World Set Free (version 2) — 04 -- Ch Second Sec 4-8

Section 4

Never before in the history of warfare had there been a continuing explosive; indeed, up to the middle of the twentieth century the only explosives known were combustibles whose explosiveness was due entirely to their instantaneousness; and these atomic bombs which science burst upon the world that night were strange even to the men who used them.

Those used by the Allies were lumps of pure Carolinum, painted on the outside with unoxidised cydonator inducive enclosed hermetically in a case of membranium.

A little celluloid stud between the handles by which the bomb was lifted was arranged so as to be easily torn off and admit air to the inducive, which at once became active and set up radio-activity in the outer layer of the Carolinum sphere.

This liberated fresh inducive, and so in a few minutes the whole bomb was a blazing continual explosion.

The Central European bombs were the same, except that they were larger and had a more complicated arrangement for animating the inducive.

Always before in the development of warfare the shells and rockets fired had been but momentarily explosive, they had gone off in an instant once for all, and if there was nothing living or valuable within reach of the concussion and the flying fragments then they were spent and over.

But Carolinum, which belonged to the β-Group of Hyslop’s so-called ‘suspended degenerator’ elements, once its degenerative process had been induced, continued a furious radiation of energy and nothing could arrest it.

Of all Hyslop’s artificial elements, Carolinum was the most heavily stored with energy and the most dangerous to make and handle.

To this day it remains the most potent degenerator known.

What the earlier twentieth-century chemists called its half period was seventeen days; that is to say, it poured out half of the huge store of energy in its great molecules in the space of seventeen days, the next seventeen days’ emission was a half of that first period’s outpouring, and so on.

As with all radio-active substances this Carolinum, though every seventeen days its power is halved, though constantly it diminishes towards the imperceptible, is never entirely exhausted, and to this day the battle-fields and bomb fields of that frantic time in human history are sprinkled with radiant matter, and so centres of inconvenient rays.

What happened when the celluloid stud was opened was that the inducive oxidised and became active.

Then the surface of the Carolinum began to degenerate.

This degeneration passed only slowly into the substance of the bomb.

A moment or so after its explosion began it was still mainly an inert sphere exploding superficially, a big, inanimate nucleus wrapped in flame and thunder.

Those that were thrown from aeroplanes fell in this state, they reached the ground still mainly solid, and, melting soil and rock in their progress, bored into the earth.

There, as more and more of the Carolinum became active, the bomb spread itself out into a monstrous cavern of fiery energy at the base of what became very speedily a miniature active volcano.

The Carolinum, unable to disperse, freely drove into and mixed up with a boiling confusion of molten soil and superheated steam, and so remained spinning furiously and maintaining an eruption that lasted for years or months or weeks according to the size of the bomb employed and the chances of its dispersal.

Once launched, the bomb was absolutely unapproachable and uncontrollable until its forces were nearly exhausted, and from the crater that burst open above it, puffs of heavy incandescent vapour and fragments of viciously punitive rock and mud, saturated with Carolinum, and each a centre of scorching and blistering energy, were flung high and far.

Such was the crowning triumph of military science, the ultimate explosive that was to give the ‘decisive touch’ to war....

Section 5

A recent historical writer has described the world of that time as one that ‘believed in established words and was invincibly blind to the obvious in things.

’ Certainly it seems now that nothing could have been more obvious to the people of the earlier twentieth century than the rapidity with which war was becoming impossible.

And as certainly they did not see it.

They did not see it until the atomic bombs burst in their fumbling hands.

Yet the broad facts must have glared upon any intelligent mind.

All through the nineteenth and twentieth centuries the amount of energy that men were able to command was continually increasing.

Applied to warfare that meant that the power to inflict a blow, the power to destroy, was continually increasing.

There was no increase whatever in the ability to escape.

Every sort of passive defence, armour, fortifications, and so forth, was being outmastered by this tremendous increase on the destructive side.

Destruction was becoming so facile that any little body of malcontents could use it; it was revolutionising the problems of police and internal rule.

Before the last war began it was a matter of common knowledge that a man could carry about in a handbag an amount of latent energy sufficient to wreck half a city.

