Chapter III
SUBMERGED
The chamber which was destined to be the scene of our unforgettableexperience was a charmingly feminine sitting-room, some fourteen orsixteen feet square. At the end of it, divided by a curtain of redvelvet, was a small apartment which formed the Professor's dressing-room.This in turn opened into a large bedroom. The curtain was still hanging,but the boudoir and dressing-room could be taken as one chamber for thepurposes of our experiment. One door and the window frame had beenplastered round with varnished paper so as to be practically sealed.Above the other door, which opened on to the landing, there hung afanlight which could be drawn by a cord when some ventilation becameabsolutely necessary. A large shrub in a tub stood in each corner.
"How to get rid of our excessive carbon dioxide without unduly wastingour oxygen is a delicate and vital question," said Challenger, lookinground him after the five iron tubes had been laid side by side againstthe wall. "With longer time for preparation I could have brought thewhole concentrated force of my intelligence to bear more fully upon theproblem, but as it is we must do what we can. The shrubs will be of somesmall service. Two of the oxygen tubes are ready to be turned on at aninstant's notice, so that we cannot be taken unawares. At the same time,it would be well not to go far from the room, as the crisis may be asudden and urgent one."
There was a broad, low window opening out upon a balcony. The viewbeyond was the same as that which we had already admired from the study.Looking out, I could see no sign of disorder anywhere. There was a roadcurving down the side of the hill, under my very eyes. A cab from thestation, one of those prehistoric survivals which are only to be found inour country villages, was toiling slowly up the hill. Lower down was anurse girl wheeling a perambulator and leading a second child by thehand. The blue reeks of smoke from the cottages gave the wholewidespread landscape an air of settled order and homely comfort. Nowherein the blue heaven or on the sunlit earth was there any foreshadowing ofa catastrophe. The harvesters were back in the fields once more and thegolfers, in pairs and fours, were still streaming round the links. Therewas so strange a turmoil within my own head, and such a jangling of myoverstrung nerves, that the indifference of those people was amazing.
"Those fellows don't seem to feel any ill effects," said I, pointing downat the links.
"Have you played golf?" asked Lord John.
"No, I have not."
"Well, young fellah, when you do you'll learn that once fairly out on around, it would take the crack of doom to stop a true golfer. Halloa!There's that telephone-bell again."
From time to time during and after lunch the high, insistent ring hadsummoned the Professor. He gave us the news as it came through to him ina few curt sentences. Such terrific items had never been registered inthe world's history before. The great shadow was creeping up from thesouth like a rising tide of death. Egypt had gone through its deliriumand was now comatose. Spain and Portugal, after a wild frenzy in whichthe Clericals and the Anarchists had fought most desperately, were nowfallen silent. No cable messages were received any longer from SouthAmerica. In North America the southern states, after some terribleracial rioting, had succumbed to the poison. North of Maryland theeffect was not yet marked, and in Canada it was hardly perceptible.Belgium, Holland, and Denmark had each in turn been affected. Despairingmessages were flashing from every quarter to the great centres oflearning, to the chemists and the doctors of world-wide repute, imploringtheir advice. The astronomers too were deluged with inquiries. Nothingcould be done. The thing was universal and beyond our human knowledge orcontrol. It was death--painless but inevitable--death for young and old,for weak and strong, for rich and poor, without hope or possibility ofescape. Such was the news which, in scattered, distracted messages, thetelephone had brought us. The great cities already knew their fate andso far as we could gather were preparing to meet it with dignity andresignation. Yet here were our golfers and laborers like the lambs whogambol under the shadow of the knife. It seemed amazing. And yet howcould they know? It had all come upon us in one giant stride. What wasthere in the morning paper to alarm them? And now it was but three inthe afternoon. Even as we looked some rumour seemed to have spread, forwe saw the reapers hurrying from the fields. Some of the golfers werereturning to the club-house. They were running as if taking refuge froma shower. Their little caddies trailed behind them. Others werecontinuing their game. The nurse had turned and was pushing herperambulator hurriedly up the hill again. I noticed that she had herhand to her brow. The cab had stopped and the tired horse, with his headsunk to his knees, was resting. Above there was a perfect summersky--one huge vault of unbroken blue, save for a few fleecy white cloudsover the distant downs. If the human race must die to-day, it was atleast upon a glorious death-bed. And yet all that gentle loveliness ofnature made this terrific and wholesale destruction the more pitiable andawful. Surely it was too goodly a residence that we should be soswiftly, so ruthlessly, evicted from it!
