Issue 1.7, October 1926

Imagination and Reality, editorial by Hugo Gernsback

Beyond the Pole, chapters 1-5, by A Hyatt Verrill

1 · 2 · 3 · 4 · 5

A Columbus of Space, chapters 16-24, by Garrett P. Serviss

16B · 17 · 18 · 19 · 20 · 21 · 22 · 23 · 24

The Purchase of the North Pole, chapters 8-20, by Jules Verne

8B · 9 · 10 · 11 · 12 · 13 · 14 · 15 · 16 · 17 · 18 · 19 · 20

The Island of Dr. Moreau, chapters 1-13, by H.G. Wells

1 · 2 · 3 · 4 · 5 · 6 · 7 · 8 · 9 · 10 · 11 · 12 · 13 ·

Blasphemer’s Plateau, by Alexander Snyder

OUR COVER depicts the story from “Beyond the Pole,” by A. Hyatt Verill, wherein one of the fearful, lobster-like creatures is shown investigating the, to them, strange, human creature which has so suddenly burst into their domain.

Imagination and Reality

by Hugo Gernsback, F.R.S.
October 1926 (1.7) p. 579.

When reading one of our scientifiction stories in which the author gives free rein to his imagination, providing he is a good storyteller, we not infrequently find ourselves deeply thrilled. The reason is that our imagination is fired to the nth degree, and we thus obtain a real satisfaction from the time spent in reading the story, improbable as it often appears at first. I should like to point out here how important this class of literature is to progress and to the race in general.

The human mind is a tremendously complex machine, which often works in a very strange manner. A man sets out to invent a certain house appliance, and while engaged in his experimental work, gets a certain stimulus that takes him in an entirely different direction, so that the first thought of the house appliance may end in the invention of a factory labor-saving device, or perhaps something even more important.

When Alexander Graham Bell was a young man, he occupied himself by devising means of enabling the deaf to hear. This led him into electrical research work, and the apparatus, far from becoming a device by which the deaf can hear, became the present telephone. To be sure, loud-speaking telephones are made today for the use of the deaf, but this is only a byproduct and not at all the actual and more important use of the instrument.

Hundreds and thousands of similar instances could be cited. An author, in one of his fantastic scientifiction stories, may start some one thinking along the suggested lines which the author had in mind, whereas the inventor in the end will finish up with something totally different, and perhaps much more important. But the fact remains that the author provided the stimulus in the first place, which is a most important function to perform.

Beyond the Pole, 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 1–5

by A. Hyatt Verrill
First published in Amazing Stories, October 1926, pp. 580–595.

INTRODUCTION. Here is one of the most gripping stories that it has ever been our good fortune to read. At the same time, it is one of the best scientifiction works of the modern school that we have lately seen. It is easily the best scientifiction story of this year.

The author, in choosing a civlization of lobster-like people, should not be accused of sketching an impossibility. Indeed, it is impossible to say, at this moment, in what form an intelligent reasoning creature might or might not exist. Just because we have never met a reasoning creature different from a human being tells nothing, and we certainly should not be so arrogant as to think that intelligence, as we know it, combined with reasoning, exists solely in the human type.

So far we have not been able to penetrate the secrets of ant life, or of the bee life, despite our so-called “intelligence,” so we should not judge too harshly what is and what is not possible, when it comes to reasoning intelligence.

In nature we know that everything is repeated—not only once, but thousands of times. Why should reasoning intelligence be represented only in one species?

At any rate, we know that somehow you will feel that “Beyond the Pole” is a real story, where real facts are given to you for what they are worth. It is an engrossing story that cannot fail to grip you from start to finish.

Introductory note by Dr. Abbott E. Lyman

Before giving this really marvelous tale to the world, I feel that it is important to offer a few lines of explanation, as well as a brief sketch or synopsis of the events that led to my discovery of the manuscript relating the incredible adventures of this writer.

As a naturalist specializing in ornithology, I had long been attracted to the regions of the little-known Antarctic as a rich field for my studies. Very largely, perhaps, my interest in Antarctic ornithology was due to the fact that I resided in New Bedford, a town famous in former years for the number of its whaling vessels, many of which sailed annually for the southern oceans in search of sea-elephant oil. From the officers of these vessels I obtained many specimens of birds’ skins and eggs brought back by the obliging whalemen. Such specimens were, however, more or less unsatisfactory for scientific study, and I at last made up my mind to visit the Antarctic in person in order to observe and study that avifauna in its own habitat.

It thus happened that I secured passage upon a whaleship bound for the South Atlantic and South Indian oceans, and, after an uneventful voyage of several months, I found myself gazing from tho bark’s deck at the frowning mountain peaks of Kerguelen, or as it is also called, Desolation Island.

A Columbus of Space, 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 16-24

by Garrett P. Serviss.
First published in 1909
Published in Amazing Stories, October 1926, pp. 596-615, 669.

WHAT WENT BEFORE. The hero of the story, Edmund Stonewall, has discovered how to utilize atomic energy. He constructs a car that can traverse interplanetary space, actuated by this energy, and with two friends starts on a trip to the planet Venus, not disclosing to them his intention at first. He reaches a rather desolate part of the planet, where daylight never appears, sees the almost apelike inhabitants, cave dwellers, who wish to sacrifice one of them to the gods, and they rescue the proposed victim only by killing the High Priest. They get in among the valleys in a mountain of ice, on the edge of the dark face of the planet, taking with them some of the cave dwellers on sleds. The car with sleds fastened alongside and all but one of the cave dwellers upon them, is carried now along a sort of glacial stream, but soon sleds and the unfortunate occupants disappear, and our travelers are left with only one of the apelike cave dwellers, Juba, as company. Now they reach the warm regions of Venus, where there is perpetual day, and there find a highly developed race who communicate with each other by a species of telepathy, and our travelers are enchanted by the beautiful appearance of the beings, who are superior in every way to terrestrial mankind.

As they fly, a terrible catastrophe is narrowly averted, Edmund shooting the steersman on a threatening airplane. A beautiful woman, Ala, the heroine of the story, saves them from the wrath of the moo by her influence; she and Edmund fall in love with each other. Edmund has a rival, Ingra, in his claims on Ala, and the plotting and deeds of Ingra are directed to getting rid of the earthly visitors. They explore the country, are threatened by a huge monster, and at last get into a true Eden on the planet. The story leaves them with Ingra and his party in the midst of an attack upon the earthly visitors and upon Ala’s escort.

INTRODUCTION. In the concluding chapters of this charming interplanetarian tale, we find our heroes beset by many new and extraordinary dangers. There is hardly a page of the concluding chapters in which excitement does not run high. We are not going to tell you the end of the story, because we do not wish to spoil it for you.

As in the previous installments, Professor Garrett P. Serviss has given an accurate scientific analysis of what may be found on Venus should the planet ever be explored.

16B. Turning the Tables, continued

Our assailants retreated into the bashes as we threatened them with the pistols, but Edmund would not allow Ingra to escape with the others. The fellow was completely cowed, knowing the deadly power of our pistols, and he obeyed Edmund’s commands with a dejected air, occasionally glancing at Ala, who disdained to return his look.

Edmund backed him into the open door of the car, and we all entered, after hunting up the maid who, half scared to death, had concealed herself in the bushes. Then Edmund closed the door and turned to the machinery, leaving to us the care of guarding our prisoner.

The latter sat quietly enough on a bench, Jack on one side of him and I on the other, while Ala placed herself as far from him as she could get.

I wondered at the fellow’s audacity. Surely no man in his senses would have thought of winning a woman’s heart by violence, but evidently his passionate nature had overcome all scruples of reason, and as for conscience, he had none.

Ala’s detestation of him was written on her every feature.

After we had got out of the wild tangle of branches, vines, and flowers, the car rose to a considerable elevation, and Edmund circled about to get his bearings. Then Ala went to his side.

Conversing together, they looked out of the windows, and she indicated the direction that we were to pursue. First we darted high in the air, and then set off at a great rate. It now became evident at what a vast distance from the capital, and from the inhabited lands of Venus, we had landed in our wild descent from the cloud dome.

But for Ala’s topographical knowledge, we should have been long in finding the proper route.

The way once pointed out, however, we never swerved aside, and Edmund worked up the speed to as high a point as he deemed safe in that dense atmosphere, which seemed to flow in translucent waves about the sides of the rushing car. At last I asked Edmund what he intended to do with the prisoner.

“I’ll put him behind bars,” he replied grimly, “if I have to construct them myself.”

The Purchase of the North Pole, 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 8–20

by Jules Verne
Published in French as Sans dessus dessous in 1889
Published in Amazing Stories, October 1926, pp. 616-635.

WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE. Jules Verne has taken us to America. A rich widow in love with the mathematician backs a proposition to change the inclination of the earth’s axis to the ecliptic, so as to bring it vertical thereto, then there will be no change of seasons; only day and night will be left. They anticipate that the North Pole will then be accessible and that they will find there great coal deposits. There is the usual shareholders’ meeting and everything seems in a fair way to progress in great triumph. But a lightning stroke upsets the mathematical calculations.

INTRODUCTION. In the second and final installment we find our favorite author continuing this classic tale in a lighter vein. Is it possible for the earth’s axis to be changed by any human agency? Evidently our hero, Mr. J.T. Maston, one of the world’s greatest mathematicians, ought to know, because was it not he who successfully made the careful calculations of the projectile that took a number of travelers on a trip from the earth to the moon, and around it?

Indeed, J.T. Maston was not wrong. He knew his mathematics. But then, on the other hand, there are many other things in the universe outside of mathematics, and Jules Verne, in his inimitable manner, shows us all of these in his concluding chapters.

Excellent science, excellent humor, and an excellent author make a combination hard to beat.

8B. What Causes the Seasons?

In the first place, during the diurnal rotation of Jupiter, which occupies nine hours, 55 minutes, the days are always equal to the nights in all latitudes; that is to say, the Jovian day is four hours, 57 minutes long, and the Jovian night lasts also four hours and 57 minutes.

“There,” said the admirers of Jovian existence, “you have something suited to people of regular habits. They will be delighted to submit to such regularity.”

That is what would happen to the Earth if Barbicane did what he promised, only as the new axis would make no difference in the time of rotation, 24 hours would still separate the successive noons, and our spheroid would be blessed with nights and days each 12 hours long, and we should live in a perpetual equinox.

“But the climatal phenomena would be much more curious; and no less interesting,” said the enthusiasts, “would be the absence of the seasons.”

Owing to the inclination of the axis to the plane of the orbit, we have the annual changes known as spring, summer, autumn, and winter. The Jovians could know nothing of these things, and the Terrestrians would know them no more. The moment the new axis became perpendicular to the ecliptic there would be neither frigid zones nor torrid zones, but the whole Earth would rejoice in a temperate climate.

Why was this?

What is the torrid zone? It is that part of the Earth comprised between the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn. Every place within this zone has the Sun in the zenith twice a year.

What are the temperate zones? The part comprised between the tropics and the polar circles; between 23°28′ and 66°32′ of latitude, and in which the Sun never rises to the zenith, but is above the horizon on every day in the year.

What are the frigid zones? That part of the circumpolar regions in which the Sun does not rise above the horizon on every day in the year; while at the pole itself he does not rise for six months at a time.

The height of the Sun above the horizon is the cause of the excessive heat of the torrid zone, the moderate heat of the temperate zone, and the excessive cold within the polar circles.

When the axis became perpendicular these things would be different. The Sun would remain on the plane of the equator. All the year round he would pursue his imperturbable 12-hour course, and rise to a distance from the zenith according to the latitude of the place. In countries of 20 degrees of latitude he would rise 70 degrees above the horizon; in countries of 49 degrees of latitude he would rise 41; in places of 84 degrees he would rise six, and of 90 degrees (the pole), he would just peep half his diameter above the horizon. The days would be perfectly regular, and the Sun would rise at the same time, and also at the same point on the horizon, throughout the year.

“Look at the advantages!” said the friends of Barbicane. “Every man, according to his temperament, can choose his own climate, which will be invariable!”

The Island of Dr. Moreau, 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 1–13

by H.G. Wells
First published in 1896.
Published in Amazing Stories, October 1926, pp. 636-655, 671.

INTRODUCTION. Here is a tremendous story by our well-known author, a story which, for gripping and human interest, probably has no parallel in the annals of our whole modern literature. It is, frankly, not a very pleasant story to read, but it is certainly the most daring and unusual piece of literature in existence today.

Mr. Wells himself calls the story “A Possibility.” We do not wish to disagree with him here, but it is our opinion that Mr. Wells has tried to sketch a travesty upon human beings, and in this he has more than succeeded. The thin veneer of civilization with which we humans are covered is ruthlessly torn aside in Mr. Wells’ analogy of the human race, and it leaves us much as we really are without the veneer.

This is a really engrossing story, superb all the way through.

Introduction

On February the First 1887, the Lady Vain was lost by collision with a derelict when about in latitude 1°S. and longitude 107°W.

On January the Fifth, 1888—that is 11 months and four days after—my uncle, Edward Prendick, a private gentleman, who certainly went aboard the Lady Vain at Callao, and who had been considered drowned, was picked up in latitude 5°3′ S. and longitude 101°W. in a small open boat of which the name was illegible, but which is supposed to have belonged to the missing schooner Ipecacuanha. He gave such a strange account of himself that he was supposed demented. Subsequently he alleged that his mind was a blank from the moment of his escape from the Lady Vain. His case was discussed among psychologists at the time as a curious instance of the lapse of memory consequent upon physical and mental stress. The following narrative was found among his papers by the undersigned, his nephew and heir, but unaccompanied by any definite request for publication.

The only island known to exist in the region in which my uncle was picked up is Noble’s Isle, a small volcanic islet and uninhabited. It was visited in 1891 by H.M.S. Scorpion. A party of sailors then landed, but found nothing living thereon except certain curious white moths, some hogs and rabbits, and some rather peculiar rats. So that this narrative is without confirmation in its most essential particular. With that understood, there seems no harm in putting this strange story before the public in accordance, as I believe, with my uncle’s intentions. There is at least this much in its behalf: my uncle passed out of human knowledge about latitude 5°S. and longitude 105°E., and reappeared in the same part of the ocean after a space of 11 months. In some way he must have lived during the interval. And it seems that a schooner called the Ipecacuanha with a drunken captain, John Davies, did start from Africa with a puma and certain other animals aboard in January, 1887, that the vessel was well known at several ports in the South Pacific, and that it finally disappeared from those seas (with a considerable amount of copra aboard), sailing to its unknown fate from Bayna in December, 1887, a date that tallies entirely with my uncle’s story.

CHARLES EDWARD PRENDICK.

(The Story written by Edward Prendick.)

Blasphemers’ Plateau

by Alexander Snyder
First published in Amazing Stories, October 1926, pp. 656–668.

INTRODUCTION. This new author to whom we now introduce to our readers, has written not only a dramatic, but a tremendously gripping story, that will hold your interest from beginning to end. Modern science is woven all through it, and the end comes as dramatic as a sudden thunderclap. Here we see a scientist gone drunk with power, until at the climax of his achievement he acclaims himself to be God. But read and see what happens!

“Is he expecting you?” asked the hack driver hopefully, extending a gnarled hand for the bag of the elderly newcomer who had just alighted from the late afternoon train.

“Not exactly,” Mason informed him, relinquishing the bag. “I just wrote I’d ‘drop in on him’ one of these days, and receiving no answer to that, I supposed it would be all right for me to come on. Why? What is it?” noting the driver’s air of disappointment.

“We can’t do business then, I guess, Mister. Leastwise, ’twouldn’t he right for me to drive you up there and then have to bring you right back; now would it?”

Mason eyed the shabby old fellow of the delicate scruples with surprise.

“Do you mean to tell me I can’t get in unless I’m expected?”

The driver nodded. “Not after dark you can’t, Mister. It’d be that by the time we covered the four miles to his place.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the crow-beit standing dejectedly between the shafts of an ancient vehicle. “The old gray mare, she ain’t what she used to be,” he apologized.

“You’re right,” agreed Mason, glancing at the horse. “She’s no descendant of Pegasus, to judge by externals. Well—what am I to do then, if you’re so positive there’s no use going up there tonight? Where shall I stay? There’s no sense taking the next train out, that is, supposing there is one before morning.”

The driver appraised him swiftly. “Well, now, Mister, you could stop up to the Travelers’ Hotel for the night, and travel on up in the morning. How’d that suit you? Hotel’s a mile in the other direction.”

Mason shrugged his shoulders resignedly, “ ‘Needs must, when the devil drives’—Oh! I beg your pardon! I meant nothing personal,” he amended, at the driver’s laugh. “All right, then. The Hotel it shall he.”

He climbed into the hack agilely enough for one of his apparent years, and settled into the seat next the driver’s, while the latter untied the looped reins from around the stock of the whip, resting in its socket, slapped them up and down, and clucked to the mare.

“Are you a native here?” asked Mason, as they backed away from the station and lurched into the road.

“I be’n horn and brought up here, Mister,” responded the driver, glad of an opportunity to while away the trip ahead.

“Then you probably know Doctor Santurn?”

