The Lost ContinentHyne, Charles John Cutcliffe Wright
Science
The Lost Continent
Hyne, Charles John Cutcliffe Wright
Atlantis (Legendary place) -- Fiction; Fantasy fiction; Lost continents -- Fiction; Science fiction
Planking had been laid down for its wheels, and the wheels themselves
well greased, and it may be that she hoped to march in upon us whilst
all slept. But there was a certain creaking and groaning of timbers,
and laboured panting of men, which gave advertisement that something was
being attempted, and the alarm was spread quietly in the hope that if a
surprise had been planned, the real surprise might be turned the other
way.
A messenger came to me running, where I sat in the house at the side of
my love, and she, like the soldier’s wife she was made to be, kissed me
and bade me go quickly and care for my honour, and bring back my wounds
for her to mend.
On the rampart above the gate all was silence, save for the faint rustle
of armed men, and out of the black darkness ahead, and from the other
side of the broken causeway, came the sounds of which the messenger bad
warned me.
The captain of the gate came to me and whispered: “We have made no light
till the King came, not knowing the King’s will in the matter. Is it
wished I send some of the throwing-fire down yonder, on the chance that
it does some harm, and at the same time lights up the place? Or is it
willed that we wait for their surprise?”
“Send the fire,” I said, “or we may find that Phorenice’s brain has been
one too many for us.”
The captain of the gate took one of the balls in his hand, lit the fuse,
and hurled it. The horrid thing burst amongst a mass of men who were
labouring with a huge engine, sputtering them with its deadly fire, and
lighting their garments. The plan of the engine showed itself plainly.
They had built them a vast great tower, resting on wheels at its base,
so that it might by pushed forward from behind, and slanting at its foot
to allow for the steepness of the path and leave it always upright.
It was storeyed inside, with ladders joining each floor, and through
slits in the side which faced us bowmen could cover an attack. From its
top a great bridge reared high above it, being carried vertically till
the tower was brought near enough for its use. The bridge was hinged at
the third storey of the tower, and fastened with ropes to its extreme
top; but, once the ropes were cut, the bridge would fall, and light upon
whatever came within its swing, and be held there by the spikes with
which it was studded beneath.
I saw, and inwardly felt myself conquered. The cleverness of Phorenice
had been too strong for my defence. No war-engine of which we had
command could overset the tower. The whole of its massive timbers
were hung with the wet new-stripped skins of beasts, so that even the
throwing-fire could not destroy it. What puny means we had to impede
those who pushed it forward would have little effect. Presently it would
come to the place appointed, and the ropes would be cut, and the bridge
would thunder down on the rampart above our last gate, and the stormers
would pour out to their final success.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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