Nordenholt's Million

by J. J. Connington

  He was sitting at his writing-desk, surrounded by piles of books from which he was apparently extracting information for the purpose of some fresh article he had in hand; and when I came in he asked me to excuse him for a few minutes until he had got his data completed. In order to amuse me in the meanwhile, he dragged out his microscope and a pile of slides which he thought might interest me.

  Before he went back to his work, it struck me that I would like to see the bacteria again; and I picked up from the floor some fragments of glass which evidently had formed part of his cultures, since particles of the pink gelatine adhered to them still. I asked him to fix the microscope for me, so that I could examine these things; and he wetted the stuff with some water and put a drop of it under the lens, leaving me to focus it myself while he went back to his writing-desk. He was soon deep in his article.

  As I gazed down at the field of the microscope, I saw again the clumps of bacilli, some floating aimlessly in masses, others darting here and there in the disk of illumination. I studied them for a time without noticing anything peculiar; but at last it struck me that the field was becoming congested with the creatures. I looked more carefully; and now there seemed little doubt of the fact. The numbers of them were increasing almost visibly. I concentrated my attention on a small group in one corner of the slide and was able, in spite of the confusion introduced by their rapid and erratic movements, to feel certain that they were multiplying so fast that I could almost estimate the increase in percentages minute by minute.

  “Here, Wotherspoon,” I said, “come and have a look through this. These bacteria of yours seem to be spawning or something.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t interrupt, there’s a good chap,” he said in a peevish tone. “Don’t you know that writing takes all one’s attention? I can’t do two things at once; and this article must be finished on time if it is to be of any use to me or anyone else. Just amuse yourself for half an hour and then I shall be at your disposal if you want me.”

  It was said so ungraciously that I took offence; and as his original “few minutes” had now apparently extended to “half an hour” I thought it best to leave him to himself. When I said good-night to him he seemed to regard it as an extra interruption; so I was not sorry to go. I left him still delving into the masses of printed material around him.

  And that was how Wotherspoon missed the greatest discovery that ever came his way. It was waiting for him across the table, for I doubt if he could have failed to draw the obvious conclusion had he actually taken the trouble to examine the phenomenon with his own eyes. But his interest was concentrated upon his writing; and his chance passed him by. After Johnston published his views, Wotherspoon made what I can only consider to be a dishonest attempt to secure priority on the ground that he was aware of the facts but had not had time to work out the subject fully before Johnston rushed into print; but he secured no support from any authoritative quarter; and even the newspapers had by that time seen the necessity of consulting experts, so that he was unable to place the numerous articles which he wrote to confute Johnston.

  *****

  Three days later, Regent’s Park again figured in the columns of the newspapers.

  The first mention of the matter which I saw was in an evening journal. I had been reading a short account of a locust plague in China which was reported to have destroyed crops upon a large scale and caused a panic emigration of the inhabitants of the devastated district, owing to the failure of supplies. Just below this article, my eye caught a paragraph headed:

  STRANGE BLIGHT IN REGENT’S PARK

  It appeared that the vegetation in the Park had been attacked by some peculiar disease, the symptoms of which were evidently not very clear to the writer of the paragraph. According to him, the plants were withering away; but there seemed to be no fungus or growth on the leaves which would account for their decrepitude. Trees and flowers equally with the grass were attacked by the blight. While throwing out a hint that the prolonged drought might possibly account for the phenomenon, the reporter indicated that the thing was rather more local than might have been anticipated from this cause; for the worst effects of the blight were to be found in the vegetation of the strip between Gloucester Gate and the Outer Circle in one direction and between the Broad Walk and the Park edge in the other. Beyond this oblong, the damage done was not so readily recognisable.

  That evening, as the fine weather still held, I walked through Regent’s Park to see for myself what truth there was in the newspaper talk. More people than usual were out; for in addition to the normal crowds of pedestrians, it was evident that others had come, like myself, to examine the blight. The Broad Walk was thronged; for the Londoner of those days was one of the most inquisitive creatures in existence.

  It was evident that, considered from the “show” point of view, the state of affairs had been a disappointment to the people. I heard numerous comments as I walked among the crowd; and the tone was one of disparagement. The general feeling seemed to be that the thing was a mare’s nest or a newspaper hoax.

  “Blight, they calls it?” said one stout old woman as I passed; “I’d like to blight the young feller what wrote all that in the papers about it, I would! Me putting on my best things and walking ever so far on a hot night to see nothing better than a lot of dried grass. I thought it would be fair seething with grasshoppers,” and she shook her head till the trimmings of her antique hat trembled with her vehemence. Evidently she had mixed up the Chinese locusts and the Regent’s Park affair in her mind.

  Other people shared her discontent; and the younger section of the crowd had begun to seek for amusement by means of spasmodic outbursts of horse-play.

  What I saw of the phenomenon was certainly not very thrilling. All the grass to the east of the Broad Walk had the appearance of being sun-blasted. The green tint had gone from it and it had turned straw-colour. On the west side of the Walk, there were patches of stricken vegetation scattered here and there as far as one could see, but the effect was not so marked towards the Inner Circle.

