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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a719285 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #69150 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69150) diff --git a/old/69150-0.txt b/old/69150-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7c4189b..0000000 --- a/old/69150-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,903 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Miracle, by Ray Cummings - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Miracle - -Author: Ray Cummings - -Release Date: October 13, 2022 [eBook #69150] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIRACLE *** - - - - - - MIRACLE - - By Ray Cummings - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Astonishing Stories, October 1942. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -"But how can you possibly know that time traveling has never been -done?" the chemist protested. "Someone from our future may have gone -into the past many times." - -"I should think they'd have created quite a commotion," the lawyer -observed. "Wouldn't we have heard of it from our historical records?" - -"Of course." The chemist was smiling now. "We probably have. History -tells of many important occasions on which a 'vision' appeared. A -miraculous presence, such as Joan of Arc, for instance, or the Angel of -Mons." - -"Or the appearance of the Sun God to the Aztecs. I get your point," one -of the other men interjected. "You think that there might have been a -time traveler who materialized just long enough to take a look--and the -superstitious natives took him for a god. Why not? That's probably just -what would happen." - -Young Alan Dane sat in a corner of his grandfather's laboratory, -listening to the argument of the group of men. He was well over six -feet in height, a sun-bronzed, crisply blond young Viking. Beside him -sat Ruth Vincent, his fiancée, a slim girl of twenty. Alan's heart -was pounding. Somehow it seemed as though this bantering talk of time -traveling were something momentous to him, something requiring a great -and irrevocable decision. - -Then abruptly old Professor Dane held up his hand and, quite casually, -said, "What you do not know, gentlemen, is that for half my life I have -been working to discover the secret of time travel." - -His audience was suddenly tense. Professor Dane was loved and respected -by each of them, and his word in his chosen field of physics was final. -If he said a thing could be done there was no mistake. - -The chemist broke the silence. "You've succeeded?" he asked. "You've -made experiments that show--" - -The old man shook his head. "No, not yet. But I'm close to it. I know I -am." He was staring at some infinitely distant thing beyond the room in -which they were sitting. Staring as though he were trying to penetrate -the grim curtain of the future, or the past. - -Almost as though to himself, he went on, "I've often wondered what -made me work on this thing all these years. It's been like an inner -urge driving me, a preordained destiny that is making me accomplish -something." - -"Metaphysics!" the lawyer interrupted. "Do you believe in -predestination?" - -"I believe there is a plan," Professor Dane said simply. "But what -it is, and what my part in it may be ... I don't know. That's the -queer part. I know instinctively that I must do something, something -connected with traveling through time. Some task I must accomplish. But -what it is, and how I am to do it ... I don't know. Yet I feel that -_if_ the moment came, I would know what to do." He was gently smiling -now at Alan and his fiancée. "But perhaps I am too old--I have thought -that is true," he continued. "So I sent for my grandson. And, as you -see, he brought his fiancée here with him." - -The old professor was staring at the startled Ruth now. "And, -gentlemen," he added earnestly, "meeting her has somehow seemed to -intensify that feeling. There is something to be accomplished, in the -past or the future, and it concerns Ruth Vincent!" - -Alan's hands were gripping the arms of his chair. These things which -his grandfather had been feeling--he was feeling them now. This urge, -this apprehension that something was left undone.... - -"I'm going to ask Alan now to carry on for me," his grandfather -finished abruptly. "He is young and strong, educated and able. I want -him to feel the things I've been feeling--" - -"Oh, I do!" Alan exclaimed. "I'll do what I can, grandfather. I'd have -to do it, even if I didn't want to! Don't you see--I feel that same -urge!" - - * * * * * - -The gray moving shadows all around Alan Dane were blurred, formless. He -was seated hunched on what had been the ground. It was the ground no -longer, but now an undulant gray surface that was under him, supporting -his weight, but imperceptible to his touch. He couldn't feel it; he -couldn't feel anything but the racking strain of his headlong drive -through the vast infinities of time. - -He alone, of all things in this great gray monochrome of scene, seemed -substantial. Everything else flowed invisibly away into emptiness. The -thin skeleton of the metal headgear clamped on his forehead so that -his temples throbbed; the wires to his wrists and ankles were luminous -glowing strands. The electroidal current from the batteries lashed -across his back was throbbing and pulsing into every fiber of his -tingling body. - -Alan shifted restlessly and glanced at the little time-dial on his -wrist. The needle was creeping slowly back, showing a hurtling -progression through time to the past. He closed his strained eyes, glad -of the relief from the impossible attempt to focus his gaze on the -weirdly distorted scene before him. - -Where should he stop? And what would he find? - -Alan's imagination went back to the scene when his grandfather had -first told others of his fantastic creation that would permit voyaging -through the years. What had the old man said then? Something about a -purpose-- - -Alan was almost on fire with the consciousness of that set purpose now. -Something within him, something that could not be denied, was guiding -his hand on the control switch of the time traveler. - -He was voyaging backward into time! So strange a thing--and so simple -in fundamental conception. He recalled how his grandfather had -explained it, back in the laboratory. Everything had been created -at once. On the scroll of time everything is permanent. We live -our infinitesimal lifetime progressing forward through