Of all the centres of attraction, London formed the greatest magnet to draw to itself these floating and isolated particles of humanity. Like fragments of flotsam in a whirlpool, they were attracted into its confines; and once within that labyrinth, they emerged no more. Lost in its unfamiliar mazes, they wandered here and there, unable to escape even if they had wished to do so; and no Ariadne waited on them with her clue. Perhaps I overrate the strangeness of the spectacle and lay more stress upon it than it deserves. It may be that in the depths of the country even weirder things were done. But London I saw with my own eyes in the last stages of its career; and I cannot shake myself free from the impression made upon me by that uncanny shadow-show beneath the moon.
Gradually but surely the tide of human existence ebbed in Britain outside the Nitrogen Area. Here and there in the central districts there might be isolated patches whereon some living creatures remained by accident with food sufficient to prolong their vitality for a little longer; but after a few months even these were obliterated and the last survivors of the race of men were to be found clinging to the coasts of the island where food was still to be procured from the sea. Some of them struggled through the Famine period under these conditions; but most of them perished eventually from starvation; for even in the marine areas conditions were changing and the old abundant harvest of sea-creatures had passed away. The herring and other edible fish were driven to new feeding-grounds. The supply brought in by the fishing-boats diminished steadily, until at last men ceased to go out upon the waters and gave up the struggle. The winter was an exceptionally bitter one—possibly the change in the surface conditions produced by B. diazotans affected the world-climate, though that is still a moot point—and the cold completed the work. Long before the spring came, Britain was a mere Raft of the Medusa lying upon the waters and peopled by a handful of survivors out of what had once been a mighty company.
CHAPTER XI
Fata Morgana
To explain how I came to witness the spectacle of London in its extremity, I must go back to the evening at Nordenholt’s which I have already described. He persisted in his project of forcing us into the fresh air, often twice or thrice a week if the weather was favourable; and to tell the truth, I was nothing loath. Over a hundred hours of my week were spent in concentrated mental activity under conditions which removed me more and more from direct contact with human affairs as time went on; and I looked forward with pleasure to these brief interludes during which I could take up once more the threads of my old life and its interests.
Nordenholt himself contributed but little to the conversation on these excursions. Sometimes he brought with him one of his numerous experts and spent the time in technical discussions; but usually he occupied the back seat of the car alone, lost in his thoughts and plans, while I drove and Miss Huntingtower sat beside me.
As our time was limited, and we wished to avoid the city as much as possible, our routes were mainly those to the west, by the Kilpatrick Hills or the Campsies. We never pushed farther afield, as Nordenholt had forbidden me to go outside the boundaries of the Nitrogen Area. I think he was afraid of what she might see by the roadside if we passed the frontier.
Even during these few short afternoons, I came to know her better. Somehow I had got the impression that she was graver than her years justified; but I found that in this estimate I was mistaken. She was sobered by the responsibility of her work, but underneath this she seemed to have a natural craving for the enjoyment of life, and a capacity for making the best of things which was suited to my own mood. She was quite unaffected; I never found her posing in any way. Whether she chattered nonsense—and I believe both of us did that at times—or was discussing the future, she gave me the impression of being perfectly natural.
We used to make all sorts of plans for the future of the world, once the danger was past; half-trivial, half-serious schemes which somehow took on an air of fairy-tale reality. “When I am Queen, I will set such and such a grievance right”; “In the first year of my Presidency, I will publish an edict forbidding so and so.” Between us, on these drives, we planned a fairy kingdom in the future, a new Garden of the Hesperides, a dream-built Thelema of sunlit walls and towers and pleasure-grounds wherein might dwell the coming generations of men. The future! Somehow that was always with us. Less and less did we go backward into the past. That world was over, never to return; but the years still to come gave us full scope for our fancies and to them we turned with eager eyes.