the shade. The ice must be colder still because it’s dry and hard.”
The party toiled on. Presently small snow crystals crunched underfoot.
“Frozen mist,” said Teddy, and glanced at his thermometer. “H’m! Twenty-two degrees. Ten below freezing.”
The party stopped for a breathing spell.
“I hope you men smoke,” said Teddy, “because it’s going to be cold a few hundred yards farther on. We’ll come clear of this mist presently. If you smoke, and inhale, it’ll probably warm up your lungs a little. You don’t need it yet, though. Any of you who haven’t pulled down the flaps of your helmets had better do so now.”
A moment or so later they took up their march again. The sledges,
with their heavy loads, were cumbersome things to drag over the uneven surface of the ice. The men panted and gasped as they threw their weight on the ropes. Teddy felt the air growing colder still, and presently noticed that the mist no longer seemed to be as thick as before. He glanced down at the front of his heavy fur coat. It was covered with tiny white crystals. He held up his hand with the thick mitten on it to form a dark background, and saw numberless infinitesimal snowflakes drifting slowly toward the ice under his feet. His thermometer showed two degrees above zero—and New York, six miles away, was sweltering in August heat!
“Not much farther,” he called cheerfully. “We’re almost there.”
They panted and tugged on, a-hundred and fifty yards more. Then they stopped and stared.
Three hundred yards away the great column of steam was issuing from the ice. A hollow hillock of snow and ice rose to a height of twenty feet, like the miniature crater of a volcano. From it, in an unbroken stream, the mass of steam emerged with a roaring, rushing sound. It rose five hundred feet before it broke into the plume-like formation that was so characteristic. There was a space, perhaps six hundred paces across, in which there was no mist. The cold was too intense to allow of the formation of fog. Water vapor condensed instantly in that frigid atmosphere. But around the clearing the mist rose from the surface of the ice. It became noticeable when it was merely waist-high, then rose to the height of a man, and climbed to a height of fifty feet in a circular wall all about the strange white open space. Teddy, looking at the top of the wall of vapor, saw that it undulated gently, as if waves were flowing back and forth around the tall column of steam.
The men began to unload their sledges. The awkward little trench mortars were set in place and careful measurements made of the distance to the steam plume. While the men labored, Teddy moved forward toward the central cone. Five degrees below zero, fifteen degrees below zero, thirty degrees below zero— His breath cut sharply when it went into his lungs.
The Murray Leinster Megapack Page 7