The night was hot and overcast, the sky red-rimmed with the lingering
sunset of midsummer. They sat at the open window, trying to fancy the
air was fresher there. The trees and shrubs of the garden stood stiff
and dark; beyond in the roadway a gas-lamp burnt, bright orange against
the hazy blue of the evening. Farther were the three lights of the
railway signal against the lowering sky. The man and woman spoke to one
another in low tones.
"He does not suspect?" said the man, a little nervously.
"Not he," she said peevishly, as though that too irritated her. "He
thinks of nothing but the works and the prices of fuel. He has no
imagination, no poetry."
"None of these men of iron have," he said sententiously. "They have no
hearts."
"_He_ has not," she said. She turned her discontented face towards the
window. The distant sound of a roaring and rushing drew nearer and
grew in volume; the house quivered; one heard the metallic rattle of
the tender. As the train passed, there was a glare of light above the
cutting and a driving tumult of smoke; one, two, three, four, five,
six, seven, eight black oblongs--eight trucks--passed across the dim
grey of the embankment, and were suddenly extinguished one by one in
the throat of the tunnel, which, with the last, seemed to swallow down
train, smoke, and sound in one abrupt gulp.
"This country was all fresh and beautiful once," he said; "and now--it
is Gehenna. Down that way--nothing but pot-banks and chimneys belching
fire and dust into the face of heaven.... But what does it matter? An
end comes, an end to all this cruelty.... _To-morrow._" He spoke the
last word in a whisper.
"_To-morrow_," she said, speaking in a whisper too, and still staring
out of the window.
"Dear!" he said, putting his hand on hers.
She turned with a start, and their eyes searched one another's. Hers
softened to his gaze. "My dear one!" she said, and then: "It seems
so strange--that you should have come into my life like this--to
open"-- She paused.
"To open?" he said.
"All this wonderful world"--she hesitated, and spoke still more
softly--"this world of _love_ to me."
Then suddenly the door clicked and closed. They turned their heads,
and he started violently back. In the shadow of the room stood a great
shadowy figure--silent. They saw the face dimly in the half-light, with
unexpressive dark patches under the penthouse brows. Every muscle in
Raut's body suddenly became tense. When could the door have opened?
What had he heard? Had he heard all? What had he seen? A tumult of
questions.
The new-comer's voice came at last, after a pause that seemed
interminable. "Well?" he said.
"I was afraid I had missed you, Horrocks," said the man at the window,
gripping the window-ledge with his hand. His voice was unsteady.
The clumsy figure of Horrocks came forward out of the shadow. He made
no answer to Raut's remark. For a moment he stood above them.
The woman's heart was cold within her. "I told Mr. Raut it was just
possible you might come back," she said, in a voice that never quivered.
Horrocks, still silent, sat down abruptly in the chair by her little
work-table. His big hands were clenched; one saw now the fire of his
eyes under the shadow of his brows. He was trying to get his breath.
His eyes went from the woman he had trusted to the friend he had
trusted, and then back to the woman.
By this time and for the moment all three half understood one another.
Yet none dared say a word to ease the pent-up things that choked them.
It was the husband's voice that broke the silence at last.
"You wanted to see me?" he said to Raut.
Raut started as he spoke. "I came to see you," he said, resolved to lie
to the last.
"Yes," said Horrocks.
"You promised," said Raut, "to show me some fine effects of moonlight
and smoke."
"I promised to show you some fine effects of moonlight and smoke,"
repeated Horrocks in a colourless voice.
"And I thought I might catch you to-night before you went down to the
works," proceeded Raut, "and come with you."
There was another pause. Did the man mean to take the thing coolly? Did
he after all know? How long had he been in the room? Yet even at the
moment when they heard the door, their attitudes.... Horrocks glanced
at the profile of the woman, shadowy pallid in the half-light. Then he
glanced at Raut, and seemed to recover himself suddenly. "Of course,"
he said, "I promised to show you the works under their proper dramatic
conditions. It's odd how I could have forgotten."
"If I am troubling you"--began Raut.
Horrocks started again. A new light had suddenly come into the sultry
gloom of his eyes. "Not in the least," he said.
