The idea that the
narrative which has been called the Joyce-Armstrong Fragment is an
elaborate practical joke evolved by some unknown person, cursed by a perverted and
sinister sense of humour, has now been
abandoned by all who have examined the
matter. The most
macabre and
imaginative of plotters would
hesitate before linking his
morbid fancies with the unquestioned and
tragic facts which
reinforce the statement. Though the assertions contained in it are
amazing and even
monstrous, it is none the less forcing itself upon the
general intelligence that they are true, and that we must
readjust our ideas to the new
situation. This world of ours appears to be separated by a
slight and
precarious margin of safety from a most
singular and unexpected danger. I will endeavour in this
narrative, which reproduces the
original document in its
necessarily somewhat
fragmentary form, to lay before the reader the whole of the facts up to date, prefacing my statement by saying that, if there be any who
doubt the
narrative of Joyce-Armstrong, there can be no question at all as to the facts concerning Lieutenant Myrtle, R. N., and Mr. Hay Connor, who
undoubtedly met their end in the manner described.
The Joyce-Armstrong Fragment was found in the field which is called Lower Haycock, lying one mile to the westward of the
village of Withyham, upon the Kent and Sussex
border. It was on the 15th September last that an
agricultural labourer, James Flynn, in the
employment of Mathew Dodd,
farmer, of the Chauntry Farm, Withyham, perceived a briar pipe lying near the footpath which skirts the
hedge in Lower Haycock. A few paces farther on he picked up a
pair of broken binocular glasses. Finally, among some nettles in the
ditch, he caught
sight of a flat, canvas-backed book, which proved to be a note-book with detachable leaves, some of which had come loose and were fluttering along the
base of the
hedge. These he
collected, but some, including the first, were never recovered, and leave a
deplorable hiatus in this all-important statement. The note-book was taken by the labourer to his
master, who in turn showed it to Dr. J. H. Atherton, of Hartfield. This gentleman at once recognized the
need for an
expert examination, and the
manuscript was forwarded to the Aero Club in London, where it now lies.
The first two pages of the
manuscript are missing. There is also one torn away at the end of the
narrative, though none of these
affect the
general coherence of the story. It is conjectured that the missing opening is concerned with the
record of Mr. Joyce-Armstrong's qualifications as an
aeronaut, which can be gathered from other sources and are admitted to be unsurpassed among the air-pilots of England. For many years he has been looked upon as among the most
daring and the most
intellectual of flying men, a
combination which has enabled him to both
invent and
test several new devices, including the
common gyroscopic
attachment which is known by his name. The main body of the
manuscript is written neatly in ink, but the last few lines are in pencil and are so
ragged as to be hardly legible-exactly, in
fact, as they
might be
expected to appear if they were scribbled off hurriedly from the seat of a moving aeroplane. There are, it may be added,
several stains, both on the last page and on the outside cover which have been pronounced by the Home Office experts to be blood-probably
human and
certainly mammalian. The
fact that something closely resembling the
organism of
malaria was discovered in this blood, and that Joyce-Armstrong is known to have suffered from
intermittent fever, is a
example of the new weapons which
modern science has placed in the hands of our detectives.
And now a word as to the
personality of the
author of this epoch-making statement. Joyce-Armstrong,
according to the few friends who really knew something of the man, was a poet and a dreamer, as well as a mechanic and an inventor. He was a man of
considerable wealth, much of which he had spent in the
pursuit of his aeronautical
hobby. He had four
private aeroplanes in his hangars near Devizes, and is said to have made no fewer than one hundred and seventy ascents in the course of last year. He was a
retiring man with dark moods, in which he would
avoid the
society of his fellows. Captain Dangerfield, who knew him better than anyone, says that there were times when his
eccentricity threatened to
develop into something more
serious. His
habit of carrying a shot-gun with him in his aeroplane was one
manifestation of it.
Another was the
morbid effect which the fall of Lieutenant Myrtle had upon his
mind. Myrtle, who was attempting the
height record, fell from an
altitude of something over thirty thousand feet. Horrible to
narrate, his head was entirely obliterated, though his body and limbs preserved their
configuration. At every gathering of airmen, Joyce-Armstrong,
according to Dangerfield, would ask, with an
enigmatic smile: "And where,
pray, is Myrtle's head?"
