Nuit Blanche
The aeroplane which carried me southward alighted on the Hendon
flying-ground when dusk was falling. As we crossed Hertfordshire I had
seen in front of me, to the south-east, a great pall of cloud which
seemed to hang above the city; and as the daylight faded, this curtain
became lit up with a red glow like the sky above a blast-furnace.
When we landed, I found that all arrangements had already been made by
Nordenholt; for after I had removed my flying kit an untidy-looking,
unshaven man made his appearance, who introduced himself as my guide
for the night. He advised me to have a meal and try to snatch a little
sleep before we started. We dined together in one of the buildings--for
Nordenholt had spared the Hendon aerodrome in the general destruction
of the exodus, though he had burned all the aeroplanes which were
there at the time--and during the meal my guide gave me hints as to my
behaviour while I was under his charge, so that I might not attract
attention under the new conditions. Above all, he warned me not to show
any surprise at anything I might see.
After I had dozed for a time, he reappeared and insisted on rubbing
some burnt cork well into my skin under the eyes and on my cheeks, and
also giving my hands and the rest of my face a lighter treatment with
the same medium.
“You look far too well-fed and clean to pass muster here. There’s very
little soap left now; and most of us don’t shave. Must make you look
the part.”
He handed me two ·45 Colt pistols and a couple of loaded spare
magazines.
“Shove these extra cartridges into a handy pocket as well. The Colts
are loaded and there’s an extra cartridge in the breech of each. That
gives you eighteen shots without reloading; and sixteen more when you
snick in the fresh magazines. You know how to do it? Pull down the
safety catches. If you have to shoot, shoot at once; and shoot in any
case of doubt. Don’t stop to argue.”
A motor-car was waiting for us with two men in the front seats. The
glass of the wind-screen bore a small square of paper with a red cross
printed on the white ground; and I saw that one of the side-light
glasses had been painted a peculiar colour. My guide and I climbed
into the back seats and the car moved off. When we passed out of the
aerodrome I observed that the entrance was defended by machine-guns;
and a large flag of some coloured bunting was flown on a short staff.
As it waved in the air, I caught the letters “PLAGUE” on it.
“To keep off visitors,” said my guide. “By the way, my name’s Glendyne.
Oh, by Jove, I’ve forgotten something important.”
He took out of the door-pocket a couple of armlets with the Red Cross
on them and fastened one on my left arm, putting the other one on
himself. I gathered that they formed part of his disguise.
It was night now. The sky was clear except for some clouds on the
horizon and the full moon was up, so that we hardly needed the
head-lights to see our way. Again I noticed the peculiar red glow which
I had seen from the aeroplane; but now, being nearer, I saw flickerings
in it. There were no artificial lights, either of gas or electricity,
in the streets through which we passed. Very occasionally I saw human
forms moving in the distance; but they were too far off for me to
distinguish what sort of person was abroad. In the main, the figures
which I espied were reclining on the ground, some singly, others in
groups; and for a time I did not realise that these were corpses.
We soon diverged from the main road and drove through a series of
by-streets in which I lost my sense of direction until at last I
discovered that we were passing the old Cavalry Barracks in Albany
Street.
“Halt!”
The car drew up suddenly and in the glare of our head-lights I saw a
group of men carrying rifles and fixed bayonets; bandoliers were slung
across their shoulders, but otherwise there was no sign of uniform.
“Where’s your permit?... Doctor’s car, is it? We’ve been taken in by
that once before. Never again, thank you. Out with that permit if you
have it, or it will be the worse for you.”
The armed group covered us with their rifles while Glendyne searched in
his pocket. At last he produced a paper which the leader of the patrol
examined.
“Oh, it’s you, Glendyne? Sorry to trouble you, but we can’t help it.
A medical car came through the other night and played Old Harry with
a patrol at Park Square; so we have to be careful, you see. I think
it was some of Johansen’s little lot who had stolen a Red Cross car.
Stephen got them with a bomb at Hanover Gate later in the evening and
there wasn’t enough left to be sure who they were. Why they can’t leave
this district alone beats me. They have most of London left to rollic
in; and yet they must come here where no one wants them. By the way,
where are you going?”
“Leaving the car at Wood’s Garage. Going down to the Circus on foot
after that, I think; probably via Euston, though.”
“All right. I’ll telephone down. Sanderson’s patrol is out there in
Portland Place and he might shoot you by accident. I’ll get him to look
out for you on your way back.”
“Thanks. Very good of you, I’m sure.”
Our car ran forward again to the foot of Albany Street, where we turned
in to a large public garage.
“What was that patrol?” I asked Glendyne.
“Local Vigilance Committee. Some districts have them. Trying to keep
out the scum and looters.”
“But what about this being a medical car?”
“I _am_ a medical. Was an asylum doctor before Nordenholt picked me
out for this job. Medical cars can go anywhere even now; but we can do
better on foot for the particular work you want to-night.”
He seemed to be a man of few words; but I had been struck by the empty
state of the garage and wished to know where the usual multitude of
cars had gone.
“Most owners took their machines away in the rush out of London. Any
cars left were looted long ago. Have to leave a guard now on any car,
otherwise we’d have the petrol stolen before we were back. You’ll see
later.”
There were no lights burning in the Euston Road, either in the streets
or at house-windows. Coming in the car, I had given little heed to
the lack of passers-by; but here, in a district which swarmed with
population in the old days, I could not help being struck by the change
of atmosphere. All inhabitants seemed to have vanished, leaving not a
trace. I asked Glendyne if this region was entirely deserted; but he
explained to me that in all probability there were still a number of
survivors.
“No one shows a light after dark in a house if they can help it,” he
said. “It simply invites looters.”
“The full moon stood well above the house-tops, lighting up the streets
far ahead of us. Wheeled traffic seemed non-existent; nor could I see
a single human being. Just beyond the Tube Station, however, I observed
what I took to be a bundle of clothes lying by the roadside. Closer
inspection proved it to be a complete skeleton dressed in a shabby
suit of serge. While I was puzzling over this, Glendyne, seeing my
perplexity, gave me the explanation.”
