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Title: The marvellous land of Snergs
Author: Edward Augustine Wyke-Smith
Illustrator: George Morrow
Release date: March 5, 2026 [eBook #78120]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Ernest Benn Limited, 1927
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78120
Credits: Hendrik Kaiber and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MARVELLOUS LAND OF SNERGS ***
_The Marvellous Land
of Snergs_
_by_ E. A. WYKE SMITH
AUTHOR OF “SOME PIRATES AND MARMADUKE”
“THE LAST OF THE BARON,” ETC.
_illustrated by_
GEORGE MORROW
_London
Ernest Benn Limited
Bouverie House Fleet Street_
1927
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
_To
My Daughter_
NINA
_A List of the Chapters_
PART I
PAGE
1. A Place apart 1
2. Miss Watkyns 2
3. Ways and Means 4
4. The Snergs 7
5. Sylvia 11
6. Joe 13
7. Vanderdecken and his Men 14
8. How the Adventure started 19
9. How it really began 21
10. The Turret Chamber 23
11. How Joe bore Captivity 24
12. The Forest Land 29
13. The Dawn 33
14. Gorbo the Snerg 35
15. The Town 38
16. The Royal House 40
17. The King of the Snergs 41
18. The Feast 45
19. A Morning Walk 47
20. The Twisted Trees 50
PART II
21. Trouble at Watkyns Bay 57
22. Beyond the Door 60
23. The Mushroom Cavern 63
24. The other side of the River 71
25. Golithos the Ogre 73
26. Dinner with Golithos 76
27. Golithos explains 80
28. The Upstairs Room 82
29. Gorbo’s Doubts 84
30. Golithos is tempted 86
31. Beyond the Tower 89
32. The Knight Errant 90
33. Sir Percival’s Job 95
34. The Mysterious Castle 96
35. Sir Percival’s Annoyance 99
36. The Castle Kitchen 100
37. Breakfast 101
38. A Terrible Moment 103
39. More Trouble 104
40. The Sorrows of Baldry 107
41. The Dark Woods 113
42. Mother Meldrum’s House 115
43. More Sorrow for Baldry 119
44. A Change of Tone 121
45. Dinner with a Witch 122
46. The Spare Bedroom 125
47. What happened in the Night 127
48. The Green Ride 132
49. Captives 137
PART III
50. The Doings at Home 139
51. The Ingenuity of Vanderdecken 141
52. How they passed over the River 142
53. Boot and Saddle 144
54. The First Day’s March 145
55. The Mysterious Castle again 146
56. How Gorbo gathered Mandrakes 151
57. The Cozening of Gorbo 158
58. A Fearful Bargain 162
59. Captives on the Road 165
60. King Kul I 167
61. A Change of Clothes at last 171
62. Another Meal with Royalty 173
63. A Stinger 174
64. The Morning after 177
65. The Invasion 179
66. An Historic Meeting 181
67. Necessary Explanations 182
68. Baldry’s Sentence 184
69. Royal Clemency 187
70. The Next Day 189
71. And the Day after that 190
72. Captives again 194
73. The Barren Rocks 200
74. How Gorbo found the Way 203
75. The Reform of Golithos 206
76. Mother Meldrum goes 208
77. All Troubles over 210
78. Back across the River 213
79. Back to the Town 214
80. Back to Watkyns Bay 215
81. To finish up 217
The Marvellous Land of Snergs
_Part I_
A PLACE APART
If any seafaring person, such as a yachtsman, were to sail round the
corner of Watkyns Bay in the morning, he would find large numbers of
children playing in the water, and would be either pleased or depressed
at the sight according to the way his nature was originally formed.
Certainly he would wonder how they came to be there, in such a lonely
place and so very much at home, the little ones splashing about in the
shallow parts and chasing each other over the sand, and the bigger
ones swimming out to rafts and diving from them, and all shouting and
squeaking. But this is a case of supposing, for no yacht or any other
vessel will ever round the corner of the bay and no sail will ever
be seen on the skyline, the reason being that it is the land of the
S.R.S.C. and therefore a place set apart. If a yachtsman were ever
tempted to sail in that direction he would be met by baffling winds
from the nor’-east, alternating with baffling winds from the sou’-west,
and this, combined with the prevalence of waterspouts, would make him
repent of his purpose, and he could consider himself lucky if he got
out of those waters lashed to what was left of the mast.
There is one exception to the rule that no outsider can sail near
there, and that is the case of Vanderdecken and his men, who put in and
camped some two and a half miles north of the bay. Owing to his rash
oath that he would beat round the Cape of Good Hope if he beat round
it till Doomsday he found himself doing so, and though this was rough
luck on his crew, who had not made any rash oaths, naturally they had
to beat round with him. It is supposed that the curse wore thin after a
few hundred years; at any rate they managed to slip into the waters of
the S.R.S.C. during the vernal equinox, and there they are now, camped
in little huts, with the ship anchored in the mouth of a river and in a
shocking state of barnacles.
MISS WATKYNS
The bay is named after Miss Watkyns, who is not only the Principal
but the originator of the S.R.S.C., or Society for the Removal of
Superfluous Children. Like a good many ladies who have no children
of their own she was greatly interested in them, and being a little
interfering in her ways she became in time a noted figure in police
courts and was often laughed at by the public. This brought her in
contact with other ladies similarly disposed and finally the Society
was formed, its object being the removal of children who are obviously
not wanted by their parents, or parent, as the case may be. The
greatest care is taken to avoid mistakes, but once a child is removed
it is never returned, and it soon forgets what happened when it was
with its parents (or parent) for the air of the place is splendid for
forgetting. There are cases where, after some years with the Society
(or what would be some years if time counted there in the ordinary
way), a child is delivered over to some person who ardently desires
one; but the selection of such a person needs even greater care to
avoid mistakes.
[Illustration]
Miss Watkyns is a lady of intelligence far above the ordinary, and
in addition to being a great organizer she has no mean knowledge of
the sciences. These qualities enabled her not only to discover the
existence of the Land of the Snergs (in itself a marvellous piece of
brain work) but also how to get there without a nasty spill. I do not
propose to go into details of how she managed this (as it would take a
book twice as long as this one) but will merely state that she admitted
into the Society twenty-two carefully selected ladies (each of whom had
four or five children ready to be removed from their homes without
notice) and made the most careful preparations for transferring them
all to the new land.
It was arranged that each lady should come with one well wrapped up
superfluous child, as this would be all that they could carry at one
time and the rest could be fetched later. They were to bring also for
each one a bundle containing blankets, woollies, and two combination
suits of wear-resisting fabric, and to use their discretion with regard
to small extras, such as wash rags, fine tooth combs and the like.
All went excellently. They met on Hampstead Heath one blowy October
night at 11.30, and by 12.15 Miss Watkyns had inspected and passed all
bundles and seen that all hands had taken a cup of hot milk or cocoa.
Then she gave the word and away they all went on a high wind.
From this slight beginning grew the organization of the S.R.S.C. as
it is to-day, with 478 superfluous children under its care and more
coming. As this is purely a narrative of the extraordinary adventures
that befell two of the children owing to their foolish disregard of the
laws so wisely made for their benefit (a narrative which should not be
without improving effect on the minds of my younger readers), I will
not give more than a brief account of the ways and means by which the
Society attains its object.
WAYS AND MEANS
The children are divided into two classes, according to size and age.
The little ones wear one-piece garments known as the “slip-on,” which
have the advantage that they can be slipped off for bathing with one
wriggle. The older ones wear two-piece garments; the boys having shorts
and shirts and the girls skirts and blouses. Woolly coats are worn
in the cold weather, which lasts only for a few seasonable weeks at
Christmas time. For most of the year they do not wear shoes, but what
are called slinkers.
The houses are on the higher ground just behind Watkyns Bay, and are
all of one story. They are made of a criss-cross framework of timbers,
with walls of clay mixed with little mashed-up shells in between the
timbers, very strong and neat in appearance. Inside, the walls are
plastered and painted light pink or blue. Behind the houses there
is a wide stretch of turf, on which are swings and arrangements for
healthful games such as net-ball and bumble-puppy. Not far away the
forest begins with few trees at first and mostly bushes, where they
play at pretence Indians and Robin Hood and so forth; but the trees
soon grow thicker and thicker until it is quite shady even at midday
in some parts. A pleasant place, with soft lawns here and there and a
variety of ferns, but it is not wise to let the children roam about
there too much for it is quite easy to get lost. Beyond the forest, a
long day’s march away, is the town of the Snergs, who built the houses
for the Society as well as doing other useful things of which I will
give an account later.
Each house has a protecting fence twelve feet from the walls to
keep away the cinnamon bears, who live in the forest and who form
friendships with the children when on their walks. This is all very
well in its way, but the bears had the habit of trying to get into
the houses at night, and, when they found the doors shut, of lying
down outside and rubbing against the walls at intervals, which kept
the children awake and made them giggle and whisper in a silly way,
so the fence was put up. The bears are of fair size, with softish
fur smelling slightly of cinnamon, hence the name. They must not be
confused with the large grizzly bears which, rumour has it, live beyond
the deep river on the other side of the Snerg country, as also tigers,
unicorns, a dragon or two, and other creatures full of original sin.
With the exception of the very little ones each child has to attend
to its own bed, and on Saturdays to refill the mattresses with little
buds like hops, which have a pleasant aromatic smell and induce sleep.
The old hops are thrown out on the beach at high tide. Saturday is the
clean-up time. Lockers are tidied, pinafores are ironed, and puppies
and other animals that need it are washed with soap; altogether there
is a good deal of what the Gentlemen of the Life Guards call spit and
polish, so as to be ready for Sunday. The smallest children have beds
with rockers, Miss Watkyns having little patience with new-fangled
ideas about not rocking children.
A good deal of worry and argument has been caused by the amount of
animal life in and round about the houses. There is a craze for pets,
and Miss Watkyns’ attempt to limit at the rate of one pet animal to
each three children resulted in quarrels and sulking in corners, and
finally it came to the rule of one child one animal. Puppies, kittens
and small rabbits are the most popular; badgers are discouraged. At one
time the elder children got excited over a recitation from the poets
concerning a girl who owned a lamb which followed her about everywhere,
even to school, where it made the other scholars laugh, and after that
it was nothing but lambs. At length Miss Watkyns decided that only
those who showed perfect behaviour for a month could have one, and that
limited the number right enough. At the end of the month only two smug
little girls had qualified for lambs, and by that time the rage for
mongeese had come up.
Another source of trouble over animals is the food question. The
ladies as a rule are rather sentimental in their ideas and it needed
all the firmness and common sense of Miss Watkyns to prevent a wave
of sloppiness passing over the Society and damaging the children’s
character and insides. Some even went to the length of proposing that
the food should consist entirely of bread, butter, milk, and green
stuff; and the experiment was actually tried for a time, with the
result that the children broke out in pimples. Then fish diet was
added, it being supposed that fish feel no pain when they are caught,
only a little regret, but this was also a failure; the little ones’
systems still cried out for meat and gravy in moderation. Finally, Miss
Watkyns put her foot down firmly and arranged that a supply of sheep
and hares, etc., be delivered at regular intervals by the Snergs, who
are not at all sentimental about killing animals; in fact they rather
like it, being great hunters.
THE SNERGS
The Snergs are a race of people only slightly taller than the average
table but broad in the shoulders and of great strength. Probably
they are some offshoot of the pixies who once inhabited the hills
and forests of England, and who finally disappeared about the reign
of Henry VIII. Their language is not very difficult and the children
especially learn to speak it in a few weeks, which helps to strengthen
my theory of their origin. The ladies, however, never learn to speak
the language with fluency, and the little slang expressions are quite
beyond them; but owing to the untiring energy of Miss Watkyns, that
brainy woman, they now have a little Snerg grammar, with a vocabulary
and some easy exercises.
The Snergs took a great interest in the Society’s development and
offered their services at an early date. It soon came to pass that they
did all the heavy work, such as building (at which they are expert),
gardening, painting and decorating, and the more troublesome part of
the housework, such as swabbing floors. They come in batches and spend
some weeks at work; then they say they are homesick, which means they
have got tired of it, and they go home as soon as another batch can
take their place. In return for these services they receive instruction
in up-to-date methods from Miss Watkyns’ Encyclopædia, little presents
from London or some other large town when one of the ladies has gone
there on business, and those little general advantages, difficult to
specify in words, which come from intercourse with refined females.
If the children go to the woods to collect berries or mushrooms or
whatever else happens to be in season, or to play at outlaws or a
little scalping party, a Snerg or two goes with them to shoo away
obtrusive bears. When they are bathing a Snerg or two sits on a rock
ready to dive in and pick out any child that has got into trouble. It
is interesting to see how they reach such a one with a few vigorous
strokes, take it to land, up-end it by the heels to let the water run
out, and lay it on the grass to dry.
The Snergs dress in tight-fitting woollen hose, with a jerkin of the
same material and a leather belt, and little round leather caps rather
like the deeper kinds of saucers. When at home most of them live
in the town; some few have their mills and farms a little distance
away, but they come in pretty often for they are gregarious people,
loving company. The town has one main street which goes rambling
round corners, with one or two little alleys branching off from it
through archways and so forth, and the houses are three or four or
more stories in height, built in an irregular way of timber and clay
and plaster, top-heavy in appearance though sound in reality even if
a bit elastic. If a house leans over more than it should they prop it
up by timbers reaching across to the house opposite, this generally
giving them an excuse for making a little covered-in passage way on
the timbers so that they can visit one another without all the fuss of
going downstairs and up again, they being great on visits. You never
know when a Snerg will finish with his house because he is always
making additions to it, such as throwing out bay windows, or carrying a
balcony on stilts to one of the big trees near by and then building a
spare bedroom in the tree itself, and the like fool tricks.
[Illustration]
They are long-lived people; roughly speaking they live as long as
oaks. For instance those Snergs who remember the excitement caused
by the landing of William the Conqueror (1066) are old, old gaffers,
opinionated, sitting in arm-chairs. The men who remember the Wars of
the Roses are middle-aged and of ripe judgment (in so far as a Snerg
ever has judgment), while those born about the time of the Gunpowder
Plot have still something of the gay insouciance of youth. The babies
date from Trafalgar and upwards.
They are great on feasts, which they have in the open air at long
tables joined end on and following the turns of the street. This
is necessary because nearly everybody is invited--that is to say,
commanded to come, because the King gives the feasts, though each
person has to bring his share of food and drink and put it in the
general stock. Of late years the procedure has changed owing to the
enormous number of invitations that had to be sent; the commands are
now understood and only invitations to stay away are sent to the people
who are not wanted on the particular occasion. They are sometimes hard
up for a reason for a feast, and then the Master of the Household,
whose job it is, has to hunt for a reason, such as its being somebody’s
birthday. Once they had a feast because it was nobody’s birthday that
day.
The King presides at the head of the table, with the best people on
either hand, and there they sit in the mellow evening light and tell
tales of the brave days of old and listen to the sound of harps. But at
the other end of the table, round the corner and out of sight, there
is often a good deal of reckless behaviour and talk, since there is no
one to check the number of cups of mead they drink; and the truth is
they get slightly tiddleums, and laugh far too much and grab off each
other’s caps and throw them in other fellow’s faces, and so on. Queer
people.
The tale is going to start very soon but it will be necessary to give
some account of the two children, Sylvia and Joe, who got mixed up with
the strange doings I have mentioned, and also of Vanderdecken and his
men, because if it had not been for them I really don’t know how things
would have come out as well as they did. Let us begin with Sylvia.
SYLVIA
Sylvia’s mother was a widow who lived in a commodious house in
London and who was much admired, and whom we will call Mrs Walker
because it was not her name. Though she was rather proud of Sylvia
in a way, because she was a pretty little girl with hair that curled
naturally, she never bothered about her very much owing to her Society
engagements. She never, for example, made her laugh with the business
of the little pigs, or pretended to eat her, beginning with the feet,
and she never bored people by exhibiting her little frocks to show
how she was growing out of them; in fact, she never saw her at all
except sometimes when she spared a moment to run upstairs before going
to dinners and dances and the like. But she provided a capable nurse
called Norah who was skilled in all things necessary for young ones,
including interesting tales, and this worked finely until Norah had to
go away and marry a young man in the sausage business. The new nurse
who came had her own society engagements to attend to (though not such
classy ones) and could not spare very much time for Sylvia.
One day Sylvia got wet through in the park and the nurse (Gwendoline)
forgot to change her things, so that she got ill. She got more and
more ill and the doctor was sent for, but he was absolutely rude to
Mrs Walker because he had not been sent for before and this upset her
as she was not accustomed to rudeness. But what made her more upset
was the sight of a dowdy, middle-aged woman who had got in somehow and
was sitting by Sylvia’s bed, and when she asked her what she was doing
there she got no answer but a snort, so she went away. And half an hour
later there was a real trouble, for the dowdy person and Sylvia were
missing.
[Illustration]
There was a good deal of excitement because there had been one or two
cases of this kind lately, and there were head-lines in the papers
about it; but nothing more happened and the little bed was empty for
keeps. In time--that is to say, in three weeks--the matter had blown
over, and Mrs Walker went into mourning and looked so absolutely sweet
and lovely that Sir Samuel Gollop (Biscuits) asked for her hand and got
it and serve him right, and she is now my Lady Gollop, with a house in
one of the best parts and two cars and a Pekinese which has taken a
prize. But no Sylvia, never again.
And Sylvia was learning to play a new kind of water-polo in which seals
take part and was fast forgetting all about her former life except the
tales Norah used to tell her.
JOE
Joe is a sturdy boy of about the same age as Sylvia who has caused the
Society more anxiety and exasperation than any ten other boys of his
weight and size. When he first arrived he was by no means sturdy; his
legs and arms were thin, and on all corners of him there was either a
bruise or a place breaking out. This was owing to his father, a circus
rider, who used to train Joe to do dexterous tricks with ropes and
poles so that he would in time be able to earn money and help support
the family--which, by the way, now consisted only of Father; his mother
had been worn out long ago.
Every time Joe missed doing the tricks dexterously it meant trouble for
him, for his father used to drink as much as his wages allowed and this
impaired his judgment and led him many times to nearly overdo what he
used to do to Joe in the evenings at home. Joe never complained to the
other circus people because he believed that boys came into the world
for the purpose of being hammered by their parents; also he worked it
out that if he did complain his father would do him in as he had often
promised to do and, ridiculous as it may seem to us, Joe wanted to go
on living.
Matters came to a finish one evening when he had made a deplorable mess
of some gymnastics and his father was greatly annoyed with him, and, as
he said he would, “put it acrost him” properly. He was interrupted by
the sudden appearance of a grim elderly lady bigger than he was, whom
he had noticed several times lately in the one-and-threepence seats,
and who now burst open his private kitchen door in defiance of the law
and picked up the tongs, not by the handle but by the other end. Then
Father knew no more for hours.
And when he did know more it was very unsatisfactory. His skull seemed
loose like a jig-saw puzzle, and he was in a horrid mess. And Joe was
gone. There were no head-lines in the paper about this case because no
one cared anything about it--except Father--and by the time his skull
was fitted close together again by the great skill of surgeons (his
nose they could do nothing with) Joe was becoming justly celebrated
among the other children for his reckless way of riding bucking bears
bare-backed, and doing other things contrary to regulations.
VANDERDECKEN AND HIS MEN
As the strange adventures of Joe and Sylvia were primarily due to what
Joe did to Vanderdecken’s crew’s soup, it is advisable to give here a
short account of these interesting foreigners.
As I have said, Vanderdecken (vulgarly known as the Flying Dutchman)
had come in some time before and camped on the bank of a river north
of Watkyns Bay. They had had so much tossing about the seas since they
started out from Holland in the seventeenth century that it was quite
a nice change for them, and they were in no hurry to go away, even
though they were very anxious to see their wives and babies again. And
it was just as well that they were in no hurry to go, for their wives
and babies had all died hundreds of years ago and it would have been a
distressing shock to them if they had managed to reach home, this in
itself a doubtful matter.
[Illustration]
Each man had his hut, made of stout reeds with a roof of palm branches.
They stood in a semicircle, with a double-sized one in the middle for
Vanderdecken, and there was a garden in front in which was planted some
sweet-peas and a few simple bulbs. There was also a large general hut
where they had their meals and sat about the table afterwards, smoking
their long pipes and talking about how they really must think of
getting busy with the old ship and cleaning her up for the voyage. She
was in a bad way, with the sails all patched and the carved dolphins
on her bows all worn smooth with the seas she had dived into for so
many weary years; but the most they ever did towards getting her ready
was to lighten her by taking the heavy things out and putting them on
shore--quaint old cannon and the two spare anchors, and bales of spices
and elephants’ tusks, and casks of salt beef all hard as horn from
age, and so forth. Each seaman took his chest and hammock ashore and
made his hut neat with a floor of little mashed-up shells, and perhaps
a shelf or two and a rack for pipes and pannikins and other small
matters. Vanderdecken’s parrot was still going strong, for the curse
had come on him too (not that that troubled him) and he sat on a perch
outside in the sun with a tin pot full of nuts beside him, swearing in
High Dutch.
It is to be regretted that their relations with the Society, though
friendly, were not at all enthusiastic. In the first place, they
were, like all Dutchmen, phlegmatic and not given to gush. In the
second place, England was at war with Holland when they started out
and they did not like the sight of the British flag flying over the
main building in Watkyns Bay. It was of course Miss Watkyns’ duty to
make the first call, so she went with six of the ladies and told them
that she had no objection to their staying there--which seemed rather
superfluous as they had already settled down very comfortably--and
that she hoped they would find the rest and change beneficial. No
refreshments were offered, for Vanderdecken had no tea but only
Schnapps, a heady liquor calculated to make an unaccustomed man
climb trees and therefore obviously unsuited to ladies. The call
was returned in due time by Vanderdecken and his mate and two washed
seamen; and from then on there were little formal calls at intervals,
but, as I say, no real cordiality; mostly talk about the weather.
But the Dutchmen get on famously with the Snergs, who visit them
frequently and invite them over to the town for week-ends, this giving
a nice excuse for a feast. Then they introduced them to a special
kind of mead made from wild bees’ honey, with a little distillation
of ginger added to give it a kick. This was glad news to the weary
mariners, for though they had started out with a good supply of
Schnapps they had of course not taken the curse into account and the
supply was getting alarmingly low, and there had been many wrinkled
brows over the matter. Hunting parties are organized very often; the
Dutchmen go with strangely carved muskets and the Snergs with bows and
arrows, and they come home with mixed bags. This, however, has caused
trouble with the Society, for Miss Watkyns said she could not allow
promiscuous slaying of animals in the forest land between the coast
and the Snerg country; that if they liked (she meant this ironically)
they could go to the country beyond the deep river, where rumour had
it there were fierce beasts worthy of their skill, and kill as many
as they liked. She gave a list of animals that were prohibited; among
these were cinnamon bears, young deer and various sorts of birds.
Vanderdecken objected strongly to this, and he came over to argue the
matter; but there was breeding in the man and he finally gave way. They
now hunt only large deer, hares, duck, and wobsers, a swift-running,
graminivorous animal something between a platypus and a pig, but with a
prehensile tail. Cooked with bay leaves they are delicious.
[Illustration]
But though there was no great cordiality between the ladies of the
Society and the Dutchmen, there was no friction to speak of. Miss
Watkyns would often send over a few dozen eggs or a basket of plums
from the orchard and the like, and Vanderdecken sent one of his men to
plant tulips in the way they should be planted, the Dutch being very
skilful at this. When the ladies’ bathing kiosk blew over in a high
wind he and his men came and put it right side up by brute force, and
last Christmas he sent two sacks of little carved windmills for the
children. On the whole relations could be called satisfactory.
HOW THE ADVENTURE STARTED
Having given a short general statement of conditions, it is now time
to recount what happened to Sylvia and Joe owing to her impulsiveness
and his disobedience and cheek, and I say again (for it is a point that
will bear repetition) that I hope the tale will not be without due
effect on my young readers.