ordained, -predetermined events. All the past and all the future exist--but we can -only be aware of that forward-moving instant which we call the present. - -And old Professor Dane's fundamental conception--certainly it could now -be considered finally proven, with his grandson actually applying it to -really travel through time. He had thought that all material things, -strewn in sequence on the scroll of time, were of different physical -characteristics. - -Different states of matter; a different vibration-rate, so that to -change the vibratory frequency of any object would be to change its -position on the time-scroll! - - * * * * * - -Alan had started from his grandfather's laboratory, near Riverside -Drive in mid-town New York. The date had been May of 1942. His watch, -set above the other time-recording instrument on his wrist, told him -that his start had been made only a scant half hour before, by his -personal consciousness of time. How long ago--how far away that seemed -now! There had been a reeling of his senses, the soundless clapping -of swiftly alternating light and darkness at the shadowy laboratory -windows. Then as his rate of change accelerated, the days and nights -had merged into this flat, dead emptiness of gray. - -Then the house had abruptly dwindled, thinned out, and disappeared -from around him! He had reached a time-era before its construction. -Still with greater speed, the shadowy shifting outlines of the great -city were in motion, shrinking into smaller and smaller buildings, -narrower, shorter roads. - -More shadowy open spaces appeared, then were replaced by towering -giants of trees. 1850 he reached and passed--then 1800, and 1750. The -city had been long gone by then--the little village of British New York -was a shrunken settlement of a few thousand persons clustered down -about the Battery, four miles from where Alan Dane was. He could see -that he was poised now on what seemed a little wooded hill, sloping -down to the broad Hudson River a few hundred feet away. - -It was a strange transition indeed. And yet to Alan Dane, the -strangeness of his own emotions seemed not the least of it. Three -years of his life had passed since that night when he had promised his -grandfather he would carry on the experiments--three years in which he -had lost his grandfather, but gained a wife and son. Ruth Vincent had -married him and together they had worked on the fragile thing that he -bore now on his back--fragile, but more potent in a strange, incredible -way than any other device. - -Alone Alan would have failed. Even with Ruth helping him he could not -have hoped to succeed so soon. But his grandfather had left researches -only a hair's-breadth from completion ... and the young couple had -finished them. - -Even so, the thing had come almost by accident. Alan was far from sure -that he could again compound the strange, unstable mixture of rare -chemicals from which his nameless alloys were made--alloys which formed -the plates in the time-batteries. But at least he had enough for this -one brief trip. - -Alan was curiously sure that this one trip was all he needed to -make--that, after it was done, the curious driving compulsion that had -seized him three years before would leave him, his task completed. - -Alan glanced again at the time-dial. The transition was slowing now; he -had hardly been aware that a moment ago he had decreased the current. -1699-98-97.... The retardation was progressive. It was almost as though -the apparatus itself were dictating his stopping point. - -And then the date 1650 flashed into his mind. That was when he had to -stop. It was as though he'd always known it.... - -Was this a cave, here at his back? He was aware that he was sitting at -its entrance, facing the shadowy declivity and the deep woods through -which he could see the broad, gray river. - -An instant later he shoved the lever to shut off the current. The shock -of the halt made his senses swoop. Then, as he steadied, with the -ground solid under him, he was aware that it was night. The hum of the -throbbing electroidal current was gone. But there was still a pulsing -note in the air--the throbbing voice of the deep forest through which -the river was shimmering, pallid in the moonlight. - - * * * * * - -Alan staggered to his feet, steadied himself. A shaft of moonlight was -on him; and abruptly in the dimness of the cave he heard a sound. A -man's muttered, astonished exclamation blended with the startled high -gasp of a girl. - -As he turned, he saw them. The man was hardly more than a boy--twenty, -perhaps, and garbed curiously in gray blouse and brown, baggy -pantaloons, knitted brown stockings and thick, clumsy shoes. The girl -was even younger, a slim little thing in a quaint bodiced dress with -her braided flaxen hair tumbling forward over her shoulders in double -strands. - -Terrified, wide-eyed with utter astonishment, they mutely gaped at Alan. - -"Well," he said at last. "Do you speak English? I'm sorry I don't speak -Dutch--that's your language, isn't it? This is Dutch New Amsterdam?" -He checked himself and sighed. The Dutch boy and girl were gulping, -numbly staring at him. They didn't speak English, of course. It would -have been too much of a coincidence ... but so welcome, if they had. -"I'm sorry," Alan went on, not hopefully. "Look here, I don't want to -frighten you. I only want to know--" - -He took a step forward. For a second the two looked utterly -incredulous, as though disbelieving the evidence of their eyes. And -then they shrank away with terror on their white faces. The youth -whirled the girl behind him, confronted Alan. - -"What--what do you want?" he faltered. It was English, curiously and -quaintly intoned. "Are you real? Where do you come from?" The lad was -recovering rapidly. "You speak English, but not like the traders or my -teacher. What are you?" - -Alan tried to smile. "I won't hurt you," he repeated. "I'm a friend. -A visitor, from--from a far-off place," he floundered. It would never -do to say that he came from 1942. Already they were staring at him as -though he were mad, huddled back against the wall of the cave. - -Abruptly behind Alan there was a whiz; a thud; and the cave was lighted -by a flickering, yellow-red glare. It made the youth momentarily -overlook his astonishment, his terror at Alan, so that he gasped to the -girl: - -"Oh, Greta--a fire-arrow! They are out there just as we feared." - -Alan turned. An Indian fire-arrow had whizzed into the cave-mouth from -the forest outside. It