MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/related; boundary="----=_NextPart_01D08B53.D037F920" This document is a Single File Web Page, also known as a Web Archive file. If you are seeing this message, your browser or editor doesn't support Web Archive files. Please download a browser that supports Web Archive, such as Windows® Internet Explorer®. ------=_NextPart_01D08B53.D037F920 Content-Location: file:///C:/E6F22B05/TheScarletPlague.htm Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable Content-Type: text/html; charset="us-ascii"
The Scarlet Plague
By
Jack London
Contents
I =
II =
III =
VI =
THE way led along upon what had once been the
embankment of a railroad. But no train had run upon it for many years. The
forest on either side swelled up the slopes of the embankment and crested
across it in a green wave of trees and bushes. The trail was as narrow as a
man's body, and was no more than a wild-animal runway. Occasionally, a piec=
e of
rusty iron, showing through the forest-mould, advertised that the rail and =
the ties
still remained. In one place, a ten-inch tree, bursting through at a
connection, had lifted the end of a rail clearly into view. The tie had
evidently followed the rail, held to it by the spike long enough for its be=
d to
be filled with gravel and rotten leaves, so that now the crumbling, rotten
timber thrust itself up at a curious slant. Old as the road was, it was
manifest that it had been of the mono-rail type.
An old man and a boy travelled along this runw=
ay.
They moved slowly, for the old man was very old, a touch of palsy made his
movements tremulous, and he leaned heavily upon his staff. A rude skull-cap=
of
goat-skin protected his head from the sun. From beneath this fell a scant
fringe of stained and dirty-white hair. A visor, ingeniously made from a la=
rge leaf,
shielded his eyes, and from under this he peered at the way of his feet on =
the
trail. His beard, which should have been snow-white but which showed the sa=
me
weather-wear and camp-stain as his hair, fell nearly to his waist in a great
tangled mass. About his chest and shoulders hung a single, mangy garment of
goat-skin. His arms and legs, withered and skinny, betokened extreme age, as
well as did their sunburn and scars and scratches betoken long years of
exposure to the elements.
The boy, who led the way, checking the eagerne=
ss
of his muscles to the slow progress of the elder, likewise wore a single
garment--a ragged-edged piece of bear-skin, with a hole in the middle throu=
gh
which he had thrust his head. He could not have been more than twelve years=
old.
Tucked coquettishly over one ear was the freshly severed tail of a pig. In =
one
hand he carried a medium-sized bow and an arrow.
On his back was a quiverful of arrows. From a
sheath hanging about his neck on a thong, projected the battered handle of =
a hunting
knife. He was as brown as a berry, and walked softly, with almost a catlike
tread. In marked contrast with his sunburned skin were his eyes--blue, deep=
blue,
but keen and sharp as a pair of gimlets. They seemed to bore into aft about=
him
in a way that was habitual. As he went along he smelled things, as well, his
distended, quivering nostrils carrying to his brain an endless series of
messages from the outside world. Also, his hearing was acute, and had been =
so
trained that it operated automatically. Without conscious effort, he heard =
all
the slight sounds in the apparent quiet--heard, and differentiated, and
classified these sounds--whether they were of the wind rustling the leaves,=
of
the humming of bees and gnats, of the distant rumble of the sea that drifte=
d to
him only in lulls, or of the gopher, just under his foot, shoving a pouchfu=
l of
earth into the entrance of his hole.
Suddenly he became alertly tense. Sound, sight,
and odor had given him a simultaneous warning. His hand went back to the old
man, touching him, and the pair stood still. Ahead, at one side of the top =
of
the embankment, arose a crackling sound, and the boy's gaze was fixed on th=
e tops
of the agitated bushes. Then a large bear, a grizzly, crashed into view, and
likewise stopped abruptly, at sight of the humans. He did not like them, and
growled querulously. Slowly the boy fitted the arrow to the bow, and slowly=
he
pulled the bowstring taut. But he never removed his eyes from the bear.
The old man peered from under his green leaf at
the danger, and stood as quietly as the boy. For a few seconds this mutual
scrutinizing went on; then, the bear betraying a growing irritability, the =
boy,
with a movement of his head, indicated that the old man must step aside fro=
m the
trail and go down the embankment. The boy followed, going backward, still
holding the bow taut and ready. They waited till a crashing among the bushes
from the opposite side of the embankment told them the bear had gone on. The
boy grinned as he led back to the trail.
"A big un, Granser," he chuckled.
The old man shook his head.
"They get thicker every day," he
complained in a thin, undependable falsetto. "Who'd have thought I'd l=
ive
to see the time when a man would be afraid of his life on the way to the Cl=
iff
House. When I was a boy, Edwin, men and women and little babies used to come
out here from San Francisco by tens of thousands on a nice day. And there
weren't any bears then. No, sir. They used to pay money to look at them in
cages, they were that rare."
"What is money, Granser?"
Before the old man could answer, the boy
recollected and triumphantly shoved his hand into a pouch under his bear-sk=
in
and pulled forth a battered and tarnished silver dollar. The old man's eyes
glistened, as he held the coin close to them.
"I can't see," he muttered. "You
look and see if you can make out the date, Edwin."
The boy laughed.
"You're a great Granser," he cried
delightedly, "always making believe them little marks mean
something."
The old man manifested an accustomed chagrin a=
s he
brought the coin back again close to his own eyes.
"2012," he shrilled, and then fell to
cackling grotesquely. "That was the year Morgan the Fifth was appointed
President of the United States by the Board of Magnates. It must have been =
one
of the last coins minted, for the Scarlet Death came in 2013. Lord!
Lord!--think of it! Sixty years ago, and I am the only person alive to-day =
that
lived in those times. Where did you find it, Edwin?"
The boy, who had been regarding him with the
tolerant curiousness one accords to the prattlings of the feeble-minded,
answered promptly.
"I got it off of Hoo-Hoo. He found it whe=
n we
was herdin' goats down near San José last spring. Hoo-Hoo said it was
money. Ain't you hungry, Granser?"
The ancient caught his staff in a tighter grip=
and
urged along the trail, his old eyes shining greedily.
"I hope Har-Lip 's found a crab... or
two," he mumbled. "They're good eating, crabs, mighty good eating
when you've no more teeth and you've got grandsons that love their old gran=
dsire
and make a point of catching crabs for him. When I was a boy--"
But Edwin, suddenly stopped by what he saw, was
drawing the bowstring on a fitted arrow. He had paused on the brink of a
crevasse in the embankment. An ancient culvert had here washed out, and the
stream, no longer confined, had cut a passage through the fill. On the oppo=
site
side, the end of a rail projected and overhung. It showed rustily through t=
he
creeping vines which overran it. Beyond, crouching by a bush, a rabbit look=
ed
across at him in trembling hesitancy. Fully fifty feet was the distance, but
the arrow flashed true; and the transfixed rabbit, crying out in sudden fri=
ght
and hurt, struggled painfully away into the brush. The boy himself was a fl=
ash
of brown skin and flying fur as he bounded down the steep wall of the gap a=
nd
up the other side. His lean muscles were springs of steel that released into
graceful and efficient action. A hundred feet beyond, in a tangle of bushes=
, he
overtook the wounded creature, knocked its head on a convenient tree-trunk,=
and
turned it over to Granser to carry.
"Rabbit is good, very good," the anc=
ient
quavered, "but when it comes to a toothsome delicacy I prefer crab. Wh=
en I
was a boy--"
"Why do you say so much that ain't got no
sense?" Edwin impatiently interrupted the other's threatened
garrulousness.
The boy did not exactly utter these words, but
something that remotely resembled them and that was more guttural and explo=
sive
and economical of qualifying phrases. His speech showed distant kinship with
that of the old man, and the latter's speech was approximately an English t=
hat had
gone through a bath of corrupt usage.
"What I want to know," Edwin continu=
ed,
"is why you call crab 'toothsome delicacy'? Crab is crab, ain't it? No=
one
I never heard calls it such funny things."
The old man sighed but did not answer, and they
moved on in silence. The surf grew suddenly louder, as they emerged from the
forest upon a stretch of sand dunes bordering the sea. A few goats were
browsing among the sandy hillocks, and a skin-clad boy, aided by a
wolfish-looking dog that was only faintly reminiscent of a collie, was watc=
hing
them. Mingled with the roar of the surf was a continuous, deep-throated bar=
king
or bellowing, which came from a cluster of jagged rocks a hundred yards out
from shore. Here huge sea-lions hauled themselves up to lie in the sun or
battle with one another. In the immediate foreground arose the smoke of a f=
ire,
tended by a third savage-looking boy. Crouched near him were several wolfis=
h dogs
similar to the one that guarded the goats.
The old man accelerated his pace, sniffing eag=
erly
as he neared the fire.
"Mussels!" he muttered ecstatically.
"Mussels! And ain't that a crab, Hoo-Hoo? Ain't that a crab? My, my, y=
ou
boys are good to your old grandsire."
Hoo-Hoo, who was apparently of the same age as
Edwin, grinned.
"All you want, Granser. I got four."=
The old man's palsied eagerness was pitiful.
Sitting down in the sand as quickly as his stiff limbs would let him, he po=
ked
a large rock-mussel from out of the coals. The heat had forced its shells
apart, and the meat, salmon-colored, was thoroughly cooked. Between thumb a=
nd forefinger,
in trembling haste, he caught the morsel and carried it to his mouth. But it
was too hot, and the next moment was violently ejected. The old man splutte=
red
with the pain, and tears ran out of his eyes and down his cheeks.
The boys were true savages, possessing only the
cruel humor of the savage. To them the incident was excruciatingly funny, a=
nd
they burst into loud laughter. Hoo-Hoo danced up and down, while Edwin roll=
ed gleefully
on the ground. The boy with the goats came running to join in the fun.
"Set 'em to cool, Edwin, set 'em to
cool," the old man besought, in the midst of his grief, making no atte=
mpt
to wipe away the tears that still flowed from his eyes. "And cool a cr=
ab,
Edwin, too. You know your grandsire likes crabs."
From the coals arose a great sizzling, which
proceeded from the many mussels bursting open their shells and exuding their
moisture. They were large shellfish, running from three to six inches in
length. The boys raked them out with sticks and placed them on a large piec=
e of
driftwood to cool.
"When I was a boy, we did not laugh at our
elders; we respected them."
The boys took no notice, and Granser continued=
to
babble an incoherent flow of complaint and censure. But this time he was mo=
re
careful, and did not burn his mouth. All began to eat, using nothing but th=
eir
hands and making loud mouth-noises and lip-smackings. The third boy, who wa=
s called
Hare-Lip, slyly deposited a pinch of sand on a mussel the ancient was carry=
ing
to his mouth; and when the grit of it bit into the old fellow's mucous memb=
rane
and gums, the laughter was again uproarious. He was unaware that a joke had
been played on him, and spluttered and spat until Edwin, relenting, gave hi=
m a
gourd of fresh water with which to wash out his mouth.
"Where's them crabs, Hoo-Hoo?" Edwin
demanded. "Granser's set upon having a snack."
Again Granser's eyes burned with greediness as=
a
large crab was handed to him. It was a shell with legs and all complete, but
the meat had long since departed. With shaky fingers and babblings of
anticipation, the old man broke off a leg and found it filled with emptines=
s.
"The crabs, Hoo-Hoo?" he wailed.
"The crabs?"
"I was fooling Granser. They ain't no cra=
bs!
I never found one."
The boys were overwhelmed with delight at sigh=
t of
the tears of senile disappointment that dribbled down the old man's cheeks.
Then, unnoticed, Hoo-Hoo replaced the empty shell with a fresh-cooked crab.
Already dismembered, from the cracked legs the white meat sent forth a smal=
l cloud
of savory steam. This attracted the old man's nostrils, and he looked down =
in
amazement.
The change of his mood to one of joy was immed=
iate.
He snuffled and muttered and mumbled, making almost a croon of delight, as =
he
began to eat. Of this the boys took little notice, for it was an accustomed=
spectacle.
Nor did they notice his occasional exclamations and utterances of phrases w=
hich
meant nothing to them, as, for instance, when he smacked his lips and champ=
ed
his gums while muttering: "Mayonnaise! Just think--mayonnaise! And it's
sixty years since the last was ever made! Two generations and never a smell=
of
it! Why, in those days it was served in every restaurant with crab."