On another
occasion after dinner, at the mess of the Flying School on Salisbury Plain, he started a
debate as to what will be the most
permanent danger which airmen will have to
encounter. Having listened to
successive opinions as to air-pockets,
faulty construction, and over-banking, he ended by shrugging his shoulders and refusing to put
forward his own views, though he gave the
impression that they differed from any advanced by his companions.
It is worth remarking that after his own
complete disappearance it was found that his
private affairs were arranged with a
precision which may show that he had a strong
premonition of
disaster. With these
essential explanations I will now give the
narrative exactly as it stands, beginning at page three of the blood-soaked note-book:
"Nevertheless, when I dined at Rheims with Coselli and Gustav Raymond I found that neither of them was
aware of any
particular danger in the higher layers of the
atmosphere. I did not
actually say what was in my thoughts, but I got so near to it that if they had any
corresponding idea they could not have failed to
express it. But then they are two
empty,
vainglorious fellows with no
thought beyond seeing their silly names in the newspaper. It is interesting to note that neither of them had ever been much beyond the twenty-thousand-foot
level. Of course, men have been higher than this both in balloons and in the
ascent of mountains. It must be well above that point that the aeroplane enters the danger
zone-always presuming that my premonitions are correct.
"Aeroplaning has been with us now for more than twenty years, and one
might well ask: Why should this
peril be only
revealing itself in our day? The answer is
obvious. In the old days of weak engines, when a hundred horse-
power Gnome or Green was
considered ample for every
need, the flights were very
restricted. Now that three hundred horse-
power is the rule rather than the
exception, visits to the upper layers have become easier and more
common. Some of us can
remember how, in our youth, Garros made a world-wide
reputation by attaining nineteen thousand feet, and it was
considered a
achievement to fly over the Alps. Our
standard now has been immeasurably raised, and there are twenty high flights for one in
former years. Many of them have been undertaken with
impunity. The thirty-thousand-foot
level has been reached time after time with no
discomfort beyond cold and
asthma. What does this
prove? A visitor
might descend upon this
planet a thousand times and never see a tiger. Yet tigers
exist, and if he chanced to come down into a
jungle he
might be devoured. There are jungles of the upper air, and there are worse things than tigers which
inhabit them. I believe in time they will map these jungles
accurately out. Even at the present
moment I could name two of them. One of them lies over the Pau-Biarritz
district of France. Another is just over my head as I write here in my house in Wiltshire. I rather think there is a third in the Homburg-Wiesbaden
district.
"It was the disappearance of the airmen that first set me thinking. Of course, everyone said that they had
fallen into the sea, but that did not
satisfy me at all. First, there was Verrier in France; his
machine was found near Bayonne, but they never got his body. There was the case of Baxter also, who vanished, though his
engine and some of the
iron fixings were found in a wood in Leicestershire. In that case, Dr. Middleton, of Amesbury, who was watching the flight with a
telescope, declares that just before the clouds obscured the view he saw the
machine, which was at an
enormous height,
suddenly rise perpendicularly upwards in a
succession of jerks in a manner that he would have
thought to be
impossible. That was the last seen of Baxter. There was a
correspondence in the papers, but it never led to anything. There were
several other
similar cases, and then there was the death of Hay Connor. What a
cackle there was about an unsolved
mystery of the air, and what columns in the halfpenny papers, and yet how little was ever done to get to the bottom of the business! He came down in a
tremendous vol-
plane from an unknown
height. He never got off his
machine and died in his
pilot's seat. Died of what? 'Heart
disease,' said the doctors. Rubbish! Hay Connor's
heart was as
sound as
mine is. What did Venables say? Venables was the only man who was at his side when he died. He said that he was shivering and looked like a man who had been badly
scared. 'Died of fright,' said Venables, but could not
imagine what he was
frightened about. Only said one word to Venables, which sounded like 'Monstrous.' They could make nothing of that at the
inquest. But I could make something of it. Monsters! That was the last word of poor Harry Hay Connor. And he DID die of fright, just as Venables
thought.
