Struck by the hand of God! So men say when, after denying God's
existence ail their lives, the seeming solid earth heaves up like a
ship on a storm-billow, dragging down in its deep recoil their lives
and habitations. An earthquake! Its irresistible rise and fall makes
human beings more powerless than insects,--their houses and possessions
have less stability than the spider's web which swings its frail
threads across broken columns in greater safety than any man-made
bridge of stone,--and terror, mad, hopeless, helpless terror, possesses
every creature brought face to face with the dire cruelty of natural
forces, which from the very beginning have played havoc with struggling
mankind. Struck by the hand of God!--and with a merciless blow! All the
sunny plains and undulating hills of the beautiful stretch of land in
Southern California, in the centre of which the "Plaza" hotel and
sanatorium had stood, were now unrecognisable,--the earth was torn
asunder and thrown into vast heaps--great rocks and boulders were
tumbled over each other pell-mell in appalling heights of confusion,
and, for miles around, towns, camps and houses were laid in ruins. The
scene was one of absolute horror,--there was no language to express or
describe it--no word of hope or comfort that could be fitly used to
lighten the blackness of despair and loss. Gangs of men were at relief
work as soon as they could be summoned, and these busied themselves in
extricating the dead, and rescuing the dying whose agonised cries and
moans reproached the Power that made them for such an end,--and perhaps
as terrible as any other sound was the savage roar and rush of a
loosened torrent which came tearing furiously down from the cleft hills
to the lower land, through the great canon beyond the site where the
Plaza had stood,--a canon which had become enormously widened by the
riving and the rending of the rocks, thus giving free passage to wild
waters that had before been imprisoned in a narrow gorge. The
persistent rush of the flood filled every inch of space with sound of
an awful, even threatening character, suggesting further devastation
and death. The men engaged in their dreadful task of lifting crushed
corpses from under the stones that had fallen upon them, were almost
overcome and rendered incapable of work by the appalling clamour, which
was sufficient to torture the nerves of the strongest; and some of
them, sickened at the frightful mutilation of the bodies they found
gave up altogether and dropped from sheer fatigue and exhaustion into
unconsciousness, despite the heroic encouragement of their director, a
man well used to great emergencies. Late afternoon found him still
organising and administering aid, with the assistance of two or three
Catholic priests who went about seeking to comfort and sustain those
who were passing "the line between." All the energetic helpers were
prepared to work all night, delving into the vast suddenly made grave
wherein were tumbled the living with the dead,--and it was verging
towards sunset when one of the priests, chancing to raise his eyes from
the chaos of earth around him to the clear and quiet sky, saw what at
first he took to be a great eagle with outspread wings soaring slowly
above the scene of devastation. It moved with singular lightness and
ease,--now and then appearing to pause as though seeking some spot
whereon to descend,--and after watching it for a minute or two he
called the attention of some of the men around him to its appearance.
They looked up wearily from their gruesome task of excavating the dead.
"That's an air-ship"--said one--"and a big thing, too!"
"An air-ship!" echoed the priest amazedly,--and then was silent, gazing
at the shining expanse of sky through which the bird-shaped vessel made
its leisurely way like the vision of a fairy tale more than any
reality. There was something weirdly terrible in the contrast it made,
moving so tranquilly through clear space in apparent safety, while down
below on the so-called "solid" earth, all nature had been convulsed and
overthrown. The wonderful result of human ingenuity as measured with
the remorseless action of natural forces seemed too startling to be
real to the mind of a Spanish priest who, despite all the evidences of
triumphant materialism, still clung to the Cross and kept his simple,
faithful soul high above the waves that threatened to engulf it.
Turning anew to his melancholy duties, he bent over a dying youth just
lifted from beneath a weight of stones that had crushed him. The boy's
fast glazing eyes were upturned to the sky.
"See the angel coming?" he whispered, thickly--"Never used to believe
in them!--but there's one sure enough! Glory--!" and his utterance
ceased for ever.
The priest crossed his hands upon his breast and said a prayer--then
again looked up to where the air-ship floated in the darkening blue. It
was now directly over the canon,--immediately above the huge rift made
by the earthquake, through which the clamorous rush of water poured.
While he watched it, it suddenly stood still, then dived slowly as
though bent on descending into the very depths of the gully. He could
not forbear uttering an exclamation, which made all the men about him
look in the direction where his own gaze was fixed.
"That air-ship's going to kingdom-come!" said one--"Nothing can save it
if it takes to nose-diving down there!"
