章节正文
"None."
"The aeroplanes are clumsy," he said thoughtfully,
"compared with the aeropiles."
He turned suddenly to Helen. His decision was
made. "I must do it."
"Do what? "
"Go to this flying stage--to this aeropile."
"What do you mean?"
"I am an aeronaut. After all--. Those days for
which you reproached me were
wasted."
He turned to the old man in yellow.
put the aeropile upon the guides."
The man in yellow hesitated.
"What do you mean to do?" cried Helen.
"This aeropile--it is a chance--."
"You don't mean--?"
"To fight--yes. To fight in the air. I have
thought before--. An aeroplane is a clumsy thing.
A resolute man--!"
"But--never since flying began--" cried the man
in yellow.
"There has been no need. But now the time has
come. Tell them now--send them my message--to
put it upon the guides."
The old man dumbly interrogated the man in yellow,
nodded, and hurried out.
Helen made a step towards Graham. Her face was
white." But--How can one fight? You will be
killed."
"Perhaps. Yet, not to do it--or to let someone
else attempt it--."
He stopped, he could speak no more, he swept the
alternative aside by a gesture, and they stood looking
at one another.
"You are right," she said at last in a low tone.
"You are right. If it can be done. . .
must go."
Those days for
not altogether
He moved a step towards her, and she stepped back,
her white face struggled against him and resisted him.
"No," she gasped. "I cannot bear--. Go now."
He extended his hands stupidly. She clenched her
fists. "Go now," she cried. "Go now."
He hesitated and understood. He threw his hands
up in a queer half-theatrical gesture. He had no word
to say. He turned from her.
The man in yellow moved towards the door with
clumsybelated tact. But Graham stepped past him.
He went striding through the room where the Ward
Leader bawled at a telephone directing that the aeropile
should be put upon the guides.
The man in yellow glanced at Helen's still figure,
hesitated and hurried after him. Graham did not once
look back, he did not speak until the curtain of the
ante-chamber of the great hall fell behind him. Then
he turned his head with curt swift directions upon his
bloodless lips.
CHAPTER XIV
THE COMING OF THE AEROPLANES
Two men in pale blue were Iying in the irregular
line that stretched along the edge of the captured
Roehampton stage from end to end, grasping their
carbines and peering into the shadows of the stage called
Wimbledon Park. Now and then they spoke to one
another. They spoke the mutilated English of their
class and period. The fire of the Ostrogites had
dwindled and ceased, and few of the enemy had been
seen for some time. But the echoes of the fight that
was going on now far below in the lower galleries of
that stage, came every now and then between the
staccato of shots from the popular side. One of these
men was describing to the other how he had seen a
man down below there dodge behind a girder, and had
aimed at a guess and hit him cleanly as he dodged too
far "He's down there still," said the marksman.
"See that little patch. Yes. Between those bars."
A few yards behind them lay a dead stranger, face
upward to the sky, with the blue canvas of his jacket
smoldering in a circle about the neat bullet hole on
his chest. Close beside him a wounded man, with a
leg swathed about, sat with an expressionless face and
watched the progress of that burning. Gigantic behind
them, athwart the carrier lay the captured aeropile.
"I can't see him now," said the second man in a ton
of provocation.
The marksman became foul-mouthed and high-
voiced in his earnestendeavour to make things plain
And suddenly, interrupting him, came a noisy
shouting from the substage.
"What's going on now," he said, and raised himself
on one arm to stare at the stairheads in the central
groove of the stage. A number of blue figures were
coming up these, and swarming across the stage to the
aeropile.
"We don't want all these fools," said his friend.
"They only crowd up and spoil shots. What are they
after? "
"Ssh!--they're shouting something."
The two men listened. The swarming new-comers
had crowdeddensely about the aeropile. Three Ward
Leaders, conspicuous by their black mantles and
badges, clambered into the body and appeared above
it. The rank and file flung themselves upon the vans,
gripping hold of the edges, until the entire outline of
the thing was manned, in some places three deep. One
of the marksmen knelt up. "They're putting it on the
carrier--that's what they're after."