“No sir! I can’t say I do—nor does anyone else ’round about. He’s been a mystery here since he built, up on the Plateau, nigh onto 10 year ago. Beats all how he keeps to himself. Folks do say though—” he stopped apprehensively.

Issue 1.6, September 1926

Editorially Speaking, editorial by Hugo Gernsback

In the Abyss, by H.G. Wells

A Columbus of Space, chapters 9-16, by Garrett P. Serviss

9 · 10 · 11 · 12 · 13 · 14 · 15 · 16

The Purchase of the North Pole, chapters 1-8, by Jules Verne

1 · 2 · 3 · 4 · 5 · 6 · 7 · 8

Station X, chapters 15-21, by G. McLeod Winsor

15 · 16 · 17 · 18 · 19 · 20 · 21

The Moon Hoax, by Richard Adams Locke

1 · 2 · 3 · 4

OUR COVER shows an exciting episode from “In the Abyss,” by H.G. Wells, wherein the explorer first sees the chameleon-like fish people roaming at the bottom of the ocean.

Editorially Speaking

by Hugo Gernsback, F.R.S.
September 1926 (1.6) p. 483.

A number of letters have reached the Editor’s desk recently from enthusiastic readers who find fault with the name of the publication, namely, Amazing Stories.

These readers would greatly prefer us to use the title Scientifiction instead. The message that these letters seem to convey is that the name really does not do the magazine justice, and that many people get an erroneous impression as to the literary contents from this title.

Several years ago, when I first conceived the idea of publishing a scientifiction magazine, a circular letter was sent to some 25,000 people, informing them that a new magazine by the name “Scientifiction” was shortly to be launched. The response was such that the idea was given up for two years. The plain truth is that the word “Scientifiction,” while admittedly a good one, scares off many people who would otherwise read the magazine.

Before the name of Amazing Stories was first decided upon, a prize contest was held, but no better name than Amazing Stories, out of a list of some 200 names, could be found. The name “Scientifiction” would undoubtedly frighten many readers who would perhaps otherwise be interested in this new type of fiction. After mature thought, the publishers decided that the name which is now used was after all the best one to influence the masses, because anything that smacks of science seems to be too “deep” for the average type of reader.

We knew that once we could make a new reader pick up Amazing Stories and read only one story, our cause was won with that reader, and this is indeed what happened. Although the magazine is not as yet six months old, we are already printing 100,000 copies per month, and it also seems that whenever we get a new reader we keep him. A totally unforeseen result of the name, strange to say, was that a great many women are already reading the new magazine. This is most encouraging. We know that they must have picked up Amazing Stories out of curiosity more than anything else, and found it to their liking, and we are certain that if the name of the magazine had been "Scientifiction," they would not have been attracted to it at a newsstand.

In the Abyss

by H.G. Wells
First published in Pearson’s Magazine, August 1896
Published in Amazing Stories, September 1926, pp. 484-489, 575-576.

INTRODUCTION. Science informs us that all life originally came from the sea, whether plant life or animal life, all had its origin in the waters of the ocean. Man’s ancestry can readily be traced back to the fish, from our spinal column to our hair. Hair, science teaches us, is nothing but a modified fish scale. The thought that intelligent thinking beings could therefore, not be scoffed at. It is this theme that our famous author has chosen in this fascinating tale, which you will follow with breathless interest down to the last word.

The lieutenant stood in front of the steel sphere and gnawed a piece of pine splinter. “What do you think of it, Steevens?” he said.

“It’s an idea,” said Steevens, in the tone of one who keeps an open mind.

“I believe it will smash—flat,” said the lieutenant.

“He seems to have calculated it all out pretty well,” said Steevens, still impartial.

“But think of the pressure,” said the lieutenant. “At the surface of the water it’s 14 pounds to the inch, 30 feet down it’s double that; 60, treble; 90, four times; 900, 40 times; 5,000, 300—that’s a mile—it’s 240 times 14 pounds; that’s—let’s see—30 hundredweight—a ton and a half, Steevens; a ton and a half to the square inch. And the ocean where he’s going is five miles deep. That’s seven and a half—”

“Sounds a lot,” said Steevens, “but it’s jolly thick steel.”

The lieutenant made no answer, but resumed his pine splinter. The object of their conversation was a huge ball of steel, having an exterior diameter of perhaps nine feet. It looked like the shot for some Titanic piece of artillery. It was elaborately nested in a monstrous scaffolding built into the framework of the vessel, and the gigantic spars that were presently to sling it overboard gave the stern of the ship an appearance that had raised the curiosity of every decent sailor who had sighted it, from the Pool of London to the Tropic of Capricorn. In two places, one above the other, the steel gave place to a couple of circular windows of enormously thick glass, and one of these, set in steel frame of great solidity, was now partially unscrewed. Both the men had seen the interior of this globe for the first time that morning. It was elaborately padded with air cushions, with little studs sunk between bulging pillows to work the simple mechanism of the affair. Everything was elaborately padded, even the Myers apparatus which was to absorb carbonic acid and replace the oxygen inspired by its tenant, when he had crept in by the glass manhole, and had been screwed in. It was so elaborately padded that a man might have been fired from a gun in it with perfect safety. And it had need to be, for presently a man was to crawl in through that glass manhole, to be screwed up tightly, and to be flung overboard, and to sink down—down—down, for five miles, even as the lieutenant said. It had taken the strongest hold of his imagination; it made him a bore at mess; and he found Steevens the new arrival aboard, a godsend to talk to about it, over and over again.

“It’s my opinion,” said the lieutenant, “that that glass will simply bend in and bulge and smash, under a pressure of that sort. Daubree has made rocks run like water under big pressures—and, you mark my words—”

“If the glass did break in,” said Steevens, “what then?”

A Columbus of Space, 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 9-16

by Garrett P. Serviss.
First published in 1909
Published in Amazing Stories, September 1926, pp. 490-509.

WHAT WENT BEFORE. The hero of the story, Edmund Stonewall, has discovered how to utilize atomic energy. He constructs a car that can traverse interplanetary space, actuated by this energy, and with two friends starts on a trip to the planet Venus, not disclosing to them his intention at first. He reaches a rather desolate part of the planet, where daylight never appears, sees the almost apelike inhabitants, cave dwellers, who wish to sacrifice one of them to the gods, and they rescue the proposed victim only by killing the High Priest. They get in among the valleys in a mountain of ice, on the edge of the dark face of the planet, taking with them some of the cave dwellers on sleds. The car with sleds fastened alongside and all but one of the cave dwellers upon them, is carried now along a sort of glacial stream, but soon sleds and the unfortunate occupants disappear, and our travelers are left with only one of the apelike cave dwellers, Juba, as company. Now they reach the warm regions of Venus, where there is perpetual day, and there find a highly developed race who communicate with each other by a species of telepathy, and our travelers are enchanted by the beautiful appearance of the beings, who are superior in every way to terrestrial mankind.

INTRODUCTION. In this installment, Professor Serviss introduces us into the daylight as well as the civilized hemisphere of the planet Venus. We become acquainted with the high culture of the inhabitants of the planet, with their thought reading ability; with their prismatic, silent, but colorful language; as well as the grotesque dangers of the twilight zone, where prehistoric beasts as high as houses are still roaming in their virgin forests.

Particular attention is called to Professor Serviss’s accurate astronomical and scientific knowledge, and if the planet Venus is indeed enveloped in a dense atmosphere, as now believed by most scientists, you may be certain that conditions exactly as described by the author prevail.

9. An Astonishing Reception at the Capital

I didn’t feel myself quite all the confidence that I tried to express to Henry, for this scrape differed essentially from any that we had been in yet; but still I relied a good deal upon Edmund’s resources.

It presently became evident that the man he had killed was a personage of importance—an admiral, perhaps. Anyway, it was clear that they meant to make us pay for what we had done.

There was one thing, however, which gave me a little comfort, and awoke the hope that we might yet escape. This was the behavior of Ala. She seemed to be not much more than a girl in age, but she was treated on all hands with the greatest respect. Her word was law.

That was evident the moment they began to come aboard our ship. It was not only our crew, if I may so call them, that obeyed her, but everybody. And it was delightful to see the dignity with which she bore herself.

She was a very princess in manner and carriage, and yet there was something peculiarly gentle in all her ways which made her irresistibly winning.

I could not think that, as far as I might depend upon her, she would approve the exaction of a very severe punishment for Edmund’s unintentional offense, and I was the more convinced of this when I reflected upon what I had noticed in their bearing toward one another during the trip. Considering where we were, no doubt it may seem ridiculous to speak of such a thing as love!

But there is love at first sight on the earth—why not there, a world inhabited by such beings as we had encountered, who certainly were human in their characteristics, and almost more than human in their beauty?