They all stared amazed--but the dreadful work on which they were
engaged left them no time for consideration of any other matter. The
priest watched a few minutes longer, more or less held spell-bound with
a kind of terror, for he saw that without doubt the great vessel was
either purposely descending or being drawn into the vast abyss yawning
black beneath it, and that falling thus it must be inevitably doomed to
destruction. Whoever piloted it must surely be determined to invite
this frightful end to its voyage, for nothing was ever steadier or more
resolute than its downward movement towards the whirling waters that
rushed through the canon. All suddenly it disappeared, whelmed as it
seemed in darkness and the roaring flood, and the watching priest made
the sign of the cross in air murmuring--
"God have mercy on their souls!"
Had he been able to see what happened he might have thought that the
confused brain of the dying boy who had imagined the air-ship to be an
angel, was not so far wrong, for no romancer or teller of wild tales
could have pictured a stranger or more unearthly sight than the
wonderful "White Eagle" poised at ease amid the tossed-up clouds of
spray flung from the seething mass of waters, while at her prow stood a
woman fair as any fabled goddess--a woman reckless of all danger, and
keenly on the alert, with bright eyes searching every nook and cranny
that could be discerned through the mist. Clear above the roaring
torrent her voice rang like a silver trumpet as she called her
instructions to the two men who, equally defying every peril, had
ventured on this journey at her command,--Rivardi and Gaspard.
"Let her down very gently inch by inch!" she cried; "It must be here
that we should seek!"
In absolute silence they obeyed. Both had given themselves up for lost
and were resigned and ready to meet death at any moment. From the first
they had made no effort to resist Morgana's orders--she and they had
left Sicily at a couple of hours' notice--and their three days' journey
across the ocean had been accomplished without adventure or accident,
at such a speed that it was hardly to be thought of without a thrill of
horror. No information had been given them as to the object of their
long and rapid aerial voyage,--and only now when the "White Eagle,"
swooping over California, reached the scene of the terrific devastation
wrought by the earthquake did they begin to think they had submitted
their wills and lives to the caprice of a madwoman. However, there was
no drawing back,--nothing for it but still to obey,--for even in the
stress and terror naturally excited by their amazing position, they did
not fail to see that the great air-ship was steadily controlled, and
that whatever was the force controlling it, it maintained its level,
its mysterious vibrating discs still throbbing with vital and incessant
regularity. Apparently nothing could disturb its equilibrium or shatter
its mechanism. And, according to its woman-designer's command, they
lowered it gently till it was, so to say, almost immersed in the
torrent and covered with spray--indeed Morgana's light figure itself at
the prow looked like a fair spirit risen from the waters rather than
any form of flesh and blood, so wreathed and transfigured it was by the
dust of the ceaseless foam. She stood erect, bent on a quest that
seemed hopeless, watching every eddying curve of water,--every
flickering ripple,--her eyes, luminous as stars, searched the black and
riven rocks with an eager passion of discovery,--when all suddenly as
she gazed, a thin ray of light,--pure gold in colour,--struck sharply
like a finger-point on a shallow pool immediately below her. She looked
and uttered a cry, beckoning to Rivardi.
"Come! Come!"
He hurried to her side, Gaspard following. The pool on which her eyes
were fixed was shallow enough to show the pebbly bed beneath the
water--and there lay apparently two corpses--one of a man, the other of
a woman whose body was half flung across that of the man.
Morgana pointed to them.
"They must be brought up here!" she said, insistently--"You must lift
them! We have emergency ropes and pulleys--it is easily done! Why do
you hesitate?"
"Because you demand the impossible!" said Rivardi--"You send us to
death to rescue the already dead!"
She turned upon him with wrath in her eyes.
"You refuse to obey me?"
What a face confronted him! White as marble, and as terrible in
expression as that of a Medusa, it had a paralysing effect on his
nerves, and he shrank and trembled at her glance.
"You refuse to obey me?" she repeated--"Then--if you do--I destroy this
air-ship and ourselves in less than two minutes! Choose! Obey, and
live!--disobey and die!"
He staggered back from her in terror at her looks, which gave her a
supernatural beauty and authority. The "fey" woman was "fey"
indeed!--and the powers with which superstition endows the fairy folk
seemed now to invest her with irresistible influence.
"Choose!" she reiterated.
Without another word he turned to Gaspard, who in equal silence got out
the ropes and pulleys of which she had spoken. The air-ship stopped
dead--suspended immovably over the wild waters and almost hidden in
spray; and though the strange vibration of its multitudinous discs
continued in itself it was fixed as a rock. A smile sweet as sunshine
after storm changed and softened Morgana's features as she saw Rivardi
swing over the vessel's side to the pool below, while Gaspard unwound
the gear by which he would be able to lift and support the drowned
creatures he was bidden to bring.