“Looking for the flesh, I suppose? Gone long ago. _B. diazotans_ takes
care of that, or we should have had a real Plague instead of a fake
one, considering the number of deaths there have been. As soon as
life goes out, all flesh is attacked by bacteria, but _B. diazotans_
beats the putrefying bacteria in quick action. You’ll find no decaying
corpses about. Quite a clean affair.”
Leaving the skeleton behind us, we continued our way. I suppose if I
had been a novelist’s hero I should have examined the pockets of the
man and discovered some document of priceless value in them. I must
confess the idea of searching the clothes never occurred to me till
long afterwards; and I doubt if there was anything useful in them
anyway.
As we walked eastwards towards Euston I noticed that the red glow
before us was shot now and again with a tongue of flame. We passed
several isolated corpses, or rather skeletons, and suddenly I came upon
a group of them which covered most of the roadway. I noticed that all
the heads pointed in one direction and that the greater number of the
dead had accumulated on the steps of a looted public-house. Noticing my
astonishment, Glendyne condescended to explain.
“Crawled there at the last gasp looking for alcohol to brace them up
for another day, I expect. See the attitudes? All making for the door.
Hopeless, anyway. The stuff must have been looted long before they got
near it. Curious how one finds them like that, all clustered together,
either at the door of a pub or the porch of a church. A Martian would
think that drink and religion were the only things which attracted
humanity in the end.”
It was near Whitfield Street that I saw a relic of the exodus from
London. Two cars, a limousine and a big five-seater, had collided at
high speed; for both of them were badly wrecked, and the touring-car
had been driven right across the pavement and through a shop-front.
To judge from the skeletons in the limousine, its passengers had been
killed by the shock.
Leaving this scene of disaster, we walked eastward again. I glanced
up each side-street as I passed, but there were no signs of living
beings. In the stillness, our footsteps rang upon the pavements; but
the noise attracted no one to our neighbourhood. It was not until we
reached the corner of Tottenham Court Road that I was again reminded
of my fellow-men. A sound of distant singing reached my ears: fifty
or a hundred voices rising and falling in some simple air which had
a strangely familiar ring, though I could not recall exactly what it
reminded me of at the time. The singers were far off, however; for when
we halted at the street-corner I could see no one in Tottenham Court
Road; and we went on our way once more.
The notice-boards at the gate of Euston Station were covered with
recently-posted bills; and seeing the word PLAGUE in large letters
upon some of them I halted for a moment to read the inscriptions.
They were all of a kind: quack advertisements of nostrums to prevent
the infection or to cure the disease. I was somewhat grimly amused to
find that there was still a market for such trash even amid the final
convulsion of humanity. The only difference between them and their
fore-runners was that instead of money the vendors demanded food in
exchange for their cures. Flour, bread, or oatmeal seemed to be the
currency in vogue.
The station itself was dark; but here and there in the Hotel windows
glowed with lamp or candle-light. “Probably some select orgy or
other,” was Glendyne’s explanation; and he refused to investigate
further. “No use thrusting oneself in where one isn’t wanted. In these
times the light alone is a danger signal when you know your way about.”
It was in Endsleigh Gardens that we came across another living
creature. Half-way along, I caught sight of a figure crouching in a
doorway. At first I took it for a skeleton; but as we drew near it rose
to its feet and I found that it was a man, indescribably filthy and
with a matted beard. When he spoke to us, I detected a Semitic tinge in
his speech.
“Give me some food, kind gentlemen! Jahveh will reward you. A sparrow,
or even some biscuit crumbs? Be merciful, kind gentlemen.”
“Got none to spare,” said Glendyne roughly.
“Ah, kind gentlemen, kind gentlemen, surely you have food for a
starving man? See, I will pay you for it. A sovereign for a sparrow?
_Two_ sovereigns for a sparrow? Listen, kind gentlemen, five pounds for
a rat--eight pounds if it is a fat one. I could make soup with a rat.”
“There’s no food here for you.”
“But, gentlemen, you don’t understand; you don’t understand. I can make
you rich. Gold, much fine gold, for a miserable sparrow--or a rat! You
think I am too poor to have gold? You despise me because I am clothed
in rags? What are rags to me, who am richer than Solomon? I can pay; I
can pay.”
He kept pace with us, shuffling along in the gutter; and I noticed that
the sole of one of his boots flapped loose at each step he took. After
glancing around suspiciously as though afraid of being overheard, he
continued in a lower tone:
“Jahveh has laid a great task upon me. I can _make_ gold! Give me
food, even the smallest scrap, and you shall be richer than Solomon.
All that your hearts desire shall be yours, kind gentlemen. Apes,
ivory, peacocks and the riches of the East shall come to you. I will
give you gold for your palaces and you shall deck them with beryl and
chrysoberyl, sapphire, chrysolite and sardonyx. Diamonds shall be
yours, and the stones of Sardis.... These do not tempt you? I curse you
by the bones of Isaac! May all the burden of Gerizim and Ebal fall upon
you!”
He broke off, almost inarticulate with rage; then, mastering himself,
he continued in a calmer tone.
“A few crumbs of bread, kind gentlemen; even the scrapings of your
pocket-linings. Or a sparrow? Think what can be bought with my gold.
Slaves to your desire, concubines of the fairest, brought from all the
parts of the world, whose love is more than wine....”
It enraged me to hear this filthy object profaning all the material
splendours of the world; and I thrust him aside roughly. My movement
seemed to bring his suppressed anger to its climax.
“You doubt me? You will not hear the word of Jahveh’s messenger? See,
I will make gold before you; and then you shall fall down and offer me
all the food you have--for I know you have food. Look well, O fools; I
will make gold for you this moment.”
He stooped down as though lifting something invisible in handfuls and
then made the motion of throwing.
“See! My gold! I throw it abroad. Look how it glitters in the light of
the moon. Hear how it tinkles as it falls upon the pavement. There”--he
pointed suddenly--“see how the coins spin and run upon the ground.
Gold! Much fine gold! Is it not enough? Then here is more.”
He repeated his motion of lifting something, this time with both hands
as though he were delving in loose sand.
“See! Gold dust! I throw it; and it falls in showers. I scatter it;
and there is a golden cloud about us. I give it all to you, kind
gentlemen. Surely all this is worth a rat, a fat one; a rat to make
soup?”
He looked at us expectantly, holding out his empty hands as though they
contained something which he wished us to examine.