quivered, sticking upright in the guano floor of -the cave--a little torch of flame with thick, resinous smoke surging -up from it. With a sidewise kick Alan's foot knocked it loose and he -trampled on it. He swung around with a leap so that he was close to his -cowering companions. - -"Indians are out there?" he demanded. "Is that what you were afraid of, -before you saw me?" - -The girl was coughing with the drifting smoke already choking her a -little in the fetid air of the cave. - -"Yes," the lad muttered. "That is it. They saw us in the woods as we -came up from the Bouwerij. So we ran in here." - -Another arrow came flaming. It barely missed Alan, struck against the -rockwall and fell nearby, still flaming. He and the lad rushed at it; -they stamped it out together. - -"You have no guns?" Alan demanded. - -"Guns?" - -"To shoot with. To fight our way out of here." - -"Oh, not guns on a ship--you mean fowling pieces? No, we have none." -Despite his terror at the flaming arrows of the Indians outside the -cave, the frightened Dutch boy was forcing himself to answer Alan's -questions, but still both he and the girl were incredulously staring at -their miraculously appearing companion. - -"Greta was showing me the way up from the town," the Dutch boy was -murmuring. "She has a boat at the river bank. Then I was going up with -the tide. In the fog last night, an English frigate got past our forts -at the Bowling Green. It is up the river now, and Stuyvesant has sent -me--" - - * * * * * - -Under Alan's urging questions, the boy and girl swiftly explained. This -was a Dutch boy, born here in Nieuw Amsterdam, but he had lived most -of his life in London. His name was Peter Van Saant. She was Greta -Dykeman; her father was one of Governor Stuyvesant's burghers of the -Town Council. The English fleet was here off the Hook, and yesterday, -Nichols, emissary of the Duke of York, had come ashore to demand that -the Dutch surrender the city. Henceforth, according to the demands of -the Duke, this would not be Nieuw Amsterdam, but New York--a British -settlement with a destiny of greatness, here in the New World. - -As he mutely listened, Alan's mind again swept to his own time-world of -1942. This same space! And he envisioned the huge city of 1942, when -this cave and forested glade were mid-Manhattan, where giant buildings -towered and the great ramp of the automobile highway bordered the river. - -Another flaming arrow came whizzing into the mouth of the cave. Peter -rushed for it, stamped it out. The woods beyond the cave-mouth now -were lighted with torch glare, and echoing with the warwhoops of the -Indians, emboldened because no fowling pieces of the trapped palefaces -were exploding to hurl lead at them. Outside the cave, arrows were -continuously striking; the brush was on fire, with a red-yellow glare -that came in here and painted Alan and his two confused, terrified -companions with its lurid sheen. - -"I've got to get up the river to that frigate," the lad was muttering. -"If I got killed here--or even Greta got killed--what matter? But I've -got to reach the frigate." - -He was a secret emissary of Stuyvesant, this momentous night--sent to -the English commander of the frigate--sent because he spoke English so -well and they would trust him. - -"Stuyvesant will yield to the Duke of York in a day or two," Peter -was swiftly saying. "But he is afraid the frigate's men will land and -attack the city from the north. If they do that, Stuyvesant's prestige -before his own people will make him fight. Without it, he will try to -drive a bargain for his own self-respect, and then yield. I am to tell -the frigate's commander that if only he will but have patience and -wait--Stuyvesant will surrender." - -Upon that mission, tonight, might depend the whole course of history in -the New World! - -"There's no back way out of here?" Alan demanded. - -"No. Just this one entrance. And if we should try to run, out there -into that glare--" - -"We'd get arrows in us," Alan finished wryly. "Those Indians are pretty -close now." - - * * * * * - -The shouts of the savages were audible, where they crouched in -the brush just beyond the line of fire. They were whooping with -anticipatory triumph and showering the cave-mouth with their flaming -missiles. Acrid yellow smoke was welling into the cave in clouds. Peter -had shoved Greta to the floor where the air, so far, was a little -purer. He too was coughing; and Alan felt the clutch of the resin-smoke -in his own throat. To stay here another five or ten minutes would be -death. - -If only his time-traveling mechanism would take more than one person! -But it would not. He himself was safe, of course.... He had taken -a step toward the cave-mouth, and abruptly he recoiled as an arrow -whizzed narrowly past his shoulder. - -Nothing safe about this! - -And then he knew what he must try to do. "You two stay here, just a few -minutes," he said swiftly. "Keep down by the floor, both of you--air's -still much better down there. I'm going away, but I'll be back." - -He gazed down at them from his stalwart, six foot height as they -crouched terrified at his feet. He was smiling a little as his fingers -shoved the lever of the time-mechanism on his chest to the first stop. - -He could see the astonished horror and awe on their faces as slowly he -faded, vanished before them. - -A little movement forward in time. Just about twenty-four hours. The -blurred and shadowy cave briefly was filled with daylight, and then -with the darkness of night again. - -Alan switched off the current. Night was here, deep and silent, -enshrouding the forest. No warwhoops; no glare of flaming arrows and -burning brush. That had been last night. From the empty cave Alan -walked slowly out into the woods. A northward vista of the broad river -for a moment was visible. A little blob was out there in the river--an -English frigate awaiting the outcome of the parley of Nichols, emissary -of the Duke of York, with Governor Stuyvesant. - -Alan selected a flat-topped rock which stood about a hundred feet off -to one side of the cave-mouth--a rock whose top was some twenty feet -above the surrounding rocks and thickets. He climbed it; stood on its -summit. - -If only this would work! Despite his efforts at calmness, he was -shuddering inside. Not for his own safety--was it for his wife and -their little son, out there in 1942? Absurd thought; but somehow it was -turning him cold with apprehension. - -He set his tiny time-dial for the moment of his departure from