Night came. I was “sole alone!” B. M. came, more than filled the field of vision, of course; but for that I was ready. Heavens! how changed. Red no longer, but green as a meadow in the spring. Still I could see — black on the green — the large twenty-foot circles which I remembered so well, which broke the concave of the dome; and, on the upper edge — were these palm-trees? They were. No, they were hemlocks by their shape, and among them were moving to and fro — — — — — flies? Of course, I cannot see flies! But something is moving, — coming, going. One, two, three, ten; there are more than thirty in all! They are men and women and their children! Could it be possible? It was possible! Orcutt and Brannan and the rest of them had survived that giddy flight through the ether, and were going and coming on the surface of their own little world, bound to it by its own attraction and living by its own laws! As I watched, I saw one of them leap from that surface. He passed wholly out of my field of vision, but in a minute, more or less, returned. Why not! Of course, the attraction of his world must be very small, while he retained the same power of muscle he had when he was here. They must be horribly crowded, I thought. No. They had three acres of surface, and there were but thirty-seven of them. Not so much crowded as people are in Roxbury, not nearly so much as in Boston; and besides, these people are living underground, and have the whole of their surface for their exercise. I watched their every movement as they approached the edge and as they left it. Often they passed beyond it, so that I could see them no more. Often they sheltered themselves from that tropical sun beneath the trees. Think of living on a world where from the vertical heat of the hottest noon of the equator to the twilight of the poles is a walk of only fifty paces! What atmosphere they had, to temper and diffuse those rays, I could not then conjecture. I knew that at half past ten they would pass into the inevitable eclipse which struck them every night at this period of their orbit, and must, I thought, be a luxury to them, as recalling old memories of night when they were on this world. As they approached the line of shadow, some fifteen minutes before it was due, I counted on the edge thirty-seven specks arranged evidently in order; and, at one moment, as by one signal, all thirty-seven jumped into the air, — high jumps. Again they did it, and again. Then a low jump; then a high one. I caught the idea in a moment. They were telegraphing to our world, in the hope of an observer. Long leaps and short leaps, — the long and short of Morse’s Telegraph Alphabet, — were communicating ideas. My paper and pencil had been of course before me. I jotted down the despatch, whose language I knew perfectly: — “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” By “I understand” they meant the responsive signal given, in all telegraphy, by an operator who has received and understood a message. As soon as this exercise had been three times repeated, they proceeded in a solid body — much the most apparent object I had had until now — to Circle No. 3, and then evidently descended into the Moon. The eclipse soon began, but I knew the Moon’s path now, and followed the dusky, coppery spot without difficulty. At 1.33 it emerged, and in a very few moments I saw the solid column pass from Circle No. 3, again, deploy on the edge again, and repeat three times the signal: — “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” It was clear that Orcutt had known that the edge of his little world would be most easy of observation, and that he had guessed that the moments of obscuration and of emersion were the moments when observers would be most careful. After this signal they broke up again, and I could not follow them. With daylight I sent off a despatch to Haliburton, and, grateful and happy in comparison, sank into the first sleep, not haunted by horrid dreams, which I had known for years. Haliburton knew that George Orcutt had taken with him a good Dolland’s refractor, which he had bought in London, of a two-inch glass. He knew that this would give Orcutt a very considerable power, if he could only adjust it accurately enough to find No. 9 in the 3d Range. Orcutt had chosen well in selecting the “Saw-Mill Flat,” a large meadow, easily distinguished by the peculiar shape of the mill-pond which we had made. Eager though Haliburton was, to join me, he loyally took moneys, caught the first train to Skowhegan, and, travelling thence, in thirty-six hours more was again descending Spoonwood Hill, for the first time since our futile observations. The snow lay white upon the Flat. With Rob. Shea’s help, he rapidly unrolled a piece of black cambric twenty yards long, and pinned it to the crust upon the snow; another by its side, and another. Much cambric had he left. They