Part 3

At half-past one the landing party were only a mile away. A shell burst in the street as George was walking to his lodging and three men were killed in front of him. It was the first time he had seen such a thing. It froze his blood. He gave a yell that roused the whole town, ran, was followed by a crowd of riff-raff seizing weapons as they went, and rushed down upon the enemy, who had stopped for a moment to see two dogs fighting in the road. They were taken by surprise and utterly routed.

There is no more rousing episode in the whole military history of Fatland. George was for three days the hero of the Empire. He received by wireless telegraphy countless offers of marriage, ten proposals from music-hall engagements, and by cable a demand for the story of the fight from the noble proprietor of a Sunday newspaper. It was impossible to persuade that noble proprietor that there was no extant photograph of Mr. Samways, and a fortune was spent in cablegrams in the fruitless attempts to do so.

XV: NAVAL

As it turned out the concentration on Cecilia was a fatal tactical error, directly traceable to the King-Emperor, who had never left the capital of Fatterland and had been misled by certain telegrams which had been wrongly deciphered. The entire Fattish navy was collected upon the bombarding fleet and utterly destroyed it.

George and Siebenhaar watched the engagement from the mountain above Cecilia. It was almost humorous to see the huge vessels curtsey to the water and so disappear. It was astonishing to see the Fattish admiral surround nine of his own vessels and cause them also to curtsey and disappear.

“What in hell,” said George, who had by now learned the nature of an oath, “what in hell is he doing that for?”

“That,” said Siebenhaar, “is for the benefit of the armament contractors. A war without loss of ships is no use to them.”

And suddenly George burst into tears, because he had thought of all the men on board, and was overcome with the futility of it all and the feeling that he was partially to blame for having been born on his island.

XVI: NATIONAL

The Fattish are an emotional race. They had overcome the Fatters, and the only outstanding hero of that war was George. They insisted on seeing George. They clamoured for him. They sent a cruiser to fetch him from Cecilia, and the commander of that cruiser was none other than Mr. Bich, who had won promotion.

His astonishment was no less great than George’s, but his adventures were less interesting. After the destruction of the ship he had been saved by a turtle which had been attracted by his brass buttons and had allowed him to ride on his back so long as they lasted. He had had to give it one every twenty minutes, and had just come to his last when he was seen and rescued. He had thought himself the only survivor, and when he heard that Arabella also had been delivered from the waves there came into his eye a gleam which George did not like.

The voyage was quite monotonously uneventful and George was glad when they reached Fatland. The Mayor, Corporation, and Citizens, also dogs and children, of the port at which he landed, turned out to meet him; he was given the freedom of the borough, and a banquet, and at both ceremony and meal he was photographed.

In Bondon he was given five public meals in two days. He was so bewildered by the number of people who thronged round him that he left all arrangements in Siebenhaar’s hands, and Siebenhaar liked the banquets.

He was received by the Emperor-King and decorated, and the Empress-Queen said: “How do you do, Mr. Samways?”

He was followed everywhere by enormous crowds, and outside his lodgings there were always ten policemen to clear a way for the traffic. His romantic history had put a polish on his fame: the motherless and fatherless orphan, all those years alone upon an island; no woman in Fatland old or young, rich or poor, but yearned to be a mother to him and make up to him for all those years. And then the wonderful story of his acceptance of the Fattish religion, his reception on those golden sands into the church at the hands of the good Bishop of Bygn, after the appalling disaster to the _Oyster_. All was known, and the emotional Fattish found it irresistibly moving. George in all innocence created a religious revival such as had never been known. The theatres, music-halls, picture palaces were deserted: no crowds attended the football matches or the race-meetings, and when the newspapers had exhausted the Story of George Samways their circulation dropped to next to nothing. The situation for certain trades looked black indeed.

But of all of this George recked nothing. His one thought was for Arabella.

