When the World Shook
Being an Account of the Great Adventure
of Bastin, Bickley and Arbuthnot
by H. Rider Haggard
DEDICATION
Ditchingham, 1918.
MY DEAR CURZON,
More than thirty years ago you tried to protect me, then a
stranger to you, from one of the falsest and most malignant
accusations ever made against a writer.
So complete was your exposure of the methods of those at work
to blacken a person whom they knew to be innocent, that, as you
will remember, they refused to publish your analysis which
destroyed their charges and, incidentally, revealed their
motives.
Although for this reason vindication came otherwise, your
kindness is one that I have never forgotten, since, whatever the
immediate issue of any effort, in the end it is the intention
that avails.
Therefore in gratitude and memory I ask you to accept this
romance, as I know that you do not disdain the study of romance
in the intervals of your Imperial work.
The application of its parable to our state and possibilities--
beneath or beyond these glimpses of the moon--I leave to your
discernment.
Believe me,
Ever sincerely yours,
H. RIDER HAGGARD.
To
The Earl Curzon of Kedleston, K.G.
When the World Shook
Chapter I
Arbuthnot Describes Himself
I suppose that I, Humphrey Arbuthnot, should begin this history
in which Destiny has caused me to play so prominent a part, with
some short account of myself and of my circumstances.
I was born forty years ago in this very Devonshire village in
which I write, but not in the same house. Now I live in the
Priory, an ancient place and a fine one in its way, with its
panelled rooms, its beautiful gardens where, in this mild
climate, in addition to our own, flourish so many plants which
one would only expect to find in countries that lie nearer to the
sun, and its green, undulating park studded with great timber
trees. The view, too, is perfect; behind and around the rich
Devonshire landscape with its hills and valleys and its scarped
faces of red sandstone, and at a distance in front, the sea.
There are little towns quite near too, that live for the most
part on visitors, but these are so hidden away by the contours of
the ground that from the Priory one cannot see them. Such is
Fulcombe where I live, though for obvious reasons I do not give
it its real name.
Many years ago my father, the Rev. Humphrey Arbuthnot, whose
only child I am, after whom also I am named Humphrey, was the
vicar of this place with which our family is said to have some
rather vague hereditary connection. If so, it was severed in the
Carolian times because my ancestors fought on the side of
Parliament.
My father was a recluse, and a widower, for my mother, a
Scotswoman, died at or shortly after my birth. Being very High
Church for those days he was not popular with the family that
owned the Priory before me. Indeed its head, a somewhat vulgar
person of the name of Enfield who had made money in trade, almost
persecuted him, as he was in a position to do, being the local
magnate and the owner of the rectorial tithes.
I mention this fact because owing to it as a boy I made up my
mind that one day I would buy that place and sit in his seat, a
wild enough idea at the time. Yet it became engrained in me, as
do such aspirations of our youth, and when the opportunity arose
in after years I carried it out. Poor old Enfield! He fell on
evil fortunes, for in trying to bolster up a favourite son who
was a gambler, a spendthrift, and an ungrateful scamp, in the end
he was practically ruined and when the bad times came, was forced
to sell the Fulcombe estate. I think of him kindly now, for after
all he was good to me and gave me many a day's shooting and leave
to fish for trout in the river.
By the poor people, however, of all the district round, for the
parish itself is very small, my father was much beloved, although
he did practise confession, wear vestments and set lighted
candles on the altar, and was even said to have openly expressed
the wish, to which however he never attained, that he could see a
censer swinging in the chancel. Indeed the church which, as monks
built it, is very large and fine, was always full on Sundays,
though many of the worshippers came from far away, some of them
doubtless out of curiosity because of its papistical repute, also
because, in a learned fashion, my father's preaching was very
good indeed.
For my part I feel that I owe much to these High-Church views.
They opened certain doors to me and taught me something of the
mysteries which lie at the back of all religions and therefore
have their home in the inspired soul of man whence religions are
born. Only the pity is that in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred
he never discovers, never even guesses at that entombed
aspiration, never sinks a shaft down on to this secret but most
precious vein of ore.
I have said that my father was learned; but this is a mild
description, for never did I know anyone quite so learned. He was
one of those men who is so good all round that he became
preeminent-eminent in nothing. A classic of the first water, a very
respectable mathematician, an expert in theology, a student of
sundry foreign languages and literature in his lighter moments,
an inquirer into sociology, a theoretical musician though his
playing of the organ excruciated most people because it was too
correct, a really first-class authority upon flint instruments
and the best grower of garden vegetables in the county, also of
apples--such were some of his attainments. That was what made his
sermons so popular, since at times one or the other of these
subjects would break out into them, his theory being that God
spoke to us through all of these things.
