CHAPTER XXIV. THE COMING OF THE AEROPLANES
Two men in pale blue were lying in the irregular line that stretchedalong the edge of the captured Roehampton stage from end to end,grasping their carbines and peering into the shadows of the stage calledWimbledon Park. Now and then they spoke to one another. They spoke themutilated English of their class and period. The fire of the Ostrogiteshad dwindled and ceased, and few of the enemy had been seen for sometime. But the echoes of the fight that was going on now far below inthe lower galleries of that stage, came every now and then between thestaccato of shots from the popular side. One of these men was describingto the other how he had seen a man down below there dodge behind agirder, and had aimed at a guess and hit him cleanly as he dodged toofar "He's down there still," said the marksman. "See that little patch.Yes. Between those bars." A few yards behind them lay a dead stranger,face upward to the sky, with the blue canvas of his jacket smolderingin a circle about the neat bullet hole on his chest. Close beside him awounded man, with a leg swathed about, sat with an expressionless faceand watched the progress of that burning. Gigantic behind them, athwartthe carrier lay the captured aeropile.
"I can't see him now," said the second man in a ton of provocation.
The marksman became foul-mouthed and high-voiced in his earnestendeavour to make things plain And suddenly, interrupting him, came anoisy shouting from the substage.
"What's going on now," he said, and raised himself on one arm to stareat the stairheads in the central groove of the stage. A number of bluefigures were coming up these, and swarming across the stage to theaeropile.
"We don't want all these fools," said his friend. "They only crowd upand spoil shots. What are they after?"
"Ssh!--they're shouting something."
The two men listened. The swarming new-comers had crowded densely aboutthe aeropile. Three Ward Leaders, conspicuous by their black mantles andbadges, clambered into the body and appeared above it. The rank and fileflung themselves upon the vans, gripping hold of the edges, until theentire outline of the thing was manned, in some places three deep. Oneof the marksmen knelt up. "They're putting it on the carrier--that'swhat they're after."
He rose to his feet, his friend rose also. "What's the good?" said hisfriend. "We've got no aeronauts."
"That's what they're doing anyhow." He looked at his rifle, looked atthe struggling crowd, and suddenly turning to the wounded man. "Mindthese, mate," he said, handing his carbine and cartridge belt; and in amoment he was running towards the aeropile. For a quarter of an hour hewas a perspiring Titan, lugging, thrusting, shouting and heeding shouts,and then the thing was done, and he stood with a multitude of otherscheering their own achievement. By this time he knew, what indeedeveryone in the city knew, that the Master, raw learner though hewas, intended to fly this machine himself, was coming even now to takecontrol of it, would let no other man attempt it. "He who takes thegreatest danger, he who bears the heaviest burden, that man is King,"so the Master was reported to have spoken. And even as this man cheered,and while the beads of sweat still chased one another from the disorderof his hair, he heard the thunder of a greater tumult, and in fitfulsnatches the beat and impulse of the revolutionary song. He saw througha gap in the people that a thick stream of heads still poured upthe stairway. "The Master is coming," shouted voices, "the Master iscoming," and the crowd about him grew denser and denser. He began tothrust himself towards the central groove. "The Master is coming!" "TheSleeper, the Master!" "God and the Master!" roared the Voices.
And suddenly quite close to him were the black uniforms of therevolutionary guard, and for the first and last time in his life he sawGraham, saw him quite nearly. A tall, dark man in a flowing black robe,with a white, resolute face and eyes fixed steadfastly before him; a manwho for all the little things about him held neither ears nor eyesnor thoughts.... For all his days that man remembered the passing ofGraham's bloodless face. In a moment it had gone and he was fightingin the swaying crowd. A lad weeping with terror thrust against him,pressing towards the stairways, yelling "Clear for the aeropile!" Thebell that clears the flying stage became a loud unmelodious clanging.
With that clanging in his ears Graham drew near the aeropile, marchedinto the shadow of its tilting wing. He became aware that a number ofpeople about him were offering to accompany him, and waved their offersaside. He wanted to think how one started the engine. The bell clangedfaster and faster, and the feet of the retreating people roared fasterand louder. The man in yellow was assisting him to mount through theribs of the body. He clambered into the aeronaut's place, fixing himselfvery carefully and deliberately. What was it? The man in yellow waspointing to two aeropiles driving upward in the southern sky. No doubtthey were looking for the coming aeroplanes. That--presently--the thingto do now was to start. Things were being shouted at him, questions,warnings. They bothered him. He wanted to think about the aeropile, torecall every item of his previous experience. He waved the people fromhim, saw the man in yellow dropping off through the ribs, saw the crowdcleft down the line of the girders by his gesture.