But I have said that the telephone-bell had rung once more. Suddenly Iheard Challenger's tremendous voice from the hall.
"Malone!" he cried. "You are wanted."
I rushed down to the instrument. It was McArdle speaking from London.
"That you, Mr. Malone?" cried his familiar voice. "Mr. Malone, there areterrible goings-on in London. For God's sake, see if ProfessorChallenger can suggest anything that can be done."
"He can suggest nothing, sir," I answered. "He regards the crisis asuniversal and inevitable. We have some oxygen here, but it can onlydefer our fate for a few hours."
"Oxygen!" cried the agonized voice. "There is no time to get any. Theoffice has been a perfect pandemonium ever since you left in the morning.Now half of the staff are insensible. I am weighed down with heavinessmyself. From my window I can see the people lying thick in Fleet Street.The traffic is all held up. Judging by the last telegrams, the wholeworld----"
His voice had been sinking, and suddenly stopped. An instant later Iheard through the telephone a muffled thud, as if his head had fallenforward on the desk.
"Mr. McArdle!" I cried. "Mr. McArdle!"
There was no answer. I knew as I replaced the receiver that I shouldnever hear his voice again.
At that instant, just as I took a step backwards from the telephone, thething was on us. It was as if we were bathers, up to our shoulders inwater, who suddenly are submerged by a rolling wave. An invisible handseemed to have quietly closed round my throat and to be gently pressingthe life from me. I was conscious of immense oppression upon my chest,great tightness within my head, a loud singing in my ears, and brightflashes before my eyes. I staggered to the balustrades of the stair. Atthe same moment, rushing and snorting like a wounded buffalo, Challengerdashed past me, a terrible vision, with red-purple face, engorged eyes,and bristling hair. His little wife, insensible to all appearance, wasslung over his great shoulder, and he blundered and thundered up thestair, scrambling and tripping, but carrying himself and her throughsheer will-force through that mephitic atmosphere to the haven oftemporary safety. At the sight of his effort I too rushed up the steps,clambering, falling, clutching at the rail, until I tumbled halfsenseless upon by face on the upper landing. Lord John's fingers ofsteel were in the collar of my coat, and a moment later I was stretchedupon my back, unable to speak or move, on the boudoir carpet. The womanlay beside me, and Summerlee was bunched in a chair by the window, hishead nearly touching his knees. As in a dream I saw Challenger, like amonstrous beetle, crawling slowly across the floor, and a moment later Iheard the gentle hissing of the escaping oxygen. Challenger breathed twoor three times with enormous gulps, his lungs roaring as he drew in thevital gas.
"It works!" he cried exultantly. "My reasoning has been justified!" Hewas up on his feet again, alert and strong. With a tube in his hand herushed over to his wife and held it to her face. In a few seconds shemoaned, stirred, and sat up. He turned to me, and I felt the ti
de oflife stealing warmly through my arteries. My reason told me that it wasbut a little respite, and yet, carelessly as we talk of its value, everyhour of existence now seemed an inestimable thing. Never have I knownsuch a thrill of sensuous joy as came with that freshet of life. Theweight fell away from my lungs, the band loosened from my brow, a sweetfeeling of peace and gentle, languid comfort stole over me. I laywatching Summerlee revive under the same remedy, and finally Lord Johntook his turn. He sprang to his feet and gave me a hand to rise, whileChallenger picked up his wife and laid her on the settee.
"Oh, George, I am so sorry you brought me back," she said, holding him bythe hand. "The door of death is indeed, as you said, hung withbeautiful, shimmering curtains; for, once the choking feeling had passed,it was all unspeakably soothing and beautiful. Why have you dragged meback?"
"Because I wish that we make the passage together. We have been togetherso many years. It would be sad to fall apart at the supreme moment."
For a moment in his tender voice I caught a glimpse of a new Challenger,something very far from the bullying, ranting, arrogant man who hadalternately amazed and offended his generation. Here in the shadow ofdeath was the innermost Challenger, the man who had won and held awoman's love. Suddenly his mood changed and he was our strong captainonce again.
"Alone of all mankind I saw and foretold this catastrophe," said he witha ring of exultation and scientific triumph in his voice. "As to you, mygood Summerlee, I trust your last doubts have been resolved as to themeaning of the blurring of the lines in the spectrum and that you will nolonger contend that my letter in the Times was based upon a delusion."