When he could eat no more, the old man sighed,
wiped his hands on his naked legs, and gazed out over the sea. With the con=
tent
of a full stomach, he waxed reminiscent.
"To think of it! I've seen this beach ali=
ve
with men, women, and children on a pleasant Sunday. And there weren't any b=
ears
to eat them up, either. And right up there on the cliff was a big restaurant
where you could get anything you wanted to eat. Four million people lived i=
n San
Francisco then. And now, in the whole city and county there aren't forty all
told. And out there on the sea were ships and ships always to be seen, goin=
g in
for the Golden Gate or coming out. And airships in the air--dirigibles and
flying machines. They could travel two hundred miles an hour. The mail
contracts with the New York and San Francisco Limited demanded that for the
minimum. There was a chap, a Frenchman, I forget his name, who succeeded in
making three hundred; but the thing was risky, too risky for conservative p=
ersons.
But he was on the right clew, and he would have managed it if it hadn't been
for the Great Plague. When I was a boy, there were men alive who remembered=
the
coming of the first aeroplanes, and now I have lived to see the last of the=
m,
and that sixty years ago."
The old man babbled on, unheeded by the boys, =
who
were long accustomed to his garrulousness, and whose vocabularies, besides,
lacked the greater portion of the words he used. It was noticeable that in
these rambling soliloquies his English seemed to recrudesce into better con=
struction
and phraseology. But when he talked directly with the boys it lapsed, large=
ly,
into their own uncouth and simpler forms.
"But there weren't many crabs in those
days," the old man wandered on. "They were fished out, and they w=
ere
great delicacies. The open season was only a month long, too. And now crabs=
are
accessible the whole year around. Think of it--catching all the crabs you w=
ant,
any time you want, in the surf of the Cliff House beach!"
A sudden commotion among the goats brought the
boys to their feet. The dogs about the fire rushed to join their snarling
fellow who guarded the goats, while the goats themselves stampeded in the
direction of their human protectors. A half dozen forms, lean and gray, gli=
ded
about on the sand hillocks and faced the bristling dogs. Edwin arched an ar=
row
that fell short. But Hare-Lip, with a sling such as David carried into batt=
le against
Goliath, hurled a stone through the air that whistled from the speed of its
flight. It fell squarely among the wolves and caused them to slink away tow=
ard
the dark depths of the eucalyptus forest.
The boys laughed and lay down again in the san= d, while Granser sighed ponderously. He had eaten too much, and, with hands clasped on his paunch, the fingers interlaced, he resumed his maunderings.<= o:p>
"'The fleeting systems lapse like
foam,'" he mumbled what was evidently a quotation. "That's it--fo=
am,
and fleeting. All man's toil upon the planet was just so much foam. He
domesticated the serviceable animals, destroyed the hostile ones, and clear=
ed
the land of its wild vegetation. And then he passed, and the flood of
primordial life rolled back again, sweeping his handiwork away--the weeds a=
nd
the forest inundated his fields, the beasts of prey swept over his flocks, =
and
now there are wolves on the Cliff House beach." He was appalled by the
thought. "Where four million people disported themselves, the wild wol=
ves
roam to-day, and the savage progeny of our loins, with prehistoric weapons,
defend themselves against the fanged despoilers. Think of it! And all becau=
se of
the Scarlet Death--"
The adjective had caught Hare-Lip's ear.
"He's always saying that," he said to
Edwin. "What is scarlet?"
"'The scarlet of the maples can shake me =
like
the cry of bugles going by,'" the old man quoted.
"It's red," Edwin answered the quest=
ion.
"And you don't know it because you come from the Chauffeur Tribe. They
never did know nothing, none of them. Scarlet is red--I know that."
"Red is red, ain't it?" Hare-Lip
grumbled. "Then what's the good of gettin' cocky and calling it
scarlet?"
"Granser, what for do you always say so m=
uch
what nobody knows?" he asked. "Scarlet ain't anything, but red is
red. Why don't you say red, then?"
"Red is not the right word," was the
reply. "The plague was scarlet. The whole face and body turned scarlet=
in
an hour's time. Don't I know? Didn't I see enough of it? And I am telling y=
ou
it was scarlet because--well, because it was scarlet. There is no other word
for it."
"Red is good enough for me," Hare-Lip
muttered obstinately. "My dad calls red red, and he ought to know. He =
says
everybody died of the Red Death."
"Your dad is a common fellow, descended f=
rom
a common fellow," Granser retorted heatedly. "Don't I know the
beginnings of the Chauffeurs? Your grandsire was a chauffeur, a servant, and
without education. He worked for other persons. But your grandmother was of
good stock, only the children did not take after her. Don't I remember when=
I
first met them, catching fish at Lake Temescal?"
"What is education?" Edwin asked.
"Calling red scarlet," Hare-Lip snee=
red,
then returned to the attack on Granser. "My dad told me, an' he got it
from his dad afore he croaked, that your wife was a Santa Rosan, an' that s=
he
was sure no account. He said she was a hash-slinger before the Red Death,
though I don't know what a hash-slinger is. You can tell me, Edwin."
But Edwin shook his head in token of ignorance=
.
"It is true, she was a waitress,"
Granser acknowledged. "But she was a good woman, and your mother was h=
er
daughter. Women were very scarce in the days after the Plague. She was the =
only
wife I could find, even if she was a hash-slinger, as your father calls it.=
But
it is not nice to talk about our progenitors that way."
"Dad says that the wife of the first
Chauffeur was a lady--"
"What's a lady?" Hoo-Hoo demanded.
"A lady 's a Chauffeur squaw," was t=
he
quick reply of Hare-Lip.
"The first Chauffeur was Bill, a common
fellow, as I said before," the old man expounded; "but his wife w=
as a
lady, a great lady. Before the Scarlet Death she was the wife of Van Worden=
. He
was President of the Board of Industrial Magnates, and was one of the dozen=
men
who ruled America. He was worth one billion, eight hundred millions of doll=
ars--coins
like you have there in your pouch, Edwin. And then came the Scarlet Death, =
and
his wife became the wife of Bill, the first Chauffeur. He used to beat her,
too. I have seen it myself."
Hoo-Hoo, lying on his stomach and idly digging=
his
toes in the sand, cried out and investigated, first, his toe-nail, and next,
the small hole he had dug. The other two boys joined him, excavating the sa=
nd rapidly
with their hands till there lay three skeletons exposed. Two were of adults,
the third being that of a part-grown child. The old man hudged along on the
ground and peered at the find.
"Plague victims," he announced.
"That's the way they died everywhere in the last days. This must have =
been
a family, running away from the contagion and perishing here on the Cliff H=
ouse
beach. They--what are you doing, Edwin?"
This question was asked in sudden dismay, as
Edwin, using the back of his hunting knife, began to knock out the teeth fr=
om
the jaws of one of the skulls.
"Going to string 'em," was the respo=
nse.
The three boys were now hard at it; and quite a
knocking and hammering arose, in which Granser babbled on unnoticed.
"You are true savages. Already has begun =
the
custom of wearing human teeth. In another generation you will be perforating
your noses and ears and wearing ornaments of bone and shell. I know. The hu=
man
race is doomed to sink back farther and farther into the primitive night ere
again it begins its bloody climb upward to civilization. When we increase a=
nd
feel the lack of room, we will proceed to kill one another. And then I supp=
ose
you will wear human scalp-locks at your waist, as well--as you, Edwin, who =
are
the gentlest of my grandsons, have already begun with that vile pigtail. Th=
row
it away, Edwin, boy; throw it away."
"What a gabble the old geezer makes,"
Hare-Lip remarked, when, the teeth all extracted, they began an attempt at
equal division.
They were very quick and abrupt in their actio=
ns,
and their speech, in moments of hot discussion over the allotment of the
choicer teeth, was truly a gabble. They spoke in monosyllables and short je=
rky
sentences that was more a gibberish than a language. And yet, through it ran
hints of grammatical construction, and appeared vestiges of the conjugation=
of
some superior culture. Even the speech of Granser was so corrupt that were =
it put
down literally it would be almost so much nonsense to the reader. This,
however, was when he talked with the boys.
When he got into the full swing of babbling to
himself, it slowly purged itself into pure English. The sentences grew long=
er
and were enunciated with a rhythm and ease that was reminiscent of the lect=
ure
platform.
"Tell us about the Red Death, Granser,&qu=
ot;
Hare-Lip demanded, when the teeth affair had been satisfactorily concluded.=
"The Scarlet Death," Edwin corrected=
.
"An' don't work all that funny lingo on
us," Hare-Lip went on. "Talk sensible, Granser, like a Santa Rosan
ought to talk. Other Santa Rosans don't talk like you."
THE old man showed pleasure in being thus call=
ed
upon. He cleared his throat and began.
"Twenty or thirty years ago my story was =
in
great demand. But in these days nobody seems interested--"
"There you go!" Hare-Lip cried hotly.
"Cut out the funny stuff and talk sensible. What's interested? You talk
like a baby that don't know how."
"Let him alone," Edwin urged, "=
or
he'll get mad and won't talk at all. Skip the funny places. We'll catch on =
to
some of what he tells us."
"Let her go, Granser," Hoo-Hoo
encouraged; for the old man was already maundering about the disrespect for
elders and the reversion to cruelty of all humans that fell from high cultu=
re
to primitive conditions.
The tale began.
"There were very many people in the world=
in
those days. San Francisco alone held four millions--"
"What is millions?" Edwin interrupte=
d.
Granser looked at him kindly.
"I know you cannot count beyond ten, so I
will tell you. Hold up your two hands. On both of them you have altogether =
ten
fingers and thumbs. Very well. I now take this grain of sand--you hold it,
Hoo-Hoo." He dropped the grain of sand into the lad's palm and went on.
"Now that grain of sand stands for the ten fingers of Edwin. I add ano=
ther
grain. That's ten more fingers. And I add another, and another, and another=
, until
I have added as many grains as Edwin has fingers and thumbs. That makes wha=
t I
call one hundred. Remember that word--one hundred. Now I put this pebble in
Hare-Lip's hand. It stands for ten grains of sand, or ten tens of fingers, =
or
one hundred fingers. I put in ten pebbles. They stand for a thousand finger=
s. I
take a mussel-shell, and it stands for ten pebbles, or one hundred grains of
sand, or one thousand fingers...." And so on, laboriously, and with mu=
ch
reiteration, he strove to build up in their minds a crude conception of
numbers. As the quantities increased, he had the boys holding different
magnitudes in each of their hands. For still higher sums, he laid the symbo=
ls
on the log of driftwood; and for symbols he was hard put, being compelled to
use the teeth from the skulls for millions, and the crab-shells for billion=
s. It
was here that he stopped, for the boys were showing signs of becoming tired=
.
"There were four million people in San
Francisco--four teeth."
The boys' eyes ranged along from the teeth and
from hand to hand, down through the pebbles and sand-grains to Edwin's fing=
ers.
And back again they ranged along the ascending series in the effort to grasp
such inconceivable numbers.
"That was a lot of folks, Granser,"
Edwin at last hazarded.
"Like sand on the beach here, like sand on
the beach, each grain of sand a man, or woman, or child. Yes, my boy, all t=
hose
people lived right here in San Francisco. And at one time or another all th=
ose
people came out on this very beach--more people than there are grains of sa=
nd. More--more--more.
And San Francisco was a noble city. And across the bay--where we camped last
year, even more people lived, clear from Point Richmond, on the level ground
and on the hills, all the way around to San Leandro--one great city of seven
million people.--Seven teeth... there, that's it, seven millions."
Again the boys' eyes ranged up and down from
Edwin's fingers to the teeth on the log.
"The world was full of people. The census=
of
2010 gave eight billions for the whole world--eight crab-shells, yes, eight
billions. It was not like to-day. Mankind knew a great deal more about gett=
ing
food. And the more food there was, the more people there were. In the year
1800, there were one hundred and seventy millions in Europe alone. One hund=
red
years later--a grain of sand, Hoo-Hoo--one hundred years later, at 1900, th=
ere were
five hundred millions in Europe--five grains of sand, Hoo-Hoo, and this one
tooth. This shows how easy was the getting of food, and how men increased. =
And
in the year 2000 there were fifteen hundred millions in Europe. And it was =
the
same all over the rest of the world. Eight crab-shells there, yes, eight
billion people were alive on the earth when the Scarlet Death began.