These facts were before the minds of everybody; the children in the streets knew them.

And yet the world still, as the Americans used to phrase it, ‘fooled around’ with the paraphernalia and pretensions of war.

It is only by realising this profound, this fantastic divorce between the scientific and intellectual movement on the one hand, and the world of the lawyer-politician on the other, that the men of a later time can hope to understand this preposterous state of affairs.

Social organisation was still in the barbaric stage.

There were already great numbers of actively intelligent men and much private and commercial civilisation, but the community, as a whole, was aimless, untrained and unorganised to the pitch of imbecility.

Collective civilisation, the ‘Modern State,’ was still in the womb of the future....

Section 6

But let us return to Frederick Barnet’s _Wander Jahre_ and its account of the experiences of a common man during the war time.

While these terrific disclosures of scientific possibility were happening in Paris and Berlin, Barnet and his company were industriously entrenching themselves in Belgian Luxembourg.

He tells of the mobilisation and of his summer day’s journey through the north of France and the Ardennes in a few vivid phrases.

The country was browned by a warm summer, the trees a little touched with autumnal colour, and the wheat already golden.

When they stopped for an hour at Hirson, men and women with tricolour badges upon the platform distributed cakes and glasses of beer to the thirsty soldiers, and there was much cheerfulness.

‘Such good, cool beer it was,’ he wrote.

‘I had had nothing to eat nor drink since Epsom.

’ A number of monoplanes, ‘like giant swallows,’ he notes, were scouting in the pink evening sky.

Barnet’s battalion was sent through the Sedan country to a place called Virton, and thence to a point in the woods on the line to Jemelle.

Here they detrained, bivouacked uneasily by the railway—trains and stores were passing along it all night—and next morning he marched eastward through a cold, overcast dawn, and a morning, first cloudy and then blazing, over a large spacious country-side interspersed by forest towards Arlon.

There the infantry were set to work upon a line of masked entrenchments and hidden rifle pits between St Hubert and Virton that were designed to check and delay any advance from the east upon the fortified line of the Meuse.

They had their orders, and for two days they worked without either a sight of the enemy or any suspicion of the disaster that had abruptly decapitated the armies of Europe, and turned the west of Paris and the centre of Berlin into blazing miniatures of the destruction of Pompeii.

And the news, when it did come, came attenuated.

‘We heard there had been mischief with aeroplanes and bombs in Paris,’ Barnet relates; ‘but it didn’t seem to follow that “They” weren’t still somewhere elaborating their plans and issuing orders.

When the enemy began to emerge from the woods in front of us, we cheered and blazed away, and didn’t trouble much more about anything but the battle in hand.

If now and then one cocked up an eye into the sky to see what was happening there, the rip of a bullet soon brought one down to the horizontal again....

That battle went on for three days all over a great stretch of country between Louvain on the north and Longwy to the south.

It was essentially a rifle and infantry struggle.

The aeroplanes do not seem to have taken any decisive share in the actual fighting for some days, though no doubt they effected the strategy from the first by preventing surprise movements.

They were aeroplanes with atomic engines, but they were not provided with atomic bombs, which were manifestly unsuitable for field use, nor indeed had they any very effective kind of bomb.

And though they manœuvred against each other, and there was rifle shooting at them and between them, there was little actual aerial fighting.

Either the airmen were indisposed to fight or the commanders on both sides preferred to reserve these machines for scouting....

After a day or so of digging and scheming, Barnet found himself in the forefront of a battle.

He had made his section of rifle pits chiefly along a line of deep dry ditch that gave a means of inter-communication, he had had the earth scattered over the adjacent field, and he had masked his preparations with tussocks of corn and poppy.

The hostile advance came blindly and unsuspiciously across the fields below and would have been very cruelly handled indeed, if some one away to the right had not opened fire too soon.

‘It was a queer thrill when these fellows came into sight,’ he confesses; ‘and not a bit like manœuvres.

They halted for a time on the edge of the wood and then came forward in an open line.

They kept walking nearer to us and not looking at us, but away to the right of us.

Even when they began to be hit, and their officers’ whistles woke them up, they didn’t seem to see us.

