THE MORROW OF THE DISASTERS.
It was late when I came down-stairs to learn what the night had brought
forth. Mrs. Northerton was kindness itself, and persisted in regarding
me as Lena’s heroic rescuer, whereas I had really done nothing which
entitled me to distinction. Our midnight ride had been only that of two
people on one horse, for no molestation whatever had been offered us.
Still, taking time by the forelock, I suggested that the rescuer had
some claim on the lady, and, finally, revealed our secret at the true
psychological moment. Mrs. Northerton said she had long looked forward
to the union, and that her husband had been quite as sagacious as
herself. She was only sorry that things looked so black around us. How
would all this anarchy end? It was scarcely a time to think of Hymen.
For aught we could tell we might all be beggared, or possibly even
butchered, to make an anarchist’s holiday.
The story of my adventures was retold in detail, and the astonishment of
my hearers at the revelations knew no bounds. They had wondered greatly
at my absence, but were now of opinion that to have sailed the air in
the _Attila_ was a privilege the historian would grudge me. I replied
that the spectacle of the great massacre was so far from being a
privilege, that the bare memory of it horrified me. Had I known exactly
what to expect, I should have accepted Hartmann’s offer and have been
promptly landed beforehand.
My narrative having come to an end, we were speculating on the outlook,
when a tramp of feet arrested us, and all four of us rushed
simultaneously to the window. Good cheer! A regiment of volunteers was
marching briskly towards the Park, their bayonets flashing brightly in
the sunlight. Was there a reaction? Had the forces of order rallied? Had
the progress of the _Attila_ been checked? In a very short time I was in
the street, greedy for information. Accosting an officer, I asked him
what was the news. He said that the aëronef had ceased dropping
petroleum, that a vigorous reaction had taken place, that the
conflagrations were partly checked, while the anarchists and rioters
were being driven mercilessly from the streets with bullet and cold
steel. Without more ado I ran back into the house, and, shouting the
good tidings to old Northerton, enlisted him forthwith for an
expedition. Our plan of campaign was speedily agreed upon. We would make
our way to Hyde Park, and find out all about the destruction of last
night from the crowds who would be sure to gather there.
Mrs. Northerton and Lena protested, as was only to be expected, but very
little attention, I am afraid, was paid to them. Taking a satchel of
provisions and a couple of flasks of claret with us, we left the ladies
to brood over our temerity at their leisure. One thing must be added.
Though it seemed improbable that chances would favour me, I stuffed into
my breast-pocket poor Mrs. Hartmann’s last letter. It certainly would
not be my fault if her fiendish son failed to get it, and having got it
to relish it.
We followed the regiment for a while till Westbourne Grove was reached.
The heat, smoke, and dust here were intolerable, and whole clumps of
buildings were still merrily blazing. Every now and then the crack of
rifles could be heard, and we knew that somewhere or other justice was
being summarily administered. At this point a stranger, evidently a
gentleman, stepped up and asked us if we had heard the latest. We
answered that both the events of the night and early morning were for
the most part unknown to us. Thereupon he stated that all through the
night fires were being kindled in every direction by the aëronef. It had
been discovered, too, that hundreds, if not thousands, of confederates
were pushing on this abominable work below, and that these by inciting
the mob to violence had greatly assisted to swell the terrible list of
catastrophes. He added that the aëronef had drawn off awhile and was
wheeling idly around the Park in wide circles, occasionally discharging
her guns whenever the crowds grew dense. Meantime, order had been
partially restored—the military, albeit many soldiers were suspected of
complicity, had been called out; the police, at first helpless, had
rallied; and volunteer regiments and special police corps were pouring
on to the different scenes of action. Anarchists and rioters were being
shot down in batches, and it was believed that all co-operation with the
aëronef from below had been at last practically extirpated. Then came an
announcement which moved me to barely repressed excitement. The aëronef
during the early morning had been seen to descend in the Park and to
deposit four men, subsequently rising to her old altitude. The police
were now searching for them in all directions, and it was said that
their arrest was imminent.
“Did you hear of the balloon attack?” continued our communicative
informant.
“No,” we replied in unison, deeply interested.
“Well, some time after midnight, the thought occurred to Bates, the
aëronaut, that this aëronef might possibly be fought in her own element.
