The Lost City by Jr. Joseph E. Badger (me reader .txt) 📖
- Author: Jr. Joseph E. Badger
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with which he was taking repeated snap-shots for future
development and reference.
Truly, as he more than once declared, mortal man never had, nor
mortal man ever would have, such a glorious opportunity for
recording the varying phases of nature in travail as was now
vouchsafed themselves.
“Just think of it, lads!” he cried, almost beside himself with
enthusiasm. “This alone will be sufficient to carry our names
ringing through all time down the corridors of undying fame! This
alone would be more than enough to—Look pleasant, please!”
In spite of that awful vision so perilously close before them,
and the natural uncertainty which attended such a reckless
venture, Waldo could not repress a chuckle at that comical
conclusion, so frequently used towards himself when their uncle
was coaxing them to pose before his pet camera.
“Is it—surely this is not safe, uncle Phaeton?” ventured Bruno,
as another retrograde gust of air smote their apparently frail
conveyance with sudden force.
“Let’s call it a day’s work, and knock off,” chimed in Waldo. “If
the blamed thing should take a notion to balk, and rear back
on its haunches, where’d we come out at?”
Professor Featherwit made an impatient gesture by way of answer.
Speech just then would have been worse than useless, for that
tremendous roaring, crashing, thundering of all sounds, seemed to
fall back and envelop the air-ship as with a pall.
A shower of sand and fine debris poured over and around them,
filling ears and mouths, and blinding eyes for the moment,
forcing the brothers closer to the floor of the aerostat, and
even compelling the eager professor to remit his taking of notes
for future generations.
Then, thin and reed-like, yet serving to pierce that temporary
obscurity and horrible jangle of outer sounds, came the voice of
their relative:
“Fear not, my children! The Lord is our shield, and so long as
he willeth, just so long shall we—Ha! didn’t I tell ye so?”
For the blinding veil was torn away, and once again the trio of
adventurers might watch yonder grandly awesome march of
devastation.
“Heading direct for the Olympics!” declared Professor Featherwit,
digging the sand out of his eyes and striving to clean his
glasses without removing them, clinging to tiller and camera
through all. “What a grand and glorious guide ‘twould be for
us!”
“If we could only hitch on—like a tin can to the tail of a dog!”
suggested Waldo, with boyish sarcasm. “Not any of that in mine,
thank you! I can wait. No such mighty rush. No,—SIR!”
There came no answer to his words, for just then that swooping
air-demon turned to vivid fire, lightning playing back and forth,
from side to side, in every conceivable direction, until in spite
of the broad daylight its glory pained those watching eyes.
“Did you ever witness the like!” awesomely cried Bruno, gazing
like one fascinated. “Who could or would ever believe all that,
even if tongue were able to portray its wondrous beauty?”
“What a place that would be for popping corn!” contributed Waldo,
practical or nothing, even under such peculiar circumstances. “If
I had to play poppy, though, I’d want a precious long handle
to the concern!”
More intensely interested than ever, Professor Featherwit plied
his shutter, taking shot after shot at yonder aerial phenomena,
feeling that future generations would surely rise up to call him
blessed when the results of his experiments were once fairly
spread before the world.
And hence it came to pass that still more thrilling experiences
came unto these daring navigators of space, and that almost
before one or the other of them could fairly realise that greater
danger really menaced both their air-ship and their lives.
Another whirly-gust of sand and other debris assailed the
flying-machine, and while sight was thus rendered almost useless
for the time being, the aerostat began to sway and reel from side
to side, shivering as though caught by an irresistible power, yet
against which it battled as though instinct with life and
brain-power.
Once again the adventurers found it difficult to breathe, while
an unseen power seemed pressing them to that floor as
though—Thank heaven!
Just as before, that cloud was swept away, and again air came to
fill those painfully oppressed lungs. Once again the trio
cleared their eyes and stared about, only to utter simultaneous
cries of alarm.
For, brief though that period of blindness had been, ‘twas amply
sufficient to carry the aeromotor perilously near yonder
storm-centre, and though Professor Featherwit gripped hard his
tiller, trying all he knew to turn the air-ship for a safer
quarter,-‘twas all in vain!
“Haste,—make haste, uncle Phaeton!” hoarsely panted Bruno,
leaning to aid the professor. “We will be sucked in and—hasten,
for life!”
“I can’t,—we’re already—in the—suction!”
CHAPTER III.
RIDING THE TORNADO.
Whether it was that the air-ship itself had increased its speed
during those few moments of dense obscurity, or whether the madly
whirling winds had taken a retrograde movement at that precise
time, could only be a matter of conjecture; but the ominous fact
remained.
The aerostat was fairly over the danger-line, and, despite all
efforts being made to the contrary, was being drawn directly
towards that howling, crashing, thundering mass of destructive
energy.
Already the inmates felt themselves being sucked from the
flying-machine, and instinctively tightened their grip upon
hand-rail and floor, gasping and oppressed, breath failing, and
ribs apparently being crushed in by that horrible pressure.
“Hold fast—for life!” pantingly screamed Professor Featherwit,
as he strove in vain to check or change the course of his
aeromotor, now for the first time beyond control of that
master-hand.