“Still you are not convinced? Not so much as a sparrow for all this
gold? I have fallen amid a generation of vipers. Ha! You would rob me
of my gold; you would take it all and give me not so much as a rat?
But I shall escape you. Even now I go to prepare the streets of the
new Jerusalem. Jahveh has commanded me that I make them ready with my
finest gold. He has prepared the smelting-furnace here in this city; it
burns with fire; and I have but to lay my gold in its streets so that
they shall all be covered. I go! Gold! Gold!”
He ran from us; and we heard his voice in Gordon Street crying “Gold!
Gold!” as he went.
After he had left us, we came by Upper Woburn Place into Tavistock
Square; and it was here that I met the first _petroleuse_. Some houses
were burning in Burton Crescent. Suddenly at the corner of the entry
I saw a figure appear, an oldish woman in rags, carrying a petrol tin
and a dipper. She hobbled along, throwing liquid from her tin at every
house-door as she passed. Sometimes she broke a window and threw petrol
into the room beyond. I lost sight of her when she turned into Burton
Street; but she soon reappeared, having evidently exhausted her stores.
She now carried an improvised torch in her hand with which she set
fire to the petrol spilled about the doors on her previous passage.
Soon each doorway was a mass of flames; and she retired into Burton
Crescent, with a final glance to see that her work had been well done.
“That sort of thing is going on all over the East End now,” said
Glendyne, “and you see that it is spreading westward too. It
began by the East Enders running out of coal. Then they took to
lighting bonfires in the streets with wood from the houses, to keep
themselves warm. And finally houses caught fire and they got the
taste for destruction. You’re seeing the last of London. There are no
fire-brigades now. It’s only a question of time before the whole city
is ablaze.”
Russell Square was dark like all the rest of the streets; but the moon
lit it up sufficiently for us to see what was going on in Southampton
Row, where a band of men were engaged in breaking into a druggist’s
shop.
“What do they expect to find there?” I asked. “It doesn’t seem very
promising from the looter’s point of view.”
“Cocaine and morphia, of course,” Glendyne replied, “or ether to get
drunk on, if they aren’t very sophisticated. They’ll do anything to
keep down hunger pangs nowadays, you know.”
We crossed the south side of Russell Square, making for Montague
Street, when my attention was attracted by the sound of singing which
I had previously heard in Tottenham Court Road. The voices were nearer
this time; and I was able to make out one line of the song:
“_Here we go dancing, under the Moon...._”
“What’s that?” I asked Glendyne.
“What? Oh, that? Some of the Dancers, I expect. We’ll come across them
later on, no doubt. Nothing to be alarmed about. Come along!”
Just as we were moving on, however, at the turning into Montague Street
there came a soft whirring behind us; a great limousine car drew up
at the kerb; and from its interior descended a tall figure which
approached us. As he drew near, I saw in the moonlight that it was a
thin and white-haired man, showing no signs of the usual grime. He
seemed a gentle old man, out of place in this city of nightmare; but
as I looked more closely into his face I could see something abnormal
in his eyes.
“You will excuse me for interrupting you, gentlemen; but I wish to put
an important question to you. What is Truth?”
Glendyne gave an impatient snarl in reply. Probably he was completely
_blasé_ by this time; and took little interest in the vagaries of the
human mind. As for myself, I was so taken aback by this latest comer
that I could only stare without answering.
The old man looked at us eagerly for a moment; then disappointment
clouded his face and he turned back to his car. We watched him without
speaking as he stepped into it. The chauffeur drove on, leaving us as
silently as he had come.
When we reached the great gates of the British Museum, I was somewhat
surprised to find them standing wide. I suppose that even amid the
abnormalities of this new London my memory was working upon its old
lines, and it seemed strange to see this entrance open at that time of
night. To my astonishment, Glendyne turned into the court.
“I just want to show you a curious survival in the Reading Room here.”
Inside the building, all was dark; but by the light of an electric
torch we found our way to the back of the premises. The Reading Room
was dotted here and there with tiny lights like stars in the gloom; and
within each nimbus I saw a face bent in the study of a volume.
“Still reading, you see,” said Glendyne. “Even in the last crash some
of them are eager for knowledge. How they find the books they want
passes my comprehension; for, of course, there is no one left to give
them out. But they seem able to pick out what they need from the
shelves.”
He threw his flashlight here and there in the gloom, lighting up
figure after figure. Some of them turned and gazed toward us with
dazzled eyes; but others continued their reading without paying us any
attention. It reminded me of a glimpse into the City of Dreadful Night;
but it seemed better than the things we had met in our wanderings
outside. After all, there was something almost heroic in this vain
acquirement of learning at a moment when human things seemed doomed to
destruction.
As we emerged from the Museum, it seemed to me that the glare of the
flames in the sky was brighter; but this may have been due merely to
the increased sensitiveness of my retina after the darkness within the
building. We turned to the right and followed Great Russell Street
westwards.
We crossed Oxford Street and turned down Charing Cross Road. At the
lower end of the street, houses were burning furiously, and I could
hear the sound of the fires and the crash of falling girders. Beyond
Cambridge Circus the road was impassable. Sutton Street seemed to be
the only way left to us. As we came into it, I noticed that the dead
were much more numerous here and that many of them held clasped in
their skeleton hands a crucifix or a rosary.
“Making their way to St. Patrick’s when they died,” Glendyne explained
to me. As we came closer to the church, we found living mingled with
the dead. Some of them were so feeble that they could crawl no further;
but others were still making efforts to drag themselves nearer to the
door. Organ music came from the porch, and I halted amid the dead and
dying to listen to the voices of the choir:
“_Dies irae, dies illa
Solvet saeclum in favilla...._”
It was weirdly apposite, there in the centre of that burning city. Then
the choir continued:
“_Tuba mirum spargens sonum
Per sepulchra regionum
Coget omnes ante thronum._”
Hardly had the thunder of the great vowels died away when from the
crowd around us came a bitter cry, the sound of some soul in its agony.
It startled me; and as I turned round, there ran a movement through
that multitude of dead and dying, as though in very truth the trumpets
had called the dead to life and judgment. The cry had been heard within
the church; for a priest came to the porch and blessed them. It seemed
to bring comfort to those alive.