"And then there was Myrtle's head. Do you really believe-does anybody really believe-that a man's head could be driven clean into his body by the
force of a fall? Well, perhaps it may be
possible, but I, for one, have never believed that it was so with Myrtle. And the grease upon his clothes-'all slimy with grease,' said somebody at the
inquest. Queer that nobody got thinking after that! I did-but, then, I had been thinking for a good long time. I've made three ascents-how Dangerfield used to
chaff me about my shot-gun-but I've never been high enough. Now, with this new, light Paul Veroner
machine and its one hundred and seventy-five Robur, I should easily touch the thirty thousand tomorrow. I'll have a shot at the
record. Maybe I shall have a shot at something else as well. Of course, it's
dangerous. If a fellow wants to
avoid danger he had best keep out of flying altogether and
subside finally into flannel slippers and a dressing-gown. But I'll visit the air-
jungle tomorrow-and if there's anything there I shall know it. If I return, I'll find myself a bit of a
celebrity. If I don't this note-book may
explain what I am trying to do, and how I
lost my life in doing it. But no
drivel about accidents or mysteries, if YOU please.
"I chose my Paul Veroner monoplane for the
job. There's nothing like a monoplane when real work is to be done. Beaumont found that out in very early days. For one thing it doesn't
mind damp, and the
weather looks as if we should be in the clouds all the time. It's a bonny little
model and answers my hand like a tender-mouthed horse. The
engine is a ten-
cylinder rotary Robur working up to one hundred and seventy-five. It has all the
modern improvements-enclosed
fuselage, high-curved landing skids, brakes, gyroscopic steadiers, and three speeds, worked by an
alteration of the
angle of the planes upon the Venetian-blind
principle. I took a shot-gun with me and a dozen cartridges filled with buck-shot. You should have seen the face of Perkins, my old mechanic, when I directed him to put them in. I was dressed like an Arctic
explorer, with two jerseys under my overalls, thick socks inside my padded boots, a storm-cap with flaps, and my talc goggles. It was
stifling outside the hangars, but I was going for the
summit of the Himalayas, and had to dress for the part. Perkins knew there was something on and implored me to take him with me. Perhaps I should if I were using the biplane, but a monoplane is a one-man show-if you want to get the last foot of life out of it. Of course, I took an
oxygen bag; the man who goes for the
altitude record without one will either be frozen or smothered-or both.
"I had a good look at the planes, the rudder-bar, and the elevating
lever before I got in. Everything was in order so far as I could see. Then I switched on my
engine and found that she was running sweetly. When they let her go she rose almost at once upon the lowest
speed. I circled my home field once or twice just to warm her up, and then with a
wave to Perkins and the others, I flattened out my planes and put her on her highest. She skimmed like a
swallow down wind for eight or ten miles until I turned her nose up a little and she began to climb in a great
spiral for the cloud-
bank above me. It's all-important to rise slowly and
adapt yourself to the
pressure as you go.
"It was a close, warm day for an English September, and there was the hush and heaviness of impending rain. Now and then there came sudden puffs of wind from the south-west-one of them so
gusty and unexpected that it caught me napping and turned me half-round for an
instant. I
remember the time when gusts and whirls and air-pockets used to be things of danger-before we
learned to put an overmastering
power into our engines. Just as I reached the cloud-banks, with the
altimeter marking three thousand, down came the rain. My word, how it poured! It drummed upon my wings and lashed against my face, blurring my glasses so that I could hardly see. I got down on to a low
speed, for it was painful to travel against it. As I got higher it became
hail, and I had to turn tail to it. One of my cylinders was out of action-a dirty plug, I should
imagine, but still I was rising
steadily with
plenty of
power. After a bit the trouble passed, whatever it was, and I heard the full, deep-throated purr-the ten singing as one. That's where the beauty of our
modern silencers comes in. We can at last
control our engines by ear. How they squeal and squeak and
sob when they are in trouble! All those cries for help were wasted in the old days, when every
sound was swallowed up by the
monstrous racket of the
machine. If only the early aviators could come back to see the beauty and
perfection of the
mechanism which have been bought at the cost of their lives!
"About nine-thirty I was nearing the clouds. Down below me, all blurred and shadowed with rain, lay the
vast expanse of Salisbury Plain. Half a dozen flying machines were doing hackwork at the thousand-foot
level, looking like little black swallows against the green
background. I
dare say they were wondering what I was doing up in cloud-land. Suddenly a grey curtain drew across beneath me and the wet folds of vapours were swirling round my face. It was clammily cold and
miserable. But I was above the
hail-storm, and that was something gained. The cloud was as dark and thick as a London fog. In my
anxiety to get clear, I cocked her nose up until the
automatic alarm-bell rang, and I
actually began to slide backwards. My sopped and dripping wings had made me heavier than I
thought, but
presently I was in lighter cloud, and soon had cleared the first
layer. There was a second-opal-coloured and fleecy-at a great
height above my head, a white, unbroken ceiling above, and a dark, unbroken floor below, with the monoplane labouring upwards upon a
vast spiral between them. It is deadly
lonely in these cloud-spaces. Once a great flight of some small water-birds went past me, flying very fast to the westwards. The quick whir of their wings and their musical cry were cheery to my ear. I
fancy that they were teal, but I am a
wretched zoologist. Now that we humans have become birds we must really learn to know our
brethren by
sight.