But if I began to drift into an analysis of my father's
abilities, I should never stop. It would take a book to describe
them. And yet mark this, with them all his name is as dead to the
world to-day as though he had never been. Light reflected from a
hundred facets dissipates itself in space and is lost; that
concentrated in one tremendous ray pierces to the stars.
Now I am going to be frank about myself, for without frankness
what is the value of such a record as this? Then it becomes
simply another convention, or rather conventional method of
expressing the octoroon kind of truths with which the highly
civilised races feed themselves, as fastidious ladies eat cakes
and bread from which all but the smallest particle of nourishment
has been extracted.
The fact is, therefore, that I inherited most of my father's
abilities, except his love for flint instruments which always
bored me to distraction, because although they are by association
really the most human of things, somehow to me they never convey
any idea of humanity. In addition I have a practical side which
he lacked; had he possessed it surely he must have become an
archbishop instead of dying the vicar of an unknown parish. Also
I have a spiritual sense, mayhap mystical would be a better term,
which with all this religion was missing from my father's nature.
For I think that notwithstanding his charity and devotion he
never quite got away from the shell of things, never cracked it
and set his teeth in the kernel which alone can feed our souls.
His keen intellect, to take an example, recognised every one of
the difficulties of our faith and flashed hither and thither in
the darkness, seeking explanation, seeking light, trying to
reconcile, to explain. He was not great enough to put all this
aside and go straight to the informing Soul beneath that strives
to express itself everywhere, even through those husks which are
called the World, the Flesh and the Devil, and as yet does not
always quite succeed.
It is this boggling over exteriors, this peering into pitfalls,
this desire to prove that what such senses as we have tell us is
impossible, is in fact possible, which causes the overthrow of
many an earnest, seeking heart and renders its work, conducted on
false lines, quite nugatory. These will trust to themselves and
their own intelligence and not be content to spring from the
cliffs of human experience into the everlasting arms of that
Infinite which are stretched out to receive them and to give them
rest and the keys of knowledge. When will man learn what was
taught to him of old, that faith is the only plank wherewith he
can float upon this sea and that his miserable works avail him
nothing; also that it is a plank made of many sorts of wood,
perhaps to suit our different weights?
So to be honest, in a sense I believe myself to be my father's
superior, and I know that he agreed with me. Perhaps this is
owing to the blood of my Scotch mother which mixed well with his
own; perhaps because the essential spirit given to me, though
cast in his mould, was in fact quite different--or of another
alloy. Do we, I wonder, really understand that there are millions
and billions of these alloys, so many indeed that Nature, or
whatever is behind Nature, never uses the same twice over? That
is why no two human beings are or ever will be quite identical.
Their flesh, the body of their humiliation, is identical in all,
any chemist will prove it to you, but that which animates the
flesh is distinct and different because it comes from the home of
that infinite variety which is necessary to the ultimate
evolution of the good and bad that we symbolise as heaven and
hell.
Further, I had and to a certain extent still have another
advantage over my father, which certainly came to me from my
mother, who was, as I judge from all descriptions and such
likenesses as remain of her, an extremely handsome woman. I was
born much better looking. He was small and dark, a little man
with deep-set eyes and beetling brows. I am also dark, but tall
above the average, and well made. I do not know that I need say
more about my personal appearance, to me not a very attractive
subject, but the fact remains that they called me "handsome
Humphrey" at the University, and I was the captain of my college
boat and won many prizes at athletic sports when I had time to
train for them.
Until I went up to Oxford my father educated me, partly because
he knew that he could do it better than anyone else, and partly
to save school expenses. The experiment was very successful, as my
love of all outdoor sports and of any small hazardous adventure
that came to my hand, also of associating with fisherfolk whom
the dangers of the deep make men among men, saved me from
becoming a milksop. For the rest I learned more from my father,
whom I always desired to please because I loved him, than I
should have done at the best and most costly of schools. This was
shown when at last I went to college with a scholarship, for
there I did very well indeed, as search would still reveal.
