Air warfare -- Fiction; Science fiction; War stories
It was a pause of mutual inspection. For a time naive humanity swamped
the conventions of warfare altogether; the interest of the millions
below and of the thousands above alike was spectacular. The evening was
unexpectedly fine--only a few thin level bands of clouds at seven or
eight thousand feet broke its luminous clarity. The wind had dropped; it
was an evening infinitely peaceful and still. The heavy concussions of
the distant guns and those incidental harmless pyrotechnics at the level
of the clouds seemed to have as little to do with killing and force,
terror and submission, as a salute at a naval review. Below, every
point of vantage bristled with spectators, the roofs of the towering
buildings, the public squares, the active ferry boats, and every
favourable street intersection had its crowds: all the river piers
were dense with people, the Battery Park was solid black with east-side
population, and every position of advantage in Central Park and along
Riverside Drive had its peculiar and characteristic assembly from the
adjacent streets. The footways of the great bridges over the East River
were also closely packed and blocked. Everywhere shopkeepers had left
their shops, men their work, and women and children their homes, to come
out and see the marvel.
“It beat,” they declared, “the newspapers.”
And from above, many of the occupants of the airships stared with an
equal curiosity. No city in the world was ever so finely placed as New
York, so magnificently cut up by sea and bluff and river, so admirably
disposed to display the tall effects of buildings, the complex
immensities of bridges and mono-railways and feats of engineering.
London, Paris, Berlin, were shapeless, low agglomerations beside it. Its
port reached to its heart like Venice, and, like Venice, it was obvious,
dramatic, and proud. Seen from above it was alive with crawling
trains and cars, and at a thousand points it was already breaking into
quivering light. New York was altogether at its best that evening, its
splendid best.
“Gaw! What a place!” said Bert.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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