"Just after ten I touched the lower
edge of the upper cloud-stratum. It consisted of fine
diaphanous vapour drifting swiftly from the westwards. The wind had been
steadily rising all this time and it was now blowing a
sharp breeze-twenty-eight an hour by my
gauge. Already it was very cold, though my
altimeter only
marked nine thousand. The engines were working beautifully, and we went droning
steadily upwards. The cloud-
bank was thicker than I had
expected, but at last it thinned out into a golden mist before me, and then in an
instant I had shot out from it, and there was an unclouded sky and a
brilliant sun above my head-all blue and gold above, all shining silver below, one
vast, glimmering
plain as far as my eyes could reach. It was a
quarter past ten o'clock, and the barograph needle pointed to twelve thousand eight hundred. Up I went and up, my ears
concentrated upon the deep purring of my
motor, my eyes busy always with the watch, the
revolution indicator, the
petrol lever, and the oil
pump. No
wonder aviators are said to be a fearless race. With so many things to think of there is no time to trouble about oneself. About this time I noted how
unreliable is the
compass when above a
certain height from
earth. At fifteen thousand feet
mine was pointing east and a point south. The sun and the wind gave me my true bearings.
"I had hoped to reach an
eternal stillness in these high altitudes, but with every thousand feet of
ascent the
gale grew stronger. My
machine groaned and trembled in every
joint and
rivet as she faced it, and swept away like a
sheet of paper when I banked her on the turn, skimming down wind at a greater
pace, perhaps, than ever
mortal man has moved. Yet I had always to turn again and tack up in the wind's eye, for it was not
merely a
height record that I was after. By all my calculations it was above little Wiltshire that my air-
jungle lay, and all my labour
might be
lost if I struck the outer layers at some farther point.
"When I reached the nineteen-thousand-foot
level, which was about
midday, the wind was so
severe that I looked with some
anxiety to the stays of my wings, expecting
momentarily to see them snap or
slacken. I even cast loose the
parachute behind me, and fastened its hook into the ring of my leathern belt, so as to be ready for the worst. Now was the time when a bit of scamped work by the mechanic is paid for by the life of the
aeronaut. But she held together bravely. Every cord and
strut was humming and vibrating like so many harp-strings, but it was
glorious to see how, for all the beating and the buffeting, she was still the
conqueror of Nature and the mistress of the sky. There is surely something
divine in man himself that he should rise so
superior to the limitations which Creation seemed to impose-rise, too, by such unselfish,
heroic devotion as this air-conquest has shown. Talk of
human degeneration! When has such a story as this been written in the
annals of our race?
"These were the thoughts in my head as I climbed that
monstrous,
inclined plane with the wind sometimes beating in my face and sometimes whistling behind my ears, while the cloud-land beneath me fell away to such a
distance that the folds and hummocks of silver had all smoothed out into one flat, shining
plain. But
suddenly I had a
horrible and
unprecedented experience. I have known before what it is to be in what our neighbours have called a tourbillon, but never on such a
scale as this. That huge, sweeping river of wind of which I have spoken had, as it appears, whirlpools within it which were as
monstrous as itself. Without a
moment's
warning I was dragged
suddenly into the
heart of one. I spun round for a
minute or two with such
velocity that I almost
lost my senses, and then fell
suddenly, left wing
foremost, down the
vacuum funnel in the centre. I dropped like a stone, and
lost nearly a thousand feet. It was only my belt that kept me in my seat, and the shock and breathlessness left me hanging half-
insensible over the side of the
fuselage. But I am always
capable of a
supreme effort-it is my one great
merit as an
aviator. I was
conscious that the
descent was slower. The
whirlpool was a
cone rather than a
funnel, and I had come to the
apex. With a terrific
wrench, throwing my
weight all to one side, I levelled my planes and brought her head away from the wind. In an
instant I had shot out of the eddies and was skimming down the sky. Then, shaken but
victorious, I turned her nose up and began once more my
steady grind on the upward
spiral. I took a large sweep to
avoid the danger-spot of the
whirlpool, and soon I was
safely above it. Just after one o'clock I was twenty-one thousand feet above the sea-
level. To my great joy I had topped the
gale, and with every hundred feet of
ascent the air grew stiller. On the other hand, it was very cold, and I was
conscious of that
peculiar nausea which goes with
rarefaction of the air. For the first time I unscrewed the mouth of my
oxygen bag and took an
occasional whiff of the
glorious gas. I could feel it running like a
cordial through my veins, and I was exhilarated almost to the point of drunkenness. I shouted and sang as I soared upwards into the cold, still outer world.