While, on the other hand, Edmund was as manly a representative of the race of Adam as I have ever looked upon, and he had the light of genius in his eyes.

Anyway, take it how you will, I believed that a mutual attraction had been felt by these two inhabitants of different worlds, and I began to think that this very thing had been in Edmund’s mind when he forbade us to resist.

As soon as our captors found that we offered no resistance, they partially released their grasp, but we were all bound, so that we could not escape.

The Purchase of the North Pole, 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 1-8

by Jules Verne
Published in French as Sans dessus dessous in 1889
Published in Amazing Stories, September 1926, pp. 510-527.

INTRODUCTION. Many people are continually amusing themselves by pointing out the advantages we would have on earth if our planet were not inclined on its axis 23½ degrees. This inclination gives us our seasons. If there were no such inclination, there would be no seasons. Under the equator we would have perpetual summer. About the Tropic of Cancer we would have moderate weather all year around, and it would even be comfortable at the North and South Poles. We would have exactly 12 hours of daylight and 12 hours of night at every point on the globe.

Is it possible by any human agency to right the axis of the earth to accomplish this? In this story the versatile Jules Verne tells us how such an attempt was made and what happened. It is a most exciting as well as interesting story, a classic in all respects.

1. The North Polar Practical Association

“And so, Mr. Maston, you consider that a woman can do nothing for the advance of the mathematical or experimental sciences?”

“To my extreme regret, Mrs. Scorbitt,” said J.T. Maston, “I am obliged to say so. That there have been many remarkable female mathematicians, especially in Russia, I willingly admit; but with her cerebral conformation it is not in a woman to become an Archimedes or a Newton.”

“Then, Mr. Maston, allow me to protest in the name of my sex—”

“Sex all the more charming, Mrs. Scorbitt, from its never having taken to transcendental studies!”

“According to you, Mr. Maston, if a woman had seen an apple fall she would never have been able to discover the laws of universal gravitation as did the illustrious Englishman at the close of the 17th century!”

“In seeing an apple fall, Mrs. Scorbitt, a woman would have only one idea—to eat it, after the example of our mother Eve.”

“You deny us all aptitude for the higher speculations—”

“All aptitude? No, Mrs. Scorbitt. But I would ask you to remember that since there have been people on this earth, and women consequently, there has never been discovered a feminine brain to which we owe a discovery in the domain of science analogous to the discoveries of Aristotle, Euclid, Kepler, or Laplace.”

“Is that a reason? Is it inevitable that the future should be as the past?”

“Hum! That which has not happened for thousands of years is not likely to happen.”

“Then we must resign ourselves to our fate, Mr. Maston. And as we are indeed good—”

“And how good!” interrupted J.T. Maston, with all the amiable gallantry of which a philosopher crammed with x was capable.

Mrs. Scorbitt was quite ready to be convinced. “Well, Mr. Maston,” she said, “each to his lot in this world. Remain the extraordinary mathematician that you are. Give yourself entirely to the problems of that immense enterprise to which you and your friends have devoted their lives! I will remain the good woman I ought to be, and assist you with the means.”

“For which you will have our eternal gratitude,” said J.T. Maston.

Mrs. Scorbitt blushed deliciously, for she felt, if not for philosophers in general, at least for J.T. Maston, a truly strange sympathy. Is not a woman’s heart unfathomable?

Station X, 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 15-21

by G. McLeod Winsor
First published in 1919
Published in Amazing Stories, September 1926, pp. 528-555.

INTRODUCTION. The Martian is triumphant. Despite all vigilance, despite all precautions, the Martians have succeeded in capturing a terrestrial warship. The fate of the world now lies in the balance. Panic reigns over the entire world because nothing is impossible to the Martians. Will they take hold of humanity and force it to commit wholesale suicide as they did with the Lunarians? What sort of new and titanic warfare will they wage on the terrestrials? And can the distant Venerians now be of any assistance? Or will Professor Rudge discover a way to frustrate the plans of the cunning invaders?

All this and more will be told in the concluding chapters of Station X, and we know that you will not lay the story down until you have read the hair-raising conclusion.

WHAT WENT BEFORE. Alan Macrae, simple, uneducated, yet a skillful radio operator, is sent as operator to a secret radio station, operated by the British Government, known as Station X, on an island in the Pacific. He accepts the offer because it brings him nearer to the day when he and May Treherne, the heroine, can be married. He goes with peculiar forebodings of impending, intangible dangers. Lt. Wilson, very well educated and very intolerant of Macrae’s educational shortcomings, and Ling, the Chinese cook and caretaker, complete the party to remain on the island, and incidentally the latter serves as the “butt” for Lt. Wilson’s ill-temper. Soon Lt. Wilson and the Chinaman are found, lying dead, apparently murdered by each other. Macrae falls under the influence of an inhabitant of Venus, who is known in this story as a “Venerian,” and whose voice comes to him over the radio, telling all kinds of interesting things about the inhabitants of Venus, giving him a great deal of scientific information, although Macrae understands nothing of the greater part of it.

Beause London has received no answer from Station X for three days, the Sagitta, with a crew of investigators and relief, is despatched to the island and arrives to find Macrae lying on the floor apparently dead, still wearing the ear set.

The doctor, thinking that Macrae may be suffering from catalepsy rather than that he is dead, takes him back to London on the Sagitta. Macrae recovers on the boat and tells a weird tale, which, however, coincides perfectly with his shorthand notes of both his report and of the mysterious messages, and with his diary.

When they arrive in London, the government starts an investigation. The plot thickens; a great scientist, Professor Rudge, is called into the consultation; the British cabinet and Navy Department are thrown into utter confusion. Rudge goes to Station X. Hypnotism transmitted from the planet Venus begins to take part in the drama; radio communication with Venus is carried on and the friendly Venerians give warning that Mars intends disaster to the earth. Martians by hypnotism get possession of Macrae’s soul and mind and Rudge narrowly escapes the same fate. They even think of killing Macrae, whom they regard now as a Martian, no longer as a human being. He possesses the power of hypnotizing others to be Martians. There is now a personal contest between Macrae and Rudge, and at this point of complication the second installment ends. The conclusion is here before you and a wonderful climax is reached.

15. Mr. Mansfield Alarmed

The morning after his talk with Professor Rudge Mr. Mansfield was astir before his usual hour, after a bad night. The mystery of Station X would not be banished. He tried to persuade himself that the anxiety he felt was due to the unexplained silence of the station, apart from anything Professor Rudge had told him. He strove to convince himself that the latter’s utterances were too wildly extravagant for acceptance.

Long accustomed to listen to extravagant statements, both in the House and elsewhere, he had learnt that, although they may have a certain force for the moment, due to the eloquence with which they have been urged, their effect is brief.

Yet here was a typical example, that, to his surprise, had taken an opposite course. Professor Rudge had spoken with his customary force, so there was nothing surprising if his narrative had for the moment carried his listener with him. The effect ought gradually to have faded, but it had not.

What was then the special quality in this account that caused it to obtrude itself upon his thoughts? Not its lack of extravagance, he told himself. Why, during the night, had it haunted him?

Curiously enough, the more it haunted him the less extravagant it seemed. That characteristic seemed to peel off, and what remained was alarming. It began to dawn upon him that what he had described to himself as extravagant might be better defined as unprecedented, and that the two things are different.

During the hours of darkness Mr. Mansfield made progress toward the truth. He did not, however, make sufficient progress to be prepared to admit it. This morning he had an appointment with the First Sea Lord at the Admiralty, and he had asked Sir John Sarkby, the Home Secretary and his most intimate friend in the Cabinet, to be also present.

He had already ascertained that it was still impossible to get any reply from Station X.

The Moon Hoax

by Richard Adams Locke
First published in the New York Sun, August to September 1835
Published in Amazing Stories, September 1926, pp. 556-.

INTRODUCTION. The Moon Hoax, published several generations ago, was perhaps the greatest scientific hoax that was ever perpetrated upon a credulous public. At that time, when there were no cables and no radio, and communication was slow, it was a simple matter to spring such a hoax, where today it would not last 24 hours, because verification or denial would speedily be brought about.

Nevertheless the author of The Moon Hoax wrote a charming story that will live forever. In it there is excellent science, but in many spots we believe the author purposely “planted” a number of obvious mistakes, which should have been spotted at once by those well versed in science of the day. This, however, did not occur, and the story was swallowed “hook, line, and sinker.” See how many mistakes you can find!

Many moon stories have been published since The Moon Hoax, but this remains one of the finest pieces of imagination that has ever appeared.

