The Lost City [28]
jaws he had so miraculously been plucked.
There was naught of debility, either of body or of mind, to be read in that figure, and with his fears on that particular point set at rest, for the time being, Professor Featherwit called out, distinctly:
"Is it all well with you, my good friend? Can you hold fast until the shore is reached, think?"
"Heaven bless you,--yes!" came the reply, in half-choked tones. "If I fail in giving thanks--"
"Never mention it, friend; it cost us nothing," cheerily interrupted the professor, then adding, "Hold fast, please, and we'll put on a wee bit more steam."
The flying-machine was now fairly headed for a strip of shore which offered an excellent opportunity for making a safe landing, and as that accelerated motion did not appear to materially affect the stranger, it took but a few minutes to clear the lake.
"Stand ready to let go when we come low enough, please," warned the professor, deftly managing his pet machine for that purpose.
The stranger easily landed, then watched the flying-machine with painfully eager gaze, hands clasped almost as though in prayer. A more remarkable sight than this half-naked shape, burned brown by the sun, poorly protected by light skins, with sinew fastenings, could scarcely be imagined; and there was something close akin to tears in more eyes than one when he came running in chase, arms outstretched, and voice wildly appealing:
"Oh, come back! Take me,--don't leave me,--for love of God and humanity, don't leave me to this living death!"
Professor Featherwit called back a hasty assurance, and brought the air-ship to a landing with greater haste than was exactly prudent, all things considered; but who could keep cool blood and unmoved heart, with yonder piteous object before their eyes?
When he saw that the flying-machine had fairly landed, and beheld its inmates stepping forth upon the sands with friendly salutations, the rescued stranger staggered, hands clasping his temples for a moment of drunken reeling, then he fell forward like one smitten by the hand of sudden death.
Professor Featherwit called out a few curt directions, which were promptly obeyed by his nephews, and after a few minutes' well-directed work consciousness was restored, and the stranger feebly strove to give them thanks.
In vain these were set aside. He seemed like one half-insane from joy, and none who saw and heard could think that all this emotion arose from the simple rescue from the whirlpool. Nor did it.
Wildly, far from coherently, the poor fellow spoke, yet something of the awful truth was to be gleaned even from those broken, disjointed sentences.
For ten years an exile in these horrible wilds. For ten years not a single glimpse of white face or figure. For ten ages no intelligible voice, save his own; and that, through long disuse, had threatened to desert him!
"Ten years!" echoed Waldo, in amazement. "Why didn't you rack out o' this, then? I know I would; even if the woods were full of--'sour-us' and the like o' that! Yes, SIR!"
A low, husky laugh came through those heavily bearded lips, and the stranger flung out his hands in a sweeping gesture, sunken eyes glowing with an almost savage light as he spoke with more coherence:
"Why is it, young gentleman? Why did I not leave, do you ask? Look! All about you it stretches: a cell,--a death-cell, from which escape is impossible! Here I have fought for what is ever more precious than bare life: for liberty; but though ten awful years have rolled by, here I remain, in worse than prison! Escape? Ah, how often have I attempted to escape, only to fail, because escape from these wilds is beyond the power of any person not gifted with wings!"
"Ten years, you say, good friend? And all that time you have lived here alone?" asked the professor, curiously.
"Ten years,--ten thousand years, I could almost swear, only for keeping the record so carefully, so religiously. And--pitiful Lord! How gladly would I have given my good right arm, just for one faraway glimpse of civilisation!
There was naught of debility, either of body or of mind, to be read in that figure, and with his fears on that particular point set at rest, for the time being, Professor Featherwit called out, distinctly:
"Is it all well with you, my good friend? Can you hold fast until the shore is reached, think?"
"Heaven bless you,--yes!" came the reply, in half-choked tones. "If I fail in giving thanks--"
"Never mention it, friend; it cost us nothing," cheerily interrupted the professor, then adding, "Hold fast, please, and we'll put on a wee bit more steam."
The flying-machine was now fairly headed for a strip of shore which offered an excellent opportunity for making a safe landing, and as that accelerated motion did not appear to materially affect the stranger, it took but a few minutes to clear the lake.
"Stand ready to let go when we come low enough, please," warned the professor, deftly managing his pet machine for that purpose.
The stranger easily landed, then watched the flying-machine with painfully eager gaze, hands clasped almost as though in prayer. A more remarkable sight than this half-naked shape, burned brown by the sun, poorly protected by light skins, with sinew fastenings, could scarcely be imagined; and there was something close akin to tears in more eyes than one when he came running in chase, arms outstretched, and voice wildly appealing:
"Oh, come back! Take me,--don't leave me,--for love of God and humanity, don't leave me to this living death!"
Professor Featherwit called back a hasty assurance, and brought the air-ship to a landing with greater haste than was exactly prudent, all things considered; but who could keep cool blood and unmoved heart, with yonder piteous object before their eyes?
When he saw that the flying-machine had fairly landed, and beheld its inmates stepping forth upon the sands with friendly salutations, the rescued stranger staggered, hands clasping his temples for a moment of drunken reeling, then he fell forward like one smitten by the hand of sudden death.
Professor Featherwit called out a few curt directions, which were promptly obeyed by his nephews, and after a few minutes' well-directed work consciousness was restored, and the stranger feebly strove to give them thanks.
In vain these were set aside. He seemed like one half-insane from joy, and none who saw and heard could think that all this emotion arose from the simple rescue from the whirlpool. Nor did it.
Wildly, far from coherently, the poor fellow spoke, yet something of the awful truth was to be gleaned even from those broken, disjointed sentences.
For ten years an exile in these horrible wilds. For ten years not a single glimpse of white face or figure. For ten ages no intelligible voice, save his own; and that, through long disuse, had threatened to desert him!
"Ten years!" echoed Waldo, in amazement. "Why didn't you rack out o' this, then? I know I would; even if the woods were full of--'sour-us' and the like o' that! Yes, SIR!"
A low, husky laugh came through those heavily bearded lips, and the stranger flung out his hands in a sweeping gesture, sunken eyes glowing with an almost savage light as he spoke with more coherence:
"Why is it, young gentleman? Why did I not leave, do you ask? Look! All about you it stretches: a cell,--a death-cell, from which escape is impossible! Here I have fought for what is ever more precious than bare life: for liberty; but though ten awful years have rolled by, here I remain, in worse than prison! Escape? Ah, how often have I attempted to escape, only to fail, because escape from these wilds is beyond the power of any person not gifted with wings!"
"Ten years, you say, good friend? And all that time you have lived here alone?" asked the professor, curiously.
"Ten years,--ten thousand years, I could almost swear, only for keeping the record so carefully, so religiously. And--pitiful Lord! How gladly would I have given my good right arm, just for one faraway glimpse of civilisation!