"Have you been telling Mr. Raut of all these contrasts of flame and
shadow you think so splendid?" said the woman, turning now to her
husband for the first time, her confidence creeping back again, her
voice just one half-note too high. "That dreadful theory of yours
that machinery is beautiful, and everything else in the world ugly. I
thought he would not spare you, Mr. Raut. It's his great theory, his
one discovery in art."
"I am slow to make discoveries," said Horrocks grimly, damping her
suddenly. "But what I discover...." He stopped.
"Well?" she said.
"Nothing;" and suddenly he rose to his feet.
"I promised to show you the works," he said to Raut, and put his big,
clumsy hand on his friend's shoulder. "And you are ready to go?"
"Quite," said Raut, and stood up also.
There was another pause. Each of them peered through the indistinctness
of the dusk at the other two. Horrock's hand still rested on Raut's
shoulder. Raut half fancied still that the incident was trivial after
all. But Mrs. Horrocks knew her husband better, knew that grim quiet in
his voice, and the confusion in her mind took a vague shape of physical
evil. "Very well," said Horrocks, and, dropping his hand, turned
towards the door.
"My hat?" Raut looked round in the half-light.
"That's my work-basket," said Mrs. Horrocks, with a gust of hysterical
laughter. Their hands came together on the back of the chair. "Here it
is!" he said. She had an impulse to warn him in an undertone, but she
could not frame a word. "Don't go!" and "Beware of him!" struggled in
her mind, and the swift moment passed.
"Got it?" said Horrocks, standing with the door half open.
Raut stepped towards him. "Better say good-bye to Mrs. Horrocks," said
the ironmaster, even more grimly quiet in his tone than before.
Raut started and turned. "Good-evening, Mrs. Horrocks," he said, and
their hands touched.
Horrocks held the door open with a ceremonial politeness unusual in
him towards men. Raut went out, and then, after a wordless look at
her, her husband followed. She stood motionless while Raut's light
footfall and her husband's heavy tread, like bass and treble, passed
down the passage together. The front door slammed heavily. She went to
the window, moving slowly, and stood watching--leaning forward. The two
men appeared for a moment at the gateway in the road, passed under the
street lamp, and were hidden by the black masses of the shrubbery. The
lamplight fell for a moment on their faces, showing only unmeaning pale
patches, telling nothing of what she still feared, and doubted, and
craved vainly to know. Then she sank down into a crouching attitude in
the big arm-chair, her eyes wide open and staring out at the red lights
from the furnaces that flickered in the sky. An hour after she was
still there, her attitude scarcely changed.
The oppressive stillness of the evening weighed heavily upon Raut. They
went side by side down the road in silence, and in silence turned into
the cinder-made by-way that presently opened out the prospect of the
valley.
A blue haze, half dust, half mist, touched the long valley with
mystery. Beyond were Hanley and Etruria, grey and dark masses,
outlined thinly by the rare golden dots of the street lamps, and here
and there a gaslit window, or the yellow glare of some late-working
factory or crowded public-house. Out of the masses, clear and slender
against the evening sky, rose a multitude of tall chimneys, many of
them reeking, a few smokeless during a season of "play." Here and
there a pallid patch and ghostly stunted beehive shapes showed the
position of a pot-bank, or a wheel, black and sharp against the hot
lower sky, marked some colliery where they raise the iridescent coal
of the place. Nearer at hand was the broad stretch of railway, and
half invisible trains shunted--a steady puffing and rumbling, with
every run a ringing concussion and a rhythmic series of impacts, and a
passage of intermittent puffs of white steam across the further view.
And to the left, between the railway and the dark mass of the low hill
beyond, dominating the whole view, colossal, inky-black, and crowned
with smoke and fitful flames, stood the great cylinders of the Jeddah
Company Blast Furnaces, the central edifices of the big ironworks of
which Horrocks was the manager. They stood heavy and threatening, full
of an incessant turmoil of flames and seething molten iron, and about
the feet of them rattled the rolling-mills, and the steam-hammer beat
heavily and splashed the white iron sparks hither and thither. Even as
they looked, a truckful of fuel was shot into one of the giants, and
the red flames gleamed out, and a confusion of smoke and black dust
came boiling upwards towards the sky.
"Certainly you get some fine effects of colour with your furnaces,"
said Raut, breaking a silence that had become apprehensive.
Horrocks grunted. He stood with his hands in his pockets, frowning down
at the dim steaming railway and the busy ironworks beyond, frowning as
if he were thinking out some knotty problem.