XVII: REUNION

Siebenhaar took a malicious delight in the ruin of the newspaper trade, and pledged George to attend a mammoth church meeting in Bondon’s greatest hall of assembly. There were forty bishops on the platform, and a Duke presided. George entered. There were tears, cheers, sobs, sighs, groans, conversions; and hundreds suddenly became conscious of salvation, swooned away and were carried out.

The Duke spoke for fifty minutes. Mr. Samways (he said) would now tell the story of his--er--er--“Have I got to say something?” said George to Siebenhaar.

“Tell them,” said Siebenhaar, “to look after the stomach and the rest will look out for itself.”

George advanced toward the front of the platform and beamed out upon the eager audience.

Arabella let a pin drop and it could be heard all over the hall.

It _was_ Arabella! For a moment George could not believe his eyes. It was she! He leaped down from the platform, took her in his arms and covered her with kisses.

So strong was the hypnotic power of his fame that there was no male in that huge audience but followed his example, no female, old or young, rich or poor, but yielded to it. In vain did the bishops protest and quote from the marriage service of the Fattish Church; in vain did they go among the audience and earnestly implore the individual members of it to desist. They replied that George Samways had revealed a new religion and that they liked it.

And above the tumult rose the voice of Siebenhaar saying: ---- But what he said is unprintable.

XVIII: BETROTHAL

How he escaped from the pandemonium George never knew, but his first clear recollection after it was of being borne swiftly through the streets of Bondon with Arabella in his arms, she weeping and telling him of the hard and vile usage she had been put to on the Fatter ship, for the Admiral was a horrid man. She told him how she had at last been taken to the Fatterland and there, by her father’s influence--(for her father also had been marvelously delivered from an untimely end)--released and sent, first-class at the expense of the Fatter Government, home to Fatland, and how she had there resumed her old life of district visiting and tea parties and diocesan conferences and rescuing white slaves and had been content in it until she had seen him, when all her old love had sprung once more into flame and she would never, never desert him more. George wept also and protested that he would never leave her side.

She took him to her home, and her father, who had been prevented by indisposition from attending the meeting, blessed him and made him welcome.

It was very late and George drew Arabella to his side and said he would send for his things.

“Things!” said the Bishop.

“We love each other,” replied George.

“Do you propose to marry this man?” asked the Bishop.

Arabella blushed and explained to George that he must go away until they were married, and the Bishop revealed the meaning of the word.

“But why?” asked George.

“It is so ordained,” said the Bishop, and George was exasperated.

“I love Arabella,” he cried. “What more do you want? And what on earth has it got to do with you or anybody else? I love Arabella, and my love has survived shipwreck, starvation, explosion, battle, murder, and the public festivities of Fatland....”

With extraordinary cynicism the Bishop replied:

“That may be. But it is doubtful if it will survive marriage; therefore marriage is necessary.”

This illogical argument silenced George. The Bishop finally gave his consent and the marriage was arranged to take place in a month’s time, and the announcement of the betrothal was sent to the only remaining morning newspaper.

XIX: REACTION

There were great rejoicings when peace between Fatland and Fatterland was signed and ratified, and the day was set apart for an imposing ceremony at the Colonial Office, when George’s island was to be solemnly incorporated in the Empire.

In a little room high up in the huge offices Field-Marshals, Admirals, and Cabinet Ministers foregathered. The State Map of the World was produced and the island was marked on it, and George with his own hand was to have the privilege of underlining its name in red ink. It was an awful moment. George dipped his pen in the ink--(it was the first time he had ever held a pen in his hand and he had to be instructed in its use); he dipped his pen in the ink, held it poised above the map, when the door opened and a white-faced clerk rushed in with a sheet of paper as white as his face. This he gave to the Colonial Secretary, who collapsed. The Lord High Flunkey took the paper and said:

“Good God!”

George dropped the pen and made a red blot on the State Map of the World.

The Lord High Flunkey pulled himself together and said:

“My Lords and Gentlemen, the South Seas Squadron commissioned to annex the new island reports that it has moved on and cannot be found.”