"I was a young man when the Plague
came--twenty-seven years old; and I lived on the other side of San Francisco
Bay, in Berkeley. You remember those great stone houses, Edwin, when we came
down the hills from Contra Costa? That was where I lived, in those stone
houses. I was a professor of English literature."
Much of this was over the heads of the boys, b=
ut
they strove to comprehend dimly this tale of the past.
"What was them stone houses for?"
Hare-Lip queried.
"You remember when your dad taught you to
swim?" The boy nodded. "Well, in the University of California--th=
at
is the name we had for the houses--we taught young men and women how to thi=
nk,
just as I have taught you now, by sand and pebbles and shells, to know how =
many
people lived in those days. There was very much to teach. The young men and=
women
we taught were called students. We had large rooms in which we taught. I ta=
lked
to them, forty or fifty at a time, just as I am talking to you now. I told =
them
about the books other men had written before their time, and even, sometime=
s,
in their time--"
"Was that all you did?--just talk, talk,
talk?" Hoo-Hoo demanded. "Who hunted your meat for you? and milked
the goats? and caught the fish?"
"A sensible question, Hoo-Hoo, a sensible
question. As I have told you, in those days food-getting was easy. We were =
very
wise. A few men got the food for many men. The other men did other things. =
As
you say, I talked. I talked all the time, and for this food was given me--m=
uch food,
fine food, beautiful food, food that I have not tasted in sixty years and s=
hall
never taste again. I sometimes think the most wonderful achievement of our
tremendous civilization was food--its inconceivable abundance, its infinite
variety, its marvellous delicacy. O my grandsons, life was life in those da=
ys,
when we had such wonderful things to eat."
This was beyond the boys, and they let it slip=
by,
words and thoughts, as a mere senile wandering in the narrative.
"Our food-getters were called freemen. Th=
is
was a joke. We of the ruling classes owned all the land, all the machines,
everything. These food-getters were our slaves. We took almost all the food
they got, and left them a little so that they might eat, and work, and get =
us
more food--"
"I'd have gone into the forest and got fo=
od
for myself," Hare-Lip announced; "and if any man tried to take it
away from me, I'd have killed him."
The old man laughed.
"Did I not tell you that we of the ruling
class owned all the land, all the forest, everything? Any food-getter who w=
ould
not get food for us, him we punished or compelled to starve to death. And v=
ery
few did that. They preferred to get food for us, and make clothes for us, a=
nd
prepare and administer to us a thousand--a mussel-shell, Hoo-Hoo--a thousan=
d satisfactions
and delights. And I was Professor Smith in those days--Professor James Howa=
rd
Smith. And my lecture courses were very popular--that is, very many of the
young men and women liked to hear me talk about the books other men had
written.
"And I was very happy, and I had beautiful
things to eat. And my hands were soft, because I did no work with them, and=
my
body was clean all over and dressed in the softest garments--
"He surveyed his mangy goat-skin with
disgust.
"We did not wear such things in those day=
s.
Even the slaves had better garments. And we were most clean. We washed our
faces and hands often every day. You boys never wash unless you fall into t=
he
water or go swimming."
"Neither do you Granzer," Hoo-Hoo
retorted.
"I know, I know, I am a filthy old man, b=
ut
times have changed. Nobody washes these days, there are no conveniences. It=
is
sixty years since I have seen a piece of soap.
"You do not know what soap is, and I shall
not tell you, for I am telling the story of the Scarlet Death. You know what
sickness is. We called it a disease. Very many of the diseases came from wh=
at
we called germs. Remember that word--germs. A germ is a very small thing. I=
t is
like a woodtick, such as you find on the dogs in the spring of the year whe=
n they
run in the forest. Only the germ is very small. It is so small that you can=
not
see it--"
Hoo-Hoo began to laugh.
"You're a queer un, Granser, talking about
things you can't see. If you can't see 'em, how do you know they are? That's
what I want to know. How do you know anything you can't see?"
"A good question, a very good question,
Hoo-Hoo. But we did see--some of them. We had what we called microscopes and
ultramicroscopes, and we put them to our eyes and looked through them, so t=
hat
we saw things larger than they really were, and many things we could not see
without the microscopes at all. Our best ultramicroscopes could make a germ
look forty thousand times larger. A mussel-shell is a thousand fingers like=
Edwin's.
Take forty mussel-shells, and by as many times larger was the germ when we
looked at it through a microscope. And after that, we had other ways, by us=
ing
what we called moving pictures, of making the forty-thousand-times germ man=
y,
many thousand times larger still. And thus we saw all these things which our
eyes of themselves could not see. Take a grain of sand. Break it into ten
pieces. Take one piece and break it into ten. Break one of those pieces into
ten, and one of those into ten, and one of those into ten, and one of those
into ten, and do it all day, and maybe, by sunset, you will have a piece as
small as one of the germs." The boys were openly incredulous. Hare-Lip
sniffed and sneered and Hoo-Hoo snickered, until Edwin nudged them to be
silent.
"The woodtick sucks the blood of the dog,=
but
the germ, being so very small, goes right into the blood of the body, and t=
here
it has many children. In those days there would be as many as a billion--a =
crab-shell,
please--as many as that crab-shell in one man's body. We called germs
micro-organisms. When a few million, or a billion, of them were in a man, in
all the blood of a man, he was sick. These germs were a disease. There were
many different kinds of them--more different kinds than there are grains of
sand on this beach. We knew only a few of the kinds. The micro-organic world
was an invisible world, a world we could not see, and we knew very little a=
bout
it. Yet we did know something. There was the bacillus anthracis; there was =
the
micrococcus; there was the Bacterium termo, and the Bacterium lactis--that's
what turns the goat milk sour even to this day, Hare-Lip; and there were Sc=
hizomycetes
without end. And there were many others...."
Here the old man launched into a disquisition =
on
germs and their natures, using words and phrases of such extraordinary leng=
th
and meaninglessness, that the boys grinned at one another and looked out ov=
er
the deserted ocean till they forgot the old man was babbling on.
"But the Scarlet Death, Granser," Ed=
win
at last suggested.
Granser recollected himself, and with a start =
tore
himself away from the rostrum of the lecture-hall, where, to another world
audience, he had been expounding the latest theory, sixty years gone, of ge=
rms
and germ-diseases.
"Yes, yes, Edwin; I had forgotten. Someti=
mes
the memory of the past is very strong upon me, and I forget that I am a dir=
ty
old man, clad in goat-skin, wandering with my savage grandsons who are
goatherds in the primeval wilderness. 'The fleeting systems lapse like foam=
,'
and so lapsed our glorious, colossal civilization. I am Granser, a tired ol=
d man.
I belong to the tribe of Santa Rosans. I married into that tribe. My sons a=
nd
daughters married into the Chauffeurs, the Sacramen-tos, and the Palo-Altos.
You, Hare-Lip, are of the Chauffeurs. You, Edwin, are of the Sacramentos. A=
nd
you, Hoo-Hoo, are of the Palo-Altos. Your tribe takes its name from a town =
that
was near the seat of another great institution of learning. It was called
Stanford University. Yes, I remember now. It is perfectly clear. I was tell=
ing
you of the Scarlet Death. Where was I in my story?"
"You was telling about germs, the things =
you
can't see but which make men sick," Edwin prompted.
"Yes, that's where I was. A man did not
notice at first when only a few of these germs got into his body. But each =
germ
broke in half and became two germs, and they kept doing this very rapidly so
that in a short time there were many millions of them in the body. Then the=
man
was sick. He had a disease, and the disease was named after the kind of a g=
erm
that was in him. It might be measles, it might be influenza, it might be ye=
llow
fever; it might be any of thousands and thousands of kinds of diseases.
"Now this is the strange thing about these
germs. There were always new ones coming to live in men's bodies. Long and =
long
and long ago, when there were only a few men in the world, there were few
diseases. But as men increased and lived closely together in great cities a=
nd civilizations,
new diseases arose, new kinds of germs entered their bodies. Thus were
countless millions and billions of human beings killed. And the more thickly
men packed together, the more terrible were the new diseases that came to b=
e.
Long before my time, in the middle ages, there was the Black Plague that sw=
ept
across Europe. It swept across Europe many times. There was tuberculosis, t=
hat
entered into men wherever they were thickly packed. A hundred years before =
my
time there was the bubonic plague. And in Africa was the sleeping sickness.=
The
bacteriologists fought all these sicknesses and destroyed them, just as you
boys fight the wolves away from your goats, or squash the mosquitoes that l=
ight
on you. The bacteriologists--"
"But, Granser, what is a
what-you-call-it?" Edwin interrupted.
"You, Edwin, are a goatherd. Your task is=
to
watch the goats. You know a great deal about goats. A bacteriologist watches
germs. That's his task, and he knows a great deal about them. So, as I was
saying, the bacteriologists fought with the germs and destroyed
them--sometimes. There was leprosy, a horrible disease. A hundred years bef=
ore
I was born, the bacteriologists discovered the germ of leprosy. They knew a=
ll about
it. They made pictures of it. I have seen those pictures. But they never fo=
und
a way to kill it. But in 1984, there was the Pantoblast Plague, a disease t=
hat
broke out in a country called Brazil and that killed millions of people. But
the bacteriologists found it out, and found the way to kill it, so that the
Pantoblast Plague went no farther. They made what they called a serum, which
they put into a man's body and which killed the pantoblast germs without
killing the man. And in 1910, there was Pellagra, and also the hookworm. Th=
ese
were easily killed by the bacteriologists. But in 1947 there arose a new
disease that had never been seen before. It got into the bodies of babies of
only ten months old or less, and it made them unable to move their hands an=
d feet,
or to eat, or anything; and the bacteriologists were eleven years in
discovering how to kill that particular germ and save the babies.
"In spite of all these diseases, and of a=
ll
the new ones that continued to arise, there were more and more men in the
world. This was because it was easy to get food. The easier it was to get f=
ood,
the more men there were; the more men there were, the more thickly were they
packed together on the earth; and the more thickly they were packed, the mo=
re new
kinds of germs became diseases. There were warnings. Soldervetzsky, as earl=
y as
1929, told the bacteriologists that they had no guaranty against some new
disease, a thousand times more deadly than any they knew, arising and killi=
ng
by the hundreds of millions and even by the billion. You see, the micro-org=
anic
world remained a mystery to the end. They knew there was such a world, and =
that
from time to time armies of new germs emerged from it to kill men.
"And that was all they knew about it. For=
all
they knew, in that invisible micro-organic world there might be as many
different kinds of germs as there are grains of sand on this beach. And als=
o,
in that same invisible world it might well be that new kinds of germs came =
to
be. It might be there that life originated--the 'abysmal fecundity,' Solder=
vetzsky
called it, applying the words of other men who had written before him....&q=
uot;
It was at this point that Hare-Lip rose to his
feet, an expression of huge contempt on his face.
"Granser," he announced, "you m=
ake
me sick with your gabble. Why don't you tell about the Red Death? If you ai=
n't
going to, say so, an' we'll start back for camp."
The old man looked at him and silently began to
cry. The weak tears of age rolled down his cheeks and all the feebleness of=
his
eighty-seven years showed in his grief-stricken countenance.
"Sit down," Edwin counselled soothin=
gly.
"Granser's all right. He's just gettin' to the Scarlet Death, ain't yo=
u,
Granser? He's just goin' to tell us about it right now. Sit down, Hare-Lip.=
Go
ahead, Granser."
THE old man wiped the tears away on his grimy
knuckles and took up the tale in a tremulous, piping voice that soon
strengthened as he got the swing of the narrative.
"It was in the summer of 2013 that the Pl=
ague
came. I was twenty-seven years old, and well do I remember it. Wireless
despatches--"
Hare-Lip spat loudly his disgust, and Granser
hastened to make amends.
"We talked through the air in those days,
thousands and thousands of miles. And the word came of a strange disease th=
at
had broken out in New York. There were seventeen millions of people living =
then
in that noblest city of America. Nobody thought anything about the news. It=
was
only a small thing. There had been only a few deaths. It seemed, though, th=
at
they had died very quickly, and that one of the first signs of the disease =
was
the turning red of the face and all the body. Within twenty-four hours came=
the
report of the first case in Chicago. And on the same day, it was made public
that London, the greatest city in the world, next to Chicago, had been secr=
etly
fighting the plague for two weeks and censoring the news despatches--that i=
s,
not permitting the word to go forth to the rest of the world that London had
the plague.
