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75 pages

English

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A future Europe has spiraled into barbarism. The Western Hemisphere stands alone, isolated and sheltered from the destruction - for now. Influenced by the events of World War I, this is the year 2137 as portrayed by Edgar Rice Burroughs' in his science fiction novel The Lost Continent, its subtitle Beyond Thirty being the longitude that Western Hemisphere inhabitants are forbidden to pass.

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Science-fiction

Science fiction

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 janvier 2009
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781877527555
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0164€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE LOST CONTINENT
OR, BEYOND THIRTY
* * *
EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS

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The Lost Continent Or, Beyond Thirty From a 1915 edition.
ISBN 978-1-877527-55-5
© 2009 THE FLOATING PRESS.
While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike.
Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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1
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Since earliest childhood I have been strangely fascinated bythe mystery surrounding the history of the last days oftwentieth century Europe. My interest is keenest, perhaps,not so much in relation to known facts as to speculationupon the unknowable of the two centuries that have rolled bysince human intercourse between the Western and EasternHemispheres ceased—the mystery of Europe's state followingthe termination of the Great War—provided, of course, thatthe war had been terminated.
From out of the meagerness of our censored histories welearned that for fifteen years after the cessation ofdiplomatic relations between the United States of NorthAmerica and the belligerent nations of the Old World, newsof more or less doubtful authenticity filtered, from time totime, into the Western Hemisphere from the Eastern.
Then came the fruition of that historic propaganda which isbest described by its own slogan: "The East for the East—the West for the West," and all further intercourse wasstopped by statute.
Even prior to this, transoceanic commerce had practicallyceased, owing to the perils and hazards of the mine-strewnwaters of both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Just whensubmarine activities ended we do not know but the lastvessel of this type sighted by a Pan-American merchantmanwas the huge Q 138, which discharged twenty-nine torpedoesat a Brazilian tank steamer off the Bermudas in the fall of1972. A heavy sea and the excellent seamanship of themaster of the Brazilian permitted the Pan-American to escapeand report this last of a long series of outrages upon ourcommerce. God alone knows how many hundreds of our ancientships fell prey to the roving steel sharks of blood-frenziedEurope. Countless were the vessels and men that passed overour eastern and western horizons never to return; butwhether they met their fates before the belching tubes ofsubmarines or among the aimlessly drifting mine fields, noman lived to tell.
And then came the great Pan-American Federation which linkedthe Western Hemisphere from pole to pole under a singleflag, which joined the navies of the New World into themightiest fighting force that ever sailed the seven seas—the greatest argument for peace the world had ever known.
Since that day peace had reigned from the western shores ofthe Azores to the western shores of the Hawaiian Islands,nor has any man of either hemisphere dared cross 30dW. or175dW. From 30d to 175d is ours—from 30d to 175d ispeace, prosperity and happiness.
Beyond was the great unknown. Even the geographies of myboyhood showed nothing beyond. We were taught of nothingbeyond. Speculation was discouraged. For two hundred yearsthe Eastern Hemisphere had been wiped from the maps andhistories of Pan-America. Its mention in fiction, even, wasforbidden.
Our ships of peace patrol thirty and one hundred seventy-five. What ships from beyond they have warned only thesecret archives of government show; but, a naval officermyself, I have gathered from the traditions of the servicethat it has been fully two hundred years since smoke or sailhas been sighted east of 30d or west of 175d. The fate ofthe relinquished provinces which lay beyond the dead lineswe could only speculate upon. That they were taken by themilitary power, which rose so suddenly in China after thefall of the republic, and which wrested Manchuria and Koreafrom Russia and Japan, and also absorbed the Philippines, isquite within the range of possibility.
It was the commander of a Chinese man-of-war who received acopy of the edict of 1972 from the hand of my illustriousancestor, Admiral Turck, on one hundred seventy-five, twohundred and six years ago, and from the yellowed pages ofthe admiral's diary I learned that the fate of thePhilippines was even then presaged by these Chinese navalofficers.
