The Lord of the Dynamos
The chief attendant of the three dynamos that buzzed and rattled atCamberwell, and kept the electric railway going, came out ofYorkshire, and his name was James Holroyd. He was a practicalelectrician, but fond of whisky, a heavy red-haired brute withirregular teeth. He doubted the existence of the deity, butaccepted Carnot's cycle, and he had read Shakespeare and found himweak in chemistry. His helper came out of the mysterious East, andhis name was Azuma-zi. But Holroyd called him Pooh-bah. Holroydliked a nigger because he would stand kicking--a habit withHolroyd--and did not pry into the machinery and try to learn theways of it. Certain odd possibilities of the negro mind broughtinto abrupt contact with the crown of our civilisation Holroydnever fully realised, though just at the end he got some inkling ofthem.To define Azuma-zi was beyond ethnology. He was, perhaps,more negroid than anything else, though his hair was curly ratherthan frizzy, and his nose had a bridge. Moreover, his skin wasbrown rather than black, and the whites of his eyes were yellow.His broad cheekbones and narrow chin gave his face something of theviperine V. His head, too, was broad behind, and low and narrow atthe forehead, as if his brain had been twisted round in the reverseway to a European's. He was short of stature and still shorter ofEnglish. In conversation he made numerous odd noises of no knownmarketable value, and his infrequent words were carved and wroughtinto heraldic grotesqueness. Holroyd tried to elucidate hisreligious beliefs, and--especially after whisky--lectured to himagainst superstition and missionaries. Azuma-zi, however, shirkedthe discussion of his gods, even though he was kicked for it.Azuma-zi had come, clad in white but insufficient raiment, outof the stokehole of the Lord Clive, from the StraitsSettlements, and beyond, into London. He had heard even in hisyouth of the greatness and riches of London, where all the womenare white and fair, and even the beggars in the streets are white,and he arrived, with newly earned gold coins in his pocket, toworship at the shrine of civilisation. The day of his landing wasa dismal one; the sky was dun, and a wind-worried drizzle filtereddown to the greasy streets, but he plunged boldly into the delightsof Shadwell, and was presently cast up, shattered in health,civilised in costume, penniless and, except in matters of thedirest necessity, practically a dumb animal, to toil for JamesHolroyd and to be bullied by him in the dynamo shed at Camberwell.And to James Holroyd bullying was a labour of love.There were three dynamos with their engines at Camberwell.The two that had been there since the beginning were smallmachines; the larger one was new. The smaller machines made areasonable noise; their straps hummed over the drums, every now andthen the brushes buzzed and fizzled, and the air churned steadily,whoo! whoo! whoo! between their poles. One was loose in itsfoundations and kept the shed vibrating. But the big dynamodrowned these little noises altogether with the sustained drone ofits iron core, which somehow set part of the ironwork humming. Theplace made the visitor's head reel with the throb, throb, throb ofthe engines, the rotation of the big wheels, the spinningball-valves, the occasional spittings of the steam, and over allthe deep, unceasing, surging note of the big dynamo. This lastnoise was from an engineering point of view a defect, but Azuma-ziaccounted it unto the monster for mightiness and pride.If it were possible we would have the noises of that shedalways about the reader as he reads, we would tell all our story tosuch an accompaniment. It was a steady stream of din, from whichthe ear picked out first one thread and then another; there was theintermittent snorting, panting, and seething of the steam engines,the suck and thud of their pistons, the dull beat on the air as thespokes of the great driving-wheels came round, a note the leatherstraps made as they ran tighter and looser, and a fretful tumultfrom the dynamos; and over all, sometimes inaudible, as the eartired of it, and then creeping back upon the senses again, was thistrombone note of the big machine. The floor never felt steady andquiet beneath one's feet, but quivered and jarred. It was aconfusing, unsteady place, and enough to send anyone's thoughtsjerking into odd zigzags. And for three months, while the bigstrike of the engineers was in progress, Holroyd, who was ablackleg, and Azuma-zi, who was a mere black, were never out of thestir and eddy of it, but slept and fed in the little wooden shantybetween the shed and the gates.Holroyd delivered a theological lecture on the text of his bigmachine