the men on board, and was overcome with the futility of it all and the
feeling that he was partially to blame for having been born on his
island.
XVI: NATIONAL
The Fattish are an emotional race. They had overcome the Fatters, and
the only outstanding hero of that war was George. They insisted on
seeing George. They clamoured for him. They sent a cruiser to fetch him
from Cecilia, and the commander of that cruiser was none other than
Mr. Bich, who had won promotion.
His astonishment was no less great than George’s, but his adventures
were less interesting. After the destruction of the ship he had been
saved by a turtle which had been attracted by his brass buttons and had
allowed him to ride on his back so long as they lasted. He had had to
give it one every twenty minutes, and had just come to his last when
he was seen and rescued. He had thought himself the only survivor, and
when he heard that Arabella also had been delivered from the waves
there came into his eye a gleam which George did not like.
The voyage was quite monotonously uneventful and George was glad when
they reached Fatland. The Mayor, Corporation, and Citizens, also dogs
and children, of the port at which he landed, turned out to meet him;
he was given the freedom of the borough, and a banquet, and at both
ceremony and meal he was photographed.
In Bondon he was given five public meals in two days. He was so
bewildered by the number of people who thronged round him that he
left all arrangements in Siebenhaar’s hands, and Siebenhaar liked the
banquets.
He was received by the Emperor-King and decorated, and the
Empress-Queen said: “How do you do, Mr. Samways?”
He was followed everywhere by enormous crowds, and outside his lodgings
there were always ten policemen to clear a way for the traffic. His
romantic history had put a polish on his fame: the motherless and
fatherless orphan, all those years alone upon an island; no woman in
Fatland old or young, rich or poor, but yearned to be a mother to him
and make up to him for all those years. And then the wonderful story
of his acceptance of the Fattish religion, his reception on those
golden sands into the church at the hands of the good Bishop of Bygn,
after the appalling disaster to the _Oyster_. All was known, and the
emotional Fattish found it irresistibly moving. George in all innocence
created a religious revival such as had never been known. The theatres,
music-halls, picture palaces were deserted: no crowds attended the
football matches or the race-meetings, and when the newspapers had
exhausted the Story of George Samways their circulation dropped to next
to nothing. The situation for certain trades looked black indeed.
But of all of this George recked nothing. His one thought was for
Arabella.
XVII: REUNION
Siebenhaar took a malicious delight in the ruin of the newspaper trade,
and pledged George to attend a mammoth church meeting in Bondon’s
greatest hall of assembly. There were forty bishops on the platform,
and a Duke presided. George entered. There were tears, cheers, sobs,
sighs, groans, conversions; and hundreds suddenly became conscious of
salvation, swooned away and were carried out.
The Duke spoke for fifty minutes. Mr. Samways (he said) would now tell
the story of his--er--er--“Have I got to say something?” said George to
Siebenhaar.
“Tell them,” said Siebenhaar, “to look after the stomach and the rest
will look out for itself.”
George advanced toward the front of the platform and beamed out upon
the eager audience.
Arabella let a pin drop and it could be heard all over the hall.
It _was_ Arabella! For a moment George could not believe his eyes. It
was she! He leaped down from the platform, took her in his arms and
covered her with kisses.
So strong was the hypnotic power of his fame that there was no male in
that huge audience but followed his example, no female, old or young,
rich or poor, but yielded to it. In vain did the bishops protest and
quote from the marriage service of the Fattish Church; in vain did they
go among the audience and earnestly implore the individual members
of it to desist. They replied that George Samways had revealed a new
religion and that they liked it.
And above the tumult rose the voice of Siebenhaar saying: ---- But what
he said is unprintable.
XVIII: BETROTHAL
How he escaped from the pandemonium George never knew, but his first
clear recollection after it was of being borne swiftly through the
streets of Bondon with Arabella in his arms, she weeping and telling
him of the hard and vile usage she had been put to on the Fatter ship,
for the Admiral was a horrid man. She told him how she had at last been
taken to the Fatterland and there, by her father’s influence--(for
her father also had been marvelously delivered from an untimely
end)--released and sent, first-class at the expense of the Fatter
Government, home to Fatland, and how she had there resumed her old
life of district visiting and tea parties and diocesan conferences and
rescuing white slaves and had been content in it until she had seen
him, when all her old love had sprung once more into flame and she
would never, never desert him more. George wept also and protested that
he would never leave her side.