“Let’s get out of this,” I said to Glendyne. “We can’t help; and it’s
needless to stay here. I can’t stand it.”
“All right,” he said philosophically. “Personally, I don’t mind this
so much as some of the other things one sees. These people, you know,
by their way of it, have put themselves under the protection of the
Church. Their path is clear. There’s only Death now for them, and,
after all, each of us comes to that in his own time. _They_ will go out
with easy minds.”
As we came into Soho Square, I was reminded of the fact that even in
this city of the dying, human passions still remained. From Greek
Street came the sound of revolver shots: three in rapid succession,
evidently a duel, and then a gasping cry, followed by a final shot.
Then silence for a moment; and at last the noise of heavy foot-falls
dying away in the direction of Old Compton Street.
“What’s that?”
“How should I know?” Glendyne retorted. “Probably some of the foreign
scum settling a difference among themselves. We never bother about
this district. Too dangerous to poke one’s nose into. If I were to go
and try to help, I’d most probably get shot for my pains. One gets to
know one’s way about, after a time. A few weeks ago I tried the Good
Samaritan on one of these foreigners and he almost succeeded in knifing
me for my pains. I suppose he thought I was one of his friends come
to finish the job. He was shot through the lung anyway, so I don’t
suppose I could have helped much, even if I had persisted.”
Soho Square was deserted. The mingled red and silver light from the
burning houses and the moon lay across it; but nothing moved. We turned
northward into Soho Street. It also was empty when we entered it; but
while we walked up it a figure entered it from the Oxford Street end.
As it approached, Glendyne made a gesture of recognition, and when the
two met it was evident that they were well acquainted with one another.
“That you, Glendyne? Glad to see you again. It’s a week since we met, I
think.”
It was a tall thin clergyman with a clear-cut ascetic face,
clean-shaven in spite of the prevailing lack of soap. For the first
time that night I saw that the city had thrown up a man who was
definitely sane. His keen glance, his air of competence and his
matter-of-fact mode of speech were in strong contrast to what I had
become accustomed to expect from the inhabitants of this Inferno.
Glendyne introduced me with some perfunctory words which left my
presence unexplained; and the clergyman seemed to accept me without
comment.
“Things are going from bad to worse, Glendyne,” he said. “I’m sometimes
tempted to take advantage of your offer and clear out some of these
places with a bomb or two.”
“What’s wrong now?” Glendyne inquired, without much apparent interest.
“Well, I can stand a good deal--have had to, you know. But when it
comes to open idolatry in the West End, I must say I begin to draw the
line.”
“Remember two can play at that game, if you _do_ begin. If you
interfere with them, they will interfere with you.”
“Of course, you’re quite right. So far we have had no persecution; I’ll
say that for them. But sometimes temptation is as bad as persecution,
or even worse. Persecution couldn’t last long now anyway; and it would
only knit us together: but temptation is a different matter. I’ve
lost two girls in the last three days--enticed away by the Dancers.
Sickening business, for one knows how that always ends. One of them
was taken from my side as we were walking along the street together;
and I was jammed in the crowd and could do nothing. She just cracked
up, got hysterical and darted off. I lost sight of her almost at once.
Of course she never came back. Damn them!” he ended with extraordinary
bitterness.
“Well, it can’t be helped. You do all that a man can do to keep them
sane; and if you fail, it’s no fault of yours.”
“What has that to do with it?” cried the clergyman vehemently. “Do
you think I care one way or another for that? It’s the sight of these
souls going down to damnation that I care about. In a few days we
must all meet our Judge, and these poor things go before Him soiled
in body and soul! _That’s_ what hurts, Glendyne. Six months ago we
were all living a normal life; I was preaching the Gospel and doing my
best to bring light into these people’s lives. I doubt I was slack in
some ways, knowing what I do now. I didn’t realise the gulfs in the
darkness through which we walked in this world. I knew very little of
the horrors lurking under the surface. And now comes this outpouring of
Hell! I used to think one should cover up all the worst in life, keep
it from one’s eyes. Perhaps if I had known more, I might have been of
more use now. But at first I didn’t know. I didn’t recognise the forms
under which temptation could come. Half my flock had fallen before
I had opened my eyes to what was happening. Think of that! My sheer
ignorance of life, look what it has cost!”
“Well, well,” said Glendyne. “No use crying over spilt milk, is there?
You did your best according to your lights. You weren’t trained as a
mental specialist, you know.”
“Thanks so much, Bildad Redivivus, but I’m afraid your argument helps
no more nowadays than it did a few thousand years ago in the Land of
Uz. I _ought_ to have known better; but I shut my eyes. I thought these
things unclean and despised them; and now they have ruined my work
because I did not take the trouble to understand them.
“You can’t guess what it is like now, Glendyne. They are celebrating
the Black Mass in Hyde Park and holding Witches’ Sabbaths. All the old
evil things which we thought had died out of the race have reappeared,
all the foulest practices and superstitions have come to life. It’s
terrible.”
“The old gods were never dead, although you pretended they were. Now
they have come again, you have got to make the best of it. It’s not for
long, anyway. Another week or two and the last food will be gone.”
“I pray for that day, Glendyne. I never thought to see it; but I go on
my knees many times daily and pray that it may come soon. Some of my
people I know will be stedfast; but the contagion attacks the younger
ones with an awful swiftness.”
“Collective hysteria. I know. Keep them indoors as much as possible,
especially the girls. You can do nothing more.”
“I suppose not. Anyway, I’ll do what I can, if only I can hold out
till the end myself. And to think that once I used to imagine that a
minister’s life circled round through sermons, prayer-meetings and
visiting the sick! Why, I didn’t know the beginnings of it!”
“Don’t worry about the past. I’m speaking as a medico now. Get on with
your work and leave the thinking till you have time for it. Eternity’s
pretty long, you know.”
“Well, if I take your advice I must be getting back to my work.
Good-night, both of you. I’ll see you next week again, perhaps,
Glendyne.”
He walked on, leaving us to continue our exploration. Glendyne was
silent for some minutes. When at last he spoke, it was in a graver tone
than I had heard him use before.
