Chapter 30

_September 6_: _Sisyphus_ almost ready. Find I can get a crew to work for wages when not in port. Luncheon at Chequers. PM urges me not to leave England as it might shake confidence. I told him I would consider the matter.

_September 7_: F says she is ready to make new tests and what is holding up work on the _Sisyphus_? Replied it was complete except for my cabins. She had the effrontery to say these werent important and she was ready to go ahead without me. I pointed out that the _Sisyphus_ was my property and it would not sail until I was properly accommodated.

_99._ _September 8_: I shall not move to Ireland afterall. The Grass has a foothold in Ulster.

_September 9_: The Irish are swarming into Scotland and Wales. Impossible to keep them out.

_September 10_: Donegal overrun.

_September 12_: On board the _Sisyphus_. Wrote an incredible amount; still beyond me how anybody can call the fashioning of a book work. We left Southampton last night on a full tide and are now cruising the Channel about four miles from the French coast. It is quite unbelievable--under this tropical green blanket lies the continent of Europe, the home of civilization. And the bodies of millions, too. Except for a few gulls who shriek their way inland and return dejectedly, there is not a living thing in sight but the Grass.

I have reserved the afterdeck to myself and as I sit here now, scribbling these notes, I think what impresses me more than anything else is the feeling of vitality which radiates from the herbaceous coast. The dead continent is alive, alive as never before--wholly alive; moving with millions of sensitive feelers in every direction. For the first time I have a feeling of sympathy for Joe's constant talk of the beauty of the Grass, but in spite of this, the question which comes to my mind is, can you speak glibly about the beauty of something which has strangled nearly all the world?

_Later_: Sitting on the gently swaying deck, I was moved to add several pages to my history. But now we are approaching the narrower part of the Channel and the sea is getting choppy. I shall have to give up my jottings for a while.

_Still later_: F finally picked a spot she considered suitable--the remains of a small harbor--and we anchored. I must say she was overfussy--one cove is pretty much the same as another these days. Possibly she was so choosy in order to heighten her importance.

Repetition of the involved etiquette of inspecting the intended victim and turning on the sprays; only this time the suppressed excitement anticipating possible success made even the preliminaries interesting. Miss Francis and her assistants retired for a mysterious conference immediately after the application and I stayed up late talking with the captain till he was called away by some duty. It is now nearly two A M--in a few hours we shall know.

_September 13_: Horribly shaken this morning to find the Grass unaffected. Even wondered for a moment if it were conceivable that F would never find the right compound--that nothing could hurt the Grass. Had I been illadvised in not going more seriously into Burlet's vertical cities?

F very phlegmatic about it. Says another twelve hours of observation may be of value. She and A rowed ashore over the runners trailing in the water and with great difficulty succeeded in hacking off a few runners of the sprayed Grass. I thought her undertaking this hazard an absurd piece of bravado--she might just as well have sent someone else.

Disregarding her rudeness in not inviting me, I accompanied her unasked to her laboratory-cabin. She laid the stolons on an enamelsurfaced table and busied herself with some apparatus. I could not take my eyes from these segments of the Grass. They lay on the table, not specimens of vegetation, but stunned creatures ready to spring to vigorous and vengeful life when they recovered. It was impossible not to pick one up and run it through my fingers, feeling again the soft, electric touch.

Miss Francis' preparations were interminable. If she follows such an elaborate ritual for the mere checking of an unsuccessful experiment no wonder she is taking years to get anywhere. My attention wandered and I started to leave the cabin when I noticed my hand still held one of the specimens.

It was withered and dry.

_100._ _September 17_: The enthusiasm greeting the discovery that F's reagent mortally affected the Grass was only tempered by the dampening thought that its action had been incomplete. What good was the lethal compound if its work were final only when the sprayed parts were severed?

F seemed to think it was a great deal of good. Her manner toward me, boisterous and quite out of keeping with our respective positions and sexes, could almost be called friendly. During the return to Southampton she constantly clapped me on the back and shouted, "It's over, Weener; it's all over now."