She took him to her home, and her father, who had been prevented by
indisposition from attending the meeting, blessed him and made him
welcome.
It was very late and George drew Arabella to his side and said he would
send for his things.
“Things!” said the Bishop.
“We love each other,” replied George.
“Do you propose to marry this man?” asked the Bishop.
Arabella blushed and explained to George that he must go away until
they were married, and the Bishop revealed the meaning of the word.
“But why?” asked George.
“It is so ordained,” said the Bishop, and George was exasperated.
“I love Arabella,” he cried. “What more do you want? And what on earth
has it got to do with you or anybody else? I love Arabella, and my love
has survived shipwreck, starvation, explosion, battle, murder, and the
public festivities of Fatland....”
With extraordinary cynicism the Bishop replied:
“That may be. But it is doubtful if it will survive marriage; therefore
marriage is necessary.”
This illogical argument silenced George. The Bishop finally gave his
consent and the marriage was arranged to take place in a month’s time,
and the announcement of the betrothal was sent to the only remaining
morning newspaper.
XIX: REACTION
There were great rejoicings when peace between Fatland and Fatterland
was signed and ratified, and the day was set apart for an imposing
ceremony at the Colonial Office, when George’s island was to be
solemnly incorporated in the Empire.
In a little room high up in the huge offices Field-Marshals, Admirals,
and Cabinet Ministers foregathered. The State Map of the World was
produced and the island was marked on it, and George with his own hand
was to have the privilege of underlining its name in red ink. It was
an awful moment. George dipped his pen in the ink--(it was the first
time he had ever held a pen in his hand and he had to be instructed in
its use); he dipped his pen in the ink, held it poised above the map,
when the door opened and a white-faced clerk rushed in with a sheet of
paper as white as his face. This he gave to the Colonial Secretary, who
collapsed. The Lord High Flunkey took the paper and said:
“Good God!”
George dropped the pen and made a red blot on the State Map of the
World.
The Lord High Flunkey pulled himself together and said:
“My Lords and Gentlemen, the South Seas Squadron commissioned to annex
the new island reports that it has moved on and cannot be found.”
“This is a serious matter, Mr. Samways,” said the senior Admiral.
“I’m awfully sorry,” answered George, and he walked out of the room.
It had been arranged that when George underlined the name of his island
on the map, the national flag should be run up on the offices so that
the expectant crowd should know that the Empire had been enlarged and
the war justified. There was an appalling silence as George left the
building. He slipped into the crowd before he was recognized and before
the awful news had spread.
There was a groan, a hoot, a yell, and the crowd stormed and raved.
Stones flew, and soon there was not a window in that office left
unbroken.
The Government resigned, and with its fall fell George Samways. He was
not the object of any active hostility. He was simply ignored. It was
as though he had never been. When he called at the Bishop’s house to
see Arabella, the footman stared through him and said the Bishop would
be obliged if he would write. George took the fellow by the scruff of
the neck and laid him on the floor. Then he ran upstairs to Arabella’s
room.
“You!” she said.
“Yes. I love you.”
“We can’t be married now.”
“No. We needn’t wait now. You’re coming with me.”
He assisted her to pack a small handbag, and with that they set forth.
At George’s lodgings they found Siebenhaar in argument with the master
of the ship, who had delivered them and had now come to Bondon to claim
his reward. He had sailed from Cecilia in his own ship, which was even
now at the docks.
“We will sail in her,” said George, “and we will find my island.”
“Find the island? The whole navy’s looking for it!”
“It will come to me,” said George.
And Siebenhaar embraced Arabella and congratulated her on having taken
his advice.
XX: HOME
They had a pleasant voyage, saw the sea-serpent twice, and when they
came to the South Seas every night George sang those strange melodious
chants that he had made out of _Tittiker_. One night when they had been
at sea nigh eight months up and down the Southern Seas and almost into
the Antarctic, George fell into a kind of swoon and said:
“She is coming, she is coming, my mother, my land.”
And Arabella, fearing for his reason, implored Siebenhaar to distract
him with talk, and the master of the ship to make for the nearest port.