"It is very clear to me that the insensibility which came upon Glaisher, and in a lesser
degree upon Coxwell, when, in 1862, they ascended in a balloon to the
height of thirty thousand feet, was due to the
extreme speed with which a
perpendicular ascent is made. Doing it at an easy
gradient and accustoming oneself to the lessened barometric
pressure by slow degrees, there are no such
dreadful symptoms. At the same great
height I found that even without my
oxygen inhaler I could breathe without
undue distress. It was bitterly cold, however, and my
thermometer was at
zero, Fahrenheit. At one-thirty I was nearly seven miles above the
surface of the
earth, and still
ascending steadily. I found, however, that the
rarefied air was giving markedly less
support to my planes, and that my
angle of
ascent had to be considerably lowered in
consequence. It was already clear that even with my light
weight and strong
engine-
power there was a point in front of me where I should be held. To make matters worse, one of my sparking-plugs was in trouble again and there was
intermittent misfiring in the
engine. My
heart was heavy with the fear of
failure.
"It was about that time that I had a most
experience. Something whizzed past me in a trail of smoke and exploded with a loud, hissing
sound, sending forth a cloud of steam. For the
instant I could not
imagine what had happened. Then I remembered that the
earth is for ever being bombarded by
meteor stones, and would be hardly
inhabitable were they not in nearly every case turned to vapour in the outer layers of the
atmosphere. Here is a new danger for the high-
altitude man, for two others passed me when I was nearing the forty-thousand-foot mark. I cannot
doubt that at the
edge of the
earth's
envelope the
risk would be a very real one.
"My barograph needle
marked forty-one thousand three hundred when I became
aware that I could go no farther. Physically, the
strain was not as yet greater than I could bear but my
machine had reached its
limit. The
attenuated air gave no firm
support to the wings, and the least
tilt developed into side-slip, while she seemed
sluggish on her controls. Possibly, had the
engine been at its best, another thousand feet
might have been within our
capacity, but it was still misfiring, and two out of the ten cylinders appeared to be out of action. If I had not already reached the
zone for which I was searching then I should never see it upon this
journey. But was it not
possible that I had attained it? Soaring in circles like a
monstrous hawk upon the forty-thousand-foot
level I let the monoplane
guide herself, and with my Mannheim glass I made a
careful observation of my surroundings. The heavens were perfectly clear; there was no
indication of those dangers which I had imagined.
"I have said that I was soaring in circles. It struck me
suddenly that I would do well to take a wider sweep and open up a new airtract. If the
hunter entered an
earth-
jungle he would
drive through it if he wished to find his game. My reasoning had led me to believe that the air-
jungle which I had imagined lay somewhere over Wiltshire. This should be to the south and west of me. I took my bearings from the sun, for the
compass was hopeless and no
trace of
earth was to be seen-nothing but the
distant, silver cloud-
plain. However, I got my
direction as best I
might and kept her head
straight to the mark. I reckoned that my
petrol supply would not last for more than another hour or so, but I could
afford to use it to the last
drop, since a single
magnificent vol-
plane could at any time take me to the
earth.
"Suddenly I was
aware of something new. The air in front of me had
lost its
crystal clearness. It was full of long,
ragged wisps of something which I can only
compare to very fine cigarette smoke. It hung about in wreaths and coils, turning and twisting slowly in the sunlight. As the monoplane shot
through it, I was
aware of a
faint taste of oil upon my lips, and there was a greasy scum upon the woodwork of the
machine. Some infinitely fine
organic matter appeared to be
suspended in the
atmosphere. There was no life there. It was
inchoate and
diffuse, extending for many square acres and then fringing off into the
void. No, it was not life. But
might it not be the remains of life? Above all,
might it not be the food of life, of
monstrous life, even as the
humble grease of the ocean is the food for the
mighty whale? The
thought was in my
mind when my eyes looked upwards and I saw the most
wonderful vision that ever man has seen. Can I hope to
convey it to you even as I saw it myself last Thursday?
