With these discoveries, the mystery of the new Blight vanished. An examination of the soil of stricken areas showed that it swarmed with colonies of B. diazotans—to use the customary medical contraction—and the whole secret of the destruction was revealed.
It was evident that these new and super-active bacteria attacked the soil, disintegrated all the nitrogenous compounds within their range and thus left the plants without nourishment. The death of the plant followed as a natural result; but the matter did not end there. By destroying the nitrogenous compounds in the soil, the bacteria altered the whole texture of the earth in which they grew. All the nitrogenous organic matter which forms so large a part of the binding material of some soils was destroyed utterly; with the consequence that the mineral particles, which previously had been resting in an organic matrix, were now free to move. Only the clays retained their tenacious character: all other soils degenerated into sand.
There has, of course, been a great deal of speculation upon the origin of B. diazotans. Hartwell suggested that it came to us from Venus, propelled by light-pressure across the abysses of space. Inshelwood put forward the view that in B. diazotans we had an example of bacteria, originally endemic, changing their habits and spreading into fresh regions.
Personally, I believe neither hypothesis. I feel sure that I saw the birth of the first B. diazotans on that night in Wotherspoon’s laboratory, under the action of the fire-ball; and the evidence is simple enough.
Every living creature is a wonderfully constructed electrical machine. Each beat of our hearts, each systole of our lungs, each contraction of a muscle in our frame produces a tiny electrical current. Our organism is a mass of colloids and electrolytes which transmit these charges hither and thither throughout our systems; and were we gifted with an electrical sense in addition to those which we already have, we should see each other as complexities of conductors along which currents were playing with every movement of our body.
This complex electrical system is acutely sensible to external electrical conditions. Anyone who has held the handles of an induction coil or who has taken a spark from a Leyden jar knows the physiological effects which these things produce. The influence of high-tension currents upon the growth of plants has been proved beyond dispute.
Now it seems to me that in this effect of an external electric charge upon the internal mechanism of an organism we have a clue to the origin of these new bacteria. I have already told how the fire-ball, in its explosion, shattered the denitrifying cultures in Wotherspoon’s room; and it seems clear that at the moment of the concussion there must have been a tremendous play of electrical forces about the spot. We know hardly anything with regard to the nature of the electrical fields existing in such things as these fire-balls; and it is quite possible that they may be different from anything of which we have any knowledge among the more usual displays of electrical energy. I believe, then, that it is in the action of the fire-ball that we must seek for an explanation of the change in habit of Wotherspoon’s denitrifying bacteria.
Again, I have mentioned my observation of the rapid multiplication of the denitrifying bacteria which I made with Wotherspoon’s microscope on the following day. That also seems to me to have a bearing upon the problem; though I admit quite frankly that my evidence is only that of a layman. It is in every way regrettable that Wotherspoon, having tired of using his room as an exhibit, should have cleared away every trace of the wreckage before any expert examination of it could be made; for in this way the crucial evidence on the point was destroyed.
Further, in support of my views, I would point out that the very first known occurrence of B. diazotans was that which had Regent’s Park as its site; and that the first place of attack was in the immediate neighbourhood of Wotherspoon’s house in Cumberland Terrace. This can hardly be disregarded, when it is considered in connection with the other facts which I have mentioned.
At this time of day there can be no question that London formed the focus from which B. diazotans spread throughout the world. I have described the ramifications of the great air-services; and it seems to me obvious that the organisms were carried to and fro upon the surface of the globe by the agency of the aeroplanes. The order of attack at various points indicates this very clearly, in my opinion. First came the American and Egyptian outbreaks; then Uganda and South America; and finally, long after the others, Australia showed traces of the devastation. I have checked the possible dates of arrival in these various places, taking into account the relative swiftnesses of the aeroplanes on the different routes; and the results can hardly be gainsaid. Allowing, as one must, a certain latitude for the time of development of the microbe in various spots, there seems little doubt that the dates of the outbreaks fell into the same succession as the times of arrival of the various London air-services.
* * *
1Pronounce Di-ay'-zō-tans'.
CHAPTER IV
PANIC
IN dealing with the subsequent stage of affairs in this country, I feel myself at a loss. Matters of fact, sequences of events, definite incidents in a chain of affairs: all these can be described without much difficulty and with a certain detachment on the part of the narrator. But when it comes to indicating the transition from one psychological state to another, the task is one which would require for its proper fulfilment a more practised pen than mine; and it is precisely this transitional period which I must now attempt to make clear in retrospect; for without an understanding of it my narrative would lack one of its cornerstones.
Apart from the mere question of narration, however, there is a further difficulty which cannot be evaded. I myself passed through this crisis and underwent day by day these changes in outlook which I shall have to portray; so that the personal factor cannot be eliminated from my account. Yet my own feelings and views must not be allowed to monopolise the field, since they had not the slightest influence upon the main current of popular feeling.