For once our pugnacious colleague was deaf to a challenge. He could butsit gasping and stretching his long, thin limbs, as if to assure himselfthat he was still really upon this planet. Challenger walked across tothe oxygen tube, and the sound of the loud hissing fell away till it wasthe most gentle sibilation.
"We must husband our supply of the gas," said he. "The atmosphere of theroom is now strongly hyperoxygenated, and I take it that none of us feelany distressing symptoms. We can only determine by actual experimentswhat amount added to the air will serve to neutralize the poison. Let ussee how that will do."
We sat in silent nervous tension for five minutes or more, observing ourown sensations. I had just begun to fancy that I felt the constrictionround my temples again when Mrs. Challenger called out from the sofa thatshe was fainting. Her husband turned on more gas.
"In pre-scientific days," said he, "they used to keep a white mouse inevery submarine, as its more delicate organization gave signs of avicious atmosphere before it was perceived by the sailors. You, my dear,will be our white mouse. I have now increased the supply and you arebetter."
"Yes, I am better."
"Possibly we have hit upon the correct mixture. When we have ascertainedexactly how little will serve we shall be able to compute how long weshall be able to exist. Unfortunately, in resuscitating ourselves wehave already consumed a considerable proportion of this first tube."
"Does it matter?" asked Lord John, who was standing with his hands in hispockets close to the window. "If we have to go, what is the use ofholdin' on? You don't suppose there's any chance for us?"
Challenger smiled and shook his head.
"Well, then, don't you think there is more dignity in takin' the jump andnot waitin' to be pushed in? If it must be so, I'm for sayin' ourprayers, turnin' off the gas, and openin' the window."
"Why not?" said the lady bravely. "Surely, George, Lord John is rightand it is better so."
"I most strongly object," cried Summerlee in a querulous voice. "When wemust die let us by all means die, but to deliberately anticipate deathseems to me to be a foolish and unjustifiable action."
"What does our young friend say to it?" asked Challenger.
"I think we should see it to the end."
"And I am strongly of the same opinion," said he.
"Then, George, if you say so, I think so too," cried the lady.
"Well, well, I'm only puttin' it as an argument," said Lord John. "Ifyou all want to see it through I am with you. It's dooced interestin',and no mistake about that. I've had my share of adventures in my life,and as many thrills as most folk, but I'm endin' on my top note."
"Granting the continuity of life," said Challenger.
"A large assumption!" cried Summerlee. Challenger stared at him insilent reproof.
"Granting the continuity of life," said he, in his most didactic manner,"none of us can predicate what opportunities of observation one may havefrom what we may call the spirit plane to the plane of matter. It surelymust be evident to the most obtuse person" (here he glared a Summerlee)"that it is while we are ourselves material that we are most fitted towatch and form a judgment upon material phenomena. Therefore it is onlyby keeping alive for these few extra hours that we can hope to carry onwith us to some future existence a clear conception of the moststupendous event that the world, or the universe so far as we know it,has ever encountered. To me it would seem a deplorable thing that weshould in any way curtail by so much as a minute so wonderful anexperience."
"I am strongly of the same opinion," cried Summerlee.
"Carried without a division," said Lord John. "By George, that poordevil of a chauffeur of yours down in the yard has made his last journey.No use makin' a sally and bringin' him in?"
"It would be absolute madness," cried Summerlee.
"Well, I suppose it would," said Lord John. "It couldn't help him andwould scatter our gas all over the house, even if we ever got back alive.My word, look at the little birds under the trees!"
We drew four chairs up to the long, low window, the lady still restingwith closed eyes upon the settee. I remember that the monstrous andgrotesque idea crossed my mind--the illusion may have been heightened bythe heavy stuffiness of the air which we were breathing--that we were infour front seats of the stalls at the last act of the drama of the world.
In the immediate foreground, beneath our very eyes, was the small yardwith the half-cleaned motor-car standing in it. Austin, the chauffeur,had received his final notice at last, for he was sprawling beside thewheel, with a great black bruise upon his forehead where it had struckthe step or mud-guard in falling. He still held in his hand the nozzleof the hose with which he had been washing down his machine. A couple ofsmall plane trees stood in the corner of the yard, and underneath themlay several pathetic little balls of fluffy feathers, with tiny feetuplifted. The sweep of death's scythe had included everything, great andsmall, within its swath.