A few seconds of soul-trying suspense, during which the
flying-machine shivered from stem to stern, almost like a human
creature in its death-agony, creaking and groaning, with shrill
sounds coming from those expanded, curved wings, as the suction
increased; then—
A merciful darkness fell over those sorely imperilled beings, and
the vessel itself seemed about to be overwhelmed by an avalanche
of sand and dirt and mixed debris. Then came a dizzy, rocking
lurch, followed by a shock which nearly cast uncle and nephews
from their frantic holds, and the air-ship appeared to be whirled
end for end, cast hither and yon, wrenched and twisted as though
all must go to ruin together.
A blast as of superheated air smote upon them one moment, while
in the next they were whirled through an icy atmosphere, then
tossed dizzily to and fro, as their too-frail vehicle spun upward
as though on a journey to the faraway stars.
A shrieking blast of wind served to briefly clear away the
choking dust, affording the trio a fleeting glimpse of their
immediate surroundings: hurtling sticks and stones, splintered
tops of trees, shrubs with wildly lashing roots freshly torn from
the bed of years, all madly spinning through a blinding,
scorching, freezing mass of crazily battling winds, the different
currents twining and weaving in and out, as so many hideous
serpents at play.
A moment thus, then that horrid uproar grew still more deafening,
and the air-ship was whirled high and higher, in a dizzy dance,
those luckless creatures clinging fast to whatever their frenzied
hands might clutch, feeling that this was the end of all.
Further sight was denied them. They were powerless to move a
limb, save as jerked painfully by those shrieking currents.
Breath was taken away, and an enormous weight bore down upon
them, threatening to produce a fatal collapse through their ribs
giving way.
Upward whirled the flying-machine, powerless now as those
wretched beings within its cunning shape, smitten sharply here
and there by some of those ascending missiles, yet without
receiving material injury; until a last shivering lurch came,
ending in a sudden fall.
A dizzying swoop downward, but not to death and destruction, for
the aerostat alighted easily upon what appeared to be a sort of
air-cushion, and, though unsteady for a brief space, then settled
upon an even keel.
“Cling fast—for life!” huskily gasped the professor, unwittingly
repeating the caution which had last crossed his lips, which he
had ever since been striving to enunciate, faithful to his
guardianship over these, his sole surviving relatives.
“I don’t—where are we?”
Waldo lifted his head to peer with half-blind eyes about them, in
which action he was imitated by both brother and uncle; but, for
a brief space, they were none the wiser.
All around the aeromotor rose a wall of whirling winds, seemingly
impenetrable, apparently within reach of an extended arm,
changing colour with each fraction of a second, hideously
beautiful, yet never twice the same in blend or mixture.
A hollow, strangely sounding roar was perceptible; one instant
coming as from the far distance, then from nigh at hand, causing
the air-ship to quiver and tremble, as a sentient being might in
the presence of a torturing death.
“Look—upward!” panted Bruno, a few seconds later, his face as
pale as that of a corpse, in spite of the dirt and blotches of
sticky mud with which he had been peppered during that dizzy
whirl.
Mechanically his companions in peril obeyed, catching breath
sharply, as they saw a clear sky and yellow sunshine far
above,—so awfully far they were, that it seemed like looking
upward from the bottom of an enormously deep well.
And then the marvellous truth flashed upon the brain of Phaeton
Featherwit, almost robbing him of all power of speech. Still he
managed to jerkily ejaculate:
“We’re inside,—riding the—tornado—itself!”
Then those whirling winds closed quickly above them, shutting out
the sunlight, hiding the heavens from their view, enclosing that
vehicle and its occupants, as they were borne away into unknown
regions, within the very heart of the tornado itself!
Yet, incredible as it surely seems, no actual harm came to the
trio or to their flying-machine as it swayed gently upon its airy
cushion, although from every side came the horrid roar of
destruction, while ever and anon they could glimpse a wrestling
tree or torn mass of shrubbery whizzing upward and outward, to be
flung far away beyond the vortex of electrical winds.
Once more came that awful sense of suffocation. That painted
pall closed down upon them, robbing their lungs of air, one
instant fairly crisping their hair with a touch of fire, only to
send an icy chill to their veins a moment later.
In vain they struggled, fighting for breath, as a fish gasps when
swung from its native element. While that horrid pressure
endured, man, youth, and boy alike were powerless.
Again the pall lifted, folding back and blending with those madly
circling currents, once again affording a glimpse of yonder
faraway heavens, so marvellously clear, and bright, and peaceful
in seeming!
Weakened by those terrible moments, Bruno and Waldo lay gasping,
trembling, faint of heart and ill of body, yet filling their
lungs with comparatively pure air,—pity there was so little of
it to win!
Professor Featherwit still had thought and care for his nephews
rather than himself alone, and pantingly spoke, as he dragged
himself to the snug locker, where many important articles had
been stowed away:
“Here—suck life—compressed air!”
With husky cries the brothers caught at the tubes offered, the
method of working which had so often been explained by their
relative.
Once more the tube became a chamber, and that horrid force
threatened to flatten their bodies; but the worst had passed, for
that precious cylinder now gave them air to inhale, and they were
enabled to wait for the lifting of the cloud once more.
Thanks to this important agency,
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