had carried down with them enough for the funerals of two Presidents. Haliburton showed the symbols for “I understand,” but he could not resist also displaying · · — · —, which are the dots and lines to represent O. K., which, he says, is the shortest message of comfort. And, not having exhausted the space on the Flat, he and Robert, before night closed in, made a gigantic O. K., fifteen yards from top to bottom, and in marks that were fifteen feet through. I had telegraphed my great news to Haliburton on Monday night. Tuesday night he was at Skowhegan. Thursday night he was at No 9. Friday he and Rob. stretched their cambric. Meanwhile, every day I slept. Every night I was glued to the eye-piece. Fifteen minutes before the eclipse every night this weird dance of leaps two hundred feet high, followed by hops of twenty feet high, mingled always in the steady order I have described, spelt out the ghastly message: — “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” And every morning, as the eclipse ended, I saw the column creep along to the horizon, and again, as the duty of opening day, spell out the same: — “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” They had done this twice in every twenty-four hours for nearly two years. For three nights steadily, I read these signals twice each night; only these, and nothing more. But Friday night all was changed. After “Attention,” that dreadful “Show” did not come, but this cheerful signal: — “Hurrah. All well. Air, food, and friends! what more can man require? Hurrah.” How like George! How like Ben Brannan! How like George’s wife! How like them all! And they were all well! Yet poor I could not answer. Nay, I could only guess what Haliburton had done. But I have never, I believe, been so grateful since I was born! After a pause, the united line of leapers resumed their jumps and hops. Long and short spelled out: — “Your O. K. is twice as large as it need be.” Of the meaning of this, lonely I had, of course, no idea. “I have a power of seven hundred,” continued George. How did he get that? He has never told us. But this I can see, that all our analogies deceive us, — of views of the sea from Mt. Washington, or of the Boston State-House from Wachusett. For in these views we look through forty or eighty miles of dense terrestrial atmosphere. But Orcutt was looking nearly vertically through an atmosphere which was, most of it, rare indeed, and pure indeed, compared with its lowest stratum. In the record-book of my observations these despatches are entered as 12 and 13. Of course it was impossible for me to reply. All I could do was to telegraph these in the morning to Skowhegan, sending them to the care of the Moores, that they might forward them. But the next night showed that this had not been necessary. Friday night George and the others went on for a quarter of an hour. Then they would rest, saying, “two,” “three,” or whatever their next signal time would be. Before morning I had these despatches: — 14. “Write to all hands that we are doing well. Langdon’s baby is named Io, and Leonard’s is named Phebe.” How queer that was! What a coincidence! And they had some humor there. 15 was: “Our atmosphere stuck to us. It weighs three tenths of an inch — our weight.” 16. “Our rain-fall is regular as the clock. We have made a cistern of Kilpatrick.” This meant the spherical chamber of that name. 17. “Write to Darwin that he is all right. We began with lichens and have come as far as palms and hemlocks.” These were the first night’s messages. I had scarcely covered the eye-glasses, and adjusted the equatorial for the day, when the bell announced the carriage in which Polly and the children came from the station to relieve me in my solitary service as janitor. I had the joy of showing her the good news. This night’s work seemed to fill our cup. For all the day before, when I was awake, I had been haunted by the fear of famine for them. True, I knew that they had stored away in chambers H, I, and J the pork and flour which we had sent up for the workmen through the summer, and the corn and oats for the horses. But this could not last forever. Now, however, that it proved that in a tropical climate they were forming their own soil, developing their own palms, and eventually even their bread-fruit and bananas, planting their own oats and maize, and developing rice, wheat, and all other cereals, harvesting these six, eight, or ten times — for aught I could see — in one of our years, — why then, there was no danger of famine for them. If, as I thought, they carried up with them heavy drifts of ice and snow in the two chambers which were not covered in when they started, why, they had waters in their firmament quite sufficient for all purposes of thirst and of ablution. And what I had seen of their exercise showed that they were in strength sufficient for the proper development of their little world.