He rose to his feet, his friend rose also. "What's
the good? " said his friend. "We've got no aeronauts."
"That's what they're doing anyhow." He looked at
his rifle, looked at the struggling crowd, and suddenly
turning to the wounded man. "Mind these, mate," he
said, handing his carbine and cartridge belt; and in a
moment he was running towards the aeropile. For a
quarter of an hour he was a perspiring Titan, lugging,
thrusting, shouting and heeding shouts, and then the
thing was done, and he stood with a multitude of
others cheering their own achievement. By this time
he knew, what indeed everyone in the city knew, that
the Master, raw learner though he was, intended to fly
this machine himself, was coming even now to take
control of it, would let no other man attempt it. "He
who takes the greatest danger, he who bears the
heaviest burden, that man is King," so the Master
was reported to have spoken. And even as this
man cheered, and while the beads of sweat still
chased one another from the disorder of his hair, he
heard the thunder of a greater tumult, and in fitful
snatches the beat and impulse of the revolutionary
song. He saw through a gap in the people that a thick
stream of heads still poured up the stairway. "The
Master is coming," shouted voices, "the Master is
coming," and the crowd about him grew denser and
denser. He began to thrust himself towards the
central groove. "The Master is coming!" "The Sleeper,
the Master!" "God and the Master!" roared the
Voices.
And suddenly quite close to him were the black uniforms o
f the revolutionary guard, and for the first and
last time in his life he saw Graham, saw him quite
nearly. A tall, dark man in a flowing black robe, with
a white, resolute face and eyes fixed steadfastly before
him; a man who for all the little things about him
held neither ears nor eyes nor thoughts. . . . For
all his days that man remembered the passing of
Graham's bloodless face. In a moment it had gone and
he was fighting in the swaying crowd. A lad weeping
with terrorthrust against him, pressing towards
the stairways, yelling "Clear for the aeropile!" The
bell that clears the flying stage became a loud
unmelodious clanging.
With that clanging in his ears Graham drew near
the aeropile, marched into the shadow of its tilting
wing. He became aware that a number of people
about him were offering to accompany him, and waved
their offers aside. He wanted to think how one
started the engine. The bell clanged faster and faster,
and the feet of the retreating people roared faster and
louder. The man in yellow was assisting him to mount
through the ribs of the body. He clambered into the
aeronaut's place, fixing himself very carefully and
deliberately. What was it? The man in yellow was
pointing to two aeropiles driving upward in the
southern sky. No doubt they were looking for the coming
aeroplanes. That--presently--the thing to do now
was to start. Things were being shouted at him,
questions, warnings. They bothered him. He wanted to
think about the aeropile, to recall every item of his
previous experience. He waved the people from him,
saw the man in yellow dropping off through the ribs,
saw the crowd cleft down the line of the girders by his
gesture.
For a moment he was motionless, staring at the
levers, the wheel by which the engine shifted, and all
the delicate appliances of which he knew so little. His
eye caught a spirit level with the bubble towards him,
and he remembered something, spent a dozen seconds
in swinging the engine forward until the bubble floated
in the centre of the tube. He noted that the people
were not shouting, knew they watched his deliberation.
A bullet smashed on the bar above his head. Who
fired? Was the line clear of people? He stood up to
see and sat down again.
In another second the propeller was spinning, and
he was rushing down the guides. He gripped the
wheel and swung the engine back to lift the stem.
Then it was the people shouted. In a moment he was
throbbing with the quiver of the engine, and the shouts
dwindled swiftly behind, rushed down to silence.
The wind whistled over the edges of the screen, and
the world sank away from him very swiftly.
Throb, throb, throb--throb, throb, throb; up he
drove. He fancied himself free of all excitement, felt
cool and deliberate. He lifted the stem still more,
opened one valve on his left wing and swept round and
up. He looked down with a steady head, and up. One
of the Ostrogite aeropiles was driving across his course,
so that he drove obliquely towards it and would pass
below it at a steep angle. Its little aeronauts were
"The aeroplanes are clumsy," he said thoughtfully,
"compared with the aeropiles."
