Extraterrestrial beings -- Fiction; Science fiction, English; Space flight to Mars -- Fiction
But Doctor Hermann made no answer. He was gazing into the lake at our
feet in a half-conscious manner, muttering incoherently to himself
about "majestic phenomenon" and "wonderful sight," and then he sank
back unconscious! The scene now became intensely horrible. Temple sat
with pale hollow cheeks, and sunken eyes, his chin resting upon his
knees; Sandy was struggling with Graham to reach the lake, swearing
he would have water if he killed him in reaching it. But poor Sandy
was weak as a child, and Graham in very kindness hurled him to the
ground, where he lay like one dead. The only man with any control over
himself, or with any strength, was Graham, and he stood amongst his
fallen companions, gaunt and haggard, with tears of sympathy for them
trickling down his wan, wasted cheeks, and white face turned upwards to
the sky.
"Oh, God!" he cried, in words that rattled hoarsely in his parched and
burning throat--"Oh, God! give us water, or be merciful and let us
quickly die. Oh, Echri!" he panted, "servant of God, if your power
admits, hear the voice of him who wears your sacred ring, crying for
help in the wilderness, and send him succour. Help!--me--and them--oh,
God!--Echri--ring--Volinè;" but the last words became but rattling,
meaningless sounds, and he too was overcome with faintness and thirst,
and sank down among the rest to die!
A few minutes later, Temple alone remained conscious; but he felt
too weak to move, and he sat there in his agony, watching the bright
merciless stars come forth one by one, and the distant yellow ball of
Earth rise steadily above the mountains, until a drowsiness overcame
him, and he mercifully fell into a troubled sleep.
How long he slumbered we shall never know, but he woke trembling with
cold, roused from his sleep by the chilly blast that was howling and
shrieking round him. The heavens were of an inky blackness, save at
irregular intervals, when the blue lightning lit up the banks of cloud
for a fleeting moment. The cold wind, evidently charged with moisture,
had brought new life upon its wings for Temple, and he felt refreshed.
He was still too weak to move, and sat shivering in astonished silence,
viewing the progress of the storm. Peal after peal of thunder shook
the ground beneath him: flash after flash of lightning glanced along
the lake of mercury, and illumined its smooth waveless surface like
a mirror. Then a few big heavy drops of rain spattered on the rocks,
one of them striking him full on his forehead. A minute or so later,
preceded by a warning roar, the tempest broke in all its fury. The rain
beat down on the parched ground, wetting him and his companions to the
skin, collecting into pools, and flowing in tiny rills and torrents
between the rocks, and forming channels across the firmer beds of sand.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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