“That’s a splendid chap,” he said, looking back over his shoulder at
the tall figure behind us. “I don’t envy him, though. His awakening
has been a rude one in this affair. Six months ago he knew absolutely
nothing of life. He was earnest and all that; but a perfect child in
things of the world. The result was that when the blow came he was
absolutely helpless. He fought for a time with the old platitudes--and
he fought well, I can tell you, for he has a tremendous personality.
But he was out of court from the first. I’ve seen things done under his
very eyes without his even noticing what was happening. At last I gave
him a few pointers from my own experience; and now he has some vague
ideas what the temptations really are and how he can best counter them.
And he works like a Trojan. A splendid chap. What a chance he has, if
he had only had the knowledge; and how he regrets it now, poor beggar.
You know, at the very first, he simply led his people down the slope
without knowing it. Worked up their religious emotion, you see, until
they were simply gunpowder for the flame. What a mess! And all with the
best intentions too.”
It was an extraordinarily long speech from Glendyne; and it gave me
some measure of his liking for the clergyman. I gathered that they
often met in the course of their work.
By this time we had emerged into Oxford Street. Glendyne was about to
cross the road, when suddenly he caught sight of a train of figures,
about a hundred and fifty in all, I should say, who were advancing up
the middle of the street. Each had his hands on the shoulders of the
person in front of him and the procession advanced towards us slowly,
whilst I heard again the air with which I had become familiar.
“The Dancers!” muttered Glendyne. “Keep a grip on yourself, now, Flint.
No hysteria, if you please.”
I was angry at being treated in this way, for I am not an hysterical
subject either outwardly or inwardly; but as the procession drew nearer
I realised that he was right to give me a sharp warning. They advanced
slowly, as I said, keeping time to the air which they sang and which I
now recognised as being something like one of the old nursery lullabies
I heard when I was a child. It had the knack of penetrating far into
one’s subconsciousness and bringing up into the light all sorts of
forgotten childish fancies which had long slipped from my waking
thoughts. There was no regularity in the dancing, except that the whole
procession kept time to the air: each individual danced as he chose,
provided that he kept his hands upon the shoulders before him so that
the line remained intact. Men and women were intermingled without any
order in the company. Their faces were rapt, as though in some ecstasy;
and a strange, compelling magnetism seemed to emanate from the whole
scene.
“_Here we go ... dancing ... under the ... Moon,
Lifting our ... feet to the ... time of the ... tune.
Come, brother, ... Come, sister, ... join in our ... line;
Join with us ... now in this ... dancing divine._”
So they came up toward us, while that strange magnetic attraction grew
ever stronger upon me. For some reason which I could not fathom, I felt
a profound desire to join in the procession. A kind of hallucinatory
craving came over me, though I fought it down. At last Glendyne’s voice
broke the spell.
“Fine example of choreomania, isn’t it? Perfectly well-recognised
type. The old Dancing Mania of the fourteenth century. Bound to arise
under conditions like the present.”
The phrases fell on my ear and by their matter-of-factness seemed
to come between me and the fascination which the lullaby and the
rhythmical motion had begun to exercise upon my mind. Almost without
any feeling whatever, I watched the Dancers approaching.
“_Here we go ... dancing ... under the ... Moon.
Join in our ... chain, it will ... break all too ... soon.
When this verse ... ends, then ... scatter like ... rain;
And each dance a ... lone till we ... form it a ... gain._”
At the last word of the verse, the procession dissolved into a whirling
crowd of figures, dancing, springing, spinning in their aimless
evolutions. We were caught up in the mob; and only Glendyne’s grip on
my arm prevented my being jostled from his side. A knot of the Dancers
came about us and strove to excite us into their revels. Women with
tossing hair besought us breathlessly to join them; men dragged at us,
striving to bring us out among them. All the faces wore the same look
of ardency, the same expression about the lips. Some were weary; but
still the excitement bore them up in their convulsions. The temptation
to join them became almost irresistible; and I felt myself being drawn
into their ranks when suddenly the singing broke out once more.
“_Here we go ... dancing ... under the ... Moon...._”
The procession reformed in haste, gathering length as it went; and the
Dancers began again to move eastward along Oxford Street. I watched
them go, still feeling the attraction long after they were past; and
only some minutes later I realised that Glendyne was still gripping my
arm.
“Perhaps you understand now the way in which those two girls were
lost,” he said. “A slight weakening of control, eh? Not so bad for a
man; but when a girl gives in to it!... Let’s go up Rathbone Place,
now. I expect we may meet something interesting in that direction.”
Interesting! I had had enough of interest these last few minutes. I
was still quivering with the rhythm of that doggerel song. However,
I followed him across Oxford Street, into Rathbone Place. Here the
clothed skeletons lay more thickly about our path. Between Oxford
Street and Black Horse Yard I counted thirty-seven. Many of them lay
in the road; but the majority were huddled in corners and doorways,
as though the poor wretches had sought a quiet place in which to die.
In the distance I heard wild shouting and the sound of something like
a tom-tom being beaten intermittently; whilst in the silences between
these outbursts, the roar of the flames somewhere in the neighbourhood
came to me over the roofs.
At the corner of Gresse Street, a gaunt creature sidled up to us
furtively; looked us up and down for a moment; and whispered to me:
“Are _you_ one of us?” Then, catching sight of the Red Cross on my arm,
he fled into the darkness of the side-street without waiting for an
answer.
In Percy Street, the _petroleuses_ were at work, methodically drenching
houses with oil and setting them alight. One side of the street was
already ablaze; and the light wind was blowing clouds of sparks
broadcast over the neighbouring roofs. London was clearly doomed.
Nothing could save it now, even had anyone wished to do so. As we stood
at the street-corner, one of the hags passed us and snarled as she went
by:
“We’ll roast you out of the West End soon, you ---- burjwaw! There’ll
be lights enough for you and yer women to dance by when Molly comes
with her pail. You’ve trod us down and starved us long enough. It’s
our turn now. It’s our turn now, d’yer hear? I could burn ye as
ye stand”--she drew back her bucket as though to drench us with
petrol--“but I want ye to dance with the rest to make it complete.
We’ll fix ye before long, we will.”
At the southern end of Charlotte Street a rough cross had been erected
in the middle of the road and to it clung the remains of a skeleton.
Most of the bones had fallen to the ground, but enough remained to show
that a body--dead or alive--had been crucified there at one time. Over
the head of the cross was nailed a placard with the inscription:
ACHTUNG!