He turned suddenly to Helen. His decision was
made. "I must do it."
"Do what? "
"Go to this flying stage--to this aeropile."
"What do you mean?"
"I am an aeronaut. After all--. Those days for
which you reproached me were
wasted."
He turned to the old man in yellow.
put the aeropile upon the guides."
The man in yellow hesitated.
"What do you mean to do?" cried Helen.
"This aeropile--it is a chance--."
"You don't mean--?"
"To fight--yes. To fight in the air. I have
thought before--. An aeroplane is a clumsy thing.
A resolute man--!"
"But--never since flying began--" cried the man
in yellow.
"There has been no need. But now the time has
come. Tell them now--send them my message--to
put it upon the guides."
The old man dumbly interrogated the man in yellow,
nodded, and hurried out.
Helen made a step towards Graham. Her face was
white." But--How can one fight? You will be
killed."
"Perhaps. Yet, not to do it--or to let someone
else attempt it--."
He stopped, he could speak no more, he swept the
alternative aside by a gesture, and they stood looking
at one another.
"You are right," she said at last in a low tone.
"You are right. If it can be done. . .
must go."
Those days for
not altogether
He moved a step towards her, and she stepped back,
her white face struggled against him and resisted him.
"No," she gasped. "I cannot bear--. Go now."
He extended his hands stupidly. She clenched her
fists. "Go now," she cried. "Go now."
He hesitated and understood. He threw his hands
up in a queer half-theatrical gesture. He had no word
to say. He turned from her.
The man in yellow moved towards the door with
clumsybelated tact. But Graham stepped past him.
He went striding through the room where the Ward
Leader bawled at a telephone directing that the aeropile
should be put upon the guides.
The man in yellow glanced at Helen's still figure,
hesitated and hurried after him. Graham did not once
look back, he did not speak until the curtain of the
ante-chamber of the great hall fell behind him. Then
he turned his head with curt swift directions upon his
bloodless lips.
CHAPTER XIV
THE COMING OF THE AEROPLANES
Two men in pale blue were Iying in the irregular
line that stretched along the edge of the captured
Roehampton stage from end to end, grasping their
carbines and peering into the shadows of the stage called
Wimbledon Park. Now and then they spoke to one
another. They spoke the mutilated English of their
class and period. The fire of the Ostrogites had
dwindled and ceased, and few of the enemy had been
seen for some time. But the echoes of the fight that
was going on now far below in the lower galleries of
that stage, came every now and then between the
staccato of shots from the popular side. One of these
men was describing to the other how he had seen a
man down below there dodge behind a girder, and had
aimed at a guess and hit him cleanly as he dodged too
far "He's down there still," said the marksman.
"See that little patch. Yes. Between those bars."
A few yards behind them lay a dead stranger, face
upward to the sky, with the blue canvas of his jacket
smoldering in a circle about the neat bullet hole on
his chest. Close beside him a wounded man, with a
leg swathed about, sat with an expressionless face and
watched the progress of that burning. Gigantic behind
them, athwart the carrier lay the captured aeropile.
"I can't see him now," said the second man in a ton
of provocation.
The marksman became foul-mouthed and high-
voiced in his earnestendeavour to make things plain
And suddenly, interrupting him, came a noisy
shouting from the substage.
"What's going on now," he said, and raised himself
on one arm to stare at the stairheads in the central
groove of the stage. A number of blue figures were
coming up these, and swarming across the stage to the
aeropile.
"We don't want all these fools," said his friend.
"They only crowd up and spoil shots. What are they
after? "
"Ssh!--they're shouting something."
The two men listened. The swarming new-comers
had crowdeddensely about the aeropile. Three Ward
Leaders, conspicuous by their black mantles and
badges, clambered into the body and appeared above
it. The rank and file flung themselves upon the vans,
gripping hold of the edges, until the entire outline of
the thing was manned, in some places three deep. One
of the marksmen knelt up. "They're putting it on the
carrier--that's what they're after."