"It looked serious, but we in California,
like everywhere else, were not alarmed. We were sure that the bacteriologis=
ts
would find a way to overcome this new germ, just as they had overcome other
germs in the past. But the trouble was the astonishing quickness with which
this germ destroyed human beings, and the fact that it inevitably killed an=
y human
body it entered. No one ever recovered. There was the old Asiatic cholera, =
when
you might eat dinner with a well man in the evening, and the next morning, =
if
you got up early enough, you would see him being hauled by your window in t=
he
death-cart. But this new plague was quicker than that--much quicker.
"From the moment of the first signs of it=
, a
man would be dead in an hour. Some lasted for several hours. Many died with=
in
ten or fifteen minutes of the appearance of the first signs.
"The heart began to beat faster and the h=
eat
of the body to increase. Then came the scarlet rash, spreading like wildfire
over the face and body. Most persons never noticed the increase in heat and
heart-beat, and the first they knew was when the scarlet rash came out. Usu=
ally,
they had convulsions at the time of the appearance of the rash. But these
convulsions did not last long and were not very severe. If one lived through
them, he became perfectly quiet, and only did he feel a numbness swiftly
creeping up his body from the feet. The heels became numb first, then the l=
egs,
and hips, and when the numbness reached as high as his heart he died. They =
did
not rave or sleep. Their minds always remained cool and calm up to the mome=
nt
their heart numbed and stopped. And another strange thing was the rapidity =
of
decomposition. No sooner was a person dead than the body seemed to fall to
pieces, to fly apart, to melt away even as you looked at it. That was one of
the reasons the plague spread so rapidly. All the billions of germs in a co=
rpse
were so immediately released.
"And it was because of all this that the
bacteriologists had so little chance in fighting the germs. They were kille=
d in
their laboratories even as they studied the germ of the Scarlet Death. They
were heroes. As fast as they perished, others stepped forth and took their
places. It was in London that they first isolated it. The news was telegrap=
hed everywhere.
Trask was the name of the man who succeeded in this, but within thirty hour=
s he
was dead. Then came the struggle in all the laboratories to find something =
that
would kill the plague germs. All drugs failed. You see, the problem was to =
get
a drug, or serum, that would kill the germs in the body and not kill the bo=
dy.
They tried to fight it with other germs, to put into the body of a sick man
germs that were the enemies of the plague germs--"
"And you can't see these germ-things,
Granser," Hare-Lip objected, "and here you gabble, gabble, gabble
about them as if they was anything, when they're nothing at all. Anything y=
ou
can't see, ain't, that's what. Fighting things that ain't with things that
ain't! They must have been all fools in them days. That's why they croaked.=
I
ain't goin' to believe in such rot, I tell you that."
Granser promptly began to weep, while Edwin ho=
tly
took up his defence.
"Look here, Hare-Lip, you believe in lots=
of
things you can't see."
Hare-Lip shook his head.
"You believe in dead men walking about. Y=
ou
never seen one dead man walk about."
"I tell you I seen 'em, last winter, when=
I
was wolf-hunting with dad."
"Well, you always spit when you cross run=
ning
water," Edwin challenged.
"That's to keep off bad luck," was
Hare-Lip's defence.
"You believe in bad luck?"
"Sure."
"An' you ain't never seen bad luck,"
Edwin concluded triumphantly. "You're just as bad as Granser and his
germs. You believe in what you don't see. Go on, Granser."
Hare-Lip, crushed by this metaphysical defeat,
remained silent, and the old man went on. Often and often, though this
narrative must not be clogged by the details, was Granser's tale interrupted
while the boys squabbled among themselves. Also, among themselves they kept=
up
a constant, low-voiced exchange of explanation and conjecture, as they stro=
ve
to follow the old man into his unknown and vanished world.
"The Scarlet Death broke out in San
Francisco. The first death came on a Monday morning. By Thursday they were
dying like flies in Oakland and San Francisco. They died everywhere--in the=
ir
beds, at their work, walking along the street. It was on Tuesday that I saw=
my
first death--Miss Collbran, one of my students, sitting right there before =
my eyes,
in my lecture-room. I noticed her face while I was talking. It had suddenly
turned scarlet. I ceased speaking and could only look at her, for the first
fear of the plague was already on all of us and we knew that it had come. T=
he
young women screamed and ran out of the room. So did the young men run out,=
all
but two. Miss Collbran's convulsions were very mild and lasted less than a
minute. One of the young men fetched her a glass of water. She drank only a
little of it, and cried out:
"'My feet! All sensation has left them.'<= o:p>
"After a minute she said, 'I have no feet=
. I
am unaware that I have any feet. And my knees are cold. I can scarcely feel
that I have knees.'
"She lay on the floor, a bundle of notebo=
oks
under her head. And we could do nothing. The coldness and the numbness crep=
t up
past her hips to her heart, and when it reached her heart she was dead. In
fifteen minutes, by the clock--I timed it--she was dead, there, in my own c=
lassroom,
dead. And she was a very beautiful, strong, healthy young woman. And from t=
he
first sign of the plague to her death only fifteen minutes elapsed. That wi=
ll
show you how swift was the Scarlet Death.
"Yet in those few minutes I remained with=
the
dying woman in my classroom, the alarm had spread over the university; and =
the
students, by thousands, all of them, had deserted the lecture-room and labo=
ratories.
When I emerged, on my way to make report to the President of the Faculty, I
found the university deserted. Across the campus were several stragglers
hurrying for their homes. Two of them were running.
"President Hoag, I found in his office, a=
ll
alone, looking very old and very gray, with a multitude of wrinkles in his =
face
that I had never seen before. At the sight of me, he pulled himself to his =
feet
and tottered away to the inner office, banging the door after him and locki=
ng
it. You see, he knew I had been exposed, and he was afraid. He shouted to me
through the door to go away. I shall never forget my feelings as I walked d=
own
the silent corridors and out across that deserted campus. I was not afraid.=
I
had been exposed, and I looked upon myself as already dead. It was not that,
but a feeling of awful depression that impressed me. Everything had stopped=
. It
was like the end of the world to me--my world. I had been born within sight=
and
sound of the university. It had been my predestined career. My father had b=
een a
professor there before me, and his father before him. For a century and a h=
alf
had this university, like a splendid machine, been running steadily on. And
now, in an instant, it had stopped. It was like seeing the sacred flame die
down on some thrice-sacred altar. I was shocked, unutterably shocked.
"When I arrived home, my housekeeper scre=
amed
as I entered, and fled away. And when I rang, I found the housemaid had
likewise fled. I investigated. In the kitchen I found the cook on the point=
of
departure. But she screamed, too, and in her haste dropped a suitcase of he=
r personal
belongings and ran out of the house and across the grounds, still screaming=
. I
can hear her scream to this day. You see, we did not act in this way when
ordinary diseases smote us. We were always calm over such things, and sent =
for
the doctors and nurses who knew just what to do. But this was different. It
struck so suddenly, and killed so swiftly, and never missed a stroke. When =
the
scarlet rash appeared on a person's face, that person was marked by death.
There was never a known case of a recovery.
"I was alone in my big house. As I have t=
old
you often before, in those days we could talk with one another over wires or
through the air. The telephone bell rang, and I found my brother talking to=
me.
He told me that he was not coming home for fear of catching the plague from=
me,
and that he had taken our two sisters to stop at Professor Bacon's home. He=
advised
me to remain where I was, and wait to find out whether or not I had caught =
the
plague.
"To all of this I agreed, staying in my h=
ouse
and for the first time in my life attempting to cook. And the plague did not
come out on me. By means of the telephone I could talk with whomsoever I
pleased and get the news. Also, there were the newspapers, and I ordered al=
l of
them to be thrown up to my door so that I could know what was happening with
the rest of the world.
"New York City and Chicago were in chaos.=
And
what happened with them was happening in all the large cities. A third of t=
he
New York police were dead. Their chief was also dead, likewise the mayor. A=
ll
law and order had ceased. The bodies were lying in the streets un-buried. A=
ll railroads
and vessels carrying food and such things into the great city had ceased
runnings and mobs of the hungry poor were pillaging the stores and warehous=
es.
Murder and robbery and drunkenness were everywhere. Already the people had =
fled
from the city by millions--at first the rich, in their private motor-cars a=
nd
dirigibles, and then the great mass of the population, on foot, carrying the
plague with them, themselves starving and pillaging the farmers and all the
towns and villages on the way.
"The man who sent this news, the wireless
operator, was alone with his instrument on the top of a lofty building. The
people remaining in the city--he estimated them at several hundred
thousand--had gone mad from fear and drink, and on all sides of him great f=
ires
were raging. He was a hero, that man who staid by his post--an obscure
newspaperman, most likely.
"For twenty-four hours, he said, no
transatlantic airships had arrived, and no more messages were coming from
England. He did state, though, that a message from Berlin--that's in
Germany--announced that Hoffmeyer, a bacteriologist of the Metchnikoff Scho=
ol,
had discovered the serum for the plague. That was the last word, to this da=
y,
that we of America ever received from Europe. If Hoffmeyer discovered the
serum, it was too late, or otherwise, long ere this, explorers from Europe
would have come looking for us. We can only conclude that what happened in
America happened in Europe, and that, at the best, some several score may h=
ave survived
the Scarlet Death on that whole continent.
"For one day longer the despatches contin=
ued
to come from New York. Then they, too, ceased. The man who had sent them,
perched in his lofty building, had either died of the plague or been consum=
ed
in the great conflagrations he had described as raging around him. And what=
had
occurred in New York had been duplicated in all the other cities. It was the
same in San Francisco, and Oakland, and Berkeley. By Thursday the people we=
re
dying so rapidly that their corpses could not be handled, and dead bodies l=
ay
everywhere. Thursday night the panic outrush for the country began. Imagine=
, my
grandsons, people, thicker than the salmon-run you have seen on the Sacrame=
nto
river, pouring out of the cities by millions, madly over the country, in va=
in
attempt to escape the ubiquitous death. You see, they carried the germs with
them. Even the airships of the rich, fleeing for mountain and desert fastne=
sses,
carried the germs.
"Hundreds of these airships escaped to
Hawaii, and not only did they bring the plague with them, but they found the
plague already there before them. This we learned, by the despatches, until=
all
order in San Francisco vanished, and there were no operators left at their
posts to receive or send. It was amazing, astounding, this loss of
communication with the world. It was exactly as if the world had ceased, be=
en
blotted out. For sixty years that world has no longer existed for me. I kno=
w there
must be such places as New York, Europe, Asia, and Africa; but not one word=
has
been heard of them--not in sixty years. With the coming of the Scarlet Death
the world fell apart, absolutely, irretrievably. Ten thousand years of cult=
ure
and civilization passed in the twinkling of an eye, 'lapsed like foam.'
"I was telling about the airships of the
rich. They carried the plague with them and no matter where they fled, they
died. I never encountered but one survivor of any of them--Mungerson. He was
afterwards a Santa Rosan, and he married my eldest daughter. He came into t=
he
tribe eight years after the plague. He was then nineteen years old, and he =
was compelled
to wait twelve years more before he could marry. You see, there were no
unmarried women, and some of the older daughters of the Santa Rosans were
already bespoken. So he was forced to wait until my Mary had grown to sixte=
en
years. It was his son, Gimp-Leg, who was killed last year by the mountain l=
ion.
"Mungerson was eleven years old at the ti=
me
of the plague. His father was one of the Industrial Magnates, a very wealth=
y,
powerful man. It was on his airship, the Condor, that they were fleeing, wi=
th
all the family, for the wilds of British Columbia, which is far to the nort=
h of
here. But there was some accident, and they were wrecked near Mount Shasta.=
You
have heard of that mountain. It is far to the north. The plague broke out
amongst them, and this boy of eleven was the only survivor. For eight years=
he
was alone, wandering over a deserted land and looking vainly for his own ki=
nd.
And at last, travelling south, he picked up with us, the Santa Rosans.
"But I am ahead of my story. When the gre=
at
exodus from the cities around San Francisco Bay began, and while the teleph=
ones
were still working, I talked with my brother. I told him this flight from t=
he cities
was insanity, that there were no symptoms of the plague in me, and that the
thing for us to do was to isolate ourselves and our relatives in some safe
place. We decided on the Chemistry Building, at the university, and we plan=
ned
to lay in a supply of provisions, and by force of arms to prevent any other
persons from forcing their presence upon us after we had retired to our ref=
uge.