soon after Azuma-zi came. He had to shout to be heard inthe din. "Look at that," said Holroyd; "where's your 'eathen idolto match 'im?" And Azuma-zi looked. For a moment Holroyd wasinaudible, and then Azuma-zi heard: "Kill a hundred men. Twelveper cent. on the ordinary shares," said Holroyd, "and that'ssomething like a Gord!"Holroyd was proud of his big dynamo, and expatiated upon itssize and power to Azuma-zi until heaven knows what odd currents ofthought that and the incessant whirling and shindy set up withinthe curly black cranium. He would explain in the most graphicmanner the dozen or so ways in which a man might be killed by it,and once he gave Azuma-zi a shock as a sample of its quality.After that, in the breathing-times of his labour--it was heavylabour, being not only his own, but most of Holroyd's--Azuma-ziwould sit and watch the big machine. Now and then the brusheswould sparkle and spit blue flashes, at which Holroyd would swear,but all the rest was as smooth and rhythmic as breathing. The bandran shouting over the shaft, and ever behind one as one watched wasthe complacent thud of the piston. So it lived all day in this bigairy shed, with him and Holroyd to wait upon it; not prisoned upand slaving to drive a ship as the other engines he knew--merecaptive devils of the British Solomon--had been, but a machineenthroned. Those two smaller dynamos, Azuma-zi by force ofcontrast despised; the large one he privately christened the Lordof the Dynamos. They were fretful and irregular, but the bigdynamo was steady. How great it was! How serene and easy in itsworking! Greater and calmer even than the Buddhas he had seen atRangoon, and yet not motionless, but living! The great black coilsspun, spun, spun, the rings ran round under the brushes, and thedeep note of its coil steadied the whole. It affected Azuma-ziqueerly.Azuma-zi was not fond of labour. He would sit about and watchthe Lord of the Dynamos while Holroyd went away to persuade theyard porter to get whisky, although his proper place was not in thedynamo shed but behind the engines, and, moreover, if Holroydcaught him skulking he got hit for it with a rod of stout copperwire. He would go and stand close to the colossus and look up atthe great leather band running overhead. There was a black patchon the band that came round, and it pleased him somehow among allthe clatter to watch this return again and again. Odd thoughtsspun with the whirl of it. Scientific people tell us that savagesgive souls to rocks and trees--and a machine is a thousand timesmore alive than a rock or a tree. And Azuma-zi was practically asavage still; the veneer of civilisation lay no deeper than hisslop suit, his bruises, and the coal grime on his face and hands.His father before him had worshipped a meteoric stone, kindredblood it may be had splashed the broad wheels of Juggernaut.He took every opportunity Holroyd gave him of touching andhand, ling the great dynamo that was fascinating him. He polishedand cleaned it until the metal parts were blinding in the sun. Hefelt a mysterious sense of service in doing this. He would go upto it and touch its spinning coils gently. The gods he hadworshipped were all far away. The people in London hid their gods.At last his dim feelings grew more distinct, and took shape inthoughts and at last in acts. When he came into the roaring shedone morning he salaamed to the Lord of the Dynamos, and then whenHolroyd was away, he went and whispered to the thundering machinethat he was its servant, and prayed it to have pity on him and savehim from Holroyd. As he did so a rare gleam of light came inthrough the open archway of the throbbing machine-shed, and theLord of the Dynamos, as he whirled and roared, was radiant withpale gold. Then Azuma-zi knew that his service was acceptable tohis Lord. After that he did not feel so lonely as he had done, andhe had indeed been very much alone in London. And even when hiswork time was over, which was rare, he loitered about the shed.Then, the next time Holroyd maltreated him, Azuma-zi wentpresently to the Lord of the Dynamos and whispered, "Thou seest, Omy Lord!" and the angry whir of the machinery seemed to answer him.Thereafter it appeared to him that whenever Holroyd came into theshed a different note came into the sounds of the dynamo. "My Lordbides his time," said Azuma-zi to himself. "The iniquity of thefool is not yet ripe." And he waited and watched for the day ofreckoning. One day there was evidence of short circuiting, andHolroyd, making an unwary examination--it was in the afternoon--gota rather severe shock. Azuma-zi from behind the engine saw himjump off and curse at the peccant coil."He is warned," said Azuma-zi to