the -smoke-filled cave, last night, and turned the current on again. -Twenty-four hours backward into time. A retrogression of that same -swift daylight again. Then the previous dawn, swiftly fading into -night.... - -Again his time-movement stopped; and the forest sprang into ringing -warwhoops and crackling yellow-red glare of torchlight and burning -brush. On the top of the little butte Alan stood poised. An amazing -figure, he came out of nothingness, solidifying before the astounded -eyes of the stricken savages. The warwhoops died into a tense, -terrified silence. To Alan it was a breathless moment of apprehension. -His fingers went to the time-lever; alert to shove it if necessary. And -then in the wave of silence which flooded the pallid forest glade he -flung out his arms. Drawn to his full height, with arms outstretched -as though in benediction he stood gazing down upon the silent savages. -A pale cathedral shaft of moonlight was filtering through the overhead -branches and it struck upon him, illumined him with its eerie glow. - - * * * * * - -The tense moment passed. The Indians, their war-painted bodies -glistening in the glare of the burning brush, were all silently -staring. There seemed a hundred or more of them. Then one of them, with -a faint awed cry, flung himself prostrate with forehead to the ground -in terrified homage to this shining god of the rock who had appeared so -suddenly. - -And then they were all prostrate in groveling worship until one of -them, who might have been their leader, abruptly leaped to his feet and -dashed away through the thickets. The others in another second were up -after him. It was a frightened scramble, a terrified rush to escape the -wrath of this stalwart god who so silently was poised above them in the -forest. - -For a moment the woods resounded with the cries and the tramp of the -escaping savages; distant cries until at last there was only silence.... - -Alan leaped from the rock and dashed for the burning brush outside the -cave-mouth. If only he had calculated his time correctly! Then at the -cave entrance Greta and Peter appeared. His arm held her as she sagged -against him, with the yellow-red glare painting them and the turgid -smoke swirling around them. - -"Here--I'll carry her," Alan exclaimed. - -He caught the girl up in his arms--slim, frail little thing, fighting -in terror with him for an instant, and then relaxing. Peter staggered -after them as Alan led the way down into the silent forest where the -night air was pure and all the fire and smoke were above them with the -silent shimmering river gleaming there ahead. - -"You're better now?" he murmured to the girl. - -"Yes. Oh yes--I'm all right. Oh, who--what are you?" - -He did not answer. Holding her in his arms suddenly made him think -of Ruth, out there waiting for him in 1942. And a new apprehension -struck at him--would his time-current last to get him back home? He was -not using it now, but still, he knew, the volatile chemicals in the -batteries were subject to evaporation. - -He set little Greta on her feet. "Your boat is near here?" he demanded. - -"Oh, yes, right here at the bank." - -"Well, you find it for Peter. Start him up for the frigate, and then -you get back home." - -"Yes, I will. It is not far to the north stockade." - -They were both staring at him, confused, numbed with awe. "I--we must -thank you," Peter muttered. "We saw the Indians as they fled." - -"Oh, that's all right. Glad to do it. But I've got to get--away now. -I've got to get back where--where I came from--" - -Then Greta took a step toward him. - -"Oh, please, who--what are you? This thing you have done for us--" - -Alan was gently smiling. "Hard to explain. You'd better just call it -a miracle," he said. His finger pressed the time-lever. He could see -Peter grip the girl as they shrank away with terror, staring at him -while slowly he faded into nothingness.... - - * * * * * - -May, 1942. In a dim, quiet room of the New York Historical Society Alan -sat poring over an old Dutch chronicle of Nieuw Amsterdam. And then -he found what he was after--an account of Stuyvesant's surrender to -the Duke of York. It was a modern English translation of an account by -someone who had lived in the little Dutch city. - -Alan read it, awed. Here was mention of young Peter Van Saant, who had -gone up the river to the _Queen Catherine_--the English frigate which -had slipped past the forts in the fog that night. And it told of Greta -Dykeman who had shown him the way to where her rowboat was hidden. And -then--the miracle! - -Greta Dykeman and Peter Van Saant--so the chronicle stated--had been -attacked by Indians that night. They had taken refuge in a cave, where -a great shining presence in the guise of a strange man had come and -frightened away the Indians. He had led Peter and Greta to safety--and -then had vanished. - -Silently Alan left the Historical Society. Why had it seemingly been -his destiny to rescue that Dutch boy and girl? That strange urge which -both he and his grandfather before him had felt so strongly--why -was that? Van Saant--why, that suggested the name Vincent! The one, -Dutch--and the other just its English, modernized equivalent? - -Alan hurried to the Genealogical Room at the Public Library; and there -he found it. Ruth's family--the Vincents--and before that, the Van -Saants. - -Then he came to 1656. The marriage of Peter Van Saant, to Mistress -Greta Dykeman.... - -Alan sat numbly, staring in awe. - -If they had died in that smoke-filled cave, this son of theirs, -recorded here as Hans Van Saant, born 1657, would never have been born, -nor any of his descendants. No Ruth Vincent, now in 1942; no little son -of hers and Alan's.... - -Alan was smiling to himself, a whimsical, awed smile. He certainly had -had no cause to be apprehensive that his mission back into time would -fail. It was ordained--predestined--a million events down from Peter -and Greta to Ruth were recorded, with his own action fitting into them. -Nothing else was possible! - -Miracle ... there is so much that none of us will ever understand! - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIRACLE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Miracle</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Ray Cummings</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: October 13, 2022 [eBook #69150]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIRACLE ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>MIRACLE</h1> - -<h2>By Ray Cummings</h2> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Astonishing Stories, October 1942.