Cæsar's Column: A Story of the Twentieth CenturyDonnelly, Ignatius
Science
Cæsar's Column: A Story of the Twentieth Century
Donnelly, Ignatius
Dystopias -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Science fiction; Social problems -- Fiction; Twentieth century -- Fiction
I could not turn my eyes from that ferocious head. It fascinated me.
It waved and reeled with the surging of the mob. It seemed to me to
be executing a hideous dance in mid-air, in the midst of that
terrible scene; it floated over it like a presiding demon. The
protruding tongue leered at the blazing house and the unspeakable
horrors of that assemblage, lit up, as it was, in all its awful
features, by the towering conflagration.
The crowd yelled and the fire roared. The next house was blazing now,
and the roof of the one nearest us was smoking. The mob, perceiving
that we did not move, concluded that the machinery of the air-ship
was broken, and screamed with joy as the flames approached us.
Up, up, went bundle and package and box; faster, and faster, and
faster. We were not to be intimidated by fire or mobs! The roof of
the house next us was now blazing, and we could hear the fire, like a
furnace, roaring within it.
The work is finished; every parcel is safe.
"Up, up, men!"
Max and I were the last to leave the roof; it had become insufferably
hot. We stood on the deck; the engineer touched the lever of the
electric engine; the great bird swayed for an instant, and then began
to rise, like a veritable Phoenix from its nest of flame, surrounded
by cataracts of sparks. As the mob saw us ascend, veiled dimly, at
first, by that screen of conflagration, they groaned with dismay and
disappointment. The bullets flew and hissed around us, but our
metallic sides laughed them to scorn. Up, up, straight and swift as
an arrow we rose. The mighty city lay unrolled below us, like a great
map, starred here and there with burning houses. Above the trees of
Union Square, my glass showed me a white line, lighted by the
bon-fires, where Cæsar's Column was towering to the skies, bearing
the epitaph of the world.
I said to Max:
"What will those millions do to-morrow?"
"Starve," he said.
"What will they do next week?"
"Devour each other," he replied.
There was silence for a time.
"Will not civil government rise again out of this ruin?" I asked.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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