I have used the word “current,” and perhaps it is the best one which I could have chosen to express the thing which baffles me. As a man walks by the side of a mountain stream, he sees the volume of the water change as it grows from rill to rivulet and from rivulet to river; yet no single tributary is of any notable size. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the banks diverge, the sound of the running water grows louder and yet louder; until at last comes a sweep over the rapids and the thunder of the fall below.
So it seems to me that things were in these few days between the outbreak and the complete realisation of our fears. The transition from security to panic was not made in one swift step. Rather it came little by little, and at no point could one indicate precisely how the public feeling had changed from that of the previous day. A whole series of tiny impulses, each in itself almost negligible, served to drive us from one mental position to the next; and a complete analysis of the psychology of the time would be an impossible task. I propose, therefore, merely to indicate some of these innumerable factors which played upon our spirits; so that this blank in my narrative may be filled in some way, even if only roughly.
It was not until the Blight had spread far over the Home Counties that the general public became interested in the matter at all; and at this period the mass of people in the country districts were almost the only ones who saw any cause for alarm. The town-dwellers seldom came in direct contact with the sources of their food-supply; in fact it is doubtful if the lower-class Londoner of the old days could have answered a direct question as to the date of harvesting. Food came to them daily in a form which suggested very little with regard to its original nature. Wheat they knew only in the form of bread or flour; meat was divorced almost entirely from the shapes of the animals from which it was derived; tea, coffee and sugar brought with them no visions of tea-gardens on the Indian hills or sugar plantations under the West Indian sun. The furthest traceable point of origin of these things, as far as most of the population was concerned, was to be found in the retail shops. Thus there was a c
ertain sluggishness in apprehension among the main bulk of the people when they read in the newspapers that the crops had failed. To them, it simply meant that we should have to buy in another market; just as they had to go to a fresh grocer when their own dealer ran short of some commodity which they required.
In the country districts, and especially in the great centres of the agricultural portions of the kingdom, the outlook was different, but still restricted in its scope. Failure of the crops to them meant financial loss, hard times, stringency, urgent personal economy and the hope of better luck in the following season. Though closer to the soil, the country folk were unmoved by any outlook wider than that which included the direct effects of the Blight upon their industry. And, indeed, they had little time in which to speculate upon ultimate reactions, for their attention was concentrated almost wholly upon their efforts to remedy the damage already done or to protect from injury any portions of the crop which had not yet been attacked.
Thus at this stage the mental surface of the country as a whole remained unruffled. Here and there, of course, a few of us had grasped what might be entailed if the Blight destroyed the whole of the home supplies; but I doubt if even the most far-sighted had imagined that anything but a local shortage was in prospect.
With the arrival of the American cables, the situation changed slightly. The tone of the newspapers became graver, and they endeavoured to awake their readers to the fact that the possibility of a serious shortage had become a certainty. Edition after edition poured out from the printing-presses and the headlines grew in magnitude from hour to hour. “The Blight in America” was the first type of intimation, which attracted but little interest and was placed in the “third-class” column of the papers. Then came appreciation of the importance of the news; the headlines increased in size and moved up nearer the centre of readers’ interest: “Spread of the Blight in the Wheat Districts.” Next came a sudden jump to the first place on the page and heavily leaded type in the headlines: “Failure of Wheat Crop in America.”
Even at this stage, the readers as a whole failed to connect the news with anything in their daily life. Gradually it was borne in upon their minds that the collapse of the American crops—including the Canadian—meant a very rapid rise in the price of cereal foodstuffs; but further than this they refused to look. At that time the cattle question had not been noticed at all; and the general feeling simply resolved itself into a decision to avoid bread as far as possible and eat meat instead.
With the arrival of reports from the remaining wheat-growing districts, the newspapers increased their efforts to awaken their readers to the gravity of the situation. “The World Shortage” occupied the place of honour in their columns, and was supported by telegrams and cables from all parts of the globe telling the same tale of crop failure with a steady monotony.
As I look back upon these days I can only marvel at the ingrained conservatism of the human mind. It is true that on the whole the public were at last beginning to understand the situation. They had grasped the fact that almost all the known regions of wheat-growing land had been attacked; and that a shortage was inevitable. But, none the less, in their inmost thoughts they still clung to the fixed idea that somewhere in the world there was bound to be a store of wheat—or if not wheat, then rice or some other edible grain—which would enable us to pass through the coming winter without undue restriction of our food supplies. It was perhaps a manifestation of that eternal optimism which is necessary if the race is to survive at all; or possibly it represented a trust in the Government’s capacity to arrange some means whereby supplies would be forthcoming in due course. Whatever its origin, it was among the most marked features of that strange time.
