TIME FOR SURVIVAL
By GEORGE O. SMITH
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Fantastic Universe March 1960.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The storm ruined my plan.
Not by seasickness. I'd come prepared for the worst, knowing how roughit could get on a sailing ship of the Nineteenth Century. I outrode thestorm easily, stowed away in the hold. Not even the breakage of some ofthe 1700 barrels of alcohol carried as a cargo bothered me although thestench was terrific.
But on the morning of 25 November 1872, the first mate, AlbertRichardson sent the second mate, Andrew Gilling below with two of theGerman seamen to assay the storm damage. They found me and I was hauledaloft before Captain Briggs as a stowaway.
Captain Briggs of the Mary Celeste eyed my strange clothing withdeep curiosity, but his interest was obviously more concerned with myunauthorized presence. He said sternly, "When did you get aboard?"
I realized that I had to impress him. I smiled. "You delayed yoursailing from the Fifth November to the Sixth so that you and Mrs.Briggs could have dinner aboard Die Gratia with CaptainMorehouse," I said.
"How can you know so much?" he exclaimed. "How can you live as astowaway for almost twenty days?"
I held up my chronithon contactor, knowing that now I could impress himindeed. "Captain Briggs," I said, "I am a time-travelling historianfrom the Twenty-Second Century." I pointed to the big red button on thetop. "Until I depress this button and return to my own day and age,every morning I receive my daily ration of food and water. It's about—"
I'd timed it close. I was interrupted by the click of the chronithon asit time-transferred my daily ration. I opened the cabinet and offered abite of twenty-second century breakfast to the captain.
He said, "This is a sailor's tall tale, I think. You claim that you'rea time-travelling historian? Then tell me, why are you here on MaryCeleste?"
"Captain Briggs," I said, "the Time Machine was invented in NineteenEighty-Seven. Within twenty years every historical event had beenpainstakingly researched and authentically written—re-written—bytime-travelling historians who viewed the event as partakingeye-witnesses. By my time, fame and fortune awaits any man who hasthe luck and dogged determination to scour historic time to locatesome event that has not been recounted faithfully to the last nigglinglittle detail. Why, Captain Briggs, in Jim Bishop's famous 'The DayColumbus Landed' they record the name of the man who owned the hen thatlaid the egg that Columbus stood on end to impress Isabella with hisability. And so, Captain Briggs, I stowed away because I—"
A woman's voice interrupted me, I turned to look at the captain's wifewho, of course, was the only woman aboard Mary Celeste. She wascarrying little Sophia Matilda in her arms. She said, "Edward, whatunearthly manner of ship is that?"
The steward, Edward Head replied, "I don't rightly know, ma-am."
I turned to look. No more than fifty feet from the starboard rail wasa vast barge. Upon the barge were serried rows of seats that stretchedupwards and backwards for hundreds of feet. The seats were fillingrapidly; ushers were escorting the spectators efficiently, vendorswere selling refreshments and programs. A thrumming sound came fromoverhead and I looked up to watch the materialization of jetcopters andpersonnel carriers and even a poised spacecraft hanging in a dome aboveour heads.