EINGANG VERBOTEN.
WIR SIND HIER ZU HAUSE
STÖREN UNS NICHT.
Glendyne was evidently acquainted with the placard, for he did not
come forward to read it. He turned to the left and led me into Upper
Rathbone Place.
“Mostly Germans in Charlotte Street now,” he said. “A branch of the
East End colony, and just about as bad as their friends. I pity anyone
who falls into their hands. Ugh!”
He spat on the ground as though he had a bad taste in his mouth.
“Thank goodness, this is only a small colony, for that sort of thing is
apt to contaminate everything in its neighbourhood. Down East it’s on a
bigger scale. Hark to that!”
Across the house-roofs between us and Charlotte Street there came a
long quivering cry as of someone in the extremity of physical and
mental agony; then it was drowned in a burst of laughter. Glendyne
gritted his teeth.
“To-morrow night, if the moonlight holds, I’ll have an aeroplane down
here and give them a taste. They’re all of a kind, in there; so it’s
easy enough to be sure we get the right ones. Loathsome swine!”
We cut across into Newman Street. At the door of St. Andrew’s Hall a
weird figure was standing--a man dressed as a faun, evidently in a
costume which had been looted from some theatrical wardrobe. When he
caught sight of us, he ran in our direction, leaping and bounding in an
ungainly fashion along the pavement and halting occasionally to blow
shrilly upon a reed pipe.
“Pan is not dead!” he cried. “I bring the good tidings! All the world
awakes again after its long sleep; and the fauns in the forests are
pursuing the hamadryads and following the light feet of the oreads once
more upon the hills of Arcady. Io! Io! Evohé! Swift be the hunting!
“The Old Gods slumbered; but Echo, watching by rock and pool, ever
answered our calling through the years. Awake! Awake! O Gods! Hear
again the pipes of Pan!”
He blew a melancholy air upon his instrument, prancing grotesquely the
while.
“Syrinx, reed-maiden, men have not forgotten thee! Again they hear the
wailings of thy soul in the pipes of Pan.”
He danced again, looking up at the moon.
“Diana! Long hast thou watched us from thy throne in the skies, but now
the nights of thy hunting are come once more. Prepare the bow, gird
on thy quiver and come with us again as in the days of old. Dost thou
remember the white goat? Join us, O Huntress!”
Again he made music with his pipes.
“Syrinx, Syrinx! I come to seek thee in the reeds by the river. Awake!
The world begins anew.”
And crying “Syrinx, O Syrinx!” he ran from us and disappeared into
Mortimer Street.
Glendyne turned into Castle Street East. I could not see any reason
for these continual turnings and windings in our wanderings, but I
suppose that he had some definite itinerary in his mind, some route
which would give him the best opportunity of exhibiting to me the
varied aspects of London at this time. Here again the skeletons lay
scattered, though there appeared to be no aggregations of them in any
particular localities. Behind us, the Tottenham Court Road district
seemed ablaze; and flames leaped above the house-roofs to the east.
Suddenly, after we had passed Berners Street, I heard a confused sound
of shouting, yells, running feet and the notes of a horn. Glendyne
started violently and dragged me rapidly into the shelter of a
house-door near the corner of Wells Street.
“This is a case where the Red Cross is no protection,” he said
hurriedly. “It’s Herne and his pack. Keep as much under cover as you
can. We shall probably not be noticed,” he added. “They seem to be in
full cry. There!”
As he spoke, a single man rushed into view at the corner. He was
running with his head down, looking neither to right nor left, but I
caught a glimpse of his face as he passed and I have never seen terror
marked so deeply on any countenance. He was evidently exhausted, yet
he seemed to be driven on by a frantic fear which kept him on his feet
even though he staggered and slipped as he went by.
“The quarry,” said Glendyne. “Now comes the pack.”
Almost on the heels of the fugitive, a horde of pursuers swept into
sight: about forty or fifty men and women running with long, easy
strides. Some of them shouted as they ran, others passed in silence;
but all had a dreadful air of intentness. It was more like the final
stage of a fox-hunt than anything else that I can recall. Leading
the crew was a huge negro, running with an open razor in his hand;
and I saw flecks of foam on his mouth as he passed. Next to him was
a chestnut-haired girl wearing an evening dress which had once been
magnificent. She had kilted up the skirt for ease in running. A silver
horn was in her hand; and on it she blew from time to time, whilst the
pack yelled in reply. The whole thing passed in a flash; and we heard
them retreating into the distance towards Oxford Street.
“What’s that ghastly business?” I asked Glendyne. I had pulled out my
pistol almost unconsciously when the pack swept into sight; but he had
laid a grip on my wrist and prevented me from firing.
“The nigger in front was Herne--Herne the Hunter, they call him. They
hunt in a pack, you see, and run down any isolated individual they
happen to come across in their prowlings. I wish we could get hold of
them; but they seldom come near any of the picketed areas. They can
get all the sport they need without that. Once the hunt is up, they
recognise nothing. That’s why I told you the Red Cross wouldn’t save
you. If they chase, they kill; and they seem able to run anyone down. I
never heard of a victim escaping them.”
“What do they do it for?”
“Pleasure, fun, anything you like. It gives them a peculiar delight to
hunt and kill. You see, Flint, in these times the instincts which are
normally under control have all broken loose upon us; and the hunting
instinct is one of the very oldest we have. In ordinary times, it comes
out in fox-hunting or grouse-shooting or some wild form like that. But
nowadays there is no restraint and the instinct can glut itself to the
full. Man-hunting is the final touch of pleasure for these creatures.”
“Who was the girl at the head of them?”
“Oh, that? She was Lady Angela.” He gave a sneering laugh. “What an
incongruity there is in some names! Satanita was what she ought to have
been christened if everyone had their rights. And yet, in the old days,
one could never have suspected this in her. I knew her, you know, and
I more than liked her. She used to sing me old French songs; and one of
them was rather a horrible production. It ought to have put me on my
guard; but I suppose every man is a fool where women are concerned.”
He broke off and hummed to himself a snatch of an old air:
“_Pour passer ces nuits blanches,
Gallery, mes enfants,
Chassait tous les dimanches
Et battais les paysans.
