When the World Shook: Being an Account of the Great Adventure of Bastin, Bickley and ArbuthnotHaggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Science
When the World Shook: Being an Account of the Great Adventure of Bastin, Bickley and Arbuthnot
Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Adventure stories; Science fiction
At another sign from Oro, Yva did something more to the lens—again,
being alongside of her, I could not see what it was. The beam of light
shifted and wandered till, far away, it fell exactly upon that spot
where the rock began to rise into the ridge which separated the two
grooves or roads and ended in the razor-edged cliff. Moreover I
observed that Oro, who left it the last of us, had either placed
something white to mark this first infinitesimal bulging of the floor
of the groove, or had smeared it with chalk or shining pigment. I
observed also what I had not been able to see before, that a thin white
line ran across the floor, no doubt to give the precise direction of
this painted rise of rock, and that the glare of the search-light now
lay exactly over that line.
The monstrous, flaming gyroscope fashioned in Nature’s workshop, for
such without doubt it was, was drawing near, emitting as it came a
tumult of sounds which, with the echoes that they caused, almost
over-whelmed our senses. Poor little Tommy, already cowed, although he
was a bold-natured beast, broke down entirely, and I could see from his
open mouth that he was howling with terror. He stared about him, then
ran to Yva and pawed at her, evidently asking to be taken into her
arms. She thrust him away, almost fiercely, and made signs to me to
lift him up and hold him beneath my shield. This I did, reflecting
sadly that if I was to be sacrificed, Tommy must share my fate. I even
thought of passing him on to Bickley, but had no time. Indeed I could
not attract his attention, for Bickley was staring with all his eyes at
the nightmare-like spectacle which was in progress about us. Indeed no
nightmare, no wild imagination of which the mind of man is capable,
could rival the aspect of its stupendous facts.
Think of them! The unmeasured space of blackness threaded by those
globes of ghastly incandescence that now hung a while and now shot
upwards, downwards, across, apparently without origin or end, like a
stream of meteors that had gone mad. Then the travelling mountain, two
thousand feet in height, or more, with its enormous saucer-like rim
painted round with bands of lurid red and blue, and about its grinding
foot the tulip bloom of emitted flame. Then the fierce-faced Oro at his
post, his hand upon the rod, waiting, remorseless, to drown half of
this great world, with the lovely Yva standing calm-eyed like a saint
in hell and watching me above the edge of the shield which such a saint
might bear to turn aside the fiery darts of the wicked. And lastly we
three men flattened terror-stricken, against the wall.
Nightmare! Imagination! No, these pale before that scene which it was
given to our human eyes to witness.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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