himself. "Surely my Lord isvery patient."Holroyd had at first initiated his "nigger" into suchelementary conceptions of the dynamo's working as would enable himto take temporary charge of the shed in his absence. But when henoticed the manner in which Azuma-zi hung about the monster hebecame suspicious. He dimly perceived his assistant was "up tosomething," and connecting him with the anointing of the coils withoil that had rotted the varnish in one place, he issued an edict,shouted above the confusion of the machinery, "Don't 'ee go nighthat big dynamo any more, Pooh-bah, or a'll take thy skin off!"Besides, if it pleased Azuma-zi to be near the big machine, it wasplain sense and decency to keep him away from it.Azuma-zi obeyed at the time, but later he was caught bowingbefore the Lord of the Dynamos. At which Holroyd twisted his armand kicked him as he turned to go away. As Azuma-zi presentlystood behind the engine and glared at the back of the hatedHolroyd, the noises of the machinery took a new rhythm, and soundedlike four words in his native tongue.It is hard to say exactly what madness is. I fancy Azuma-ziwas mad. The incessant din and whirl of the dynamo shed may havechurned up his little store of knowledge and his big store ofsuperstitious fancy, at last, into something akin to frenzy. Atany rate, when the idea of making Holroyd a sacrifice to the DynamoFetich was thus suggested to him, it filled him with a strangetumult of exultant emotion.That night the two men and their black shadows were alone inthe shed together. The shed was lit with one big arc light thatwinked and flickered purple. The shadows lay black behind thedynamos, the ball governors of the engines whirled from light todarkness, and their pistons beat loud and steady. The worldoutside seen through the open end of the shed seemed incredibly dimand remote. It seemed absolutely silent, too, since the riot ofthe machinery drowned every external sound. Far away was the blackfence of the yard with grey shadowy houses behind, and above wasthe deep blue sky and the pale little stars. Azuma-zi suddenlywalked across the centre of the shed above which the leather bandswere running, and went into the shadow by the big dynamo. Holroydheard a click, and the spin of the armature changed."What are you dewin' with that switch?" he bawled in surprise."Han't I told you--"Then he saw the set expression of Azuma-zi's eyes as theAsiatic came out of the shadow towards him.In another moment the two men were grappling fiercely in frontof the great dynamo."You coffee-headed fool!" gasped Holroyd, with a brown hand athis throat. "Keep off those contact rings." In another moment hewas tripped and reeling back upon the Lord of the Dynamos. Heinstinctively loosened his grip upon his antagonist to save himselffrom the machine.The messenger, sent in furious haste from the station to findout what had happened in the dynamo shed, met Azuma-zi at theporter's lodge by the gate. Azuma-zi tried to explain something,but the messenger could make nothing of the black's incoherentEnglish, and hurried on to the shed. The machines were all noisilyat work, and nothing seemed to be disarranged. There was, however,a queer smell of singed hair. Then he saw an odd-looking crumpledmass clinging to the front of the big dynamo, and, approaching,recognised the distorted remains of Holroyd.The man stared and hesitated a moment. Then he saw the face,and shut his eyes convulsively. He turned on his heel before heopened them, so that he should not see Holroyd again, and went outof the shed to get advice and help.When Azuma-zi saw Holroyd die in the grip of the Great Dynamohe had been a little scared about the consequences of his act. Yethe felt strangely elated, and knew that the favour of the LordDynamo was upon him. His plan was already settled when he met theman coming from the station, and the scientific manager whospeedily arrived on the scene jumped at the obvious conclusion ofsuicide. This expert scarcely noticed Azuma-zi, except to ask afew questions. Did he see Holroyd kill himself? Azuma-ziexplained that he had been out of sight at the engine furnace untilhe heard a difference in the noise from the dynamo. It was not adifficult examination, being untinctured by suspicion.The distorted remains of Holroyd, which the electricianremoved from the machine, were hastily covered by the porter witha coffee-stained tablecloth. Somebody, by a happy inspiration,fetched a medical man. The expert was chiefly anxious to get themachine at work again, for seven or eight trains had stopped midwayin the stuffy tunnels of the electric railway. Azuma-zi, answeringor misunderstanding the questions of the people who had byauthority or