He rose to his feet, his friend rose also. "What's
the good? " said his friend. "We've got no aeronauts."
"That's what they're doing anyhow." He looked at
his rifle, looked at the struggling crowd, and suddenly
turning to the wounded man. "Mind these, mate," he
said, handing his carbine and cartridge belt; and in a
moment he was running towards the aeropile. For a
quarter of an hour he was a perspiring Titan, lugging,
thrusting, shouting and heeding shouts, and then the
thing was done, and he stood with a multitude of
others cheering their own achievement. By this time
he knew, what indeed everyone in the city knew, that
the Master, raw learner though he was, intended to fly
this machine himself, was coming even now to take
control of it, would let no other man attempt it. "He
who takes the greatest danger, he who bears the
heaviest burden, that man is King," so the Master
was reported to have spoken. And even as this
man cheered, and while the beads of sweat still
chased one another from the disorder of his hair, he
heard the thunder of a greater tumult, and in fitful
snatches the beat and impulse of the revolutionary
song. He saw through a gap in the people that a thick
stream of heads still poured up the stairway. "The
Master is coming," shouted voices, "the Master is
coming," and the crowd about him grew denser and
denser. He began to thrust himself towards the
central groove. "The Master is coming!" "The Sleeper,
the Master!" "God and the Master!" roared the
Voices.
And suddenly quite close to him were the black uniforms o
f the revolutionary guard, and for the first and
last time in his life he saw Graham, saw him quite
nearly. A tall, dark man in a flowing black robe, with
a white, resolute face and eyes fixed steadfastly before
him; a man who for all the little things about him
held neither ears nor eyes nor thoughts. . . . For
all his days that man remembered the passing of
Graham's bloodless face. In a moment it had gone and
he was fighting in the swaying crowd. A lad weeping
with terrorthrust against him, pressing towards
the stairways, yelling "Clear for the aeropile!" The
bell that clears the flying stage became a loud
unmelodious clanging.
With that clanging in his ears Graham drew near
the aeropile, marched into the shadow of its tilting
wing. He became aware that a number of people
about him were offering to accompany him, and waved
their offers aside. He wanted to think how one
started the engine. The bell clanged faster and faster,
and the feet of the retreating people roared faster and
louder. The man in yellow was assisting him to mount
through the ribs of the body. He clambered into the
aeronaut's place, fixing himself very carefully and
deliberately. What was it? The man in yellow was
pointing to two aeropiles driving upward in the
southern sky. No doubt they were looking for the coming
aeroplanes. That--presently--the thing to do now
was to start. Things were being shouted at him,
questions, warnings. They bothered him. He wanted to
think about the aeropile, to recall every item of his
previous experience. He waved the people from him,
saw the man in yellow dropping off through the ribs,
saw the crowd cleft down the line of the girders by his
gesture.
For a moment he was motionless, staring at the
levers, the wheel by which the engine shifted, and all
the delicate appliances of which he knew so little. His
eye caught a spirit level with the bubble towards him,
and he remembered something, spent a dozen seconds
in swinging the engine forward until the bubble floated
in the centre of the tube. He noted that the people
were not shouting, knew they watched his deliberation.
A bullet smashed on the bar above his head. Who
fired? Was the line clear of people? He stood up to
see and sat down again.
In another second the propeller was spinning, and
he was rushing down the guides. He gripped the
wheel and swung the engine back to lift the stem.
Then it was the people shouted. In a moment he was
throbbing with the quiver of the engine, and the shouts
dwindled swiftly behind, rushed down to silence.
The wind whistled over the edges of the screen, and
the world sank away from him very swiftly.