"But it isnt over," I protested. "Your spray hadnt the slightest direct effect on the Grass."

"Oh, that. That's nothing. A mere impediment. A matter of time only."

"Time only! Good God, do you realize the Grass is halfway through Ireland? That we are surrounded now on four sides?"

"A lastminute rescue is quite in the best tradition. Don't disturb yourself; you will live to gloat over the deaths of better men."

I urged the PM to be cautious about overoptimism in giving out the news. He nodded his head solemnly in agreement, but he evidently couldnt communicate whatever wisdom he possessed to the BBC announcer, for he, in butter voice, spoke as though Miss Francis had actually destroyed a great section of the weed upon the French coast. There were celebrations in the streets of London and a vast crowd visited the cenotaph and sang _Rule Britannia_.

_September 18_: Hoping to find F in a calmer mood, I asked her today just how long she meant by "a matter of time"? She shrugged it off. "Not more than four or five months," she said blithely.

"In a month at most the Grass will be in Britain."

"Let it come," she responded callously. "We shall take the _Sisyphus_ and conclude our work there."

"But millions will die in the meantime," I protested.

She turned on me with what I can only describe as tigrish ferocity. "Did you think of the millions you condemned to death when you refused to sell concentrates to the Asiatic refugees?"

"How could I sell to people who couldnt buy?"

"And the millions who died because you refused them employment?"

"Am I responsible for those too shiftless to fend for themselves?"

"'Am I my brother's keeper?' If fifty million Englishmen die because I cannot hasten the process of trial and error, the guilt is mine and I admit it. I do not seek to exculpate myself by pointing a finger at you or by silly and pompous evasions of my responsibility. If the Grass comes before I am ready, the fault is mine. In the meantime, while one creature remains alive, even if his initials be A W, I shall seek to preserve him. As long as there is a foothold on land I shall try on land; and when that fails we shall board the _Sisyphus_ and finish our work there, somewhere in the Atlantic."

"You mean you definitely abandon hope of perfecting your compound before England goes?"

"I abandon nothing," she replied. "I think it's quite possible I'll finish in time to save England, but I can't afford to do anything but look forward to the worst. And that is that we'll be driven to the sea."

I was appalled by the picture her words elicited: a few ships containing the survivors; a world covered with the Grass.

"And when success is attained we shall fight our way back inch by inch."

But this piece of bombast didnt hearten me. I had no desire to fight our way back inch by inch; I wanted at least a fragment of civilization salvaged.

_September 19_: F has not been the only one to think of the high seas as a final refuge. The London office has been literally besieged by men of wealth eager to pay any price to charter one of our ships. I have given orders to grant no more charters for the present.

_September 20_: The enthusiasm is subsiding and people are beginning to ask how long it will be before they can expect the reconquest of the Continent to begin. BBC spoke cautiously about "perfection" of the compound for the first time, opening the way to the implication that it doesnt work as yet. Added quite a bit to my manuscript.

_September 21_: Mrs H, in very dignified mood, approached me; said she heard I had made plans to leave England in case the Grass threatened. She asked nothing for herself, she said, being quite content to accept whatever fate Providence had in store for her, but, would I take her daughter and family along on the _Sisyphus_? They would be quite useful, she added lamely.

I said I would give the matter my attention, but assured her there was no immediate danger.

_September 22_: Grass on the Isle of Man.

_September 23_: Ordered stocking of the _Sisyphus_ with as much concentrates as she can carry. The supply will be ample for a full crew, F's staff and myself for at least six months.

_September 24_: Ive known for years that F is insane, but her latest phase is so fantastic and preposterous I can hardly credit it. She demands flatly the _Sisyphus_ take along at least fifty "nubile females in order to restock the world after its reconquest." After catching my breath I argued with her. The prospect of England's loss was by no means certain yet.

"Good. We'll give the girls a seavoyage and land them back safe and sound."

"We have enough supplies for six months; if we take along these superfluous passengers our time will be cut to less than three."

Her answer was a brutal piece of blackmail. "No women, no go."

