A STRANGE AWAKENING.
Where was I? I seemed to be escaping from the throes of some horrible
dream, and that too with a headache past endurance. I stretched out my
right hand and it struck something cold and hard. I opened one eye with
an effort, and I saw three men bending over me as one sees spectres in a
nightmare. Slowly there was borne upon me the sound of voices, and then
the cruel remembrance of that struggle. I was in a police cell, and
might have to expiate my misfortunes with shame or even death. Who was
to believe my tale? Horrified at the thought, I gave utterance to a deep
groan.
“There’s not much up with your pal, Jack,” said one of the spectres
aforesaid; “give him some more whisky; he’s hit his head and got knocked
silly, that’s all.”
What was this? A surge of blood coursed through me. I made a supreme
effort and opened both eyes fully. The light was poor, but it was
enough. The face of the man nearest me was the face of Burnett, by him
stood a rough-looking artisan, and, by all that is marvellous, Michael
Schwartz!
“Here, take this,” said Burnett, as the rough-looking man handed him the
glass, “you’ll be all right in a minute.” I drank it off mechanically
and, imbued with new strength, sat bolt upright on the bench. Burnett
watched me satirically as I tried to cope with the situation. By the
light of a small lamp hanging in a niche over my head I saw that I was
in a low small room about twelve feet square, with bare greyish-looking
walls and a few slit-like openings near the ceiling which did duty, no
doubt, for windows. A few chests, several chairs, and a table of the
same greyish colour constituted its furniture. Almost directly opposite
me was a low door through which blew gusts of chilly mist, but as to
what lay beyond it I could not of course form a conjecture. Having made
this rapid survey I turned in astonishment to my three stolid
companions, mutely entreating some sort of clue to the mystery.
Schwartz then made an attempt to rouse me by asking how I had enjoyed my
nocturnal run in the park. But I was still too surprised to answer. I
was thinking how Burnett could have carried me safe away, where he could
possibly have brought me, what had become of our pursuers, where the
mysterious Hartmann was, who had fired the shots? These and a multitude
of like riddles rendered me speechless with bewilderment. When I had
more or less fully regained voice and strength I turned to Burnett, and
ignoring the impish Schwartz, said curtly—
“Where on earth am I?”
“You aren’t on earth at all,” was the answer, and the three burst into a
hearty laugh. “Nor in heaven,” added the speaker; “for if so neither
Schwartz nor Thomas would be near you.”
“Come, a truce to humbug! Am I in London, on the river, in an
anarchist’s haunt, or where?”
“I am quite serious. But if you want something more explicit, well, you
are not in London but above it.”
I looked at the three wonderingly. A faint light was beginning to break
on my mind. But no, the thing was impossible!
“Are you able to walk now?” said Burnett. “Come, Schwartz, you take one
arm and I’ll take another. Between us we’ll give Mr. Constitutionalist a
lesson. Stanley, my boy, in all your days you never saw a sight such as
I am going to show you now.”
“But it is nothing to what we shall see, comrade, when the captain gives
the word,” added Schwartz.
“Thank you,” I replied, “I will lean on you, Burnett. I can do without
Herr Schwartz’s assistance.”
We moved across the room.
“Hist!” whispered Burnett, “don’t be nasty to the German. He’s the
captain’s right hand. It was he, too, who knocked over your man just now
and so saved you from trouble. Take my advice and be discreet.”
I nodded.
“But who——”
“Wait a moment and look around you.”
We had crossed the doorway and were standing in a sort of open bulwarked
passage which evidently ran on for some length on either side. I stepped
to the bulwarks.
“Look below,” said Burnett.
I looked long and earnestly, while Schwartz and Thomas stood silently in
the background. It was a strange sight, and it was some time ere I
seized its meaning. It was very dark outside, the only light being that
coming through the doorway of the chamber I had just quitted. But far
_below_, as it seemed, glittered innumerable specks like stars, a
curious contrast to the inkiness of the cloudy pall above us. As I gazed
down into the depths I became conscious of a dull murmur like that of
whirling machinery, and forthwith detected a constant vibration of the
ledge on which my elbow rested. Then, and then only, the truth rushed
upon me.
[Illustration: I WAS BEING CARRIED OVER LONDON IN THE CRAFT OF HARTMANN
THE ANARCHIST]
I was being carried over London in the craft of Hartmann the Anarchist.
Horrified with my thoughts—for the potentialities of this fell vessel
dazed me—I clung fiercely to Burnett’s arm.
“I am, then, on the——,” I gasped.
“Deck of the _Attila_,” put in Burnett. “Behold the craft that shall
wreck civilization and hurl tyrannies into nothingness!”
But my gaze was fixed on those lights far below, and my thought was not
of the tyrannies I had left, but of the tyranny this accursed deck might
minister to. And Hartmann, they said, was remorseless.
“Yes,” growled Thomas hoarsely, “I live for the roar of the dynamite.”
Schwartz, stirred to enthusiasm, shouted a brutal parody of Tennyson.
“The dynamite falls on castle walls
And splendid buildings old in story.
The column shakes, the tyrant quakes,
And the wild wreckage leaps in glory.
Throw, comrade, throw: set the wild echoes flying;
Throw, comrade; answer, wretches, dying, dying, dying.”
If the remainder of the crew resembled this sample, I was caged in a
veritable inferno. As yet, of course, I knew nothing of their numbers or
feelings, but my expectations were far from being roseate.
“But, man!” I cried, turning to Burnett, “would you massacre helpless
multitudes? you, who prate of tyranny, would you, also, play the _rôle_
of tyrants?”