One or two halted to fire, and then they all went back towards the wood again.

They went slowly at first, looking round at us, then the shelter of the wood seemed to draw them, and they trotted.

I fired rather mechanically and missed, then I fired again, and then I became earnest to hit something, made sure of my sighting, and aimed very carefully at a blue back that was dodging about in the corn.

At first I couldn’t satisfy myself and didn’t shoot, his movements were so spasmodic and uncertain; then I think he came to a ditch or some such obstacle and halted for a moment.

“_Got_ you,” I whispered, and pulled the trigger.

‘I had the strangest sensations about that man.

In the first instance, when I felt that I had hit him I was irradiated with joy and pride....

‘I sent him spinning.

He jumped and threw up his arms....

‘Then I saw the corn tops waving and had glimpses of him flapping about.

Suddenly I felt sick.

I hadn’t killed him....

‘In some way he was disabled and smashed up and yet able to struggle about.

I began to think....

‘For nearly two hours that Prussian was agonising in the corn.

Either he was calling out or some one was shouting to him....

‘Then he jumped up—he seemed to try to get up upon his feet with one last effort; and then he fell like a sack and lay quite still and never moved again.

‘He had been unendurable, and I believe some one had shot him dead.

I

had been wanting to do so for some time....

’ The enemy began sniping the rifle pits from shelters they made for themselves in the woods below.

A man was hit in the pit next to Barnet, and began cursing and crying out in a violent rage.

Barnet crawled along the ditch to him and found him in great pain, covered with blood, frantic with indignation, and with the half of his right hand smashed to a pulp.

‘Look at this,’ he kept repeating, hugging it and then extending it.

‘Damned foolery!

Damned foolery!

My right hand, sir!

My right hand!

’ For some time Barnet could do nothing with him.

The man was consumed by his tortured realisation of the evil silliness of war, the realisation which had come upon him in a flash with the bullet that had destroyed his skill and use as an artificer for ever.

He was looking at the vestiges with a horror that made him impenetrable to any other idea.

At last the poor wretch let Barnet tie up his bleeding stump and help him along the ditch that conducted him deviously out of range....

When Barnet returned his men were already calling out for water, and all day long the line of pits suffered greatly from thirst.

For food they had chocolate and bread.

‘At first,’ he says, ‘I was extraordinarily excited by my baptism of fire.

Then as the heat of the day came on I experienced an enormous tedium and discomfort.

The flies became extremely troublesome, and my little grave of a rifle pit was invaded by ants.

I could not get up or move about, for some one in the trees had got a mark on me.

I kept thinking of the dead Prussian down among the corn, and of the bitter outcries of my own man.

Damned foolery!

It _was_ damned foolery.

But who was to blame?

How had we got to this?

.

.

.

‘Early in the afternoon an aeroplane tried to dislodge us with dynamite bombs, but she was hit by bullets once or twice, and suddenly dived down over beyond the trees.

‘“From Holland to the Alps this day,” I thought, “there must be crouching and lying between half and a million of men, trying to inflict irreparable damage upon one another.

The thing is idiotic to the pitch of impossibility.

It is a dream.

Presently I shall wake up.

” .

.

‘Then the phrase changed itself in my mind.

“Presently mankind will wake up.

” ‘I lay speculating just how many thousands of men there were among these hundreds of thousands, whose spirits were in rebellion against all these ancient traditions of flag and empire.

Weren’t we, perhaps, already in the throes of the last crisis, in that darkest moment of a nightmare’s horror before the sleeper will endure no more of it—and wakes?

‘I don’t know how my speculations ended.

I think they were not so much ended as distracted by the distant thudding of the guns that were opening fire at long range upon Namur.

’ Section 7

But as yet Barnet had seen no more than the mildest beginnings of modern warfare.

So far he had taken part only in a little shooting.

The bayonet attack by which the advanced line was broken was made at a place called Croix Rouge, more than twenty miles away, and that night under cover of the darkness the rifle pits were abandoned and he got his company away without further loss.

His regiment fell back unpressed behind the fortified lines between Namur and Sedan, entrained at a station called Mettet, and was sent northward by Antwerp and Rotterdam to Haarlem.