"All this being arranged, my brother begg=
ed
me to stay in my own house for at least twenty-four hours more, on the chan=
ce
of the plague developing in me. To this I agreed, and he promised to come f=
or
me next day. We talked on over the details of the provisioning and the
defending of the Chemistry Building until the telephone died. It died in the
midst of our conversation. That evening there were no electric lights, and I
was alone in my house in the darkness. No more newspapers were being printe=
d,
so I had no knowledge of what was taking place outside.
"I heard sounds of rioting and of pistol
shots, and from my windows I could see the glare of the sky of some
conflagration in the direction of Oakland. It was a night of terror. I did =
not
sleep a wink. A man--why and how I do not know--was killed on the sidewalk =
in
front of the house. I heard the rapid reports of an automatic pistol, and a=
few
minutes later the wounded wretch crawled up to my door, moaning and crying =
out for
help. Arming myself with two automatics, I went to him. By the light of a m=
atch
I ascertained that while he was dying of the bullet wounds, at the same time
the plague was on him. I fled indoors, whence I heard him moan and cry out =
for
half an hour longer.
"In the morning, my brother came to me. I=
had
gathered into a handbag what things of value I purposed taking, but when I =
saw
his face I knew that he would never accompany me to the Chemistry Building.=
The
plague was on him. He intended shaking my hand, but I went back hurriedly b=
efore
him.
"'Look at yourself in the mirror,' I
commanded.
"He did so, and at sight of his scarlet f=
ace,
the color deepening as he looked at it, he sank down nervelessly in a chair=
.
"'My God!' he said. 'I've got it. Don't c=
ome
near me. I am a dead man.'
"Then the convulsions seized him. He was =
two
hours in dying, and he was conscious to the last, complaining about the
coldness and loss of sensation in his feet, his calves, his thighs, until at
last it was his heart and he was dead.
"That was the way the Scarlet Death slew.=
I
caught up my handbag and fled. The sights in the streets were terrible. One
stumbled on bodies everywhere. Some were not yet dead. And even as you look=
ed,
you saw men sink down with the death fastened upon them. There were numerous
fires burning in Berkeley, while Oakland and San Francisco were apparently =
being
swept by vast conflagrations. The smoke of the burning filled the heavens, =
so
that the midday was as a gloomy twilight, and, in the shifts of wind, somet=
imes
the sun shone through dimly, a dull red orb. Truly, my grandsons, it was li=
ke
the last days of the end of the world.
"There were numerous stalled motor cars,
showing that the gasoline and the engine supplies of the garages had given =
out.
I remember one such car. A man and a woman lay back dead in the seats, and =
on
the pavement near it were two more women and a child. Strange and terrible
sights there were on every hand. People slipped by silently, furtively, lik=
e ghosts--white-faced
women carrying infants in their arms; fathers leading children by the hand;
singly, and in couples, and in families--all fleeing out of the city of dea=
th.
Some carried supplies of food, others blankets and valuables, and there were
many who carried nothing.
"There was a grocery store--a place where
food was sold. The man to whom it belonged--I knew him well--a quiet, sober,
but stupid and obstinate fellow, was defending it. The windows and doors had
been broken in, but he, inside, hiding behind a counter, was discharging his
pistol at a number of men on the sidewalk who were breaking in. In the entr=
ance
were several bodies--of men, I decided, whom he had killed earlier in the d=
ay.
Even as I looked on from a distance, I saw one of the robbers break the win=
dows
of the adjoining store, a place where shoes were sold, and deliberately set
fire to it. I did not go to the groceryman's assistance. The time for such =
acts
had already passed. Civilization was crumbling, and it was each for
himself."
I WENT away hastily, down a cross-street, and =
at
the first corner I saw another tragedy. Two men of the working class had ca=
ught
a man and a woman with two children, and were robbing them. I knew the man =
by
sight, though I had never been introduced to him. He was a poet whose verse=
s I had
long admired. Yet I did not go to his help, for at the moment I came upon t=
he
scene there was a pistol shot, and I saw him sinking to the ground. The wom=
an
screamed, and she was felled with a fist-blow by one of the brutes. I cried=
out
threateningly, whereupon they discharged their pistols at me and I ran away
around the corner. Here I was blocked by an advancing conflagration. The
buildings on both sides were burning, and the street was filled with smoke =
and
flame. From somewhere in that murk came a woman's voice calling shrilly for
help. But I did not go to her. A man's heart turned to iron amid such scene=
s,
and one heard all too many appeals for help.
"Returning to the corner, I found the two
robbers were gone. The poet and his wife lay dead on the pavement. It was a
shocking sight. The two children had vanished--whither I could not tell. An=
d I
knew, now, why it was that the fleeing persons I encountered slipped along =
so
furtively and with such white faces. In the midst of our civilization, down=
in
our slums and labor-ghettos, we had bred a race of barbarians, of savages; =
and
now, in the time of our calamity, they turned upon us like the wild beasts =
they
were and destroyed us. And they destroyed themselves as well.
"They inflamed themselves with strong dri=
nk
and committed a thousand atrocities, quarreling and killing one another in =
the
general madness. One group of workingmen I saw, of the better sort, who had
banded together, and, with their women and children in their midst, the sic=
k and
aged in litters and being carried, and with a number of horses pulling a
truck-load of provisions, they were fighting their way out of the city. They
made a fine spectacle as they came down the street through the drifting smo=
ke,
though they nearly shot me when I first appeared in their path. As they went
by, one of their leaders shouted out to me in apologetic explanation. He sa=
id
they were killing the robbers and looters on sight, and that they had thus
banded together as the only-means by which to escape the prowlers.
"It was here that I saw for the first time
what I was soon to see so often. One of the marching men had suddenly shown=
the
unmistakable mark of the plague. Immediately those about him drew away, and=
he,
without a remonstrance, stepped out of his place to let them pass on. A wom=
an, most
probably his wife, attempted to follow him. She was leading a little boy by=
the
hand. But the husband commanded her sternly to go on, while others laid han=
ds
on her and restrained her from following him. This I saw, and I saw the man
also, with his scarlet blaze of face, step into a doorway on the opposite s=
ide
of the street. I heard the report of his pistol, and saw him sink lifeless =
to
the ground.
"After being turned aside twice again by
advancing fires, I succeeded in getting through to the university. On the e=
dge
of the campus I came upon a party of university folk who were going in the
direction of the Chemistry Building. They were all family men, and their
families were with them, including the nurses and the servants. Professor
Badminton greeted me, I had difficulty in recognizing him. Somewhere he had=
gone
through flames, and his beard was singed off. About his head was a bloody
bandage, and his clothes were filthy.
"He told me he had prowlers, and that his
brother had been killed the previous night, in the defence of their dwellin=
g.
"Midway across the campus, he pointed
suddenly to Mrs. Swinton's face. The unmistakable scarlet was there.
Immediately all the other women set up a screaming and began to run away fr=
om
her. Her two children were with a nurse, and these also ran with the women.=
But
her husband, Doctor Swinton, remained with her.
"'Go on, Smith,' he told me. 'Keep an eye=
on
the children. As for me, I shall stay with my wife. I know she is as already
dead, but I can't leave her. Afterwards, if I escape, I shall come to the
Chemistry Building, and do you watch for me and let me in.'
"I left him bending over his wife and
soothing her last moments, while I ran to overtake the party. We were the l=
ast
to be admitted to the Chemistry Building. After that, with our automatic ri=
fles
we maintained our isolation. By our plans, we had arranged for a company of
sixty to be in this refuge. Instead, every one of the number originally pla=
nned
had added relatives and friends and whole families until there were over fo=
ur
hundred souls. But the Chemistry Building was large, and, standing by itsel=
f,
was in no danger of being burned by the great fires that raged everywhere in
the city.
"A large quantity of provisions had been
gathered, and a food committee took charge of it, issuing rations daily to =
the
various families and groups that arranged themselves into messes. A number =
of
committees were appointed, and we developed a very efficient organization. I
was on the committee of defence, though for the first day no prowlers came
near. We could see them in the distance, however, and by the smoke of their
fires knew that several camps of them were occupying the far edge of the ca=
mpus.
Drunkenness was rife, and often we heard them singing ribald songs or insan=
ely
shouting. While the world crashed to ruin about them and all the air was fi=
lled
with the smoke of its burning, these low creatures gave rein to their
bestiality and fought and drank and died. And after all, what did it matter?
Everybody died anyway, the good and the bad, the efficients and the weaklin=
gs,
those that loved to live and those that scorned to live. They passed.
Everything passed.
"When twenty-four hours had gone by and no
signs of the plague were apparent, we congratulated ourselves and set about
digging a well. You have seen the great iron pipes which in those days carr=
ied
water to all the city-dwellers. We feared that the fires in the city would
burst the pipes and empty the reservoirs. So we tore up the cement floor of=
the
central court of the Chemistry Building and dug a well. There were many you=
ng
men, undergraduates, with us, and we worked night and day on the well. And =
our
fears were confirmed. Three hours before we reached water, the pipes went d=
ry.
"A second twenty-four hours passed, and s=
till
the plague did not appear among us. We thought we were saved. But we did not
know what I afterwards decided to be true, namely, that the period of the
incubation of the plague germs in a human's body was a matter of a number of
days. It slew so swiftly when once it manifested itself, that we were led t=
o believe
that the period of incubation was equally swift. So, when two days had left=
us
unscathed, we were elated with the idea that we were free of the contagion.=
"But the third day disillusioned us. I can
never forget the night preceding it. I had charge of the night guards from
eight to twelve, and from the roof of the building I watched the passing of=
all
man's glorious works. So terrible were the local conflagrations that all th=
e sky
was lighted up. One could read the finest print in the red glare. All the w=
orld
seemed wrapped in flames. San Francisco spouted smoke and fire from a score=
of
vast conflagrations that were like so many active volcanoes. Oakland, San
Leandro, Haywards--all were burning; and to the northward, clear to Point
Richmond, other fires were at work. It was an awe-inspiring spectacle.
Civilization, my grandsons, civilization was passing in a sheet of flame an=
d a
breath of death. At ten o'clock that night, the great powder magazines at P=
oint
Pinole exploded in rapid succession. So terrific were the concussions that =
the
strong building rocked as in an earthquake, while every pane of glass was
broken. It was then that I left the roof and went down the long corridors, =
from
room to room, quieting the alarmed women and telling them what had happened=
.
"An hour later, at a window on the ground
floor, I heard pandemonium break out in the camps of the prowlers. There we=
re
cries and screams, and shots from many pistols. As we afterward conjectured,
this fight had been precipitated by an attempt on the part of those that we=
re
well to drive out those that were sick. At any rate, a number of the plague=
-stricken
prowlers escaped across the campus and drifted against our doors. We warned
them back, but they cursed us and discharged a fusillade from their pistols.
Professor Merryweather, at one of the windows, was instantly killed, the bu=
llet
striking him squarely between the eyes. We opened fire in turn, and all the
prowlers fled away with the exception of three. One was a woman. The plague=
was
on them and they were reckless. Like foul fiends, there in the red glare fr=
om
the skies, with faces blazing, they continued to curse us and fire at us. O=
ne
of the men I shot with my own hand. After that the other man and the woman,=
still
cursing us, lay down under our windows, where we were compelled to watch th=
em
die of the plague.
"The situation was critical. The explosio=
ns
of the powder magazines had broken all the windows of the Chemistry Buildin=
g,
so that we were exposed to the germs from the corpses. The sanitary committ=
ee
was called upon to act, and it responded nobly. Two men were required to go=
out
and remove the corpses, and this meant the probable sacrifice of their own =
lives,
for, having performed the task, they were not to be permitted to reenter th=
e building.
One of the professors, who was a bachelor, and one of the undergraduates
volunteered. They bade good-bye to us and went forth. They were heroes. They
gave up their lives that four hundred others might live. After they had
performed their work, they stood for a moment, at a distance, looking at us
wistfully. Then they waved their hands in farewell and went away slowly acr=
oss
the campus toward the burning city.
"And yet it was all useless. The next mor=
ning
the first one of us was smitten with the plague--a little nurse-girl in the
family of Professor Stout. It was no time for weak-kneed, sentimental polic=
ies.
On the chance that she might be the only one, we thrust her forth from the =
building
and commanded her to be gone.