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>"But how can you possibly know that time traveling has never been -done?" the chemist protested. "Someone from our future may have gone -into the past many times."</p> - -<p>"I should think they'd have created quite a commotion," the lawyer -observed. "Wouldn't we have heard of it from our historical records?"</p> - -<p>"Of course." The chemist was smiling now. "We probably have. History -tells of many important occasions on which a 'vision' appeared. A -miraculous presence, such as Joan of Arc, for instance, or the Angel of -Mons."</p> - -<p>"Or the appearance of the Sun God to the Aztecs. I get your point," one -of the other men interjected. "You think that there might have been a -time traveler who materialized just long enough to take a look—and the -superstitious natives took him for a god. Why not? That's probably just -what would happen."</p> - -<p>Young Alan Dane sat in a corner of his grandfather's laboratory, -listening to the argument of the group of men. He was well over six -feet in height, a sun-bronzed, crisply blond young Viking. Beside him -sat Ruth Vincent, his fiancée, a slim girl of twenty. Alan's heart -was pounding. Somehow it seemed as though this bantering talk of time -traveling were something momentous to him, something requiring a great -and irrevocable decision.</p> - -<p>Then abruptly old Professor Dane held up his hand and, quite casually, -said, "What you do not know, gentlemen, is that for half my life I have -been working to discover the secret of time travel."</p> - -<p>His audience was suddenly tense. Professor Dane was loved and respected -by each of them, and his word in his chosen field of physics was final. -If he said a thing could be done there was no mistake.</p> - -<p>The chemist broke the silence. "You've succeeded?" he asked. "You've -made experiments that show—"</p> - -<p>The old man shook his head. "No, not yet. But I'm close to it. I know I -am." He was staring at some infinitely distant thing beyond the room in -which they were sitting. Staring as though he were trying to penetrate -the grim curtain of the future, or the past.</p> - -<p>Almost as though to himself, he went on, "I've often wondered what -made me work on this thing all these years. It's been like an inner -urge driving me, a preordained destiny that is making me accomplish -something."</p> - -<p>"Metaphysics!" the lawyer interrupted. "Do you believe in -predestination?"</p> - -<p>"I believe there is a plan," Professor Dane said simply. "But what -it is, and what my part in it may be ... I don't know. That's the -queer part. I know instinctively that I must do something, something -connected with traveling through time. Some task I must accomplish. But -what it is, and how I am to do it ... I don't know. Yet I feel that -<i>if</i> the moment came, I would know what to do." He was gently smiling -now at Alan and his fiancée. "But perhaps I am too old—I have thought -that is true," he continued. "So I sent for my grandson. And, as you -see, he brought his fiancée here with him."</p> - -<p>The old professor was staring at the startled Ruth now. "And, -gentlemen," he added earnestly, "meeting her has somehow seemed to -intensify that feeling. There is something to be accomplished, in the -past or the future, and it concerns Ruth Vincent!"</p> - -<p>Alan's hands were gripping the arms of his chair. These things which -his grandfather had been feeling—he was feeling them now. This urge, -this apprehension that something was left undone....</p> - -<p>"I'm going to ask Alan now to carry on for me," his grandfather -finished abruptly. "He is young and strong, educated and able. I want -him to feel the things I've been feeling—"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I do!" Alan exclaimed. "I'll do what I can, grandfather. I'd have -to do it, even if I didn't want to! Don't you see—I feel that same -urge!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The gray moving shadows all around Alan Dane were blurred, formless. He -was seated hunched on what had been the ground. It was the ground no -longer, but now an undulant gray surface that was under him, supporting -his weight, but imperceptible to his touch. He couldn't feel it; he -couldn't feel anything but the racking strain of his headlong drive -through the vast infinities of time.</p> - -<p>He alone, of all things in this great gray monochrome of scene, seemed -substantial. Everything else flowed invisibly away into emptiness. The -thin skeleton of the metal headgear clamped on his forehead so that -his temples throbbed; the wires to his wrists and ankles were luminous -glowing strands. The electroidal current from the batteries lashed -across his back was throbbing and pulsing into every fiber of his -tingling body.</p> - -<p>Alan shifted restlessly and glanced at the little time-dial on his -wrist. The needle was creeping slowly back, showing a hurtling -progression through time to the past. He closed his strained eyes, glad -of the relief from the impossible attempt to focus his gaze on the -weirdly distorted scene before him.</p> - -<p>Where should he stop? And what would he find?</p> - -<p>Alan's imagination went back to the scene when his grandfather had -first told others of his fantastic creation that would permit voyaging -through the years. What had the old man said then? Something about a -purpose—</p> - -<p>Alan was almost on fire with the consciousness of that set purpose now. -Something within him, something that could not be denied, was guiding -his hand on the control switch of the time traveler.</p> - -<p>He was voyaging backward into time! So strange a thing—and so simple -in fundamental conception. He recalled how his grandfather had -explained it, back in the laboratory. Everything had been created -at once. On the scroll of time everything is permanent. We live -our infinitesimal lifetime progressing forward through ordained, -predetermined events. All the past and all the future exist—but we can -only be aware of that forward-moving instant which we call the present.</p> - -<p>And old Professor Dane's fundamental conception—certainly it could now -be considered finally proven, with his grandson actually applying it to -really travel through time. He had thought that all material things, -strewn in sequence on the scroll of time, were of different physical -characteristics.