Raut glanced at him and away again. "At present your moonlight effect
is hardly ripe," he continued, looking upward; "the moon is still
smothered by the vestiges of daylight."
Horrocks stared at him with the expression of a man who has suddenly
awakened. "Vestiges of daylight?... Of course, of course." He too
looked up at the moon, pale still in the midsummer sky. "Come along,"
he said suddenly, and, gripping Raut's arm in his hand, made a move
towards the path that dropped from them to the railway.
Raut hung back. Their eyes met and saw a thousand things in a moment
that their lips came near to say. Horrocks's hand tightened and then
relaxed. He let go, and before Raut was aware of it, they were arm in
arm, and walking, one unwillingly enough, down the path.
"You see the fine effect of the railway signals towards Burslem,"
said Horrocks, suddenly breaking into loquacity, striding fast and
tightening the grip of his elbow the while. "Little green lights
and red and white lights, all against the haze. You have an eye for
effect, Raut. It's a fine effect. And look at those furnaces of mine,
how they rise upon us as we come down the hill. That to the right is
my pet--seventy feet of him. I packed him myself, and he's boiled
away cheerfully with iron in his guts for five long years. I've a
particular fancy for _him_. That line of red there--a lovely bit of
warm orange you'd call it, Raut--that's the puddlers' furnaces, and
there, in the hot light, three black figures--did you see the white
splash of the steam-hammer then?--that's the rolling-mills. Come along!
Clang, clatter, how it goes rattling across the floor! Sheet tin,
Raut,--amazing stuff. Glass mirrors are not in it when that stuff comes
from the mill. And, squelch!--there goes the hammer again. Come along!"
He had to stop talking to catch at his breath. His arm twisted into
Raut's with benumbing tightness. He had come striding down the black
path towards the railway as though he was possessed. Raut had not
spoken a word, had simply hung back against Horrocks's pull with all
his strength.
"I say," he said now, laughing nervously, but with an undernote of
snarl in his voice, "why on earth are you nipping my arm off, Horrocks,
and dragging me along like this?"
At length Horrocks released him. His manner changed again. "Nipping
your arm off?" he said. "Sorry. But it's you taught me the trick of
walking in that friendly way."
"You haven't learnt the refinements of it yet then," said Raut,
laughing artificially again. "By Jove! I'm black and blue." Horrocks
offered no apology. They stood now near the bottom of the hill, close
to the fence that bordered the railway. The ironworks had grown larger
and spread out with their approach. They looked up to the blast
furnaces now instead of down; the further view of Etruria and Hanley
had dropped out of sight with their descent. Before them, by the stile,
rose a notice-board, bearing, still dimly visible, the words, "BEWARE
OF THE TRAINS," half hidden by splashes of coaly mud.
"Fine effects," said Horrocks, waving his arm. "Here comes a train. The
puffs of smoke, the orange glare, the round eye of light in front of
it, the melodious rattle. Fine effects! But these furnaces of mine used
to be finer, before we shoved cones in their throats, and saved the
gas."
"How?" said Raut. "Cones?"
"Cones, my man, cones. I'll show you one nearer. The flames used to
flare out of the open throats, great--what is it?--pillars of cloud by
day, red and black smoke, and pillars of fire by night. Now we run it
off in pipes, and burn it to heat the blast, and the top is shut by a
cone. You'll be interested in that cone."
"But every now and then," said Raut, "you get a burst of fire and smoke
up there."
"The cone's not fixed, it's hung by a chain from a lever, and balanced
by an equipoise. You shall see it nearer. Else, of course, there'd be
no way of getting fuel into the thing. Every now and then the cone
dips, and out comes the flare."
"I see," said Raut. He looked over his shoulder. "The moon gets
brighter," he said.
"Come along," said Horrocks abruptly, gripping his shoulder again, and
moving him suddenly towards the railway crossing. And then came one of
those swift incidents, vivid, but so rapid that they leave one doubtful
and reeling. Halfway across, Horrocks's hand suddenly clenched upon him
like a vice and swung him backward and through a half-turn, so that
he looked up the line. And there a chain of lamp-lit carriage-windows
telescoped swiftly as it came towards them, and the red and yellow
lights of an engine grew larger and larger, rushing down upon them.
