He passed a few yards to one side of them, and stumbled over a heap of
something which he did not observe, as it was black like the level
ground. It emitted a metallic sound, and looking he saw that he had
kicked his foot against a great heap of money. The coins were black as
ink; he picked up a handful and went on. Hitherto Felix had accepted all
that he saw as something so strange as to be unaccountable. During his
advance into this region in the canoe he had in fact become slowly
stupefied by the poisonous vapour he had inhaled. His mind was partly in
abeyance; it acted, but only after some time had elapsed. He now at last
began to realize his position; the finding of the heap of blackened
money touched a chord of memory. These skeletons were the miserable
relics of men who had ventured, in search of ancient treasures, into the
deadly marshes over the site of the mightiest city of former days. The
deserted and utterly extinct city of London was under his feet.
He had penetrated into the midst of that dreadful place, of which he had
heard many a tradition: how the earth was poison, the water poison, the
air poison, the very light of heaven, falling through such an
atmosphere, poison. There were said to be places where the earth was on
fire and belched forth sulphurous fumes, supposed to be from the
combustion of the enormous stores of strange and unknown chemicals
collected by the wonderful people of those times. Upon the surface of
the water there was a greenish-yellow oil, to touch which was death to
any creature; it was the very essence of corruption. Sometimes it
floated before the wind, and fragments became attached to reeds or flags
far from the place itself. If a moorhen or duck chanced to rub the reed,
and but one drop stuck to its feathers, it forthwith died. Of the red
water he had not heard, nor of the black, into which he had unwittingly
sailed.
Ghastly beings haunted the site of so many crimes, shapeless monsters,
hovering by night, and weaving a fearful dance. Frequently they caught
fire, as it seemed, and burned as they flew or floated in the air.
Remembering these stories, which in part, at least, now seemed to be
true, Felix glanced aside, where the cloud still kept pace with him, and
involuntarily put his hands to his ears lest the darkness of the air
should whisper some horror of old times. The earth on which he walked,
the black earth, leaving phosphoric footmarks behind him, was composed
of the mouldered bodies of millions of men who had passed away in the
centuries during which the city existed. He shuddered as he moved; he
hastened, yet could not go fast, his numbed limbs would not permit him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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