"She went away slowly across the campus,
wringing her hands and crying pitifully. We felt like brutes, but what were=
we
to do? There were four hundred of us, and individuals had to be sacrificed.=
"In one of the laboratories three families
had domiciled themselves, and that afternoon we found among them no less th=
an
four corpses and seven cases of the plague in all its different stages.
"Then it was that the horror began. Leavi=
ng
the dead lie, we forced the living ones to segregate themselves in another
room. The plague began to break out among the rest of us, and as fast as the
symptoms appeared, we sent the stricken ones to these segregated rooms. We
compelled them to walk there by themselves, so as to avoid laying hands on
them. It was heartrending. But still the plague raged among us, and room af=
ter room
was filled with the dead and dying. And so we who were yet clean retreated =
to
the next floor and to the next, before this sea of the dead, that, room by =
room
and floor by floor, inundated the building.
"The place became a charnel house, and in=
the
middle of the night the survivors fled forth, taking nothing with them exce=
pt
arms and ammunition and a heavy store of tinned foods. We camped on the
opposite side of the campus from the prowlers, and, while some stood guard,=
others
of us volunteered to scout into the city in quest of horses, motor cars, ca=
rts,
and wagons, or anything that would carry our provisions and enable us to
emulate the banded workingmen I had seen fighting their way out to the open
country.
"I was one of these scouts; and Doctor Ho=
yle,
remembering that his motor car had been left behind in his home garage, tol=
d me
to look for it. We scouted in pairs, and Dombey, a young undergraduate,
accompanied me. We had to cross half a mile of the residence portion of the=
city
to get to Doctor Hoyle's home. Here the buildings stood apart, in the midst=
of trees
and grassy lawns, and here the fires had played freaks, burning whole block=
s,
skipping blocks and often skipping a single house in a block. And here, too,
the prowlers were still at their work. We carried our automatic pistols ope=
nly
in our hands, and looked desperate enough, forsooth, to keep them from
attacking us. But at Doctor Hoyle's house the thing happened. Untouched by
fire, even as we came to it the smoke of flames burst forth.
"The miscreant who had set fire to it
staggered down the steps and out along the driveway. Sticking out of his co=
at
pockets were bottles of whiskey, and he was very drunk. My first impulse wa=
s to
shoot him, and I have never ceased regretting that I did not. Staggering and
maundering to himself, with bloodshot eyes, and a raw and bleeding slash do=
wn
one side of his bewhiskered face, he was altogether the most nauseating spe=
cimen
of degradation and filth I had ever encountered. I did not shoot him, and he
leaned against a tree on the lawn to let us go by. It was the most absolute,
wanton act. Just as we were opposite him, he suddenly drew a pistol and shot
Dombey through the head. The next instant I shot him. But it was too late.
Dombey expired without a groan, immediately. I doubt if he even knew what h=
ad
happened to him.
"Leaving the two corpses, I hurried on pa=
st
the burning house to the garage, and there found Doctor Hoyle's motor car. =
The
tanks were filled with gasoline, and it was ready for use. And it was in th=
is
car that I threaded the streets of the ruined city and came back to the
survivors on the campus. The other scouts returned, but none had been so fo=
rtunate.
Professor Fairmead had found a Shetland pony, but the poor creature, tied i=
n a
stable and abandoned for days, was so weak from want of food and water that=
it
could carry no burden at all. Some of the men were for turning it loose, bu=
t I
insisted that we should lead it along with us, so that, if we got out of fo=
od,
we would have it to eat.
"There were forty-seven of us when we
started, many being women and children. The President of the Faculty, an old
man to begin with, and now hopelessly broken by the awful happenings of the
past week, rode in the motor car with several young children and the aged
mother of Professor Fairmead. Wathope, a young professor of English, who ha=
d a grievous
bullet-wound in his leg, drove the car. The rest of us walked, Professor
Fairmead leading the pony.
"It was what should have been a bright su=
mmer
day, but the smoke from the burning world filled the sky, through which the=
sun
shone murkily, a dull and lifeless orb, blood-red and ominous. But we had g=
rown
accustomed to that blood-red sun. With the smoke it was different. It bit i=
nto
our nostrils and eyes, and there was not one of us whose eyes were not
bloodshot. We directed our course to the southeast through the endless mile=
s of
suburban residences, travelling along where the first swells of low hills r=
ose
from the flat of the central city. It was by this way, only, that we could
expect to gain the country.
"Our progress was painfully slow. The wom=
en
and children could not walk fast. They did not dream of walking, my grandso=
ns,
in the way all people walk to-day. In truth, none of us knew how to walk. It
was not until after the plague that I learned really to walk. So it was that
the pace of the slowest was the pace of all, for we dared not separate on
account of the prowlers. There were not so many now of these human beasts o=
f prey.
The plague had already well diminished their numbers, but enough still live=
d to
be a constant menace to us. Many of the beautiful residences were untouched=
by
fire, yet smoking ruins were everywhere. The prowlers, too, seemed to have =
got
over their insensate desire to burn, and it was more rarely that we saw hou=
ses
freshly on fire.
"Several of us scouted among the private
garages in search of motor cars and gasoline. But in this we were unsuccess=
ful.
The first great flights from the cities had swept all such utilities away.
Calgan, a fine young man, was lost in this work. He was shot by prowlers wh=
ile
crossing a lawn. Yet this was our only casualty, though, once, a drunken br=
ute deliberately
opened fire on all of us. Luckily, he fired wildly, and we shot him before =
he
had done any hurt.
"At Fruitvale, still in the heart of the
magnificent residence section of the city, the plague again smote us. Profe=
ssor
Fair-mead was the victim. Making signs to us that his mother was not to kno=
w,
he turned aside into the grounds of a beautiful mansion. He sat down forlor=
nly
on the steps of the front veranda, and I, having lingered, waved him a last=
farewell.
That night, several miles beyond Fruitvale and still in the city, we made c=
amp.
And that night we shifted camp twice to get away from our dead. In the morn=
ing
there were thirty of us. I shall never forget the President of the Faculty.
During the morning's march his wife, who was walking, betrayed the fatal
symptoms, and when she drew aside to let us go on, he insisted on leaving t=
he motor
car and remaining with her. There was quite a discussion about this, but in=
the
end we gave in. It was just as well, for we knew not which ones of us, if a=
ny,
might ultimately escape.
"That night, the second of our march, we
camped beyond Haywards in the first stretches of country. And in the morning
there were eleven of us that lived. Also, during the night, Wathope, the
professor with the wounded leg, deserted us in the motor car. He took with =
him
his sister and his mother and most of our tinned provisions. It was that da=
y,
in the afternoon, while resting by the wayside, that I saw the last airship=
I
shall ever see. The smoke was much thinner here in the country, and I first
sighted the ship drifting and veering helplessly at an elevation of two tho=
usand
feet. What had happened I could not conjecture, but even as we looked we saw
her bow dip down lower and lower. Then the bulkheads of the various
gas-chambers must have burst, for, quite perpendicular, she fell like a plu=
mmet
to the earth.
"And from that day to this I have not seen
another airship. Often and often, during the next few years, I scanned the =
sky
for them, hoping against hope that somewhere in the world civilization had
survived. But it was not to be. What happened with us in California must ha=
ve
happened with everybody everywhere.
"Another day, and at Niles there were thr=
ee
of us. Beyond Niles, in the middle of the highway, we found Wathope. The mo=
tor
car had broken down, and there, on the rugs which they had spread on the
ground, lay the bodies of his sister, his mother, and himself.
"Wearied by the unusual exercise of conti=
nual
walking, that night I slept heavily. In the morning I was alone in the worl=
d.
Canfield and Parsons, my last companions, were dead of the plague. Of the f=
our hundred
that sought shelter in the Chemistry Building, and of the forty-seven that
began the march, I alone remained--I and the Shetland pony. Why this should=
be
so there is no explaining. I did not catch the plague, that is all. I was
immune. I was merely the one lucky man in a million--just as every survivor=
was
one in a million, or, rather, in several millions, for the proportion was at
least that."
"FOR two days I sheltered in a pleasant g=
rove
where there had been no deaths. In those two days, while badly depressed and
believing that my turn would come at any moment, nevertheless I rested and
recuperated. So did the pony. And on the third day, putting what small stor=
e of
tinned provisions I possessed on the pony's back, I started on across a ver=
y lonely
land. Not a live man, woman, or child, did I encounter, though the dead were
everywhere. Food, however, was abundant. The land then was not as it is now=
. It
was all cleared of trees and brush, and it was cultivated. The food for
millions of mouths was growing, ripening, and going to waste. From the fiel=
ds
and orchards I gathered vegetables, fruits, and berries. Around the deserted
farmhouses I got eggs and caught chickens. And frequently I found supplies =
of
tinned provisions in the store-rooms.
"A strange thing was what was taking place
with all the domestic animals. Everywhere they were going wild and preying =
on
one another. The chickens and ducks were the first to be destroyed, while t=
he
pigs were the first to go wild, followed by the cats. Nor were the dogs lon=
g in
adapting themselves to the changed conditions. There was a veritable plague=
of
dogs. They devoured the corpses, barked and howled during the nights, and in
the daytime slunk about in the distance. As the time went by, I noticed a
change in their behavior. At first they were apart from one another, very
suspicious and very prone to fight. But after a not very long while they be=
gan
to come together and run in packs. The dog, you see, always was a social
animal, and this was true before ever he came to be domesticated by man. In=
the
last days of the world before the plague, there were many many very differe=
nt
kinds of dogs--dogs without hair and dogs with warm fur, dogs so small that
they would make scarcely a mouthful for other dogs that were as large as
mountain lions. Well, all the small dogs, and the weak types, were killed by
their fellows. Also, the very large ones were not adapted for the wild life=
and
bred out. As a result, the many different kinds of dogs disappeared, and th=
ere
remained, running in packs, the medium-sized wolfish dogs that you know
to-day."
"But the cats don't run in packs,
Granser," Hoo-Hoo objected.
"The cat was never a social animal. As one
writer in the nineteenth century said, the cat walks by himself. He always
walked by himself, from before the time he was tamed by man, down through t=
he
long ages of domestication, to to-day when once more he is wild.
"The horses also went wild, and all the f=
ine
breeds we had degenerated into the small mustang horse you know to-day. The
cows likewise went wild, as did the pigeons and the sheep. And that a few of
the chickens survived you know yourself. But the wild chicken of to-day is
quite a different thing from the chickens we had in those days.
"But I must go on with my story. I travel=
led
through a deserted land. As the time went by I began to yearn more and more=
for
human beings. But I never found one, and I grew lonelier and lonelier. I
crossed Livermore Valley and the mountains between it and the great valley =
of
the San Joaquin. You have never seen that valley, but it is very large and =
it
is the home of the wild horse. There are great droves there, thousands and =
tens
of thousands. I revisited it thirty years after, so I know. You think there=
are
lots of wild horses down here in the coast valleys, but they are as nothing
compared with those of the San Joaquin. Strange to say, the cows, when they
went wild, went back into the lower mountains. Evidently they were better a=
ble
to protect themselves there.
"In the country districts the ghouls and
prowlers had been less in evidence, for I found many villages and towns
untouched by fire. But they were filled by the pestilential dead, and I pas=
sed
by without exploring them. It was near Lathrop that, out of my loneliness, I
picked up a pair of collie dogs that were so newly free that they were urge=
ntly
willing to return to their allegiance to man. These collies accompanied me =
for
many years, and the strains of them are in those very dogs there that you b=
oys
have to-day. But in sixty years the collie strain has worked out. These bru=
tes
are more like domesticated wolves than anything else."
Hare-Lip rose to his feet, glanced to see that=
the
goats were safe, and looked at the sun's position in the afternoon sky,
advertising impatience at the prolixity of the old man's tale. Urged to hur=
ry
by Edwin, Granser went on.
"There is little more to tell. With my two
dogs and my pony, and riding a horse I had managed to capture, I crossed the
San Joaquin and went on to a wonderful valley in the Sierras called Yosemit=
e.
In the great hotel there I found a prodigious supply of tinned provisions. =
The
pasture was abundant, as was the game, and the river that ran through the
valley was full of trout. I remained there three years in an utter loneline=
ss
that none but a man who has once been highly civilized can understand. Then=
I
could stand it no more. I felt that I was going crazy. Like the dog, I was a
social animal and I needed my kind. I reasoned that since I had survived the
plague, there was a possibility that others had survived. Also, I reasoned =
that
after three years the plague germs must all be gone and the land be clean
again.