I have already said that Joe caused the Society anxiety and
exasperation. This was chiefly owing to his insatiable curiosity to
know what would be the effect of certain acts, particularly those that
were forbidden, and though the lady who was responsible for his arrival
(Miss Gribblestone) had lectured him and read him moral tales, such as
the one about the boy who was devoured by curiosity and finished by
getting devoured by a serpent, and though Miss Watkyns had told him
that at his rate of going severe punishment was only a matter of time,
all this had little or no effect. And the really serious part was that
he and Sylvia were firm chums and she, being impulsive, would aid and
abet him in his enterprises.
They could not live apart, these two. They shared everything they had,
including secrets, and any little extra snacks that came into their
possession. They even shared a puppy (whom they named Tiger owing to
his ferocity with slippers and other small matters, and who was pure
white all over except on one ear and the left side of the head where
he looked as if he had been well rubbed in a tin of blacking) and this
is the only known case of dual ownership since Miss Watkyns made that
excellent rule of one child, one animal.
Many were the remedies proposed for their improvement, but the
difficulty was that the Misses Scadging and Gribblestone could not
agree to any particular method. Miss Scadging was the one who had
taken Sylvia away from her mother, and she said that Joe had an evil
influence on the little girl and that he alone should be punished.
Miss Gribblestone on the other hand was of opinion that if it were not
for Sylvia’s encouragement Joe would be a pattern boy like that Edgar
of the story-book who went out before breakfast and gathered fresh
groundsel for his aunt’s canary. And so the matter stood, for Miss
Watkyns made it a rule never to interfere except in very urgent cases.
That Sylvia encouraged the boy there was no doubt. She had blue eyes
and a quantity of fluffy gold curls, and consequently, when she giggled
and told him he would never dare to do what he said would be a choice
thing to do, he usually went at once and did it, whatever it happened
to be. And when the deed was done and some of the ladies went forth to
pick up the bits or to do whatever else needed doing and to bring in
Joe and Sylvia for immediate explanation, they would find them at the
time harmless and lovable, perhaps sitting on the shore with their arms
round each other’s necks as good as gold, or else engaged in some deed
of kindness, such as swimming out to the Penguins’ Rock with a little
string bag full of snails.
HOW IT REALLY BEGAN
To come to how it really began, one bright morning the two went
over to Vanderdecken’s camp without leave, and there Joe was wicked
enough and foolish enough to heave half a brick into the cauldron of
soup preparing for the mariners. It was a wicked thing to do because
they had never harmed him, and a foolish thing because detection was
certain. But he had bragged that he would do it, and Sylvia had giggled
in the usual way and said she didn’t believe him, so he hunted up the
half-brick and off they went.
Speaking of the act entirely apart from its moral aspect I may say that
it was a good shot. Six mariners were standing about the cauldron,
sniffing the fragrant steam and speaking in praise of the cook, when
the missile arrived from a high neighbouring rock, and its impact
caused the hot, glutinous liquid to bespatter their faces and clothing.
On the next instant Joe, Sylvia and Tiger started home at a brisk run.
Arriving breathless they proceeded at once, and in sight of some of
the ladies, to be kind to animals. They gathered handfuls of grass and
offered them to some overfed sheep, and their expression while doing
so was something like that on the faces of angels in the pictures of
Murillo, that great painter.
In due time the six mariners and the cook arrived to make their
complaint. Their annoyance was so great that, though fluent, they were
unintelligible; I am inclined to think that at first they could only
articulate expletives in use among Dutch seamen of the seventeenth
century. But at length they were calmed sufficiently to enable them to
state their case and to demand that Joe, whom they had recognized, be
delivered over to them for the punishment of keel-hauling, a term which
was not understood by any of the ladies.
Miss Watkyns was sympathetic, but she could not, of course, allow
them to take the law into their own hands. She soothed them down with
diplomatic words, promised that the boy should receive castigation
proportional to his offence, and gave them each a ball of some
composition warranted to remove grease stains without injuring the
fabric.
Then she went for the Handy Encyclopædia to see what it had to say
about keel-hauling. It was as follows:
“_Keel-hauling._ A form of discipline once in great vogue among
seamen. The usual method of application was to attach ropes to the
four limbs of the delinquent, lower him over the bows of the ship,
and drag him to the stern post and up again, the process being
repeated as many times as was considered necessary to expiate the
offence. In very serious cases it was the custom to continue the
operation until such barnacles as had accumulated on the ship’s keel
had been scraped off. See _Shell Fish_.”
“I gather that they are vexed,” observed Miss Watkyns to herself as
she replaced the volume. Then--for in spite of her high ideals she was
human--“I should have liked to see that half-brick arriving.”
In the conference that followed Miss Scadging proposed that Joe should
be considered the sole culprit, since he was a boy and therefore it
was his duty to set an example to the weaker sex. Miss Gribblestone
objected to this on principle; she was by no means convinced that women
were the weaker sex and she recounted again how she had laid out Joe’s
father; also she quoted Police Court instances of crimes committed by
men at the instigation of females. Miss Watkyns was of opinion that a
good and quick way to settle the matter would be to hand Joe six or
ten of the very best with the back of a hairbrush before the assembled
children; but Miss Gribblestone objected strongly to this as tending to
break the boy’s spirit. She made the counter-suggestion of an appeal to
his pride.
It is no exaggeration to say that I could keep on like this for pages,
but I will not risk wearying the reader with a disquisition on the
arguments for and against corporal punishment. I will merely state that
it was finally decided to let Sylvia off for just this once, but to
incarcerate Joe for the rest of the day in the Turret Chamber on a diet
of bread and water.
THE TURRET CHAMBER
The Turret Chamber was, as its name implies, a chamber in a turret.
I have previously explained that the erection of the buildings was
done by the Snergs; also that their natural tendency was to indulge in
wild architectural freaks. By careful watching, however, Miss Watkyns
had managed to keep them building according to the neat plans she had
prepared, and to subdue their inclination to spoil the symmetry of the
houses by fantastic and unnecessary additions. But during her absence
one day on a picnic the Snergs broke loose and built a swift tower
in a corner of the main building, with some scalloped fancy work on
the walls and a twisting flight of stairs in the interior leading to
the chamber in question, and by the time she arrived home they were
already roofing it in. In appearance it resembled the more despicable
forms of lighthouses, and it was quite useless for anything practical,
being so narrow that a grown-up person ascending the stairs had to
writhe up like a snake, and the chamber atop being so small that Miss
Watkyns had considered the question of turning the whole business into
a pigeon-house. However, it did very well as a lock-up for Master Joe.
HOW JOE BORE CAPTIVITY
Hours had passed. The sun was not now so very high in the heavens.
From the direction of the beach came the sounds of happy shrieks; the
children were having a great time there. On the window-sill of the
turret chamber sat Joe, his hands in his shorts’ pockets and his feet
dangling outside, looking forth disconsolately. Behind him on the floor
was a platter with odd bits of dry bread, and a pitcher of clear cold
water from the pump. There was nothing else behind him but a little
wooden bench; the chamber was as bare and smooth as an empty jam-pot.
Above him was the bright blue sky. Before him was green grass and
waving forest. Below him was a nasty drop of twenty-seven feet. I don’t
think I have left anything out.
Joe started suddenly and looked about, for from somewhere he had heard
the hoot of the Aviola, or small downy owl, which by rights should
be still asleep at that hour. He replied with the half-whistle,
half-bleat of the Crested Grebe (these were secret signals), and Sylvia
came worming her way out from the neighbouring herbaceous border,
accompanied by their small but faithful hound. She parted her mass
of curls, which had fallen across her face in the passage, and stood
having a good look at him.
[Illustration]
“Oh, Joe,” she said in the low voice of pity, “are you very beastly
lonely up there?”
“Yes, Sylvia, I’m just as lonely and miserable! And I’ve had nothing to
eat but some dry bread. I think they dried it on purpose.”
“And Tiger’s been wondering what’s the matter, Joe.” She held him up,
and Tiger caught sight of Joe and wriggled and made moans, as of a
puppy that wanted comfort. “But I’ve got something for you.”
She put down Tiger and produced a handkerchief. “I’ve got some apple
sauce on bits of bread that aren’t so dry, and a piece of seedy cake.
And some pears. I suppose you haven’t got a piece of string?”
“Yes I have,” he answered joyfully. “I’ve got my fishing line. Here it
is. I’ve been fishing for hours and hours trying to fish up something
to play with, but all I got was some bits of twigs and I couldn’t do
much with them.”
Sylvia hooked her handkerchief with the provisions on to the line, and
a moment later Joe was eating busily.
“You’re just like a captive princess in a tower,” she said after a
time. “Like Rapunzel.”
“Except I haven’t got such long hair. I feel like an old cat up a
pole--except I can’t get down. When are they going to let me out?”
“Miss Watkyns said when all of us are in bed. Isn’t she vicious?”
“But that’s hours and hours! Oh, Sylvia, I _must_ get out!” He bounced
up and down on the window-sill, and Sylvia squawked.
“Oh, Joe, you ass, you’ll fall!”
“Not me, don’t you think it.” He bounced up and down again to show his
skill.
“Look here, Joe, shall I hook on Tiger? I’ll tie him in my hankie so
that he won’t fall and then you can play with him for a bit--No, you
_keep_ him up there with you, and then won’t Miss Watkyns be surprised
when she finds him there! She’ll think he’s got wings somehow.”
“Yes, that’d be fine. But I’ve got a much better idea, Sylvia. You just
bring me that clothes-line over there.”
“What for? And it’s got nighties drying on it.”
“I don’t want them, I want only the rope. Do, Sylvia, it’s something
delicious. If you don’t I’ll show you how to hang out of a window head
downwards.”
“No, _don’t_!” cried Sylvia. “I’ll bring it.” She ran off and came
back a minute later with the clothes-line, which she fastened to his
fish-hook. “Nighties all over the grass. There’ll be a fine row over it
if they catch me. You are a headstrong boy, Joe.”
Joe did not answer, for he was busy. He hauled up the rope and fastened
one end of it to the bench, and then managed to jam the bench across
the window frame. Then he called to Sylvia to stand from under.
“Because,” he said, “it’s rather a rotten piece of rope, and besides, I
don’t think this silly old bench is going to stand much jerking about.
But we’ll soon see.”
On the next instant, Sylvia gave a screech, for there was Joe outside
the window, spinning round on the rope. But before you could count ten
he had slid down to the ground and Tiger was leaping and trying to get
at his face so as to lick it. Not a very wonderful trick for a circus
boy, but then Sylvia didn’t know anything about circuses. She put her
arms round his neck and hugged him.
“Oh, Joe,” she said, “you are a brave boy! You looked just like a clean
monkey coming down--except that you haven’t got a tail. But how are you
going to get the rope put back?”
“I’m not bothering about the rope,” said Joe. “You see we’re just going
to run away.”
“Run away! What for?”
“For fun. I’m not going to be locked up by anybody. I’m going over to
see the Snergs, and you’ve got to come with me. Tiger’s coming, too, of
course. We’ll have a glorious time!”
“What do you mean, you contentious infant?” (She sometimes used words
she had heard from Miss Watkyns and other ladies.) “It’s miles and
miles and miles! And you don’t know the way there.”
[Illustration]
“Yes I do. It’s straight over there, just a little bit this side of
where the sun goes under. We’ll just go that way until we can’t see it,
and then we’ll sleep in a nice place in the forest.”
“Yes, Clever, and what about to-morrow? The sun’s always over the sea
in the morning.”
“Then all we’ve got to do is to go the _other_ way. Can’t you see?”
Sylvia was rather impressed by his resourcefulness. “Yes, but what
about afterwards, Joe,” she said after a moment. “What will Miss
Watkyns do when she knows about it?”
“Yes, but what happens afterwards will happen _afterwards_. Can’t
you see? Come along, Sylvia, it’s adventures, like those tales your
nurse told you about. And it’s much better _being_ a tale than just
hearing it. We’ll sleep in the forest to-night--it’s nice and warm--and
to-morrow sometime we’ll be at the Snerg’s place and have a jolly time
with them. Just think what the other kids will think of us. Won’t they
be jealous!”
How it happened Sylvia could never quite make out, but she found
herself running along hand-in-hand with Joe over the soft turf, with
Tiger bouncing alongside of them and sometimes tumbling over his own
barks, drawing nearer and nearer to the trees which looked so cool and
inviting on that warm afternoon.
“Oh, Joe,” she panted as she ran, “_what_ an absurd mite you are!”
THE FOREST LAND
It seemed to these precocious infants that the forest was deeper and
shadier and more silent, and the grass softer than they had ever
known it before; but perhaps that was because before they had always
gone with troops of young ones, which would at least do away with the
quietness. In parts where the trees were not so very thick the grass
was all dappled with spots of sun, and sometimes there were great
shafts of light through the trees to make a guide for them, for all
they had to do so far was to go as fast as they could in the direction
of the sun. And they ran on and on and on, with the pretence idea that
they were fleeing from enemies who knew no touch of mercy and they must
get as far as possible while they could.
At length they had to stop running and walk, but they walked hard
because Joe said they must keep on for hours and hours. But it was
not so very long before they had to sit down and rest, for they were
all hot and sticky and getting very hungry. Joe opened Sylvia’s
handkerchief, in which he carried the rest of the pears she had
brought. There were five left, rather soft with the jolting, being
ripe, but they ate them, squashed parts and peel and all, and then
they had a draught from a stream, lying down on their stomachs and
drinking like hunters. Tiger’s share of the meal was as much water as
he liked to drink, and the sight of him sitting up and thinking after
this meagre diet brought into Sylvia’s head an idea that perhaps they
had been a tiny bit rash. But Joe said that Tiger could make up for it
to-morrow by a good blow-out, entirely omitting to consider the many
weary miles that lay between them and the country of the Snergs and the
slim chance they had of ever finding their way there at all. He said it
was really adventures, like the one her nurse had told her of, and he
pointed out how very likely it was that something exciting would happen
at any moment. Sylvia gave her opinion that they were rather too small
to be of much use if anything exciting did occur and said she hoped it
wouldn’t. She asked him if he thought it would be cold when the dark
came, and he said, “No, only nice and cool,” for he was an optimist
always.
They got up and went on again, following the gleam of the sun as well
as they could, until at last it went altogether and they could only
see a red glow from the open parts where there were mostly bushes. And
still they went on and on and on, until Sylvia said her legs began
to feel all wobbly and she had to sit down. There it was: those silly
things were deep in the lonely woods and the shadows were creeping up
from the far places.
Joe climbed a tree to see if he could see something worth seeing, such
as the smoke from an honest wood-cutter’s hut or the like, as in the
tales of forests; though really he hadn’t much expectation of finding
anything, for he had been told there was little else but billions of
trees between the sea and the Snerg country. All he could see was a
little speck of red which he said might be the last of the sunset, or
might be a fire made by Indians or cannibals; though of course he did
not mean the last part nor did Sylvia believe it or take any interest
in it. What she wanted was a bite of real supper and a bed; the forest
had been growing darker and more serious and a little shiver went
through her as if a lot of the fun had suddenly gone.
“It’s getting more and more like one of those tales,” said Joe in a
satisfied way--as will have been seen, he had a good deal of what is
known as the bulldog breed in him. “Specially that part over there
where it’s like a dark passage. Suppose an old witch was to come along
there, flop, flop, flop, and tell us to go home with her.”
“Oh, don’t, Joe! We don’t want it _too_ much like those tales. It’s
getting awfully lonely. I wish I hadn’t come.”
“But it’s only lonely enough to be nice, Sylvia. Besides, it’s great
fun. There’s nobody to tell us we mustn’t do things, or to tell us when
to go to bed. We jolly well go to bed when we like.”
“Yes, but _where_ are we to go to bed?”
“Oh, somewhere or other. I know! We’ll get some fallen leaves, like in
the babes in the wood, and cover ourselves up.”
“But it’s summer time and there aren’t any fallen leaves.”
“More there are. Then what we’ve got to do is to cuddle up close. I’ll
look after you, never fear, and if any old witch was to----” here he
stopped suddenly and looked round at the deepening shadows.
“Oh, Joe!” cried Sylvia, getting close up to him and rather behind him.
The sound they heard was a nasty, soft, flopping sound, and it came
from the part which Joe had said looked like a dark passage. He wished
he had brought a sword with him somehow, or a bow and arrows, or else
one of old Vanderdecken’s guns even if it did knock him over backwards
as the one did that he got hold of one day (but nobody found out who it
was). Alas, he had nothing but his wooden scalping knife; but he got it
out because it seemed better than nothing.
Then, to the surprise and joy of these infants, a great cinnamon bear
hove in sight and came up to them, wagging his head from side to side,
and, so to speak, gently barging at them. It took some time to prove
to him that they were in no mood for play, but by dint of strenuous
pushing at him on one side he got it into his thick head that they
wanted him to lie down, and he flopped over. Then they got close up
to him, Sylvia on the inside so as to give her as much of the fur as
possible, and Tiger curled up in a little hollow space by her neck;
and they were soon asleep, for they were very tired, what with the
long tramp and the novelty of everything. But what a change! From
their nicely prepared supper of warm milk and rusks to cold pears and
water. From their clean, decorously tinted dormitory to the lonely
wind-sighing forest. From their little cots, with clean sheets spread
over resilient aromatic hops, to the lee-side of a bear. And the bear
had bad dreams and kept waking them up by moaning and shuddering
sounds, and more than once he turned over, forgetting all about them,
and Joe had to punch him and pull his fur hard to let him know that
there were young folks and a puppy underneath. It was a long, hard,
disagreeable night, and they were right glad when, after a week as it
seemed, the dawn came.
THE DAWN
There was nothing special about the dawn when it did come. It was cold
and grey and shivery, with a mist that hid the trees a little distance
away, and Sylvia felt very discontented and hungry and really wished
she hadn’t listened to Joe. He on the other hand was very brave and
strong, and he rubbed her hands and feet to warm them and then turned
somersaults backwards to warm himself; to the great surprise of the
bear, who sat up on his hind legs and stared, as cinnamons will at
anything new. There was nothing to eat except some chilly berries all
covered with dew, and these did not appeal to the children’s stomachs
at that hour. But the bear ate large quantities of them and they had to
kick him to make him stop stuffing and come on.
Joe helped Sylvia on to the bear’s back, and she sat there with Tiger
clasped to her because he was now a very silent pup owing to his having
had nothing to eat for such a long time, and they went on their way
for some miles--that is to say, they went on in an opposite direction
to where they could see signs of sunrise over the trees. But the bear
did not understand that they wanted him to go as near due west as
possible, and he kept turning up sylvan glades at right angles and Joe
had continuously to push his head round in the way he should go.
[Illustration]
They parted with him suddenly and in a surprising way. He caught sight
of a hollow tree in the middle distance, from which issued bees in
large numbers though peacefully, and he intimated by grunts that there
was food for all hands and to spare. Before they quite realized what he
meant he was charging up to the tree, and Sylvia had just time to slip
from his back. In another instant he was tearing away at the rotten
part of the tree to get at the honey, and clouds of bees came out in
a horrible rage to see about it. Joe caught Sylvia’s hand and dragged
her into a clump of bushes just in time, and they went tearing through
it and then as hard as they could pelt over the grass until they were
a long way off. They could hear, subdued by distance, the hum of bees
like the rich deep note of a church organ, and the mixed grunting and
howling of the bear; though whether the latter sounds were those of joy
or grief was a doubtful question. Sylvia said that bears did not feel
pain from bees’ stings except on the tip of the nose because their fur
protected them, but Joe was of opinion that they got stung furiously
all over but that they considered the honey was worth the pain, hence
the mixed quality of the howls.
They went on and on and on, and at last the sun got up and sent beams
of cheerful light through the leaves and drove away the mist, so that
Sylvia began to feel much better, though hungry, and hungrier as time
went on. And just when the question of breakfast had become a really
serious and mournful subject, they roused a shout of joy, for they saw
coming towards them down the woodland ways one Gorbo, a Snerg.
GORBO THE SNERG
Gorbo was a well-known, utterly irresponsible Snerg who occasionally
came over to Watkyns Bay to do a job of work, and who was quite
celebrated for his habit of doing it very badly and getting tired of
it almost at once and wandering off again. He was of average size for
a Snerg and fairly young--possibly two hundred and fifty--and though
good-natured to excess he had little intelligence of the useful kind.
He had given it out that he was a potter by trade--he had indeed some
superficial knowledge of the business--and he had induced Miss Watkyns
to let him start a little kiln in order to supply the Society with
pots. But there was no particular shape to his pots when he had made
them and many of them fell to bits when they were handled, so Miss
Watkyns told him plainly that he was a fraud; and to this he agreed
heartily for he did not like to contradict people. She told him to go
away--to potter off was her bitter expression--so he had gone to spend
a day or two with Vanderdecken’s men, who rather liked his face but I
don’t know why, and then he had come across the forest on his way to
the town, where he had a little house of one room and a kitchen. And
that is why the children met him that morning, grinning all over his
face and carrying his bow and arrows, and a little bundle containing
his few potter’s tools and his other shirt and a bunch of wheat-cakes.
He had slept in a thicket of ferns, some of which he had chopped up to
form a sort of nest, and what with the odds and ends of fern sticking
to his clothes and his wild hair straggling out from his saucer cap, he
looked as disreputable a person as you might expect to meet even among
the Snergs, who are not over particular about their personal appearance
at the best.
But he was a welcome sight to Sylvia and Joe. All three took hands and
made two little dancing steps first to one side and then to the other,
which is the Snerg manner of greeting, and which all the children
had taken to (in spite of Miss Watkyns’ objection to it as absurd
and unnecessary) and he was then asked if he had anything to eat. He
produced his wheat-cakes and then made a little fire in order to warm
them up on his potter’s trowel, which he cleaned first with a bunch
of grass. Before they sat down to eat he sneaked up to a herd of deer
which came into sight a little distance away and somehow blarneyed one
of them into letting him milk her. He came back with a good deal of
milk in a silver-tipped horn that he had, and the children divided it
between them. They did not reflect of course that they were causing
some small deer to go short that morning. But it was a very jolly
breakfast. It was quite a joy to the children to note Tiger’s figure
showing signs of sleekness and roundness again; he being of an age when
it shows quickly.
When Gorbo heard that they had the nerve to run away he was not at
all shocked at their folly but highly delighted with their sporting
character, which is just what would be expected of him. But he said
it was lucky they had met him, because left to themselves it was very
doubtful if they would ever reach the town; and there was always the
danger that they might wander into the parts where the trees grew
closer and closer and are all twisted until at last there is no going
forwards or backwards, and then they would be lost for keeps and a fine
to-do. This, by the way, is the only thing with a touch of sense in it
that he ever said to them, on that day at least.
Feeling tremendously refreshed with this wholesome meal, they started
off again on their journey, Gorbo leading the way and showing nice
little short-cuts through clumps of bracken and so forth, and sometimes
carrying Sylvia over rough ground and through swampy places and the
like. They had the luck to meet another large cinnamon bear, which
carried both children for several miles; but at length it intimated in
the usual way that it had had enough (this is done by crouching on the
ground with all four paws tucked underneath, laying the head sideways,
and emitting a long, loud, melancholy howl). So they got off and the
bear sprang up and went swiftly away, and they never found another.
It was the time of the annual migration of bears to the country of
slug-nuts, and that is why so few bears were seen on this trip.
It was a long journey and both children got very tired; Gorbo had at
last to carry Sylvia pick-a-back, while Joe had to carry the puppy, who
was getting his pads sore with so much travel. But just when it seemed
to them that there would never be any end to the journey, to their
great joy they saw from a slight eminence a cluster of high-peaked red
roofs, which Gorbo told them (rather unnecessarily I think) was the
town.
THE TOWN
As none of the children had ever been seen in the town before, the
arrival of Joe and Sylvia was the signal for a good deal of fuss and
feathers. Snergs rushed out of their houses into the street and swarmed
on the roofs and climbed about, and babies were held on high so that
they might see. Some clever ones rushed to the town belfry and rang a
peal, others got busy with strips of coloured cloth and had them rigged
across the street in no time. The four brightest got out the town drums
and went to meet them.
The crowd became dense, and considerate persons shouted “Stand back!
