The Secret of the Earth

by Charles Willing Beale

"Yes, alone, for I am not able to move. Do you think you can reach it?"

"I will try; but do not get out of heart. If there is any water to be had I will find it. Yes, and I will bring it to you, dear boy. Don't give up. I promise."

"God bless you. If I could go I would, but I can't!" was all he said.

I then staggered down the ladder and wandered off, hardly knowing how or where, in search of water, for one drink of which I would have sacrificed the entire wealth of our cargo.

Keeping the dark cliffs in view, I bent my steps toward them with a strange misgiving.

The sand lay hot and deep in ridges, undulations, and depressions, like the swell of the ocean; characteristics which had not been so pronounced until I found myself crossing them afoot, and walking over waves into which I sank shoe deep at every step. Full of pain, and exhausted I plunged ahead, dazed and bewildered, conscious only that I was making the last effort for our salvation. On and on I trudged toward those terrible precipitous rocks ahead, at a rate which could not have carried me more than a couple of miles in a single hour; and at last I sank down exhausted to rest.

I looked about me. Where was the air ship? The vessel was nowhere in sight, and I wondered if I had come farther than I thought. It was impossible that the distance between us had made it invisible. The machine had simply disappeared from the face of the earth, suddenly and inexplicably.

In every direction the desert stretched, and above was the sky. It was impossible that Torrence could have repaired the damage without me, and sailed. I was bewildered, horrified. I felt that I was lost forever and irredeemably, for even my footsteps had been obliterated by the creeping of the sand, doubtless the effect of subterranean heat. I was crushed; and as I sat there, burning and aching in every inch of my body, and in mental agony as well, I cried.

Then I remembered the undulations of the plain, and was convinced that the air ship was lying in one of the hollows between them, just out of sight. Although this thought was comforting in one sense, it was not so in another, inasmuch as it did not relieve the situation. The vessel was as hopelessly lost as if she had sailed away without me. At least so I felt about it. I shouted as loud as possible, but at best could not have been heard a hundred yards, for my throat was parched and painful, and its power gone. Death seemed close at hand, and closer, perhaps, from a certain apathy which was stealing over me.

Stretching out at full length upon the sand, the cliffs beyond had an ominous look. There was no appearance of life, neither was there tree or bush to indicate the presence of water. Sheer cliffs, of unscalable form, towered above me. Like the ruin of some vast Titanic home the rocks were piled in huge masses, uncouth blocks and pinnacles, from the sandy depths beneath to the vapory heights above. The wind whispered through dark alleys and deserted passages, and at open casements; at least these sounds appeared to reach me in that awful solitude, and I was overpowered with the sense of a breathing, intelligent world around me.