In the grounds of the Military Exhibition in South Kensington was the
balloon used for visitors’ ascents. Providing himself with a rifle and
three well-charged bombs—a terribly risky thing no doubt, but look at
the emergency!—he had the silk inflated, and, the wind suiting, rose up
steadily, meaning to get above his opponent, and, if possible, shatter
her with his missiles. Unfortunately the blaze rushing up from a
newly-fired group of mansions revealed the daring aëronaut. It was a
pretty, if a terrible picture—the little balloon drifting up towards the
mighty aëronef in the glow of those blazing roofs.”
“Did he get near enough to throw?”
“No, poor fellow. A journalist who was below with a night-glass says
that he never had even a chance. One of the men on the deck of the
aëronef pulled out a revolver and fired, and the balloon, pierced
through and through, at once began to descend rapidly. On its reaching
the ground with a shock in Earl’s Court Road, the bombs exploded, and
the car and its plucky occupant were shattered to pieces.”
[Illustration: THE BALLOON NEVER HAD A CHANCE.]
“Poor chap. A wild attempt, but rats in a hole cannot be particular,”
said old Northerton.
Thanking our informant heartily we moved hastily on, both eager to see
something of the movements of the terrible vessel.
The landing of the four men did not perplex me for long; Schwartz, as I
knew, had been prepared to descend. But why four in this enterprise for
which one alone had been originally told off?
The solution which suggested itself to me was this. Despite the
devastation he had caused, Hartmann was very dissatisfied with the
result. His vast outlay of material had not effected the ruin of
one-fifth part of the great city, while in all probability the resources
of the _Attila_ were becoming somewhat strained. Relatively to her size
these resources were undoubtedly slender, and it was requisite,
accordingly, to devise some new and less costly mode of attack. Of the
lull in the work of the incendiaries Hartmann must have got wind, but
not knowing the cause of it, and anxious to secure a redoubled activity
below—now so indispensable to his success—he had despatched four of the
crew to fan their energies into fury. That their efforts would be futile
was now certain enough; the problematical part of the affair was the
supposition that they would ever get back to their baffled leader at
all. Probably they were now bitterly regretting their temerity, if,
indeed, they had not been shot against the wall by the furious restorers
of order.
Just then a squad of soldiers passed by escorting some incendiaries,
whose faces filthy with grime and brutal to a degree filled us with
loathing and anger. They were to be shot in a neighbouring mews, and, if
the accounts we heard were reliable, richly deserved their fate. What
kicks their captors were giving them! The faces seemed unfamiliar to me,
all alike of a low grade of ruffianism such as every great city breeds,
but which never declares its strength till the day of weakness arrives.
But suddenly one of the wretches, who lagged somewhat behind the rest,
received a sharp cuff from a soldier, and in the volley of curses that
followed I recognized a well-known and long-detested voice. It was that
of Michael Schwartz, who, bruised, handcuffed, befouled with grime and
dirt, was being driven like a bullock to a slaughter-house. How savage a
despair must have goaded him in the last few minutes of his dark and
damnable life! I turned away with a shudder, glad however to think that
this fiend at least was no longer to cumber the ground. Might the three
other men of his party meet with the same luck!
After half-an-hour’s walk we found ourselves in Hyde Park. Our informant
had not misled us. High above the sward circled the _Attila_, her
graceful flight and vast bulk, her silvery-grey sides and projecting
aëroplane, her long ruddy flag streaming over the screw-blades, her
ram-like horned bow, and above all, her now hideous repute, rendering
her a weirdly conspicuous object. Old Mr. Northerton’s face was a
picture; the look he bent on me was one of unconcealed and almost
childish wonder at the aëronef and of deep respect for his would-be
son-in-law, who had actually trodden its deck. He seemed fascinated by
the wondrous air vessel, and lamented loudly that its conception should
have lodged in so unworthy and fiendish a mind.
“Think what a good man might have effected for his kind, for their
creature-comforts and commerce, for the cause of civilization, science,
and culture. A fleet of such ships would render England monarch of the
nations and arm her with power to sweep away hordes of monstrous
iniquities. War could be finally stamped out, and universal arbitration
substituted for it.”
“Until France or Russia began to launch similar fleets,” I added, for it
seemed clear enough that nations who could fight with armies and
ironclads would have no insuperable prejudice against fighting with
air-ships. If only one nation possessed these aëronefs she would,
doubtless, silence the rest, but in actual practice inventions of this
character cannot be permanently kept secret.