Hence they marched into North Holland.

It was only after the march into Holland that he began to realise the monstrous and catastrophic nature of the struggle in which he was playing his undistinguished part.

He describes very pleasantly the journey through the hills and open land of Brabant, the repeated crossing of arms of the Rhine, and the change from the undulating scenery of Belgium to the flat, rich meadows, the sunlit dyke roads, and the countless windmills of the Dutch levels.

In those days there was unbroken land from Alkmaar and Leiden to the Dollart.

Three great provinces, South Holland, North Holland, and Zuiderzeeland, reclaimed at various times between the early tenth century and 1945 and all many feet below the level of the waves outside the dykes, spread out their lush polders to the northern sun and sustained a dense industrious population.

An intricate web of laws and custom and tradition ensured a perpetual vigilance and a perpetual defence against the beleaguering sea.

For more than two hundred and fifty miles from Walcheren to Friesland stretched a line of embankments and pumping stations that was the admiration of the world.

If some curious god had chosen to watch the course of events in those northern provinces while that flanking march of the British was in progress, he would have found a convenient and appropriate seat for his observation upon one of the great cumulus clouds that were drifting slowly across the blue sky during all these eventful days before the great catastrophe.

For that was the quality of the weather, hot and clear, with something of a breeze, and underfoot dry and a little inclined to be dusty.

This watching god would have looked down upon broad stretches of sunlit green, sunlit save for the creeping patches of shadow cast by the clouds, upon sky-reflecting meres, fringed and divided up by masses of willow and large areas of silvery weeds, upon white roads lying bare to the sun and upon a tracery of blue canals.

The pastures were alive with cattle, the roads had a busy traffic, of beasts and bicycles and gaily coloured peasants’ automobiles, the hues of the innumerable motor barges in the canal vied with the eventfulness of the roadways; and everywhere in solitary steadings, amidst ricks and barns, in groups by the wayside, in straggling villages, each with its fine old church, or in compact towns laced with canals and abounding in bridges and clipped trees, were human habitations.

The people of this country-side were not belligerents.

The interests and sympathies alike of Holland had been so divided that to the end she remained undecided and passive in the struggle of the world powers.

And everywhere along the roads taken by the marching armies clustered groups and crowds of impartially observant spectators, women and children in peculiar white caps and old-fashioned sabots, and elderly, clean-shaven men quietly thoughtful over their long pipes.

They had no fear of their invaders; the days when ‘soldiering’ meant bands of licentious looters had long since passed away....

That watcher among the clouds would have seen a great distribution of khaki-uniformed men and khaki-painted material over the whole of the sunken area of Holland.

He would have marked the long trains, packed with men or piled with great guns and war material, creeping slowly, alert for train-wreckers, along the north-going lines; he would have seen the Scheldt and Rhine choked with shipping, and pouring out still more men and still more material; he would have noticed halts and provisionings and detrainments, and the long, bustling caterpillars of cavalry and infantry, the maggot-like wagons, the huge beetles of great guns, crawling under the poplars along the dykes and roads northward, along ways lined by the neutral, unmolested, ambiguously observant Dutch.

All the barges and shipping upon the canals had been requisitioned for transport.

In that clear, bright, warm weather, it would all have looked from above like some extravagant festival of animated toys.

As the sun sank westward the spectacle must have become a little indistinct because of a golden haze; everything must have become warmer and more glowing, and because of the lengthening of the shadows more manifestly in relief.

The shadows of the tall churches grew longer and longer, until they touched the horizon and mingled in the universal shadow; and then, slow, and soft, and wrapping the world in fold after fold of deepening blue, came the night—the night at first obscurely simple, and then with faint points here and there, and then jewelled in darkling splendour with a hundred thousand lights.

Out of that mingling of darkness and ambiguous glares the noise of an unceasing activity would have arisen, the louder and plainer now because there was no longer any distraction of sight.

It may be that watcher drifting in the pellucid gulf beneath the stars watched all through the night; it may be that he dozed.

But if he gave way to so natural a proclivity, assuredly on the fourth night of the great flank march he was aroused, for that was the night of the battle in the air that decided the fate of Holland.