Almost 91 years ago, in August 1835, what may be termed a classic hoax was perpetuated upon the public. At that time the younger Herschel, the famous astronomer, was at the Cape of Good Hope, South Africa, and the hoax described the erection of a gigantic telescope, under his auspices, powerful enough to identify the poppies which were supposed to grow upon the moon. The story was accepted by thousands of people as the truth. We give (at the end of story) quotations from newspapers of the period, showing that the editors of the day in many cases commented upon it as absolutely credible and authentic. But it was not long before its true nature was ascertained and the hoax received the title which it has borne ever since—“The Moon Hoax.” It has been reprinted in extenso with comments, over and over again.

We take pleasure in presenting our readers with the full text.

In August 1835, the New York Sun, at that time a paper of rather small circulation, published a description of alleged discoveries in the moon, made by means of a gigantic telescope. The article was published in daily installments during the last week of August 1835, and excited widespread attention and for all its absurdities was accepted as literally true by a great number of people in this country. The circulation of the paper at once increased, it is said to some 50,000, which in those days was a very large figure.

We have had in our hands the original copies of the 90-year-old paper, in which the Hoax appeared—a little four-page production, containing certainly a minimum of news, a large percentage of advertisements, and all printed in quite small type. The successive installments of the article began in each issue on the front page on the right, with a very inconspicuous heading, for the New York Sun of three generations ago was quite innocent of the use of our present-day scare-heads. The article was written by Richard Adams Locke, a well-known newspaper writer of those days, who managed in spite of numerous blunders—intentional perhaps?—and impossibilities given in the text, to produce a wonderfully picturesque article.

The 24-foot lens of the telescope required a high degree of credibility to be believed in, but when we are told that achromatism was reached by running two kinds of molten glass simultaneously into the mold, the absurdity is so manifest, that it is a wonder that Locke had dared to write it.

“Perfectly square” crystals are pronounced to be amethyst; this mineral is never square, but hexagonal.

The paper is said to have been published in a supplement of the Edinburgh Journal of Science which in 1835 had ceased to be issued under that name. Then the identification of flowers in the moon, the description of the peculiar formation of the eyelids of animals there, and a mass of other absurdities are such patent impossibilities, that it seems incredible that the story was believed by thousands of people. But perhaps the worst detail of all is a rather involved attempt to describe the magnification and projection of the focal image and its illumination, as if that were possible, by the oxy-hydrogen light, which curious suggestion, is supposed to have made Sir David Brewster leap halfway to the ceiling with delight. This alone should have sufficed to show the absurdity of the whole.

One curious thing is a coincidence, which approaches prophesy. The lens is described as 24 feet (288 inches) in diameter. Within a few days of this writing a report has been published that a 300-inch reflecting telescope is proposed for the Mount Wilson observatory; a reflecting mirror a foot greater in diameter than the fictitious refracting lens of the Moon Hoax.

Another such coincidence is that the telescope had no tube and this is in line with the modern construction of reflecting instruments. The telescope of the Moon Hoax, as far as the somewhat confused account can be understood, was a combined refracting and reflecting instrument. The 24-foot objective was described as a refracting lens, with an average thickness of about 2½ inches.

The lens was supposed to have been cast on January 27, 1834, to have been taken out of the mold not over 10 days later, and to have been finished and shipped on a vessel for the Cape of Good Hope about eight months later. This would have been a wonderful record for speed of production.

1. Great Astronomical Discoveries

Lately made by Sir John Herschel, L.L.D., F.R.S., etc. at the Cape of Good Hope. First published in the New York Sun in August and September, 1835, from the supplement to the Edinburgh Journal of Science

In this unusual addition to our Journal, we have the happiness of making known to the British public, and thence to the whole civilized world, recent discoveries in astronomy which will build an imperishable monument to the age in which we live, and confer upon the present generation of the human race a proud distinction through all future time. It has been poetically said, that the stars of heaven are the hereditary regalia of man, as the intellectual sovereign of the animal creation. He may now fold the zodiac around him with a loftier consciousness of his mental supremacy.

Issue 1.5, August 1926

“Impossible” Facts, editorial by Hugo Gernsback

A Columbus of Space, chapters 1-8, by Garrett P. Serviss

1 · 2 · 3 · 4 · 5 · 6 · 7 · 8

The Empire of the Ants, by H.G. Wells

1 · 2 · 3 · 4

The International Electro-Galvanic Undertaking Corporation, by Jacque Morgan

Doctor Ox’s Experiment, by Jules Verne

1 · 2 · 3 · 4 · 5 · 6 · 7 · 8 · 9 · 10 · 11 · 12 · 13 · 14 · 15 · 16 · 17

The Talking Brain, by M.H. Hasta

High Tension, by Albert B. Stuart, M.D.

Station X, chapters 7-14, by G. McLeod Winsor

7 · 8 · 9 · 10 · 11 · 12 · 13 · 14

OUR COVER illustrates an episode in this month’s story, “The Talking Brain,” by M.H. Hasta. Here we see the rash, famous scientist at his wits’ end listening to the live brain, contained in the skull, by means of the Morse code.

“Impossible” Facts

by Hugo Gernsback, F.R.S.
August 1926 (1.5) p. 387.

Often, while reading one of our modern scientifiction tales, we are wont to explode at some highly “impossible” plot concocted by some ingenious author. And often we receive a letter from some reader who vents his opinion in no uncertain terms that such and such a thing “cannot be within the realms of possibility.”

As we mentioned several times, it is difficult to ascertain today just what is possible and what impossible, for the most “impossible” things have become commonplaces.

Before condemning anything as “impossible,” therefore, we should be most careful and a lot more tolerant than we are. Some of the most recently improbable things are now facts. For instance, if someone should come along and tell you a wild tale about ice, boiling hot, you would probably laugh at him. Nevertheless, Professor P.W. Bridgman, of the Carnegie Institute, in Washington, while subjecting water to a pressure of 300,000 pounds to the square inch, found that under such tremendous pressure water first becomes solid, turning into ice, although it is nearly boiling hot. Not only is this “impossibility” a fact, but we all “know,“ and have been taught, that water can not be compressed very much. Just the same, Dr. Bridgman has compressed water to 80 percent of its original volume!

A Columbus of Space, 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 1-8

by Garrett P. Serviss.
First published in 1909
Published in Amazing Stories, August 1926, pp. 388-409, 474-475.

INTRODUCTION. This story is a classic by the well-known scientist and writer, Professor Serviss. It is one of the first real scientific space-flying stories ever written, and remains one of the best. The story was originally published in 1909 and caused a small sensation at that time. About that time radium and atomic energy theories came into public vogue, and this gave a great impetus to the imagination. Even today, 17 years after the story was first published, it remains a scientific masterpiece, it being unnecessary to make any corrections whatsoever to bring it up to date. With true prophetic vision, Professor Serviss has penned a masterpiece that will remain so for generations to come. There is not a paragraph which is not packed full of interest. This story will keep you in constant suspense.

1. A Marvelous Invention

Edmund Stonewall was the most ingenious man that ever lived.

In my private opinion he was the greatest human being that has ever appeared on this earth. I say this, despite the fact that against my will, and without my knowledge at the start, he took me and two of our friends in common on the wildest, craziest, most impossible and incredible adventure that ever imagination conceived.

I ought to hate Edmund Stonewall for what he did to me and to my friends; but, in fact, I reverence his memory.

Let me tell you the story, and then you will see the reason that underlies my feeling toward him.

In the first place, he made the most wonderful invention that ever the world heard of. In fact, until now the world never has heard all about it, and I shudder yet when I think of it.

It was, of course, based on electricity, for everybody knows now that electricity is at the bottom of everything. It came out of that discovery which made so much excitement at the beginning of the 20th century—“radioactivity.”

What is radioactivity?

Heaven only knows. But it came near being the death of me; it has robbed me of my dearest friends; and I don’t know but that, if Stonewall had kept on, it might have put a finish to this old earth of ours!

Stonewall was always bothering himself about “power” and “energy” and whatnot. He knew machinery and engines as a boy knows craps and marbles. But he was dissatisfied with everything.

“Men are fools,” he said. “They might be like gods. They ought to run the globe, and steer it where they like.”

You remember the old “Keeley motor”? Well, Edmund believed in it, but said Keeley had got hold of the wrong end, and would never make it go that way.

All the while he was experimenting himself. He had money from a rich uncle, I guess, and he built himself a laboratory, and once in a while he would invite Jack Ashton, Henry Darton, Will Church, and me to come and watch some of his experiments. It was all Greek to us, but it never failed to make us stare. We saw some wonderful things there, that people knew nothing about. Edmund took up Tesla, too, with his communication with Mars idea, but after a while he dropped that, and then came “radioactivity.”

