“Pour passer ces nuits blanches,Gallery, mes enfants,Chassait tous les dimanchesEt battais les paysans.Entendez-vous la sarabande?...”
“Pour passer ces nuits blanches,Gallery, mes enfants,Chassait tous les dimanchesEt battais les paysans.Entendez-vous la sarabande?...”
“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 thinkyou 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 clericalfriend,” he said at last. “Can’t you understand thatnothingcounts 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 shonecrimson 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 camethe 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.