This, however, must be a mistake; inasmuch as Mr.
Smooth-it-away, while we remained in the smoky and lurid cavern,
took occasion to prove that Tophet has not even a metaphorical
existence. The place, he assured us, is no other than the crater of
a half-extinct volcano, in which the Directors had caused forges to be
set up, for the manufacture of railroad iron. Hence, also, is obtained
a plentiful supply of fuel for the use of the engines. Whoever had
gazed into the dismal obscurity of the broad cavern-mouth, whence ever
and anon darted huge tongues of dusky flame- and had seen the strange,
half-shaped monsters, and visions of faces horribly grotesque, into
which the smoke seemed to wreathe itself- and had heard the awful
murmurs, and shrieks, and deep shuddering whispers of the blast,
sometimes forming themselves into words almost articulate- would
have seized upon Mr. Smooth-it-away's comfortable explanation, as
greedily as we did. The inhabitants of the cavern, moreover, were
unlovely personages, dark, smoke-begrimed, generally deformed, with
mis-shapen feet, and a glow of dusky redness in their eyes; as if
their hearts had caught fire, and were blazing out of the upper
windows. It struck me as a peculiarity, that the laborers at the
forge, and those who brought fuel to the engine, when they began to
draw short breath, positively emitted smoke from their mouth and
nostrils.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25