As he grasped what this meant, he turned his face to Horrocks, and
pushed with all his strength against the arm that held him back between
the rails. The struggle did not last a moment. Just as certain as it
was that Horrocks held him there, so certain was it that he had been
violently lugged out of danger.
"Out of the way," said Horrocks, with a gasp, as the train came
rattling by, and they stood panting by the gate into the ironworks.
"I did not see it coming," said Raut, still, even in spite of his own
apprehensions, trying to keep up an appearance of ordinary intercourse.
Horrocks answered with a grunt. "The cone," he said, and then, as one
who recovers himself, "I thought you did not hear."
"I didn't," said Raut.
"I wouldn't have had you run over then for the world," said Horrocks.
"For a moment I lost my nerve," said Raut.
Horrocks stood for half a minute, then turned abruptly towards the
ironworks again. "See how fine these great mounds of mine, these
clinker-heaps, look in the night! That truck yonder, up above there!
Up it goes, and out-tilts the slag. See the palpitating red stuff go
sliding down the slope. As we get nearer, the heap rises up and cuts
the blast furnaces. See the quiver up above the big one. Not that
way! This way, between the heaps. That goes to the puddling furnaces,
but I want to show you the canal first." He came and took Raut by the
elbow, and so they went along side by side. Raut answered Horrocks
vaguely. What, he asked himself, had really happened on the line? Was
he deluding himself with his own fancies, or had Horrocks actually held
him back in the way of the train? Had he just been within an ace of
being murdered?
Suppose this slouching, scowling monster _did_ know anything? For a
minute or two then Raut was really afraid for his life, but the mood
passed as he reasoned with himself. After all, Horrocks might have
heard nothing. At anyrate, he had pulled him out of the way in time.
His odd manner might be due to the mere vague jealousy he had shown
once before. He was talking now of the ash-heaps and the canal. "Eigh?"
said Horrocks.
"What?" said Raut. "Rather! The haze in the moonlight. Fine!"
"Our canal," said Horrocks, stopping suddenly. "Our canal by moonlight
and firelight is an immense effect. You've never seen it? Fancy that!
You've spent too many of your evenings philandering up in Newcastle
there. I tell you, for real florid effects-- But you shall see. Boiling
water...."
As they came out of the labyrinth of clinker-heaps and mounds of coal
and ore, the noises of the rolling-mill sprang upon them suddenly,
loud, near, and distinct. Three shadowy workmen went by and touched
their caps to Horrocks. Their faces were vague in the darkness. Raut
felt a futile impulse to address them, and before he could frame
his words, they passed into the shadows. Horrocks pointed to the
canal close before them now: a weird-looking place it seemed, in the
blood-red reflections of the furnaces. The hot water that cooled the
tuyères came into it, some fifty yards up--a tumultuous, almost boiling
affluent, and the steam rose up from the water in silent white wisps
and streaks, wrapping damply about them, an incessant succession of
ghosts coming up from the black and red eddies, a white uprising that
made the head swim. The shining black tower of the larger blast-furnace
rose overhead out of the mist, and its tumultuous riot filled their
ears. Raut kept away from the edge of the water, and watched Horrocks.
"Here it is red," said Horrocks, "blood-red vapour as red and hot as
sin; but yonder there, where the moonlight falls on it, and it drives
across the clinker-heaps, it is as white as death."
Raut turned his head for a moment, and then came back hastily to his
watch on Horrocks. "Come along to the rolling-mills," said Horrocks.
The threatening hold was not so evident that time, and Raut felt a
little reassured. But all the same, what on earth did Horrocks mean
about "white as death" and "red as sin"? Coincidence, perhaps?
They went and stood behind the puddlers for a little while, and then
through the rolling-mills, where amidst an incessant din the deliberate
steam-hammer beat the juice out of the succulent iron, and black,
half-naked Titans rushed the plastic bars, like hot sealing-wax,
between the wheels. "Come on," said Horrocks in Raut's ear, and they
went and peeped through the little glass hole behind the tuyères, and
saw the tumbled fire writhing in the pit of the blast-furnace. It left
one eye blinded for a while. Then, with green and blue patches dancing
across the dark, they went to the lift by which the trucks of ore and
fuel and lime were raised to the top of the big cylinder.
