THE LORD OF THE DYNAMOS
The chief attendant of the three dynamos that buzzed and rattledat Camberwell, and kept the electric railway going, came out ofYorkshire, and his name was James Holroyd. He was a practicalelectrician, but fond of whisky, a heavy, red-haired brute withirregular teeth. He doubted the existence of the deity, but acceptedCarnot's cycle, and he had read Shakespeare and found him weak inchemistry. His helper came out of the mysterious East, and his namewas Azuma-zi. But Holroyd called him Pooh-bah. Holroyd liked a niggerhelp because he would stand kicking--a habit with Holroyd--and did notpry into the machinery and try to learn the ways of it. Certain oddpossibilities of the negro mind brought into abrupt contact with thecrown of our civilisation Holroyd never fully realised, though just atthe end he got some inkling of them.
To define Azuma-zi was beyond ethnology. He was, perhaps, more negroidthan anything else, though his hair was curly rather than frizzy, andhis nose had a bridge. Moreover, his skin was brown rather than black,and the whites of his eyes were yellow. His broad cheek-bones andnarrow chin gave his face something of the viperine V. His head, too,was broad behind, and low and narrow at the forehead, as if his brainhad been twisted round in the reverse way to a European's. He wasshort of stature and still shorter of English. In conversation he madenumerous odd noises of no known marketable value, and his infrequentwords were carved and wrought into heraldic grotesqueness. Holroydtried to elucidate his religious beliefs, and--especially afterwhiskey--lectured to him against superstition and missionaries.Azuma-zi, however, shirked the discussion of his gods, even though hewas kicked for it.
Azuma-zi had come, clad in white but insufficient raiment, out of thestoke-hole of the _Lord Clive_, from the Straits Settlements, andbeyond, into London. He had heard even in his youth of the greatnessand riches of London, where all the women are white and fair, andeven the beggars in the streets are white, and he had arrived, withnewly-earned gold coins in his pocket, to worship at the shrine ofcivilisation. The day of his landing was a dismal one; the sky wasdun, and a wind-worried drizzle filtered down to the greasy streets,but he plunged boldly into the delights of Shadwell, and was presentlycast up, shattered in health, civilised in costume, penniless, and,except in matters of the direst necessity, practically a dumb animal,to toil for James Holroyd and to be bullied by him in the dynamo shedat Camberwell. And to James Holroyd bullying was a labour of love.
There were three dynamos with their engines at Camberwell. The twothat have been there since the beginning are small machines; thelarger one was new. The smaller machines made a reasonable noise;their straps hummed over the drums, every now and then the brushesbuzzed and fizzled, and the air churned steadily, whoo! whoo! whoo!between their poles. One was loose in its foundations and kept theshed vibrating. But the big dynamo drowned these little noisesaltogether with the sustained drone of its iron core, which somehowset part of the ironwork humming. The place made the visitor's headreel with the throb, throb, throb of the engines, the rotation of thebig wheels, the spinning ball-valves, the occasional spittings ofthe steam, and over all the deep, unceasing, surging note of thebig dynamo. This last noise was from an engineering point of view adefect, but Azuma-zi accounted it unto the monster for mightiness andpride.
If it were possible we would have the noises of that shed alwaysabout the reader as he reads, we would tell all our story to suchan accompaniment. It was a steady stream of din, from which theear picked out first one thread and then another; there was theintermittent snorting, panting, and seething of the steam engines, thesuck and thud of their pistons, the dull beat on the air as the spokesof the great driving-wheels came round, a note the leather straps madeas they ran tighter and looser, and a fretful tumult from the dynamos;and over all, sometimes inaudible, as the ear tired of it, and thencreeping back upon the senses again, was this trombone note of the bigmachine. The floor never felt steady and quiet beneath one's feet, butquivered and jarred. It was a confusing, unsteady place, and enough tosend anyone's thoughts jerking into odd zigzags. And for three months,while the big strike of the engineers was in progress, Holroyd, whowas a blackleg, and Azuma-zi, who was a mere black, were never out ofthe stir and eddy of it, but slept and fed in the little wooden shantybetween the shed and the gates.
