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The Angel Of The Revolution George Chetwynd Griffith

A Russian Raid

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Over them and the river hung a dense pall of bluish-white smoke, through which the Lucifer sent projectile after projectile in the attempt to sink the British ironclads. As those on board her could only judge by the flash of the guns, the aim was very imperfect, and several projectiles were wasted, falling into the sea and exploding there, throwing up mountains of water, but not doing any further damage. At length a brilliant green flash shot up through the smoke clouds over the river mouth.

"He's hit one of the ships at last!" exclaimed Tremayne, as he saw the flash. "It'll soon be all up with poor old Aberdeen."

"I don't think so," exclaimed Arnold. "At any rate the Lucifer won't do much more harm. There comes the storm at last! Back to the ships all of you at once, it's time to go aloft!"

As he spoke a brilliant flash of lightning split the inky clouds which had now risen high over the western hills, and a deep roll of thunder came echoing up the valleys as if in answer to the roar of the cannonade on the sea. The moment every one was on board, Arnold gave the signal to ascend. As soon as the fan-wheels had raised them a hundred feet from the ground he gave the signal for full speed ahead, and the three air-ships swept upwards to the west as though to meet the coming storm.

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The Angel Of The Revolution
George Chetwynd Griffith

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