Night came. I was “sole alone!” B. M. came, more than filled the field of vision, of course; but for that I was ready. Heavens! how changed. Red no longer, but green as a meadow in the spring. Still I could see — black on the green — the large twenty-foot circles which I remembered so well, which broke the concave of the dome; and, on the upper edge — were these palm trees? They were. No, they were hemlocks by their shape, and among them were moving to and fro — — — — — flies? Of course, I cannot see flies! But something is moving — coming, going. One, two, three, ten; there are more than thirty in all! They are men and women and their children! Could it be possible? It was possible! Orcutt and Brannan and the rest of them had survived that giddy flight through the ether, and were going and coming on the surface of their own little world, bound to it by its own attraction and living by its own laws! As I watched, I saw one of them leap from that surface. He passed wholly out of my field of vision, but in a minute, more or less, returned. Why not! Of course, the attraction of his world must be very small, while he retained the same power of muscle he had when he was here. They must be horribly crowded, I thought. No. They had three acres of surface, and there were but thirty-seven of them. Not so much crowded as people are in Roxbury, not nearly so much as in Boston; and besides, these people are living underground, and have the whole of their surface for their exercise. I watched their every movement as they approached the edge and as they left it. Often they passed beyond it, so that I could see them no more. Often they sheltered themselves from that tropical sun beneath the trees. Think of living on a world where from the vertical heat of the hottest noon of the equator to the twilight of the poles is a walk of only fifty paces! What atmosphere they had, to temper and diffuse those rays, I could not then conjecture. I knew that at half past ten they would pass into the inevitable eclipse which struck them every night at this period of their orbit, and must, I thought, be a luxury to them, as recalling old memories of night when they were on this world. As they approached the line of shadow, some fifteen minutes before it was due, I counted on the edge thirty-seven specks arranged evidently in order. And, at one moment, as by one signal, all thirty-seven jumped into the air — high jumps. Again they did it, and again. Then a low jump; then a high one. I caught the idea in a moment. They were telegraphing to our world, in the hope of an observer. Long leaps and short leaps — the long and short of Morse’s Telegraph Alphabet — were communicating ideas. My paper and pencil had been of course before me. I jotted down the despatch, whose language I knew perfectly: “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” By “I understand” they meant the responsive signal given, in all telegraphy, by an operator who has received and understood a message. As soon as this exercise had been three times repeated, they proceeded in a solid body — much the most apparent object I had had until now — to Circle No. 3, and then evidently descended into the Moon. The eclipse soon began, but I knew the Moon’s path now, and followed the dusky, coppery spot without difficulty. At 1:33 it emerged, and in a very few moments I saw the solid column pass from Circle No. 3, again, deploy on the edge again, and repeat three times the signal: “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” It was clear that Orcutt had known that the edge of his little world would be most easy of observation, and that he had guessed that the moments of obscuration and of emersion were the moments when observers would be most careful. After this signal they broke up again, and I could not follow them. With daylight I sent off a despatch to Haliburton, and, grateful and happy in comparison, sank into the first sleep, not haunted by horrid dreams, which I had known for years. Haliburton knew that George Orcutt had taken with him a good Dolland’s refractor, which he had bought in London, of a two-inch glass. He knew that this would give Orcutt a very considerable power, if he could only adjust it accurately enough to find No. 9 in the 3rd Range. Orcutt had chosen well in selecting the “Saw-Mill Flat,” a large meadow, easily distinguished by the peculiar shape of the millpond which we had made. Eager though Haliburton was to join me, he loyally took moneys, caught the first train to Skowhegan, and, traveling thence, in thirty-six hours more was again descending Spoonwood Hill, for the first time since our futile observations. The snow lay white upon the Flat. With Rob. Shea’s help, he rapidly unrolled a piece of black cambric twenty yards long, and pinned it to the crust upon the snow; another by its side, and another. Much cambric had he