The Lost City by Jr. Joseph E. Badger (me reader .txt) 📖

cyclone, as such, and

the miscalled “twister,” which has wrought such dire destruction

throughout a large portion of our own land during more recent

years.

 

While that little lecture would make interesting reading for

those who take an interest in such matters, it need scarcely be

reproduced in this connection, more particularly as, just when

the professor was getting fairly warmed up to his work, an

interruption came in the shape of a sharp, eager shout from the

lips of Waldo Gillespie.

 

“Look—look yonder! What a funny looking cloud that is!”

 

A small clump of trees growing upon a rising bit of ground

interfered with the view of his brother and uncle, for Waldo was

pointing almost due southeast; yet his excitement was so

pronounced that both the professor and Bruno hastened in that

direction, stopping short as they caught a fair sight of the

object indicated.

 

A mighty mass of wildly disturbed clouds, black and green and

white and yellow all blending together and constantly shifting

positions, out of which was suddenly formed a still more ominous

shape.

 

A mass of lurid vapour shot downwards, taking on the general

semblance of a balloon, as it swayed madly back and forth, an

elongating trunk or tongue reaching still nearer the earth, with

fierce gyrations, as though seeking to fasten upon some support.

 

Not one of that trio had ever before gazed upon just such another

creation, yet one and all recognised the truth,—this was a

veritable tornado, just such as they had read in awed wonder

about, time and time again.

 

Neither one of the brothers Gillespie were cravens, in any sense

of the word, but now their cheeks grew paler, and they seemed to

shrink from yonder airy monster, even while watching it grow into

shape and awful power.

 

Professor Featherwit was no less absorbed in this wondrous

spectacle, but his was the interest of a scientist, and his pulse

beat as ordinary, his brain remaining as clear and calm as ever.

 

“I hardly believe we have anything to fear from this tornado, my

lads,” he said, taking note of their uneasiness. “According to

both rule and precedent, yonder tornado will pass to the east of

our present position, and we will be as safe right here as though

we were a thousand miles away.”

 

“But,—do they always move towards the northeast, uncle Phaeton?”

 

“As a rule, yes; but there are exceptions, of course. And unless

this should prove to be one of those rare ex—er—”

 

“Look!” cried Waldo, with swift gesticulation. “It’s coming this

way, or I never—ISN’T it coming this way?”

 

“Unless this should prove to be one of those rare exceptions, my

dear boy, I can promise you that—Upon my soul!” with an abrupt

change of both tone and manner, “I really believe it IS coming

this way!”

 

“It is—it is coming! Get a move on, or we’ll never know—hunt a

hole and pull it in after you!” fairly screamed Waldo, turning in

flight.

 

CHAPTER II.

PROFESSOR FEATHERWIT TAKING NOTES.

 

“To the house!” cried the professor, raising his voice to

overcome yonder sullen roar, which was now beginning to come

their way. “Trust all to the aeromotor, and ‘twill be well with

us!”

 

The wiry little man of science himself fell to work with an

energy which told how serious he regarded the emergency, and,

acting under his lead, the brothers manfully played their part.

 

Just as had been done many times before this day, a queer-looking

machine was shoved out from the shed, gliding along the wooden

ways prepared for that express purpose, while Professor

Featherwit hurried aboard a few articles which past experience

warned him might prove of service in the hours to come, then

sharply cried to his nephews:

 

“Get aboard, lads! Time enough, yet none to spare in idle

motions. See! The storm is drifting our way in deadly earnest!”

 

And so it seemed, in good sooth.

 

Now fairly at its dread work of destruction, tearing up the rain

dampened dirt and playing with mighty boulders, tossing them here

and there, as a giant of olden tales might play with jackstones,

snapping off sturdy trees and whipping them to splinters even

while hurling them as a farmer sows his grain.

 

Just the one brief look at that aerial monster, then both lads

hung fast to the hand-rail of rope, while the professor put that

cunning machinery in motion, causing the air-ship to rise from

its ways with a sudden swooping movement, then soaring upward and

onward, in a fair curve, as graceful and steady as a bird on

wing.

 

All this took some little time, even while the trio were working

as men only can when dear life is at stake; but the

flying-machine was afloat and fairly off upon the most marvellous

journey mortals ever accomplished, and that ere yonder

death-balloon could cover half the distance between.

 

“Grand! Glorious! Magnificent!” fairly exploded the professor,

when he could risk a more comprehensive look, right hand tightly

gripping the polished lever through which he controlled that

admirable mechanism. “I have longed for just such an

opportunity, and now—the camera, Bruno! We must never neglect

to improve such a marvellous chance for—get out the camera,

lad!”

 

“Get out of the road, rather!” bluntly shouted Waldo, face

unusually pale, as he stared at yonder awful force in action. “Of

course I’m not scared, or anything like that, uncle Phaeton,

but—I want to rack out o’ this just about the quickest the law

allows! Yes, I DO, now!”

 

“Wonderful! Marvellous! Incredible! That rara avis, an

exception to all exceptions!” declared the professor, more deeply

stirred than either of his nephews had ever seen him before. “A

genuine tornado which has no eastern drift; which heads as

directly as possible towards the northwest, and at the same

time—incredible!”