Here I had better set out some of my shortcomings, which in
their sum have made a failure of me. Yes, a failure in the
highest sense, though I trust what Stevenson calls "a faithful
failure." These have their root in fastidiousness and that lack
of perseverance, which really means a lack of faith, again using
the word in its higher and wider sense. For if one had real faith
one would always persevere, knowing that in every work undertaken
with high aim, there is an element of nobility, however humble
and unrecognised that work may seem to be. God after all is the
God of Work, it is written large upon the face of the Universe. I
will not expand upon the thought; it would lead me too far
afield, but those who have understanding will know what I mean.
As regards what I interpret as fastidiousness, this is not very
easy to express. Perhaps a definition will help. I am like a man
with an over-developed sense of smell, who when walking through a
foreign city, however clean and well kept, can always catch the
evil savours that are inseparable from such cities. More, his
keen perception of them interferes with all other perceptions and
spoils his walks. The result is that in after years, whenever he
thinks of that beautiful city, he remembers, not its historic
buildings or its wide boulevards, or whatever it has to boast,
but rather its ancient, fish-like smell. At least he remembers
that first owing to this defect in his temperament.
So it is with everything. A lovely woman is spoiled for such a
one because she eats too much or has too high a voice; he does
not care for his shooting because the scenery is flat, or for his
fishing because the gnats bite as well as the trout. In short he
is out of tune with the world as it is. Moreover, this is a
quality which, where it exists, cannot be overcome; it affects
day-labourers as well as gentlemen at large. It is bred in the
bone.
Probably the second failure-breeding fault, lack of
perseverance, has its roots in the first, at any rate in my case.
At least on leaving college with some reputation, I was called to
the Bar where, owing to certain solicitor and other connections,
I had a good opening. Also, owing to the excellence of my memory
and powers of work, I began very well, making money even during
my first year. Then, as it happened, a certain case came my way
and, my leader falling ill suddenly after it was opened, was left
in my hands. The man whose cause I was pleading was, I think, one
of the biggest scoundrels it is possible to conceive. It was a
will case and if he won, the effect would be to beggar two most
estimable middle-aged women who were justly entitled to the
property, to which end personally I am convinced he had committed
forgery; the perjury that accompanied it I do not even mention.
Well, he did win, thanks to me, and the estimable middle-aged
ladies were beggared, and as I heard afterwards, driven to such
extremities that one of them died of her misery and the other
became a lodging-house keeper. The details do not matter, but I
may explain that these ladies were unattractive in appearance and
manner and broke down beneath my cross-examination which made
them appear to be telling falsehoods, whereas they were only
completely confused. Further, I invented an ingenious theory of
the facts which, although the judge regarded it with suspicion,
convinced an unusually stupid jury who gave me their verdict.
Everybody congratulated me and at the time I was triumphant,
especially as my leader had declared that our case was
impossible. Afterwards, however, my conscience smote me sorely,
so much so that arguing from the false premise of this business,
I came to the conclusion that the practice of the Law was not
suited to an honest man. I did not take the large view that such
matters average themselves up and that if I had done harm in this
instance, I might live to do good in many others, and perhaps
become a just judge, even a great judge. Here I may mention that
in after years, when I grew rich, I rescued that surviving old
lady from her lodging-house, although to this day she does not
know the name of her anonymous friend. So by degrees, without
saying anything, for I kept on my chambers, I slipped out of
practice, to the great disappointment of everybody connected with
me, and took to authorship.
A marvel came to pass, my first book was an enormous success.
The whole world talked of it. A leading journal, delighted to
have discovered someone, wrote it up; other journals followed
suit to be in the movement. One of them, I remember, which had
already dismissed it with three or four sneering lines, came out
with a second and two-column notice. It sold like wildfire and I
suppose had some merits, for it is still read, though few know
that I wrote it, since fortunately it was published under a
pseudonym.
Again I was much elated and set to work to write another and,
as I believe, a much better book. But jealousies had been excited
by this leaping into fame of a totally unknown person, which
were, moreover, accentuated through a foolish article that I
published in answer to some criticisms, wherein I spoke my mind
with an insane freedom and biting sarcasm. Indeed I was even mad
enough to quote names and to give the example of the very
powerful journal which at first carped at my work and then gushed
over it when it became the fashion. All of this made me many
bitter enemies, as I found out when my next book appeared.
It was torn to shreds, it was reviled as subversive of morality
and religion, good arrows in those days. It was called puerile,
half-educated stuff--I half-educated! More, an utterly false
charge of plagiarism was cooked up against me and so well and
venomously run that vast numbers of people concluded that I was a
thief of the lowest order. Lastly, my father, from whom the
secret could no longer be kept, sternly disapproved of both these
books which I admit were written from a very radical and somewhat
anti-church point of view. The result was our first quarrel and
before it was made up, he died suddenly.