When the discovery of radium in uranium ore, and other things came out, the rest of us would never have known anything about it but for Edmund. We used to skip that part in the papers, and I can’t say that his explanation made it much clearer; but, anyhow, he made the thing very inspiring to our imagination.

“Listen to this, boys,” he said to us. “Here’s Professor Thomson declaring that a single grain of hydrogen contains in its padlocked atoms enough energy to lift a million tons 300 yards high. But Professor Thomson doesn’t know how to get at the energy, and neither does Professor Rutherford, nor Lord Kelvin. But somebody has got to get at it, and I guess it will have to be me.”

“But what would you do with it if you got it, Edmund?” asked Jack in his good-natured, drawling manner.

Edmund’s eyes shone strangely, but he replied only:

“I would do what Archimedes dreamed of.”

None of us knew anything about the dreams of Archimedes, and we dropped the subject.

But Edmund Stonewall did not drop it. He simply went to work at it. He used to be at our club every evening, but after he got this new idea we would not see him for weeks on end. And when we did see him he was as mum as an oyster. But what a look he had in those deep eyes! Somehow, with all his eccentricity, we never connected the idea of craziness with Stonewall. He was different from other human beings, that was all.

The Empire of the Ants

by H.G. Wells
First published in The Strand Magazine, December 1905
Published in Amazing Stories, August 1926, pp. 410-416.

INTRODUCTION. A well-known entomologist once made the remark that if the insect world, instead of fighting each other, should suddenly decide to fight the human race, we should all soon be annihilated. We know the tremendous power for organization among the ants, and we also know that they have reached a pretty high stage of civilization. For one thing, they seem to be able to govern themselves much better than we can ourselves. In the tropical countries there are many species of giant and poisonous ants existing even now, and they are well known for their ravages and for their destructive power. We can only wish that the brilliant story penned here by our famous author will never come true.

1

When Captain Gerilleau received instructions to take his new gunboat, the Benjamin Constant, to Badama on the Batemo arm of the Guaramadema and there assist the inhabitants against a plague of ants, he suspected the authorities of mockery. His promotion had been romantic and irregular, the affections of a prominent Brazilian lady and the captain’s liquid eyes had played a part in the process, and the Diario and O Futuro had been lamentably disrespectful in their comments. He felt he was to give further occasion for disrespect.

He was a Creole, his conceptions of etiquette and discipline were pure-blooded Portuguese, and it was only to Holroyd, the Lancashire engineer who had come over with the boat, and as an exercise in the use of English—his “th” sounds were very uncertain—that he opened his heart.

“It is in effect,” he said, “to make me absurd! What can a man do against ants? Dey come, dey go.”

“They say,” said Holroyd, “that these don’t go. That chap you said was a Sambo—”

“Zambo—it is a sort of mixture of blood.”

“Sambo. He said the people are going!”

The captain smoked fretfully for a time. “Dese tings ’ave to happen,” he said at last. “What is it? Plagues of ants and suchlike as God wills. Dere was a plague in Trinidad—the little ants that carry leaves. All der orange-trees, all der mangoes! What does it matter? Sometimes ant armies come into your houses—fighting ants; a different sort. You go and they clean the house. Then you come back again—the house is clean, like new! No cockroaches, no fleas, no jiggers in the floor.”

“That Sambo chap,” said Holroyd, “says these are a different sort of ant.”

The captain shrugged his shoulders, fumed, and gave his attention to a cigarette.

Afterwards he reopened the subject. “My dear ’Olroyd, what am I to do about dese infernal ants?”

The International Electro-Galvanic Undertaking Corporation

by Jacque Morgan
From The Scientific Adventures of Mr. Fosdick
First published in Modern Electrics, December 1912
Published in Amazing Stories, July 1926, pp. 417-419, 476.

INTRODUCTION. Dr. Fosdick, who we know is a friend of our readers, after his experiments with the “Seidlitzmobile” and the “Feline Electric Plant,” takes a new departure and proposes to electroplate the dead in order to preserve them as beautiful statues for posterity. Although the author of this story is a comical genius, his idea is certainly a beautiful one but he gives it a very funny touch and the reader will find that for sustained interest and pure comedy, it is equal to the preceding stories which we have been fortunate enough to obtain.

The first two envelopes contained only circulars. But from the third dropped a bright yellow slip of paper, and as Eben Stetzle, loafing in the tinshop during the noon hour, picked it up from the floor and handed it to Mr. Fosdick, he saw that it was a check signed by the Ajax Manufacturing Company and that it called for $420 in real money.

“Last month’s royalties on my curling iron,” carelessly explained the inventor.

He always spoke of the device as a curling iron, although it was advertised and sold by the manufacturing company as a nutcracker.

Mr. Stetzle sighed. “Gee, I wish I could get in on some thing like that. Running a chop mill is a mighty slow method of getting rich.”

The sight of the check removed the last trace of bitterness that had lingered in Eben’s heart since his unhappy experience with The Feline Light and Power Company.

“I should like to get in on the next good thing you get up,” he continued, eyeing the check that protruded from Mr. Fosdick’s waistcoat pocket. “But, of course, I’m not going in on any more electrified cats. The very sight of a cat makes me shudder even now.”

Mr. Fosdick gazed at his friend pensively. “I have been thinking,” he said, “of the organization of a company that will make Standard Oil look like a penny savings bank.”

Eben Stetzle drew in his breath with audible inquisitiveness. “What is it? What is it?” he demanded.

Mr. Fosdick smiled blandly. “Yes, what is it?” he mimicked, genially. “You don’t think I’m going to divulge a secret that’s worth millions, do you?”

Eben’s face fell. “I thought you’d let an old friend in—a brother lodge member,” he said wistfully. And at the same time Eben formed his hands into the distress signal of the order.

Mr. Fosdick pondered. His lodge was to him a thing sacred. Every Wednesday night in the hall over Lem Whitley’s grocery store, Mr. Fosdick sat in state; he was the presiding officer, and the thunder of his voice as he read the ritual to the trembling neophytes was a thing that was very dear to him. And Eben had given him the grand hailing sign!

“Brother Stetzle,” he said at last, “I’m going to tell you—and what’s more I’m going to let you in.”

Mr. Stetzle leaned forward and with great enthusiasm gave Mr. Fosdick the grip. “Brother!” he exclaimed.

Dr. Ox’s Experiment

by Jules Verne
First published in three parts as “Une fantaisie du docteur Ox” in Musée des Familles, March through May 1872
Published in Amazing Stories, August 1926, pp. 420-439, 477.

INTRODUCTION. The lovers of Jules Verne here find their author spinning a tale in a lighter vein. It seems to us that our favorite author has deliberately drawn out the story in order to make the denouement, if you have not guessed it by that time, more striking. There is, of course, excellent science in this story, and if anyone should go to the trouble of repeating Dr. Ox’s experiment on the vast scale shown here, the results would probably be just as depicted by our famous author.

It is a charming tale, and Verne chose, for good reason, a small town in Flanders, because the Dutch and Flemish people are notorious for their supposed sleepiness.

1. How It Is Useless to Seek, Even on the Best Maps, for the Small Town of Quiquendone

If you try to find, on any map of Flanders, ancient or modern, the small town of Quiquendone, probably you will not succeed. Is Quiquendone, then, one of those towns which have disappeared? No. A town of the future? By no means. It exists in spite of geographies, and has done so for some 800 or 900 years. It even numbers 2,393 souls, allowing one soul to each inhabitant. It is situated 13½ kilometers northwest of Oudenarde, and 15¼ kilometers southeast of Bruges, in the heart of Flanders. The Vaar, a small tributary of the Scheldt, passes beneath its three bridges, which are still covered with a quaint medieval roof, like that at Tournay. An old château is to be seen there, the first stone of which was laid so long ago as 1197, by Count Baldwin, afterwards Emperor of Constantinople; and there is a town hall, with Gothic windows, crowned by a chaplet of battlements, and surrounded by a turreted belfry, which rises 357 feet above the soil. Every hour you may hear there a chime of five octaves, a veritable aerial piano, the renown of which surpasses that of the famous chimes of Bruges. Strangers—if any ever come to Quiquendone—do not quit the curious old town until they have visited its Stadtholder’s Hall, adorned by a full-length portrait of William of Nassau, by Brandon; the loft of the Church of Saint Magloire, a masterpiece of 16th century architecture; the cast-iron well in the spacious Place Saint Ernuph, the admirable ornamentation of which is attributed to the artist-blacksmith, Quentin Metsys; the tomb formerly erected to Mary of Burgundy, daughter of Charles the Bold, who now reposes in the Church of Notre Dame at Bruges; and so on. The principal industry of Quiquendone is the manufacture of whipped creams and barley sugar on a large scale. It has been governed by the van Tricasses, from father to son, for several centuries. And yet Quiquendone is not on the map of Flanders! Have the geographers forgotten it, or is it an intentional omission? That I cannot tell; but Quiquendone really exists; with its narrow streets, its fortified walls, its Spanish-looking houses, its market, and its burgomaster—so much so, that it has recently been the theater of some surprising phenomena, as extraordinary and incredible as they are true, which are to be recounted in the present narration.