Over the wall of the yard we looked down upon the winding road, which ledto the station. A group of the reapers whom we had seen running from thefields were lying all pell-mell, their bodies crossing each other, at thebottom of it. Farther up, the nurse-girl lay with her head and shoulderspropped against the slope of the grassy bank. She had taken the babyfrom the perambulator, and it was a motionless bundle of wraps in herarms. Close behind her a tiny patch upon the roadside showed where thelittle boy was stretched. Still nearer to us was the dead cab-horse,kneeling between the shafts. The old driver was hanging over thesplash-board like some grotesque scarecrow, his arms dangling absurdly infront of him. Through the window we could dimly discern that a young manwas seated inside. The door was swinging open and his hand was graspingthe handle, as if he had attempted to leap forth at the last instant. Inthe middle distance lay the golf links, dotted as they had been in themorning with the dark figures of the golfers, lying motionless upon thegrass of the course or among the heather which skirted it. On oneparticular green there were eight bodies stretched where a foursome withits caddies had held to their game to the last. No bird flew in the bluevault of heaven, no man or beast moved upon the vast countryside whichlay before us. The evening sun shone its peaceful radiance across it,but there brooded over it all the stillness and the silence of universaldeath--a death in which we were so soon to join. At the present in
stantthat one frail sheet of glass, by holding in the extra oxygen whichcounteracted the poisoned ether, shut us off from the fate of all ourkind. For a few short hours the knowledge and foresight of one man couldpreserve our little oasis of life in the vast desert of death and save usfrom participation in the common catastrophe. Then the gas would runlow, we too should lie gasping upon that cherry-coloured boudoir carpet,and the fate of the human race and of all earthly life would be complete.For a long time, in a mood which was too solemn for speech, we looked outat the tragic world.
"There is a house on fire," said Challenger at last, pointing to a columnof smoke which rose above the trees. "There will, I expect, be manysuch--possibly whole cities in flames--when we consider how many folk mayhave dropped with lights in their hands. The fact of combustion is initself enough to show that the proportion of oxygen in the atmosphere isnormal and that it is the ether which is at fault. Ah, there you seeanother blaze on the top of Crowborough Hill. It is the golf clubhouse,or I am mistaken. There is the church clock chiming the hour. It wouldinterest our philosophers to know that man-made mechanisms have survivedthe race who made it."
"By George!" cried Lord John, rising excitedly from his chair. "What'sthat puff of smoke? It's a train."
We heard the roar of it, and presently it came flying into sight, goingat what seemed to me to be a prodigious speed. Whence it had come, orhow far, we had no means of knowing. Only by some miracle of luck couldit have gone any distance. But now we were to see the terrific end ofits career. A train of coal trucks stood motionless upon the line. Weheld our breath as the express roared along the same track. The crashwas horrible. Engine and carriages piled themselves into a hill ofsplintered wood and twisted iron. Red spurts of flame flickered up fromthe wreckage until it was all ablaze. For half an hour we sat withhardly a word, stunned by the stupendous sight.
"Poor, poor people!" cried Mrs. Challenger at last, clinging with awhimper to her husband's arm.
"My dear, the passengers on that train were no more animate than thecoals into which they crashed or the carbon which they have now become,"said Challenger, stroking her hand soothingly. "It was a train of theliving when it left Victoria, but it was driven and freighted by the deadlong before it reached its fate."
"All over the world the same thing must be going on," said I as a visionof strange happenings rose before me. "Think of the ships at sea--howthey will steam on and on, until the furnaces die down or until they runfull tilt upon some beach. The sailing ships too--how they will back andfill with their cargoes of dead sailors, while their timbers rot andtheir joints leak, till one by one they sink below the surface. Perhapsa century hence the Atlantic may still be dotted with the old driftingderelicts."
"And the folk in the coal-mines," said Summerlee with a dismal chuckle."If ever geologists should by any chance live upon earth again they willhave some strange theories of the existence of man in carboniferousstrata."
"I don't profess to know about such things," remarked Lord John, "but itseems to me the earth will be 'To let, empty,' after this. When once ourhuman crowd is wiped off it, how will it ever get on again?"
"The world was empty before," Challenger answered gravely. "Under lawswhich in their inception are beyond and above us, it became peopled. Whymay the same process not happen again?"