  I stooped down and rooted up a tuft of withered grass in order to examine it more closely; and to my surprise it came away readily in my hand, leaving the roots almost clear of earth. I could see nothing peculiar about the grass itself; even the most careful inspection failed to reveal any adherent fungus or growth of any description which might account for the phenomenon. I began to think that, after all, the whole thing was due to the heat of the past few weeks, and that the local appearance of the effects was a mere chance.

  Next day, however, this idea was put out of court by the news that the blight had spread to the other London parks. Hyde Park suffered severely in the corner between the Marble Arch and the Serpentine; the gardens of Buckingham Palace were also affected; and the grass in Battersea Park showed sporadic outbreaks of the disease also. Victoria Park, however, seemed to have escaped almost intact; though some traces could be detected.

  I learned that the Park gardeners had endeavoured to check the extension of the disease—for it spread almost visibly in places—by spraying the vegetation with the usual vermin-killers; but these had been found to have no influence upon the growth of the smitten areas.

  By this time, the newspapers had begun to make the matter a main feature. The heading: “THE BLIGHT” occupied the principal column; and correspondence had been opened on the subject in several of the journals. But as yet the matter was not exciting any interest outside London. It was regarded as a purely local manifestation of no particular import; and although some of the writers of London Letters for the provincial Press alluded to it in their articles, it was usually referred to with a sneer at the “silly season attitude” of supposedly weighty newspapers.

  This tone underwent a rapid change, however, on the following day. Even the staid dailies of the Provinces became electrified with the news; and over most of the area of southern England the breakfast tables were ahum with conversations on the Blight and its effects; for the morni
ng papers were filled with telegrams announcing the extension of the affected area broadcast over the Home Counties; and the headlines ran:

  SPREAD OF THE NEW BLIGHT

  ALL HOME COUNTIES AFFECTED

  TOTAL FAILURE OF CROPS FEARED

  CHAPTER III

  B. DIAZOTANS1

  AT this point, I remember, the long spell of dry weather reached its end. A heavy series of thunderstorms marked its termination; and for three days the country was deluged with rain and swept by intermittent gales. The cracked ground drank up the moisture; but still more showers fell, until there was mud everywhere.

  These meteorological changes in themselves were sufficiently grave from the farmer’s point of view; but even more serious was the state of things revealed after the rain had ceased. Whether it was due to the weather conditions or whether it was a vagary produced by factors beyond discovery will never be known; but the fact is established that the spread of the Blight became accentuated during the rainy period. Wherever it had secured a hold during the hot weather it became more malignant in its effects; and its extension to fresh fields was so great that hardly a grain-growing area in the country escaped at this time. It penetrated as far north as the Border agricultural districts; and devastated fields were found even in Perthshire.

  Since the potato blight in 1845, no such rapid and extensive destruction of food supplies had been known. The standing crops in the affected areas withered; and a total failure of the home-grown cereals seemed to be inevitable. Nor was it only in this section of the food-supply that the attacks of the Blight became evident. Fruit-trees seemed arrested in their productivity; vegetables failed to ripen and began to rot. Everywhere the vegetable kingdom seemed to be falling into a decline. The great market-gardens and nurseries showed the trace of the same mysterious agent. Roses withered on their stems; and even the hot-house plants suffered equally with their open-air fellows. The only crop which appeared to escape the general disaster was hay.

  And now it became clear that the Blight, as it was still called, was going to produce effects in the most widely-separated fields of activity. With a total failure of the crops, the financial side of the question came to the front. Throughout the length and breadth of the land, small farmers were beginning to realise that it was to be a year of utter disaster, ending probably in bankruptcy and ruin. The larger land-owners looked forward to the collapse of tenants and the failure of rents. Mortgage-holders began to consider the nature of their security, and when it was agricultural land they were placed in doubt as to their best course; for no one could foresee whether the Blight was a temporary epidemic or a permanent factor which would reappear with the next crops. And all these varying influences had their effects upon the great financial operations of the City; for even in that industrial age the land had maintained its value as a basic security which apparently could not suffer deterioration beyond a definite point.

  This, however, was only a minor field of the Blight’s reactions. With the probable failure of the home crop looming before him, even the man in the street could not fail to perceive the more obvious results. It meant a greater dependence upon imported food-stuffs and especially imported grain. Argentina, Canada, India and the United States must make up the missing supplies; and since almost half our cereals were home-grown at that period, the price of food was certain to rise by leaps and bounds; so that every family in the land would be affected by the catastrophe.

  Then a further factor was brought to light. With the failure of grain and even of grass, it would be impossible to keep alive the cattle which furnished part of the nation’s food. The milk supply would be gravely affected also, from the same cause.