And out upon the narrow rail that overhung the furnace, Raut's
doubts came upon him again. Was it wise to be here? If Horrocks did
know--everything! Do what he would, he could not resist a violent
trembling. Right under foot was a sheer depth of seventy feet. It was a
dangerous place. They pushed by a truck of fuel to get to the railing
that crowned the place. The reek of the furnace, a sulphurous vapour
streaked with pungent bitterness, seemed to make the distant hillside
of Hanley quiver. The moon was riding out now from among a drift of
clouds, half-way up the sky above the undulating wooded outlines
of Newcastle. The steaming canal ran away from below them under an
indistinct bridge, and vanished into the dim haze of the flat fields
towards Burslem.
"That's the cone I've been telling you of," shouted Horrocks; "and,
below that, sixty feet of fire and molten metal, with the air of the
blast frothing through it like gas in soda-water."
Raut gripped the hand-rail tightly, and stared down at the cone. The
heat was intense. The boiling of the iron and the tumult of the blast
made a thunderous accompaniment to Horrocks's voice. But the thing had
to be gone through now. Perhaps, after all....
"In the middle," bawled Horrocks, "temperature near a thousand degrees.
If _you_ were dropped into it ... flash into flame like a pinch of
gunpowder in a candle. Put your hand out and feel the heat of his
breath. Why, even up here I've seen the rain-water boiling off the
trucks. And that cone there. It's a damned sight too hot for roasting
cakes. The top side of it's three hundred degrees."
"Three hundred degrees!" said Raut.
"Three hundred centigrade, mind!" said Horrocks. "It will boil the
blood out of you in no time."
"Eigh?" said Raut, and turned.
"Boil the blood out of you in.... No, you don't!"
"Let me go!" screamed Raut. "Let go my arm!"
With one hand he clutched at the hand-rail, then with both. For a
moment the two men stood swaying. Then suddenly, with a violent jerk,
Horrocks had twisted him from his hold. He clutched at Horrocks and
missed, his foot went back into empty air; in mid-air he twisted
himself, and then cheek and shoulder and knee struck the hot cone
together.
He clutched the chain by which the cone hung, and the thing sank an
infinitesimal amount as he struck it. A circle of glowing red appeared
about him, and a tongue of flame, released from the chaos within,
flickered up towards him. An intense pain assailed him at the knees,
and he could smell the singeing of his hands. He raised himself to his
feet, and tried to climb up the chain, and then something struck his
head. Black and shining with the moonlight, the throat of the furnace
rose about him.
Horrocks, he saw, stood above him by one of the trucks of fuel on the
rail. The gesticulating figure was bright and white in the moonlight,
and shouting, "Fizzle, you fool! Fizzle, you hunter of women! You
hot-blooded hound! Boil! boil! boil!"
Suddenly he caught up a handful of coal out of the truck, and flung it
deliberately, lump after lump, at Raut.
"Horrocks!" cried Raut. "Horrocks!"
He clung crying to the chain, pulling himself up from the burning of
the cone. Each missile Horrocks flung hit him. His clothes charred
and glowed, and as he struggled the cone dropped, and a rush of hot
suffocating gas whooped out and burned round him in a swift breath of
flame.
His human likeness departed from him. When the momentary red had
passed, Horrocks saw a charred, blackened figure, its head streaked
with blood, still clutching and fumbling with the chain, and writhing
in agony--a cindery animal, an inhuman, monstrous creature that began a
sobbing intermittent shriek.
Abruptly, at the sight, the ironmaster's anger passed. A deadly
sickness came upon him. The heavy odour of burning flesh came drifting
up to his nostrils. His sanity returned to him.
"God have mercy upon me!" he cried. "O God! what have I done?"
He knew the thing below him, save that it still moved and felt, was
already a dead man--that the blood of the poor wretch must be boiling
in his veins. An intense realisation of that agony came to his mind,
and overcame every other feeling. For a moment he stood irresolute, and
then, turning to the truck, he hastily tilted its contents upon the
struggling thing that had once been a man. The mass fell with a thud,
and went radiating over the cone. With the thud the shriek ended, and
a boiling confusion of smoke, dust, and flame came rushing up towards
him. As it passed, he saw the cone clear again.
Then he staggered back, and stood trembling, clinging to the rail with
both hands. His lips moved, but no words came to them.
Down below was the sound of voices and running steps. The clangour of
rolling in the shed ceased abruptly.