But George silenced Siebenhaar, and in an unearthly voice he crooned:
“Cathoire Mor, or the Great--had thirty sons.
Conn Ceadchadhach, called the Hero of the Hundred Battles--slain.
Conaire--killed.
Art-Aonfhir, the Melancholy--slain in battle.
Lughaidh, surnamed MacConn--thrust through the eye with a spear in a
conspiracy.
Feargus, surnamed Black-teeth--murdered at the instigation of his
successor.
Cormac-Ulfhada--‘A Prince of the most excellent wisdom, and kept the
most splendid court that ever was in Bareland’; choked by the bone of
a fish at supper....”
Near dawn he rose to his feet and stood with outstretched arms,
yelling at the top of his voice:
“Connor, or Conchabhar--‘died of grief, being unable to redress the
misfortunes of his country.’
Niall-Caillie--drowned in the river Caillie.
Turgesius--‘expelled the Barish historians, and burnt their books’;
thrown into a lough and drowned....”
And Siebenhaar lifted up his eyes in wonder, for there was such a note
of triumph in George’s voice.
The sun was casting up his first rosy glow upon the sky, and against
it, dark blue, almost purple, stood a tall hill that grew. There was
little wind, but the ship sped forward.
“My beloved! My island!” cried George, and Arabella fell upon his neck.
As the sun rose above the horizon they slipped ashore upon the yellow
sands, and George’s palm tree bowed to them and they four, George,
Arabella, Siebenhaar and the master of the ship, joined hands and
danced together.
Then George took Arabella to the little cabin and he said:
“The house I built for you.”
But Siebenhaar said:
“I am devilish hungry.”
Ultimus
I: THE SON OF HIS FATHER
Though her love for George never faded, Arabella could not take kindly
to life on the island. She bore herself cheerfully until she was with
child, and then, when she began to plan careers for her son, she was
oppressed by the absence of opportunity which that life could afford.
She told herself that when she was dead and Siebenhaar was dead and
George was dead the boy would be left alone with the Captain, who was
only a common man. She had another two months to go when the Captain
disappeared one night with his ship and a cargo of rubies and emeralds.
The blow was too much for her: the only means of communication with the
world of Bishops and white slaves was gone; she sank into a profound
melancholy: the boy was born before his time; and she died.
George flung himself on the sands and wept and swore he would call the
boy Judas, because he had betrayed him. However, Siebenhaar protested,
saying that, as the boy could not be christened, it was not right to
give him a Biblical name. He said that he personally should call him
Ultimus as he bade fair to be the last of his line, unless, as had
happened before, the island should insist on its population being
continued. For that was how, after much cogitation, the philosopher had
come to explain the previous strange adventure. George was indifferent,
but from hearing Siebenhaar call the boy Ultimus he also adopted the
name, not knowing its sad significance. Bearing deeply imprinted in his
soul the marks of his unhappy contact with the world, George forbade
all mention of it in his son’s presence. Never was he to know of the
hateful race who inhabited Fatland, and of the indomitable Fatters
whose admiral had so shamefully treated his mother. However, Siebenhaar
used to talk in his sleep, and he often slept in the middle of the day.
When he was six years old little Ultimus came to his father and said:
“What is God? What is an engine? Is the world round? What is a mother?
Who is Siebenhaar’s father? What is a professor? Why does Siebenhaar
talk in two ways? If you helped me to be born why can’t I help some one
else? Is a Bishop a kind of man? Did I kill my mother, and how did I
do it if I never saw her? Is this your island? What is an island? Are
there other sorts of land? Are the stars land? Is the moon land? Is the
sun land? If you are my father, why isn’t Siebenhaar some one’s father?
Are all big men fathers? How do they do it? There are two kinds of
goats, why aren’t there two kinds of men? If there are she-goats, why
aren’t there she-men? What is a ship? Siebenhaar is always talking
about ships. What is money? Are you a King? There is a King in Fatland.
When is a father grand?...”
George gave one despairing look at his son. He groaned:
“Arabella, my love, my love.”
Then he walked out into the sea and disappeared. A few hours later his
body was washed up on the shore, and Siebenhaar had to explain to the
boy that his father was dead. Ultimus said:
“He walked out into the sea.”