  It is difficult for us now to look back and catch again the spirit of that time. Never before, even during the war, had the food of Britain been endangered to such a degree. And the steadily rising prices were sufficient to bring home to the most thoughtless the actual imminence of the peril. I can recall, however, that at first there was no panic of any kind. It was assumed by all of us that although we might have to go short of our usual lavish supplies, yet we should always have enough food to carry us through to the next harvest. The whole world was our granary; and if we were prepared to pay the higher prices which we saw to be inevitable, we had no reason to suppose that we should lack imported grain. Our attitude was quite comprehensible under the circumstances, I think. In the past we had always been able to obtain food; and there seemed no doubt that the same would hold good through this shortage.

  The newspapers were fairly evenly divided in their expressed opinions. The Government had recently adjourned Parliament after a session in which their majority had oscillated dangerously more than once, and the Opposition Press seized upon the Blight in order to embarrass the Cabinet, and especially the Prime Minister, as far as possible. They clamoured that the Government should take steps to secure the food supply of the country by making immediate purchases of wheat in the foreign markets. They demanded that a system of rationing should be established forthwith; and that cases of food-hoarding should be stringently punished. Day after day they held up to public obloquy the individual members of the Cabinet, who were then scattered on holiday; the amusements of each of them were described and coupled with sneering hopes that they would succeed better in their games than they had done in the government of the country and the safeguarding of the national interests. Echoes of the Mazanderan Development Syndicate scandal were kept alive in the most ingenious manner.

  The Government Press, naturally, professed to see in the inactivity of the Cabinet a proof that they had the matter well in hand. Avoidance of panic, restriction by voluntary effort of all unnecessary consumption of food, and the postponement of inquiries likely to interfere with the wise projects of the Premier: these formed the stock of their leading articles.

  The gutter organ of the Opposition retorted by publishing the complete menu of the Premier’s dinner on the previous day, which it had obtained from some waiter in the hotel at which he was staying; and it accompanied this item of news by interspersed extracts from the Government organs in which appeals had been made for a less luxurious form of living.

  It must be remembered that this stage of the sequence of events occupied only a brief period. If I am not wrong, it was within ten days of the outbreak of the Blight that we got the first American cables announcing the appearance of the epidemic among the great wheat areas of the Middle West. Almost immediately after came similar news from Canada.

  The meaning of this was not at first appreciated by the people as a whole. They still clung to the idea that grain would be forthcoming if a sufficiently high price were paid for it; but those of us who had tried to forecast the possibilities of the situation found our worst fears taking concrete form. Soon even the unthinking were forced to understand what the American news implied. If the Blight spread over the wheat fields of the Western continent, there would be no surplus grain there for export at all. That source of supply would barely suffice for the mouths at home.

  Then, following each other like hammer-strokes upon metal, each biting deeper than the last, came the cables from the rest of the world. Egypt reported the outbreak of the Blight in the Nile valley; British East Africa became affected. The news from the Argentine fell like a thunderbolt, for we realised that with it the last great open source of wheat had failed. The Don and Volga basins followed with the same tale. Over India, the Blight raged with almost unheard-of virulence. Then, days after the others, Australia was smitten, and our last hopes vanished.

  *****

  During all this period, it must be remembered, we had no idea of the origin of our calamities. We referred to the thing always as “The Blight,” though it was made clear at quite an early stage that no plant parasite was concerned in the matter at all. The most careful microscopic examination of affected vegetation had been made without revealing anything in the nature of a fungus or noxious growth.

  Yet, on looking backward, I cannot help fee
ling that we, and especially I myself, were strangely blind to the obvious in the matter. I have already mentioned that when I rooted up a clump of grass in Regent’s Park it came away from the soil without resistance; and that when I examined the roots I found them almost as free of earthy deposit as if it had been grown in sand. That, coupled with what I already knew, should have put me on the track of the explanation; and yet I failed to draw the simplest deduction from what I observed. To account for this obtuseness, I can only suggest that already the idea of a “Blight” had taken root in my mind; and that I was so obsessed with the idea of a parasite that I never considered the facts from any other point of view. Since others proved to be equally slow in arriving at the truth, I can only conclude that they were misled in their mental processes much as I myself was.

  As I have said on a previous page, it was to Johnston, the bacteriologist, that we owe the discovery. It appears that he had been growing some bacteria in cultures; and, whether by accident or design, he had left one of his cultivation media open to the air. On examining the germs some days later, he had discovered in the culture a type of bacterium with which he was unfamiliar. He proceeded to isolate it in the usual way—I believe it is done by dabbing a needle-point into the culture and using the few micro-organisms which stick to the needle as the parents of a fresh colony—and he was amazed at its fecundity. There had never been such a case of bacterial fertility in his experience.

  A paper in the Lancet brought the description of the creature to the notice of the scientific world. Johnston himself had not recognised the nature of the organism, as he had never dealt with this type of bacteria before; but from his description an agricultural bacteriologist named Vincent was able to identify it as being almost identical with one of the denitrifying group, from which it differed only in its immense power of multiplication. It was hurriedly christened Bacterium diazotans, on account of its denitrifying qualities. Further examination showed that its capacity for breaking down nitrogenous material far surpassed that of any known denitrifying agent.