For a moment he was motionless, staring at the levers, the wheel bywhich the engine shifted, and all the delicate appliances of which heknew so little. His eye caught a spirit level with the bubble towardshim, and he remembered something, spent a dozen seconds in swinging theengine forward until the bubble floated in the centre of the tube.He noted that the people were not shouting, knew they watched hisdeliberation. A bullet smashed on the bar above his head. Who fired? Wasthe line clear of people? He stood up to see and sat down again.
In another second the propeller was spinning, and he was rushing downthe guides. He gripped the wheel and swung the engine back to lift thestem. Then it was the people shouted. In a moment he was throbbing withthe quiver of the engine, and the shouts dwindled swiftly behind, rusheddown to silence. The wind whistled over the edges of the screen, and theworld sank away from him very swiftly.
Throb, throb, throb--throb, throb, throb; up he drove. He fanciedhimself free of all excitement, felt cool and deliberate. He lifted thestem still more, opened one valve on his left wing and swept round andup. He looked down with a steady head, and up. One of the Ostrogiteaeropiles was driving across his course, so that he drove obliquelytowards it and would pass below it at a steep angle. Its littleaeronauts were peering down at him. What did they mean to do? His mindbecame active. One, he saw held a weapon pointing, seemed prepared tofire. What did they think he meant to do? In a moment he understoodtheir tactics, and his resolution was taken. His momentary lethargy waspast. He opened two more valves to his left, swung round, end on to thishostile machine, closed his valves, and shot straight at it, stem andwind-screen shielding him from the shot. They tilted a little as if toclear him. He flung up his stem.
Throb, throb, throb--pause--throb, throb--he set his teeth, his faceinto an involuntary grimace, and crash! He struck it! He struck upwardbeneath the nearer wing.
Very slowly the wing of his antagonist seemed to broaden as the impetusof his blow turned it up. He saw the full breadth of it and then it sliddownward out of his sight.
He felt his stem going down, his hands tightened on the levers, whirledand rammed the engine back. He felt the jerk of a clearance, the noseof the machine jerked upward steeply, and for a moment he seemed to belying on his back. The machine was reeling and staggering, it seemed tobe dancing on its screw. He made a huge effort, hung for a moment on thelevers, and slowly the engine came forward again. He was driving upwardbut no longer so steeply. He gasped for a moment and flung himself atthe levers again. The wind whistled about him. One further effort andhe was almost level. He could breathe. He turned his head for the firsttime to see what had become of his antagonists. Turned back to thelevers for a moment and looked again. For a moment he could havebelieved they were annihilated. And then he saw between the two stagesto the east was a chasm, and down this something, a slender edge, fellswiftly and vanished, as a sixpence falls down a crack.
At first he did not understand, and then a wild joy possessed him. Heshouted at the top of his voice, an inarticulate shout, and drove higherand higher up the sky. Throb, throb, throb, pause, throb, throb, throb."Where was the other aeropile?" he thought. "They too--." As he lookedround the empty heavens he had a momentary fear that this machine hadrisen above him, and then he saw it alighting on the Norwood stage. Theyhad meant shooting. To risk being rammed headlong two thousand feet inthe air was beyond their latter-day courage. The combat was declined.
For a little while he circled, then swooped in a steep descent towardsthe westward stage. Throb throb throb, throb throb throb. The twilightwas creeping on apace, the smoke from the Streatham stage that had beenso dense and dark, was now a pillar of fire, and all the laced curvesof the moving ways and the translucent roofs and domes and the chasmsbetween the buildings were glowing softly now, lit by the temperedradiance of the electric light that the glare of the way overpowered.The three efficient stages that the Ostrogites held--for Wimbledon Parkwas useless because of the fire from Roehampton, and Streatham was afurnace--were glowing with guide lights for the coming aeroplanes. Ashe swept over the Roehampton stage he saw the dark masses of the peoplethereon. He heard a clap of frantic cheering, heard a bullet from theWimbledon Park stage tweet through the air, and went beating up abovethe Surrey wastes. He felt a breath of wind from the south-west, andlifted his westward wing as he had learnt to do, and so drove upwardheeling into the rare swift upper air. Throb throb throb--throb throbthrob.
Up he drove and up, to that pulsating rhythm, until the country beneathwas blue and indistinct, and London spread like a little map traced inlight, like the mere model of a city near the brim of the horizon. Thesouth-west was a sky of sapphire over the shadowy rim of the world, andever as he drove upward the multitude of stars increased.
And behold! In the southward, low down and glittering swiftly nearer,were two little patches of nebulous light. And then two more, and then anebulous glow of swiftly driving shapes. Presently he could count them.There were four and twenty. The first fleet of aeroplanes had come!Beyond appeared a yet greater glow.