The aeroplanes were fighting at last, and suddenly about him, above and below, with cries and uproar rushing out of the four quarters of heaven, striking, plunging, oversetting, soaring to the zenith and dropping to the ground, they came to assail or defend the myriads below.

Secretly the Central European power had gathered his flying machines together, and now he threw them as a giant might fling a handful of ten thousand knives over the low country.

And amidst that swarming flight were five that drove headlong for the sea walls of Holland, carrying atomic bombs.

From north and west and south, the allied aeroplanes rose in response and swept down upon this sudden attack.

So it was that war in the air began.

Men rode upon the whirlwind that night and slew and fell like archangels.

The sky rained heroes upon the astonished earth.

Surely the last fights of mankind were the best.

What was the heavy pounding of your Homeric swordsmen, what was the creaking charge of chariots, beside this swift rush, this crash, this giddy triumph, this headlong swoop to death?

And then athwart this whirling rush of aerial duels that swooped and locked and dropped in the void between the lamp-lights and the stars, came a great wind and a crash louder than thunder, and first one and then a score of lengthening fiery serpents plunged hungrily down upon the Dutchmen’s dykes and struck between land and sea and flared up again in enormous columns of glare and crimsoned smoke and steam.

And out of the darkness leapt the little land, with its spires and trees, aghast with terror, still and distinct, and the sea, tumbled with anger, red-foaming like a sea of blood....

Over the populous country below went a strange multitudinous crying and a flurry of alarm bells....

The surviving aeroplanes turned about and fled out of the sky, like things that suddenly know themselves to be wicked....

Through a dozen thunderously flaming gaps that no water might quench, the waves came roaring in upon the land....

Section 8

‘We had cursed our luck,’ says Barnet, ‘that we could not get to our quarters at Alkmaar that night.

There, we were told, were provisions, tobacco, and everything for which we craved.

But the main canal from Zaandam and Amsterdam was hopelessly jammed with craft, and we were glad of a chance opening that enabled us to get out of the main column and lie up in a kind of little harbour very much neglected and weedgrown before a deserted house.

We broke into this and found some herrings in a barrel, a heap of cheeses, and stone bottles of gin in the cellar; and with this I cheered my starving men.

We made fires and toasted the cheese and grilled our herrings.

None of us had slept for nearly forty hours, and I determined to stay in this refuge until dawn and then if the traffic was still choked leave the barge and march the rest of the way into Alkmaar.

‘This place we had got into was perhaps a hundred yards from the canal and underneath a little brick bridge we could see the flotilla still, and hear the voices of the soldiers.

Presently five or six other barges came through and lay up in the mere near by us, and with two of these, full of men of the Antrim regiment, I shared my find of provisions.

In return we got tobacco.

A large expanse of water spread to the westward of us and beyond were a cluster of roofs and one or two church towers.

The barge was rather cramped for so many men, and I let several squads, thirty or forty perhaps altogether, bivouac on the bank.

I did not let them go into the house on account of the furniture, and I left a note of indebtedness for the food we had taken.

We were particularly glad of our tobacco and fires, because of the numerous mosquitoes that rose about us.

‘The gate of the house from which we had provisioned ourselves was adorned with the legend, _Vreugde bij Vrede_, “Joy with Peace,” and it bore every mark of the busy retirement of a comfort-loving proprietor.

I went along his garden, which was gay and delightful with big bushes of rose and sweet brier, to a quaint little summer-house, and there I sat and watched the men in groups cooking and squatting along the bank.

The sun was setting in a nearly cloudless sky.

‘For the last two weeks I had been a wholly occupied man, intent only upon obeying the orders that came down to me.

All through this time I had been working to the very limit of my mental and physical faculties, and my only moments of rest had been devoted to snatches of sleep.

Now came this rare, unexpected interlude, and I could look detachedly upon what I was doing and feel something of its infinite wonderfulness.

I

was irradiated with affection for the men of my company and with admiration at their cheerful acquiescence in the subordination and needs of our positions.

I watched their proceedings and heard their pleasant voices.

How willing those men were!

How ready to accept leadership and forget themselves in collective ends!