"Conceive a jelly-fish such as sails in our summer seas, bell-shaped and of
enormous size-far larger, I should judge, than the
dome of St. Paul's. It was of a light pink colour veined with a
delicate green, but the whole huge
fabric so
tenuous that it was but a fairy
outline against the dark blue sky. It pulsated with a
delicate and regular
rhythm. From it there depended two long, drooping, green tentacles, which swayed slowly backwards and forwards. This
gorgeous vision passed gently with noiseless
dignity over my head, as light and
fragile as a soap-bubble, and drifted upon its
stately way.
"I had half-turned my monoplane, that I
might look after this beautiful
creature, when, in a
moment, I found myself amidst a
perfect fleet of them, of all sizes, but none so large as the first. Some were quite small, but the
majority about as big as an
average balloon, and with much the same
curvature at the top. There was in them a
delicacy of
texture and colouring which reminded me of the finest Venetian glass. Pale shades of pink and green were the
prevailing tints, but all had a lovely iridescence where the sun shimmered
through their
dainty forms. Some hundreds of them drifted past me, a
wonderful fairy
squadron of
strange unknown argosies of the sky-creatures whose forms and
substance were so attuned to these pure heights that one could not
conceive anything so
delicate within actual
sight or
sound of
earth.
"But soon my
attention was drawn to a new phenomenon-the serpents of the outer air. These were long,
thin,
fantastic coils of vapour-like
material, which turned and twisted with great
speed, flying round and round at such a
pace that the eyes could hardly follow them. Some of these ghost-like creatures were twenty or thirty feet long, but it was
difficult to tell their
girth, for their
outline was so
hazy that it seemed to
fade away into the air around them. These air-snakes were of a very light grey or smoke colour, with some darker lines within, which gave the
impression of a
definite organism. One of them whisked past my very face, and I was
conscious of a cold,
clammy contact, but their
composition was so unsubstantial that I could not
connect them with any
thought of
physical danger, any more than the beautiful bell-like creatures which had preceded them. There was no more solidity in their frames than in the floating spume from a broken
wave.
"But a more terrible
experience was in
store for me. Floating downwards from a great
height there came a purplish
patch of vapour, small as I saw it first, but rapidly enlarging as it approached me, until it appeared to be hundreds of square feet in size. Though fashioned of some
transparent, jelly-like
substance, it was none the less of much more
definite outline and
solid consistence than anything which I had seen before. There were more traces, too, of a
physical organization, especially two
vast,
shadowy, circular plates upon either side, which may have been eyes, and a perfectly
solid white
projection between them which was as curved and
cruel as the
beak of a
vulture.
"The whole
aspect of this
monster was
formidable and threatening, and it kept changing its colour from a very light
mauve to a dark,
angry purple so thick that it cast a
shadow as it drifted between my monoplane and the sun. On the upper curve of its huge body there were three great projections which I can only
describe as
enormous bubbles, and I was
convinced as I looked at them that they were charged with some
extremely light gas which served to
buoy up the
misshapen and semi-
solid mass in the
rarefied air. The
creature moved swiftly along, keeping
pace easily with the monoplane, and for twenty miles or more it formed my
horrible escort, hovering over me like a bird of
prey which is waiting to
pounce. Its
method of progression-done so swiftly that it was not easy to follow-was to
throw out a long,
glutinous streamer in front of it, which in turn seemed to draw
forward the rest of the
writhing body. So
elastic and gelatinous was it that never for two
successive minutes was it the same
shape, and yet each change made it more threatening and
loathsome than the las
"I knew that it meant
mischief. Every purple
flush of its
hideous body told me so. The
vague, goggling eyes which were turned always upon me were cold and
merciless in their
viscid hatred. I dipped the nose of my monoplane downwards to
escape it. As I did so, as quick as a
flash there shot out a long
tentacle from this
mass of floating
blubber, and it fell as light and
sinuous as a whip-lash across the front of my
machine. There was a loud
hiss as it lay for a
moment across the hot
engine, and it whisked itself into the air again, while the huge, flat body drew itself together as if in sudden pain. I dipped to a vol-pique, but again a
tentacle fell over the monoplane and was shorn off by the propeller as easily as it
might have cut
through a smoke
wreath. A long, gliding, sticky,
serpent-like
coil came from behind and caught me round the waist, dragging me out of the
fuselage. I tore at it, my fingers sinking into the
smooth, glue-like
surface, and for an
instant I disengaged myself, but only to be caught round the boot by another
coil, which gave me a jerk that tilted me almost on to my back.