Holroyd delivered a theological lecture on the text of his big machinesoon after Azuma-zi came. He had to shout to be heard in the din."Look at that," said Holroyd; "where's your 'eathen idol to match'im?" And Azuma-zi looked. For a moment Holroyd was inaudible, andthen Azuma-zi heard: "Kill a hundred men. Twelve per cent, on theordinary shares," said Holroyd, "and that's something like a Gord!"
Holroyd was proud of his big dynamo, and expatiated upon its size andpower to Azuma-zi until heaven knows what odd currents of thought thatand the incessant whirling and shindy set up within the curly blackcranium. He would explain in the most graphic manner the dozen or soways in which a man might be killed by it, and once he gave Azuma-zi ashock as a sample of its quality. After that, in the breathing-timesof his labour--it was heavy labour, being not only his own, but mostof Holroyd's--Azuma-zi would sit and watch the big machine. Now andthen the brushes would sparkle and spit blue flashes, at which Holroydwould swear, but all the rest was as smooth and rhythmic as breathing.The band ran shouting over the shaft, and ever behind one as onewatched was the complacent thud of the piston. So it lived all day inthis big airy shed, with him and Holroyd to wait upon it; not prisonedup and slaving to drive a ship as the other engines he knew--merecaptive devils of the British Solomon--had been, but a machineenthroned. Those two smaller dynamos, Azuma-zi by force of contrastdespised; the large one he privately christened the Lord of theDynamos. They were fretful and irregular, but the big dynamo wassteady. How great it was! How serene and easy in its working! Greaterand calmer even than the Buddahs he had seen at Rangoon, and yet notmotionless, but living! The great black coils spun, spun, spun, therings ran round under the brushes, and the deep note of its coilsteadied the whole. It affected Azuma-zi queerly.
Azuma-zi was not fond of labour. He would sit about and watch the Lordof the Dynamos while Holroyd went away to persuade the yard porter toget whiskey, although his proper place was not in the dynamo shed butbehind the engines, and, moreover, if Holroyd caught him skulking hegot hit for it with a rod of stout copper wire. He would go and standclose to the colossus and look up at the great leather band runningoverhead. There was a black patch on the band that came round, and itpleased him somehow among all the clatter to watch this return againand again. Odd thoughts spun with the whirl of it. Scientific peopletell us that savages give souls to rocks and trees--and a machine isa thousand times more alive than a rock or a tree. And Azuma-zi waspractically a savage still; the veneer of civilisation lay no deeperthan his slop suit, his bruises, and the coal grime on his face andhands. His father before him had worshipped a meteoric stone, kindredblood it may be had splashed the broad wheels of Juggernaut.
He took every opportunity Holroyd gave him of touching and handlingthe great dynamo that was fascinating him. He polished and cleaned ituntil the metal parts were blinding in the sun. He felt a mysterioussense of service in doing this. He would go up to it and touch itsspinning coils gently. The gods he had worshipped were all far away.The people in London hid their gods.
At last his dim feelings grew more distinct, and took shape inthoughts and at last in acts. When he came into the roaring shed onemorning he salaamed to the Lord of the Dynamos, and then, when Holroydwas away, he went and whispered to the thundering machine that hewas its servant, and prayed it to have pity on him and save him fromHolroyd. As he did so a rare gleam of light came in through the openarchway of the throbbing machine-shed, and the Lord of the Dynamos, ashe whirled and roared, was radiant with pale gold. Then Azuma-zi knewthat his service was acceptable to his Lord. After that he did notfeel so lonely as he had done, and he had indeed been very much alonein London. And even when his work time was over, which was rare, heloitered about the shed.
Then,
the next time Holroyd maltreated him, Azuma-zi went presently tothe Lord of the Dynamos and whispered, "Thou seest, O my Lord!" andthe angry whirr of the machinery seemed to answer him. Thereafter itappeared to him that whenever Holroyd came into the shed a differentnote came into the sounds of the dynamo. "My Lord bides his time,"said Azuma-zi to himself. "The iniquity of the fool is not yet ripe."And he waited and watched for the day of reckoning. One day therewas evidence of short circuiting, and Holroyd, making an unwaryexamination--it was in the afternoon--got a rather severe shock.Azuma-zi from behind the engine saw him jump off and curse at thepeccant coil.