He swept round in a half circle, staring at this advancing fleet.It flew in a wedge-like shape, a triangular flight of giganticphosphorescent shapes sweeping nearer through the lower air. He made aswift calculation of their pace, and spun the little wheel that broughtthe engine forward. He touched a lever and the throbbing effort of theengine ceased. He began to fall, fell swifter and swifter. He aimed atthe apex of the wedge. He dropped like a stone through the whistlingair. It seemed scarce a second from that soaring moment before he struckthe foremost aeroplane.
No man of all that black multitude saw the coming of his fate, no manamong them dreamt of the hawk that struck downward upon him out ofthe sky. Those who were not limp in the agonies of air-sickness, werecraning their black necks and staring to see the filmy city that wasrising out of the haze, the rich and splendid city to which "Massa Boss"had brought their obedient muscles. Bright teeth gleamed and the glossyfaces shone. They had heard of Paris. They knew they were to have lordlytimes among the "poor white" trash. And suddenly Graham struck them.
He had aimed at the body of the aeroplane, but at the very last instanta better idea had flashed into his mind. He twisted about and strucknear the edge of the starboard wing with all his accumulated weight. Hewas jerked back as he struck. His prow went gliding across its smoothexpanse towards the rim. He felt the forward rush of the huge fabricsweeping him and his aeropile along with it, and for a moment thatseemed an age he could not tell what was happening. He heard a thousandthroats yelling, and perceived that his machine was balanced on the edgeof the gigantic float, and driving down, down; glanced over his shoulderand saw the backbone of the aeroplane and the opposite float swaying up.He had a vision through the ribs of sliding chairs, staring faces, andhands clutching at the tilting guide bars. The fenestrations in thefurther float flashed open as the aeronaut tried to right her. Beyond,he saw a second aeroplane leaping steeply to escape the whirl of itsheeling fellow. The broad area of swaying wings seemed to jerk upward.He felt his aeropile had dropped clear, that the monstrous fabric, cleanoverturned, hung like a sloping wall above him.
He did not clearly understand that he had struck the side float of theaeroplane and slipped off, but he perceived that he was flying free onthe down glide and rapidly nearing earth. What had he done? His heartthrobbed like a noisy engine in his throat and for a perilous instanthe could not move his levers because of the paralysis of his hands. Hewrenched the levers to throw his engine back, fought for two secondsagainst the weight of it, felt himself righting driving horizontally,set the engine beating again.
He looked upward and saw two aeroplanes glide shouting far overhead,looked back, and saw the main body of the fleet opening out and rushingupward and outward; saw the one he had struck fall edgewise on andstrike like a gigantic knife-blade along the wind-wheels below it.
He put down his stern and looked again. He drove up heedless of hisdirection as he watched. He saw the wind-vanes give, saw the huge fabricstrike the earth, saw its downward vans crumple with the weight of itsdescent, and then the whole mass turned over and smashed, upside down,upon the sloping wheels. Throb, throb, throb, pause. Suddenly fromthe heaving wreckage a thin tongue of white fire licked up towards thezenith. And then he was aware of a huge mass flying through the airtowards him, and turned upwards just in time to escape the charge--ifit was a charge--of a second aeroplane. It whirled by below, suckedhim down a fathom, and nearly turned him over in the gust of its closepassage.
He became aware of three others rushing towards him, aware of the urgentnecessity of beating above them. Aeroplanes were all about him, circlingwildly to avoid him, as it seemed. They drove past him, above, below,eastward and westward. Far away to the westward was the sound of acollision, and two falling flares. Far away to the southward a secondsquadron was coming. Steadily he beat upward. Presently all theaeroplanes were below him, but for a moment he doubted the height he hadof them, and did not swoop again. And then he came down upon a secondvictim and all its load of soldiers saw him coming. The big machineheeled and swayed as the fear maddened men scrambled to the sternfor their weapons. A score of bullets sung through the air, and thereflashed a star in the thick glass wind-screen that protected him. Theaeroplane slowed and dropped to foil his stroke, and dropped too low.Just in time he saw the wind-wheels of Bromley hill rushing up towardshim, and spun about and up as the aeroplane he had chased crashed amongthem. All its voices wove into a felt of yelling. The great fabricseemed to be standing on end for a second among the heeling andsplintering vans, and then it flew to pieces. Huge splinters came flyingthrough the air, its engines burst like shells. A hot rush of flame shotoverhead into the darkling sky.