Now again fastidiousness and my lack of perseverance did their
work, and solemnly I swore that I would never write another book,
an oath which I have kept till this moment, at least so far as
publication is concerned, and now break only because I consider
it my duty so to do and am not animated by any pecuniary object.
Thus came to an end my second attempt at carving out a career.
By now I had grown savage and cynical, rather revengeful also, I
fear. Knowing myself to possess considerable abilities in sundry
directions, I sat down, as it were, to think things over and
digest my past experiences. Then it was that the truth of a very
ancient adage struck upon my mind, namely, that money is power.
Had I sufficient money I could laugh at unjust critics for
example; indeed they or their papers would scarcely dare to
criticise me for fear lest it should be in my power to do them a
bad turn. Again I could follow my own ideas in life and perhaps
work good in the world, and live in such surroundings as
commended themselves to me. It was as clear as daylight, but--how
to make the money?
I had some capital as the result of my father's death, about
œ8,000 in all, plus a little more that my two books had brought
in. In what way could I employ it to the best advantage? I
remembered that a cousin of my father and therefore my own, was a
successful stock-broker, also that there had been some affection
between them. I went to him, he was a good, easy-natured man who
was frankly glad to see me, and offered to put œ5,000 into his
business, for I was not minded to risk every thing I had, if he
would give me a share in the profits. He laughed heartily at my
audacity.
"Why, my boy," he said, "being totally inexperienced at this
game, you might lose us more than that in a month. But I like
your courage, I like your courage, and the truth is that I do
want help. I will think it over and write to you."
He thought it over and in the end offered to try me for a year
at a fixed salary with a promise of some kind of a partnership if
I suited him. Meanwhile my œ5,000 remained in my pocket.
I accepted, not without reluctance since with the impatience of
youth I wanted everything at once. I worked hard in that office
and soon mastered the business, for my knowledge of figures--I
had taken a first-class mathematical degree at college--came to
my aid, as in a way did my acquaintance with Law and Literature.
Moreover I had a certain aptitude for what is called high
finance. Further, Fortune, as usual, showed me a favourable face.
In one year I got the partnership with a small share in the
large profits of the business. In two the partner above me
retired, and I took his place with a third share of the firm. In
three my cousin, satisfied that it was in able hands, began to
cease his attendance at the office and betook himself to
gardening which was his hobby. In four I paid him out altogether,
although to do this I had to borrow money on our credit, for by
agreement the title of the firm was continued. Then came that
extraordinary time of boom which many will remember to their
cost. I made a bold stroke and won. On a certain Saturday when
the books were made up, I found that after discharging all
liabilities, I should not be worth more than œ20,000. On the
following Saturday but two when the books were made up, I was
worth œ153,000! L'appetit vient en mangeant. It seemed nothing
to me when so many were worth millions.
For the next year I worked as few have done, and when I struck
a balance at the end of it, I found that on the most conservative
estimate I was the owner of a million and a half in hard cash, or
its equivalent. I was so tired out that I remember this discovery
did not excite me at all. I felt utterly weary of all wealth-
hunting and of the City and its ways. Moreover my old
fastidiousness and lack of perseverance re-asserted themselves. I
reflected, rather late in the day perhaps, on the ruin that this
speculation was bringing to thousands, of which some lamentable
instances had recently come to my notice, and once more
considered whether it were a suitable career for an upright man.
I had wealth; why should I not take it and enjoy life?
Also--and here my business acumen came in, I was sure that
these times could not last. It is easy to make money on a rising
market, but when it is falling the matter is very different. In
five minutes I made up my mind. I sent for my junior partners,
for I had taken in two, and told them that I intended to retire
at once. They were dismayed both at my loss, for really I was the
firm, and because, as they pointed out, if I withdrew all my
capital, there would not be sufficient left to enable them to
carry on.
One of them, a blunt and honest man, said to my face that it
would be dishonourable of me to do so. I was inclined to answer
him sharply, then remembered that his words were true.
"Very well," I said, "I will leave you œ600,000 on which you
shall pay me five per cent interest, but no share of the
profits."
On these terms we dissolved the partnership and in a year they
had lost the œ600,000, for the slump came with a vengeance. It
saved them, however, and to-day they are earning a reasonable
income. But I have never asked them for that œ600,000.