Give them air!” Joe and Sylvia felt rather shy and uncomfortable at
all the display, but Gorbo stepped out proudly for he was beginning to
think this was a far, far better thing than he had ever done. And so,
amid the shouts of the populace, with music before them, they went up
the street.
Gorbo was full of hope that the King would see great merit in this his
doing and that he would get a decoration for it. Nearly everybody had
one of some sort or another, and though he did not go so far as to
expect one of the best he hoped he would at least get the Order of
the Brazen Nutmeg. He was soon undeceived. The Master of the Household
came up to him with a stern look and bade him follow him to the King’s
presence and explain what was his little game. Then he gave a hand to
each of the children and led them to the Royal House.
[Illustration]
THE ROYAL HOUSE
The Royal House is the only building in the town that stands without
being propped up by another building, and naturally this gives it an
imposing appearance. Picture to yourself columns of quaintly carved
oak surrounding an audience chamber on the ground floor and supporting
the spreading-out part of the stories above. On the first floor are
the private apartments, the dining-hall (with a sufficient minstrel’s
gallery giving elbow room for four minstrels to perform the most
energetic pieces) and the room where the regalia is kept in a padded
box. On the floor above live the Court officials, three of them, and
on the third or attic floor, are rooms for the domestic staff and
one large room containing odd matters that are bound to collect in
any large household, such as chairs wanting a leg, damaged pieces of
armour, swords with loose hilts, old pairs of bellows, and the like.
The kitchen is in another building, connected to the dining-hall by an
overhead passage which is covered in so that the victuals will not get
chilled on the way. Altogether a neat and commodious dwelling for a
king in a small way of business.
THE KING OF THE SNERGS
The King, Merse II, was quite an agreeable looking man, with the
typical chubby face of the Snergs framed in a fringe of black whiskers
that resembled chinchilla. He was fully four feet in height, broad and
inclined to stoutness. He bade the children be seated on either side of
him and spoke to them kindly, hoping that they were not too tired with
the journey and inquiring politely after the health of Miss Watkyns and
the other ladies. Joe and Sylvia were rather shy but very pleased;
it now seemed to them that they had acted quite wisely in making this
absurd expedition.
[Illustration]
Then the King turned to Gorbo, who stood cap in hand, still holding on
to his bundle and other matters. I will endeavour to give as literal a
translation of the talk as possible.
“Hail, Gorbo, cleverest and brightest of the Snergs we don’t think,”
said the King.
“Hail, King. May your shadow be ever a wide one.” (This is the formal
reply to a Royal salutation.)
“And what doest thou here with these young ones, O Ornament to the race
the other way round?”
“I met them in the woodland, O King,” replied Gorbo, now getting very
nervous.
“Yes. And in what part of that wide address didst thou find them, thou
first-class brain perhaps not?”
“Er--just this side of Toadstool Hollow, O King.”
“Ha! And had’st thou, thou nimble lout, any hand in inducing them to
wander further from their home?”
Gorbo went down upon his knees, as a good safe position. “No, O King,
not at all. They said they were coming here, so I--I showed them the
way.”
“Excellent! And it did not occur to thee, thou farthing rascal, to lead
them back to their little home by the sea?”
“N--no, O King, I--I didn’t think.”
“That we believe, thou worse than worm.”
The King crossed his legs and meditated, with his chin resting on
his hand. “And what,” he asked at length, turning to Joe, “will Miss
Watkyns (on whom be peace) think of these thy wanderings?”
“I don’t know, O King,” replied Joe, hoping he was saying it
correctly. “We just scooted. For fun,” he added to make it sound more
reasonable.
“For fun, sayest thou, small man! And had’st thou wandered with this
golden-haired babe into parts where the trees are locked like twisted
serpents and there is no light, wouldst thou then have found thy fun?”
Joe wriggled and felt horribly uncomfortable. The King then turned to
the Master of the Household, who was standing by the kneeling Gorbo,
contemptuously snipping at his ears.
“And what thinkest thou of this strange matter?” he asked.
“I think,” replied the officer, “that it were a good excuse for a
feast.”
“Excellently said!” exclaimed the King. “So be it. We will first
dispatch fleet messengers to Miss Watkyns to calm her fears, and then
celebrate the visit of these tiny ones” (they were nearly as tall as he
was) “by a banquet of the best. But,” he added, pointing the finger of
scorn at Gorbo, “give to this all but black-beetle a courteous loving
invitation to stay away from it.”
“Please, O King,” began Sylvia timidly. Then she stopped suddenly, for
everybody had turned to look at her.
“Speak on, pretty one,” said the King, encouragingly, laying his hand
upon her curls. “What hair!”
“Please, it wasn’t Gorbo’s fault,” went on Sylvia. “You see--er--O King,
Joe and I ran away--for fun--and Gorbo found us when we were hungry and
he gave us lots to eat. And he got some milk from a deer for us, and
found us a bear to ride part of the way.”
“Gorbo’s a jolly good sort, O King,” added Joe.
“Oh, then that alters the case,” said the King briskly. (He was rather
impulsive). “Rise, Gorbo. We cancel the invitation and command you to
feast with us this day--but not too near us. The safe arrival of these
little ones across the forest,” he added in a general way to everybody,
“together with the discovery of a gleam of sense in that varlet, make
this indeed a day of strange happenings.”
Sylvia and Joe were then taken charge of by the Queen, a fat, smiling
person who came into the audience chamber at this point. They had
first a good wash, and then a toothsome little snack of bean fritters
mixed with honey, and a cup of milk, to carry on with until the time
of the feast, and Tiger had a large plate of bread sop with meat in
it, after which he went to sleep for hours. While they were eating the
Queen came with a comb and fluffed out Sylvia’s hair and put some fancy
extra curls in it. Then, after a little rest, they went to watch the
preparations outside.
It was an interesting sight. The people had not had a feast for more
than a week and it came as a welcome change. Men were staggering about
with tables and joining them end on in the proper way, and placing
stools and benches in position. There were 38 tables altogether and
each one was about 12 feet long--38 × 12 = 456 feet--so you will see
that a noble spread it was going to be; it reached from the Royal House
to as far as beyond the market-place. From every kitchen came the smell
of savoury baked meats. At the open windows little stout women could
be seen rolling out pastry. Grave, responsible Snergs measured the
mead into jars and placed them at the proper intervals on the tables.
Harpers put new strings to their harps. The Court jester went to his
attic and got out a little secret volume from beneath the mattress and
mugged up some merry jests.
THE FEAST
At the appointed hour horns sounded and all sat down to table in the
calm evening light. At the head were the King and Queen, side by side.
To the right and left sat Sylvia and Joe, and after them came the best
people, then the ordinary Snergs in order of importance. At the extreme
end of the table, somewhere in the suburbs, sat Gorbo. That’s what they
thought of _him_.
I am happy to report that the Queen kept a careful watch on what the
two children ate or else there might have been serious trouble for them
later, the food being of a very grown-up sort. They were given each a
very tiny mug of mead and she told them to go slow with it. (The Snerg
youngsters, by the way, can put away an imperial pint and still behave.
Use is everything). It was all very jolly for them to find themselves
treated with so much pomp and circumstance, and they felt that they
had some glorious things to tell the other kids when they arrived
home. There occurred one unfortunate incident, however, which helped
to reduce any tendency towards swelled heads. They had heard before
that the Snergs considered it shocking bad form to feed dogs when at
table--every race has its own peculiar ideas on behaviour--but when
two nice friendly dogs, rather like retrievers, came one on each side
of Sylvia and watched every mouthful that she took, she was greatly
tempted to give them a bit, especially as their mouths watered so much
that she could actually hear the drips. It was when one of them began
a gentle moaning sound that she could stand it no longer, so just when
she thought the King and Queen were looking the other way she slipped
a piece of meat into his mouth. He snapped it up and lashed the floor
with his tail; the other dog instantly sprang up and put two paws on
her lap and gazed into her eyes. In an instant all the talk had stopped
and everybody stared at her.
[Illustration]
It was a horrible moment, and she became crimson. But the King came
to her aid with true politeness. He cut a piece of knuckle end of
lamb and flung it to his favourite hound, and the situation was
saved. (The Prince of Wales, I believe, once took a good swig out of
his finger-bowl to put an unpolished guest at his ease.) But it was
necessary to have all dogs removed after this, as they came crowding
up, full of hope.
There was some good music from harps, and the jester asked some clever
riddles, one of which was new. A young Snerg who had a really fine
tenor voice sang, “Give me thy gold, I ask no more,” very movingly. But
perhaps the most delightful (though slightly embarrassing) moment was
when, at a given signal, the whole push stood up and drained a cup of
mead to “Our Guests.”
The declining sun shone round a corner of the street; the scene was
now in mellow light and shade. Snergs began to loll against each other
and reach lazily for the nut-crackers. From the end of the table, 486
feet away, came shouts of unseemly mirth: Gorbo, that ass, had made a
bet that he would stand on his head on a pyramid of mead pots, and the
crash was terrific. The King sent a stern word that there was to be
not so much of it. The sudden discovery that Joe and Sylvia were both
sound asleep in their little arm-chairs caused no particular break in
the proceedings. They were carried to the Royal House by motherly old
Snergs and tucked up in bed, and the feasting and joviality went on.
A MORNING WALK
Will it be thought by the readers at this point that the promised
moral lesson is long in coming? It is not improbable. So far I have
chronicled a comparatively glorious result of the two children’s
mutinous behaviour. They had arrived safely, after a journey which,
though tiring, was full of interest, and had been received, dined, and
wined in the manner of foreign potentates, and to their simple minds it
seemed that all they had to do now was to go comfortably home and brag
about it. But read on; the moral lesson is coming.
It was one of the quaint old customs of the Snergs to rise an hour or
two later on the day after a feast. Consequently, when Joe and Sylvia
woke up refreshed and happy, and with none of the sense of guilt
befitting children who had wantonly run away from wise and kind rule,
they found the whole place very quiet, the only sounds being those of
swallows outside the open lattice of their room, and from the adjoining
room (the Royal bedchamber), two different kinds of snores.
They crept downstairs and found a smiling old female person sifting
cinders outside the kitchen door, and they asked her if she could
please tell them when breakfast would be ready. She said it would
not be for a long time but she could get them something to help them
wait, and she took them into the kitchen and gave them each a warm
cake, rather like a rusk only softer, and some milk. They talked about
whales, in which she was much interested for she had never seen the
ocean; few of the female Snergs ever travel.
They went for a walk down the deserted street and suddenly, in the
paved yard where the pump is, they saw Gorbo. He had just soused his
head and was drying it on a little coarse towel. They greeted joyfully
and sat down on three buckets that happened to be there and talked of
the news while Gorbo combed his wild head with a piece of comb that he
had.
The news was this. A Snerg messenger had come on the run from Miss
Watkyns late in the evening, saying that they had disappeared and would
the King please turn all hands out at once to hunt for them, taking
something to eat and a bottle of milk in case. Vanderdecken’s men in
the meantime were ranging along the seashore, poking into caverns and
places to see if they could find them, and sweeping the horizon for
anything new, such as a raft flying the black flag--for they believed
almost anything possible of Joe. Apparently there was great trouble
and excitement over the matter at Watkyns Bay, and both children were
very proud to be the cause of it all. They would be; they were just
that kind.
Of course, as the fleet messengers dispatched by the King must have
arrived and calmed Miss Watkyns’ fears by this time, there was no need
to bother any more, and it had been arranged that Joe and Sylvia were
to leave some time after breakfast on two domestic bears, with an
escort of six Snergs who would carry four small blankets, two pillows,
a kettle, a frying-pan, and some provisions; all these of course
because they would have to spend the night in the forest. Joe felt
rather upset that the adventures were coming to an end, but Sylvia was
pleased. She had had a good deal of fun out of the trip and she felt
it would be nice to get back again and be pardoned and petted in due
course and tell all the other kids what a riotous time they had had.
They went for a walk with Gorbo across some fields, with Tiger
careering ahead of them, for his long rest had done his paws good
and he was feeling refreshed and full of prunes. Gorbo pointed out
various objects of interest, such as the mill that belonged to his
half-brother, and the hillside where the last dragon was killed, long
ago when he was a tiny fellow. He remembered quite well some men
rushing back and calling out “More arrows! More arrows!” when they
had the dragon badly wounded and unable to fly, and how they went
dashing back with the fresh supply of arrows and all shot at it until
it looked like a pincushion and they could get near enough to stick
it with spears and finish it. More than a hundred Snergs lost their
lives on that occasion. He was too young to remember the fierce fights
that took place when a wandering band of Kelps (possibly a corruption
of Kelpies) came through the country, setting fire to the woods and
robbing and slaying, but he took them on to rising ground and showed
them the dark line that crossed the trees a mile or so away and which
marked the deep river, and pointed out more or less the spot where the
last battle had been fought. The Kelps had made a stand on a high rock,
but the Snergs had gone solidly for them and pierced them with showers
of arrows and cut them to bits with swords and pitched the rest into
the river. And that, as Gorbo said, was that.
The most interesting feature of the forest land, he said, was the
region of twisted trees, which reached to within a short distance
of the town. It was not healthy to go too far in among these trees,
but if they liked he would show them a few just on the outskirts, as
breakfast wouldn’t be ready for at least another hour. The children
were delighted at the chance of seeing these strange natural objects,
so off they went into the woods.
THE TWISTED TREES
It did not take long to reach the spot where the first few twisted
trees were growing. They were wonderful things, with thick smooth grey
trunks and smooth grey branches that touched the ground here and there
like great quiet serpents. Leaves grew only on the higher parts, but
they were thick and matted like a thatch and made it rather dark and
creepy underneath. Gorbo led them along to where there were more and
much better specimens of this wonderful flora, and Sylvia and Joe were
proud that they of all the children had had a chance of seeing them.
Gorbo said it was time to get back and he turned and led the way.
Suddenly he stopped and looked about under the writhing grey branches
and over them; then he turned in another direction. Again he stopped,
and this time he had a particularly silly smile.
[Illustration]
“I’d better be careful,” he said, “or we’ll get lost.”
He went on again and the children followed him, hoping that he would
find the way out soon, as breakfast was a thing they wanted quickly.
But it was getting dark; the sky was now hidden by a roof of matted
leaves, and on all sides and above them the thick smooth branches
twisted and crossed and locked together. The air was damp and smelt
of mould and old moss, and there was a horrid silence. A great
leather-skinned bat flickered past them, almost brushing against
Sylvia’s hair, so that she ducked and gave out a little squeal.
Gorbo at last swarmed up one of the bigger trees and, after a lot of
struggling, managed to force his way out through the leaves, disturbing
numbers of bats that came flopping and wheeling about. Joe had to put
his arms round Sylvia’s head and hide it as well as he could until the
foul things had gone to settle elsewhere. A minute or two later, Gorbo
came sliding down.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I couldn’t see much else but leaves, but I
saw the sun so I know which way to go now. The sun is just over”--here
he stopped and thought and scratched his head. “Yes, I _think_ it’s
over that way. You see I got twisted round a bit coming down.”
They followed him again, working their way over and under the branches.
After a time he stopped and thought again, and then began climbing and
creeping in another direction--it was all climbing and creeping now.
Then he stopped and looked at them in dismay. The horrible writhing
grey trunks surrounded them on all sides like an ugly giant net, in
a gloom so deep that their shapes were lost to the eye a dozen yards
away. Gorbo, the clever one, the woodsman, had done this thing. They
were lost.
He did not look at them for long; the sight of Sylvia’s scared face as
she crept from under one of the grey limbs roused him up.
“It’s all right, Sylvia,” he said. “They’ll find we’re missing, and
this is the first place they’ll look for us in. You see they’ll start
shouting and yelling, and then we’ll start shouting and yelling and
work our way to where we hear them. It’s quite easy. But won’t the King
go for me! No Brazen Nutmeg for poor old Gorbo. There’s a little bigger
space over there; let’s go and see if we can find a place to sit down
comfortably.”
They worked their way on, and sure enough there was a little space
ahead that was more open owing to there being a huge tree which had, so
to speak, pushed all smaller ones out of its way. It was gloomy enough,
but there was at least room to stand upright and move about if they
felt like it.
“Look!” said Sylvia and Joe suddenly, both together.
Gorbo turned and then stared. In the big tree was a door about four
feet high, a queer looking door with mighty iron hinges and clasps, all
red with rust or green with moss. In the deep shadow and at a little
distance away it was difficult to distinguish it from the trunk.
Gorbo scratched his head and continued to stare. “I’ve never heard of
any door,” he said at length. “The Kelps never made any door; they
hadn’t sense enough; all biting and screaming and killing, I’ve heard.
And it’s ever so much too small for Golithos.”
“Who’s Golithos?” asked Joe quickly.
“Golithos’ an ogre,” replied Gorbo, truthfully, but like the silly fool
he was. Sylvia gave a scream and clutched hold of Joe.
“It’s all right, Sylvia,” said Gorbo in a hurry. “He _was_ an ogre, but
he’s not now. He’s reformed. Besides, he’s been on the other side of
the river for ever so long. Don’t be frightened.”
He went to the door and gave a good pull at a great iron knob. The door
swung open quite easily. He poked his head inside.
“Very dark and smells of cheese,” he said after a moment.
He went in a little way. “No, it’s not quite dark; there’s a light
coming from somewhere. There’s a little flight of steps going down.
Come and look.”
[Illustration]
Joe picked up Tiger and, taking Sylvia by the hand, stepped with her
inside the door.
“See,” said Gorbo, “there’s the steps. Shall we go down and see what we
can see?”
“Yes,” said Joe eagerly. “Let’s!”
“N--n--no,” said Sylvia at the same time. “I don’t like it.”
“Anyway,” went on Gorbo, “we’ll make sure that the door doesn’t shut
behind us. I’ll push it wide open and then----”
He did not finish what he was going to say, for the door had gently
closed. He flung himself furiously at it, but, strong as he was, made
no more impression on it than if it had been a stone wall.
Gorbo, that lout, had really done it this time.
_Part II_
TROUBLE AT WATKYNS BAY
Bitter was the grief and deep the perplexity of Miss Watkyns and all
the ladies when news came by other fleet messengers that Sylvia and
Joe had disappeared again, and this time in a quite unaccountable way.
A little while later King Merse II himself came to Watkyns Bay and
explained how bands of responsible Snergs had been sent to explore
everywhere and especially in the region of twisted trees, taking with
them little sacks of lime to mark their trails, and how they had
shouted and yelled until they were hoarse, but without avail, since no
answer had come from anywhere, and they had returned home with sore
hearts and sore throats. He tried to cheer them up by saying that the
children would certainly be found in time, but he did not say anything
about his real fear, which was that they had somehow got mixed up with
one or other of the magic snares which, tradition had it, were very
plentiful among the twisted trees. He quoted old sayings to comfort
them, such as it is best not to meet trouble half-way, and that care
killed the cat when there was really nothing amiss with the animal.
He added that as Providence looked after fools there was cause for
cheerful hopes, since Gorbo was the biggest fool even among the Snergs,
who, though having many good qualities, are not celebrated for brain
waves.
These kind efforts had some effect in restoring confidence and the
ladies were able to discuss the matter with comparative calm. Miss
Gribblestone had at first wondered whether by some untoward combination
of chances the children had slipped back to the scene of their former
life, and she drew a pathetic picture of Sylvia and Joe wandering
about the streets of London with bare legs and only slinkers on their
feet, and possibly starving, and she suggested the advisability of
her instant departure for London with a bundle of warm underthings
and two woolly coats. Miss Watkyns reproved her with some sharpness,
pointing out the impossibility of such a thing: leaving out fifty other
reasons the moon was only a quarter full and the air currents would
be in opposition, and this alone made the suggestion absurd. Miss
Scadging advanced an even wilder theory that the children had suffered
such mental anguish from the reproof and punishment given that they
had wandered away and died of broken hearts, and at this Miss Watkyns
begged her to consider the extravagance of such a suggestion applied
to either Sylvia or Joe and to give her energies to a more practical
solution of the problem.
When the rest of the children heard the news they were slightly
awe-struck but not immoderately grieved, for their experience of Joe
and Sylvia had led them to believe they were capable of coming safely
out of any trouble, and the general opinion was that they were having a
continuation of their surprising and interesting adventures somewhere
and would return in due time, full of glory and slightly swollen
headed. Poor things, they knew little of the harsh, real world; they
had forgotten what happened to them in the past; as has been said, the
air of the place was grand for forgetting.
The King next went over to see Vanderdecken and had a long conference
with him, and then returned across the forest with his retinue. He
had left word with Miss Watkyns that he and a band of picked men would
leave next day on an expedition, but for the present he preferred not
to say where to, in order to avoid raising either fears or hopes. On
his arrival at the town he made a short speech, and then personally
superintended preparations. Swords and axes were sharpened, quivers
were stuffed with arrows, steel casques had old dents knocked out,
cuirasses had the buckles put in order, provisions were packed into
little wallets. The air smelt of war, as in the brave days of old.
[Illustration]
Miss Watkyns, pacing with knitted brow on her verandah, was disturbed
by the sound of shrieks and expletives. Looking up in anger, she
saw Vanderdecken and all his men coming up the path, the foremost
seaman bearing the parrot’s cage--this accounting for the noise,
for the bird was enraged. All had their sea-boots on, and they bore
muskets, powder-horns, pouches with slugs and bullets, cutlasses
and snickersnees; each man had also a bag containing pickled beef,
biscuits, a cake of tobacco, and a small bottle of Schnapps.
Vanderdecken said that they were going away for an indefinite period
and asked Miss Watkyns if she would kindly give an eye to the camp in
their absence and see that things were aired occasionally and the weeds
kept down in the garden. Also, if it was not too much trouble, would
she see to it that the Snergs did at least half an hour’s pumping of
the old ship every morning and evening. He then handed over the parrot
with a request that it be supplied with nuts and fruit, and a bit of
sulphur in its water to prevent it getting scaly feet, and begged
her to pardon any of its verbal lapses. She agreed readily to these
requests, and they departed across the forest and joined King Merse and
his men on the following morning. An hour later they were all trooping
together over the hillside beyond the town.
BEYOND THE DOOR
While Gorbo was battering himself against the heavy little door, which
had closed so gently and firmly as if pushed to from without, Sylvia
clung to Joe and hid her face and trembled. Joe held her tight without
speaking; he, too, tough and adventurous as he was, had received a
shock.
Gorbo turned round at last, and in the faint light that came from
somewhere below they could see a badly scared look on his face, and
it was all twisted as if he were going to cry. He was thinking of the
horrid mess he had got the little ones into.
“I’ve done it this time,” he said. “So the old woman was right after
all.”
“Which old woman?” asked Joe.
“An old woman who told my mother that she would only have one son and
that he would be the biggest fool among the Snergs.”
“Then it isn’t your fault,” said Joe, to comfort him. “If it was all
settled before you were born.”
“That’s so!” exclaimed Gorbo. “I must be a fool not to think of that
before. But then if I had thought of it,” he added mournfully, “I
wouldn’t be a fool and the old woman would have been wrong; so it works
out all right.”
“But you’re sometimes quite sensible,” said Joe. “Isn’t he, Sylvia?”
“Y--y--yes,” agreed Sylvia. “But I wish we could get out.”
“It seems to me,” said Gorbo, “--not that _I_ am much of a man to
listen to--that we should see what we can see down these steps.”
“Well, we can’t stay here for ever,” said Joe, “so let’s go.”
“I’ll go ahead,” said Gorbo. “If there are any fierce things that bite
below, they can have first bite at me and serve me right.”
With this cheerful remark he started off. Joe went next and Sylvia came
close behind him. The way was very narrow and so low that their heads
nearly touched the roof, small as they were. And they went down and
down and down, and the more they went down the lighter it got with a
sickly yellowish-green light that seemed to come from a little growth
on the walls, like fungus. There was absolutely nothing to see but
steps and walls, very neatly cut out of solid rock. It must have been
an awful job for those who did all this work, whoever they were.
“Do you think these steps go on for ever and ever?” asked Joe after a
time.
“No,” replied Gorbo, stopping suddenly. “They’ve come to an end.” He
was standing in a little flat place, from which five narrow passages
branched out like the fingers of a hand. The question of which passage
to take was indeed a hard one.
