Into the Darkness, Onward We Tread

By Brad Ulrich | December 22, 2010 | 3 Comments

“Steelkilt here hissed out something, inaudible to all but the Captain; who, to the amazement of all hands, started back, paced the deck rapidly two or three times, and then suddenly throwing down his rope, said, ‘I won’t do it—let him go—cut him down: d’ye hear?’ “But as the junior mates were hurrying to execute the order, a pale man, with a bandaged head, arrested them—Radney the chief mate. Ever since the blow, he had lain in his berth; but that morning, hearing the tumult on the deck, he had crept out, and thus far had watched the whole scene.

Such was the state of his mouth, that he could hardly speak; but mumbling something about his being willing and able to do what the captain dared not attempt, he snatched the rope and advanced to his pinioned foe.

“‘You are a coward!’ hissed the Lakeman. “‘So I am, but take that.’ The mate was in the very act of striking, when another hiss stayed his uplifted arm. He paused: and then pausing no more, made good his word, spite of Steelkilt’s threat, whatever that might have been. The three men were then cut down, all hands were turned to, and, sullenly worked by the moody seamen, the iron pumps clanged as before.

“Just after dark that day, when one watch had retired below, a clamor was heard in the forecastle; and the two trembling traitors running up, besieged the cabin door, saying they durst not consort with the crew. Entreaties, cuffs, and kicks could not drive them back, so at their own instance they were put down in the ship’s run for salvation. Still, no sign of mutiny reappeared among the rest.”

On the contrary, it seemed, that mainly at Steelkilt’s instigation, they had resolved to maintain the strictest peacefulness, obey all orders to the last, and, when the ship reached port, desert her in a body. But in order to insure the speediest end to the voyage, they all agreed to another thing—namely, not to sing out for whales, in case any should be discovered. For, spite of her leak, and spite of all her other perils, the Town-Ho still maintained her mast-heads, and her captain was just as willing to lower for a fish that moment, as on the day his craft first struck

Categories: Literature

Filter of Worlds, Jupiter Looms Ahead

By Brad Ulrich | December 22, 2010 | 0 Comments

“Now,” resumed Fix, “Mr. Fogg seems to be going back to England. Well, I will follow him there. But hereafter I will do as much to keep obstacles out of his way as I have done up to this time to put them in his path. I’ve changed my game, you see, and simply because it was for my interest to change it. Your interest is the same as mine; for it is only in England that you will ascertain whether you are in the service of a criminal or an honest man.” Passepartout listened very attentively to Fix, and was convinced that he spoke with entire good faith. “Are we friends?” asked the detective. “Friends?—no,” replied Passepartout; “but allies, perhaps.

At the least sign of treason, however, I’ll twist your neck for you.” “Agreed,” said the detective quietly. Eleven days later, on the 3rd of December, the General Grant entered the bay of the Golden Gate, and reached San Francisco. Mr. Fogg had neither gained nor lost a single day. It was seven in the morning when Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout set foot upon the American continent, if this name can be given to the floating quay upon which they disembarked. These quays, rising and falling with the tide, thus facilitate the loading and unloading of vessels. Alongside them were clippers of all sizes, steamers of all nationalities, and the steamboats, with several decks rising one above the other, which ply on the Sacramento and its tributaries.

There were also heaped up the products of a commerce which extends to Mexico, Chili, Peru, Brazil, Europe, Asia, and all the Pacific islands. Passepartout, in his joy on reaching at last the American continent, thought he would manifest it by executing a perilous vault in fine style; but, tumbling upon some worm-eaten planks, he fell through them. Put out of countenance by the manner in which he thus “set foot” upon the New World, he uttered a loud cry, which so frightened the innumerable cormorants and pelicans that are always perched upon these movable quays, that they flew noisily away.

Mr. Fogg, on reaching shore, proceeded to find out at what hour the first train left for New York, and learned that this was at six o’clock p.m.; he had, therefore, an entire day to spend in the Californian capital.

Categories: Sci-Fi

Pencils: More Than Just Wood and Lead

By Brad Ulrich | December 22, 2010 | 0 Comments

Between these three main centres of light–the houses, the train, and the burning county towards Chobham–stretched irregular patches of dark country, broken here and there by intervals of dimly glowing and smoking ground. It was the strangest spectacle, that black expanse set with fire. It reminded me, more than anything else, of the Potteries at night. At first I could distinguish no people at all, though I peered intently for them. Later I saw against the light of Woking station a number of black figures hurrying one after the other across the line.