Throb, throb, throb--throb, throb, throb; up he
drove. He fancied himself free of all excitement, felt
cool and deliberate. He lifted the stem still more,
opened one valve on his left wing and swept round and
up. He looked down with a steady head, and up. One
of the Ostrogite aeropiles was driving across his course,
so that he drove obliquely towards it and would pass
below it at a steep angle. Its little aeronauts were
- gesture [´dʒestʃə]
n.手势 v.打手势 (初中英语单词) - canvas [´kænvəs] n.帆布；油画(布) (初中英语单词)
- circle [´sə:kəl] n.圆圈 v.环绕；盘旋 (初中英语单词)
- bullet [´bulit] n.子弹 (初中英语单词)
- earnest [´ə:nist] a.认真的 n.认真；诚恳 (初中英语单词)
- endeavour [in´devə] n.&v.努力，试图，尽力 (初中英语单词)
- outline [´autlain] n.外形 vt.画出...轮廓 (初中英语单词)
- running [´rʌniŋ] a.奔跑的；流动的 (初中英语单词)
- multitude [´mʌltitju:d] n.大群(批)；众多 (初中英语单词)
- achievement [ə´tʃi:vmənt] n.完成；成就，成绩 (初中英语单词)
- everyone [´evriwʌn] pron.=everybody 每人 (初中英语单词)
- spoken [´spəukən] speak的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- thunder [´θʌndə] n.雷 vi.打雷 vt.吼出 (初中英语单词)
- impulse [´impʌls] n.推动(力)；冲动；刺激 (初中英语单词)
- thrust [θrʌst] v.&n.猛推；冲；刺；挤进 (初中英语单词)
- terror [´terə] n.恐怖；惊骇 (初中英语单词)
- upward [´ʌpwəd] a.&ad.向上(的)；以上 (初中英语单词)
- delicate [´delikət] a.精美的；微妙的 (初中英语单词)
- bubble [´bʌbəl] n.水泡 vi.冒泡；沸腾 (初中英语单词)
- quiver [´kwivə] v.抖动 n.颤动(声) (初中英语单词)
- swiftly [´swiftli] ad.迅速地，敏捷地 (初中英语单词)
- screen [skri:n] n.银幕 vt.遮蔽 (初中英语单词)
- excitement [ik´saitmənt] n.兴奋；骚动；煽动 (初中英语单词)
- aeroplane [´eərəplein] n.飞机 (高中英语单词)
- clumsy [´klʌmzi] a.笨拙的；粗俗的 (高中英语单词)
- hurried [´hʌrid] a.仓促的，慌忙的 (高中英语单词)
- gigantic [dʒai´gæntik] a.巨大的 (高中英语单词)
- carrier [´kæriə] n.搬运工人；托架 (高中英语单词)
- crowded [´kraudid] a.充(拥)满了的 (高中英语单词)
- conspicuous [kən´spikjuəs] a.显著的；出众的 (高中英语单词)
- disorder [dis´ɔ:də] n.杂乱 vt.扰乱 (高中英语单词)
- tumult [´tju:mʌlt, ´tu:-] n.喧哗；激昂；烦乱 (高中英语单词)
- revolutionary [,revə´lu:ʃənəri] a.革命的 n.革命者 (高中英语单词)
- offering [´ɔfəriŋ] n.提供；礼物；捐献 (高中英语单词)
- motionless [´məuʃənləs] a.静止的；固定的 (高中英语单词)
- spinning [´spiniŋ] n.纺织 a.纺织品的 (高中英语单词)
- deliberate [di´libəreit] a.慎重的；故意的 (高中英语单词)
- resolute [´rezəlu:t] a.坚决的；不屈不挠的 (英语四级单词)
- graham [´greiəm] a.&n.用全麦粉做的 (英语四级单词)
- cleanly [´kli:nli] ad.清洁地；干净地 (英语四级单词)
- stairway [´steəwei] n.楼梯 (英语四级单词)
- groove [gru:v] n.槽 vt.在...作槽 (英语四级单词)
- extended [iks´tendid] a.伸长的；广大的 (英语六级单词)
- belated [bi´leitid] a.延误的；遗留的 (英语六级单词)
- densely [´densli] ad.密集地；浓厚地 (英语六级单词)
- cartridge [´kɑ:tridʒ] n.弹药筒；子弹 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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