I
should like to hear one of you trying to explain the cause, the reason,
the principle, the philosophy of such tremendous cataclysms!"
Barbican's only reply was a series of nods, for in truth he had not
heard a single word of Ardan's philosophic explosion. His ears were with
his eyes, and these were obstinately bent on the gigantic ramparts of
_Clavius_, formed of concentric mountain ridges, which were actually
leagues in depth. On the floor of the vast cavity, could be seen
hundreds of smaller craters, mottling it like a skimming dish, and
pierced here and there by sharp peaks, one of which could hardly be less
than 15,000 feet high.
All around, the plain was desolate in the extreme. You could not
conceive how anything could be barrener than these serrated outlines, or
gloomier than these shattered mountains--until you looked at the plain
that encircled them. Ardan hardly exaggerated when he called it the
scene of a battle fought thousands of years ago but still white with the
hideous bones of overthrown peaks, slaughtered mountains and mutilated
precipices!
"Hills amid the air encountered hills,
Hurled to and fro in jaculation dire,"
murmured M'Nicholl, who could quote you Milton quite as readily as the
Bible.
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