Number 87
Page 20
“My life and death serve, at least, one purpose and furnish a lesson and a warning for the world. Since Science now lifts her sceptre and ascends into her throne, she must be recognized for the beneficent power to which mankind shall largely look for their contentment, their reconciliation and their happiness. The promised land is a real land, and though my foot may never tread it, my eyes have seen the dawn grow white above its hills and valleys. But before man attains unto it, more than ever grows the necessity to compose his enmities, his jealousies, his rivalries, and practice that renunciation and self-denial, which alone can maintain the spiritual greatness of Kingdoms or breathe life into any League of the Nations. And this I also see: that my fellow creatures must share their world in a larger understanding, a more generous faith, a more international love and compassion ere this, my discovery, can be committed to their charge.
“Before No. 87 is again at the service of mankind, may the earth have sufficiently advanced along the road of reason to make honorable use of it; for that the energy must once more be revealed, if not to our children, then to the generation that follows them, is certain. That those who finally attain the treasure will use it faithfully, we can hope and pray, yet may not affirm.
“This, at least, is certain: there will come a time — it may be soon, it may be late — when man shall achieve the power to mend his earth, or end it; and it is equally sure that not one nation exists today which could be trusted to employ such an energy with a purpose unstained by human greed, or that national selfishness and lust of possession which vitiate so much of promise to mankind. Again and again we stretch out our hands with a welcome for the evangel of glad tidings and good will; again and again our cheers sink to a sigh, as man once more stones his prophets, crushes the weak, and denies his little children the milk of human kindness and the bread of truth.”
He finished, rolled up his manuscript and gave it to me without inviting comment.
“And now farewell,” he said. “Thank you for what you have done, and what you have yet to do. May life still contain good things for you and afford you such content and peace as you well deserve.”
He perceived that I desired to say much and reason with him; but he rose, lifted his hand and indicated that he could not hear me.
CHAPTER XVI
THE LAST OF GRIMWOOD
IT is strange how the idlest detail serves to punctuate a tremendous event, and how memory will often preserve the trifle clean-cut, while mightier matters already grow dim and elude our recollection.
Upon the night of that strange exodus there arises one vision whenever I think of it: the picture of Nancy Bassett weeping and carrying a basket, which contained a mother cat and four kittens.
Sir Bruce summoned his people, when he had taken farewell of me, and bade them ‘good-bye’. They shook his hand and went their way in the extremity of grief. Then I, too, left him and joined my car, where the driver awaited me a quarter of a mile from Grimwood. Bassett, his wife and daughter had brought their own belongings, and such things as Sir Bruce directed — old family pictures and other possessions — to an empty lodge which stood here. But dimly aware of what was to happen, we grouped together in silence waiting for the event.
I knew that Grimwood and all it contained was now to be destroyed, that Sir Bruce would charge his engine to the utmost capacity and then, mounting through earth’s atmosphere, perish and pursue his way in his flying tomb, whither no man might tell.
It was the dark hour before dawn and one could actually see nothing of what happened; but within twenty minutes we all marked the eyes of ‘the Bat,’ like twin sparks of fire, upon the roof of the manor house. The machine ascended and became invisible to us, whereupon through the night there drifted drearily a strange mutter and a moaning — the lamentation, as it seemed, of that ancient Elizabethan pile, shuddering and sinking down under a swift rain of electrons, that transformed the granite at a touch and ground the ancient porphyry into dust.
The dirge of sound persisted for five minutes; then all was silent. I knew what my companions would see in the morning and felt for their sorrow before the destruction of their home; but my own thought followed the destroyer and pictured that personality — so human, and imperfect in itself — now translated to be one of the world’s wonders; glorified for its genius and hated for its crimes; rendered egregious, mythic by the manner of its life and death; already perhaps a corpse among the stellar spaces; and lifted for evermore “Beyond the arrows, shouts and views of men.”
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eISBN 10: 1-4405-4473-5
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4473-6