Before the gathering horror all my wonder at the _Attila_ had vanished.
I felt only the helpless abject dismay with which one confronts an
appalling but inevitable calamity. At that moment some disaster to the
aëronef would have been welcome. The masterful vice of the fanatics
maddened me. Rebel, however, as I might, I was of no account. The snake
that snapped at the file had more in his favour.
“We don’t argue here,” said Burnett, “we act. If you want arguments, you
must wait till you see the captain. Disputes with us are useless.”
So even he was becoming surly. It was natural enough, however, as a
moment’s reflection showed. The alligator on land is ordinarily mild
enough, in his element he is invariably a terrible monster. The
“suspect” anarchist of Stepney was courteous and argumentative, but the
free and independent anarchist of the _Attila_ dogmatic and brutal. It
was obviously best policy to humour him, for he alone, perhaps, might
stand by me at a pinch. I endeavoured to throw oil on the troubled
waters.
“You used not to mind criticism,” I urged.
“Oh no! but those days are past. Don’t take what I say unkindly, for we
all mean you well. The captain will always talk, but we here are tired
of it. We only exist now to act—when the word is passed. So you will
consult our convenience and your own much more effectually if you drop
all such homilies for the future.”
“Yes,” put in Thomas, “I had enough of it in London. Fifteen years of
revolutionary socialist talking and nothing ever done! But wait a few
weeks and I warrant it will be said that we here have atoned wonderfully
well for arrears. Come, a glass to our captain—the destined destroyer of
civilization!” The gallant three, acting on this hint, left me to digest
their advice and retired within. How long I remained thinking I know
not. Some one brought me a chair, but I was too abstracted to thank him.
For fully an hour I must have looked down on those twinkling lights with
a terror beyond the power of words to express. All was as Burnett had
said. The dream of Hartmann was realized. The exile and outcast, lately
sheltered from the law in the shadow of Continental cities, now enjoyed
power such as a hundred Czars could not hope for. The desperadoes with
him, hated by and hating society, were probably one and all devoured by
lust of blood and revenge. The three I knew were all proscribed men,
loathing not only the landlord and capitalist but the workers, who would
most of them have rejoiced over their capture. They attacked not only
the abuses and the defects but the very foundations of society. Their
long-cherished thought had been to shatter the trophies of centuries.
And the long-contemplated opportunity had come at last!
One resource remained. What they meant to do with me was uncertain. But
my relations with Burnett and the friendship of Hartmann’s mother were
sufficient to avert any apprehension of violence. My endeavour then
henceforward must be to work on the mind of Hartmann, to divert this
engine of mischief into as fair a course as possible, to achieve by its
aid a durable and relatively bloodless social revolution, and to reap by
an authority so secure from overthrow a harvest of beneficial results.
Buoyed up by these brighter thoughts, I now began to find time for a
more immediate interest. What of this wonderful vessel or aëronef
itself? What was it built of? how was it propelled, supported, steered,
manned, constructed? Rising from my chair, I felt my way along the
railing forward, but found the way barred by some door or partition. As
I made my way back I met Burnett, who emerged from the low door already
mentioned.
“What, exploring already?” he said. “It’s no good at this hour, as you
have doubtless discovered. Come inside and I’ll see you are made cosy
for the night. You must want sleep, surely.”
I followed him in without a word. Passing into the chamber he pressed a
spring in the wall, and a concealed door flew back revealing a dark
recess. He struck a light, and there became visible a comfortable berth
with the usual appurtenances of a homely cabin such as one would occupy
in the second-class saloon of an ordinary ocean-going steamer.
“By the way,” I said, “you have not told me what happened in the park; I
am dying to know.”
“It is easily told. When you fell, the two detectives were up in a
moment. I turned round meaning to shoot, but before I emptied a barrel,
crack, crack, crack, came a series of reports from aloft, and both men
were settled, one spinning right across you—see, your coat is covered
with blood. The explanation is that thirty feet up between the alleys of
the trees floated the _Attila_, and Hartmann and Schwartz were indulging
in a little sport. I very soon climbed up the ladder which was swinging
close by the tree we were to have come to, and you were shortly
afterwards hauled up in a carefully tied sheet. Why did we take you on
board? I am surprised at your asking. We could not stop, and the idea of
leaving you stunned, and in the compromising company of dead men, was
not arguable. Would you have relished the idea of a trial as murderer
and anarchist? You meant well, you see, by me, and the captain was
strong in your favour. Some of the men know of you, and no one had a bad
word to say—save that your theories were rather Utopian. But you may
change.”
For awhile I was silent. I thought of my Utopian project. Then I said,
“So far as my theories go, I will confine myself now to one remark. An
air-ship may be used as well as abused.”
Burnett laughed. “That’s better! Don’t forget, however, to define your
view of us to the captain. Hallo! I must be off on watch!” An electric
bell tinkled sharply in the outer chamber. “Good-night.”
“Good-night.”
Just before turning in I looked closely at the basin of my wash-hand
stand. It was of the same silvery grey colour which I had noted on the
walls of the cabin, and which, indeed, seemed ubiquitous. A sudden
thought struck me. I emptied out the water and lifted it up. Its weight
seemed so absurdly small that I could hardly believe my senses. But one
thing was clear. The mystery of the thin silvery grey plate was
explained. It was out of such materials that the body of the _Attila_
was fashioned. The riddle of Schwartz previously half brushed aside was
at last solved completely.
As I was dropping off to sleep a novel reflection assailed me. What
would Lena think of my absence to-morrow? Of this terrible night in the
park she would not, of course, dream. Still——, but sleep speedily
quenched my thinking.