"With my horse and dogs and pony, I set o=
ut.
Again I crossed the San Joaquin Valley, the mountains beyond, and came down
into Livermore Valley. The change in those three years was amazing. All the
land had been splendidly tilled, and now I could scarcely recognize it, 'su=
ch
was the sea of rank vegetation that had overrun the agricultural handiwork =
of
man. You see, the wheat, the vegetables, and orchard trees had always been
cared for and nursed by man, so that they were soft and tender. The weeds a=
nd
wild bushes and such things, on the contrary, had always been fought by man=
, so
that they were tough and resistant. As a result, when the hand of man was
removed, the wild vegetation smothered and destroyed practically all the
domesticated vegetation. The coyotes were greatly increased, and it was at =
this
time that I first encountered wolves, straying in twos and threes and small
packs down from the regions where they had always persisted.
"It was at Lake Temescal, not far from the
one-time city of Oakland, that I came upon the first live human beings. Oh,=
my
grandsons, how can I describe to you my emotion, when, astride my horse and=
dropping
down the hillside to the lake, I saw the smoke of a campfire rising through=
the
trees. Almost did my heart stop beating. I felt that I was going crazy. The=
n I
heard the cry of a babe--a human babe. And dogs barked, and my dogs answere=
d. I
did not know but what I was the one human alive in the whole world. It could
not be true that here were others--smoke, and the cry of a babe.
"Emerging on the lake, there, before my e=
yes,
not a hundred yards away, I saw a man, a large man. He was standing on an o=
utjutting
rock and fishing. I was overcome. I stopped my horse. I tried to call out b=
ut could
not. I waved my hand. It seemed to me that the man looked at me, but he did=
not
appear to wave. Then I laid my head on my arms there in the saddle. I was
afraid to look again, for I knew it was an hallucination, and I knew that i=
f I
looked the man would be gone. And so precious was the hallucination, that I
wanted it to persist yet a little while. I knew, too, that as long as I did=
not
look it would persist.
"Thus I remained, until I heard my dogs
snarling, and a man's voice. What do you think the voice said? I will tell =
you.
It said: 'Where in hell did you come from??'
"Those were the words, the exact words. T=
hat
was what your other grandfather said to me, Hare-Lip, when he greeted me th=
ere
on the shore of Lake Temescal fifty-seven years ago. And they were the most
ineffable words I have ever heard. I opened my eyes, and there he stood bef=
ore
me, a large, dark, hairy man, heavy-jawed, slant-browed, fierce-eyed. How I=
got
off my horse I do not know. But it seemed that the next I knew I was claspi=
ng
his hand with both of mine and crying. I would have embraced him, but he was
ever a narrow-minded, suspicious man, and he drew away from me. Yet did I c=
ling
to his hand and cry."
Granser's voice faltered and broke at the
recollection, and the weak tears streamed down his cheeks while the boys lo=
oked
on and giggled.
"Yet did I cry," he continued, "=
;and
desire to embrace him, though the Chauffeur was a brute, a perfect brute--t=
he
most abhorrent man I have ever known. His name was... strange, how I have
forgotten his name. Everybody called him Chauffeur--it was the name of his
occupation, and it stuck. That is how, to this day, the tribe he founded is
called the Chauffeur Tribe.
"He was a violent, unjust man. Why the pl=
ague
germs spared him I can never understand. It would seem, in spite of our old
metaphysical notions about absolute justice, that there is no justice in th=
e universe.
Why did he live?--an iniquitous, moral monster, a blot on the face of natur=
e, a
cruel, relentless, bestial cheat as well. All he could talk about was motor
cars, machinery, gasoline, and garages--and especially, and with huge delig=
ht,
of his mean pilferings and sordid swindlings of the persons who had employed
him in the days before the coming of the plague. And yet he was spared, whi=
le
hundreds of millions, yea, billions, of better men were destroyed.
"I went on with him to his camp, and ther=
e I
saw her, Vesta, the one woman. It was glorious and... pitiful. There she wa=
s,
Vesta Van Warden, the young wife of John Van Warden, clad in rags, with mar=
red
and scarred and toil-calloused hands, bending over the campfire and doing
scullion work--she, Vesta, who had been born to the purple of the greatest =
baronage
of wealth the world had ever known. John Van Warden, her husband, worth one
billion, eight hundred millions and President of the Board of Industrial
Magnates, had been the ruler of America. Also, sitting on the International
Board of Control, he had been one of the seven men who ruled the world. And=
she
herself had come of equally noble stock. Her father, Philip Saxon, had been
President of the Board of Industrial Magnates up to the time of his death. =
This
office was in process of becoming hereditary, and had Philip Saxon had a son
that son would have succeeded him. But his only child was Vesta, the perfec=
t flower
of generations of the highest culture this planet has ever produced. It was=
not
until the engagement between Vesta and Van Warden took place, that Saxon
indicated the latter as his successor. It was, I am sure, a political marri=
age.
I have reason to believe that Vesta never really loved her husband in the m=
ad
passionate way of which the poets used to sing. It was more like the marria=
ges
that obtained among crowned heads in the days before they were displaced by=
the
Magnates.
"And there she was, boiling fish-chowder =
in a
soot-covered pot, her glorious eyes inflamed by the acrid smoke of the open
fire. Hers was a sad story. She was the one survivor in a million, as I had
been, as the Chauffeur had been. On a crowning eminence of the Alameda Hill=
s, overlooking
San Francisco Bay, Van Warden had built a vast summer palace. It was surrou=
nded
by a park of a thousand acres. When the plague broke out, Van Warden sent h=
er
there. Armed guards patrolled the boundaries of the park, and nothing enter=
ed
in the way of provisions or even mail matter that was not first fumigated. =
And
yet did the plague enter, killing the guards at their posts, the servants a=
t their
tasks, sweeping away the whole army of retainers--or, at least, all of them=
who
did not flee to die elsewhere. So it was that Vesta found herself the sole
living person in the palace that had become a charnel house.
"Now the Chauffeur had been one of the
servants that ran away. Returning, two months afterward, he discovered Vest=
a in
a little summer pavilion where there had been no deaths and where she had
established herself. He was a brute. She was afraid, and she ran away and h=
id
among the trees. That night, on foot, she fled into the mountains--she, who=
se tender
feet and delicate body had never known the bruise of stones nor the scratch=
of
briars. He followed, and that night he caught her. He struck her. Do you
understand? He beat her with those terrible fists of his and made her his
slave. It was she who had to gather the firewood, build the fires, cook, an=
d do
all the degrading camp-labor--she, who had never performed a menial act in =
her
life. These things he compelled her to do, while he, a proper savage, elect=
ed
to lie around camp and look on. He did nothing, absolutely nothing, except =
on
occasion to hunt meat or catch fish."
"Good for Chauffeur," Hare-Lip comme=
nted
in an undertone to the other boys. "I remember him before he died. He =
was
a corker. But he did things, and he made things go. You know, Dad married h=
is
daughter, an' you ought to see the way he knocked the spots outa Dad. The
Chauffeur was a son-of-a-gun. He made us kids stand around. Even when he wa=
s croaking
he reached out for me, once, an' laid my head open with that long stick he =
kept
always beside him."
Hare-Lip rubbed his bullet head reminiscently,=
and
the boys returned to the old man, who was maundering ecstatically about Ves=
ta,
the squaw of the founder of the Chauffeur Tribe.
"And so I say to you that you cannot
understand the awfulness of the situation. The Chauffeur was a servant,
understand, a servant. And he cringed, with bowed head, to such as she. She=
was
a lord of life, both by birth and by marriage. The destinies of millions, s=
uch
as he, she carried in the hollow of her pink-white hand. And, in the days
before the plague, the slightest contact with such as he would have been po=
llution.
Oh, I have seen it. Once, I remember, there was Mrs. Goldwin, wife of one of
the great magnates. It was on a landing stage, just as she was embarking in=
her
private dirigible, that she dropped her parasol. A servant picked it up and
made the mistake of handing it to her--to her, one of the greatest royal la=
dies
of the land! She shrank back, as though he were a leper, and indicated her
secretary to receive it. Also, she ordered her secretary to ascertain the
creature's name and to see that he was immediately discharged from service.=
And
such a woman was Vesta Van Warden. And her the Chauffeur beat and made his
slave.
"--Bill--that was it; Bill, the Chauffeur.
That was his name. He was a wretched, primitive man, wholly devoid of the f=
iner
instincts and chivalrous promptings of a cultured soul. No, there is no
absolute justice, for to him fell that wonder of womanhood, Vesta Van Warde=
n.
The grievous-ness of this you will never understand, my grandsons; for you =
are
yourselves primitive little savages, unaware of aught else but savagery. Why
should Vesta not have been mine? I was a man of culture and refinement, a
professor in a great university. Even so, in the time before the plague, su=
ch
was her exalted position, she would not have deigned to know that I existed.
Mark, then, the abysmal degradation to which she fell at the hands of the
Chauffeur. Nothing less than the destruction of all mankind had made it
possible that I should know her, look in her eyes, converse with her, touch=
her
hand--ay, and love her and know that her feelings toward me were very kindl=
y. I
have reason to believe that she, even she, would have loved me, there being=
no
other man in the world except the Chauffeur. Why, when it destroyed eight b=
illions
of souls, did not the plague destroy just one more man, and that man the
Chauffeur?
"Once, when the Chauffeur was away fishin=
g,
she begged me to kill him. With tears in her eyes she begged me to kill him.
But he was a strong and violent man, and I was afraid. Afterwards, I talked
with him. I offered him my horse, my pony, my dogs, all that I possessed, i=
f he
would give Vesta to me. And he grinned in my face and shook his head. He was
very insulting. He said that in the old days he had been a servant, had been
dirt under the feet of men like me and of women like Vesta, and that now he=
had
the greatest lady in the land to be servant to him and cook his food and nu=
rse
his brats. 'You had your day before the plague,' he said; 'but this is my d=
ay,
and a damned good day it is. I wouldn't trade back to the old times for
anything.' Such words he spoke, but they are not his words. He was a vulgar,
low-minded man, and vile oaths fell continually from his lips.
"Also, he told me that if he caught me ma=
king
eyes at his woman he'd wring my neck and give her a beating as well. What w=
as I
to do? I was afraid. He was a brute. That first night, when I discovered the
camp, Vesta and I had great talk about the things of our vanished world. We=
talked
of art, and books, and poetry; and the Chauffeur listened and grinned and
sneered. He was bored and angered by our way of speech which he did not
comprehend, and finally he spoke up and said: 'And this is Vesta Van Warden,
one-time wife of Van Warden the Magnate--a high and stuck-up beauty, who is=
now
my squaw. Eh, Professor Smith, times is changed, times is changed. Here, yo=
u,
woman, take off my moccasins, and lively about it. I want Professor Smith to
see how well I have you trained.'
"I saw her clench her teeth, and the flam=
e of
revolt rise in her face. He drew back his gnarled fist to strike, and I was
afraid, and sick at heart. I could do nothing to prevail against him. So I =
got
up to go, and not be witness to such indignity. But the Chauffeur laughed a=
nd threatened
me with a beating if I did not stay and behold. And I sat there, perforce, =
by
the campfire on the shore of Lake Temescal, and saw Vesta, Vesta Van Warden,
kneel and remove the moccasins of that grinning, hairy, apelike human brute=
.
"--Oh, you do not understand, my grandson=
s.
You have never known anything else, and you do not understand.
"'Halter-broke and bridle-wise,' the
Chauffeur gloated, while she performed that dreadful, menial task. 'A trifle
balky at times, Professor, a trifle balky; but a clout alongside the jaw ma=
kes
her as meek and gentle as a lamb.'
"And another time he said: 'We've got to
start all over and replenish the earth and multiply. You're handicapped,
Professor. You ain't got no wife, and we're up against a regular Garden-of-=
Eden
proposition. But I ain't proud. I'll tell you what, Professor.' He pointed =
at
their little infant, barely a year old. 'There's your wife, though you'll h=
ave
to wait till she grows up. It's rich, ain't it? We're all equals here, and =
I'm
the biggest toad in the splash. But I ain't stuck up--not I. I do you the
honor, Professor Smith, the very great honor of betrothing to you my and Ve=
sta
Van Warden's daughter. Ain't it cussed bad that Van Warden ain't here to
see?'"
