Hartmann, the Anarchist; Or, The Doom of the Great City by E. Douglas Fawcett (best motivational novels .TXT) 📕

On the morning of October 19th, that most memorable of days in the history of revolutions, we sighted Brighton through the haze, and secrecy being no longer observed, the Attila swept down like an albatross into the sight of men. Gliding two hundred feet above the water she presented a truly majestic spectacle. The vast sweep of her aëroplane, the huge size of her silvery grey hull, the play of the three great screws humming with the speed of their rotation, the red-capped aëronauts lining the upper deck and lower gallery, the nozzle horned with its quaint conning-tower, and the four ominous cannon leaning downwards from the citadel, these and the marvellous flight itself commanded the homage that hailed her. The esplanade and the beach buzzed with wonder beneath us, and as we skimmed over the house-tops beyond them, streets seemed to fill as if by magic. 138Thunders of applause rose behind us as awe regularly gave place to admiration. “They will sound a different note to-night,” said Schwartz, who was standing by me. “The banquet at last is ready, and surely we shall eat till we are gorged.”

The Attila gradually rose higher, as the slopes of the South Downs confronted her. But she always kept about one hundred and fifty feet from the ground, deliberately courting the observation which she had once so shunned. Of her purpose or ownership no sign however was given; it was pleasant to play with the unsuspicious fools whose lives and possessions she had so ruthlessly marked for her own. A more fascinating sight than this journey it is not easy to picture. Now, for the first time in my life, I fairly revelled in the incense of my fellow-creatures’ astonishment. To dance butterfly-like over woods, fields, hills, and sinuous rivers, to grasp vast ever-changing vistas of scenery, are in themselves delicious. But when to these purely artistic joys are added those of power, when the roar of wondering cities rises upwards, and you lean over the bulwarks serenely conscious of superiority, you must be described as realizing here on earth one of the paradises of dreamland.

At about ten o’clock we passed over Grinstead, and 139shortly afterwards crossed the boundaries of Sussex. By this time the preparations on the aëronef were complete, and every one had been summoned to the citadel and told off to his post. And now there fell upon me the shadow of the coming disaster. The faces of the crew were savage, even Brandt had lost his kindliness. Burnett was surly, and asked how I liked my position. Rather nettled, I told him that at any rate my hands would be free from blood-stains. Then it occurred to me that I might glean some interesting news from Hartmann. Eager for some excitement, as the depression stole heavier and heavier upon me, I ascended to the upper deck and pressed the button by the gate of the sombre citadel. Thomas appeared and telephoned my request to see the captain. The reply came back that he was in the conning-tower, but would be glad to see me for a moment. Accordingly, I was not long in making my way along the passage that led from the citadel to that favoured spot.

“Well,” he said, “I trust your nerves are in order. The drama opens in an hour. Within three days’ time London will be in ruins, and Lord Macaulay’s New Zealander will be able to commence his survey.”

“Is there no way of avoiding it? In the name of humanity, captain, I beseech you to pause. Think 140of the agonies which this awful resolve must breed! Think——”

“No more of this,” he said sharply. “You are my guest. You may, if you wish, be landed. You may, if you wish, remain. But in the latter case you will conform to my ruling.”

“And that is?”

“That you hold your tongue when desired to. London, I say, as Cato said of Carthage, London must be destroyed.”

“You have the advantage, captain. But thank heaven this will be no catastrophe of my making. And now may I ask a rather leading question?”

“By all means. At the worst you can only be refused an answer.”

“When and how will the first blow be struck?”

“Above the Houses of Parliament; a blank discharge of the cannon will warn all, after which my flag will be run out. And then——well——”

I understood.

“We shall conduct the attack in three ways—by shell firing and machine-gun fire, by dynamite and forcite bombs, and by streams of burning petroleum.”

“Good God!”

“Meanwhile our associates will be spreading devastation 141below. The Houses of Parliament, the City, and the West End will occupy us in turn.”

“Who will control operations?”

“Schwartz, Norris, and Brandt manage the bombs. Five Swiss the oil; the rest—with the exception of three in the engine-room—man the quick-firing and machine-guns. I myself shall direct the course of the Attila from this tower. You are free to walk the upper deck, but the lower gallery is being transformed into tanks to hold the oil. I must now ask you to go. Thomas, you will see Mr. Stanley on to the deck and place him under due watch. He is free to inspect all he wishes, but he must interfere with nothing—understand, with nothing either by word or deed. Any breach of the order will entail death.”

I was as helpless as a bluebottle in a spider’s web. Thank heavens that I had sent Lena that telegram and letter. Luckily, in any case, she and her parents ought to receive warning from the guarded hints doubtless already conveyed to Mrs. Hartmann.

When I reached the deck, Thomas (who acted as a sort of A.D.C.) told off a man to watch me, and then sped away below. Looking over the rail, I could see that the oil was being poured into tanks formed by fitting cross walls into parts of the lower gallery. There were some eight of these along the 142bow end of the vessel alone, and I trembled to think of the fearful mischief which these hideous contrivances portended. Lamentations of this sort were, however, futile. Casting an eye over the landscape, I saw Caterham vanishing beneath us, while to the right rolled the billowy expanse of the North Downs. We were now going at a high speed, and in a short time—far too short to my thinking—were rapidly skimming over Croydon, Norwood Junction, and the Crystal Palace. We were now nearing our destination, and our altitude, recently raised to one of five hundred and fifty feet above sea-level, was once again suddenly altered to one of one hundred and fifty. The speed, too, was rapidly reduced, till at last gliding gracefully over Lambeth we passed obliquely over Westminster Bridge.

The scene here beggars description. The enormous crowd, already massed for some great labour demonstration, usurped every available patch of standing room, windows and roofs became animated, and vehicles of all sorts and conditions pulled up in batches and served as the vantage-ground of excited groups. Probably the arrival at Brighton had been at once telegraphed to the newspaper offices, but few knew of it, and to those few (the anarchist “brothers” apart) the Attila was necessarily a complete mystery. 143To the majority we came as falls a bolt from the blue (I refer here to the universal astonishment apparent, for at the outset it was clear enough that the aëronef inspired no terror). Cheers shook the air beneath us, and the distant thunders of applause rumbled far away down the Embankment.

A man stepped aside from his gun, and pointed down at the crowd on Westminster Bridge.

“This is the bridge blown up by Hartmann and Schwartz ten years ago. These vermin seem to have liked it, don’t they?”

I turned away in disgust. What a mockery it was! The populace thought they were applauding an inventor, and they cheered a ruthless destroyer! Terrible captain, Morituri te salutant. But the hour had come—the clock-tower rose only twenty yards from us.

Suddenly a gong sounded ominously. It was the signal. The four quick-firing guns vomited flame simultaneously, and ere the crash had died away, a blood-red flag was to be