“This is a serious matter, Mr. Samways,” said the senior Admiral.

“I’m awfully sorry,” answered George, and he walked out of the room.

It had been arranged that when George underlined the name of his island on the map, the national flag should be run up on the offices so that the expectant crowd should know that the Empire had been enlarged and the war justified. There was an appalling silence as George left the building. He slipped into the crowd before he was recognized and before the awful news had spread.

There was a groan, a hoot, a yell, and the crowd stormed and raved. Stones flew, and soon there was not a window in that office left unbroken.

The Government resigned, and with its fall fell George Samways. He was not the object of any active hostility. He was simply ignored. It was as though he had never been. When he called at the Bishop’s house to see Arabella, the footman stared through him and said the Bishop would be obliged if he would write. George took the fellow by the scruff of the neck and laid him on the floor. Then he ran upstairs to Arabella’s room.

“You!” she said.

“Yes. I love you.”

“We can’t be married now.”

“No. We needn’t wait now. You’re coming with me.”

He assisted her to pack a small handbag, and with that they set forth.

At George’s lodgings they found Siebenhaar in argument with the master of the ship, who had delivered them and had now come to Bondon to claim his reward. He had sailed from Cecilia in his own ship, which was even now at the docks.

“We will sail in her,” said George, “and we will find my island.”

“Find the island? The whole navy’s looking for it!”

“It will come to me,” said George.

And Siebenhaar embraced Arabella and congratulated her on having taken his advice.

XX: HOME

They had a pleasant voyage, saw the sea-serpent twice, and when they came to the South Seas every night George sang those strange melodious chants that he had made out of _Tittiker_. One night when they had been at sea nigh eight months up and down the Southern Seas and almost into the Antarctic, George fell into a kind of swoon and said:

“She is coming, she is coming, my mother, my land.”

And Arabella, fearing for his reason, implored Siebenhaar to distract him with talk, and the master of the ship to make for the nearest port. But George silenced Siebenhaar, and in an unearthly voice he crooned:

“Cathoire Mor, or the Great--had thirty sons.

Conn Ceadchadhach, called the Hero of the Hundred Battles--slain.

Conaire--killed.

Art-Aonfhir, the Melancholy--slain in battle.

Lughaidh, surnamed MacConn--thrust through the eye with a spear in a conspiracy.

Feargus, surnamed Black-teeth--murdered at the instigation of his successor.

Cormac-Ulfhada--‘A Prince of the most excellent wisdom, and kept the most splendid court that ever was in Bareland’; choked by the bone of a fish at supper....”

Near dawn he rose to his feet and stood with outstretched arms, yelling at the top of his voice:

“Connor, or Conchabhar--‘died of grief, being unable to redress the misfortunes of his country.’

Niall-Caillie--drowned in the river Caillie.

Turgesius--‘expelled the Barish historians, and burnt their books’; thrown into a lough and drowned....”

And Siebenhaar lifted up his eyes in wonder, for there was such a note of triumph in George’s voice.

The sun was casting up his first rosy glow upon the sky, and against it, dark blue, almost purple, stood a tall hill that grew. There was little wind, but the ship sped forward.

“My beloved! My island!” cried George, and Arabella fell upon his neck.

As the sun rose above the horizon they slipped ashore upon the yellow sands, and George’s palm tree bowed to them and they four, George, Arabella, Siebenhaar and the master of the ship, joined hands and danced together.

Then George took Arabella to the little cabin and he said:

“The house I built for you.”

But Siebenhaar said:

“I am devilish hungry.”

Ultimus

I: THE SON OF HIS FATHER

Though her love for George never faded, Arabella could not take kindly to life on the island. She bore herself cheerfully until she was with child, and then, when she began to plan careers for her son, she was oppressed by the absence of opportunity which that life could afford. She told herself that when she was dead and Siebenhaar was dead and George was dead the boy would be left alone with the Captain, who was only a common man. She had another two months to go when the Captain disappeared one night with his ship and a cargo of rubies and emeralds. The blow was too much for her: the only means of communication with the world of Bishops and white slaves was gone; she sank into a profound melancholy: the boy was born before his time; and she died.