"My dear Challenger, you can't mean that?"
"I am not in the habit, Professor Summerlee, of saying things which I donot mean. The observation is trivial." Out went the beard and down camethe eyelids.
"Well, you lived an obstinate dogmatist, and you mean to die one," saidSummerlee sourly.
"And you, sir, have lived an unimaginative obstructionist and never canhope now to emerge from it."
"Your worst critics will never accuse you of lacking imagination,"Summerlee retorted.
"Upon my word!" said Lord John. "It would be like you if you used up ourlast gasp of oxygen in abusing each other. What can it matter whetherfolk come back or not? It surely won't be in our time."
"In that remark, sir, you betray your own very pronounced limitations,"said Challenger severely. "The true scientific mind is not to be tieddown by its own conditions of time and space. It builds itself anobservatory erected upon the border line of present, which separates theinfinite past from the infinite future. From this sure post it makes itssallies even to the beginning and to the end of all things. As to death,the scientific mind dies at its post working in normal and methodicfashion to the end. It disregards so petty a thing as its own physicaldissolution as completely as it does all other limitations upon the planeof matter. Am I right, Professor Summerlee?"
Summerlee grumbled an ungracious assent.
"With certain reservations, I agree," said he.
"The ideal scientific mind," continued Challenger--"I put it in the thirdperson rather than appear to be too self-complacent--the ideal scientificmind should be capable of thinking out a point of abstract knowledge inthe interval between its owner falling from a balloon and reaching theearth. Men of this strong fibre are needed to form the conquerors ofnature and the bodyguard of truth."
"It strikes me nature's on top this time," said Lord John, looking out ofthe window. "I've read some leadin' articles about you gentlemencontrollin' her, but she's gettin' a bit of her own back."
"It is but a temporary setback," said Challenger with conviction. "A fewmillion years, what are they in the great cycle of time? The vegetableworld has, as you can see, survived. Look at the leaves of that planetree. The birds are dead, but the plant flourishes. From this vegetablelife in pond and in marsh will come, in time, the tiny crawlingmicroscopic slugs which are the pioneers of that great army of life inwhich for the instant we five have the extraordinary duty of serving asrear guard. Once the lowest form of life has established itself, thefinal advent of man is as certain as the growth of the oak from theacorn. The old circle will swing round once more."
"But the poison?" I asked. "Will that not nip life in the bud?"
"The poison may be a mere stratum or layer in the ether--a mephitic GulfStream across that mighty ocean in which we float. Or tolerance may beestablished and life accommodate itself to a new condition. The merefact that with a comparatively small hyperoxygenation of our blood we canhold out against it is surely a proof in itself that no very great changewould be needed to enable animal life to endure it."
The smoking house beyond the trees had burst into flames. We could seethe high tongues of fire shooting up into the air.
"It's pretty awful," muttered Lord John, more impressed than I had everseen him.
"Well, after all, what does it matter?" I remarked. "The world is dead.Cremation is surely the best burial."
"It would shorten us up if this house went ablaze."
"I foresaw the danger," said Challenger, "and asked my wife to guardagainst it."
"Everything is quite safe, dear. But my head begins to throb again.What a dreadful atmosphere!"
"We must change it," said Challenger. He bent over his cylinder ofoxygen.
"It's nearly empty," said he. "It has lasted us some three and a halfhours. It is now close on eight o'clock. We shall get through the nightcomfortably. I should expect the end about nine o'clock to-morrowmorning. We shall see one sunrise, which shall be all our own."
He turned on his second tube and opened for half a minute the fanlightover the door. Then as the air became perceptibly better, but our ownsymptoms more acute, he closed it once again.
"By the way," said he, "man does not live upon oxygen alone. It's dinnertime and over. I assure you, gentlemen, that when I invited you to myhome and to what I had hoped would be an interesting reunion, I hadintended that my kitchen should justify itself. However, we must do whatwe can. I am sure that you will agree with me that it would be folly toconsume our air too rapidly by lighting an oil-stove. I have some smallprovision of cold meats, bread, and pickles which, with a couple ofbottles of claret, may serve our tu
rn. Thank you, my dear--now as everyou are the queen of managers."
It was indeed wonderful how, with the self-respect and sense of proprietyof the British housekeeper, the lady had within a few minutes adorned thecentral table with a snow-white cloth, laid the napkins upon it, and setforth the simple meal with all the elegance of civilization, including anelectric torch lamp in the centre. Wonderful also was it to find thatour appetites were ravenous.