The Talking Brain

by M.H. Hasta.
First published in Amazing Stories, August 1926, pp. 440–445, 478–479.

INTRODUCTION. The possibility of maintaining life in an organ separated from the body to which it belongs is claimed to have been approached by Dr. Flexner, a celebrated scientist. The insertion of tissue from one live animal into another, even the transfusion of blood, which of course, is comparatively simple, suggests endless possibilities to the creative surgeon. And in this story, our author depicts such a surgeon—a wonderful genius, wrapped up in his science, self-contained, aloof from the rest of humanity—and tells of his work upon living subjects and leads to a denouement that is only reached at the very end of the story, which compares favorably with Edgar A. Poe’s tales. It is an interesting successor to the wonderful story, “The Case of M. Valdemar.”

The death of the student Vinton, and Professor Murtha’s suicide following, brought the University a good deal of unwelcome prominence. In fact, the newspapers demanded investigation; and President Archer asked me to prepare a statement of the facts for general publication, because I know them better than anyone now living.

Circumstances forced me into the very heart of the affair. I am glad of the opportunity to explain it, for my own name was rather unpleasantly mentioned on recent front pages. I worked with Murtha for months; perhaps I helped him somewhat in developing the remarkable instruments which tempted him to crime; I introduced him to Vinton; I was with him the night of his death, and heard his confession; and for the validity of his notes I am his sole witness to science. It is said that I was his only friend.

This last is not quite true. Murtha had no friends—he was not a man who could or would undertake the ordinary human relations. Up to his last days he was self-sufficient—impersonal—official—unbendingly scientific. The first evening I met him an incident occurred which illustrates very well why he was rather outside the general fellowship of the faculty.

We were introduced at the club by Jedney, Murtha’s department head. “Here’s a new chap we’re extra proud to have in the psychology department,” he said, and then with a twinkle, “Look out for him, Harvey, for he’s dabbling with your specialty and he’ll show up all of us old boys if we don’t hustle.” He went on to say the usual amiable things about my electrical work and the more recent X-ray research with crystals. Then he moved away leaving us together.

I made conversation, since Professor Murtha seemed inclined to leave me the duty and I studied him. He was ill at ease. There was clearly no humor there, for he made no attempt to respond to Jedney’s joviality. He was of medium height, with rather an academic face beneath red hair, and his speech was clipped and formal. He dressed with almost conspicuous quietness. A typical assistant professor, you might judge from the description—and yet somehow the man was set off from the rest of us as an arrow is distinguished in a rack of walking sticks. It was not poise or strength, it was rather a kind of fierce concentration on some hidden purpose. It was the most noticeable thing about him.

We talked of trivialities, and then I rose to go. Uninvited, he was beside me at once, with a light flowing step, and we passed out onto the dimming campus beneath the sturdy elms. Opposite Carson Hall he said in a hesitant way, which he seemed to try to make cordial, “Could you come up to my rooms for a few minutes, Professor Harvey? I’d like very much to have your help with this new electro-neural work I’m undertaking. Professor Jedney says you know more about the action of weak electric currents than anyone else on this side of the Atlantic. I want to ask a few questions.”

High Tension

by Albert B. Stuart M.D.
First published in Amazing Stories, August 1926, pp. 446–451.

INTRODUCTION. The author of this narration is a medical doctor and his knowledge of medicine shown in what he tells us deserves respect. He gives us quite an unusual story and not at all impossible, if we take adequate consideration of our present meager knowledge of high-frequency electric currents. That electrical currents could be responsible for a man's undreamt-of physical strength, has perhaps not been exploited in science, and it deserves more than passing interest on the part of our research laboratories. It is well known that a strong electrical current will affect our muscular actions to a tremendous extent, so much so that when we grasp a highly-charged handle of an induction coil, we find it impossible to let go of it.These are facts, not fiction. We are quite certain that you will like this most amazing and unusual story.

“What is the matter, Madge?” The grave-featured head nurse stopped in front of the weeping girl as she asked the question.

“I just can’t stand that Dr. Carter,” the girl gasped. “Here I’ve been working for him in the operating room the last six months, and he abuses me worse than if I were an apprentice. I didn’t do anything wrong, but I couldn’t work fast enough to suit him. It was, ‘hurry up nurse—ligature… needle-holder… why the deuce do you have to finger over everything before you can find what I want?’ If I had had four hands instead of two I couldn’t have worked fast enough to suit him. He raved at his assistant all through the operation, and no one could do anything fast enough to please him.”

“Yes, I know, my dear,” the head nurse comforted. “Dr. Carter is a very hard man to work for, but you must remember that he is a wonderful surgeon and works under great nervous tension.”

“He may be” the girl sobbed, “but he might act like a human being as the rest of the doctors do, anyway.”

“My dear, you must remember that Dr. Carter is different from other doctors. Really, he is uncanny in his ability. He does things no other surgeon would even think of attempting, and his knowledge of brain surgery is remarkable. Dr. Bryan was telling me just now that Dr. Carter is the greatest living authority on brain centers and their action.”

“That may be true,” replied the nurse, “but he isn’t human. There are times when I think he isn’t just right. His face is so flushed and red when he works, and he looks like a man with a burning fever, his eyes are so bright and piercing. And he always wears that headlamp when he works. He never leaves it off for a minute, and Heaven save anyone who touches it.”

“Yes, my dear,” the head nurse soothed. “He is a queer man, but we have our duty to perform. You must try to do your best, even if it is hard and disagreeable at times.”

With this copybook comfort the head nurse continued on her morning round of inspection, leaving the still weeping and irate nurse to compose herself as best she could.

Dr. Reginald Carter was a queer man. He came from the East unheralded and unknown, and in the brief space of a few years had risen to the position of chief surgeon of the hospital, and a commanding position in the medical profession. About his antecedents nothing was known, and being of a very reticent disposition, he made few acquaintances, except among medical associates. No one could claim the position of friend with him. Lean and wiry of figure, with dark eyes and rather swarthy complexion, his personality was that of the student and dreamer—such a one as nature seemed to have designed to tread the pathways of life alone.

Station X, 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 7-14

by G. McLeod Winsor
First published in 1919
Published in Amazing Stories, August 1926, pp. 452-473, 476.

INTRODUCTION. The story is now reaching an interesting point, bringing in the tale of planetary intercommunication, of the rivalry between the planets, of hypnotism across millions of miles of space, directly and indirectly, all told with vraisemblance. The rivalry of the powers for good and for evil, the help given by the gentle inhabitants of Venus, the asperities of the Martian inhabitants, are all told of so that we almost believe the words of the author, whose imagination follows such scientific lines and makes us feel that a climax perhaps fraught with disaster is approaching.

WHAT WENT BEFORE. Alan MacRae, simple, uneducated, yet a skillful radio operator, endowed with an unusually keen sense of hearing, is sent as operator to a secret radio station, operated by the British government, known as Station X, somewhere off on an island in the Pacific. He is chosen for the post because of his ability as a radio expert and his fine hearing. He accepts the offer because the extra pay involved brings him that much nearer to the day when he and May Treherne, the heroine, can be married. He takes leave of his sweetheart with peculiar forebodings of impending, intangible dangers, fears which seem to have no foundation or reason. He soon learns, while still enroute to the island, that his partner-to-be for several months is not going to be much of a companion for him. Lieut. Wilson is very well educated and is very intolerant of Macrae’s educational shortcomings. Ling, the Chinese cook and caretaker, completes the party to remain on the island, and incidently also serves as the “butt” for Lieut. Wilson’s ill temper.

Before long both men—Lieut. Wilson and the Chinaman—are found lying dead, apparently murdered by each other. And it is probably because of his nervous condition, caused by this mysterious murder, that Macrae falls under the influence of an inhabitant of Venus, who is known in this story as a “Venerian,” and whose voice comes to him over the radio, telling him all kinds of interesting things about the inhabitants of Venus, giving him a great deal of scientific information, etc., although Macrae understands nothing of the greatest part of it.

Because London has received no answer from Station X for three days, the Sagitta, with a crew of investigators and relief, is despatched to the island and arrives to find Macrae lying on the floor, apparently dead, still wearing the ear-set; the chair on which Macrae sat seems to have been thrown over, and not another living soul is to be seen.

