Separated!
Straight on and on the two sets of battle-monsters came, their ugly
pointed forms half-concealed in puffs and streamers of black smoke.
Waving at the stern of one group, we could distinguish banners of
yellow and purple, while the other group displayed green and vermilion
flags; but otherwise it was hard to tell them apart. On the decks of
all the vessels alike we could see swarms of animated black specks;
from the curved tubes at their sides we observed darts of lightning
intermittently shooting; and meantime their rumbling and roaring made a
pandemonium as of a thousand locomotives in simultaneous action.
As they drew near each other, the two groups did not relax their speed.
Indeed, their pace was only accelerated! With the velocity of motor
cars on a highway, they raced to within a few hundred yards of each
other, as if intending to ram and destroy. There came a prodigious
hissing of steam as they rolled toward the death-grip; for a moment,
the five rushing monsters were obscured amid clouds of vapor, through
which the blue and yellow lightnings flared in innumerable bolts. Then
our aching ears caught the shock of a concussion so severe that for a
second we were stunned; then other shocks, equally severe, followed one
upon the other, as though a mile high giant were delivering blows with
a sledgehammer; then, while the earth reeled and staggered, we were too
dazed to be aware of anything except a stupendous uproar and commotion.
But by slow degrees, the din subsided. By slow degrees, the wavering
ground regained its balance. Bewildered and still trembling, Clay and
I nerved ourselves to peer out again across the cavern edge. Yet for
a minute we saw nothing; the depths of the canyon were blanketed in
a fuming yellow vapor which obscured everything like a heavy fog and
tormented our nostrils with acrid odors.
Owing to our physical discomfort, we did not know how or when the mists
were dissipated. But when at last Clay leaned across the cavern edge
once more, he uttered a surprised "Battle over! Say, it looks like a
tie!"
"Like a tie?" I echoed, staring into the pit. "But where under
Heaven--where under Heaven are the fighters?"
"There aren't any more fighters!" mumbled Clay--and this was the
literal truth. The great battle machines, which had snorted and
thundered so violently a few minutes before, were no longer to be seen!
Instead, we looked out upon a spectacle of wild devastation. The rocky
ground, plowed up and torn as by Titanic dredges, had been beaten into
ridges and furrows like the waves of a stormy sea; the opposite canyon
wall had been wrecked as if with dynamite, and great masses of broken
boulders were heaped up where the porthole-like openings had stared.
But were there no signs at all of the land-battleships? Yes--here and
there along the scarred and charred pit-floor, we saw twisted rods and
wires! Here and there were bent and dented iron plates; here and there
were contorted coils, broken rods, fragments of wheels and axles--mute
testimonials to the fate of those five battle monarchs!
For a long while we gaped in silence at that desolate battlefield. How
inconceivably powerful were these mysterious people of the depths!
What gigantic forces they controlled to be able to blow up huge steel
vessels like toys! In contemplation of such unheard-of might, I felt
overwhelmed with awe, and I felt crushed, humbled by my own feebleness.
But quite different was Clay's reaction. I saw his lower lip curl in a
faintly contemptuous expression as he spoke.
"You know, Frank, what I'm beginning to think? These caves are
inhabited by a lot of crazy men--blank, raving lunatics, the whole set
of them! Why, if they had the sense of a two-year-old, they'd know
enough not to fight when they'd all be blown to smithereens!"
"Looks that way, doesn't it?" I conceded, begrudgingly. "But how could
we expect to have any wars at all, if every one had the sense of a
two-year-old?"
Clay opened his mouth to reply. But before he could utter a word, an
event occurred that turned our thoughts to other subjects.
* * * * *
From the cavern walls opposite us, where the little round openings had
not been blown away in the recent engagement, a shaft of red lightning
leapt, striking not many yards below us with an ear-splitting din. And
almost instantly another bolt shot out, and another, and another still,
each of them coming nearer us than the last, while our ears rang with
the heavy explosive uproar. That we were not killed instantly was due
more to luck than to our swift action.
Yet we were not slow about rising and fleeing. Startled as we were, we
realized the nature of the onslaught. We had been seen, mistaken for
enemies, and fired upon! Hostile marksmen, armed with thunderbolts,
were seeking our lives!
Even as we sprang up and away, a deafening crash resounded at our
heels, and we knew that the ledge where we had lain had been hit and
shattered. The next instant, as we darted along the gallery, an even
louder crash burst forth, and a huge rocky mass, dislodged from the
gallery roof, came roaring and clattering down almost at our feet.
In that desperate crisis, it was each for himself. As if by instinct,
I knew that if I remained in that main passageway a second longer, I
would be struck and killed; as if by instinct, I turned in my flight
and darted off into the shelter of one of the many side-galleries.
And such was the impulse of my terror that I did not halt even when
reaching this relative safety, but kept on at full speed down the
vaguely lighted corridor, until at last my panting breath and pounding
heart forced me to stop.
Then, wheeling about, I was swept by a new rush of alarm. Where was
Clay?
In the fury of my panic, I had forgotten him. And now he was not to be
seen!
"Phil! Phil!" I cried, suddenly aware of an aloneness, an isolation
such as I had never felt before. "Phil! Phil! Phil!"
But my words rang uncannily down the dim gallery, with echoes like
devil's mockery. "Phil! Phil! Phil! Where are you, Phil? Where are
you?" I shouted again and again. But still only the echoes came back to
me, like the voice of my own despair, "Where are you, Phil? Where are
you?"
And then, as I still called without reply, there came a thought that
all but paralyzed me with dread. What if my friend had not been so
fortunate as I? What if he had been hit by one of the death-bolts?
As this new fear shot over me, I raised my voice more loudly than ever,
"Phil! Phil! _Phil!_ Answer me, Phil! Where are you? Where are you?"
As though the sound of my own shouts would still the tumult storming
within me!
Furiously I retraced my footsteps. Back along the side-gallery I
dashed, back to the main corridor where I had last seen my old chum.
"Phil! Phil! Phil! Where are you?" I still shouted as I approached;
and my heart sank as my voice, husky from the strain, cried out those
unavailing words.
Then, with a final throb of expectation, I entered the corridor and
started out across its greenish-yellow spaces. And, as I did so, I
gave a gasp, and hope died within me. The gallery was empty! Clay was
nowhere to be seen!