</p> - -<p>Different states of matter; a different vibration-rate, so that to -change the vibratory frequency of any object would be to change its -position on the time-scroll!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Alan had started from his grandfather's laboratory, near Riverside -Drive in mid-town New York. The date had been May of 1942. His watch, -set above the other time-recording instrument on his wrist, told him -that his start had been made only a scant half hour before, by his -personal consciousness of time. How long ago—how far away that seemed -now! There had been a reeling of his senses, the soundless clapping -of swiftly alternating light and darkness at the shadowy laboratory -windows. Then as his rate of change accelerated, the days and nights -had merged into this flat, dead emptiness of gray.</p> - -<p>Then the house had abruptly dwindled, thinned out, and disappeared -from around him! He had reached a time-era before its construction. -Still with greater speed, the shadowy shifting outlines of the great -city were in motion, shrinking into smaller and smaller buildings, -narrower, shorter roads.</p> - -<p>More shadowy open spaces appeared, then were replaced by towering -giants of trees. 1850 he reached and passed—then 1800, and 1750. The -city had been long gone by then—the little village of British New York -was a shrunken settlement of a few thousand persons clustered down -about the Battery, four miles from where Alan Dane was. He could see -that he was poised now on what seemed a little wooded hill, sloping -down to the broad Hudson River a few hundred feet away.</p> - -<p>It was a strange transition indeed. And yet to Alan Dane, the -strangeness of his own emotions seemed not the least of it. Three -years of his life had passed since that night when he had promised his -grandfather he would carry on the experiments—three years in which he -had lost his grandfather, but gained a wife and son. Ruth Vincent had -married him and together they had worked on the fragile thing that he -bore now on his back—fragile, but more potent in a strange, incredible -way than any other device.</p> - -<p>Alone Alan would have failed. Even with Ruth helping him he could not -have hoped to succeed so soon. But his grandfather had left researches -only a hair's-breadth from completion ... and the young couple had -finished them.</p> - -<p>Even so, the thing had come almost by accident. Alan was far from sure -that he could again compound the strange, unstable mixture of rare -chemicals from which his nameless alloys were made—alloys which formed -the plates in the time-batteries. But at least he had enough for this -one brief trip.</p> - -<p>Alan was curiously sure that this one trip was all he needed to -make—that, after it was done, the curious driving compulsion that had -seized him three years before would leave him, his task completed.</p> - -<p>Alan glanced again at the time-dial. The transition was slowing now; he -had hardly been aware that a moment ago he had decreased the current. -1699-98-97.... The retardation was progressive. It was almost as though -the apparatus itself were dictating his stopping point.</p> - -<p>And then the date 1650 flashed into his mind. That was when he had to -stop. It was as though he'd always known it....</p> - -<p>Was this a cave, here at his back? He was aware that he was sitting at -its entrance, facing the shadowy declivity and the deep woods through -which he could see the broad, gray river.</p> - -<p>An instant later he shoved the lever to shut off the current. The shock -of the halt made his senses swoop. Then, as he steadied, with the -ground solid under him, he was aware that it was night. The hum of the -throbbing electroidal current was gone. But there was still a pulsing -note in the air—the throbbing voice of the deep forest through which -the river was shimmering, pallid in the moonlight.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Alan staggered to his feet, steadied himself. A shaft of moonlight was -on him; and abruptly in the dimness of the cave he heard a sound. A -man's muttered, astonished exclamation blended with the startled high -gasp of a girl.</p> - -<p>As he turned, he saw them. The man was hardly more than a boy—twenty, -perhaps, and garbed curiously in gray blouse and brown, baggy -pantaloons, knitted brown stockings and thick, clumsy shoes. The girl -was even younger, a slim little thing in a quaint bodiced dress with -her braided flaxen hair tumbling forward over her shoulders in double -strands.</p> - -<p>Terrified, wide-eyed with utter astonishment, they mutely gaped at Alan.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said at last. "Do you speak English? I'm sorry I don't speak -Dutch—that's your language, isn't it? This is Dutch New Amsterdam?" -He checked himself and sighed. The Dutch boy and girl were gulping, -numbly staring at him. They didn't speak English, of course. It would -have been too much of a coincidence ... but so welcome, if they had. -"I'm sorry," Alan went on, not hopefully. "Look here, I don't want to -frighten you. I only want to know—"</p> - -<p>He took a step forward. For a second the two looked utterly -incredulous, as though disbelieving the evidence of their eyes. And -then they shrank away with terror on their white faces. The youth -whirled the girl behind him, confronted Alan.</p> - -<p>"What—what do you want?" he faltered. It was English, curiously and -quaintly intoned. "Are you real? Where do you come from?" The lad was -recovering rapidly. "You speak English, but not like the traders or my -teacher. What are you?"</p> - -<p>Alan tried to smile. "I won't hurt you," he repeated. "I'm a friend. -A visitor, from—from a far-off place," he floundered. It would never -do to say that he came from 1942. Already they were staring at him as -though he were mad, huddled back against the wall of the cave.</p> - -<p>Abruptly behind Alan there was a whiz; a thud; and the cave was lighted -by a flickering, yellow-red glare. It made the youth momentarily -overlook his astonishment, his terror at Alan, so that he gasped to the -girl:</p> - -<p>"Oh, Greta—a fire-arrow! They are out there just as we feared."</p> - -<p>Alan turned. An Indian fire-arrow had whizzed into the cave-mouth from -the forest outside. It quivered, sticking upright in the guano floor of -the cave—a little torch of flame with thick, resinous smoke surging -up from it. With a sidewise kick Alan's foot knocked it loose and he -trampled on it. He swung around with a leap so that he was close to his -cowering companions.