The golden windmill, and other stories — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
The golden windmill, and other stories
John Stuart Mill · en
He found himself strapped in. The aviator was in a fever of anxiety
to get away. The engines made a ghastly splutter and noise. The thing
started running along the ground. Suddenly it shot upwards, giving the
swedes a last contemptuous kick. At twenty minutes to eight that morning
old Sam found himself being borne right up above his fields and out to
sea! His breath came quickly. He was a little frightened.
“God forgive me!” he murmured.
The thing was so fantastic and sudden, his mind could not grasp it. He
only felt in some vague way that he was going to die, and he struggled to
attune his mind to the change. He offered up a mild prayer to God, Who,
he felt, must be very near, somewhere up in these clouds. Automatically
he thought of the vicar at Halvesham, and a certain sense of comfort came
to him at the reflection that on the previous day he had taken a “cooking
of runner beans” to God’s representative in that village. He felt calmer
after that, but the horrid machine seemed to go higher and higher. He
could not turn in his seat and he could see nothing but sea and sky. Of
course the man was mad, mad as a March hare. Of what earthly use could
_he_ be to any one? Besides, he had talked pure gibberish, and called him
Paul Something, when he had already told him that his name was Sam. The
thing would fall down into the sea soon, and they would both be drowned.
Well, well! He had reached the three-score years and ten.
He was protected by a screen, but it seemed very cold. What on earth
would Mr. Dodge say? There was no one left to work the land but a fool
of a boy named Billy Whitehead at Deric’s Cross. On, on, on they went
at a furious pace. His thoughts danced disconnectedly from incidents of
his youth, conversations with the vicar, hearty meals in the open, a
frock his sister wore on the day of the postman’s wedding, the drone of a
psalm, the illness of some ewes belonging to Mr. Dodge. Everything seemed
to be moving very rapidly, upsetting his sense of time. He felt outraged
and yet at moments there was something entrancing in the wild experience.
He seemed to be living at an incredible pace. Perhaps he was really dead,
and on his way to the Kingdom of God? Perhaps this was the way they took
people?