Entendez-vous la sarabande?..._”
“And so now she’s running a kind of Chasse-Gallery on her own account
along with that human devil, Herne. It shows how little one knows.”
Just as we approached Oxford Mansions, I heard the sound of a
pistol-shot, and when we came up to the spot we found a still warm body
with a Colt automatic clasped in its hand. “Suicide,” said Glendyne
briefly, after examining the body. “The short way out.”
There was nothing to be done, so we turned away. As we did so a black
shadow dropped out of the sky and I saw a huge crow alighting by the
side of the corpse. I think that this incident made as great an effect
upon me as any. Times had changed indeed when crows became night-birds.
Glendyne watched me drive the brute away from the corpse without
attempting to help.
“What’s the use? It will be back as soon as we go; and I don’t suppose
you want to stay here all night? Birds are desperate for food nowadays,
and that fellow may give you more than you expect if you don’t leave
him alone. The old fear of man has left them, you know, nowadays.”
Before we had gone many steps, we encountered another inhabitant, a
cadaverous young man with an acid stain on his sleeve. He stopped and
wished us “Good-evening,” being apparently glad to meet someone to
whom he could talk. It was a relief to find that he appeared to be
perfectly sane. I had become so accustomed to abnormality by this time
that I think his sanity came almost as an unexpected thing. I asked him
what he did to pass the time.
“I was working at some alkaloid constitutions when the Plague came, and
I just went on with that. I’ve got one definitely settled except for
the position of a single methyl radicle, now; and I think I shall get
that fixed in a day or two. But probably you aren’t a chemist?”
“No. Not my line.”
“Rather a pity--for me, I mean. One does like to explain what one has
done; and there’s no chance of that now.”
It seemed to me a pity that this enthusiast should be lost. Probably
Nordenholt could find some use for him.
“I think I could put you in touch with some other chemists if you like;
but you would need to trust me in the matter. Is there anyone depending
on you, any relatives?”
“No, they’re all gone by now.”
“Well, I think I might manage it. I believe I could put you in the way
of being some use; and it might be the saving of your life, too, for I
suppose your food is almost out.”
A famished look came into his face and I realised what food meant to
him.
“Could you? I’d be awfully grateful. I’m down to the laboratory stores
of glycerine and fatty acids now for nourishment, and it’s pretty thin,
I can tell you. Could you really do something?”
In his excitement, he clutched my arm: and at that he recoiled with a
look of horror on his face.
“You damned cannibal!” he cried. “Did you think you would take me in?
I suppose your friend was standing by with the sandbag, eh?”
He retreated a few steps and cursed me with almost hysterical violence.
“If I had a pistol I would finish you,” he cried. “You don’t deserve
to live. And to think you nearly took me in. I suppose you would have
enticed me to your den with that fairy-tale of yours.”
And with an indescribable sound of disgust he turned and ran up
Margaret Court, cursing as he went.
“What’s all that about?” I asked Glendyne. “It’s more than Greek to me.”
“Of course you wouldn’t understand. I forgot that you people up in
the North don’t know there’s a famine on. Don’t you see that when he
gripped your sleeve he found a normal arm inside instead of a starved
one; and he drew the natural conclusion.”
“What natural conclusion?”
“Really, Flint, you are a bit obtuse. You know that food here is almost
unprocurable except by those who have rationed themselves carefully
from the start and have still some stores to go on with. How do you
think the rest of them live? Of course the poor beggar found you in
normal condition and he jumped to the conclusion that you were a
cannibal like a large number of the survivors. What else could he
think? He imagined that we were holding him in talk until we could
sandbag him or knock him out somehow for the sake of his valuable
carcase. See now?”
This seemed to be the last straw. Curiously enough, I had never given
a thought to the food problem. I had simply assumed that these people
in the streets were living on hoarded stores. Cannibalism! I had never
dreamed of such a thing in London, even this London.
Glendyne laughed sarcastically at the expression on my face. “Why, you
are nearly as innocent as my poor clerical friend,” he said at last.
“Can’t you understand that _nothing_ counts nowadays. There isn’t any
law, or order, or public opinion or anything else that might restrain
brutes. You’ve got the final argument of civilisation in your pocket--a
brace of them, besides the loose cartridges--and that’s the King and
the Law Courts nowadays. The only thing left is the strong hand;
everything else has gone long ago. For the most of the survivors there
isn’t any morality or ethics or public spirit. They simply want to live
and enjoy themselves; and they don’t care how they do it. Get that well
into your head, Flint.”
Over the next part of our exploration I may draw a veil. We traversed
the stretch from Oxford Circus to Regent Circus, which was the centre
of the remaining life of London in those days. One cannot describe the
details of saturnalia; and I leave the matter at that. It surpassed my
wildest anticipations. At Piccadilly Circus I found a gigantic negro
acting as priest in some Voodoo mysteries. The court of Burlington
House had been turned into a temple of Khama. I was glad indeed
when we were able to make our way into the less frequented squares
to the north. Even the quiet skeletons seemed more akin to me than
these wretches whom I saw exulting in their devilry. Glendyne had
under-estimated the thing when he said that there was no public opinion
left to control men and women. There was a new public opinion based on
the principle of “Eat, Drink, for to-morrow we die”; and the collective
spirit of these crowds urged humanity on to excesses which no single
individual would have dared.
We came to the Langham by Cavendish Square and Chandos Street. As we
stood at the hotel door, I could see the lights of the bonfires and
hear the yells and shrieks of the revellers at the Circus; but Langham
Place was comparatively quiet. Eastward, the sky was ruddy with the
flames of the burning city; southward, the bonfires shone crimson
against the pale moonlight; to the north, up Portland Place, the
streets were half in shadow and half lit up by the brilliancy of the
moon.
We walked northward, taking the unshadowed side of the road. Glendyne
had shown me the worst now, and only the return to our car remained
before us. I drew a breath of relief as we turned the bend of Langham
Place and the bulk of the Langham Hotel cut us off from the sight of
these lights behind us. Here, under the moon, things seemed purer and
more peaceful.