"He is warned," said Azuma-zi to himself. "Surely my Lord is verypatient."
Holroyd had at first initiated his "nigger" into such elementaryconceptions of the dynamo's working as would enable him to taketemporary charge of the shed in his absence. But when he noticed themanner in which Azuma-zi hung about the monster he became suspicious.He dimly perceived his assistant was "up to something," and connectinghim with the anointing of the coils with oil that had rotted thevarnish in one place, he issued an edict, shouted above the confusionof the machinery, "Don't 'ee go nigh that big dynamo any more,Pooh-bah, or a'll take thy skin off!" Besides, if it pleased Azuma-zito be near the big machine, it was plain sense and decency to keep himaway from it.
Azuma-zi obeyed at the time, but later he was caught bowing before theLord of the Dynamos. At which Holroyd twisted his arm and kicked himas he turned to go away. As Azuma-zi presently stood behind theengine and glared at the back of the hated Holroyd, the noises of themachinery took a new rhythm, and sounded like four words in his nativetongue.
It is hard to say exactly what madness is. I fancy Azuma-zi was mad.The incessant din and whirl of the dynamo shed may have churned up hislittle store of knowledge and big store of superstitious fancy, atlast, into something akin to frenzy. At any rate, when the idea ofmaking Holroyd a sacrifice to the Dynamo Fetich was thus suggested tohim, it filled him with a strange tumult of exultant emotion.
That night the two men and their black shadows were alone in the shedtogether. The shed was lit with one big arc light that winked andflickered purple. The shadows lay black behind the dynamos, the ballgovernors of the engines whirled from light to darkness, and theirpistons beat loud and steady. The world outside seen through the openend of the shed seemed incredibly dim and remote. It seemed absolutelysilent, too, since the riot of the machinery drowned every externalsound. Far away was the black fence of the yard with grey shadowyhouses behind, and above was the deep blue sky and the pale littlestars. Azuma-zi suddenly walked across the centre of the shed abovewhich the leather bands were running, and went into the shadow bythe big dynamo. Holroyd heard a click, and the spin of the armaturechanged.
"What are you dewin' with that switch?" he bawled in surprise. "Han'tI told you--"
Then he saw the set expression of Azuma-zi's eyes as the Asiatic cameout of the shadow towards him.
In another moment the two men were grappling fiercely in front of thegreat dynamo.
"You coffee-headed fool!" gasped Holroyd, with a brown hand at histhroat. "Keep off those contact rings." In another moment hewas tripped and reeling back upon the Lord of the Dynamos. Heinstinctively loosened his grip upon his antagonist to save himselffrom the machine.
The messenger, sent in furious haste from the station to find out whathad happened in the dynamo shed, met Azuma-zi at the porter's lodge bythe gate. Azuma-zi tried to explain something, but the messenger couldmake nothing of the black's incoherent English, and hurried on to theshed. The machines were all noisily at work, and nothing seemed to bedisarranged. There was, however, a queer smell of singed hair. Thenhe saw an odd-looking crumpled mass clinging to the front of the bigdynamo, and, approaching, recognised the distorted remains of Holroyd.
The man stared and hesitated a moment. Then he saw the face, and shuthis eyes convulsively. He turned on his heel before he opened them, sothat he should not see Holroyd again, and went out of the shed to getadvice and help.
When Azuma-zi saw Holroyd die in the grip of the Great Dynamo he hadbeen a little scared about the consequences of his act. Yet he feltstrangely elated, and knew that the favour of the Lord Dynamo was uponhim. His plan was already settled when he met the man coming from thestation, and the scientific manager who speedily arrived on the scenejumped at the obvious conclusion of suicide. This expert scarcelynoticed Azuma-zi, except to ask a few questions. Did he see Holroydkill himself? Azuma-zi explained he had been out of sight at theengine furnace until he heard a difference in the noise from thedynamo. It was not a difficult examination, being untinctured bysuspicion.