If F were a young man instead of an elderly woman I could understand this aberration better.

_September 25_: It seems Mrs H's grandchildren are all girls between twelve and eighteen, which leaves the problem of fulfilling F's ultimatum to finding fortyseven others. I have delegated the selection to Mrs H.

_September 26_: Grass on Skye for the second time. This invasion was not repulsed.

_September 27_: The cyclone fans have been set up from Moray Firth to the Firth of Lorne. I am in two minds about asking the Tharios to join us.

The bill authorizing the construction of a vertical city at Stonehenge passed Commons.

_September 28_: Grass reported near Aberdeen. Panic in Scotland. No more train service.

_September 29_: Day of fasting, humiliation and prayer proclaimed by the Archbishop of Canterbury. Grass south of the Dee. All mines shut down.

_September 30_: Every seaworthy vessel, and many not seaworthy, now under charter. I have ordered all remaining stores of concentrates loaded on our own hulls, to be manned by skeleton crews. They will stand by the _Sisyphus_ on her voyage. Lack of railway transportation making things difficult.

_October 1_: They have actually broken ground at Stonehenge for Burlet's fantastic city.

_October 2_: Wrote on my book for nearly twelve solid hours. The postal service has been stopped.

_October 3_: Hearing the royal family had made no plans for departure, the London office ventured to offer them accommodations on one of our ships. I had always heard the House of Windsor was meticulous in its politeness, but I cannot characterize their rejection of our wellmeant aid as anything but rude.

_October 4_: Mrs H asks, Are we to live solely on concentrates now the shops are shut? My query as to whether this seemed objectionable to her was evaded.

_October 5_: Grass in Inverness and Perthshire.

_October 6_: F announces she is ready for another test. Under present conditions, the journey to Scotland being out of the question, we decided to use the _Sisyphus_ again and the French coast. Leaving tomorrow.

_October 11_: This constant series of frustrations is beyond endurance. In spite of F's noncommittal pessimism anticipating success only after the Grass has covered England, I feel she is merely making some sort of propitiatory gesture when she looks on the darkest side of the picture that way. As for myself I'm convinced the Grass will be stopped in a week or so. But in the meantime F's work advances by the inch, only to be set back again and again.

We repeated the previous test with just enough added success to give our failure the quality of supreme exasperation. This time there was no question but what the growth sprayed actually withered within twentyfour hours. But it was not wiped out and not long afterward it was overrun and covered up by a new and vigorous mass. Such a victory early in the fight would have meant something; now it is too late for such piecemeal destruction. We must have a counteragent which communicates its lethal effect to a larger area of the Grass than is actually touched by it--or at very least makes the affected spot untenable for future growth.

What help is it for F to rub her hands smugly and say, "We're on the right track, all right"? Weve been on the right track for months, but the train doesnt get anywhere.

_October 12_: Columbus Day.

_October 13_: Grass in Fife and Stirling. BBC urges calm.

_October 14_: Rumor has it work abandoned at Stonehenge. It was a futile gesture anyway. I'm sure F will perfect the counteragent anyday.

_October 15_: Mrs H announced she has completed her selection of fifty young women, adding, "I hope they will prove satisfactory, sir." For a horrible moment I wondered if she thought I was arranging for a harem.

_October 16_: Decided, purely as a matter of convenience and not from panic, such as is beginning to affect even the traditionally stolid British, to move aboard the _Sisyphus_. Grass on the outskirts of Edinburgh.

_October 17_: In a burst of energy last night I brought my history down to the Grass in Europe.

Disconcerting hitch. Most of the _Sisyphus'_ crew, including the captain, want to take their wives along. I find it difficult to believe them all uxoriously wed--at any rate this is not a pleasure excursion. Agreed the captain should take his and told him to effect some compromise on the others. The capacity of the _Sisyphus_ is not elastic.

_October 18_: Grass almost to the Tweed. PM on the wireless with the assurance a counteragent will be perfected within the week. F furious; wanted to know if I couldnt control my politicians better. I answered meekly--really, her anger was ludicrous--that I was an American citizen, not part of the British electorate, and therefore had no influence over the prime minister of Great Britain. Seriously, however, perhaps the premature announcement will spur her on.