George flung himself on the sands and wept and swore he would call the boy Judas, because he had betrayed him. However, Siebenhaar protested, saying that, as the boy could not be christened, it was not right to give him a Biblical name. He said that he personally should call him Ultimus as he bade fair to be the last of his line, unless, as had happened before, the island should insist on its population being continued. For that was how, after much cogitation, the philosopher had come to explain the previous strange adventure. George was indifferent, but from hearing Siebenhaar call the boy Ultimus he also adopted the name, not knowing its sad significance. Bearing deeply imprinted in his soul the marks of his unhappy contact with the world, George forbade all mention of it in his son’s presence. Never was he to know of the hateful race who inhabited Fatland, and of the indomitable Fatters whose admiral had so shamefully treated his mother. However, Siebenhaar used to talk in his sleep, and he often slept in the middle of the day. When he was six years old little Ultimus came to his father and said:

“What is God? What is an engine? Is the world round? What is a mother? Who is Siebenhaar’s father? What is a professor? Why does Siebenhaar talk in two ways? If you helped me to be born why can’t I help some one else? Is a Bishop a kind of man? Did I kill my mother, and how did I do it if I never saw her? Is this your island? What is an island? Are there other sorts of land? Are the stars land? Is the moon land? Is the sun land? If you are my father, why isn’t Siebenhaar some one’s father? Are all big men fathers? How do they do it? There are two kinds of goats, why aren’t there two kinds of men? If there are she-goats, why aren’t there she-men? What is a ship? Siebenhaar is always talking about ships. What is money? Are you a King? There is a King in Fatland. When is a father grand?...”

George gave one despairing look at his son. He groaned:

“Arabella, my love, my love.”

Then he walked out into the sea and disappeared. A few hours later his body was washed up on the shore, and Siebenhaar had to explain to the boy that his father was dead. Ultimus said:

“He walked out into the sea.”

“To such peace,” replied Siebenhaar solemnly, “do we all come.”

II: QUESTIONS

If the boy’s questions were fatal to his father they were a delight to Siebenhaar, who had no further scruple about giving instruction, for, in the hardship and solitude which had been his fate since his encounter with George, his philosophy had matured and he saw that the remaining years of his life might be spent in the instruction and preparation of a disciple.

They would sit for hours together on the sands drawing maps and diagrams for illustration. Siebenhaar had no knowledge which he did not communicate to Ultimus, who by the time he was seventeen was a master of mathematics, German philosophy, the rudiments of physics, chemistry, geology, physiology, biology, psychology, botany, meteorology, astronomy. They made wind and stringed instruments and played duets composed of what Siebenhaar could remember of Beethoven. The boy was a good sculptor and painter, a carpenter, a cabinet-maker, a mason, a cook, an engineer, a weaver, a tailor, a cobbler. He could read and write five languages, was familiar with the geography of the whole world, and knew the situations of the best brothels in all the first-class ports. When he began to have needs which there was no means of satisfying, Siebenhaar explained them to him:

“You are now reaching that state of man which reveals the futility of all knowledge, since you are awakened to desires which no knowledge can satisfy. Rest assured that in the world your case would be no better, but rather would be aggravated by opportunity and failure. You are, at any rate, spared the tragedy of your father whose love destroyed the object of his desire and reduced him to a morbid condition in which your healthy wish for knowledge was more than he could bear. It is right to wish for knowledge, because only through that can we recognise our ignorance, and see the humour of our position. If you can see that you can be happy and glad that you have lived.”