"_Two!_" he cried, with a bomb from overhead bursting as it fell, andforthwith he was beating up again. A glorious exhilaration possessedhim now, a giant activity. His troubles about humanity, about hisinadequacy, were gone for ever. He was a man in battle rejoicing in hispower. Aeroplanes seemed radiating from him in every direction, intentonly upon avoiding him, the yelling of their packed passengers came inshort gusts as they swept by. He chose his third quarry, struck hastilyand did but turn it on edge. It escaped him, to smash against the tallcliff of London wall. Flying from that impact he skimmed the darklingground so nearly he could see a frightened rabbit bolting up a slope. Hejerked up steeply, and found himself driving over south London with theair about him vacant. To the right of him a wild riot of signal rocketsfrom the Ostrogites banged tumultuously in the sky. To the south thewreckage of half a dozen air ships flamed, and east and west and norththe air ships fled before him. They drove away to the east and north,and went about in the south, for they could not pause in the air.In their present confusion any attempt at evolution would have meantdisastrous collisions. He could scarcely realize the thing he had done.In every quarter aeroplanes were receding. They were receding. Theydwindled smaller and smaller. T
hey were in flight!
He passed two hundred feet or so above the Roehampton stage. It wasblack with people and noisy with their frantic shouting. But why wasthe Wimbledon Park stage black and cheering, too? The smoke and flame ofStreatham now hid the three further stages. He curved about and roseto see them and the northern quarters. First came the square masses ofShooter's Hill into sight from behind the smoke, lit and orderly withthe aeroplane that had landed and its disembarking negroes. Then cameBlackheath, and then under the corner of the reek the Norwood stage. OnBlackheath no aeroplane had landed but an aeropile lay upon the guides.Norwood was covered by a swarm of little figures running to and fro in apassionate confusion. Why? Abruptly he understood. The stubborndefence of the flying stages was over, the people were pouring into theunder-ways of these last strongholds of Ostrog's usurpation. And then,from far away on the northern border of the city, full of gloriousimport to him, came a sound, a signal, a note of triumph, the leadenthud of a gun. His lips fell apart, his face was disturbed with emotion.
He drew an immense breath. "They win," he shouted to the empty air; "thepeople win!" The sound of a second gun came like an answer. And then hesaw the aeropile on Blackheath was running down its guides to launch.It lifted clean and rose. It shot up into the air, driving straightsouthward and away from him.
In an instant it came to him what this meant. It must needs be Ostrogin flight. He shouted and dropped towards it. He had the momentum ofhis elevation and fell slanting down the air and very swiftly. It rosesteeply at his approach. He allowed for its velocity and drove straightupon it.
It suddenly became a mere flat edge, and behold! he was past it, anddriving headlong down with all the force of his futile blow.
He was furiously angry. He reeled the engine back along its shaft andwent circling up. He saw Ostrog's machine beating up a spiral beforehim. He rose straight towards it, won above it by virtue of the impetusof his swoop and by the advantage and weight of a man. He droppedheadlong--dropped and missed again! As he rushed past he saw the face ofOstrog's aeronaut confident and cool and in Ostrog's attitude a wincingresolution. Ostrog was looking steadfastly away from him--to the south.He realized with a gleam of wrath how bungling his flight must be. Belowhe saw the Croyden hills. He jerked upward and once more he gained onhis enemy.
He glanced over his shoulder and his attention was arrested by a strangething. The eastward stage, the one on Shooter's Hill, appeared to lift;a flash changing to a tall grey shape, a cowled figure of smoke anddust, jerked into the air. For a moment this cowled figure stoodmotionless, dropping huge masses of metal from its shoulders, and thenit began to uncoil a dense head of smoke. The people had blown it up,aeroplane and all! As suddenly a second flash and grey shape sprangup from the Norwood stage. And even as he stared at this came a deadreport, and the air wave of the first explosion struck him. He was flungup and sideways.
For a moment the aeropile fell nearly edgewise with her nose down,and seemed to hesitate whether to overset altogether. He stood on hiswind-shield wrenching the wheel that swayed up over his head. And thenthe shock of the second explosion took his machine sideways.
He found himself clinging to one of the ribs of his machine, and the airwas blowing past him and upward. He seemed to be hanging quite still inthe air, with the wind blowing up past him. It occurred to him that hewas falling. Then he was sure that he was falling. He could not lookdown.
He found himself recapitulating with incredible swiftness all that hadhappened since his awakening, the days of doubt the days of Empire, andat last the tumultuous discovery of Ostrog's calculated treachery, hewas beaten but London was saved. London was saved!
The thought had a quality of utter unreality. Who was he? Why was heholding so tightly with his hands? Why could he not leave go? In sucha fall as this countless dreams have ended. But in a moment he wouldwake....
His thoughts ran swifter and swifter. He wondered if he should see Helenagain. It seemed so unreasonable that he should not see her again. It_must_ be a dream! Yet surely he would meet her. She at least was real.She was real. He would wake and meet her.
Although he could not look at it, he was suddenly aware that the earthwas very near.
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