And this was the little world in which I had been living securely for years, this fiery chaos! What had happened in the last seven hours I still did not know; nor did I know, though I was beginning to guess, the relation between these mechanical colossi and the sluggish lumps I had seen disgorged from the cylinder. With a queer feeling of impersonal interest I turned my desk chair to the window, sat down, and stared at the blackened country, and particularly at the three gigantic black things that were going to and fro in the glare about the sand pits.

They seemed amazingly busy. I began to ask myself what they could be. Were they intelligent mechanisms? Such a thing I felt was impossible. Or did a Martian sit within each, ruling, directing, using, much as a man’s brain sits and rules in his body? I began to compare the things to human machines, to ask myself for the first time in my life how an ironclad or a steam engine would seem to an intelligent lower animal.

The storm had left the sky clear, and over the smoke of the burning land the little fading pinpoint of Mars was dropping into the west, when a soldier came into my garden. I heard a slight scraping at the fence, and rousing myself from the lethargy that had fallen upon me, I looked down and saw him dimly, clambering over the palings. At the sight of another human being my torpor passed, and I leaned out of the window eagerly.

“Hist!” said I, in a whisper.

A Simple Filler Post

By Matt | December 22, 2010 | 0 Comments

Pellentesque eu est a nulla placerat dignissim. Morbi a enim in magna semper bibendum. Etiam scelerisque, nunc ac egestas consequat, odio nibh euismod nulla, eget auctor orci nibh vel nisi. Aliquam erat volutpat. Mauris vel neque sit amet nunc gravida congue sed sit amet purus. Quisque lacus quam, egestas ac tincidunt a, lacinia vel velit. Aenean facilisis nulla vitae urna tincidunt congue sed ut dui. Morbi malesuada nulla nec purus convallis consequat. Vivamus id mollis quam. Morbi ac commodo nulla.

In condimentum orci id nisl volutpat bibendum. Quisque commodo hendrerit lorem quis egestas. Maecenas quis tortor arcu. Vivamus rutrum nunc non neque consectetur quis placerat neque lobortis. Nam vestibulum, arcu sodales feugiat consectetur, nisl orci bibendum elit, eu euismod magna sapien ut nibh. Donec semper quam scelerisque tortor dictum gravida. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Nam pulvinar, odio sed rhoncus suscipit, sem diam ultrices mauris, eu consequat purus metus eu velit. Proin metus odio, aliquam eget molestie nec, gravida ut sapien. Phasellus quis est sed turpis sollicitudin venenatis sed eu odio. Praesent eget neque eu eros interdum malesuada non vel leo.

Sed fringilla porta ligula egestas tincidunt. Nullam risus magna, ornare vitae varius eget, scelerisque a libero. Morbi eu porttitor ipsum. Nullam lorem nisi, posuere quis volutpat eget, luctus nec massa. Pellentesque aliquam lacinia tellus sit amet bibendum. Ut posuere justo in enim pretium scelerisque. Etiam ornare vehicula euismod. Vestibulum at risus augue. Sed non semper dolor. Sed fringilla consequat.

Categories: Uncategorized

A Post with a Nice Title Length

By Matt | December 22, 2010 | 0 Comments

Nam pulvinar, odio sed rhoncus suscipit, sem diam ultrices mauris, eu consequat purus metus eu velit. Proin metus odio, aliquam eget molestie nec, gravida ut sapien. Phasellus quis est sed turpis sollicitudin venenatis sed eu odio. Praesent eget neque eu eros interdum malesuada non vel leo. Sed fringilla porta ligula egestas tincidunt. Nullam risus magna, ornare vitae varius eget, scelerisque a libero. Morbi eu porttitor ipsum. Nullam lorem nisi, posuere quis volutpat eget, luctus nec massa. Pellentesque aliquam lacinia tellus sit amet bibendum.

Ut posuere justo in enim pretium scelerisque. Etiam ornare vehicula euismod. Vestibulum at risus augue. Sed non semper dolor. Sed fringilla consequat velit a porta. Pellentesque sed lectus pharetra ipsum ultricies commodo non sit amet velit. Suspendisse volutpat lobortis ipsum, in scelerisque nisi iaculis a. Duis pulvinar lacinia commodo. Integer in lorem id nibh luctus aliquam. Sed elementum, est ac sagittis porttitor, neque metus ultricies ante, in accumsan massa nisl non metus. Vivamus sagittis quam a lacus dictum tempor. Nullam in.

Categories: Uncategorized