impudence come into the shed, was presently sent backto the stoke-hole by the scientific manager. Of course a crowdcollected outside the gates of the yard--a crowd, for no knownreason, always hovers for a day or two near the scene of a suddendeath in London; two or three reporters percolated somehow into theengine-shed, and one even got to Azuma-zi; but the scientificexpert cleared them out again, being himself an amateur journalist.Presently the body was carried away, and public interestdeparted with it. Azuma-zi remained very quietly at his furnace,seeing over and over again in the coals a figure that wriggledviolently and became still. An hour after the murder, to anyonecoming into the shed it would have looked exactly as if nothing hadever happened there. Peeping presently from his engine-room theblack saw the Lord Dynamo spin and whirl beside his littlebrothers, and the driving wheels were beating round, and the steamin the pistons went thud, thud, exactly as it had been earlier inthe evening. After all, from the mechanical point of view, it hadbeen a most insignificant incident--the mere temporary deflectionof a current. But now the slender form and slender shadow of thescientific manager replaced the sturdy outline of Holroydtravelling up and down the lane of light upon the vibrating floorunder the straps between the engines and the dynamos."Have I not served my Lord?" said Azuma-zi inaudibly, from hisshadow, and the note of the great dynamo rang out full and clear.As he looked at the big whirling mechanism the strange fascinationof it that had been a little in abeyance since Holroyd's death,resumed its sway.Never had Azuma-zi seen a man killed so swiftly andpitilessly. The big humming machine had slain its victim withoutwavering for a second from its steady beating. It was indeed amighty god.The unconscious scientific manager stood with his back to him,scribbling on a piece of paper. His shadow lay at the foot of themonster."Was the Lord Dynamo still hungry? His servant was ready."Azuma-zi made a stealthy step forward; then stopped. Thescientific manager suddenly stopped writing, and walked down theshed to the endmost of the dynamos, and began to examine thebrushes.Azuma-zi hesitated, and then slipped across noiselessly intoshadow by the switch. There he waited. Presently the manager'sfootsteps could be heard returning. He stopped in his oldposition, unconscious of the stoker crouching ten feet away fromhim. Then the big dynamo suddenly fizzled, and in another momentAzuma-zi had sprung out of the darkness upon him.First, the scientific manager was gripped round the body andswung towards the big dynamo, then, kicking with his knee andforcing his antagonist's head down with his hands, he loosened thegrip on his waist and swung round away from the machine. Then theblack grasped him again, putting a curly head against his chest,and they swayed and panted as it seemed for an age or so. Then thescientific manager was impelled to catch a black ear in his teethand bite furiously. The black yelled hideously.They rolled over on the floor, and the black, who hadapparently slipped from the vice of the teeth or parted with someear--the scientific manager wondered which at the time--tried tothrottle him. The scientific manager was making some ineffectualattempts to claw something with his hands and to kick, when thewelcome sound of quick footsteps sounded on the floor. The nextmoment Azuma-zi had left him and darted towards the big dynamo.There was a splutter amid the roar.The officer of the company who had entered, stood staring asAzuma-zi caught the naked terminals in his hands, gave one horribleconvulsion, and then hung motionless from the machine, his faceviolently distorted."I'm jolly glad you came in when you did," said the scientificmanager, still sitting on the floor.He looked at the still quivering figure."It's not a nice death to die, apparently--but it is quick."The official was still staring at the body. He was a man ofslow apprehension.There was a pause.The scientific manager got up on his feet rather awkwardly.He ran his fingers along his collar thoughtfully, and moved hishead to and fro several times."Poor Holroyd! I see now." Then almost mechanically he wenttowards the switch in the shadow and turned the current into therailway circuit again. As he did so the singed body loosened itsgrip upon the machine and fell forward on its face. The core ofthe dynamo roared out loud and clear, and the armature beat theair.So ended prematurely the Worship of the Dynamo Deity, perhapsthe most short-lived of all religions. Yet withal it could atleast boast a Martyrdom and a Human Sacrifice.
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