“We’d better start with the first one,” said Gorbo. “Then if it’s a
wrong one we’ll try the next, and so on.”
“But suppose we go miles and miles before we find it’s a wrong one,”
objected Joe. “We’d be hours over it, wouldn’t we?”
Gorbo scratched his head. “That sounds sound,” he observed.
“I know!” cried Joe. “We’ll see which one is ‘out.’ Let Sylvia try. She
knows all the out poems.”
“All right.” Sylvia began to take great interest in the matter now.
“Which one shall I try it with?”
“Try the cat one,” suggested Joe, after consideration.
So Sylvia pointed her finger at the little tunnels one after the other
and repeated:
“If you want to stroke a cat
Lay it flat upon a mat.
Hold it firmly by the tail
Smack it if it starts to wail.
If it starts to spit and shout
Pick it up and throw it OUT.”
She stopped with her finger pointing at the fourth tunnel and she
looked excitedly at the others, because it was becoming like a game.
“Here we go,” said Gorbo, making his way into the fourth tunnel.
They went on and on and on along the tunnel, and just at the exact
moment when they agreed that it would never have any end, they fetched
up against a blank wall. But on either side was a passage going at
right angles, and the question was of course, which was the right one
to take?
Sylvia repeated her little mystic rhyme, and “out” was the left-hand
turning, so they went along it. After a dozen steps it turned to the
right, and a little further on to the left; then it went straight on
until it came to an end, with a smooth wall in front and on both sides.
There was nothing for it but to go back and take the other turning.
They wondered why the people who had done all this work had made
this extra blind passage. Joe said they had done it to make it more
interesting and adventurous. Sylvia said they had done it because they
were pigs. Gorbo said it was merely because they were worse fools than
he was and it quite cheered him up.
The other road soon began to turn gently to the left; then without
rhyme or reason it turned gently to the right; then to the right and
left alternately in very sharp turns. And just when they were convinced
that it would go on turning idiotically for ever and ever they came
suddenly into what appeared to be a mighty cavern, lighted by the same
yellowish-green light of the tunnels, only more so, and full of monster
mushrooms.
THE MUSHROOM CAVERN
When I say that the mushrooms were monsters, it hardly gives a correct
idea of their size. Under the moderately small ones the three could
stand upright, and the large ones were as high as a good-sized cottage
and reached nearly to the roof of the cavern. The floor was hard and
dry and perfectly flat, and the huge stalks of the mushrooms could
be seen like a forest of giant skittles, going into the far distance
on all sides. Above, the pink underneaths of those strange specimens
showed like an unnecessarily large assortment of giant fancy umbrellas,
opened. These, of course, accounted for the cheese-like smell that
Gorbo had observed when he first put his head in the little door and
sniffed. (It was not exactly like cheese, of course, but cheese is near
enough.)
Gorbo showed himself a man of resource in a way. He said that, after
all, mushrooms were mushrooms and good breakfast food, and that they
might at least have a meal, whatever else happened afterwards. This
cheered up Sylvia tremendously and she helped to gather heaps of dried
stalks from the floor, and Gorbo got out his flint and steel from his
bundle--he rarely went anywhere without his little bundle of tools
and other matters and his bow and arrows--and soon had a fire going
(to those who may object that mushroom stalks do not burn I have only
to say that these did). With the aid of his useful trowel he provided
an appetizing series of mushroom steaks, which they all enjoyed
tremendously.
They found that the smaller ones were on the whole of a better flavour,
and it was while they were searching for some tiny specimens, scarcely
as high as a table, in order to cook some more, that they all got a
sudden shock. They found that certain mushrooms had large semicircular
pieces bitten out of them; the mouth that did it must have been a foot
wide, with tremendous teeth. A very disturbing discovery you will say.
They looked about them fearfully; and then they heard what sounded like
heavy, shuffling footsteps, and a satisfied purring, as of a giant cat.
[Illustration]
Gorbo put the children behind him in a hurry and fitted an arrow to
his bow (the Snergs’ bows are on the small size, but they can send
an arrow through a two-inch board at close range). Then to their
horror appeared an animal that I can only describe as resembling a
blonde four-footed walrus walking on its hind legs. It was covered
with sleek, ginger-coloured hair, and it had goggling eyes, a mouth
that corresponded closely with the estimate they had formed of it
from the big bites, and a white drooping moustache. Strange to say,
it was a marsupial--that is to say, it had a pouch--but no young ones
were peeping out of the pouch as in the case of kangaroos and other
marsupials. No, it seemed full of large chunks of mushroom, and the
animal was walking upright because it was evidently the only way he
could carry them in his pouch without tipping them out. He waddled
clumsily up to one of the biggest mushrooms, sniffed at it, purred
horribly with delight, bit a large section out of it, and bent his head
carefully so as to place it in his pouch. And then Sylvia let out a
loud scream.
I do not blame her; perhaps I should have screamed myself if I had
been there. But the effect was marvellous. The animal turned its head
smartly and stared at them, its fore-paws held up as if in fear and
astonishment. The big mouth drooped, giving it a weak appearance;
bits of mushroom dribbled from the corners. Then, with a sound like
a roaring sob, the animal turned and scuttled away on all fours,
scattering sections of mushroom from its pouch as it went.
The sounds of scuttling feet and sobs died away in the far distance and
all was silent as before. Gorbo put his arrow back into his quiver.
“There’s a cowardly custard for you,” he remarked, using an expression
he had heard from the children. They went back to the fire and had
some more breakfast, greatly relieved to find that the denizens of this
strange part, so far as they could judge from this sample, were not
ferocious ones.
Joe was apparently the bright one: he discovered that there was
something like a path going more or less straight through the forest of
monstrous fungi, and suggested that it would be a wise idea to follow
it. They did so, walking on and on until they were weary of the sight
of the thick white stalks, and a good long time afterwards. Strange,
is it not, that here Nature should be so lavish of mushrooms, while in
England they are so rare that hard-worked men are forced by their wives
to rise from their beds before they have had their fill of sleep in
order to gather a few poor specimens?
The path came to an end at a blank face of rock. They had reached the
other side of the cavern. Sylvia repeated her little poem again, and
“out” was to the left, so to the left they went. This time they did
not go so very far before they were rewarded by the strange sight of a
stone seat, and in front of it, a stone table, both very neatly carved.
[Illustration]
What was it doing here? What strange forgotten race had gone to the
trouble of chopping a stone seat and table out of hard rock--and not
only chopping them out but carving some strange figures on them and
smoothing the legs down? They all looked carefully at the carvings; so
far as they could judge they were intended to represent rabbits walking
upright. Why?
“This cheers me up,” said Gorbo. “I _can’t_ be the biggest fool.
When I consider that people have gone to the length of making this
difficult table and bench and carving rabbits on it for the sole
purpose--apparently--of eating mushrooms in this dismal cavern, I feel
that there is hope for me.”
“But _we_ don’t think you’re a fool, Gorbo,” said Sylvia soothingly.
“No, Sylvia,” replied Gorbo with a sigh. “But you haven’t seen me at my
best.”
“But there must be some way out close by here!” exclaimed Joe. “Of
course they’d put this table near the coming-in place, wouldn’t they?”
“You’ve got it, Joe,” said Gorbo. “Unless the people who did it were
much worse than me.”
Joe was right; at a very little distance away they found a tunnel. It
was as narrow as the tunnel they had passed through on the other side
and it was just as smooth, but it had this difference, that it sloped
upwards, on a gentle slope. They went up it until they were sick and
tired of the monotony, and at last they had to sit down, for Sylvia was
getting very tired.
When they started off again Gorbo picked up Sylvia in his arms and
carried her. “This beastly tunnel’s going on like this for about five
miles,” he said, as he walked on with her. After about twenty steps he
put her down again.
“We get fooled every time,” he observed bitterly. They had arrived at a
little flat place, like a room. Two passages branched out from it, and
there was a stone bench on either side, highly finished and each with
what appeared to be a pig carved on it.
“Pigs, you see,” remarked Gorbo. “However, I suppose they couldn’t help
it.”
Again Sylvia repeated the rhyme and they took the right-hand passage.
It went winding about with bold curves for a long distance and then
came to a sudden end, but this time, to their great joy, it ended in a
small door, iron bound and rusty; like the one they had unfortunately
found under the twisted trees. They raised a shout of joy, for surely
their long strange journey was over--that is, the underground part of
it.
Gorbo pushed at the door, but it did not move. Then he pushed harder.
Then he put his shoulder to it and shoved with all his might. And still
the door remained shut hard and fast.
“I’ll do it!” he cried. “Luckily there’s plenty of room for a run.”
With that, he ran and hurled himself at the door with a mighty crash.
And he might as well have flung himself against Westminster Abbey.
He sat down and looked mournfully at the children and they looked
mournfully back at him.
There seemed nothing for it but to try what the left-hand passage would
show them. So they went back and followed it through devious twists and
turns until it ended in a small bare chamber, on the walls of which
were carved what was undoubtedly meant to represent goats. There was
absolutely nothing else to see.
“Goats this time,” said Gorbo sourly. “Well, well, well! Yes, it’s
clear to me that I’m not the worst.”
They sat down on the floor and thought melancholy thoughts, for the
adventure was beginning to have a very black look. Sylvia hugged the
small dog to her, feeling very unhappy. At last Gorbo sprang up and
said he was going to have another try at that door if he broke his back
at it.
He examined the door all over very carefully. In the sickly greenish
light he could see huge iron hinges and plates; certainly it was a very
massive type of door for its size. He bent down and put his eye to a
tiny chink on one side.
“I can see daylight,” he cried excitedly. “We’ve _got_ to get out! Just
watch me this time.”
He took a good long run and then came against it with a terrific smash.
Then he did it again. After that he did it again. It takes a good deal
of bumping to hurt a Snerg, but Sylvia was frightened that he would
overdo it.
“Don’t, Gorbo!” she cried. “You’ll hurt yourself badly.”
“I deserve it,” said Gorbo. “Yes, I _am_ the worst.” He sat down and
buried his face in his hands.
“I wonder whether----” began Sylvia. Then she stopped and thought.
“You wonder what?” asked Joe.
“Just an idea of mine. Perhaps--yes I’ll try.”
She got up and went to the door and grabbed hold of a piece of
iron-work where it stuck out a little. Then she pulled as well as she
could with her little fingers.
The door opened inwards smoothly and sweetly, and a flood of daylight
poured in.
Gorbo looked up, and then smote his head with his clenched fist.
“Never mind,” said Sylvia, going up to him and stroking his head
tenderly. “_Poor_ old Gorbo!”
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER
The first glance that Gorbo gave as he came out into the warm sunlight
showed him that they were now (as the reader will have guessed from the
heading of this piece) on the other side of the river.
This was more serious news to him than to Sylvia or Joe. To them it
meant daylight, freedom from the subterranean gloom; possibly the
prelude to new adventures (it was). To him it meant trouble and danger
and the fear of unknown things. The wide deep river, rushing far below
between steep cliffs, had been a barrier keeping the Snergs secure
from a horror-haunted land, a land of distressful legends of dragons
and other fierce monsters, of Kelps and giants, and a ruthless king
who tyrannized over his people. No wonder he gazed sadly at the fair
green woods on the other side and wished--chiefly for the sake of the
children--that he was less of a fathead.
“It isn’t such a nice part on this side,” said Sylvia, looking about at
a dull landscape, dotted here and there with patches of coarse grass
and clumps of thorny trees. “But it’s jolly to get out of that dark
place.”
“Yes, isn’t it,” agreed Joe contentedly. At his age the present time
lasts quite a good bit. “I’m jolly glad we got here. Perhaps we’ll have
some real adventures now.”
“I’m thinking we will,” said Gorbo.
They went on a little way and, coming to the top of a gentle slope,
saw before them a round grey tower some half-mile or so away. It was
surrounded by a high outer wall and looked very lonely and dreary.
Gorbo stared long and hard at it.
“Yes,” he said at length, “that’s old Golithos’ tower. I can see him
outside, doing something to the wall. I know him by his whiskers.”
[Illustration]
“Then,” said Joe logically, “we’d better scoot. Come along, Sylvia!”
“No, don’t scoot,” said Gorbo; “it’s safe enough. Golithos is quite
harmless now because he’s reformed. We’d better go over and see if he
can tell us how to get back. Don’t be frightened, Sylvia, I’ve heard
he’s quite kind-hearted now. In fact they say he’s rather overdoing it.”
Though they were not exactly at their ease (what child is at the
thought of visiting an ogre?) they were impressed by Gorbo’s
confidence, and they went on hand-in-hand with him towards the tower,
Joe carrying the puppy.
GOLITHOS THE OGRE
A huge man, about seven feet high, was working with a heap of mortar
and some big stones, repairing a loose part of the wall. As they drew
near he turned and saw them; then he smacked his hands together to
knock the mortar off and rubbed them in his hair and waited for them
with a friendly but weak-looking smile. He had a great silly face and
coarse hair and whiskers like bits of a cheap goatskin rug. His dress
was the usual shabby dress of ogres in books. It is perhaps slightly
unfair to call him an ogre, for as Gorbo had said, he was reformed. Not
a child had passed his lips for years, and his diet was now cabbage,
turnip-tops, cucumbers, little sour apples and thin stuff like that.
“Aha!” he said as they came up, “you are all heartily welcome. It is
long since I had any nice visitors. How are _you_, my little maid? And
_you_, my little man? And you also, my dear Snerg? Let me see, have I
had the pleasure of meeting you before?” He shook hands with them in a
very friendly way.
“I don’t think so,” replied Gorbo. “You see,” he added delicately, “I
was quite a boy when they--I mean when you--well, when you changed your
address.”
“Exactly,” said Golithos, with a conscious blush. “Well, come inside
and make yourselves at home.”
There seemed nothing for it but to go on through his door, though all
Gorbo wanted was to ask the way back across the river, not to make
morning calls. When they were inside Golithos slammed the heavy door
and locked it.
“I get so nervous if I leave it open,” he explained. “But come in and
I’ll have a meal ready for you. You must be tired and hungry after your
long journey from wherever you have come.”
“Look here,” said Gorbo, “we don’t want to trouble you too much. All we
want to know is how to get back across the river.”
“To get back across the river,” replied Golithos, bending down and
placing a hand affectionately on his shoulder, “is easier than you
think. Much easier. In fact I think I am right in saying that however
easy you think it is it will prove to be easier still.”
“Well, I’m glad of that,” said Gorbo.
“Naturally you would be. But come inside and make yourselves at home.”
“Thanks, but I should really like to know the way.”
“The way?” Golithos looked a bit puzzled.
“Yes, the way across the river of course.”
“Oh, yes, of course. What am I thinking of? Well, it’s perfectly easy.
All you have to do is to--but one thing at a time. Come inside and make
yourselves at home.”
He led the way up some steep steps to a door in the wall of the tower
and into a large round room which took the whole of one story. It was
big enough, but the most comfortless room possible. At one side was a
great four-foot post bedstead, and in the middle was a big heavy table
and one big heavy chair. And that was all the furniture, unless you
count an accumulation of mixed litter--old clothes and gardening tools
and pots and pans and sacks and barrels and so forth scattered on the
floor. Some wooden steps led to a trap-door in the ceiling and in the
stone floor was another trap-door, with a big iron ring to lift it by,
which led apparently to a cellar. There was only one window, with
little round panes of dull green glass.
“This is my kitchen-dining room,” he said with a look of pride. “I
sleep here too--that structure over there is my bed--so it is a bedroom
as well. Please take chairs--I mean, one of you take the chair and the
others sit on the floor. But whatever you do, make yourselves at home.”
“Thanks,” said Gorbo. “But what about the way across the river?”
“The river?” Golithos did not seem to grasp his meaning.
“Yes, the river outside. All that wet stuff over there. We want to get
back.”
“Undoubtedly. Well, you needn’t worry about _that_, because it’s a very
simple matter. I’ll show you how it can be done in the easiest way.
But first let’s see about dinner.” He picked up a pan and a knife and
rushed blunderingly down the steps.
“I’ve heard it said that he’s getting very slow since he reformed,”
said Gorbo after a minute’s thinking, “but he’s worse than I expected.
Somehow or other he makes me feel that I want to contradict him. And
I’m not like that usually.”
“But he’s going to give us something to eat,” Joe observed.
“Yes, Joe. But I don’t think it will be very strengthening. That’s the
worst of reformed people. Here he comes.”
Golithos came in like a mighty bumble bee, bumping against things
and getting his feet entangled with things on the floor and dropping
vegetables about and stooping to pick them up and dropping others as
he did so. “I’m going to give you the feed of your lives,” he said,
chopping up lettuce and smiling in his feeble way. “I always think
there’s nothing so appetizing as fine fresh lettuce and raw onions,
especially if they have lots of salt.”
DINNER WITH GOLITHOS
In a minute or so he placed a large pan on the table, and then he got
two empty barrels and laid a plank across them to make a seat for the
children. Sylvia whispered rather anxiously to Gorbo, who had been
watching their host with a discontented expression, and indicated that
Tiger’s contour was losing its curves.
“Look here, Golithos,” said Gorbo, “can you give this little dog
something to eat?”
Golithos scratched his head. “Let me see--I suppose he doesn’t eat
salad?”
“No, he doesn’t. He’s a dog, not a grasshopper. Haven’t you got any
bread?”
“I may have some odd bits in a sack somewhere. You see I don’t eat
bread very much. I find its heating to the blood. But I’ll try to find
some nice bits for him later. In the meantime, let us eat heartily.
Would you like the chair or do you prefer standing?”
“Chair for me, thanks,” replied Gorbo, seating himself. “Look here,
Golithos, this is all very kind and considerate and jolly of you, but
these young ones will want something a bit solider than this.”
“No solids here,” said Golithos quickly. “It wouldn’t do.”
“Well, you’ve got a cow outside. Why don’t you give them some milk?”
[Illustration]
“Milk? Yes, but do you think it would be good for them? It’s rather
heady stuff.”
Gorbo clapped the table smartly. “You hop out and milk that old cow of
yours!” he said loudly. “These children want milk. They can’t live on
lip and lettuce.”
Golithos looked fearfully abashed. “Yes, yes, I’ll go,” he said. “Don’t
be violent.” He blundered out and down the steps.
“Can’t quite make him out,” said Gorbo. “He was a wicked old rascal
once, but if he was rough he was ready--and a bit interesting if you’re
not too particular. But I think the watercress diet has weakened his
brain.”
He felt his responsibility in the matter keenly; if he had not been a
born fool he would not have got the children into this mess; and his
easy-going disposition seemed to have suddenly disappeared with regard
to his host. After a minute he jumped out of the big chair and ran to
the window and poked his head out. “Golithos!” he called in a warning
voice. “Waiting!”
Golithos appeared, bearing a pitcher of milk and looking highly
flustered. “Shall I put some water in it?” he asked.
“Give it to me,” ordered Gorbo, taking the pitcher. He looked round the
littered table and found two earthenware mugs. “Wash them,” he said,
passing them over his shoulder to Golithos. “Dear, dear, this is barely
decent!”
The milk at any rate was nice and warm, and the children felt greatly
refreshed by it. A small bowlful was given to Tiger, who lapped it
up and then went to sleep on a sack. Then all set to on the salad,
Golithos standing by and pressing them to take more whenever they
paused. Gorbo took his portion in a dissatisfied way, sometimes looking
at a morsel with scorn before putting it into his mouth (I may mention
that they were eating with their fingers; there were no forks in this
disgusting ménage). After a time he made a crude attempt at polite
conversation.
“Doing well here, Golithos?” he asked.
“Pretty well, thank you. Oh, yes. It’s lonely, of course; people seem
to shun me so. But I have plenty of time to meditate on my past sins.”
“Ah, that ought to fill in the time. Keeping pretty fit, Golithos?”
“Tolerably so, thank you. I suffer from stomach trouble occasionally.”
“Only occasionally, eh? That’s strange. Sleep well, Golithos?”
“Fairly well, I thank you. I have nightmares sometimes.”
“What do you expect? This all you’re going to give us, Golithos?”
“I’m really afraid I haven’t anything else--Yes, I have! I can give you
a fine fresh young cucumber.”
“Keep it, Golithos.” Gorbo stretched himself and yawned and turned to
the children. “Well, Sylvia, what do you think of _this_ for a hole?”
Sylvia glanced at the feeble though gigantic face of the once
child-eater and felt some pity for him. “Oh, it’s very nice,” she
answered, though not, I am afraid, very truthfully. “Isn’t it, Joe?”
“It’s fine,” said Joe. Then he put his hands before his mouth and
spluttered, for his manners were not good. Their host looked very
unhappy.
“Just fancy it on a rainy day,” went on Gorbo. “Well, Golithos, what’s
the country like in these parts?”
“I don’t know very much about it, because I don’t go about very much,
but I’ve heard it’s very bad. You see there’s the land of King Kul not
so very far off, and he’s got a very bad character.”
“Yes, we’ve heard of him. What does he do especially?”
“Well, he persecutes the people. You see he makes a hobby of it.
And from what I’ve heard they’re the sort of people who ought to be
persecuted. But I don’t really know much about them because I don’t
often see any of them. And when I do I lock myself up tight until
they’ve gone. Old Mother Meldrum comes over to see me sometimes and she
tells me about the goings-on.”
“And who’s old Mother Meldrum?”
“Well, she’s a witch, that’s what she is. She says nothing will go
right until King Kul is laid out, and she keeps trying to get me to go
for it. But somehow or other I don’t feel up to violent exercise since
I got reformed.”
“You’re losing your nerve, Golithos. But why doesn’t somebody else try
to do him in?”
“I think it’s because they’re afraid. It’s risky, you see. Mother
Meldrum says that his castle is three-quarters dungeons. And he keeps
six headsmen busy all the time except on Saturday afternoons and
Sundays.”
“That fits in with what I’ve heard of him myself,” said Gorbo, looking
anxiously at Sylvia and Joe, who were taking all this in. “But cheer
up, Sylvia, we’ll soon get out of it. Now, Golithos, what about how to
get across the river?”
GOLITHOS EXPLAINS
The giant took Gorbo by the arm and led him to the window. “Do you see
that tree?” he asked, pointing out a tall pine standing far off.
“Yes, Golithos.”
“Well, that tree’s close by the river, and I pointed it out because
it’s quite useless your trying to get across the river at that point.
Or for the matter of that, at any other point, if you understand me.”
“Well, I don’t, if you understand me. I can tell you fifty ways how
_not_ to get across the river. Rouse your wits, Golithos!”
“You make me nervous. And if you do that you’ll drive all the fine
ideas out of my head. You see the fact is that you don’t get _across_
the river at all. But, notwithstanding, it’s a perfectly easy matter to
get to the other side if you know the way how. Now do you see my point?”
“I thought I was something of a born fool, Golithos, but since I’ve met
you I’m quite proud of myself.”
“_Don’t_ speak to me like that; it gives me the all-overs. Look here,
all you have to do is to go _under_ the river. You go through a little
door.”
“I thought so. You’ve been a long time coming to it, Golithos. As a
matter of fact we came that way, but the little door shut up tight as
soon as we got out of it. And there’s another door on the other side.
How do we get them open?”
“It’s quite easy. But I don’t quite remember how it’s done--now don’t
get violent! You see it’s not exactly difficult; it’s only something to
do with some little magic spells. You make a circle on the ground and
divide it into six parts--or sixteen parts, I forget which. And then
you bring some simple little charms--twenty-eight altogether, I think.
I know one of them is the toe-nail of the seventh son of a seventh son
born on a Friday. And then you repeat something out of a book--oh, if
you’re going to look at me like that I shall get thoroughly nervous and
forget the rest.”
“Look here, Golithos,” said Gorbo, “do you think Mother Meldrum has
more sense than you?”
“Oh, yes, she’s got ever so much more! _She_ knows the way to get the
door open.”
“Oh, does she? Then where can we find her?”