Yes, for over two hundred years no man crossed 30d to 175dand lived to tell his story—not until chance drew me acrossand back again, and public opinion, revolting at lastagainst the drastic regulations of our long-dead forbears,demanded that my story be given to the world, and that thenarrow interdict which commanded peace, prosperity, andhappiness to halt at 30d and 175d be removed forever.
I am glad that it was given to me to be an instrument in thehands of Providence for the uplifting of benighted Europe,and the amelioration of the suffering, degradation, andabysmal ignorance in which I found her.
I shall not live to see the complete regeneration of thesavage hordes of the Eastern Hemisphere—that is a workwhich will require many generations, perhaps ages, socomplete has been their reversion to savagery; but I knowthat the work has been started, and I am proud of the sharein it which my generous countrymen have placed in my hands.
The government already possesses a complete official reportof my adventures beyond thirty. In the narrative I purposetelling my story in a less formal, and I hope, a moreentertaining, style; though, being only a naval officer andwithout claim to the slightest literary ability, I shallmost certainly fall far short of the possibilities which areinherent in my subject. That I have passed through the mostwondrous adventures that have befallen a civilized manduring the past two centuries encourages me in the beliefthat, however ill the telling, the facts themselves willcommand your interest to the final page.
Beyond thirty! Romance, adventure, strange peoples,fearsome beasts—all the excitement and scurry of the livesof the twentieth century ancients that have been denied usin these dull days of peace and prosaic prosperity—all, alllay beyond thirty, the invisible barrier between the stupid,commercial present and the carefree, barbarous past.
What boy has not sighed for the good old days of wars,revolutions, and riots; how I used to pore over thechronicles of those old days, those dear old days, whenworkmen went armed to their labors; when they fell upon oneanother with gun and bomb and dagger, and the streets ranred with blood! Ah, but those were the times when life wasworth the living; when a man who went out by night knew notat which dark corner a "footpad" might leap upon and slayhim; when wild beasts roamed the forest and the jungles, andthere were savage men, and countries yet unexplored.
Now, in all the Western Hemisphere dwells no man who may notfind a school house within walking distance of his home, orat least within flying distance.
The wildest beast that roams our waste places lairs in thefrozen north or the frozen south within a governmentreserve, where the curious may view him and feed him breadcrusts from the hand with perfect impunity.
But beyond thirty! And I have gone there, and come back;and now you may go there, for no longer is it high treason,punishable by disgrace or death, to cross 30d or 175d.
My name is Jefferson Turck. I am a lieutenant in the navy—in the great Pan-American navy, the only navy which nowexists in all the world.
I was born in Arizona, in the United States of NorthAmerica, in the year of our Lord 2116. Therefore, I amtwenty-one years old.
In early boyhood I tired of the teeming cities andovercrowded rural districts of Arizona. Every generation ofTurcks for over two centuries has been represented in thenavy. The navy called to me, as did the free, wide,unpeopled spaces of the mighty oceans. And so I joined thenavy, coming up from the ranks, as we all must, learning ourcraft as we advance. My promotion was rapid, for my familyseems to inherit naval lore. We are born officers, and Ireserve to myself no special credit for an early advancementin the service.
At twenty I found myself a lieutenant in command of theaero-submarine Coldwater, of the SS-96 class. The Coldwaterwas one of the first of the air and underwater craft whichhave been so greatly improved since its launching, and waspossessed of innumerable weaknesses which, fortunately, havebeen eliminated in more recent vessels of similar type.
Even when I took command, she was fit only for the junkpile; but the world-old parsimony of government retained herin active service, and sent two hundred men to sea in her,with myself, a mere boy, in command of her, to patrol thirtyfrom Iceland to the Azores.
Much of my service had been spent aboard the greatmerchantmen-of-war. These are the utility naval vesselsthat have transformed the navies of old, which burdened thepeoples with taxes for their support, into the present dayfleets of self-supporting ships that find ample time fortarget practice and gun drill while they bear freight andthe mails from the continents to the far-scattered island ofPan-America.
This change in service was most welcome to me, especially asit brought with it coveted responsibilities of sole command,and I was prone to overlook the deficiencies of theColdwater in the natural pride I felt in my first ship.
The Coldwater was fully equipped for two months' patrolling—the ordinary length of assignment to this service—and amonth had already passed, its monotony entirely unrelievedby sight of another craft, when the first of our misfortunesbefell.
We had been riding out a storm at an altitude of about threethousand feet. All night we had hovered above the tossingbillows of the moonlight