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Chapter V. The Dead World
ItisaglimpsewhichwehadoftheinterioroftheoldchurchofSt.Mary’s,whichisattheverypointwhereourcarwasawaitingus.Pickingourwayamongtheprostratefiguresuponthesteps,wepushedopentheswingdoorandentered.Itwasawonderfulsight.Thechurchwascrammedfromendtoendwithkneelingfiguresineverypostureofsupplicationandabasement.Atthelastdreadfulmoment,broughtsuddenlyfacetofacewiththerealitiesoflife,thoseterrificrealitieswhichhangoverusevenwhilewefollowtheshadows,theterrifiedpeoplehadrushedintothoseoldcitychurcheswhichforgenerationshadhardlyeverheldacongregation.Theretheyhuddledascloseastheycouldkneel,manyofthemintheiragitationstillwearingtheirhats,whileabovetheminthepulpitayoungmaninlaydresshadapparentlybeenaddressingthemwhenheandtheyhadbeenoverwhelmedbythesamefate.Helaynow,likePunchinhisbooth,withhisheadandtwolimparmshangingovertheledgeofthepulpit.Itwasanightmare,thegrey,dustychurch,therowsofagonizedfigures,thedimnessandsilenceofitall.Wemovedaboutwithhushedwhispers,walkinguponourtip-toes.
AndthensuddenlyIhadanidea.Atonecornerofthechurch,nearthedoor,stoodtheancientfont,andbehinditadeeprecessinwhichtherehungtheropesforthebell-ringers.WhyshouldwenotsendamessageoutoverLondonwhichwouldattracttousanyonewhomightstillbealive?Iranacross,andpullingatthelist-coveredrope,Iwassurprisedtofindhowdifficultitwastoswingthebell.LordJohnhadfollowedme.