 

Only ears of his own caught these sentences in their entirety,

for now the storm was fairly bellowing in its might, formed of a

variety of sounds which baffles all description, but which, in

itself, was more than sufficient to chill the blood of even a

brave man. Yet, almost as though magnetised by that frightful

force, the professor was holding his air-ship steady, loitering

there in its direct path, rather than fleeing from what surely

would prove utter destruction to man and machine alike.

 

For a few moments Bruno withstood the temptation, but then leaned

far enough to grasp both hand and tiller, forcing them in the

requisite direction, causing the aeromotor to swing easily around

and dart away almost at right angles to the track of the tornado.

 

That roar was now as of a thousand heavily laden trains rumbling

over hollow bridges, and the professor could only nod his

approval when thus aroused from the dangerous fascination.

Another minute, and the air-ship was floating towards the rear of

the balloon-shaped cloud itself, each second granting the

passengers a varying view of the wonder.

 

True to the firm hand which set its machinery in motion, the

flying-machine maintained that gentle curve until it swung around

well to the rear of the cloud, where again Professor Featherwit

broke out in ecstatic praises of their marvellous good fortune.

 

” ‘Tis worth a life’s ransom, for never until now hath mortal

being been blessed with such a magnificent opportunity for taking

notes and drawing deductions which—”

 

The professor nimbly ducked his head to dodge a ragged splinter

of freshly torn wood which came whistling past, cast far away

from the tornado proper by those erratic winds. And at the same

instant the machine itself recoiled, shivering and creaking in

all its cunning joints under a gust of wind which seemed composed

of both ice and fire.

 

“Oh, I say!” gasped Waldo, when he could rally from the sudden

blow. “Turn the old thing the other way, uncle Phaeton, and

let’s go look for—well, almost anything’s better than this old

cyclone!”

 

“Tornado, lad,” swiftly corrected the man of precision, leaning

far forward, and gazing enthralled upon the vision which fairly

thrilled his heart to its very centre. “Never again may we have

such another opportunity for making—”

 

They were now directly in the rear of the storm, and as the

air-ship headed across that track of destruction, it gave a

drunken stagger, casting down its inmates, from whose parching

lips burst cries of varying import.

 

“Air! I’m choking!” gasped Bruno, tearing open his shirt-collar

with a spasmodic motion.

 

“Hold me fast!” echoed Waldo, clinging desperately to the

life-line. “It’s drawing me—into the—ah!”

 

Even the professor gave certain symptoms of alarm for that

moment, but then the danger seemed past as the ship darted fairly

across the storm-trail, hovering to the east of that aerial

phantom.

 

There was no difficulty in filling their lungs now, and once more

Professor Featherwit headed the flying-machine directly for the

balloon-shaped cloud, modulating its pace so as to maintain their

relative position fairly well.

 

“Take note how it progresses,—by fits and starts, as it were,”

observed Featherwit, now in his glory, eyes asparkle and muscles

aquiver, hair bristling as though full of electricity, face

glowing with almost painful interest, as those shifting scenes

were for ever imprinted upon his brain.

 

“Sort of a hop, step, and jump, and that’s a fact,” agreed Waldo,

now a bit more at his ease since that awful sense of suffocation

was lacking. “I thought all cyclones—”

 

“Tornado, my DEAR boy!” expostulated the professor.

 

“I thought they all went in holy hurry, like they were sent for

and had mighty little time in which to get there. But this

one,—see how it stops to dance a jig and bore holes in the

earth!”

 

“Another exception to the general rule, which is as you say,”

admitted the professor. “Different tornadoes have been timed as

moving from twelve to seventy miles an hour, one passing a given

point in half a score of seconds, at another time being

registered as fully half an hour in clearing a single section.

 

“Take the destructive storm at Mount Carmel, Illinois, in June of

‘77. That made progress at the rate of thirty-four miles an

hour, yet its force was so mighty that it tore away the spire,

vane, and heavy gilded ball of the Methodist church, and kept it

in air over a distance of fifteen miles.

 

“Still later was the Texas tornado, doing its awful work at the

rate of more than sixty miles an hour; while that which swept

through Frankfort, Kansas, on May 17, 1896, was fully a half-hour

in crossing a half-mile stretch of bottom-land adjoining the

Vermillion River, pausing in its dizzy waltz upon a single spot

for long minutes at a time.”

 

“Couldn’t have been much left when it got through dancing, if

that storm was anything like this one,” declared Waldo, shivering

a bit as he watched the awful destruction being wrought right

before their fascinated eyes.

 

Trees were twisted off and doubled up like blades of dry grass.

Mighty rocks were torn apart from the rugged hills, and huge

boulders were tossed into air as though composed of paper. And

over all ascended the horrid roar of ruin beyond description,

while from that misshapen balloon-cloud, with its flattened top,

the electric fluid shone and flashed, now in great sheets as of

flame, then in vicious spurts and darts as though innumerable

snakes of fire had been turned loose by the winds.

 

Still the aerial demon bored its almost sluggish course straight

towards the northwest, in this, as in all else, seemingly bent on

proving itself the exception to all exceptions as Professor

Featherwit declared.

 

The savant himself was now in his glory, holding the tiller

between arm and