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Updated: June 19, 2025
The agent of experience is still retained in the person of Bert Smallways, but the restrictions imposed by the report of an eye-witness have become too limiting, and, like Hardy in The Dynasts, Mr Wells alternates between a near and a distant vision.
"Wake up," he said to Smallways' stare, "and lie down decent." Bert sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Any more fightin' yet?" he asked. "No," said Kurt, and sat down, a tired man. "Gott!" he cried presently, rubbing his hands over his face, "but I'd like a cold bath! I've been looking for stray bullet holes in the air-chambers all night until now." He yawned. "I must sleep.
And it buzzes, and don't drive about so. What can those things do?" Kurt was not very clear upon that himself, and was still explaining when Bert was called to the conference we have recorded with the Prince. And after that was over, the last traces of Butteridge fell from Bert like a garment, and he became Smallways to all on board.
"Like being certain. "I know," he repeated, and for a time they walked in silence towards the waterfall. Kurt, wrapped in his thoughts, walked heedlessly, and at last broke out again. "I've always felt young before, Smallways, but this morning I feel old old. So old! Nearer to death than old men feel. And I've always thought life was a lark.
"She was beautiful and daring and shy, Mein Gott! I can hardly hold myself for the desire to see her and hear her voice again before I die. Where is she?... Look here, Smallways, I shall write a sort of letter And there's her portrait." He touched his breast pocket. "You'll see 'er again all right," said Bert. "No!
Stringer nodded his head approvingly, and for a time they continued to regard the swelling bulks with expressions that had changed from indifference to disapproval. Mr. Tom Smallways was a green-grocer by trade and a gardener by disposition; his little wife Jessica saw to the shop, and Heaven had planned him for a peaceful world. Unfortunately Heaven had not planned a peaceful world for him.
But the Drachenflieger were away in the second great aeronautic park east of Hamburg, and Bert Smallways saw nothing of them in the bird's-eye view he took of the Franconian establishment before they shot him down very neatly. The bullet tore past him and made a sort of pop as it pierced his balloon a pop that was followed by a rustling sigh and a steady downward movement.
Of all these world-forces and gigantic designs Bert Smallways knew nothing until he found himself in the very focus of it all and gaped down amazed on the spectacle of that giant herd of air-ships. Each one seemed as long as the Strand, and as big about as Trafalgar Square. Some must have been a third of a mile in length.
Scalding water squirting, fire, and the smash, smash of the guns! They smash when you're near! Like everything bursting to pieces! Wool won't stop it nothing! And me up here so near and so far! Der alte Barbarossa!" "Any other ships?" asked Smallways, presently. "Gott! Yes! We've lost the Karl der Grosse, our best and biggest.
Smallways woke the next night to discover the cabin in darkness, a draught blowing through it, and Kurt talking to himself in German. He could see him dimly by the window, which he had unscrewed and opened, peering down. That cold, clear, attenuated light which is not so much light as a going of darkness, which casts inky shadows and so often heralds the dawn in the high air, was on his face.
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