The distorted remains of Holroyd, which the electrician removed fromthe machine, were hastily covered by the porter with a coffee-stainedtablecloth. Somebody, by a happy inspiration, fetched a medical man.The expert was chiefly anxious to get the machine at work again, forseven or eight trains had stopped midway in the stuffy tunnels ofthe electric railway. Azuma-zi, answering or misunderstanding thequestions of the people who had by authority or impudence come intothe shed, was presently sent back to the stoke-hole by the scientificmanager. Of course a crowd collected outside the gates of the yard--acrowd, for no known reason, always hovers for a day or two near thescene of a sudden death in London--two or three reporters percolatedsomehow into the engine-shed, and one even got to Azuma-zi; but thescientific expert cleared them out again, being himself an amateurjournalist.
Presently the body was carried away, and public interest departed withit. Azuma-zi remained very quietly at his furnace, seeing over andover again in the coals a figure that wriggled violently and becamestill. An hour after the murder, to anyone coming into the shed itwould have looked exactly as if nothing remarkable had ever happenedthere. Peeping presently from his engine-room the black saw the LordDynamo spin and whirl beside his little brothers, and the drivingwheels were beating round, and the steam in the pistons went thud,thud, exactly as it had been earlier in the evening. After all,from the mechanical point of view, it had been a most insignificantincident--the mere temporary deflection of a current. But now theslender form and slender shadow of the scientific manager replaced thesturdy outline of Holroyd travelling up and down the lane of lightupon the vibrating floor under the straps between the engines and thedynamos.
"Have I not served my Lord?" said Azuma-zi inaudibly, from his shadow,and the note of the great dynamo rang out full and clear. As he lookedat the big whirling mechanism the strange fascination of it that hadbeen a little in abeyance since Holroyd's death resumed its sway.
Never had Azuma-zi seen a man killed so swiftly and pitilessly. Thebig humming machine had slain its victim without wavering for a secondfrom its steady beating. It was indeed a mighty god.
The unconscious scientific manager stood with his back to him,scribbling on a piece of paper. His shadow lay at the foot of themonster.
"Was the Lord Dynamo still hungry? His servant was ready."
Azuma-zi made a stealthy step forward; then stopped. The scientificmanager suddenly stopped writing, and walked down the shed to theendmost of the dynamos, and began to examine the brushes.
Azuma-zi hesitated, and then slipped across noiselessly into theshadow by the switch. There he waited. Presently the manager'sfootsteps could be heard returning. He stopped in his old position,unconscious of the stoker crouching ten feet away from him. Then thebig dynamo suddenly fizzled, and in another moment Azuma-zi had sprungout of the darkness upon him.
First, the scientific manager was gripped round the body and swungtowards the big dynamo, then, kicking with his knee and forcing hisantagonist's head down with his hands, he loosened the grip on hiswaist and swung round away from the machine. Then the black graspedhim again, putting a curly head against his chest, and they swayed andpanted as it seemed for an age or so. Then the scientific manager wasimpelled to catch a black ear in his teeth and bite furiously. Theblack yelled hideously.
They rolled over on the floor, and the black, who had app
arentlyslipped from the vice of the teeth or parted with some ear--thescientific manager wondered which at the time--tried to throttle him.The scientific manager was making some ineffectual efforts to clawsomething with his hands and to kick, when the welcome sound of quickfootsteps sounded on the floor. The next moment Azuma-zi had left himand darted towards the big dynamo. There was a splutter amid the roar.
The officer of the company who had entered, stood staring as Azuma-zicaught the naked terminals in his hands, gave one horrible convulsion,and then hung motionless from the machine, his face violentlydistorted.
"I'm jolly glad you came in when you did," said the scientificmanager, still sitting on the floor.
He looked at the still quivering figure. "It is not a nice death todie, apparently--but it is quick."
The official was still staring at the body. He was a man of slowapprehension.
There was a pause.
The scientific manager got up on his feet rather awkwardly. He ran hisfingers along his collar thoughtfully, and moved his head to and froseveral times.
"Poor Holroyd! I see now." Then almost mechanically he went towardsthe switch in the shadow and turned the current into the railwaycircuit again. As he did so the singed body loosened its grip upon themachine and fell forward on its face. The core of the dynamo roaredout loud and clear, and the armature beat the air.
So ended prematurely the Worship of the Dynamo Deity, perhaps the mostshort-lived of all religions. Yet withal it could at least boast aMartyrdom and a Human Sacrifice.