Accordingly, I flew back to Labrador whenever a transatlantic flight was rumored, and made my headquarters at Point Amour on the mainland. The wireless station was here, and about a hundred people. Little Greenly Island was some fifteen miles across Belle Isle Strait. I was getting rather bored waiting for something to happen, when one night Jim Daley, the wireless operator, came running to the cottage where I stayed, too excited to wait until nine o'clock, when I always strolled over to the wireless station for a game of chess.
I stared at him in astonishment. "What's all the excitement about?" I inquired.
He had been running so fast that for a moment he could not get his breath to talk.
"You wait until you hear," he gasped. "I bet you'll be as excited as I am. The world's coming to an end next week!"
I laughed.
"No, I mean it," he said. "It's not a joke. Here's a bulletin issued by the Smithsonian. I copied it as it came in." He handed me a sheet of paper.
The News Comes Out
As far as I know, this bulletin was the first intimation of the coming catastrophe sent out over the radio. I assume that every effort was made to keep the matter quiet, until it became evident that no escape was possible.
Consequently up there in Labrador we had heard none of the rumors that had spread over the civilized world, and had seen no references to the strange lunar phenomenon which in a sense had prepared most people for the announcement of some unusual event.