The erratic phone service finally stopped altogether.

_October 19_: Riots and looting--unEnglish manifestations carried out in a very English way. Hysterical orators called for the destruction of all foreign refugees from the Grass, or at very least their exclusion from the benefits of the lootings. In every case the mob answered them in almost identical language: "Fair play," "Share and share alike," "Yer nyme Itler, maybe?" "Come orf it, sonny, oo er yew? Gord Orlmighty's furriner, aint E?" Having heckled the speakers, they proceeded cheerfully to clean out all stocks of available goods--the refugees getting their just shares. There must be a peculiar salubrity about the English air. Otherwise Britons could not act so differently at home and abroad.

Thankful indeed all Consolidated Pemmican stores safely loaded.

_October 20_: As anticipated, the Grass crossed the Tweed into Northumberland, but quite unexpectedly England has also been invaded from another quarter. Norfolk has the Grass from Yarmouth to Cromer. F, the PM, and myself hanged in effigy. Shall not tarry much longer.

_October 21_: Durham and Suffolk. Consulted the captain about a set of auxiliary sails for the _Sisyphus_. Moving aboard tonight.

_October 22_: Heard indirectly that the Tharios had managed to charter a seagoing tug on shares with friends. This takes a great load off my mind.

Postponed moving to the ship in order to superintend packing of personal possessions, including the manuscript of my history. F says it is still not impossible to perfect compound before the Grass reaches London.

_October 23_: On board the _Sisyphus_. What has become of the stolid heroism of the English people? On the way down to the ship, I ran into a crowd no better behaved than the adherents of the Republic One and Indivisible. I mention the episode lightly, but it was no laughing matter. I was lucky to escape with my life.

Nervous and upset with the strain. I shall not return to The Ivies till the Grass begins its retreat. Too restless to continue my book. Paced the deck a long time.

_October 24_: The fifty girls arrived, and a more maddening cargo I can't imagine. I gave orders to keep them forward, but their shrill presence nevertheless penetrates aft.

I hear all electricity has been cut off. Grass in Yorkshire.

_October 25_: F came aboard with the other scientists and immediately wanted to know why we didnt set sail. I asked her if her work could be carried on any more easily at sea. She shrugged her shoulders. I pointed out that only rats leave a sinking ship and England was far from overcome. She favored me with one of her fixed stares.

"You are dithery, Weener. Your epigrams have lost their jaunty air of discovery and your face is almost green."

"You would not expect me to remain unaffected by the events around us, Miss Francis."

"Wouldnt I?" she retorted incomprehensibly and went below to her cabin-laboratory.

The Grass is reported in Essex and Hertfordshire. I understand there are at least two other ships equipped for research and manned by English scientists. It would serve F right if they perfected a counteragent first.

October 26: Have ordered our accompanying ships to lie offshore, lest they be boarded by fearcrazed refugees, for the Grass is now in the vicinity of London and England is in a horrible state.

October 27: BBC transmitting from Penzance. Faint.

_101._ _November 3_: On board the _Sisyphus_ off Scilly. The last days of England have passed. Heightening the horror, the BBC in its final moments forwent its policy of soothing its listeners and urging calmness upon them. Instead, it organized an amazing news service, using thousands of pigeons carrying messages from eyewitnesses to the station at Penzance to give a minutebyminute account of the end. Dispassionately and detachedly, as though this were some ordinary disaster, announcer after announcer went on the air and read reports; heartpiercing, anticlimactic, tragic, trivial, noble and thoroughly English reports....

The people vented their futile rage and terror in mass pyromania. Building after building, city after city was burned to the ground. But, according to the BBC, the murderous frenzy of the Continent was not duplicated. Inanimate things suffered; priceless art objects were kicked around in the streets, but houses were carefully emptied of inhabitants before being put to the torch.