I thought how manfully they had gone through all the strains and toil of the last two weeks, how they had toughened and shaken down to comradeship together, and how much sweetness there is after all in our foolish human blood.

For they were just one casual sample of the species—their patience and readiness lay, as the energy of the atom had lain, still waiting to be properly utilised.

Again it came to me with overpowering force that the supreme need of our race is leading, that the supreme task is to discover leading, to forget oneself in realising the collective purpose of the race.

Once more I saw life plain....

’ Very characteristic is that of the ‘rather too corpulent’ young officer, who was afterwards to set it all down in the _Wander Jahre_.

Very characteristic, too, it is of the change in men’s hearts that was even then preparing a new phase of human history.

He goes on to write of the escape from individuality in science and service, and of his discovery of this ‘salvation.

’ All that was then, no doubt, very moving and original; now it seems only the most obvious commonplace of human life.

The glow of the sunset faded, the twilight deepened into night.

The fires burnt the brighter, and some Irishmen away across the mere started singing.

But Barnet’s men were too weary for that sort of thing, and soon the bank and the barge were heaped with sleeping forms.

‘I alone seemed unable to sleep.

I suppose I was over-weary, and after a little feverish slumber by the tiller of the barge I sat up, awake and uneasy....

‘That night Holland seemed all sky.

There was just a little black lower rim to things, a steeple, perhaps, or a line of poplars, and then the great hemisphere swept over us.

As at first the sky was empty.

Yet my uneasiness referred itself in some vague way to the sky.

‘And now I was melancholy.

I found something strangely sorrowful and submissive in the sleepers all about me, those men who had marched so far, who had left all the established texture of their lives behind them to come upon this mad campaign, this campaign that signified nothing and consumed everything, this mere fever of fighting.

I saw how little and feeble is the life of man, a thing of chances, preposterously unable to find the will to realise even the most timid of its dreams.

And I wondered if always it would be so, if man was a doomed animal who would never to the last days of his time take hold of fate and change it to his will.

Always, it may be, he will remain kindly but jealous, desirous but discursive, able and unwisely impulsive, until Saturn who begot him shall devour him in his turn....

‘I was roused from these thoughts by the sudden realisation of the presence of a squadron of aeroplanes far away to the north-east and very high.

They looked like little black dashes against the midnight blue.

I remember that I looked up at them at first rather idly—as one might notice a flight of birds.

Then I perceived that they were only the extreme wing of a great fleet that was advancing in a long line very swiftly from the direction of the frontier and my attention tightened.

‘Directly I saw that fleet I was astonished not to have seen it before.

‘I stood up softly, undesirous of disturbing my companions, but with my heart beating now rather more rapidly with surprise and excitement.

I

strained my ears for any sound of guns along our front.

Almost instinctively I turned about for protection to the south and west, and peered; and then I saw coming as fast and much nearer to me, as if they had sprung out of the darkness, three banks of aeroplanes; a group of squadrons very high, a main body at a height perhaps of one or two thousand feet, and a doubtful number flying low and very indistinct.

The middle ones were so thick they kept putting out groups of stars.

And I realised that after all there was to be fighting in the air.

‘There was something extraordinarily strange in this swift, noiseless convergence of nearly invisible combatants above the sleeping hosts.

Every one about me was still unconscious; there was no sign as yet of any agitation among the shipping on the main canal, whose whole course, dotted with unsuspicious lights and fringed with fires, must have been clearly perceptible from above.

Then a long way off towards Alkmaar I heard bugles, and after that shots, and then a wild clamour of bells.

I

determined to let my men sleep on for as long as they could....

‘The battle was joined with the swiftness of dreaming.

I do not think it can have been five minutes from the moment when I first became aware of the Central European air fleet to the contact of the two forces.

I

saw it quite plainly in silhouette against the luminous blue of the northern sky.

The allied aeroplanes—they were mostly French—came pouring down like a fierce shower upon the middle of the Central European fleet.

They looked exactly like a coarser sort of rain.

There was a crackling sound—the first sound I heard—it reminded one of the Aurora Borealis, and I supposed it was an interchange of rifle shots.