There were very few persons in the Park, for the dread of the aëronef
was universal. Her guns dexterously singled out crowds, hence no one
wished to recruit them, and any symptom of their formation in the
neighbourhood speedily corrected itself. Outside the railings, indeed,
there were plenty of onlookers, but there the military patrolled the
streets, and bodies of mounted police vigorously seconded their efforts.
I was told by a bystander that severe fighting was going on in East
London, but that nothing serious of late was reported from the West End.
This sounded all very well, but what if the _Attila_ was once more to
re-open fire? How about the restoration of order then? Would regiments
clear the streets under bomb fire? would police hunt down incendiaries
in the teeth of petroleum showers? The man admitted that in that case
chaos must follow, but, nevertheless, he reckoned the vessel was
emptied.
“She can’t hold much more stuff at any rate.”
The reed was unfortunately slender, as he had shortly cause to discover.
I was gazing at the stray onlookers around us when a strange group
caught my eye. Two men had just entered the Park, followed by a third,
with his hat pulled well forward over his brow. The two men in advance
were talking excitedly, and pointed at intervals to the aëronef.
Something in their faces riveted my attention, and, as they came nearer,
I recognized Norris among them, ay, and the villainous Thomas himself
was bringing up the rear. What were they doing here at such an hour? My
notion was that their mission had completely failed, that their
associates were being shot down, and that they were now seeking a haven
from danger in the _Attila_. But was it possible that they could be
embarked in the broad light of day in the face of crowd, police, and
military? Were they even expected back so early from the fulfilment of
their task? Whatever the explanation might be—one thing was clear, the
chance for my letter had come! As Norris passed me I looked him full in
the face—he grew pale as death, and I saw him feel spasmodically for his
revolver. Evidently he thought that I should denounce him, and was
prepared to die biting. Of course no semblance of such a plan had
crossed my mind. Hateful to me as were these anarchists, they had
treated me well on the _Attila_, and with them I had once amicably
broken salt. Honour shielded even the enemies of the human race from
such a scurvy return.
Brushing past Norris I whispered: “A letter—for the captain,” stuffing
it dexterously into his hand at the same time. This action passed wholly
unnoticed even by Norris’ companions, while the worthy ex-Commissioner
was far too well absorbed in the aëronef to mark my brief departure from
his side. Norris himself passed on hurriedly, directing his steps to the
central portion of the Park. I watched the three anarchists till they
reached an almost deserted spot, about four hundred yards off, and it
then became evident that they were bent on signalling to the _Attila_.
For aught I knew Hartmann in his conning-tower was even now sweeping the
sward with his powerful field-glass.
I saw Norris produce something out of the breast of his coat, and fuddle
eagerly about it with his companions. The anarchists then lay down on
the grass, and seemed to be awaiting some answer. It was some time,
however, before I seized the true rendering of their conduct, and but
for a stray yellow gleam showing up between Norris and one of the others
I should not have seized it at all. The device adopted was simple. The
gallant three were evidently being waited and watched for. To ensure
notice they had agreed to exhibit a large yellow flag, and for
security’s sake they had unrolled this at full length on the grass,
lying round it at the same time so as to screen it from observation. The
problem remaining over was, how the _Attila_ was to get them safely on
board. She was, perhaps, two hundred and fifty feet above them at the
moment, and the difficulty in such a situation seemed almost
insuperable.
Suddenly a cry from Mr. Northerton arrested me. The aëronef was curving
swiftly in and out, so as to trace a sort of descending spiral. Then
when nearly over the flag she stopped almost dead, and seemed to be
falling rapidly.
“It’s falling! it’s falling!” yelled Mr. Northerton.
But I knew better, that fall was adjusted by the sand-levers.
The _Attila_ sank slowly to the ground. The police, military, and
spectators outside and inside the railing rushed forward to the scene
with loud cries of exultation. All were seized with the desire to be in
at the death, to vent their rage on the foe who now seemed to have lost
his might. It was with the greatest trouble that I held Mr. Northerton
back. He was carried away by the sight of the thousands streaming into
the Park, and converging in masses on the fallen monster. They were now
close up. Several rifle-cracks told that the soldiers to the fore were
already hotly engaged, were perhaps striving to storm the hull.
And then came a dread disenchantment.