The doctor, thinking that Macrae may be suffering from catalepsy rather than that he is dead, takes him back to London on the Sagitta. Macrae recovers on the boat and tells a weird tale, which, however, coincides perfectly with his shorthand notes of both his report and of the mysterious messages, and with his diary.

When they arrive in London, the government starts an investigation.

7. The Voice from Mars

If the question had been asked, Who is the most eminent scientists of the day? nine out of 10 would have answered: Stanley Budge. His distinguishing characteristic was his open-mindedness. If, for example, he had been a church dignitary, his tolerance would have become a scandal. The same quality in him that would have caused him to make ribbons of the rubrics, caused him to encounter an occasional sidelong look, even in the halls of science. It was disgusting to some of his confrères, that a man whose scientific attainments and labors could not be gainsaid, whose position was unchallengeable, should dabble with the, to them, unclean thing; should dare to assert the possibility of the existence of what could not be put under the microscope.

The value of his scientific work admitted, because it was undeniable, his leaning towards spiritualism was looked upon as a strange weakness in an otherwise fine intellect. The extra narrow-minded believed that there must be a bee in his bonnet somewhere.

The Professor was by no means thin-skinned, but there are few who do not chafe, however slightly, under ridicule. He was well aware that this had been the attitude with which his psychological investigations had been regarded, and that the results which he believed himself to have verified, were met with undisguised incredulity. He knew also that his treatise on the habitability of Mars had met with a cold reception. His own opinion on the universality of life, that it would be found, could the fact be ascertained, to exist wherever the conditions necessary to organic chemistry rendered its presence possible, he kept to himself. That such conditions existed on Mars, and probably other planets, he considered to be perfectly established. In this view he did not stand alone, but many hesitated.

It will not be difficult to believe, in the circumstances of such division of opinion in the scientific world, that when the case of Macrae was brought to Professor Rudge’s notice he took it up with enthusiasm. The more he pondered over Macrae’s story, the more interested he became. He was convinced by his examination of Macrae that there was no intentional deception, and the peculiar conditions existing seemed absolutely to exclude any explanations other than the one advanced. Of this he was so convinced that he resolved at once to pursue the investigations on the spot, in spite of its remoteness.

“I am going to visit Station X,” he said, “and I am going to take you with me!”

Macrae’s reply surprised him.

“No, sir! Anything else that I can do to oblige you, I will do, but I will never, never set foot on that island again.”

Issue 1.4, July 1926

Fiction Versus Facts editorial by Hugo Gernsback

Station X, chapters 1-6, by G. McLeod Winsor

1 · 2 · 3 · 4 · 5 · 6

The Man Who Could Work Miracles, by H.G. Wells

1 · 2 · 3 · 4 · 5 · 6 · 7 · 8 · 9 · 10

The Feline Light and Power Company Is Organized, by Jacque Morgan

The Moon Metal, by Garrett P. Serviss

1 · 2 · 3 · 4 · 5 · 6 · 7 · 8 · 9 · 10 · 11 · 12 · 13 · 14

The Eggs from Lake Tanganyika, by Curt Siodmak

The Magnetic Storm, by Hugo Gernsback

The Sphinx, by Edgar Allan Poe

A Trip to the Center of the Earth, chapters 36-44, by Jules Verne

36 · 37 · 38 · 39 · 40 · 41 · 42 · 43 · 44

The Secret of the Invisible Girl, by Clement Fezandié

1 · 2 · 3 · 4

OUR COVER sorta comes from the story “The Eggs from Lake Tanganyika,” though it doesn’t take place at sea, at all. Since I’ve not found the contents page from issue 4 on the internet, I can’t tell you what precisely was said about it in that issue. —K.W.L.

Fiction Versus Facts

by Hugo Gernsback, F.R.S.
July 1926 (1.4) p. 291.

A few letters have come to the Editor’s desk from some readers who wish to know what prompts us to so frequently preface our stories in our introductory remarks with the statement that this or that scientific plot is not impossible, but quite probable.

These readers seem to have the idea that we try to impress our friends with the fact that whatever is printed in Amazing Stories is not necessarily pure fiction, but could or can be fact.

That impression is quite correct. We do wish to do so, and have tried to do so ever since we started Amazing Stories. As a matter of fact, our editorial policy is built upon this structure and will be so continued indefinitely.

Station X, 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 1-6

by G. McLeod Winsor
First published in 1919
Published in Amazing Stories, July 1926, pp. 292-311.

INTRODUCTION. We are beginning in this issue Station X, which we consider by far the greatest radio story that was ever written. At least we have never read or seen a better one. Lest you believe that it is impossible for one being to interchange his mind with that of another and thereby control him physically, please consider the following:

In 1923 the publishers of this magazine, in conjunction with Station WHN, of New York City, then located at Ridgewood, L.I., and Mr. Joseph H. Dunninger, performed the following experiment:

On the morning of July 14, 1923, a subject was placed in front of the loud speaker in Radio News Laboratories at 53 Park Place, New York City. Mr. Dunninger was at the broadcast station WHN, and by commanding the subject, a young man, Mr. Leslie B. Duncan, to fall asleep, he impressed his will upon the subject, from a distance of over 15 miles, until the latter fell into a hypnotic trance.

The subject was examined by over 12 newspaper reporters assembled at 53 Park Place. Long needles were stuck through the subject’s arm, (drawing no blood) and then Dunninger, from a distance, commanded Duncan to fall into a cataleptic state, which prevailed for about half an hour. The subject finally was brought again to his senses by Mr. Dunninger’s commands issuing out of the loudspeaker.

Hypnotizing by radio was therefore proclaimed a success. A full account of the experiment may be found in the September 1923 issue of Science and Invention.

1. The New Post

As Alan Macrae watched the last hues of the sunset from Plymouth Hoe pale over Mount Edgcumbe, he stood out in marked contrast to the stolid West Country types around him. His tall loose-limbed figure, his brooding gaze, his nervous highly-strung manner, marked him as a stranger. A touch on the arm recalled him from his apparently somber thoughts—the touch of a girl who had approached him unobserved.

At the sight of her his melancholy vanished.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Alan,” she cried gaily, “but the manager had a fit.”

“A fit?” questioned Macrae.

“Yes, of work,” exclaimed the girl; “and he kept me doing letters, quite indifferent to the fact that this is our last night together. Let’s walk, shall we?”

As they walked slowly along the Hoe, the contrast between the two was remarkable. The brisk alertness of May Treherne seemed to accentuate her companion’s moodiness and psychic gloom.

The Man Who Could Work Miracles

by H.G. Wells
First published in The Illustrated London News, Summer 1898
Published in Amazing Stories, July 1926, pp. 312-318, 380.

INTRODUCTION. When you start reading this story by the famous author you begin to wonder why such seeming nonsense ever was committed to paper. You begin to doubt if it was really written by H.G. Wells, and as you proceed the thought dawns upon you that he probably wrote it before he was 10 years old.

This thought gains conviction until the final denouement, when the author fully reveals himself, and you have the sinking feeling that the joke is on you.

This interesting story should be read at least twice, in order to get the fullest enjoyment from it, and, incidentally, although this story was written before the recognition of the Einstein theory, it is an excellent illustration of the modern conception of time-space.

Personally we consider it a masterpiece and heartily recommend it to our readers.

1

It is doubtful whether the gift was innate. For my own part, I think it came to him suddenly. Indeed, until he was 30 he was a skeptic, and did not believe in miraculous powers. And here, since it is the most convenient place, I must mention that he was a little man, and had eyes of a hot brown, very erect red hair, a mustache with ends that he twisted up, and freckles. His name was George McWhirter Fotheringay—not the sort of name by any means to lead to any expectation of miracles—and he was clerk at Gomshott’s. He was greatly addicted to assertive argument. It was while he was asserting the impossibility of miracles that he had his first intimation of his extraordinary powers. This particular argument was being held in the bar of the Long Dragon, and Toddy Beamish was conducting the opposition by a monotonous but effective “So you say,” that drove Mr. Fotheringay to the very limit of his patience.

There were present, besides these two, a very dusty cyclist, landlord Cox, and Miss Maybridge, the perfectly respectable and rather portly barmaid of the Dragon. Miss Maybridge was standing with her back to Mr. Fotheringay, washing glasses; the others were watching him, more or less amused by the present ineffectiveness of the assertive method. Goaded by the Torres Vedras tactics of Mr. Beamish, Mr. Fotheringay determined to make an unusual rhetorical effort. “Looky here, Mr. Beamish,” said Mr. Fotheringay. “Let us clearly understand what a miracle is. It’s something contrariwise to the course of nature, done by power of will, something what couldn’t happen without being specially willed.”

“So you say,” said Mr. Beamish, repulsing him.