(II)
In spite of all that he had seen in his journeys, he still foundan extraordinary fascination in watching the scene at Queenstown,as the great Olympic-line volors, each carrying three hundredpassengers, one by one made ready and left. He himself was toleave in the last of the four.
From the stage erected at the end of the long headland to thesouth of the town, he could see the harbour on his right, closedin by the city itself, rising up from the water's edge to thehuge cathedral, finished fifty years before; and on his left theopen sea. It was a brilliant spring morning; the air, justcharged with moisture and soaked by sunlight, was a radiantmedium through which the city sparkled on one side and the long,low rollers shone on the other, discharging themselves againstthe foot of the rocks four hundred feet below where he stood.Sea-birds wheeled and screamed about him, tilting and sliding upthe slopes of the fresh west wind; but he noticed that as thefirst volor detached itself and slid out over the sea, pausingfor an instant to head round to the compass, as if by magic everybird was gone: he could see them far away, white dots skimminginland as if for protection.
These Transatlantic volors were incalculably in advance of any hehad seen before. He turned, as the first moved out, its longupper and lower decks lined with watching, silent faces--of whomthe great majority were those of men--and asked for a littleinformation from the genial Irish canon who had come from thecathedral with him, to see him start.
"They are eight hundred feet long," he said, "and limited tothree hundred passengers. Of course there's the crew and stewardsbesides. The crossing varies from thirty-six to forty-eighthours. . . . Yes, transhipments are sometimes made during thevoyage; but it's not usual. It involves a good deal of delay."
Monsignor listened as the talk went on, gathering a few facts hereand there--the topographical reasons why Queenstown was stillretained, as in the days of the old steamships, for a principalport, in spite of the transformation of Ireland; the total weightof the boats when the gas was out of them; above all, theincredible speed that could be attained and kept up, with a goodfollowing wind. He learned also how, by the very rigid laws ofair-way, enforced now by all nations under very heavy penalties,the danger of collisions was practically abolished; and so forth.The canon talked fluently and well; but the mass of newinformation was so great, and the interest of watching so intense,that the enquirer's attention wandered a good deal.
He was watching the crowd of emigrants, two hundred feet below onthe ground, seen through the spidery framework of the stage,railed off into a circle, surrounded by barriers that kept outthe onlookers, and diminishing visibly as he watched, as the fullplatform flew up to the embarking stage just below where he stoodand the empty platforms descended again. The murmur of talkingcame up to him like the buzz of a hive.
He understood that he was assisting at an historical event. Forto-day practically marked, in England at any rate, the practicalrecognition of the two principles which up to now had been found,from their mutual irreconcilability, the cause of practically allthe wars, all the revolutions, all the incessant human quarrelsand conflicts, of which history was chiefly composed--theirrecognition and their adjustment. These two principles were theliberty of the individual and the demands of society. On oneside, every man had a certain inherent right to demand freedom;on the other, the freedom of one individual was usually found tomean the servitude of another. The solution, he began to think,had arrived at last from the recognition that there were, afterall, only two logical theories of government: the one, that powercame from below, the other, that power came from above. Theinfidel, the Socialist, the materialist, the democrat, thesemaintained the one; the Catholic, the Monarchist, the Imperialistmaintained the other. For the two, he perceived, rose ultimatelyfrom two final theories of the universe: the one was that ofMonism--that all life was one, gradually realizing itself throughgrowth and civilization; the other that of Creation--that aTranscendent God had made the world, and delegated His sovereignauthority downwards through grade after grade.
So he meditated, remembering also that the former theory wasrapidly disappearing from the world. These Socialist colonieswere not to be eternal, after all: they were but temporaryrefuges for minds that were behind the age. Probably anothercentury or two would see their disappearance.
The second and third boats started almost simultaneously, eachsuddenly sliding free from either side of the stage. There was aringing of bells; one boat, he saw, shot ahead in a straightline, the other curved out southwards. He watched the second.
It resembled to his eyes a gigantic dragon-fly--a long gleamingbody, ribbed and lined, blazing and winking in the springsunlight, moving in a mist of whirling wings. From the angle atwhich he watched its curve, it seemed now to hang suspended,diminishing to the eye, now shooting suddenly ahead. . . . Thereit hung again, already a mile away, as if poised and considering,then with increasing speed it moved on and on, like a line ofbrilliant light; little metallic taps sounded across the water;it met the horizon, rose above it, darkened, again flashedsuddenly. . . .
He turned to look for the other; but, so far as he couldsee, the huge blue arc was empty. He turned again; and thethird too was gone.
A great ringing of bells sounded suddenly beneath him.
"You've got your luggage on board, Monsignor? . . . Well, you'dbetter be going on board yourself. She'll start in five minutes."