Again and again was the gesture repeated, the man falling back from her
at each movement. Towards the door he retreated, she following. There
was a sound as of the cooing sob of doves, which seemed to multiply and
intensify with each second. The sound from the unseen source rose and
rose as he retreated, till finally it swelled out in a triumphant peal,
as she with a fierce sweep of her arm, seemed to hurl something at her
foe, and he, moving his hands blindly before his face, appeared to be
swept through the doorway and out into the open sunlight. "All at once my own faculties were fully restored; I could see and hear
everything, and be fully conscious of what was going on. Even the
figures of the baleful group were there, though dimly seen as through a
veil--a shadowy veil. I saw Lilla sink down in a swoon, and Mimi throw
up her arms in a gesture of triumph. As I saw her through the great
window, the sunshine flooded the landscape, which, however, was
momentarily becoming eclipsed by an onrush of a myriad birds." By the next morning, daylight showed the actual danger which threatened. From every part of the eastern counties reports were received concerning
the enormous immigration of birds. Experts were sending--on their own
account, on behalf of learned societies, and through local and imperial
governing bodies--reports dealing with the matter, and suggesting
remedies. The reports closer to home were even more disturbing. All day long it
would seem that the birds were coming thicker from all quarters. Doubtless many were going as well as coming, but the mass seemed never to
get less. Each bird seemed to sound some note of fear or anger or
seeking, and the whirring of wings never ceased nor lessened. The air
was full of a muttered throb. No window or barrier could shut out the
sound, till the ears of any listener became dulled by the ceaseless
murmur. So monotonous it was, so cheerless, so disheartening, so
melancholy, that all longed, but in vain, for any variety, no matter how
terrible it might be. The second morning the reports from all the districts round were more
alarming than ever. Farmers began to dread the coming of winter as they
saw the dwindling of the timely fruitfulness of the earth. And as yet it
was only a warning of evil, not the evil accomplished; the ground began
to look bare whenever some passing sound temporarily frightened the
birds. Edgar Caswall tortured his brain for a long time unavailingly, to think
of some means of getting rid of what he, as well as his neighbours, had
come to regard as a plague of birds. At last he recalled a circumstance
which promised a solution of the difficulty. The experience was of some
years ago in China, far up-country, towards the head-waters of the Yang-
tze-kiang, where the smaller tributaries spread out in a sort of natural
irrigation scheme to supply the wilderness of paddy-fields. It was at
the time of the ripening rice, and the myriads of birds which came to
feed on the coming crop was a serious menace, not only to the district,
but to the country at large. The farmers, who were more or less
afflicted with the same trouble every season, knew how to deal with it. They made a vast kite, which they caused to be flown over the centre spot
of the incursion. The kite was shaped like a great hawk; and the moment
it rose into the air the birds began to cower and seek protection--and
then to disappear. So long as that kite was flying overhead the birds
lay low and the crop was saved. Accordingly Caswall ordered his men to
construct an immense kite, adhering as well as they could to the lines of
a hawk. Then he and his men, with a sufficiency of cord, began to fly it
high overhead. The experience of China was repeated. The moment the
kite rose, the birds hid or sought shelter. The following morning, the
kite was still flying high, no bird was to be seen as far as the eye
could reach from Castra Regis. But there followed in turn what proved
even a worse evil. All the birds were cowed; their sounds stopped. Neither song nor chirp was heard--silence seemed to have taken the place
of the normal voices of bird life. But that was not all. The silence
spread to all animals. The fear and restraint which brooded amongst the denizens of the air
began to affect all life. Not only did the birds cease song or chirp,
but the lowing of the cattle ceased in the fields and the varied sounds
of life died away. In place of these things was only a soundless gloom,
more dreadful, more disheartening, more soul-killing than any concourse
of sounds, no matter how full of fear and dread. Pious individuals put
up constant prayers for relief from the intolerable solitude. After a
little there were signs of universal depression which those who ran might
read. One and all, the faces of men and women seemed bereft of vitality,
of interest, of thought, and, most of all, of hope. Men seemed to have
lost the power of expression of their thoughts. The soundless air seemed
to have the same effect as the universal darkness when men gnawed their
tongues with pain. From this infliction of silence there was no relief. Everything was
affected; gloom was the predominant note. Joy appeared to have passed
away as a factor of life, and this creative impulse had nothing to take
its place. That giant spot in high air was a plague of evil influence. It seemed like a new misanthropic belief which had fallen on human
beings, carrying with it the negation of all hope. After a few days, men began to grow desperate; their very words as well
as their senses seemed to be in chains. Edgar Caswall again tortured his
brain to find any antidote or palliative of this greater evil than
before. He would gladly have destroyed the kite, or caused its flying to
cease; but the instant it was pulled down, the birds rose up in even
greater numbers; all those who depended in any way on agriculture sent
pitiful protests to Castra Regis. It was strange indeed what influence that weird kite seemed to exercise. Even human beings were affected by it, as if both it and they were
realities. As for the people at Mercy Farm, it was like a taste of
actual death. Lilla felt it most. If she had been indeed a real dove,
with a real kite hanging over her in the air, she could not have been
more frightened or more affected by the terror this created. Of course, some of those already drawn into the vortex noticed the effect
on individuals. Those who were interested took care to compare their
information. Strangely enough, as it seemed to the others, the person
who took the ghastly silence least to heart was the negro. By nature he
was not sensitive to, or afflicted by, nerves. This alone would not have
produced the seeming indifference, so they set their minds to discover
the real cause.