"As I fell over I blazed off both barrels of my gun, though, indeed, it was like attacking an elephant with a pea-shooter to
imagine that any
human weapon could cripple that
mighty bulk. And yet I aimed better than I knew, for, with a loud
report, one of the great blisters upon the
creature's back exploded with the
puncture of the buck-shot. It was very clear that my
conjecture was
right, and that these
vast, clear bladders were distended with some lifting gas, for in an
instant the huge, cloud-like body turned sideways,
writhing desperately to find its
balance, while the white
beak snapped and gaped in
horrible fury. But already I had shot away on the steepest glide that I dared to
attempt, my
engine still full on, the flying propeller and the
force of
gravity shooting me downwards like an aerolite. Far behind me I saw a
dull, purplish
smudge growing swiftly smaller and merging into the blue sky behind it. I was safe out of the deadly
jungle of the outer air.
"Once out of danger I throttled my
engine, for nothing tears a
machine to pieces quicker than running on full
power from a
height. It was a
glorious,
spiral vol-
plane from nearly eight miles of
altitude-first, to the
level of the silver cloud-
bank, then to that of the storm-cloud beneath it, and finally, in beating rain, to the
surface of the
earth. I saw the Bristol Channel beneath me as I broke from the clouds, but, having still some
petrol in my
tank, I got twenty miles inland before I found myself
stranded in a field half a mile from the
village of Ashcombe. There I got three tins of
petrol from a passing
motor-car, and at ten minutes past six that evening I alighted gently in my own home
meadow at Devizes, after such a
journey as no
mortal upon
earth has ever yet taken and lived to tell the
tale. I have seen the beauty and I have seen the
horror of the heights-and greater beauty or greater
horror than that is not within the
ken of man.
"And now it is my
plan to go once again before I give my results to the world. My
reason for this is that I must surely have something to show by way of
proof before I lay such a
tale before my fellow-men. It is true that others will soon follow and will
confirm what I have said, and yet I should wish to
carry conviction from the first. Those lovely
iridescent bubbles of the air should not be hard to
capture. They
drift slowly upon their way, and the
swift monoplane could
intercept their
leisurely course. It is
likely enough that they would
dissolve in the heavier layers of the
atmosphere, and that some small heap of
amorphous jelly
might be all that I should bring to
earth with me. And yet something there would surely be by which I could
substantiate my story. Yes, I will go, even if I run a
risk by doing so. These purple horrors would not seem to be
numerous. It is
probable that I shall not see one. If I do I shall
dive at once. At the worst there is always the shot-gun and my
knowledge of ..."
Here a page of the
manuscript is
unfortunately missing. On the next page is written, in large,
straggling writing:
"Forty-three thousand feet. I shall never see
earth again. They are beneath me, three of them. God help me; it is a
dreadful death to die!"
Such in its
entirety is the Joyce-Armstrong Statement. Of the man nothing has since been seen. Pieces of his shattered monoplane have been picked up in the preserves of Mr. Budd-Lushington upon the borders of Kent and Sussex, within a few miles of the spot where the note-book was discovered. If the
unfortunate aviator's
theory is correct that this air-
jungle, as he called it, existed only over the south-west of England, then it would seem that he had fled from it at the full
speed of his monoplane, but had been overtaken and devoured by these
horrible creatures at some spot in the outer
atmosphere above the place where the
grim relics were found. The picture of that monoplane skimming down the sky, with the nameless terrors flying as swiftly beneath it and cutting it off always from the
earth while they gradually closed in upon their
victim, is one upon which a man who valued his
sanity would
prefer not to
dwell. There are many, as I am
aware, who still
jeer at the facts which I have here set down, but even they must
admit that Joyce-Armstrong has disappeared, and I would
commend to them his own words: "This note-book may
explain what I am trying to do, and how I
lost my life in doing it. But no
drivel about accidents or mysteries, if YOU please."