Poor Ultimus tried hard to do so, but he often retired from their conversations to weep, and Siebenhaar would find him sitting in the water consoling himself with music. The unhappy youth became a prey to boredom and wearied of the arts and sciences and discussions with which they filled the day. They had long ago arrived at the conclusion that there was no God, no ascertainable purpose in the universe, and nothing in life but the fun or nuisance of living. He became romantic and plagued Siebenhaar for stories, love-stories, bawdy experiences, the tale of his meeting with George, and the deathless fable of the love of George and Arabella. From that he came to delight in the idea of war, and Siebenhaar explained to him how wars came about: how in the first place men were obsessed by superstitions about God, each community believing itself to be specially favoured and inspired by the unseen powers, and ignoring all the evidence to the contrary, as poverty, disease, corruption, bad art, inefficiency, and domestic unhappiness. As a consequence each community was jealous of every other, and supported its claims to moral superiority and divine favour with a great show of force, of armed ships on the sea and trained men on the land.

To illustrate his remarks Siebenhaar concocted explosives and Ultimus found such great amusement in them and was so busy destroying the houses he had built, the statues he had made, the engines he had contrived, that the philosopher was forced to change his theory of war and to see that it has its roots in boredom.

Thereafter Ultimus was alternately busy with the arts and sciences and with destroying all his works when he was bored with them and could not help recognising their futility. As his explosives upset Siebenhaar’s nerves and the tranquillity he required for his contemplation, they made an arrangement that Ultimus should give notice of his destructive intentions when he felt them coming on. Then Siebenhaar would retire to the other side of the island and leave him to it.

The boy made a careful study of explosives and experimented with them until he could send huge palm trees hundreds of feet into the air. It became his ambition to blow up the mountain. He made several attempts, but could not succeed. He blew great holes in it and discovered mines of gold and diamonds and platinum and various new earths which, when mixed with his explosive, increased its power. But the mountain seemed to be capable of absorbing any shock. He had just given up his experiments in despair when Siebenhaar came rushing over in a great state of excitement to say that the island had moved a degree and a half.

The two men looked at each other incredulously, not daring to believe in what was thumping in both their minds. They prepared a new charge, took their bearings, exploded it, and found that they were moving at the rate of twenty-three knots an hour, N.N.W. The next charge they placed so that the island moved W.N.W.

They could then navigate and go whither they pleased. They embraced, danced, killed a goat, and drank heavily to celebrate their triumph.

III: CIVILISATION

The north point of the island was a rocky headland, a precipice hundreds of feet above the sea-level. Beyond it jutted three jagged rocks. One morning Siebenhaar found on one of these rocks the hull of a vessel, and when he looked closer he saw a man sitting disconsolate upon it. He fetched Ultimus, who threw stones to attract the man’s attention. It was impossible to make him hear. They gesticulated to tell him to swim to his right, and at last he caught their meaning, stripped and plunged into the sea. They had already stopped the island, which was now making only a gentle way, so that there was no danger of his being run down.

By the time they reached the shore the man was already sitting on the sands drying himself and eating a cocoa-nut. He was above middle age, and had a little fat belly and long thin legs. Siebenhaar addressed him in Fattish, and the man said he was a Rear-Admiral in the Fattish Navy and would like to know what in hell they meant by ruining his battle in which he had got the Fatters fairly on the run.

“Battle?” said Siebenhaar.

“Yes. Four cruisers, six destroyers, and torpedo craft. All gone on the rocks. The most amazing thing in all my long experience. Not a sign of a rock on the chart. You must have got the Fatters first, for their firing suddenly ceased. Who are you? What are you?”

Siebenhaar told him it was Samways Island.

The man’s jaw dropped.

“I spent the best part of three years after that,” he said. “I originally annexed it for the Empire.”

“Not,” cried Siebenhaar. “_Not_ Mr. Bich?”

“Bich is my name.”

Siebenhaar disclosed his identity and Rear-Admiral Bich covered his amazement and emotion with a volley of expletives. He asked after George, and when he was told that both he and Arabella were dead he could not check his tears.

He shook Ultimus warmly by the hand and said he was the very spit of his father, with a strong look of his mother. Then he added: “I must not forget my duty as an officer, and, as a matter of form, I claim the island once more for the Empire.”