“She may come here at any time. You see she comes because I amuse
her--at least that’s what she says--and if you wait here a day or two
she’s bound to turn up. I can give you a lovely room upstairs. I’ll
move the turnips to one side and give you some nearly clean straw to
sleep on. I’d give my own bed to the little ones, but I’m afraid the
mattress is rather bumpy; I think some brickbats must have got into
it. You see I air the mattress every November, and last November I was
doing some building, and as there were a few holes in it, you see----”
“Don’t worry, Golithos, we’ll take your upstairs room. So come and move
the turnips.”
THE UPSTAIRS ROOM
The upstairs room was much worse than the one below, which is saying
something. It was furnished chiefly with turnips and sacks of lime, and
these Golithos began to move to one side in a muddle-headed way, while
Gorbo sat on the window-ledge and watched him. At length there was a
clear space for the straw, which was spread out in the manner advocated
for sick horses.
“There!” said Golithos proudly, resting on his hay-fork, _“There’s_ a
bed for you!”
Gorbo only snorted and said nothing, and there was silence for a time.
“Those are dear little children,” remarked Golithos, trying to be
amiable and interesting.
“Yes,” said Gorbo shortly.
“It’s a long time since I saw any. In my bad old days I saw plenty, as
you know, but I thought it best--after I reformed--to keep away from
them for a good long time.”
[Illustration]
“Sound idea.”
“Yes, wasn’t it? But as I say, these are very dear little things,
especially the little girl. Do you know,” he went on chattily, “it used
to be a saying amongst us in the bad old days that the lighter the hair
the tenderer the meat--however, I don’t suppose that interests you.”
“Not a bit.”
“Of course not. But I have taken quite a strong liking to these little
ones. The little girl is very pretty, and they are both well formed.
Not fat exactly. I should describe them as well filled out. Chubby, if
you understand my meaning.”
Gorbo slipped down from the window and went down the ladder in a
leisurely way. “Tidy up the place properly,” he ordered as he went.
Golithos obediently went on messing about, crooning a little song about
a rose that loved a butterfly and faded away.
GORBO’S DOUBTS
It will probably occur to the thoughtful reader at this point that a
change had come over the character of Gorbo. A sense of responsibility,
mingled with self-reproach, had brought forth qualities hitherto
unsuspected, and though he was to some extent losing his natural desire
to please all whom he met by conciliatory speech and helpful ways,
he was gaining in ability to make quick decisions, as also in verbal
fluency and a capacity for what is known among our famed comedians as
back-chat.
He found the children in the cabbage patch trying to amuse themselves
with Tiger, but not succeeding very well because they were getting
very tired of this dismal place. Their surroundings were horrible--all
nettles and cheap-looking vegetables and rank grass and stones, and
a high wall (on which were lots of snails) shutting out everything
but the sky. Sylvia took the puppy to show to the cow, which was the
only nice thing in the place and which lived in a rotten old shed in a
corner, and Gorbo then had a chance to talk to Joe.
“Joe,” he said, “I don’t want to frighten Sylvia, but you’re a man like
me. It seems to me that this is not a healthy place to stay in very
long. In the first place we’ll get bored to screaming fits, and in the
second place I’m having doubts of old Golithos.”
[Illustration]
“Oo-er!” said Joe, now thoroughly startled.
“Yes, I’m beginning to think he’s not so reformed as he thinks he is.
Of course it may be only my fancy, but I’m not going to take any risks,
and you and Sylvia must keep close by me always. We’ll have to stay
here a little while because, though it’s plain that he won’t be able
to tell us how to get those little doors open, that old witch may come
along at any time, and then I can get it out of her. I’ll give her my
drinking-horn to tell us how; it’s the only thing I’ve got that’s worth
anything, but it’s got silver on it and perhaps it’ll do. But if it’s
not enough I’m afraid Sylvia will have to give over her little coral
necklace. I don’t know what witchs’ charges are, but I should say the
two together would be plenty.”
“But won’t it be awfully risky staying here?” asked Joe. This was
becoming rather more of an adventure than he had bargained for.
“Not so much, because you won’t go out of my sight and I’ve always
got my bow tucked under my arm. Of course I could make it quite safe
by sending an arrow through his hairy old throat, but somehow I don’t
quite like to do it until I’m dead certain sure. But don’t you worry,
Joe. And don’t let Sylvia know.”
The day wore on. They had a light supper of cold sliced turnips and
some of the milk that was left over from the midday feast. They gave
a third part of the milk to Tiger in order to moisten some very hard
crusts that Golithos found for him. Tiger did not worry, it was
quantity he wanted, not quality, and his little abdomen began to take
on bold curves again.
GOLITHOS IS TEMPTED
The night passed without trouble. The children slept soundly on their
straw; Gorbo had made his bed on top of the trap-door so they felt safe
enough. But in the morning there was more than a hint that some good
old-fashioned trouble was coming.
Said Golithos to Gorbo (taking him quietly aside by the arm), “Would
you oblige me by keeping these dear little children always close by
you?”
Said Gorbo to Golithos (removing his arm), “I’m going to. But not
particularly to oblige you. What’s the little game?”
“It is no little game; it is something more serious. You see I have a
horrid fear that I may go back to my old disgraceful ways. The sight of
these dear little plump things is a very, very great temptation to me,
and I want you to help me to fight against it. I don’t want you to go
away, because if I don’t have the temptation there will be no credit in
conquering it--and I really hope and believe that I will be able to. Do
you know that last night I wanted to have a look at them asleep, but I
couldn’t open the trap-door. There seemed to be something heavy on it.”
“There was,” said Gorbo.
“I thought so. And then, do you know, I came down and sat thinking
about them, and after a time I found myself sharpening a big knife in
an absent-minded way. It gave me quite a shock. Now promise me that you
will help me to overcome this temptation.”
“Oh, I’ll help you,” replied Gorbo.
He called to Sylvia and Joe to come down and to bring Tiger, and then
he went with them down the steps to the door in the outer wall.
“Come and open this door, Golithos,” he called.
“Oh, you’re surely not thinking of leaving me!” exclaimed Golithos,
clumping down after them. “I shall be greatly upset if you run away
like that.”
Gorbo jerked out an arrow and laid it on his bow.
“You’ll be more upset in a moment perhaps,” he said, “if that door
isn’t opened before I count ten there’ll be three of these sticking out
of your silly fat head.”
Golithos jumped for the door and had it open just as Gorbo had counted
up to six. As the children passed out, shrinking away from him, he bent
down and held out his hand to them.
[Illustration]
“Good-bye, little dears,” he said. “Won’t you shake hands with an old
reformed person? Oh, this _is_ unkind!”
Gorbo put his arrow back in the quiver and stood for a moment looking
up at him. “You stick to watercress,” he said tauntingly. “Watercress
and cold water. A slice of mangel-wurzel for Christmas. That’s about
your form.”
“You have hurt me,” said Golithos, drawing himself to his full height
(seven feet, one inch). His tone was not without a certain dignity.
“Get inside!” shouted Gorbo, slipping out an arrow again. “I’m not so
sure I shan’t----”
But Golithos had scuttled in and banged the door and locked it. They
walked along a narrow stony track that led towards some rising ground.
Looking back, they saw the head of Golithos peeping over the top of his
wall. So far as they could judge at that distance it had a wistful look.
BEYOND THE TOWER
When they had got to the other side of the rising ground and the tower
was hidden from view, Gorbo paused in order to take off his cap and
tear his hair a little. Then he embraced both children remorsefully,
and they gave him such words of comfort as occurred to them.
“The next question,” he said, rousing himself, “is the question of
what we are to do next. If I knew where Mother Meldrum lived, we’d go
straight there at once. But I don’t know, and it’d be hopeless my going
back to ask Golithos. I’ve scared what little wits he had clean out of
him.”
“Perhaps we’ll meet somebody if we go on walking,” suggested Sylvia.
“Then we can ask where she lives.”
“Yes, let’s,” said Joe. “I’d like to meet a witch. We’ve just had one
nice adventure and perhaps we’ll have another. Think of it, Sylvia!
We are the only two kids in the world who have ever been in an ogre’s
castle--I mean the only two who have ever got out of it afterwards.
Won’t the others be jealous!”
“Yes, Joe, but I wish we could go back to them. It’s getting too
beastly like one of those tales Norah told me.”
They walked on and on and on, over a plain which was dotted here and
there with clumps of trees but which showed nothing else of interest,
until they came to what looked like a road, and this they followed for
a couple of hours. Then, suddenly, they saw coming across the plain
a man on a horse. The strange thing was that both man and horse were
shining all over in the bright morning sun, and they stopped and looked
in wonder.
“It’s a knight!” Joe exclaimed. “Look, Sylvia! Look at his shining
armour and his long lance! I’ll bet it’s swift and keen.” (Miss Watkyns
used to sing “I fear no foe” at the Saturday evening concerts.)
“I hope his heart is pure,” said Sylvia, rather anxiously. (Miss
Ffolijambe used to recite “Sir Galahad”.)
Gorbo said nothing, but he tried his bowstring to see if it was all
right.
THE KNIGHT-ERRANT
The man in armour pulled up his horse when he reached the road a
little way ahead and waited for them. Both children found him rather a
disappointment when they came near for he did not seem quite up to the
standard of knights in books. It is true that he had shining armour and
the lance as long as a barge pole and so forth, but it seemed that his
mail suit had not been made to measure. The breastplate was tied on to
the back part with what looked like bootlaces, and they did not join
well; bits of cloth showed at the sides. The armour on his legs was on
the large size and rattled whenever he moved. His helmet also was much
too big and it wobbled. The plume, though not a bad plume, should have
been smaller to give a good effect. The horse was big and white and
hairy, and had a thing like a spiked saucepan lid on its brow.
[Illustration]
As they came near he raised the visor of his helmet and stared
haughtily at them. From what they could see of his face he had peepy
eyes, a long nose and rather puddingy cheeks.
“Who are ye?” he asked in an important way, “and wherefore come ye----”
here his voice was cut off suddenly, for the visor had slipped down
like a trap and he had to struggle with it.
He got it up at last: “As I was saying, wherefore come ye thus
unattended on the King’s ways, two children and a dwarf?”
“Who are you calling a dwarf?” said Gorbo disagreeably. “Dwarf
yourself!”
The knight gave him a long contemptuous stare in reply, a stare that
might have lasted a long time if the visor had not come down again and
put an end to it.
“Temper!” said the knight sharply when he had got his visor open.
“But we will let it pass. Tell me, have you any wrongs to redress?
Sir Percival am I, sworn to succour damsels, to slay giants, wasters,
caitiffs and perishers, to rescue----”
“As I was saying,” he went on lifting his visor again and propping it
up with one hand, “I am sworn to rescue the oppressed, to right wrongs,
and to--well, to generally make things happy all round.”
“That’s very nice of you,” said Gorbo. “Then perhaps you’ll kindly tell
us the way to the witch----”
“Which witch?” interrupted Sir Percival.
“Mother Meldrum. If you’ll kindly----”
“Ay, she is known as a parlous witch. She lives in the dark woods where
fly the large black bats, all alone with her large black cats, and she
gathers herbs o’ moonlight nights and brews foul potions to harm honest
folk. Which means that I am not going there with you.”
“Who asked you to?” said Gorbo. “I only want to know the way there.”
“Then in that case you had better travel with me, for I am going within
a mile or so of the dark woods. And if anybody should try to oppress
you on the way, why, I shall be there to defend you.”
“That will be jolly,” said Gorbo. “Many thanks. But what about these
little ones? Can’t you give them a lift--one in front and one behind?”
“H’m!” The knight thought over this for a time. “I’d like to oblige, of
course--especially as I am sworn to do good deeds--but wouldn’t that
make me look rather ridiculous?”
“Not a bit,” said Gorbo. “As a matter of fact you’d look rather sweet.
Come Sylvia, I’ll lift you up.”
Before Sir Percival could make any further objection he found that
Sylvia had been hoisted up and placed in front of him. The saddle was a
roomy one and well padded, so it made quite a comfortable seat for her.
“Catch hold of his belt,” said Gorbo. “Then you’ll be quite safe. Now
then, Joe.”
Joe, as a circus-trained boy should, took a run and a flying leap on to
the horse’s crupper, where he sat at his ease.
“I say,” said Sir Percival peevishly, “aren’t you rather taking
liberties with me?”
“I beg your pardon?” replied Gorbo, who was busy with Sylvia, making a
comfortable pair of stirrups for her out of some odd bits of straps on
the saddle.
“I said, ‘Aren’t you rather taking liberties with me?’”
“No, not a bit. Are you quite comfortable, Sylvia?”
“Yes, it’s lovely,” replied Sylvia.
“And you, Joe?”
“I’m fine. This is a _real_ adventure!”
“I hope this is not incommoding you at all,” said Gorbo politely,
struck with a sudden idea.
“Oh, no,” replied Sir Percival with bitter irony. He couldn’t hold his
lance properly and he had to reach right round Sylvia to handle the
reins. “Who _would_ be incommoded by a little thing like this?” Then
his visor fell down again and he roared angrily, though in a muffled
way. But Sylvia’s handy little fingers soon propped it open again,
and she asked Gorbo to find a little bit of stick and sharpen it with
his knife. Then she deftly wedged the stick between the visor and the
helmet.
“There,” she said, patting his steel-cased cheek, “now it will keep up
nicely. But what you really need is some large hooks and eyes.” She had
seen, with the unerring instinct of childhood, that not only was Sir
Percival’s heart pure but that his head was rather soft.
His perhaps excusable irritation was soothed by this attention, and he
smiled at her.
“If any enemies come,” she explained, “all you have to do is to pull
out this bit of stick and there you are, ready for battle.”
Sir Percival was aroused at the mention of battle. “If any caitiffs
should oppress you, little golden-haired maid,” he said proudly,
“I will show you how great a man with his hands is Sir Percival.
Evil-doers shake at the mention of my name.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Sylvia, giggling. The child was actually
trying on with this belted knight the same ways that had tempted Joe
to such flagrant acts of folly and disobedience, and to which their
present position might be directly traced. Minx.
“I suppose you can’t find room for this little dog?” said Gorbo,
holding up Tiger.
“No,” replied Sir Percival with stern decision. “I draw the line at
little dogs.” He then shook the reins and the big white horse started
off at a quick comfortable walk.
SIR PERCIVAL’S JOB
Sir Percival seemed to have settled down to inconvenience and (I must
own) grotesque appearance due to his having children fore and aft of
him on the saddle, and he was quite ready to talk about himself. He was
out looking for adventures because he had become enamoured of a young
lady, and she had told him that if he would go forth as a knight-errant
for one year and conquer a reasonable number of knights and caitiffs
and slay some dragons and the like, she would have something to say
to him, but she did not say what. So far he had not conquered anybody
because he hadn’t met anybody who would fight, and as for dragons he
really believed they had all left the country. One man, a miller, had
told him where there was a dragon, but it turned out that the ribald
fellow meant his own wife, who used to go for him with ferocity, and
probably with plenty of reason. But he told them he had now great
hopes, for he was on his way to a castle he had heard about as being
likely--though he didn’t know whose it was--for in a castle there were
always knights, and knights were always spoiling for a fight. This
was very good news to Gorbo because he worked it out that in a castle
there was always something to eat, and the children were delighted when
he told them this, for the sun was now getting high and they had had
nothing to eat since last night’s turnips.
In time they came to nice wooded country, which was a pleasant change
from the rather bare plain. Then they caught sight of battlemented
towers peeping above the tree-tops, and a little later they halted
by the outer wall of a small cosy castle, all alone by itself. There
seemed to be nobody about, inside or outside, and everything was very
peaceful and sunny and still. And hanging on the outer gate was a
slug-horn like the one outside the Dark Tower that Childe Roland came
to.
THE MYSTERIOUS CASTLE
“I am going to wind this horn,” said Sir Percival to Gorbo (he meant,
to blow it). “And if you will oblige me by pretending to be my squire,
I shall think it very nice of you.”
“Yes, I’ll be your squire,” replied Gorbo, quite interested. He lifted
Sylvia down to get her out of the way in case battle should take place
suddenly. “I’d like to--Jump down, Joe--I’ll tell them you’ll take on
any six of them and----”
“Not so brisk, please,” said the knight. “What I want you to do is to
say that I am the famed Sir Percival and--and so on and so forth. Give
them the idea that I am something of a terror. Don’t know what fear is,
and that sort of thing. You see I don’t want to injure anybody if it
can be avoided, and if any knight prefers to give in without fighting,
why, let him do so by all means and save needless bloodshed. Do you get
the idea?”
“Yes, I think so. Hot stuff, as it were. Now blow hard.”
Sir Percival blew at the small end of the slug-horn and a long
melancholy note came out of the other end. Then there was silence for
a time; but at length they heard the sound of slow shuffling footsteps
coming to the gate.
“Nothing to-day, thank you kindly,” said a weak and quavering voice.
“Open, varlet!” cried Sir Percival angrily. “What discourtesy is this
to keep a champion waiting at your gate? Open, I say, lest I believe
that the knights of this castle fear to meet me.”
“Save you, good sir!” replied the quavering voice, “here are no
knights, none at all, nor indeed anybody but me and my old dame Margery
who look after the castle while the family are away visiting cousins,
though we should be glad if they had taken us too for a change of air
would do us both good who have been in this same castle until we are
sick and tired of the shape of it, to say nothing of the damp which has
settled in old Margery’s bones so that she goes ever doubled up and----”
“Look here,” interrupted Gorbo, putting his hands to his mouth and
shouting through the keyhole, “this is the valiant Sir Percival, who
has slain so many knights that he has forgotten how many, to say
nothing of dragons and such like. And I am his valiant squire, Gorbo,
who is famed for a big appetite, and we have with us two children and
a little dog who are also hungry, and the question is whether you are
going to be a sport and give us something to eat or whether you are
simply going to drive us into smashing up this castle.”
“Nay, be not rash, good squire,” replied the voice. “I’ll open the gate
and let you in, for my master hath bidden me give food and drink to
wayfarers that need it and especially to those who are liable to damage
his stronghold if it be denied them.”
The door opened, and to their astonishment there appeared before
them, not a doddering old henchman, but a pert young man dressed in
the brilliant and fantastic costume of a jester, with one leg of his
tights red and the other yellow, and who seemed, from his immoderate
laughter, to be having the time of his life.
“Ha, ha!” he cried, joyously, leaping out and slapping Sir Percival on
the nose with a bladder tied to the end of a stick. “Did I not befool
thee, thou pumpkin face? Even now your jaw is dropped and your eyes
goggle with wonder and you have a general resemblance (saving your
presence) to a parboiled codfish. Laugh, thou jingling hundredweight
of ill-fitting harness”--hitting him again--“and grant this to be a
pleasing jest.”
[Illustration]
SIR PERCIVAL’S ANNOYANCE
Sir Percival recovered from his astonishment and prepared to do what
seemed the only fitting thing to in a case like this. He heaved up his
lance to smite this gay young man to the earth.
“For shame!” The young man had dexterously leapt out of the way and
crouched down with Sylvia and Joe caught to his bosom. “Would you
strike a child?”
“Malapert insect!” said Sir Percival. “Unhand those young ones that I
may cudgel you.”
“Listen to reason!” bellowed the other, now grovelling on the earth.
“This castle is deserted, and I alone know where the larder is. Without
my help you will go away an hungered!”
“There is something in that,” said Sir Percival, lowering his lance.
“There is a whole lot in it,” shouted Gorbo. “Don’t hit the poor man!”
The jester bounded up like a tennis ball and flew at Gorbo, enfolding
him in his arms. “By this kiss” (kissing him daintily on the top of his
head) “I swear eternal friendship.”
“Lead on, thou nimble loon,” said Sir Percival. “I pardon you if you
will take us to the larder without delay.”
The jester turned swiftly to the children. “You see yonder door,” he
said, pointing to a small open door in the main building of the castle,
“I’ll give you a start of half-way and race you there. Are you ready?
_Go!_”
Sylvia and Joe went off at top speed, and when they were half-way the
jester gave a shrill whoop and flew after them, catching up with them
just as they reached the door.
THE CASTLE KITCHEN
“This is glorious!” cried the jester, taking a hand of each and leading
them into a large comfortable kitchen. Then he turned and looked
anxiously at the top of the open door. “No, there’s no time to make a
booby-trap. Come along and put on aprons.”
Sylvia and Joe, both highly delighted with these joyous happenings,
were soon dressed in little aprons and caps made out of napkins and
busily helping their new friend. He sliced up a ham and got two large
frying-pans going, while they put stools round a big table in the
middle of the floor and laid plates and mugs and so on.
“Do you think forty eggs will be enough?” asked the young man.
“I think it will be almost more than enough,” replied Sylvia, doing a
quick sum in her head. “It will be eight each.”
“I’ll make it fifty then,” said the strange being, breaking them thick
and fast into the frying-pans.
A heavy clanging sound without indicated that Sir Percival was coming;
he and Gorbo had been attending to the horse, supplying it with hay and
so forth. As the knight entered the door, the jester turned with an egg
poised ready to throw at his head. But he hesitated; then broke it into
the pan instead. “I dare not,” he said to Joe. “_What_ a pity!”
Gorbo paused as he came in and stood sniffing the delicious smell. He
went across to the jester. “Bend low towards me,” he said. And when the
other had done so Gorbo kissed him on the top of _his_ head. “I also
swear a friendship. What are you going to give us to drink?”
“I have here,” replied the other, making a flying leap over the table
to a rough sideboard, “both milk for these little ones and beer for us
men. Kindly pledge me,” he added, filling up two mugs.
While these two sportsmen were clinking their mugs and gossiping,
Sylvia, standing on a stool by the stove, was dripping hot butter on
the eggs to give them a choice flavour, and Joe was on another stool
pronging out the slices of ham and laying them on a hot dish. They were
very happy, because this was a really superior adventure, with food
and cheerful things taking place. The castle, too, judging from the
kitchen, was a self-respecting place, clean and well kept, and a nice
change from the beast of a tower they had spent the night in.
BREAKFAST
Sir Percival was given a stool at one of the tables and Sylvia was put
at the other--to serve the food, as she was the only lady present. The
ham and eggs were perfect, and they had in addition buttered toast and
a pot of damson preserve which the jester said they really must taste
as he had made it himself. Tiger had a large plateful of everything and
was busily engaged in putting his shape as it should be. (It may be
noticed that almost all the news I have to give of this little dog is
of the rotundity or otherwise of his stomach.)
“Tell me,” said Sir Percival at length, coming to business, “to whom
does this castle belong?”
“It belongs to my master,” replied the jester. “One Gunthorn, a fierce
and rather unscrupulous baron who is something of a scourge to the
countryside. I am his privy jester--Baldry is my name--and I ought to
know. Many knights have come here, striving to joust with him--but they
have all gone, alas!”
“Oh! Where did they go to?”
[Illustration]
“Not far, sir knight. There is a graveyard some furlong or so beyond
these walls, and there they lie at peace, to each his little headstone.
Will you pass your plate for another morsel of ham and some extra egg?”
“No, thank you,” answered Sir Percival. “I seem to have lost my
appetite. And where is the baron Gunthorn at this moment?”
“Why, sir knight, he may be many, many long leagues from here, and----”
“If I can change my mind,” interrupted Sir Percival cheerfully, “I
think I could eat another rasher.”
“And on the other hand,” continued Baldry, passing up the plate, “he
may come home at any moment. He went off this morning to look for a
wandering knight he had heard about, taking with him his men-at-arms
and his cook and household varlets, as is his quaint custom. He left me
in charge of his stronghold, knowing that no man dare set foot within
these walls, so famed is he for ruthlessness. He has another quaint
custom of sneaking in by the postern gate, so that he may observe if
all is kept well in his household when he is away. But you do not eat,
sir knight.”
Sir Percival pushed away his plate and thought deeply. “And what will
he do if he finds you entertaining guests during his absence?”
“Good sir,” said Baldry earnestly, “I prithee talk of cheerful things
while we may. Were he to--but pardon me a moment, _did_ I hear sounds?”
A TERRIBLE MOMENT
He sprang to his feet and stood an instant anxiously listening. Then he
bounded over to a door in the corner of the kitchen, flung it open, and
disappeared up a spiral stone staircase.
