"Steady, sir," answered my neighbor, rising and laying a reassuring hand upon his shoulder. "You killed only six—how, I don't know—six bloodthirsty cutthroats who would have killed you if they'd had their way."
"But one was innocent," answered Mr. Mayhew, uncovering his moist eyes. "The young fellow in the clutch of the big negro."
"That was myself, and I am very much alive. In fact, Mr. Mayhew, you saved my life. You killed the nigger, but I simply fell down to the deck. Then I came aft and helped carry you below. Look here?" He lifted the cloth, and pointed to the face of the man held poised over the negro's head. "That's me. Never mind who painted this picture, but look here." He displayed the tintype. "Taken at the end of that voyage," he continued, "and still in my possession. No doubt, Mr. Mayhew, your mind gave way under the shock of the experience, and it returned to you when you looked at the reproduction. Now, don't worry about it any more. You did right to quell that mutiny."
"Perhaps—according to most standards. But I was a minister, and my conscience was already active enough from my devotion to science to the neglect of my clerical work. But perhaps you are right. I'll try and not worry."
I joined in with what encouragement I could offer, and when he had calmed somewhat my neighbor said: "You must tell me how you did it, Mr. Mayhew. You killed six worthless heathen, and saved the lives of several white men, by some application of intense cold. I am a student of science, but I cannot understand."
"Very simple," answered our guest. "You know that cold is merely negative heat, and, if reduced to a point, will act like heat, decreasing in strength as the square of the distance."
The old artist chuckled. "I knew it," he said. "Go on."
"And do you notice that the reflector in the picture has the elliptical curve, instead of the parabolic of the usual reflectors?"
I gasped. In painting that object into the picture I had not thought of curves. In fact, knew nothing of conic sections at the time.
"The secondary focus of that reflector," went on Mr. Mayhew, "was about sixty feet away. I had designed it for experimenting with light. In fact, I had invented the searchlight, now in general use, as I have learned by reading up lately. But I have also learned more—that in the fifty years of my darkness the scientific world has not caught up to me. At that time I had not only liquefied the six refractory gases of Clerk Maxwell, but had solidified hydrogen and discovered in advance a gas which I had not named, but which I now find is called helium. I had also succeeded in liquefying this gas."