"I LIVED three weeks of infinite torment
there in the Chauffeur's camp. And then, one day, tiring of me, or of what =
to
him was my bad effect on Vesta, he told me that the year before, wandering
through the Contra Costa Hills to the Straits of Carquinez, across the Stra=
its
he had seen a smoke. This meant that there were still other human beings, a=
nd
that for three weeks he had kept this inestimably precious information from=
me.
I departed at once, with my dogs and horses, and journeyed across the Contra
Costa Hills to the Straits. I saw no smoke on the other side, but at Port C=
osta
discovered a small steel barge on which I was able to embark my animals. Old
canvas which I found served me for a sail, and a southerly breeze fanned me
across the Straits and up to the ruins of Vallejo. Here, on the outskirts of
the city, I found evidences of a recently occupied camp.
"Many clam-shells showed me why these hum=
ans
had come to the shores of the Bay. This was the Santa Rosa Tribe, and I
followed its track along the old railroad right of way across the salt mars=
hes
to Sonoma Valley. Here, at the old brickyard at Glen Ellen, I came upon the
camp. There were eighteen souls all told. Two were old men, one of whom was
Jones, a banker. The other was Harrison, a retired pawnbroker, who had taken
for wife the matron of the State Hospital for the Insane at Napa. Of all th=
e persons
of the city of Napa, and of all the other towns and villages in that rich a=
nd
populous valley, she had been the only-survivor. Next, there were the three
young men--Cardiff and Hale, who had been farmers, and Wainwright, a common
day-laborer. All three had found wives. To Hale, a crude, illiterate farmer,
had fallen Isadore, the greatest prize, next to Vesta, of the women who came
through the plague. She was one of the world's most noted singers, and the
plague had caught her at San Francisco. She has talked with me for hours at=
a
time, telling me of her adventures, until, at last, rescued by Hale in the
Mendocino Forest Reserve, there had remained nothing for her to do but beco=
me
his wife. But Hale was a good fellow, in spite of his illiteracy. He had a =
keen
sense of justice and right-dealing, and she was far happier with him than w=
as
Vesta with the Chauffeur.
"The wives of Cardiff and Wainwright were
ordinary women, accustomed to toil with strong constitutions--just the type=
for
the wild new life which they were compelled to live. In addition were two a=
dult
idiots from the feeble-minded home at El-dredge, and five or six young chil=
dren
and infants born after the formation of the Santa Rosa Tribe. Also, there w=
as
Bertha. She was a good woman, Hare-Lip, in spite of the sneers of your fath=
er.
Her I took for wife. She was the mother of your father, Edwin, and of yours,
Hoo-Hoo. And it was our daughter, Vera, who married your father, Hare-Lip--=
your
father, Sandow, who was the oldest son of Vesta Van Warden and the Chauffeu=
r.
"And so it was that I became the nineteen=
th
member of the Santa Rosa Tribe. There were only two outsiders added after m=
e.
One was Mungerson, descended from the Magnates, who wandered alone in the w=
ilds
of Northern California for eight years before he came south and joined us. =
He
it was who waited twelve years more before he married my daughter, Mary. Th=
e other
was Johnson, the man who founded the Utah Tribe. That was where he came fro=
m,
Utah, a country that lies very far away from here, across the great deserts=
, to
the east. It was not until twenty-seven years after the plague that Johnson
reached California. In all that Utah region he reported but three survivors,
himself one, and all men. For many years these three men lived and hunted
together, until, at last, desperate, fearing that with them the human race
would perish utterly from the planet, they headed westward on the possibili=
ty
of finding women survivors in California. Johnson alone came through the gr=
eat
desert, where his two companions died. He was forty-six years old when he
joined us, and he married the fourth daughter of Isadore and Hale, and his =
eldest
son married your aunt, Hare-Lip, who was the third daughter of Vesta and the
Chauffeur. Johnson was a strong man, with a will of his own. And it was bec=
ause
of this that he seceded from the Santa Rosans and formed the Utah Tribe at =
San
José. It is a small tribe--there are only nine in it; but, though he=
is
dead, such was his influence and the strength of his breed, that it will gr=
ow
into a strong tribe and play a leading part in the recivilization of the pl=
anet.
"There are only two other tribes that we =
know
of--the Los Angelitos and the Carmelitos. The latter started from one man a=
nd
woman. He was called Lopez, and he was descended from the ancient Mexicans =
and
was very black. He was a cowherd in the ranges beyond Carmel, and his wife =
was
a maidservant in the great Del Monte Hotel. It was seven years before we fi=
rst
got in touch with the Los Ange-litos. They have a good country down there, =
but
it is too warm. I estimate the present population of the world at between t=
hree
hundred and fifty and four hundred--provided, of course, that there are no
scattered little tribes elsewhere in the world. If there be such, we have n=
ot
heard from them. Since Johnson crossed the desert from Utah, no word nor si=
gn
has come from the East or anywhere else. The great world which I knew in my=
boyhood
and early manhood is gone. It has ceased to be. I am the last man who was a=
live
in the days of the plague and who knows the wonders of that far-off time. W=
e,
who mastered the planet--its earth, and sea, and sky--and who were as very
gods, now live in primitive savagery along the water courses of this Califo=
rnia
country.
"But we are increasing rapidly--your sist=
er,
Hare-Lip, already has four children. We are increasing rapidly and making r=
eady
for a new climb toward civilization. In time, pressure of population will
compel us to spread out, and a hundred generations from now we may expect o=
ur descendants
to start across the Sierras, oozing slowly along, generation by generation,
over the great continent to the colonization of the East--a new Aryan drift
around the world.
"But it will be slow, very slow; we have =
so
far to climb. We fell so hopelessly far. If only one physicist or one chemi=
st
had survived! But it was not to be, and we have forgotten everything. The
Chauffeur started working in iron. He made the forge which we use to this d=
ay. But
he was a lazy man, and when he died he took with him all he knew of metals =
and
machinery. What was I to know of such things? I was a classical scholar, no=
t a
chemist.. The other men who survived were not educated. Only two things did=
the
Chauffeur accomplish--the brewing of strong drink and the growing of tobacc=
o.
It was while he was drunk, once, that he killed Vesta. I firmly believe tha=
t he
killed Vesta in a fit of drunken cruelty though he always maintained that s=
he
fell into the lake and was drowned.
"And, my grandsons, let me warn you again=
st
the medicine-men. They call themselves doctors, travestying what was once a
noble profession, but in reality they are medicine-men, devil-devil men, and
they make for superstition and darkness. They are cheats and liars. But so
debased and degraded are we, that we believe their lies. They, too, will
increase in numbers as we increase, and they will strive to rule us. Yet ar=
e they
liars and charlatans. Look at young Cross-Eyes, posing as a doctor, selling
charms against sickness, giving good hunting, exchanging promises of fair
weather for good meat and skins, sending the death-stick, performing a thou=
sand
abominations. Yet I say to you, that when he says he can do these things, he
lies. I, Professor Smith, Professor James Howard Smith, say that he lies. I
have told him so to his teeth. Why has he not sent me the death-stick? Beca=
use
he knows that with me it is without avail. But you, Hare-Lip, so deeply are=
you
sunk in black superstition that did you awake this night and find the death=
-stick
beside you, you would surely die. And you would die, not because of any vir=
tues
in the stick, but because you are a savage with the dark and clouded mind o=
f a
savage.
"The doctors must be destroyed, and all t=
hat
was lost must be discovered over again. Wherefore, earnestly, I repeat unto=
you
certain things which you must remember and tell to your children after you.=
You
must tell them that when water is made hot by fire, there resides in it a w=
onderful
thing called steam, which is stronger than ten thousand men and which can do
all man's work for him. There are other very useful things. In the lightning
flash resides a similarly strong servant of man, which was of old his slave=
and
which some day will be his slave again.
"Quite a different thing is the alphabet.=
It
is what enables me to know the meaning of fine markings, whereas you boys k=
now
only rude picture-writing. In that dry cave on Telegraph Hill, where you se=
e me
often go when the tribe is down by the sea, I have stored many books. In th=
em
is great wisdom. Also, with them, I have placed a key to the alphabet, so t=
hat
one who knows picture-writing may also know print. Some day men will read
again; and then, if no accident has befallen my cave, they will know that
Professor James Howard Smith once lived and saved for them the knowledge of=
the
ancients.
"There is another little device that men
inevitably will rediscover. It is called gunpowder. It was what enabled us =
to
kill surely and at long distances. Certain things which are found in the
ground, when combined in the right proportions, will make this gunpowder. W=
hat
these things are, I have forgotten, or else I never knew. But I wish I did
know. Then would I make powder, and then would I certainly kill Cross-Eyes =
and
rid the land of superstition--"
"After I am man-grown I am going to give
Cross-Eyes all the goats, and meat, and skins I can get, so that he'll teac=
h me
to be a doctor," Hoo-Hoo asserted. "And when I know, I'll make
everybody else sit up and take notice. They'll get down in the dirt to me, =
you
bet."
The old man nodded his head solemnly, and
murmured:
"Strange it is to hear the vestiges and
remnants of the complicated Aryan speech falling from the lips of a filthy
little skin-clad savage. All the world is topsy-turvy. And it has been
topsy-turvy ever since the plague."
"You won't make me sit up," Hare-Lip
boasted to the would-be medicine-man. "If I paid you for a sending of =
the
death-stick and it didn't work, I'd bust in your head--understand, you Hoo-=
Hoo,
you?"
"I'm going to get Granser to remember this
here gunpowder stuff," Edwin said softly, "and then I'll have you=
all
on the run. You, Hare-Lip, will do my fighting for me and get my meat for m=
e,
and you, Hoo-Hoo, will send the death-stick for me and make everybody afrai=
d.
And if I catch Hare-Lip trying to bust your head, Hoo-Hoo, I'll fix him with
that same gunpowder. Granser ain't such a fool as you think, and I'm going =
to listen
to him and some day I'll be boss over the whole bunch of you."
The old man shook his head sadly, and said:
"The gunpowder will come. Nothing can stop
it--the same old story over and over. Man will increase, and men will fight.
The gunpowder will enable men to kill millions of men, and in this way only=
, by
fire and blood, will a new civilization, in some remote day, be evolved. An=
d of
what profit will it be? Just as the old civilization passed, so will the ne=
w.
It may take fifty thousand years to build, but it will pass. All things pas=
s.
Only remain cosmic force and matter, ever in flux, ever acting and reacting=
and
realizing the eternal types--the priest, the soldier, and the king. Out of =
the
mouths of babes comes the wisdom of all the ages. Some will fight, some will
rule, some will pray; and all the rest will toil and suffer sore while on t=
heir
bleeding carcasses is reared again, and yet again, without end, the amazing
beauty and surpassing wonder of the civilized state. It were just as well t=
hat
I destroyed those cave-stored books--whether they remain or perish, all the=
ir
old truths will be discovered, their old lies lived and handed down. What is
the profit--"
Hare-Lip leaped to his feet, giving a quick gl=
ance
at the pasturing goats and the afternoon sun.
"Gee!" he muttered to Edwin, "T=
he
old geezer gets more long-winded every day. Let's pull for camp."
While the other two, aided by the dogs, assemb=
led
the goats and started them for the trail through the forest, Edwin stayed by
the old man and guided him in the same direction. When they reached the old
right of way, Edwin stopped suddenly and looked back. Hare-Lip and Hoo-Hoo =
and the
dogs and the goats passed on. Edwin was looking at a small herd of wild hor=
ses
which had come down on the hard sand. There were at least twenty of them, y=
oung
colts and yearlings and mares, led by a beautiful stallion which stood in t=
he
foam at the edge of the surf, with arched neck and bright wild eyes, sniffi=
ng
the salt air from off the sea.
"What is it?" Granser queried.
"Horses," was the answer. "First
time I ever seen 'em on the beach. It's the mountain lions getting thicker =
and
thicker and driving 'em down."
The low sun shot red shafts of light, fan-shap=
ed,
up from a cloud-tumbled horizon. And close at hand, in the white waste of s=
hore-lashed
waters, the sea-lions, bellowing their old primeval chant, hauled up out of=
the
sea on the black rocks and fought and loved.
"Come on, Granser," Edwin prompted. =
And
old man and boy, skin-clad and barbaric, turned and went along the right of=
way
into the forest in the wake of the goats.
THE END