</p> - -<p>"Indians are out there?" he demanded. "Is that what you were afraid of, -before you saw me?"</p> - -<p>The girl was coughing with the drifting smoke already choking her a -little in the fetid air of the cave.</p> - -<p>"Yes," the lad muttered. "That is it. They saw us in the woods as we -came up from the Bouwerij. So we ran in here."</p> - -<p>Another arrow came flaming. It barely missed Alan, struck against the -rockwall and fell nearby, still flaming. He and the lad rushed at it; -they stamped it out together.</p> - -<p>"You have no guns?" Alan demanded.</p> - -<p>"Guns?"</p> - -<p>"To shoot with. To fight our way out of here."</p> - -<p>"Oh, not guns on a ship—you mean fowling pieces? No, we have none." -Despite his terror at the flaming arrows of the Indians outside the -cave, the frightened Dutch boy was forcing himself to answer Alan's -questions, but still both he and the girl were incredulously staring at -their miraculously appearing companion.</p> - -<p>"Greta was showing me the way up from the town," the Dutch boy was -murmuring. "She has a boat at the river bank. Then I was going up with -the tide. In the fog last night, an English frigate got past our forts -at the Bowling Green. It is up the river now, and Stuyvesant has sent -me—"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Under Alan's urging questions, the boy and girl swiftly explained. This -was a Dutch boy, born here in Nieuw Amsterdam, but he had lived most -of his life in London. His name was Peter Van Saant. She was Greta -Dykeman; her father was one of Governor Stuyvesant's burghers of the -Town Council. The English fleet was here off the Hook, and yesterday, -Nichols, emissary of the Duke of York, had come ashore to demand that -the Dutch surrender the city. Henceforth, according to the demands of -the Duke, this would not be Nieuw Amsterdam, but New York—a British -settlement with a destiny of greatness, here in the New World.</p> - -<p>As he mutely listened, Alan's mind again swept to his own time-world of -1942. This same space! And he envisioned the huge city of 1942, when -this cave and forested glade were mid-Manhattan, where giant buildings -towered and the great ramp of the automobile highway bordered the river.</p> - -<p>Another flaming arrow came whizzing into the mouth of the cave. Peter -rushed for it, stamped it out. The woods beyond the cave-mouth now -were lighted with torch glare, and echoing with the warwhoops of the -Indians, emboldened because no fowling pieces of the trapped palefaces -were exploding to hurl lead at them. Outside the cave, arrows were -continuously striking; the brush was on fire, with a red-yellow glare -that came in here and painted Alan and his two confused, terrified -companions with its lurid sheen.</p> - -<p>"I've got to get up the river to that frigate," the lad was muttering. -"If I got killed here—or even Greta got killed—what matter? But I've -got to reach the frigate."</p> - -<p>He was a secret emissary of Stuyvesant, this momentous night—sent to -the English commander of the frigate—sent because he spoke English so -well and they would trust him.</p> - -<p>"Stuyvesant will yield to the Duke of York in a day or two," Peter -was swiftly saying. "But he is afraid the frigate's men will land and -attack the city from the north. If they do that, Stuyvesant's prestige -before his own people will make him fight. Without it, he will try to -drive a bargain for his own self-respect, and then yield. I am to tell -the frigate's commander that if only he will but have patience and -wait—Stuyvesant will surrender."</p> - -<p>Upon that mission, tonight, might depend the whole course of history in -the New World!</p> - -<p>"There's no back way out of here?" Alan demanded.</p> - -<p>"No. Just this one entrance. And if we should try to run, out there -into that glare—"</p> - -<p>"We'd get arrows in us," Alan finished wryly. "Those Indians are pretty -close now."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The shouts of the savages were audible, where they crouched in -the brush just beyond the line of fire. They were whooping with -anticipatory triumph and showering the cave-mouth with their flaming -missiles. Acrid yellow smoke was welling into the cave in clouds. Peter -had shoved Greta to the floor where the air, so far, was a little -purer. He too was coughing; and Alan felt the clutch of the resin-smoke -in his own throat. To stay here another five or ten minutes would be -death.</p> - -<p>If only his time-traveling mechanism would take more than one person! -But it would not. He himself was safe, of course.... He had taken -a step toward the cave-mouth, and abruptly he recoiled as an arrow -whizzed narrowly past his shoulder.</p> - -<p>Nothing safe about this!</p> - -<p>And then he knew what he must try to do. "You two stay here, just a few -minutes," he said swiftly. "Keep down by the floor, both of you—air's -still much better down there. I'm going away, but I'll be back."</p> - -<p>He gazed down at them from his stalwart, six foot height as they -crouched terrified at his feet. He was smiling a little as his fingers -shoved the lever of the time-mechanism on his chest to the first stop.</p> - -<p>He could see the astonished horror and awe on their faces as slowly he -faded, vanished before them.</p> - -<p>A little movement forward in time. Just about twenty-four hours. The -blurred and shadowy cave briefly was filled with daylight, and then -with the darkness of night again.</p> - -<p>Alan switched off the current. Night was here, deep and silent, -enshrouding the forest. No warwhoops; no glare of flaming arrows and -burning brush. That had been last night. From the empty cave Alan -walked slowly out into the woods. A northward vista of the broad river -for a moment was visible. A little blob was out there in the river—an -English frigate awaiting the outcome of the parley of Nichols, emissary -of the Duke of York, with Governor Stuyvesant.</p> - -<p>Alan selected a flat-topped rock which stood about a hundred feet off -to one side of the cave-mouth—a rock whose top was some twenty feet -above the surrounding rocks and thickets. He climbed it; stood on its -summit.</p> - -<p>If only this would work! Despite his efforts at calmness, he was -shuddering inside. Not for his own safety—was it for his wife and -their little son, out there in 1942? Absurd thought; but somehow it was -turning him cold with apprehension.