left. They had carried down with them enough for the funerals of two Presidents. Haliburton showed the symbols for “I understand,” but he could not resist also displaying · · — · —, which are the dots and lines to represent O.K., which, he says, is the shortest message of comfort. And, not having exhausted the space on the Flat, he and Robert, before night closed in, made a gigantic O.K., fifteen yards from top to bottom, and in marks that were fifteen feet through. I had telegraphed my great news to Haliburton on Monday night. Tuesday night he was at Skowhegan. Thursday night he was at No. 9. Friday he and Rob. stretched their cambric. Meanwhile, every day I slept. Every night I was glued to the eyepiece. Fifteen minutes before the eclipse every night this weird dance of leaps two hundred feet high, followed by hops of twenty feet high, mingled always in the steady order I have described, spelt out the ghastly message: “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” And every morning, as the eclipse ended, I saw the column creep along to the horizon, and again, as the duty of opening day, spell out the same: “Show ‘I understand’ on the Saw-Mill Flat.” They had done this twice in every twenty-four hours for nearly two years. For three nights steadily, I read these signals twice each night; only these, and nothing more. But Friday night all was changed. After “Attention,” that dreadful “Show” did not come, but this cheerful signal: “Hurrah. All well. Air, food, and friends! what more can man require? Hurrah.” How like George! How like Ben Brannan! How like George’s wife! How like them all! And they were all well! Yet poor I could not answer. Nay, I could only guess what Haliburton had done. But I have never, I believe, been so grateful since I was born! After a pause, the united line of leapers resumed their jumps and hops. Long and short spelled out: “Your O.K. is twice as large as it need be.” Of the meaning of this, lonely I had, of course, no idea. “I have a power of seven hundred,” continued George. How did he get that? He has never told us. But this I can see, that all our analogies deceive us — of views of the sea from Mt. Washington, or of the Boston State House from Wachusett. For in these views we look through forty or eighty miles of dense terrestrial atmosphere. But Orcutt was looking nearly vertically through an atmosphere which was, most of it, rare indeed, and pure indeed, compared with its lowest stratum. In the record book of my observations these despatches are entered as 12 and 13. Of course it was impossible for me to reply. All I could do was to telegraph these in the morning to Skowhegan, sending them to the care of the Moores, that they might forward them. But the next night showed that this had not been necessary. Friday night George and the others went on for a quarter of an hour. Then they would rest, saying, “two,” “three,” or whatever their next signal time would be. Before morning I had these despatches: 14. “Write to all hands that we are doing well. Langdon’s baby is named Io, and Leonard’s is named Phebe.” How queer that was! What a coincidence! And they had some humor there. 15 was: “Our atmosphere stuck to us. It weighs three tenths of an inch — our weight.” 16. “Our rainfall is regular as the clock. We have made a cistern of Kilpatrick.” This meant the spherical chamber of that name. 17. “Write to Darwin that he is all right. We began with lichens and have come as far as palms and hemlocks.” These were the first night’s messages. I had scarcely covered the eye-glasses, and adjusted the equatorial for the day, when the bell announced the carriage in which Polly and the children came from the station to relieve me in my solitary service as janitor. I had the joy of showing her the good news. This night’s work seemed to fill our cup. For all the day before, when I was awake, I had been haunted by the fear of famine for them. True, I knew that they had stored away in chambers H, I, and J the pork and flour which we had sent up for the workmen through the summer, and the corn and oats for the horses. But this could not last forever. Now, however, that it proved that in a tropical climate they were forming their own soil, developing their own palms, and eventually even their breadfruit and bananas, planting their own oats and maize, and developing rice, wheat, and all other cereals, harvesting these six, eight, or ten times — for aught I could see — in one of our years, why then, there was no danger of famine for them. If, as I thought, they carried up with them heavy drifts of ice and snow in the two chambers which were not covered in when they started, why, they had waters in their firmament quite sufficient for all purposes of thirst and of ablution. And what I had seen of their exercise showed that they were in strength sufficient for the proper development of their little world.