“To such peace,” replied Siebenhaar solemnly, “do we all come.”
II: QUESTIONS
If the boy’s questions were fatal to his father they were a delight
to Siebenhaar, who had no further scruple about giving instruction,
for, in the hardship and solitude which had been his fate since his
encounter with George, his philosophy had matured and he saw that the
remaining years of his life might be spent in the instruction and
preparation of a disciple.
They would sit for hours together on the sands drawing maps and
diagrams for illustration. Siebenhaar had no knowledge which he
did not communicate to Ultimus, who by the time he was seventeen
was a master of mathematics, German philosophy, the rudiments of
physics, chemistry, geology, physiology, biology, psychology, botany,
meteorology, astronomy. They made wind and stringed instruments and
played duets composed of what Siebenhaar could remember of Beethoven.
The boy was a good sculptor and painter, a carpenter, a cabinet-maker,
a mason, a cook, an engineer, a weaver, a tailor, a cobbler. He could
read and write five languages, was familiar with the geography of the
whole world, and knew the situations of the best brothels in all the
first-class ports. When he began to have needs which there was no means
of satisfying, Siebenhaar explained them to him:
“You are now reaching that state of man which reveals the futility of
all knowledge, since you are awakened to desires which no knowledge can
satisfy. Rest assured that in the world your case would be no better,
but rather would be aggravated by opportunity and failure. You are, at
any rate, spared the tragedy of your father whose love destroyed the
object of his desire and reduced him to a morbid condition in which
your healthy wish for knowledge was more than he could bear. It is
right to wish for knowledge, because only through that can we recognise
our ignorance, and see the humour of our position. If you can see that
you can be happy and glad that you have lived.”
Poor Ultimus tried hard to do so, but he often retired from their
conversations to weep, and Siebenhaar would find him sitting in the
water consoling himself with music. The unhappy youth became a prey to
boredom and wearied of the arts and sciences and discussions with which
they filled the day. They had long ago arrived at the conclusion that
there was no God, no ascertainable purpose in the universe, and nothing
in life but the fun or nuisance of living. He became romantic and
plagued Siebenhaar for stories, love-stories, bawdy experiences, the
tale of his meeting with George, and the deathless fable of the love of
George and Arabella. From that he came to delight in the idea of war,
and Siebenhaar explained to him how wars came about: how in the first
place men were obsessed by superstitions about God, each community
believing itself to be specially favoured and inspired by the unseen
powers, and ignoring all the evidence to the contrary, as poverty,
disease, corruption, bad art, inefficiency, and domestic unhappiness.
As a consequence each community was jealous of every other, and
supported its claims to moral superiority and divine favour with a
great show of force, of armed ships on the sea and trained men on the
land.
To illustrate his remarks Siebenhaar concocted explosives and Ultimus
found such great amusement in them and was so busy destroying the
houses he had built, the statues he had made, the engines he had
contrived, that the philosopher was forced to change his theory of war
and to see that it has its roots in boredom.
Thereafter Ultimus was alternately busy with the arts and sciences and
with destroying all his works when he was bored with them and could not
help recognising their futility. As his explosives upset Siebenhaar’s
nerves and the tranquillity he required for his contemplation, they
made an arrangement that Ultimus should give notice of his destructive
intentions when he felt them coming on. Then Siebenhaar would retire to
the other side of the island and leave him to it.
The boy made a careful study of explosives and experimented with them
until he could send huge palm trees hundreds of feet into the air. It
became his ambition to blow up the mountain. He made several attempts,
but could not succeed. He blew great holes in it and discovered mines
of gold and diamonds and platinum and various new earths which, when
mixed with his explosive, increased its power. But the mountain
seemed to be capable of absorbing any shock. He had just given up his
experiments in despair when Siebenhaar came rushing over in a great
state of excitement to say that the island had moved a degree and a
half.
The two men looked at each other incredulously, not daring to believe
in what was thumping in both their minds. They prepared a new charge,
took their bearings, exploded it, and found that they were moving at
the rate of twenty-three knots an hour, N.N.W. The next charge they
placed so that the island moved W.N.W.
They could then navigate and go whither they pleased. They embraced,
danced, killed a goat, and drank heavily to celebrate their triumph.