A moment later they heard the distant clanking of mail and a harsh
roaring voice raised in anger. The sounds came nearer and nearer and
they heard mighty feet descending the stone stairs. Gorbo snatched
up his bow and pushed the children towards the door. Sir Percival was
struggling to get his helmet on, and making heavy weather of it.
“Good, my lord,” they heard the voice of Baldry saying, “if you will
but listen to reason----”
“Reason me no reason,” interrupted the roaring voice. “If I find
unbidden guests in my kitchen I’ll first flay them and afterwards slay
them----”
The door was flung open and Baldry appeared alone, sweetly smiling and
smiting together two pot-lids to imitate the tread of mailed feet.
“Be seated, I pray you,” he said with a ringing laugh. “Now was not
this a pretty jest?”
“Ay, a right joyous jape,” said Sir Percival, pulling his helmet
off with violence and displaying a pale and angry face. “Thou art
altogether a choice merry varlet. Though how you manage to go on day by
day without getting slain passes my understanding.”
MORE TROUBLE
“Look!” exclaimed Baldry, suddenly pointing through the open doorway.
They could see across the courtyard to the door in the outer wall, and
this having been left open showed a perspective of white road leading
through the woods. And not so very far along the road horsemen could be
seen coming up.
“Now this is no jest at all,” continued Baldry, “for here comes the
ruthless baron. Let us all go far away and quickly.”
“I’m on,” said Gorbo, grabbing Sylvia’s hand. “But what do _you_ want
to go for if you belong to the place?”
“Alas! I never saw or heard of the place before this morning,” said
Baldry sadly. “I was a-tramping the high road, when by ill-chance I
saw that door open and nobody about, and I had just gone in and helped
myself to a snack when up comes this valiant knight, thundering at the
door and blowing the horn--But all is well!” he cried joyfully, leaping
into the air. “He will protect us! Come along, little ones, and let’s
find a nice spot to see from. Now for the shock of steeds! Now for
splintering of lances! Oh, this is heavenly!”
“Well, I don’t know so much about that,” said Sir Percival
disagreeably. He had now managed to get his helmet fixed on and was
leading his horse through the door in the outer wall. “You see I don’t
want to take an unfair advantage of this Gunthorn. He is tired from his
journey, belike, and there is no honour in conquering a man who is not
fresh and lively. Nay, that were a coward’s deed!” He blundered about,
trying to mount his horse.
“But, sir knight,” pleaded Baldry piteously, throwing himself in front
of him, “why spoil the fun? Here is my dear friend Gorbo, who would
love to see a jousting. And these little ones, too, see their eager
faces! Come, sir, here hangs the horn. One blast and Gunthorn will come
spurring up to give you your heart’s desire!”
“I know my job better than you,” said Sir Percival coldly. “Stand
aside, fellow, you will not induce me to take advantage of a weary
man--And _now_ you’ve done it!” he wailed, for Baldry had jumped for
the horn and let out a blast that made the echoes ring.
A moment later they saw a man detach himself from the little group of
approaching horsemen and speed towards them, handling the longest kind
of lance in a manner that bespoke both strength and dexterity. Sir
Percival muttered something that sounded like an oath (though I hope it
was not) and by a desperate effort managed to get into the saddle. He
went in a bumping and jangling gallop in one direction under the trees,
and Gorbo and Baldry and Sylvia and Joe and the puppy went swiftly in
the opposite direction.
[Illustration]
THE SORROWS OF BALDRY
They heard distant shouts, as of annoyed people, which naturally
encouraged them to keep up a good speed. Gorbo and Baldry helped the
children along with great leaps and bounds, and they were soon deep
in the silent woods, far from risk of pursuit. There they rested on a
mossy bank and took things easily for a time.
“That was a jolly breakfast, you know,” said Baldry, to start the talk
well.
“Yes, it was,” agreed Gorbo. “But what will this Gunthorn person say
when he finds out about your making so free with the place?”
“I don’t know. And another strange thing about it is I don’t care. And
his name’s not Gunthorn--at least I don’t suppose it is. You see I just
made it up suddenly.”
“It’s quite a good name for a pretence baron,” said Sylvia.
“Yes, isn’t it?” Baldry was highly pleased at this remark. “It sounds
so ruthless. I’m rather good at making up things.”
“I’m glad of that,” Gorbo said, “because perhaps you can make up some
way of getting out of this mess. Do you know the way to get across the
river?”
“No, I don’t. And I don’t know anybody who knows. And I don’t know
anybody who knows anybody who knows. I wish I did, because I’d like to
go with you and see Life. It’s very dull in these parts; the people
have no sense of humour. And that makes it so difficult for me,” he
added sadly. “I’m always misunderstood.”
“Never mind, poor thing,” said Sylvia, who had taken a great liking to
him.
“The hollow world,” continued Baldry, with a suspicion of tears in
his eyes, “believes a jester’s job to be all jollity; but little do
they think that there may be an aching heart beneath what I must term
superficial gaiety.”
Sylvia stroked his hand soothingly.
“But on the other hand,” he went on in a brighter tone, “there may not
be. There isn’t in my case at any rate; though I have had a peck of
trouble lately. You see, only yesterday I was the King’s High Jester,
and now I am wandering the earth with only three friends to love me.
Four to be exact, because I include this little dog.”
“Did you get turned out?” asked Joe.
“No, not exactly; I ran too fast for that. And yet,” he went on, with a
return to melancholy musing, “it was a quaint conceit, one that might
have pleased. Who would have thought that the King was so obtuse. But
that is the worst of tyrants, you never know how they’ll take things.”
“Tell us about it,” said Gorbo, “then you’ll feel better.”
“Well, it was merely a little idea of mine to brighten up Court life,
which has a tendency to become dull and stuffy sometimes. You see it is
the King’s custom to walk alone through the streets on the day before
his birthday so as to show himself to his subjects, and to show that
he is willing to unbend from State ceremonial, and so forth. It also
serves to brisken their memories with regard to presents.”
“What does he do?” asked Sylvia.
“He just walks along, wearing a crown and in his best robes. And he
speaks to people here and there--in a dignified way, of course--and he
pats children on the head and asks their mothers how old they are, and
if they had mumps--and all that sort of thing.”
“He seems quite a nice king,” Sylvia observed.
“You wait,” said Baldry, with dark meaning. “It’s only once a year
that he bothers about mumps. Well, to go on with my unhappy story, I
thought out a scheme for making the whole affair brighter. Though I
am young and thin and have no hair to my chin, and though the King is
middle-aged and fat and has a flowing beard, I so padded myself up with
straw and so painted and behorsehaired myself that when I appeared in
the public ways, clad in furred and tinselled robes and wearing a brass
crown, there were none that did not take the jester for the king.”
“I say, this sounds rather good!” Gorbo exclaimed.
“Oh, it was very good. But listen. In lieu of the customary stately
strut of His Majesty, I proceeded in a lively dance, which I have
invented myself and which I have named ‘The fawn at play.’ There is in
it a great deal of fanciful gesture and nimble leg work. In my right
hand I bore a six-hooped pot; my left hand held my robe on high to
give free play for my gambols. And thus, with shrill whoops of joy, I
pranced among the amazed citizens.”
“Did they laugh?” asked Joe.
“Some few of the keener spirits did; but the general expression was of
stolid wonder. I redoubled my efforts. Suddenly, on the completion of
a series of backward somersaults, I found myself face to face with the
King himself. There was that in his countenance that caused me to turn
and flee, but I tripped over my robe and fell. In another instant I was
seized by the guards and hurried to a dungeon.”
[Illustration]
“What beasts!” exclaimed Sylvia.
“Yes, Sylvia, that’s what they were. And when my gossip, the jailer,
told me that the King was frothing at the mouth and had sent for his
High Executioner, it seemed to me a choice moment to leave his service
if it could be done. My prison was in a tower which had, by great good
luck, a drain-pipe outside the window, so I washed off all traces of
my kingly colour and slipped down. I reached the ground without other
mishap than a rasping of my knees and knuckles and fled afar. Better to
roam the cold world than to await the vengeance of a tyrant. So here I
am, alone with you dear things in the greenwood. And very nice too.”
“Is the King _very_ ruthless?” asked Sylvia anxiously.
“Ruthless! Oh, my! However, I’m not going to go into details because
that would only frighten you and serve no useful purpose.”
“We’ve heard that things are pretty bad on this side,” said Gorbo. “And
Golithos said the same.”
“Oh, yes, dear old Golithos. You told me you’d stayed a night with him.
I’ve never seen him myself, but I thought of paying him a visit.”
“Don’t you do it,” said Gorbo. “He’ll bore you stiff--and there’s
nothing to eat at his place but the stuff rabbits eat.”
“Then that settles _that_,” said Baldry. “Well, where shall we go?”
“We’d better try to find Mother Meldrum somehow. She’ll be able to tell
us how to get back home.”
“Dear old Mother Meldrum!” exclaimed Baldry. “Yes, let’s go and find
her; she lives somewhere in the dark woods, which are somewhere about
here. I’ve always wanted to meet that dear old lady, and now I shall!”
“Is she nice then?” asked Sylvia, rather relieved at his enthusiasm.
“Well, I wouldn’t go as far as that. She’s a witch, and she’s rather
noted for blighting crops and injuring folks generally and she makes a
fairly good living by selling curses and nobody of any sense will go
near her. But she may have her good points. Let’s go at once!”
“Look here, my dear friend,” said Gorbo, “this is all very well for you
and me, but what about Sylvia and Joe? You stay here and look after
them and I’ll go and see her. There’s no need for all of us to come.”
“No, Gorbo,” cried Sylvia, “we’re going where you go.”
“Of course we are,” said Joe. “Besides, it’d be rather fun to meet a
real witch.”
“That’s my way of looking at it,” said Baldry. “Fun is the correct
word. Come along, Joe, let’s look for the dark woods. I’ll race you to
the top of that tree.”
He ran to an enormous tree a little distance away and Joe ran after
him. In another minute the two disappeared among the leaves. Then cries
of joy were heard from aloft.
“It’s lovely up here,” called Joe. “Swinging about like Billy O!”
“And the dark woods!” called Baldry. “Miles and miles and miles
and miles of dark woods. Oh, this makes life really worth living!”
(Certainly he seemed the kind that is easily pleased.) “Come down, Joe,
we’ll show them the way.”
The two came scrambling down, and they all went on and on until the
trees came to an end at a wide stretch of turf that sloped gently away
before them. And about half a mile or so away there were other woods,
stretching as far as they could see on either hand. Undoubtedly the
dark woods, for nothing in the shape of woods could be darker or more
dismal looking.
THE DARK WOODS
They went on and soon reached the edge of the sombre trees on the
opposite side, and then the question was, of course, which way were
they to go. Gorbo was of opinion that they had better go as straight
as they could and keep their eyes open for anything like a witch’s
house, but Baldry suggested that they should sit down comfortably and
shout for Mother Meldrum at intervals and see if she would turn up. And
considering the vast extent of the dark woods both proposals seem to me
ridiculous.
The question was settled for them by the sudden appearance of a man who
came walking out from the wood. He was dressed in a woollen jerkin and
hose and instead of a hat he had a hood with a cape to it, as in the
pictures of the cheaper sorts of mediæval people, and he carried in his
hand a little packet done up in leaves. From the expression of his face
they judged he was not a nice man. He stared at them for an instant and
then spoke angrily:
“Oh, yes, a man can’t buy a little curse without a lot of busybodies
following him about! I’m not going to use it on _you_, am I?”
“We hope better things of you, sweet chuck,” replied Baldry. “All we
want is the way to Mother Meldrum’s place.”
“Oh, then all you have to do is to follow this little path.” The man
appeared to be greatly relieved. “But she’s out of curses; I got the
last one. You see there’s been rather a run on them lately.”
“We’ve only come for a couple of blessings,” said Baldry, as he took
Sylvia’s hand and ran along the little path, followed by the others.
They heard the man shouting that in that case they were going to the
wrong shop, but they did not stop to argue the matter, and in a few
minutes they found themselves deep in the shadow of tall mournful trees
that shut out all but little chance glimpses of the sky. On either hand
they could see patches of black swampy water, but the track was fairly
plain (giving a hint that Mother Meldrum did a brisk business) and
they went along at a good rate. There were no birds or cheerful little
animals in this horrid place, but there were--as they soon became
aware--bats.
[Illustration]
Compared to these the bats of the twisted trees were little pets.
These measured six feet or more across the wings and they had beaks
of enormous size, from which issued hoarse bubbling sounds. Sylvia,
who liked bats as much as she liked black-beetles, pulled her napkin
cap over her eyes (she still wore this little stolen head-dress) and
shuddered; but it was too late to think of turning back now however
much she would have liked to. She kept close under Gorbo’s arm, and in
time she began to be more used to them; after all they only flopped
about and bubbled, and did not bite, which is the main thing.
At length, late in the afternoon, after a journey that was very tiring
to the young ones, they came to a part where the forest seemed a little
clearer and lighter and not so swampy. The track went on for another
half-hour’s travel and then they saw before them a house which they
knew must be Mother Meldrum’s, if only because nobody but a witch would
select it for a home.
MOTHER MELDRUM’S HOUSE
There was a little shabby patch of grass in front of the house, but
behind and at the sides it was closely surrounded by trees and thick
bushes. It seemed to be mostly roof--an untidy roof of thatch that
reached nearly to the ground in some places and twisted up into gables
here and there over ugly little windows like eyes. Although it was by
no means a big house it looked somehow as if it had rather a lot of
little lopsided secret rooms, and it had what I may call a generally
wicked appearance. One could not imagine kind silver-haired people
living in it and doing good deeds to the poor. It had its effect on
Sylvia, who hung back a little as they came near; and even Joe showed
no anxiety to get inside.
“I think we’d better tie Tiger up in one of these napkins,” said
Sylvia. “You see Sir Percival said she had black cats, and if Tiger
takes to chasing them about she may get angry.”
“Yes, Sylvia,” said Gorbo. “That’s a good idea. We must keep her in a
good temper.”
So the puppy was tied up carefully in a napkin, with only his nose out,
and carried in Sylvia’s arms. Then Baldry--who suggested that he should
be the spokesman because of his ready wit--rapped smartly at the door.
“Who knocks?” called a disagreeable voice.
“I, good mother, Baldry the King’s High Jester. And I have with me my
dear old friend Gorbo and my dear little friends, Sylvia and Joe, to
say nothing of their small hound. And we have come a long, long way to
pay our respects to you.”
“Pull the string of the latch and come in,” said the voice.
Baldry did as he was told and they all went into a fairly large
low-ceilinged room which looked like a kitchen. At the chimney-place a
tall old woman was standing, stirring up a pot. She turned and looked
at them, and Sylvia gave a little squawk at the sight of her face,
which was indeed horrible.
“Here we are again!” cried Baldry, cutting a swift caper and then
striking an attitude calculated to put anybody into a good humour.
“What do you mean by ‘again’?” asked the old woman with a scowl.
“You’ve never been here before.”
“Well, good dame, it means--well, it means ‘Here we are and let’s be
jolly’ or words to that effect. It’s an expression in common use among
jesters,” he added lamely, for the old woman merely turned round and
went on stirring the pot.
“So that’s what it means.” She tasted a spoonful of soup from the pot
in a leisurely way. “I see. And does the King laugh when you say that?”
“Yes--sometimes.”
“Ah!” she said, “I’ve heard he’s not quite in his right mind.”
Now this was an unsatisfactory reception, and they all four felt very
uncomfortable standing in the middle of the kitchen, with the old
woman’s back turned to them as she went on stirring. The room was very
dark, for there was only one small window at one end, shaded with
thatch, and there was not too much light outside owing to the trees.
But every now and then the fire would flicker up and give them glimpses
of articles such as a witch would be likely to have about her--bundles
of herbs that looked poisonous and a stuffed alligator hanging from the
rafters, and so forth. Poor Sylvia need not have worried about Tiger
chasing the witch’s cats, for things were the other way about. Six or
seven of the biggest and blackest cats that ever lashed a tail came
crawling out of corners and rubbing themselves against her so that she
could hardly keep her feet, all the while purring like horrible snores,
their green eyes fixed on the napkin that held the shivering Tiger.
After a couple of minutes or so the old woman turned round and seated
herself on a stool and looked at them. “Are you the one who squealed
just now?” she asked Sylvia.
“Ye--yes, Mrs Meldrum,” replied Sylvia faintly.
“You’d better not do it again. Now then, one of you! What do you want?”
“We only want to know how to get back across the river, please, Mum,”
said Gorbo politely.
“Ah, you’re a Snerg, I see. How did you get here?”
Gorbo gave her a brief account of the result of his fatheadedness, and
Mother Meldrum chuckled.
“What will you give me if I tell you?” she asked after a while.
Gorbo brought out his silver-tipped horn and laid it on the table. “If
this little christening present will do, Mum----”
“What else?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t anything else really valuable, Mum. But Sylvia
here has a little coral necklace----”
“Let’s see your necklace, Sylvia,” said Mother Meldrum.
Sylvia took it off and gave it to Gorbo, who handed it to the old
woman. She glanced contemptuously at it and threw it on the table.
“What else?”
“That’s all we’ve got, Mum--except clothes.”
She looked at the clothes of all of them in a general way. Then she
reached out her arm and fingered the material of Sylvia’s frock. Then
she sniffed.
“This little lot,” she said, nodding at the horn and necklace, “will
just about pay a tenth part of what I want to show you the way.”
There was an unpleasant silence for a time. Even Baldry appeared to
have mislaid his blithe disposition. Though he had expressed a desire
to meet the witch, now that he had the opportunity he did not seem
to enjoy it. The truth is he was overwhelmed by what is known as the
personality of the old lady.
“Make me laugh,” she said, suddenly turning to him.
MORE SORROW FOR BALDRY
“Er--laugh, good mother?” he replied. “Oh, yes, of course. Would you
like----”
“I want to be amused,” she interrupted angrily rapping on the table.
“It’s your job, isn’t it? Don’t stand there like a pump but say amusing
things!”
[Illustration]
“I’ll do my best, dame,” said Baldry, rousing himself. “Perhaps a few
rib-tickling conundrums will please you. If so, tell me the difference
between an unripe gooseberry----”
“Shan’t!” shouted Mother Meldrum.
“Oh--then would you like a merry song?”
“Not a bit.”
“Oh--then perhaps--perhaps a jolly tale would please you.”
“Let’s hear your jolly tale,” she said, after a moment’s consideration.
“Well, then, good dame,” said Baldry, making a special effort, “there
was once an honest collector of the King’s taxes who----”
“Don’t believe it.”
“But this one _was_ honest,” pleaded Baldry.
“Then why didn’t you say he was a freak? Go on.”
“And this collector of taxes was on his way home after the day’s toil,
riding on his ass, when he met three beggars, who begged of him----”
“Well, that’s what they usually do, isn’t it? What’s there funny about
that?”
“Nothing very much,” replied Baldry. “But it will get better as I go
on.”
“Go on, then, what are you waiting for?”
“And so, good dame, being charitable as well as honest, he gave to the
first beggar a penny, to the second a piece of sausage, and to the
third a small loaf of bread. But the first beggar, having had a full
meal some half-hour before----”
“Excuse me for stopping you,” interrupted Mother Meldrum, “but I don’t
think I care to hear any more. You say it _is_ meant to be a funny
tale, don’t you?”
“It is generally so considered,” replied Baldry sulkily.
“To _me_,” said the old woman, “it’s about as funny as a bilious
attack.”
To those who know from experience--as I confess I do--how painful it
is to have one’s verbal efforts to be sparkling received with cold,
unappreciative looks or smiles in which pity lurks behind a mere
pretence at mirth, will appreciate how Baldry suffered from this
really pointed rudeness. He stood looking miserably at the venomous
old person, too distressed to notice that Sylvia was endeavouring to
console him by patting his hand. His profession was to make laughter,
to spread good humour, to (at meal times) set the table in a roar; yet
he was roaming the earth, an outcast, because of the ill-success of his
late jest with the King, and now he had failed again. Was he losing his
power to captivate? That is what troubled him.
A CHANGE OF TONE
Mother Meldrum got up and went back to her cooking, leaving them
standing, with Sylvia still knee deep in black cats.
“Look here, Mum,” said Gorbo, after an uncomfortable interval of
silence, “Golithos told me you’d be kind enough to tell me----”
“Golithos?” The old woman turned round smartly. “So you saw Golithos,
did you?”
“Yes, Mum, we stayed one night at his place. He said you came to see
him sometimes, and he told us to wait there for you.”
“Then what made you leave him?”
“Because--well, because----” Gorbo felt that perhaps, if she was
friendly to Golithos, she might not think highly of his offer to send
three arrows through his head.
Mother Meldrum went to her stool and sat thinking and thinking, with
her eyes wandering from Gorbo to the children. Suddenly she gave a
tremendous chuckle that made them all jump. Then she jumped up briskly
and patted Sylvia on the shoulder and told her to sit down.
“And sit down, all of you,” she went on. “What are you all standing
for? There are stools enough. You must be hungry too, but I’ll soon
have some dinner ready. I wouldn’t like you to go away saying that old
Mother Meldrum didn’t feed you properly.”
Though they did not understand this very decided change of manner
(who would?) it was very welcome. Gorbo put his bundle and his bow
and arrows in a corner, and got a basin of water for the children to
wash in. Then he washed his own piece of comb and gave it to Sylvia to
put her hair in order, and when she had done this Joe had a turn at
the comb. Tiger was put by Mother Meldrum’s advice in a little coarse
basket and hung up on a hook in the ceiling, and there he sat moaning a
little while the fierce black cats roamed to and fro and looked up at
him with shining green eyes and sniffed as if he smelt good to them.
DINNER WITH A WITCH
In a little while Mother Meldrum began to slap platters on the table,
and into each platter she put two large ladle-fulls of stewed hare,
with potatoes, carrots, peas and onions, which had a most delicious
smell, and told them to pitch in. A flask of wine--of a rather harsh
flavour but not bad--was placed on the table for the grown-ups, and the
children were given a little taste in water. Mother Meldrum was now
quite kind and considerate: when Joe spilled a lot of his stew on the
table she said it didn’t matter, that these things would happen. Baldry
plucked up his spirits with the good food and drink and the agreeable
change of manner, and told a couple of short tales which were well
received by all present, Mother Meldrum being especially tickled.
When dinner was over the bits were given to the cats, who gnawed and
growled like lions, and to Tiger, who had his ration aloft in the
basket. The children offered to help by washing up, and they and Baldry
were soon busy outside with a small tub of water and some kitchen
cloths, putting a polish on the plates and things.
“And now let’s talk,” said Mother Meldrum to Gorbo. “You want to get
back across the river. Very well, I’ll settle it for you. What’s more
I’ll only charge you that horn and that measly little necklace for
doing it.”
“Oh, thank you, Mum!” cried Gorbo gratefully.
“I always like to help when I can. But before I can do it you’ll have
to give me a hand. I’m clean out of mandrakes, and I’ll need six or
eight to work the spell, so you’ll have to go and get me some to-night,
because you can only get them when the moon’s shining. The place is
about a couple of miles from here.”
“I’ll bring you back a barrow load of them,” said Gorbo, who did not
know what they were. “Just show me the place and----”
“Not so fast,” said the old woman snappishly. “Mandrakes don’t grow
like bluebells. You’ll likely have to spend all the night looking for
them. You see they’re little roots shaped like persons, but there’s the
true mandrake and the spurious mandrake. There’s about ten thousand of
the real ones to one of the others.”
“Oh! Then how do I tell the difference, Mum?” asked Gorbo.
“When you pull them up. The real ones squeak.”
“Oh!” Gorbo did not relish the idea of a night alone in the moonlight
in these distressful woods, pulling up things that squeaked. But there
was no way out of it. “Very well, Mum,” he said. “And what shall I do
with Sylvia and Joe?”
“They can stay here with me. The funny man can stay too and look after
them. Your job is to come back in the morning with at least six nice
lively mandrakes. It’s rather a swampy place where they grow, but you
won’t mind that. If any things come and look at you don’t be worried,
but don’t speak if you can help it because it’s best not to.”
“What sort of things?” asked Gorbo.