"That's a true noble!" she exclaimed--"I knew your courage would not
fail! Believe me, no harm shall come to you!"
Inspirited by her words, he flung himself down--and raising the body of
the woman first, was entangled by the wet thick strands of her long
dark hair which, like sea-weed, caught about his feet and hands and
impeded his movements. He had time just to see a face white as marble
under the hair,--then he had enough to do to fasten ropes round the
body and push it upward while Gaspard pulled--both men doubting whether
the weight of it would not alter the balance of the air-ship despite
its extraordinary fixity of position. Morgana, bending over from the
vessel, watched every action,--she showed neither alarm nor impatience
nor anxiety--and when Gaspard said suddenly--
"It is easier than I thought it would be!" she merely smiled as if she
knew. Another few moments and the drowned woman's body was hauled into
the cabin of the ship, where Morgana knelt down beside it. Parting the
heavy masses of dark hair that enshrouded it she looked--and saw what
she had expected to see--the face of Manella Soriso. But it was the
death-mask of a face--strangely beautiful--but awful in its white
rigidity. Morgana bent over it anxiously, but only for a moment,
drawing a small phial from her bosom she forced a few drops of the
liquid it contained between the set lips, and with a tiny syringe
injected the same at the pulseless wrist and throat. While she busied
herself with these restorative measures, the second body,--that of the
man,--was landed almost at her feet--and she found herself gazing in a
sort of blank stupefaction at what seemed to be the graven image of
Roger Seaton. No effigy of stone ever looked colder, harder, greyer
than this inert figure of man,--uninjured apparently, for there were no
visible marks of wounds or bruises upon his features, which appeared
frozen into stiff rigidity, but a man as surely dead as death could
make him! Morgana heard, as in a far-off dream, the Marchese Rivardi
speaking--
"I have done your bidding because it was you who bade,"--he said, his
voice shaking with the tremor and excitement of his daring effort--"And
it was not so very difficult. But it is a vain rescue! They are past
recall."
Morgana looked up from her awed contemplation of Seaton's rigid form.
Her eyes were heavy with unshed tears.
"I think not,"--she said--"There is life in them--yes, there is life,
though for the time it is paralysed. But"--here she gave him the
loveliest smile of tenderness--"You brave Giulio!--you are exhausted
and wet through--attend to yourself first--then you can help me with
these unhappy ones--and you Gaspard,--Gaspard!"
"Here, Madama!"
"You have done so well!" she said--"Without fear or failure!"
"Only by God's mercy!" answered Gaspard--"If the rope had broken; if
the ship had lost balance--"
She smiled.
"So many 'ifs' Gaspard? Have I not told you it CANNOT lose balance? And
are not my words proved true? Now we have finished our rescue work we
may go--we can start at once--"
He looked at her.
"There is more weight on board!" he said meaningly, "If we are to carry
two dead bodies through the air, it may mean a heavenly funeral for all
of us! The 'White Eagle' has not been tested for heavy transport."
She heard him patiently,--then turned to Rivardi and repeated her
words--
"We can start at once. Steer upwards and onwards."
Like a man hypnotised he obeyed,--and in a few moments the air-ship,
answering easily to the helm, rose lightly as a bubble from the depths
of the canon, through the fiercely dashing showers of spray tossed by
the foaming torrent, and soared aloft, high and ever higher, as swiftly
as any living bird born for long and powerful flight. Night was
falling; and through the dense purple shadows of the Californian sky a
big white moon rose, bending ghost-like over the scene of destruction
and chaos, lighting with a pale glare the tired and haggard faces of
the relief men at their terrible work of digging out the living and the
dead from the vast pits of earth into which they had been suddenly
engulfed,--while far, far above them flew the "White Eagle," gradually
lessening in size through distance till it looked no bigger than a dove
on its homeward way. Some priests watching by a row of lifeless men,
women and children killed in the earthquake, chanted the "Nunc
Dimittis" as the evening grew darker,--and the only one among them who
had first seen the air-ship over the canon, where it fell, as it were
in the deep gulf surrounded by flood and foam, now raised his eyes in
wonderment as he perceived it once more soaring at liberty towards the
moon.
"Surely a miracle!" he ejaculated, under his breath--"An escape from
destruction through God's mercy! God be praised!"
And he crossed himself devoutly, joining in the solemn chanting of his
brethren, kneeling in the moonlight, which threw a ghastly lustre on
the dead faces of the victims of the earthquake,--victims not "struck
by the hand of God" but by the hand of man! And he who was responsible
for the blow lay unconscious of having dealt it, and was borne through
the air swiftly and safely away for ever from the tragic scene of the
ruin and desolation he had himself wrought.