We came to the corner of Duchess Street without seeing anyone; but just
as we reached the crossing, a familiar figure stepped out. It was Lady
Angela. This time I could see her plainly in the moonlight; a tall,
chestnut-haired girl, beautiful certainly, but with the beauty of an
animal type, tigress-like. Her dress was torn and a splash of fresh
blood lay across her breast. In her hand was the silver horn which I
had noticed before. She started as she recognised Glendyne.
“Well, Geoffrey,” she said; “we haven’t met for some time. You’re
looking thinner than when I saw you last.”
It was just as if she were greeting a friend whom she had lost sight
of for a few weeks. She did not seem to see the incongruity of things.
For all that her tone showed, they might have met casually in a
drawing-room.
“It’s no use, Angela, I saw you in Berners Street to-night, you and
your beasts. I knew all about you long ago. You needn’t pretend with
me.”
She flushed, not with shame I could guess, but with anger.
“So you disapprove, do you, little man? You’re one of the kind that
can’t understand a girl enjoying herself, are you? But if I were to
whistle, you would come to heel quick enough. You were keen enough on
me in the old days and I could make you keen again if I wished.”
She drew herself up and, despite her tattered dress and disordered
hair, she made a splendid figure. Her voice became coaxing.
“Geoffrey, don’t you think you could take me away from all this? It
isn’t my real self that does these things; it’s something that masters
me and forces me to do them against my will. If you would help me, I
could pull up. You used to be fond of me. Take me now.”
Glendyne did not hesitate.
“It’s no good, Angela. You’re corrupt to the core, and you can’t
conceal it. I’ve no use for you. You couldn’t be straight if you tried.
Do you think I want the associate of a nigger? And what a nigger at
that!”
She began to answer him, but her voice choked with fury. She raised
the silver horn to her lips; blew shrilly for a moment and then cried:
“Herne! Herne! Here’s sport for you! Here’s sport!”
“I might have known that brute wouldn’t be far off if you were here,”
said Glendyne bitterly. “Flint, use your shots in groups of three. It’s
a signal to the patrol. We may pull out yet. Here they come, the whole
pack!”
There was a trampling of feet in Duchess Street and I heard quite close
at hand the hunting-cries of the band of ruffians. Glendyne fired nine
times into the darkness of the street and we turned to run. Lady Angela
watched us at first without moving, brooding on her revenge. By the
time we had gone fifty yards, the whole pack was in full cry after us
up Portland Place.
“We may run across Sanderson’s car before they get us,” Glendyne panted
as he ran beside me. “The triple shots may bring him. Run for all
you’re worth.”
He had removed the empty magazine as he ran and now turned for a moment
and fired thrice in rapid succession at our pursuers. I did the same.
But there was no check in the chase. We still maintained our distance
ahead of them, but we gained nothing. All at once I began to find
that I was falling behind. I was hopelessly out of training; and my
side ached, while my feet seemed leaden. I ran staggeringly, just as I
had seen the other quarry run in the earlier part of the night; and I
gasped for breath as I ran.
I shall never forget that nightmare chase. Once I turned round and
fired to gain time if possible. I heard Glendyne’s pistol also, more
than once. But nothing seemed to check the pursuit. I felt it gaining
on me; and the silver horn sounded always nearer each time it blew. It
was no distance that we ran, but the pace was killing. I was afraid
that we might be cut off by a fresh party emerging from Cavendish
Street or Weymouth Street; but we passed these in safety. I learned
afterwards that Herne’s band hunted like hounds, in a body, never
separating into sections. Their pleasure was in the chase as much as
anything; and they employed no strategy to trap their victims.
Just south of Devonshire Street I stumbled and fell. Glendyne wheeled
round at once and tried to keep off the pack with his pistols; but as
I rose to my feet again I saw them still coming on. The moon showed up
their brutal faces hardly twenty yards away. I had given myself up for
lost, when Glendyne shouted: “Lie down!” and rolled me over with his
hand on my shoulder while he flung himself face downwards on the road.
A dazzling glare shone in my eyes and passed; and then I saw a motor
swinging in the road and the squat shape of a Lewis gun projected over
its side.
I turned over and saw the pack almost upon us. Then came the roll of
the Lewis gun and the maniacs stopped as though they had struck some
invisible barrier. Herne crashed to the ground. Lady Angela staggered,
stood for a moment fumbling with her horn, and then fell face downward.
The remainder of the band turned and fled into Weymouth Street.
Glendyne picked himself up and went across to Lady Angela’s body. She
was quite dead, at which he seemed relieved. I understood better when
I saw one of the men in the patrol car going round amongst the wounded
and finishing them with his revolver.
Sanderson, the patrol leader, spoke a few words to Glendyne; and then
the car swung off into Park Crescent and disappeared. The whole thing
had taken only a few seconds; and we were left alone with the dead.
“It’s all right now, Flint,” said Glendyne. “They won’t dare to come
back. Besides, the leaders are gone”--he kicked the negro’s body--“and
they were the worst. I’ll take this as a souvenir, I think.”
He picked up the little silver horn; and I wondered what it would
remind him of in later days.
It was in Park Crescent that I got my last glimpse of the new London.
On the pavement, half-way round to Copeland Road Station, I saw
something moving; and on examining it closely I found that it was a
dying man. All about him were rats which were attacking him, while he
feebly tried to keep them at bay. He was too weak to defend himself and
already he had been badly bitten. There was nothing to be done; but
Glendyne and I stood beside him till he died, while the rats huddled in
a circle about him, waiting their chance. Glendyne kept them back by
flashing his electric torch on them when they became too venturesome.
That was my last sight of London in these days; and looking back upon
it, I cannot help feeling that this squalid tragedy was symbolical
of greater things. The old civilisation went its way, healthy on the
surface, full of life and vigour, apparently unshakable in its power.
Yet all the while, at the back of it there lurked in odd corners the
brutal instincts, darting into view at times for a moment and then
returning into the darkness which was their home. Suddenly came the
Famine: and civilisation shook, grew weaker and lost its power over
men. With that, all the evil passions were unleashed and free to run
abroad. Bolder and bolder they grew, till at last civilisation went
down before them, feebly attempting to ward them off and failing more
and more to protect itself. It was the dying man and the rats on a
gigantic scale.
I came back to the Clyde Valley a very different being. Now I knew what
had to be fought if our Fata Morgana was to rise on solid foundations;
and the task appalled me.