“Well, mostly things rather like people, only with big ears and
slobbering mouths. Oh, and take a stick with you on account of the
bats. As a rule they’re harmless, but they’ve been known to bite when
you’re not looking--stooping and so forth. As it’s getting on to night
you’d better get ready to go now, so here’s a basket. I’ll go with you
and show you the place.”
Gorbo shivered and took the basket, but he did not look enthusiastic.
“None of your sulky looks!” cried the old woman with sudden fury. “Just
put on those airs and I won’t do a thing for you!”
“I didn’t mean to be sulky, Mum,” said Gorbo. “I’ll go at once.
You’ll--you’ll look after the little ones, won’t you?” The poor chap
felt very doubtful about leaving them for the night; Baldry and he had
sworn a friendship, but he did not have much belief in his power to
protect them. But there really seemed no way out of it.
“That’s better,” said Mother Meldrum. “Yes, I’ll look after them very
nicely. You come with me and I’ll show you where they are to sleep;
then you’ll feel easy in your mind.”
THE SPARE BEDROOM
She called the others and then took a candle and went to a door in the
darkest corner of the kitchen, which led to a flight of narrow stairs,
and then to a dark passage above. There were two or three little closed
doors on either side of the passage, but there were no windows anywhere
and they had to be careful how they walked, for the floor was very
uneven and at one place there were two steps up and at another three
steps down. At the end it turned round a corner, and there was another
door which led to another narrow flight of stairs and up to a big room,
full of what seemed to be bundles of herbs hanging from the rafters,
and with only one tiny window high up near the roof. She went quickly
over to a door at one end of the room and slammed and locked it, as if
there was something inside that she didn’t want to come out, then she
took them to another door at the other end and told them to come in.
They found themselves in a little room, dark like every other part
of this horrible house, as it had only a small window half hidden by
creepers and thatch. There was absolutely no furniture in it but a
four-post bedstead, and a little pair of steps to use when going to
bed, so high was it from the floor. From the window they could see only
the gloomy tree-tops fading away in the dusk that was coming on, and a
glimpse of the moon peeping out from a stormy cloud.
Sylvia stood with Tiger in one arm and held tightly to Gorbo. Baldry
was doubtfully swinging his bladder stick which with the exception of
his clothes was his only possession. Nobody looked cheerful except old
Mother Meldrum, who was quite brisk.
“Now you dear little things can go to bed at once,” she said. “There’s
enough moonlight for you to see by. This funny man can have a bed in
the kitchen and the Snerg will come with me for a little walk.”
“Are you going to leave us alone, Gorbo?” asked Sylvia in a whisper.
[Illustration]
“Yes, Sylvia,” he replied, putting his arms round her, “but I’ll be
back early in the morning. You see I’ve got to go and help Mother
Meldrum get some things she wants to help us get across the river and
back home, so you do as she says and go to sleep.”
“Oh, come along with you!” cried Mother Meldrum impatiently. “I can’t
stay here all night. Tumble into bed, both of you!”
It really seemed that there was nothing else to do. Sylvia took off
her slinkers and then looked round to see if there was anything in the
shape of a nightie; but there wasn’t, and the old woman let out such a
snarl at the delay that both children bolted into bed, all standing,
as sailors say. Gorbo tucked them up with a patchwork quilt and kissed
them both very sorrowfully and put the puppy at the foot of the bed;
then he went out after the others.
“There’s _your_ bed,” said Mother Meldrum to Baldry, pointing to a
large box with straw in it in the corner of the kitchen. “Curl up and
go to sleep. Dream of some funny things for to-morrow.”
“It’s full of cats,” said Baldry discontentedly, as he looked into the
box.
“Heave them out then, you helpless loon!” shouted Mother Meldrum.
Baldry sighed deeply and began removing cats. They all growled and spat
at him, and one bit him finely in the fleshy part of the thumb. Gorbo
whispered to him to keep a good look out for the children, and then
picked up his bow and basket and so forth and went out after the old
woman.
WHAT HAPPENED IN THE NIGHT
Strange to say, the children dropped off to sleep almost at once. They
were tired with the long walk and the bed was fairly comfortable, and
Joe, who, as I have said, was always the true optimist, had comforted
Sylvia by cheering remarks about everything coming out all right even
if it was a beast of a house.
Joe woke out of a sound sleep with a start. It seemed to him that he
had heard a loud crack somewhere. He sat up and looked about him,
wondering where he was. Then he remembered the shape of the little
window, through which the moonlight was now streaming brightly, just
touching Sylvia’s curls as she slept peacefully beside him with the
puppy curled up in a ball behind her neck. He lay down again, and was
just dropping off again into a delicious sleep when he heard another
crack, and this time he was out of bed with a jump, for there was a
dark shadow at the window and the lattice was wide open.
“Joe!” called a whisper, “it’s me, poor old Baldry. Don’t make a sound.”
“What’s wrong,” whispered Joe, creeping to the window.
“Everything. Wake up Sylvia and tell her to come quietly.” Baldry was
climbing carefully through the window. “We’ve got to get away quickly.”
Joe was a sensible boy (in some ways) and he wasted no time in
questions but shook Sylvia carefully and then put his hand over her
mouth and whispered to her not to speak. She rubbed her eyes and stared
at Baldry. Then she became fully awake.
“Yes, Joe,” she said, not trembling very much, “I’ll be a sport.” She
jumped out of bed and put on her slinkers (there were the elements of
greatness as well of flirtatiousness in that child). Baldry put his
arms about them so that he could whisper what he had to say.
“There’s a man that’s come in with Mother Meldrum--a giant--and they’re
down below talking. And I’m pretty sure it’s Golithos.”
“Oo--er!” said Joe with a jump.
[Illustration]
“Yes, it’s a great big man with lots of hair and whiskers and a great
silly face, just as you told me. They came in through a back door
somewhere, so that they wouldn’t wake me I suppose, and they sat
talking and talking in a back room. So I crept up and looked through a
little chink and I saw him quite plain, Joe. Horrid sight. And she got
furious with him and called him a cowardly lubber and said if he didn’t
do it he shouldn’t have a single bite at them.”
“What did she mean?” asked Joe.
“Well, I don’t know what she wanted _him_ to do. But about the biting,
Joe, I think she meant you and Sylvia.”
“Let’s scoot!” said Joe.
In a minute or two they had the sheets torn into long strips and
knotted together, and Sylvia was tied with this handy rope under the
arms and lowered gently out of the window, holding Tiger tightly to
her. Joe in the meantime was going down by way of a big creeper that
grew against the wall, and by which Baldry had climbed up to them. As
soon as he was on the ground Baldry’s red and yellow legs shot out of
the window, and in another minute he was down beside them.
“Come along,” he said, grabbing a hand of each one, and running with
them into the trees, “there’s enough moonlight to find the path, I
think. But in any case we’ve got to get somewhere else quick.”
“But what about Gorbo?” asked Joe, stopping suddenly. “What’ll he say
when he finds we’re gone?”
“Yes, we can’t leave Gorbo behind,” cried Sylvia. “Oh, what are we to
do?”
“We’ve _got_ to go,” said Baldry. “Golithos has come after you, that’s
plain. And I’m afraid I’m not much use in a fight; I’ve only got my
little bladder stick. But Gorbo’s a hard little man with lots of fight
in him, and he’s got his bow and arrows. He’ll be able to look after
himself all right, and when he finds we’re gone he’ll chase after
us, you can be sure of that. We’ll go on and hide just outside these
beastly woods and wait for him to come.”
This seemed reasonable enough, and they started off again at a run.
But though the moonlight was bright enough when it shone on the path
there were long stretches where it was quite dark, and Baldry had often
to walk ahead of the children and feel the way. They moved on slowly,
sometimes running a bit but more often crawling along, always with the
thought that they might at any moment hear that dreadful couple coming
after them and shouting to them to stop; and it shows what a plucky
girl Sylvia was that she could keep up without a murmur, even though
her little heart was heavy with fear.
[Illustration]
At last they found the moonlight giving place to the grey light of
dawn, and they were filled with joy and thankfulness, for things that
are terrible in the night seem almost harmless when the day comes. And,
feeble though the light was yet, it enabled them to pick the path much
more easily: however bright the moon shines it casts black shadows, but
the light of day gets behind things.
“Do you think they will come after us?” asked Joe. With the little bit
of light and the extra speed they were making he felt that the subject
was at least bearable.
“No,” replied Baldry, “not yet awhile I think. Old Mother Meldrum’s too
busy jawing and Golithos is too busy eating.”
“What is he eating?” asked Joe, struck with a sudden idea. “Salad?”
“No, Joe, he’d got a lot of big beef bones in his bag and he was biting
hard at them while he listened to that old beast.”
“Oh, he’s killed that nice cow!” cried Sylvia. And though she had borne
all the terrors so bravely she burst out crying at the fate of the
patient animal that had been so friendly to them and given them milk in
their sore need.
THE GREEN RIDE
When at last they came to the end of the dark woods the sun was over
the tree-tops and everything looked delightfully bright and cheering.
They raced across the wide stretch of turf that separated them from
the nice friendly-looking forest on the other side, and they were soon
resting in a warm spot just at the outskirts of some spreading oaks,
far from the horrible house and the haunted woods.
Baldry said it was best to stay exactly where they were and keep a good
look out for Gorbo, who would certainly chase after them as soon as he
came back and found they were gone. Of course if Golithos or the old
hag came out first it would be necessary to hide closer, and he looked
round and found a nice place, deep in a thicket of bracken, where fifty
people could be safely hidden, and to which they could do a bolt at a
moment’s notice.
But now that they had their minds at rest to some degree, the
conversation turned on things to eat and drink; there is nothing like
exercise and fright to give one an appetite. Sylvia said how nice it
would be to have a hot cup of tea with plenty of milk, and Baldry, who
belonged to mediæval times and therefore did not know of tea, asked if
it was anything like hot spiced ale. This led the talk to hot ham, to
eggs cooked in various ways, and buttered toast. And the result was
they got ravenous.
Baldry was knitting his brow over the question of how to get breakfast
when suddenly they heard clanging sounds and the clump of horses’ feet.
And looking about them they saw a cavalcade of some ten or twelve
men-at-arms, coming along the green ride with much pomp and glittering
of steel and high stepping of fine horses. Baldry stared earnestly at
them and then he gave a satisfied chortle.
“These blokes,” he said (blokes is not the word he used of course, but
it is the nearest I can get to it in translation), “are the same ones
who rode up to the castle yesterday and frightened dear Percy away. But
they didn’t see us, because we got away so quickly, so I think we had
better see if they can spare us a trifle. Men-at-arms generally have
some bits of food about their persons--cold fried fish and sausage and
the like--and they’re generally good-natured on a fine morning. And
if they give us some little pieces of money instead we can buy some
breakfast somewhere--if there’s a house anywhere in these wild parts.”
“All right,” said Joe, starting up. “Come along, Sylvia.”
“No, wait a bit,” said Baldry, “this wants thinking out. To make this
thing a success we have to appeal to them in some quaint way. I’ve got
it! You go first, Joe, turning somersaults; that will make them stop
and wonder. Then you go next, Sylvia, and drop a nice little curtsey
and smile at them; that will put them in a good humour. Then I’ll come
along walking on my hands, and that will make it a sure thing and they
should unbelt at once. First of all let’s make ourselves look nice.”
The children were highly interested and Sylvia asked him if he had a
comb. But he had not, so she fluffed out her curls with her fingers
and then knelt over a little forest pool close by to make sure that
she looked rather fetching. (She was her mother’s daughter all right
enough.) Joe tucked his shirt in neatly and tightened his belt, and
Baldry practised an expression of attractive mirth.
The horsemen approached at an easy walk and they could see the face
of the leader, an able-looking person whose well-fitting and polished
mail and golden spurs proclaimed him a knight in a prosperous line of
business. He rode with his visor raised, talking to one whose plain
steel spurs and armour devoid of fancy trimmings showed that he was as
yet but a squire. In the still morning air their voices came clearly to
the little waiting group.
“In sooth, good Baldwin,” he was saying, “there is now little chance of
honourable adventure in the land. But yester morn I had hope of running
a course with the scurril Sir Percival, who has dared to raise his
lobster eyes to my mistress and to brag forsooth that she has sent him
forth seeking advancement to grace her name. But the pestilent knave
fled and my hope was dashed to the ground--which is a pity, because
that’s what I meant to do to him.”
“Good, my lord,” said the squire, “’tis likely that the Lady Gwendoline
did but tell him to chase himself. So at least went the gossip at the
buttery hatch.”
“My lady has a pretty wit, and perchance she put her answer in such
wise that the moth-eaten rascal has construed it to his own undoing--or
at least to his grievous waste of time. But what mummery have we here,
good Baldwin?”
It was Joe, turning brisk somersaults, and the leader halted his horse
and stared down at him. Joe sprang at him and clasped his mailed leg
with his arms, as Baldry had told him to, and loudly asked for charity.
“Unhand my left leg, thou wanton!” cried the leader. “Who told you to
behave like this?--But whom else have we here?”
This was Sylvia, who came tripping up and dropped a dainty curtsey,
smiling very prettily at him.
“By my hilt, a right winsome little lass! Is she not, Baldwin?”
“Ay, my lord, she has hair like ripe corn and merry blue eyes, and her
cheeks are like rose leaves in the morn. A pretty maid--and a saucy, I
warrant me.”
“You silly thing!” said Sylvia, pretending to be coy; “I don’t believe
you.” (This sort of behaviour came quite naturally to her.)
[Illustration]
“Nay, little lass,” said the leader, smiling good-humouredly, “for the
sake of your pretty looks I have here a silver groat”--he pulled off
his mailed glove and fished about in a little steel pocket in his
_cuisses_, or thigh armour--a quaint little pocket that shut with a
spring. “I _know_ I had a groat somewhere--Ah, here we have it!” He
bent down and placed the coin in Sylvia’s little palm and patted her
cheek. “And if you are hungered my good squire has half a fat capon
which he borrowed--But whom _else_ have we here?”
Whom else they had was of course Baldry, who came along, walking
upside-down and singing “When woods are green and foules sing,” a truly
difficult feat before breakfast you will say. When opposite the knight
he sprang right side up and cut a dexterous caper--and then stared in
horror.
“Scurril rogue!” roared the knight, catching him by the collar with a
grip of iron. “At last we have thee who dared to put so scandalous a
jest upon His Majesty! Ho, there, seize me this knave and loose him not
till he be safe in the royal dungeon.”
CAPTIVES
Words cannot describe the dismay and mental confusion of Joe and Sylvia
at this unhappy change of fortune, or I should certainly try for it.
Their pleadings that Baldry be allowed to remain with them met with no
satisfactory response from the leader, and when they exclaimed against
his conduct in taking away their companion and protector and leaving
them alone in the forest, he merely stated that all this talk was
unnecessary for they were coming along too. I will pass briefly over
their indignation at this new tyranny; of how Joe in the first flush
of his wrath called the knight “Blighter!” or how Sylvia stroked his
mail-clad hand and implored him not to be a beast. Suffice it to say
that all was of no avail and that they were lifted up and placed each
in front of a stalwart man-at-arms, while Baldry was ordered to mount a
spare horse they had with them.
Strange to say, now that Baldry was captured and there was no way out
of it, he took the matter with more philosophy than might be expected.
He climbed up on the horse as he was told, loudly calling all to
witness that he was doing so under protest, and seated himself facing
the tail; and when the squire, Baldwin, sternly reproved him for his
folly he apologized in such ironical terms that the men-at-arms were
forced to turn away their heads to hide a smile. Encouraged by this he
broke loudly into song, but here the knight took a hand in the matter
and ordered them to tie his mouth up with a kerchief. Then he placed
himself at the head of his men, gave an order, and the troop turned
round and went back over the green ride.
Truly a bitter result of the children’s folly and disobedience to find
themselves borne far from their faithful friend Gorbo, to become the
captives of a king of ruthless fame.
And as the troop rode on, two and two, old Mother Meldrum was standing,
out of breath, at the edge of the dark wood, glaring at them from under
her hand and muttering deep curses.
_Part III_
THE DOINGS AT HOME
It will be well at this point of the narrative to return to the land
of the Snergs and consider the doings of King Merse II and his friend
Vanderdecken.
During their conference they had come to the decision that the children
and Gorbo must have got by some strange chance to the other side of the
river and were wandering about in the unknown country beyond, where not
even a Snerg had penetrated, or, for the matter of that, ever wished
to penetrate. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to devise some
means of following them there in force and rescuing them; though from
what dangers they were to be rescued no man could say.
Vanderdecken had considered carefully and asked whether, as the river
must reach the sea at some point, they could go along the coast and
cross it at its mouth. But King Merse told him that not only was it
very far to where the river came to the sea, but the country between
was all chasms and inaccessible cliffs, or else wild, matted jungle
coming down to the shore (which was full of quicksands) and that it
would take a week’s hard travel to get half-way there--that is to say,
to the part where it began to be really difficult--which put the lid on
that suggestion.
Then Vanderdecken asked if there was any narrow part of the river, and
he was told there was one point, some league or so from the town, where
the cliffs were not so very wide apart. But to make up for that they
were very high, and more than steep because they leaned over the river,
which rushed fiercely below almost in darkness, so far down was it.
Short of flying over, said the King, there was no way to pass there.
But Vanderdecken asked him to step out on the ground what he thought
would be about the distance across, and when this was done he nodded in
a satisfied way. Then he asked if there were trees on the farther side,
and being told there were many trees on both sides, growing close to
the edge of the cliffs he said, “This will be like drinking Schnapps,”
and (his own words reminding him) took the King in to have some. After
a little more conference, he arranged to meet him at the town on the
following morning as I have already related.
[Illustration]
THE INGENUITY OF VANDERDECKEN
In addition to their weapons and personal belongings the Dutchmen had
taken some ship’s gear with them. It consisted of the following:
1 long stout rope (spare topsail halyard).
1 coil of thin rope.
1 small anchor (belonging to the longboat).
1 stout iron bar (spare handle of deck pump).
1 strong net of rope (used for hoisting out of the hold).
2 saws.
3 axes.
4 adzes.
1 two-inch auger.
1 big hammer.
1 bag of nails and other small matters.
On arriving at the narrow part of the river, Vanderdecken walked to
and fro with his mate, looking at all points. At length he stopped and
said, “This is where we get busy.”
The opposite cliff was not very far away (possibly about two hundred
feet) and there were many trees about, growing close to the edge, as
the King had said. Far below could be seen flashes of white where the
torrent broke into foam as it roared on in the gloom.
A tall young tree, of a springy character, was cut down and the
branches were lopped off. Two sides were then cut away until it looked
something like a very long thick plank; the Snergs working at it with
great fury, so that the air was full of chips. Then they....
No, on second thoughts I consider it inadvisable to give a detailed
description of the device which Vanderdecken made. It would be to turn
from a narrative of adventure (with a moral) to a cheap treatise on
mechanics. Let it suffice to say that with great labour of all hands he
made a fairly good imitation of a Roman _balista_, which was so useful
in inducing besieged peoples to be reasonable by heaving tons of rock
at them. This shows the advantage of a classical education.
Instead of rock he was going to heave the anchor, with the rope
attached to it and neatly coiled up, to the other side of the river.
The other end of the rope was tied to a tree, and all that had to be
done was to cut another rope that acted as the trigger of this deadly
arrangement.
HOW THEY PASSED OVER THE RIVER
Vanderdecken carefully inspected the completed arrangements and, after
warning some enthusiastic Snergs to stand a little further off, drew
his cutlass. One dexterous slash and the rope parted, there was a
terrific jarr that shook some of the lighter Snergs off their feet,
and the anchor flew across the river like an ungainly bird, the rope
uncoiling in the air behind it, and crashed into the trees on the
opposite side. The Snergs raised a joyful cheer, but the Dutchmen,
being phlegmatic, did not. Instead, they grabbed the rope and hauled it
in. A dozen pairs of extra hands had it in a moment, and hauled with a
will to the tune of “Fifteen men.” The rope grew taut--then slipped.
They hauled away, and it caught again--slipped once more, and caught
again. And this time it had caught firmly, for all hands were pulling
and the rope was as taut as a rod. It was belayed smartly round a tree
and lashed securely, and a moment later a Snerg was hanging on to it
and going across with swift jerks.
He disappeared in the foliage (the first Snerg to arrive on the other
side; he got a decoration for it). A minute later he came running to
the edge of the cliff and shouted that all was well; the anchor had
caught firmly, with each fluke round a small but sufficient tree trunk.
The job was done. Here was a road to the unknown land quite good enough
for seamen, and more than good enough for Snergs, who can climb like
startled cats.
Vanderdecken expressed his satisfaction at the successful result, for
if the anchor trick had proved a failure it would have been necessary
to pad a Snerg up with lots of straw and shoot him across with a line
attached so that he could haul the rope over after arrival. There was a
great deal of resource and determination about this sea captain.
It was waxing late, for the construction of the device had taken the
greater part of the day, and there was no time to be lost if they
were all to get over before night. The rope was only as thick as a
fair-sized broom handle so it was decided that they would have to pass
over at long distances apart in order not to put too great a strain on
it, but they were told to move in lively fashion. Vanderdecken and the
King went first, and then the others--thirty-three Dutch seamen and two
hundred and one Snergs (the odd one was the trumpeter)--each carrying
his weapons and kit securely lashed to him because the position of
travel was of course upside-down, and it was quite dark before the
last one got over. Camp fires were soon burning brightly and each
man prepared his bed, of chopped-up ferns. Sentries were posted in an
orderly way, steel casques and breastplates being compulsory. Then,
after a hasty supper, they turned in for the night.
BOOT AND SADDLE
This heading is not quite correct because, though they had boots they
had no saddles, but it means that they were off. The trumpet blew a
full hour before daybreak, and by the time the dawn came they had
had some breakfast and were all ready. King Merse, who had something
of Napoleon’s ability, left full directions with a crowd of fifty
Snergs who had remained for the night on the Snerg side of the river.
They were to divide into two lots, one for each side, and the lot on
the enemy side was to dig a deep semicircular trench and make a high
semicircular wall to defend the point where the rope was anchored. The
lots were to change places every third day. And until they saw the
Expeditionary Force returning they were to send a daily messenger to
the town to say that all was well--meaning that nothing had happened
so far--and this message was to be forwarded on to Miss Watkyns by
a special runner. It is indeed terrible to think that all this fuss
should be caused by the folly and disobedience of two shrimps like
Sylvia and Joe.
The force started off in the direction of some rising ground, from
which they would be able to reconnoitre the country. Four agile
Snergs went some quarter of a mile ahead, and behind came the main
body, in fours, led by Vanderdecken and the King. The former wore
wide boots with tops like buckets and a sea-cap of fur, and carried
a long deadly-looking musket. The latter wore an inlaid cuirass and
steel casque and a sword of proof. In his hand he swung a double-edged
battle-axe and altogether he looked very serviceable for his size. The
Snergs that remained behind watched them marching away into the unknown
land, until the trees hid them from view and they could be seen no
more, and even the clumping of the Dutchmen’s sea-boots died away.
THE FIRST DAY’S MARCH
It was late in the afternoon when the Expeditionary Force halted on a
hill and surveyed with interest a little distant cluster of towers.
It was the first sign of habitation they had met with in a long, hard
march.
Their preliminary inspection of the country in the morning had shown
them only gently rolling plains, with patches of dense woods here
and there, which seemed to be quite uninhabited, so it was a toss-up
which way they should take. Vanderdecken had said that since they did
not know the proper course to steer it was best to make one and stick
to it; even if it led them away from the lost ones the same might be
said of any course, and they had to go somewhere. So they selected
sou’west-by-west and tramped it steadily for many hours, marvelling at
the strange absence of natives or roads or houses. Nor were there signs
of dragons or unicorns or other fierce fauna rumoured to be in the land
beyond the river. The fiercest thing they saw was a huge rabbit, with
claws; and all that it did was to make a nasty face at them and run
away.