III: CIVILISATION
The north point of the island was a rocky headland, a precipice
hundreds of feet above the sea-level. Beyond it jutted three jagged
rocks. One morning Siebenhaar found on one of these rocks the hull of
a vessel, and when he looked closer he saw a man sitting disconsolate
upon it. He fetched Ultimus, who threw stones to attract the man’s
attention. It was impossible to make him hear. They gesticulated to
tell him to swim to his right, and at last he caught their meaning,
stripped and plunged into the sea. They had already stopped the island,
which was now making only a gentle way, so that there was no danger of
his being run down.
By the time they reached the shore the man was already sitting on the
sands drying himself and eating a cocoa-nut. He was above middle age,
and had a little fat belly and long thin legs. Siebenhaar addressed him
in Fattish, and the man said he was a Rear-Admiral in the Fattish Navy
and would like to know what in hell they meant by ruining his battle in
which he had got the Fatters fairly on the run.
“Battle?” said Siebenhaar.
“Yes. Four cruisers, six destroyers, and torpedo craft. All gone on the
rocks. The most amazing thing in all my long experience. Not a sign of
a rock on the chart. You must have got the Fatters first, for their
firing suddenly ceased. Who are you? What are you?”
Siebenhaar told him it was Samways Island.
The man’s jaw dropped.
“I spent the best part of three years after that,” he said. “I
originally annexed it for the Empire.”
“Not,” cried Siebenhaar. “_Not_ Mr. Bich?”
“Bich is my name.”
Siebenhaar disclosed his identity and Rear-Admiral Bich covered his
amazement and emotion with a volley of expletives. He asked after
George, and when he was told that both he and Arabella were dead he
could not check his tears.
He shook Ultimus warmly by the hand and said he was the very spit of
his father, with a strong look of his mother. Then he added: “I must
not forget my duty as an officer, and, as a matter of form, I claim the
island once more for the Empire.”
“If you do,” said Ultimus quietly, “I shall blow you in pieces. I know
how the Fattish Empire treated my father, and, but for your kindly
thoughts of my mother, I would send you to join the ships which I am
only too happy to have destroyed if such a disaster can cause any
genuine commotion in Bondon. I will further caution you to be careful
what you say, as I am unaccustomed to society other than that of the
wise Siebenhaar, and already feel my soul filled with dislike and
contempt for you. This island is my island by inheritance, it is moving
by my will and I shall allow you to stay on it just as long as you are
useful to me.”
Rear-Admiral Bich saw the strength of Ultimus’ position and was silent
until Siebenhaar asked him for news of civilisation, when he expressed
surprise that they had not heard of the war.
“War?” said Siebenhaar. “Are they still at that game? Why, we were told
that the Fattero-Fattish war was to be the last.”
“That,” replied the Admiral, “was a mere skirmish. There are six or
seven nations at war with Fatterland.”
“Alas! my poor country!” cried the philosopher. “I knew how it would
be. Their infernal greed and conceit, their confusion of mind, their
slothfulness, their desire for discipline, their liking for monuments
and display, their want of tact, all these defects needed but success
for them to grow into active vice and plunge them into disaster. To
any nation a period of successful peace is fatal. The employment of
commercial cunning unredeemed by any other exercise of the mind is,
after a time, unutterably boring, and the most obvious relief from it
is found in the ideal of a nation in arms. Now that is a barren ideal.
To train men for so stupid and brutal a trade as the soldier’s is to
increase the already excessive amount of stupidity and brutality in the
world. To maintain large bodies of stupid and brutal men in arms is in
the end to be forced to find an excuse for using them. Human nature,
I fear, is incurably pugnacious and destructive. I have had to amend
many of my more optimistic opinions concerning the human race since I
have had the privilege of watching the development of our young friend
yonder. He is normal, healthy and intelligent, and acquainted with all
the resources of civilisation, physical and mental. There is hardly a
practical discovery of modern science that I have not placed at his
disposal for his use and amusement, but these do not satisfy him. He
is not exposed to the nervous pressure to which in our crowded modern
states I used to ascribe outbreaks of hostility. No. In the absence of
an enemy he must declare war upon his own handiwork, upon the elements,
upon the very earth itself.”