CHAPTER I

A Changed World

Now that we who survived have reconstructed a civilization on a rational basis, we want to preserve for future generations as many accounts as possible by the actual witnesses of the catastrophe that overtook the world.

In 1929 certain curious aberrations in the motion of the moon were noticed by astronomers, and attempts to explain them were made by suggesting that the solar system had been invaded by an unknown visitor which had not yet been discovered. It is still believed that this is the most likely explanation of what occurred. When this invader approached the earth, it probably passed between it and the moon. Its velocity must have been so great that it continued on its course in spite of the attraction of the earth. However, it disturbed the balance of forces sufficiently to draw the moon from its orbit and start its headlong progress toward us.

I was away in Labrador when all this occurred, and it is due to that fact that I am alive today. The things that happened in the densely inhabited portions of the globe will be recounted by survivors who were eye witnesses. It is sufficient to say that when the news of the impending catastrophe became known a universal apathy seemed to settle over humanity. It was apparently overwhelmed by the hopelessness of any effort to escape. The religious people of the period regarded the coming event as fulfillment of a prophecy of the destruction of the world in the Last Day. People who had never before been religious became so in an hour.

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First Intimations

It is well that I begin on my personal experiences:

As I said before I was in Labrador when the moon first showed an aberration in its motion. It will be remembered that in April, 1928, three aviators, two Germans and one Irish, started on a flight across the ocean from Ballycombe, Ireland, to New York. They succeeded in crossing the ocean from east to west, a feat which had not been accomplished before, but owing to fog and storms they lost their way, and landed on a little island off the coast of Labrador.

The locality was absolutely inaccessible except by air. The aviators had damaged their plane in landing, and it was necessary to get to them with spare parts. The Associated Press, as well as some of the larger dailies, thought it was equally important that their stories should reach the world. There was a wireless station on the mainland fifteen miles away, but for some reason the operator did not get the sort of news the papers wanted. The Canadian Government started a steamer toward the island, but it was soon caught fast in the ice.

I had been a flyer during the war and continued to fly a plane for the pleasure it gave me. In that world which now seems so distant, I had some reputation as a writer. The Associated Press suggested that I fly to Greenly Island and get the stories of the marooned aviators. Perhaps I am spending more time on this episode than it deserves. It is sufficient to say that I got the stories and got them back to New York.

If that had been all there was to the adventure, there is a strong probability that I would have perished some months later with most of the other inhabitants of the United States. It happened, however, that there were other flyers planning east-to-west hops. It occurred to the powers who decided such things, that it might be a good idea to have me fly back to Labrador and make it my headquarters and establish an observation post while transatlantic flights were being attempted.

Accordingly, I flew back to Labrador whenever a transatlantic flight was rumored, and made my headquarters at Point Amour on the mainland. The wireless station was here, and about a hundred people. Little Greenly Island was some fifteen miles across Belle Isle Strait. I was getting rather bored waiting for something to happen, when one night Jim Daley, the wireless operator, came running to the cottage where I stayed, too excited to wait until nine o'clock, when I always strolled over to the wireless station for a game of chess.

I stared at him in astonishment. "What's all the excitement about?" I inquired.

He had been running so fast that for a moment he could not get his breath to talk.

"You wait until you hear," he gasped. "I bet you'll be as excited as I am. The world's coming to an end next week!"

I laughed.

"No, I mean it," he said. "It's not a joke. Here's a bulletin issued by the Smithsonian. I copied it as it came in." He handed me a sheet of paper.

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The News Comes Out

As far as I know, this bulletin was the first intimation of the coming catastrophe sent out over the radio. I assume that every effort was made to keep the matter quiet, until it became evident that no escape was possible.

Consequently up there in Labrador we had heard none of the rumors that had spread over the civilized world, and had seen no references to the strange lunar phenomenon which in a sense had prepared most people for the announcement of some unusual event.

At this time there had been no change in the moon's course or size visible to the naked eye. In the parts of the world where newspapers were printed and read, there had been the usual few lines on a back page that were given to any astronomical phenomenon, such as the birth of a Nova or the discovery of a telescopic comet.

Some days before, astronomers in Colorado and South Africa had simultaneously announced the aberration in the moon's motion. There were occasional facetious references to the moon's skittishness--emanating from the pens of bored columnists. The next day there was nothing new from the astronomers, but the third day there was an announcement that caused faint stirrings of anxiety among those who read between the lines.

It was on the fourth day that announcements were made in England and America on the joint authority of the Smithsonian Institution and the British Royal Society, that some unknown force had displaced the moon from its orbit, and that it was feared, though calculations were not yet complete, that it would collide with or at least brush the earth, resulting in a disaster of the first magnitude.

The formal announcement of the two scientific societies was broadcast that night, and I was reading the part of it that Jim had written down.

I still have that piece of paper. Even as I look at it to copy it here, I get again that thrill of horror, that for a moment paralyzed me that night.

OFFICIAL BULLETIN: Issued by the Smithsonian Institution of Washington, D. C., and the British Royal Society. Broadcast by all means possible. Recent aberrations of motion of the moon have been caused by its being thrown from its orbit by some unknown force. Incomplete calculations indicate that it will collide with the earth somewhere in the central Pacific region, on Thursday between eleven and twelve at night. It is believed that the disaster will be complete and there is no possible way of escape. Further bulletins will be issued every few hours and will be broadcast immediately. There is always the possibility that some force similar to the one which threw the moon from its orbit may again change its course. It is urged that all persons meet the crisis as calmly as possible.

"Well?" asked Jim eagerly, when I had finished reading it.

"If it's not a hoax, I guess it means we're done for," I said slowly. "Suppose we go over to the station and see what more comes in."

When we left the house I looked up at the moon, hanging full in the sky, and Jim's apprehensive glance followed mine. I imagined it was distinctly larger than usual and that it shone with a sinister orange-colored glow instead of its usual silvery light. It was probably not imagination, for people all over the world reported the same thing that night.

We entered the wireless house and Jim sat down with the receivers clamped to his ears. He began to take down a message which was coming in and when he had finished, handed it to me.

BULLETIN: Tidal wave in the Pacific overwhelmed many low-lying islands with great loss of life. All communications with Hawaii cut off. Smithsonian announces that tidal waves following course of moon will within the next twenty-four hours sweep far inland.

Jim was taking down another message. I read it over his shoulder.

BULLETIN: There is possibility that life near the poles may survive. It will probably be possible to use airplanes for the next twenty-four hours; after that, constantly increasing gales reaching hitherto unheard of force, will make travel of any kind impossible. Any survivors of the catastrophe should endeavor to preserve a record of the phenomena that occur immediately before the impact of the moon and immediately thereafter.