There were flashes like summer lightning; and then all the sky became a whirling confusion of battle that was still largely noiseless.

Some of the Central European aeroplanes were certainly charged and overset;

others seemed to collapse and fall and then flare out with so bright a light that it took the edge off one’s vision and made the rest of the battle disappear as though it had been snatched back out of sight.

‘And then, while I still peered and tried to shade these flames from my eyes with my hand, and while the men about me were beginning to stir, the atomic bombs were thrown at the dykes.

They made a mighty thunder in the air, and fell like Lucifer in the picture, leaving a flaring trail in the sky.

The night, which had been pellucid and detailed and eventful, seemed to vanish, to be replaced abruptly by a black background to these tremendous pillars of fire....

‘Hard upon the sound of them came a roaring wind, and the sky was filled with flickering lightnings and rushing clouds....

‘There was something discontinuous in this impact.

At one moment I was a lonely watcher in a sleeping world; the next saw every one about me afoot, the whole world awake and amazed....

‘And then the wind had struck me a buffet, taken my helmet and swept aside the summerhouse of _Vreugde bij Vrede_, as a scythe sweeps away grass.

I saw the bombs fall, and then watched a great crimson flare leap responsive to each impact, and mountainous masses of red-lit steam and flying fragments clamber up towards the zenith.

Against the glare I saw the country-side for miles standing black and clear, churches, trees, chimneys.

And suddenly I understood.

The Central Europeans had burst the dykes.

Those flares meant the bursting of the dykes, and in a little while the sea-water would be upon us....

’ He goes on to tell with a certain prolixity of the steps he took—and all things considered they were very intelligent steps—to meet this amazing crisis.

He got his men aboard and hailed the adjacent barges;

he got the man who acted as barge engineer at his post and the engines working, he cast loose from his moorings.

Then he bethought himself of food, and contrived to land five men, get in a few dozen cheeses, and ship his men again before the inundation reached them.

He is reasonably proud of this piece of coolness.

His idea was to take the wave head-on and with his engines full speed ahead.

And all the while he was thanking heaven he was not in the jam of traffic in the main canal.

He rather, I think, overestimated the probable rush of waters; he dreaded being swept away, he explains, and smashed against houses and trees.

He does not give any estimate of the time it took between the bursting of the dykes and the arrival of the waters, but it was probably an interval of about twenty minutes or half an hour.

He was working now in darkness—save for the light of his lantern—and in a great wind.

He hung out head and stern lights....

Whirling torrents of steam were pouring up from the advancing waters, which had rushed, it must be remembered, through nearly incandescent gaps in the sea defences, and this vast uprush of vapour soon veiled the flaring centres of explosion altogether.

‘The waters came at last, an advancing cascade.

It was like a broad roller sweeping across the country.

They came with a deep, roaring sound.

I had expected a Niagara, but the total fall of the front could not have been much more than twelve feet.

Our barge hesitated for a moment, took a dose over her bows, and then lifted.

I signalled for full speed ahead and brought her head upstream, and held on like grim death to keep her there.

‘There was a wind about as strong as the flood, and I found we were pounding against every conceivable buoyant object that had been between us and the sea.

The only light in the world now came from our lamps, the steam became impenetrable at a score of yards from the boat, and the roar of the wind and water cut us off from all remoter sounds.

The black, shining waters swirled by, coming into the light of our lamps out of an ebony blackness and vanishing again into impenetrable black.

And on the waters came shapes, came things that flashed upon us for a moment, now a half-submerged boat, now a cow, now a huge fragment of a house’s timberings, now a muddle of packing-cases and scaffolding.

The things clapped into sight like something shown by the opening of a shutter, and then bumped shatteringly against us or rushed by us.

Once I saw very clearly a man’s white face....

‘All the while a group of labouring, half-submerged trees remained ahead of us, drawing very slowly nearer.

I steered a course to avoid them.

They seemed to gesticulate a frantic despair against the black steam clouds behind.

Once a great branch detached itself and tore shuddering by me.

We did, on the whole, make headway.

The last I saw of _Vreugde bij Vrede_ before the night swallowed it, was almost dead astern of us....

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