I remember that one of the side-issues of the disaster created at that stage far deeper impressions than the catastrophe itself. With the failure of the American supplies over a huge area, the Wheat Pit became convulsed with an outbreak of gambling such as had never been seen before. Chicago went crazy; and legitimate business gave place to a fury of speculation which grew ever more intense as the news came in of further extensions of the devastated areas. Before the Blight appeared in America, December wheat had been offered at 233¼; but in the earlier stages of the game of speculation it rushed up to 405; and before the end came it was dealt with at prices which were purely illusory, since they corresponded to nothing tangible in commodities. Thousands of bears were ruined in the preliminary moves; and in the end the whole machinery of the Pit was brought to a standstill owing to there being no sellers.
Of course that series of transactions had no real influence upon the course of events; but the public, both here and in America, failed to see this; and the bitterest feelings found vent concerning “gambling in the food of the people.” It is quite possible that the anger uselessly expended on this subject served to keep the public from concentrating their attention upon the real problem of the world shortage. Huge quantities of wheat were dealt with on paper; and the people, being unfamiliar with the methods of Chicago speculation, assumed that these enormous transactions actually represented the transfer of millions of bushels of real grain from seller to buyer. The sharp upward trend of flour and bread prices at home served to confirm their impression that the gambling in the Pit was responsible for their troubles; and Rodman’s attempt—which was practically successful—to corner wheat led to violent criticism and even, at one time, to an effort to lynch him.
It was not only in the wheat market that this fever of speculation showed itself. Maize, oats, barley and cotton also became counters in the game and rose to incredible prices. Unknown men appeared in the world of finance and for days maintained their positions as controllers of the markets. Many of the great firms in America ventured their capital rashly and suffered disaster.
In its ultimate effects also, the gamble in food-stuffs exerted a profound influence on the stream of public opinion. The news of the speculations in Chicago, the descriptions of the turbulent scenes in the Wheat Pit, where at one time revolvers were fired by super-excited members, the tales of huge fortunes won and lost in a day, the deep under-current of resentment at this callous trading upon the world’s necessities, all tended in the end to bring into view the real state of the wheat question. And now the newspapers were printing the single word FAMINE as a headline; and the people were beginning to ask in ominous tones: “What is the Government doing?”
It was at this time that, to my profound surprise, I received a private letter from the Prime Minister requesting my attendance at a meeting which he had arranged.
CHAPTER V
NORDENHOLT
PROBABLY with a view to avoiding the attention of the Press, the meeting was held elsewhere than at No. 10 Downing Street. I found myself in what looked like a Board-meeting room. A fire burned in the grate, for it was a chilly day. Down the centre of the room stretched a long table around which a number of men were sitting, some of whom were familiar as great figures in the industrial world. At the head of the table I recognised the Premier, flanked on either hand by a Cabinet Minister. A chair was vacant half-way up the table, opposite the fireplace; and I took it on a gesture from the Premier.
Almost at once, the Prime Minister rose to his feet. He looked worn and agitated; but even under the evidences of the strain he endeavoured to assume a cheerful and confident air. He was a man I had never trusted; and I now had my first opportunity of examining him at close quarters. In repose, his face fell into the heavy lines of the successful barrister; but when he became animated, a mechanical smile flitted across it which in some way displeased me more than the expression which it veiled. He seemed to me a typical example of the faux bonhomme. In politics he had gained a reputation for dilatory conduct combined with a mastery in the art of managing a majority; and his mind was saturated with the idea of Party advantage. Of real loyalty I suspect he had very little; but when one of his Cabinet blundered heavily, he would step into the limelight with a fine gesture and assume all responsibility
. In this way he kept his Government intact and gained a reputation for fidelity without losing anything; for he well knew that no one would call him to account for the responsibility which he had assumed.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “you will probably wonder why we have invited you to meet us here to-day. We all know the unhappy state of affairs into which the country has fallen. There is dissatisfaction abroad; and the Government is being held responsible for conditions which were none of its making. I will speak plainly to you, for it is no time for reservations. Something must be done to allay public anxiety, which is growing more intense as time goes on. I am not one of those who take these passing scares seriously; but we cannot afford to ignore the present feeling, and some measures are necessary to satisfy this clamour. It is a time when all of us must come to the aid of the Executive.
“The Cabinet is dispersed at the moment. Many of the members are abroad and are unable to return at present, owing to a disorganisation of transport. But pending their return and the decisions which we shall then be forced to take, I thought it right to call together you gentlemen, large employers of labour, and to enlist your aid in the work we shall have to do. It is essential that the Government should retain public confidence at the present time. I think we are agreed upon that point. Nothing could be more fatal than a General Election forced upon us under the reigning conditions.
“We have taken steps to call Parliament together immediately, in order to lay before it certain measures which we believe will enable us to tide over this crisis. But in the meantime we must try to pacify the working classes, who are being agitated by the dismal forecasts of the newspapers. I have no desire to inquire into the origin of the jeremiads which are being printed daily in a certain group of papers; but I cannot help noticing that they all tend towards a discrediting of myself and my colleagues. There is a cry for action; whereas I think all of you will agree that consideration is required, so that the action, if it should become necessary, may be well-contrived.
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