</p> - -<p>He set his tiny time-dial for the moment of his departure from the -smoke-filled cave, last night, and turned the current on again. -Twenty-four hours backward into time. A retrogression of that same -swift daylight again. Then the previous dawn, swiftly fading into -night....</p> - -<p>Again his time-movement stopped; and the forest sprang into ringing -warwhoops and crackling yellow-red glare of torchlight and burning -brush. On the top of the little butte Alan stood poised. An amazing -figure, he came out of nothingness, solidifying before the astounded -eyes of the stricken savages. The warwhoops died into a tense, -terrified silence. To Alan it was a breathless moment of apprehension. -His fingers went to the time-lever; alert to shove it if necessary. And -then in the wave of silence which flooded the pallid forest glade he -flung out his arms. Drawn to his full height, with arms outstretched -as though in benediction he stood gazing down upon the silent savages. -A pale cathedral shaft of moonlight was filtering through the overhead -branches and it struck upon him, illumined him with its eerie glow.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The tense moment passed. The Indians, their war-painted bodies -glistening in the glare of the burning brush, were all silently -staring. There seemed a hundred or more of them. Then one of them, with -a faint awed cry, flung himself prostrate with forehead to the ground -in terrified homage to this shining god of the rock who had appeared so -suddenly.</p> - -<p>And then they were all prostrate in groveling worship until one of -them, who might have been their leader, abruptly leaped to his feet and -dashed away through the thickets. The others in another second were up -after him. It was a frightened scramble, a terrified rush to escape the -wrath of this stalwart god who so silently was poised above them in the -forest.</p> - -<p>For a moment the woods resounded with the cries and the tramp of the -escaping savages; distant cries until at last there was only silence....</p> - -<p>Alan leaped from the rock and dashed for the burning brush outside the -cave-mouth. If only he had calculated his time correctly! Then at the -cave entrance Greta and Peter appeared. His arm held her as she sagged -against him, with the yellow-red glare painting them and the turgid -smoke swirling around them.</p> - -<p>"Here—I'll carry her," Alan exclaimed.</p> - -<p>He caught the girl up in his arms—slim, frail little thing, fighting -in terror with him for an instant, and then relaxing. Peter staggered -after them as Alan led the way down into the silent forest where the -night air was pure and all the fire and smoke were above them with the -silent shimmering river gleaming there ahead.</p> - -<p>"You're better now?" he murmured to the girl.</p> - -<p>"Yes. Oh yes—I'm all right. Oh, who—what are you?"</p> - -<p>He did not answer. Holding her in his arms suddenly made him think -of Ruth, out there waiting for him in 1942. And a new apprehension -struck at him—would his time-current last to get him back home? He was -not using it now, but still, he knew, the volatile chemicals in the -batteries were subject to evaporation.</p> - -<p>He set little Greta on her feet. "Your boat is near here?" he demanded.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, right here at the bank."</p> - -<p>"Well, you find it for Peter. Start him up for the frigate, and then -you get back home."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I will. It is not far to the north stockade."</p> - -<p>They were both staring at him, confused, numbed with awe. "I—we must -thank you," Peter muttered. "We saw the Indians as they fled."</p> - -<p>"Oh, that's all right. Glad to do it. But I've got to get—away now. -I've got to get back where—where I came from—"</p> - -<p>Then Greta took a step toward him.</p> - -<p>"Oh, please, who—what are you? This thing you have done for us—"</p> - -<p>Alan was gently smiling. "Hard to explain. You'd better just call it -a miracle," he said. His finger pressed the time-lever. He could see -Peter grip the girl as they shrank away with terror, staring at him -while slowly he faded into nothingness....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>May, 1942. In a dim, quiet room of the New York Historical Society Alan -sat poring over an old Dutch chronicle of Nieuw Amsterdam. And then -he found what he was after—an account of Stuyvesant's surrender to -the Duke of York. It was a modern English translation of an account by -someone who had lived in the little Dutch city.</p> - -<p>Alan read it, awed. Here was mention of young Peter Van Saant, who had -gone up the river to the <i>Queen Catherine</i>—the English frigate which -had slipped past the forts in the fog that night. And it told of Greta -Dykeman who had shown him the way to where her rowboat was hidden. And -then—the miracle!</p> - -<p>Greta Dykeman and Peter Van Saant—so the chronicle stated—had been -attacked by Indians that night. They had taken refuge in a cave, where -a great shining presence in the guise of a strange man had come and -frightened away the Indians. He had led Peter and Greta to safety—and -then had vanished.</p> - -<p>Silently Alan left the Historical Society. Why had it seemingly been -his destiny to rescue that Dutch boy and girl? That strange urge which -both he and his grandfather before him had felt so strongly—why -was that? Van Saant—why, that suggested the name Vincent! The one, -Dutch—and the other just its English, modernized equivalent?</p> - -<p>Alan hurried to the Genealogical Room at the Public Library; and there -he found it. Ruth's family—the Vincents—and before that, the Van -Saants.</p> - -<p>Then he came to 1656. The marriage of Peter Van Saant, to Mistress -Greta Dykeman....</p> - -<p>Alan sat numbly, staring in awe.</p> - -<p>If they had died in that smoke-filled cave, this son of theirs, -recorded here as Hans Van Saant, born 1657, would never have been born, -nor any of his descendants. No Ruth Vincent, now in 1942; no little son -of hers and Alan's....</p> - -<p>Alan was smiling to himself, a whimsical, awed smile. He certainly had -had no cause to be apprehensive that his mission back into time would -fail. It was ordained—predestined—a million events down from Peter -and Greta to Ruth were recorded, with his own action fitting into them. -Nothing else was possible!</p> - -<p>Miracle ... there is so much that none of us will ever understand!</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIRACLE ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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