These were the spectacular happenings; the emphatic events. Behind them, and in the majority, were quieter, duller transactions. Churches and chapels filled with people sitting quiet in pews, meditating; gatherings in the country, where the participants looked at the sun, earth and sky; vast meetings in Hyde Park proclaiming the indissoluble brotherhood of man, even in the face of extinction.

We heard the Queen and her consort remained in Buckingham Palace to the last, but this may be only romantic rumor. At all events, England is gone now, after weathering a millennium of unsuccessful invasions. From where I sit peacefully, bringing my history uptodate and jotting these notes in my diary, I can see, faintly with the naked eye or quite distinctly through a telescope, that emerald gem set in a silver sea. The great cities are covered; the barren moors, the lovely lakes, the gentle streams, the forbidding crags are all mantled in one grassy sward. England is gone, and with it the world. What few men of forethought who have taken to ships, what odd survivors there may be in arctic wastes or on lofty Andean or Himalayan peaks, together with the complement of the _Sisyphus_ and its accompanying escort are all that survive of humanity. It is an awesome thought.

_Later_: Reading this over it seems almost as though I had been untrue to my fundamental philosophy. The world has gone, vanished; but perhaps it is for the best, afterall. We shall start again in a few days with a clean slate, picking up from where we left off--for we have books and tools and men of learning and intelligence--to start a new and better world the moment the Grass retreats. I am heartened by the thought.

Below, Miss Francis and her coworkers are striving for the solution. After the last experiment there can be no question as to the outcome. An hour ago I would have written that it was deplorable this outcome couldnt be achieved before the latest victory of the Grass. Now I begin to believe it may be a lucky delay.

_November 4_: What meaning have dates now? We shall have to have a new calendar--Before the Grass and After the Grass.

_November 5_: Moved by some incomprehensible morbidity I had a stainless steel chest, complete with floats, made before embarkation in order to place the manuscript and diary in it should the impossible happen. I have it now on the deck beside me as a reminder never to give way to a weak despair. F promises me it is a matter of days if not hours till we can return to our native element.

_November 8_: Another test. Almost completely successful. F certain the next one will do it. My emotions are exhausted.

_November 9_: I have completed my history of the Grass down to the commencement of this diary. I shall take a wellearned rest from my literary labors for a few days. F announces a new test--"the final one, Weener, the final one"--for tomorrow.

_November 10_: Experiment with the now perfected compound has been put off one more day. F is completely calm and confident of the outcome. She is below now, making lastminute preparations. For the first time she has infected me with her certitude--although I never doubted ultimate success--and I feel tomorrow will actually see the beginning of the end for the Grass which started so long ago on Mrs Dinkman's lawn. How far I and the world have come since then!

Would I go back to that day if I had the power? It seems an absurd question, but there is no doubt we who have survived have gained spiritual stature. Of course I do not mean anything mystical or supernatural by this observation--we have acquired heightened sensitivity and new perceptions. Brother Paul, ridiculous mountebank, was yet correct in this--the Grass chastised us rightly. Whatever sins mankind committed have been wiped out and expiated.

_Later_: We are out of sight of land; nothing but sea and sky, no green anywhere. On the eve of liberation all sorts of absurd and irrelevant thoughts jump about in my mind. The strange lady ... Joe's symphony, burned by his mother. Whatever happened to William Rufus Le ffaçasé after he eschewed his profession for superstition? And Mrs Dinkman? For some annoying reason I am beset with the thought of Mrs Dinkman.

I can see her pincenez illadjusted on her nose. I can hear her highpitched complaining voice bargaining with me over the cost of inoculating her lawn. The ugly stuff of her tasteless dress is before my eyes. It is so real to me I swear I can see the poor, irregular lines of the weaving.

_Still later_: I have sat here in a dull lethargy, undoubtedly induced by my overwrought state, quite understandable in the light of what is to happen in a few hours, my eyes on the seams of the deck, reviewing all the things I have written in my book, preparing myself, a way, for the glorious and triumphant finish. But I am beset by delusions. A moment ago it was the figure of Mrs Dinkman and now--