"It is the measure of our emotion," said Challenger with that air ofcondescension with which he brought his scientific mind to theexplanation of humble facts. "We have gone through a great crisis. Thatmeans molecular disturbance. That in turn means the need for repair.Great sorrow or great joy should bring intense hunger--not abstinencefrom food, as our novelists will have it."
"That's why the country folk have great feasts at funerals," I hazarded.
"Exactly. Our young friend has hit upon an excellent illustration. Letme give you another slice of tongue."
"The same with savages," said Lord John, cutting away at the beef. "I'veseen them buryin' a chief up the Aruwimi River, and they ate a hippo thatmust have weighed as much as a tribe. There are some of them down NewGuinea way that eat the late-lamented himself, just by way of a last tidyup. Well, of all the funeral feasts on this earth, I suppose the one weare takin' is the queerest."
"The strange thing is," said Mrs. Challenger, "that I find it impossibleto feel grief for those who are gone. There are my father and mother atBedford. I know that they are dead, and yet in this tremendous universaltragedy I can feel no sharp sorrow for any individuals, even for them."
"And my old mother in her cottage in Ireland," said I. "I can see her inmy mind's eye, with her shawl and her lace cap, lying back with closedeyes in the old high-backed chair near the window, her glasses and herbook beside her. Why should I mourn her? She has passed and I ampassing, and I may be nearer her in some other life than England is toIreland. Yet I grieve to think that that dear body is no more."
"As to the body," remarked Challenger, "we do not mourn over the paringsof our nails nor the cut locks of our hair, though they were once part ofourselves. Neither does a one-legged man yearn sentimentally over hismissing member. The physical body has rather been a source of pain andfatigue to us. It is the constant index of our limitations. Why thenshould we worry about its detachment from our psychical selves?"
"If they can indeed be detached," Summerlee grumbled. "But, anyhow,universal death is dreadful."
"As I have already explained," said Challenger, "a universal death mustin its nature be far less terrible than a isolated one."
"Same in a battle," remarked Lord John. "If you saw a single man lyingon that floor with his chest knocked in and a hole in his face it wouldturn you sick. But I've seen ten thousand on their backs in the Soudan,and it gave me no such feelin', for when you are makin' history the lifeof any man is too small a thing to worry over. When a thousand millionpass over together, same as happened to-day, you can't pick your ownpartic'lar out of the crowd."
"I wish it were well over with us," said the lady wistfully. "Oh,George, I am so frightened."
"You'll be the bravest of us all, little lady, when the time comes. I'vebeen a blusterous old husband to you, dear, but you'll just bear in mindthat G. E. C. is as he was made and couldn't help himself. After all,you wouldn't have had anyone else?"
"No one in the whole wide world, dear," said she, and put her arms roundhis bull neck. We three walked to the window and stood amazed at thesight which met our eyes.
Darkness had fallen and the dead world was shrouded in gloom. But rightacross the southern horizon was one long vivid scarlet streak, waxing andwaning in vivid pulses of life, leaping suddenly to a crimson zenith andthen dying down to a glowing line of fire.
"Lewes is ablaze!"
"No, it is Brighton which is burning," said Challenger, stepping acrossto join us. "You can see the curved back of the downs against the glow.That fire is miles on the farther side of it. The whole town must bealight."
There were several red glares at different points, and the pile of_debris_ upon the railway line was still smoldering darkly, but they allseemed mere pin-points of light compared to that monstrous conflagrationthrobbing beyond the hills. What copy it would have made for theGazette! Had ever a journalist such an opening and so little chance ofusing it--the scoop of scoops, and no one to appreciate it? And then,suddenly, the old instinct of recording came over me. If these men ofscience could be so true to their life's work to the very end, why shouldnot I, in my humble way, be as constant? No human eye might ever restupon what I had done. But the long night had to be passed somehow, andfor me at least, sleep seemed to be out of the question. My notes wouldhelp to pass the weary hours and to occupy my thoughts. Thus it is thatnow I have before me the notebook with its scribbled pages, writtenconfusedly upon my knee in the dim, waning light of our one electrictorch. Had I the literary touch, they might have been worthy of theoccasion. As it is, they may still serve to bring to other minds thelong-drawn emotions and tremors of that awful night.
The Poison Belt Page 3