The course was changed after a midday rest and they went
sou’east-by-south, Vanderdecken having given his opinion that since
they had met with nothing to guide them in the search it would be
best to go about on the other tack, which means to go zigzag. And so
at last they came to the hill-top and saw the distant towers, deep in
waving woods. The direction was taken, and they went down and through
the trees, and another couple of hours’ march brought them to the same
compact little stronghold in which, two days before, the wanderers they
were searching for had made themselves so much at home.
[Illustration]
THE MYSTERIOUS CASTLE AGAIN
King Merse did not leave things to chance. He sent Snergs ahead in
pairs, as is advocated by militarists, and the main body came behind.
The scouts reported that the castle, though prosperous-looking, did not
appear to be a scene of activity. With the exception of smoke coming
from what they thought (and hoped) was a kitchen chimney, there was no
sign of life about it.
The Dutchmen re-primed their muskets and the Snergs got their bows
ready, and all approached and halted by the door in the outer wall;
then King Merse ordered his trumpeter to blow the horn which hung
outside.
I may mention that it had been decided that, to save time and
provisions, the country should be treated as an enemy country until the
contrary was proved.
The trumpeter blew (not inaptly) the Snerg equivalent of “Come to the
cookhouse door,” and after a brief interval a face appeared looking
down at them from the wall. It was a fat, pompous face, to which all
hands took an instinctive, but perhaps slightly unreasonable, dislike.
“What want ye, my masters?” said the face, looking contemptuously at
them.
“It would take too long to tell all we want,” replied King Merse, “but
just at this moment we want to come in and eat. We will tell you the
rest later.”
“And that may not be,” said the man, “for my lord is away and he has
given me strict orders to admit no one except on business.”
“But eating is right good business,” replied the King. “Come, good
fellow, do not keep us waiting.”
“I fear you will have to eat elsewhere,” the man said. “This castle
seems to be getting too popular with vagrants. But two days agone
some scurril knaves came in my temporary absence and ate a few scores
of eggs and a ham and left me to wash up after them. Be advised,
therefore, and go before I become an angered.”
King Merse, who was not the sort to waste time in unprofitable chat,
turned to his men.
“Burst me open this door,” he said.
“Nay, if you be so hardy in your ways,” cried the man with a sudden
change of tone, “I’ll even open to you. But I warn you that my lord is
terrible in his wrath.”
The door opened and there appeared before them a stout person, wearing
a long gown and a chain and carrying a wand of office, who was
evidently the steward of the castle. “Ay, terrible,” he went on. “If
he comes back and finds you here--oh, well, if you won’t listen, you
won’t.” He concluded on a peevish note, for the King and Vanderdecken
were going ahead of their men towards the wide stone steps that led to
the main door of the building, which stood open.
Within they found a commodious hall furnished with long tables and
benches, and with a raised dais at the end on which was a table of
superior finish and several carved arm-chairs.
“And now, good fellow,” said the King, after removing his steel
headpiece and seating himself at his ease, “to whom does this castle
belong?”
“To the famed Sir Bevis, Lord of the King’s marches,” replied the
steward, who had followed him in and who now seemed to think this a
case for discretion. “He guards the land against chance attack from the
fierce and cruel Snergs, who live on the other side of the deep river.
And now I must ask who you are and why----”
“And now tell me if you have seen two children wandering in these
parts, or if you have heard of two children wandering here. They should
be with a man of about my size.”
“I have seen no dwarf--I mean, no gentleman of your size. But I have
seen two children this very morning.”
“Where?” demanded the King, starting up.
“In the woods, gathering berries. But perchance it were an error to
call them children, for the youngest is sixteen and a stout varlet
for his age, and the other is some two years older and has a slight
beard. They are the sons of my gossip Hugh, the miller, and idle
vagabonds both as I have often said to Hugh and advised him to try what
rods will do, for if a child----”
[Illustration]
“Forget them,” interrupted the King, seating himself again. “Now, good
fellow, tell me where your ruler lives, and how far it is from here.”
“His Majesty, King Kul lives (as all men should know) at Banrive, which
is a day’s march from here. And now I must insist----”
“Then we will rest here to-night and leave on that day’s march by dawn
to-morrow. In the meantime we would eat.”
“Nay, fair sir, that I cannot allow. If my lord----”
“We will need,” said the King, “some good meaty matter (such as pork)
as a groundwork. And as beans go well with pork let there be beans
also.”
“And some beer,” suggested Vanderdecken.
“_And_ some beer of course. So see to it, for we would eat quickly, and
rest. And talking of rest, where is your lord’s bedchamber?”
“It is here,” said the steward, opening a door and displaying a large
room with two canopied beds in it. “But I fear I cannot allow you to
use my lord’s best beds, for if----”
“You take that one,” said the King to Vanderdecken, pointing to the
largest bed. “It looks very comfortable.”
“No,” replied Vanderdecken politely, “_you_ take it.”
“I should really like you to have it,” said the King.
“Let’s flip for it,” suggested Vanderdecken, producing a piece of
eight. “Sudden death.”
“Heads!” said the King.
“Tails,” said Vanderdecken, displaying the coin. “Sorry, old chap.” He
got into bed (with his sea-boots on) to see how it felt. “Very nice.
We’ll have a good sleep to-night anyhow.”
They went back to their men and directed proceedings. Some men went out
to fetch straw to sleep on, others went to the kitchen and instructed
by Vanderdecken’s cook (whose soup was the cause of all these
adventures) prepared some choice food (he was very good at sea-pie),
and drew off many gallons of strong beer to wash it down. The steward
followed them about with a pen and ink-horn and a piece of parchment,
entering against each item taken what he conceived to be the highest
tavern rates. A faithful fellow, but something of an ass.
When the meal was over sentries were posted on the walls and the others
lay down on the straw. The King and Vanderdecken retired to their beds
after giving orders that they were to be roused an hour before the dawn.
“I say, this _is_ comfort,” said Vanderdecken, plumping up a feather
pillow. “By the way, let’s hope we find those youngsters pretty soon.”
“Yes,” agreed the King. “Because if we don’t, we’ll be forced to
introduce battle, murder and sudden death into these parts, and I want
to avoid that if I can.”
HOW GORBO GATHERED MANDRAKES
When at last Gorbo desisted from his damp job of looking for mandrakes,
the dawn was breaking. It seemed to him that his back was breaking
also, for he had stooped and stooped and pulled at roots almost without
pause throughout the dismal night. He rested awhile on a fallen log
and tried to rest his spine, taking quick looks behind him at intervals.
[Illustration]
It _had_ been a night. Not only were the true mandrakes extremely
rare--after hours and hours of search he had only got six that he was
pretty sure of--but he had been worried by his surroundings. Leaving
out the bats, who were troublesome enough, he had been in continuous
doubt of the things that lurked in the black shade of the trees round
about, things rather like men, but with little furious faces and big
pointed ears and mouths that slobbered, who gibbered and pointed at
him in the moonlight. There was one fat pale thing, who if he was not
a ghoul was extremely like one, and he had come and sat under a holly
bush, staring earnestly at him for hours and hours, and occasionally
shrieking with laughter. Gorbo was not superstitious in the ordinary
sense of the word, but the night had left him nervy, if I may be
allowed the expression; especially as he had been warned not to speak
while at the job and he wanted so much to relieve his feelings by
saying things. In fact if cold fingers had touched him on the back of
the neck while he was resting on the log, I think he would have jumped
to quite a height; and I do not blame him, for I know that I should
have done very much the same.
However, here he had six mandrakes in the basket and the night was
past. He got up and made his way along the trail back to Mother
Meldrum’s house, and hoped that part of his troubles were over, as she
could now get busy with spells and the like, and so get the little
doors open. There would be, of course, the wood of twisted trees to
pass on the other side; but he had hopes that he would not find this
too difficult, since he had learned quite a lot of common sense in the
last two or three days and he would apply it. Let him but get to the
other side of the river, he thought, and he would soon find a way to
get the children safely home.
He called out for Sylvia and Joe as he came near the house; but there
was no reply, no running of little feet to greet him. He went quickly
to the kitchen door and pushed it open, but there was nobody there. He
called again loudly and anxiously, and then a door at the side of the
fireplace opened and Golithos came out, stooping almost double to get
through.
“Hullo,” he said in an unfriendly tone, “what do _you_ want?”
“Where are those children?” demanded Gorbo, as soon as he had recovered
from his surprise.
“Children? How should I know? I’m not a nursery-maid.”
Gorbo dropped his basket and switched his bow round to have it handy.
“Oh, leave that bow of yours alone!” cried Golithos, changing his tone.
“You’re always making me nervous with the beastly thing. The little
ones went away in the night along with the funny man, Mother Meldrum
says, and _I_ don’t know where they are. How should I?”
“Where’s she gone to?” said Gorbo after a miserable moment. “Quick!”
“She ran out to look for them. Oh, do put it down! It’s not my fault,
is it?”
Gorbo stood with his face all twisted with dismay, staring up at the
other. What had happened now? He thought and thought, but could make
nothing of it.
“Sit down and make yourself at home,” said Golithos after a moment,
taking a seat on a stool by the fireplace. “She’ll be back soon I
expect.”
Gorbo sat down after a moment or two and stared at the fire and
thought. Golithos looked awkwardly at him from time to time, but did
not speak. And so they sat in silence until a brisk step was heard
without and Gorbo started up.
The door opened with a crash and Mother Meldrum appeared, looking
horribly gaunt and ugly and angry in a long outdoor cloak and a high
peaked hat.
“Oh, so you’re back, are you?” she said.
“Yes, Mum. But where’s Sylvia and Joe?”
“They’re gone--the little fools!”
“Gone _where_?” cried Gorbo.
“You keep civil!” shouted the old woman. “Don’t you bellow at me!”
“No, Mum, I won’t,” said poor Gorbo. “But where have they gone
to--please?”
“King Kul will have them by to-night. Them and the funny man. I ran
after them when I found they’d gone, but I was just too late. The funny
man was on one horse--with his mouth tied up, which shows they’ve got
some sense--and those fool children were each sitting in front of a
rider. Now perhaps they’re wishing they hadn’t run away from old Mother
Meldrum.”
“Which way did they go?” cried Gorbo, making for the door. “I’ll catch
them up----”
“Oh, will you? Well, if you think you can catch mounted men when
they’ve got a two hours’ start, or if you think you could do anything
if you _did_ catch up with them, you’re a bigger fool than you
look--and that’s saying a good deal.”
“But--but what did they run away for?” asked Gorbo, struck with a new
doubt.
“How do I know? I was sitting talking to this harmless old bunch of
nerves” (indicating Golithos) “who’d come to pay me a neighbourly
visit, when I thought I’d give a look at them to see that they were
quite comfortable. And when I got up there the room was empty and the
window was open and they’d gone. And the funny man was gone too. So I
just went after them, and got sight of them just too late. King Kul’s
got them all right. I suppose the funny man told them to go. He’s
noodle enough for anything. But if you really want to save them, I’ll
tell you the only way how.”
“Oh, thank you, Mum!” exclaimed Gorbo.
“But first I’m going to have breakfast.” She threw off her cloak and
began clattering the pots and pans about. “I’m not going to starve for
those brats.”
“If I hadn’t been all the night getting those mandrakes,” said Gorbo,
tearing at his hair, “I wouldn’t have lost them. Oh, I _am_ the biggest
fool after all!”
“You’re near it at any rate.” Mother Meldrum had stopped in her work
and picked up the basket he had brought. “Is this what you call
mandrakes?”
“Yes, Mum,” replied Gorbo humbly. “It seemed to me they squeaked a
little when I pulled them up.”
“Common swamp parsnips!” said Mother Meldrum with bitter scorn,
flinging them out of the door. “So that’s all the good _you_ are. Yah!”
She turned away and went on with her cooking.
Gorbo sat down and buried his face in his hands. Blow after blow. Not
only had he lost the children, but he had lost them while searching
throughout a hard disagreeable night for a few worthless specimens of
the common swamp parsnip (_Avacabolis communis_). Life really did not
seem worth living to him.
“Liven up!” said the old woman after a while. “I’ll show you the way to
save them, as I said; you trust to old Mother Meldrum. Meantime you’d
better eat.”
She dished up a huge platter of kidneys, small sausages and bacon, and
an omelette. The exquisite savour of these, together with her proffer
of help, brought some cheer to the sore heart of Gorbo and he drew up
his stool to the table and ate gratefully. The kidneys were cooked to
perfection, the omelette had been made by the hand of an artist. Mother
Meldrum was wicked and cruel and ugly and feared by all, but there was
that in her which goes far to redeem the character of the vilest--she
_could_ cook.
“Golithos only eats grass and such like,” she said with a fiendish
laugh, “so he can finish up this bit of raw cabbage. Eat hearty,
Golithos.”
Golithos drew up his stool with a discontented look and picked
daintily at the cabbage, eating with his front teeth only as if he
had no appetite for it. He looked longingly at the mixed grill, but
his fear of Mother Meldrum was great and he kept silent. She told him
(while drawing a pot of foaming beer for Gorbo) that he would find all
the water he wanted and more in the water-butt outside.
Breakfast being over she sat and considered awhile, casting an
occasional glance at Golithos. It was evident that she desired him out
of the way; and it is usually a delicate matter to convey to a third
person that he is what the French call _de trop_. But she managed it.
[Illustration]
“Golithos,” she said suddenly, “get to blazes out of this. Go outside
and stay by that tree stump over there so that I can see you’re not
listening.”
Golithos got up and moved blunderingly out of the door and stood where
she had told him to, looking sulkily about him.
THE COZENING OF GORBO
“He’s a slow-witted one if ever there was one,” Mother Meldrum
remarked. “You’re not much, but you’re better than he is. Now what
I have to tell you is this. Those children are in deadly peril--now
don’t start interrupting me, or I’ll leave you to settle it yourself.
You don’t know about King Kul, but I do. If I were to tell you only
half the things he’s done it would make each one of those coarse hairs
of yours stand up, and as that wouldn’t be a pretty sight I won’t do
it. But I’ll tell you he’s the fiercest and cruellest beast that ever
brandished a sceptre. Now the only way to save those children from a
horrible fate--at the least having their heads cut off as obtrusive
foreigners--is for you to kill him. I’m not counting the funny man at
all; he’s a goner in any case.”
“But--but surely, Mum,” said Gorbo in great horror, “no man would kill
two harmless little things like them! Why, it simply isn’t done!”
The old woman laughed scornfully. “Poor innocent old Foozelum. Why, he
does things like that for fun. It’s a saying of his that he loves to
see a little head bounce off its stalk. Of course you haven’t heard
about the infants’ class at the Sunday School. However, don’t let’s go
into disagreeable details; the main thing is that somebody has got to
finish him off. I’ve tried to get Golithos to do the job, but he hasn’t
any pluck now and I’m tired of arguing with him. Now, will you do it?
Remember it’s the only possible way of saving those little ones.”
“Yes, Mum,” replied Gorbo, springing up. “You just show me the way
there and I’ll see what I can do with my little bow.”
“You needn’t trouble about your little bow. In the first place you’d
never be able to get through the guards so as to have a shot at him.
There’s only one way to do it surely, and it’s lucky you’ve got an
experienced witch to tell you how.”
“I’ll do it any way you say, Mum; so long as I can do it quick.”
“That’s the sort of man I like,” she said approvingly. “Just wait here
a bit.”
She went out, and Gorbo sat in a state of horror and dismay. Here was a
terrible result of his fatheadedness! To know that the innocent little
ones were in the power of a tyrant who loved to see small heads bounce
off--to know that if he had not tempted them to visit the twisted trees
they would have been long ago safe in their own home--to realize that
his name would be held for ever in execration among the Snergs as the
fool who led the two children to captivity and death! No wonder he
bowed his head and moaned in anguish and wept.
Mother Meldrum returned with a long thin bundle under her arm. “Now
then, waterworks,” she said, in coarse allusion to his tears, “sit up
and pay attention for there must be no mistake here.”
“Yes, Mum.” Gorbo sat up and listened eagerly.
“First, you’ll have to get into the King’s palace without being seen.
And the only way to do that is to wear a cap of invisibility. Here
it is” (producing a seedy looking article). “It is seven hundred
years old, which accounts for its being a bit out of fashion, but it
works all right. Take it and be careful never to put it on until you
actually need it, because it only works once with one person. If you
were to put it on now you would be invisible for about ten minutes.
Then its power--with you--would be gone for ever. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mum. You mean I must only use it when I get into the palace.”
“You’ve got it. You’re improving a bit. Now the next thing is _this_.”
She produced a long whippy sapling and swished it in the air.
“Yes, Mum. And what do I do with that?”
“This,” she said impressively, “is a sword of sharpness. The instant
you smite with it it turns into a sword, and any person you smite will
be cut into two halves. It belonged originally to a cousin of Queen
Mab; he used it to clear up some family trouble. But remember that when
you have smitten it once it becomes a sapling again and its power goes
for ever--that is, as far as you are concerned.”
“Yes, Mum. You mean that if I swot the King with it he will be cut into
two bits.”
“That’s it. And it will look rather well; sorry I won’t be there to
see it. Now when you have done this there will probably be more than a
little excitement and it will be advisable for you to get out of the
way for a time. You see when the tyrant is dead the people will rise up
in their power and celebrate by freeing all the unhappy prisoners and
so forth, and that, of course, will save those dear little children.
But _you_ had better go for a little run.”
“Yes, Mum. But how do I manage it?”
“These” (producing a very shabby pair of slippers) “are shoes of
swiftness. The moment you have done the deed, slip these on and run.
But I advise you not to run too much or you may find yourself in
Mesopotamia or in the middle of the ocean or somewhere. Just a few
brisk steps will be enough, and even then it will take you half the
night to walk back, because these, like the cap and sword, only work
once. When you get back again you will be hailed as a great and good
man and the dear little things will be delivered over to you safe and
sound. Also your friend the funny man, if you really need him. So
here’s everything, nicely wrapped up. Do exactly as I’ve told you, and
remember that if you make a mess of it, the children’s ghosts will
haunt you--carrying their little heads under their arms.”
“I’ll start now,” cried Gorbo, taking the bundle containing the
wonderful treasures and his bow and other matters and making for the
door. “Just tell me the road.”
“Turn to the left when you get out of the wood and go along the green
drive for a mile or two. Then you’ll hit the high road which leads
straight to the town. So go to it!”
[Illustration]
Gorbo thanked her briefly but fervently and darted off down the path.
Mother Meldrum watched him disappear in the trees and then went back
and sat down and laughed until she shook with horrid merriment.
A FEARFUL BARGAIN
After a few minutes’ enjoyment of her secret jest she called to
Golithos to approach, and he came in looking very sulky and seated
himself.
“Where have you sent that Snerg to?” he asked.
“Ah,” she replied, “that’s telling.” And she went on chuckling.
“Now,” she said after a time, “let’s get to business. Are you going
to take my offer or not? I may as well warn you (if you haven’t found
it out yet) that I’m a bit short-tempered, and if you get obstinate
with me I’ve ways of making all kinds of trouble for you. I’m not an
experienced witch for nothing.”
Golithos scratched his head in a discontented way. “It’s so dangerous,”
he said at length.
“So it is to make me annoyed. Now then, answer up! Will you kill the
King if I get those young ones for you?”
“But you haven’t got them to give.”
“Yah! I can get them back easily enough if I make up my mind to do
it--and if you make it worth my while.”
“Yes, but--but why didn’t you get that Snerg to kill him. He’s fool
enough.”
“Yes, he is--a bit worse than you in some ways, and that’s why I sent
him out of the way. But the reason is that I’ve found out by black
magic that if the King is killed at all it will be done by an ogre, and
you’re the only one left in these parts. So now you know.”
“Oh! So that’s it, is it?--And does your magic say what will happen to
the ogre?”
“Yes, it says he’ll live happy ever after.”
Golithos scratched his head again. In spite of his belief in Mother
Meldrum he had doubts whether she was telling the exact truth here.
“I suppose I must do it,” he muttered sullenly. “But I want to be sure
of those little ones first. You bring them here and keep them safe for
me first. Then I’ll go and do it.”
The old woman glared furiously at him. “Yes, you’re trying to get me
annoyed,” she said. “Very well, then, _I’ll_ show you.”
“No, wait, please! You see if I could just _see_ them it would put me
in such good heart for the job. I’ve been living on lettuce and stuff
like that so long that I’m not as brave as I was; and though I’ve eaten
my cow it doesn’t encourage me like my own natural food. You _must_ see
that. It’s so reasonable.”
She looked at him partly in rage and partly in doubt. “H’m!” she
sniffed, “you’re the flabbiest thing in ogres I’ve ever met, and I’ve
met a few in my time. Do you mean to say that if I’d shown them to you
this morning you’d have done the King in?”
“Yes,” he replied eagerly, “that’s it. Just a glimpse of those
nice little well-filled-out children--which you promised me so
faithfully--would have made me quite anxious to do it. But I never even
got a peep at them,” he went on pathetically. “You must own it’s hard
on me.”
“I’ll get even with the funny man,” growled Mother Meldrum. “Well,
suppose I bring them both back? Will you go straight off at once as
soon as you’ve had a look at them and do what I want?”
“Oh, yes! I’ll just have one good look at them and I’ll go at once.
Of course if I could have a piece of one first, just to encourage me
properly, so to speak----”
“Well, you won’t. You’ll see them when I’ve got them safely here and
then you’ll be off, or you’ll see what I’m like when really annoyed.
Did you bring your axe with you?”
“Yes, I’ve got it here.” He went to a corner of the kitchen and
produced a mighty battle-axe and balanced it in his hand. “Many’s the
stout man-at-arms I’ve laid out with this in the old days.”
“The days when you had some pluck, you mean.”
“Yes, that’s it. But my pluck’s coming back. And if you give me a nice
roast pig for dinner, it’ll come back more. And when I see those dear
little children waiting for me, it’ll fix it for keeps.” His eyes
were rolling and his teeth were showing fiercely now, and he handled
the axe, which any other man could scarcely lift, as if it were a
medium-sized chopper.
“Yes,” said Mother Meldrum, after watching him for a moment, “I think
that’s the way it will have to be. I see you need some practical
encouragement, being the worm you are, so wait here until I come back
with them. Keep your courage up by thinking about them. It’s taken a
long time to work you up to this, Golithos,” she went on with a fierce
laugh, “but I think I’ve done it at last. You’ll get what you want, and
I’ll get what _I_ want--_Revenge_!”
She sprang up and did a hideous dance of joy round the kitchen,
footing it with an agility that seemed marvellous considering her
years. Golithos, whose long dormant savagery was awakening fast,
laughed long and boisterously. Truly a terrible scene. Let us not
linger over it.
CAPTIVES ON THE ROAD
It is fortunate for children (and for grown-ups too if they can
manage it) when they do not concern themselves greatly about the
future possibilities of a calamity. Sylvia and Joe were of this
kind--especially Joe--and what chiefly troubled them as they rode along
in front of their guards was the separation from their friend Gorbo,
who if he could not have actually saved them from this happening, would
at least have been comfort to them on the road; the fact that they were
being carried captives to a monarch of whom they had heard distressing
accounts seemed less of an evil, for its troubles were connected with
the future, and the future is always some distance ahead.
They were not treated badly, and they were allowed to talk with the
men-at-arms with whom they rode, but in a low voice because otherwise
it would have been bad for discipline. Baldry rode at some distance
from them so they got no chance to speak to him. The leader had allowed
him to go unmuzzled after a time on the condition that he did not talk,
and Baldry passed the time singing quietly to himself songs about cruel
fate and other melancholy subjects. He had evidently resigned himself
to whatever might befall.
The leader--whose name they learned was Sir Giles--asked the children
some questions as to how they came to be with the King’s jester, but
though they answered him truthfully and told him all about Watkyns Bay
(which he had never heard of) and the Snergs (of whom he had heard very
little and that little not good) and their strange adventures, he could
make nothing of it; and he finally said that it defeated him entirely
and that abler heads than his must solve the mystery.
As they went on the country became rather more populated; there were
farms and windmills and so forth, and here and there a small castle or
moated grange. They halted for about half an hour at an inn to rest the
horses and have breakfast; Sir Giles told the host to send the bill in
to the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Sylvia and Joe had each a plate of
little hot fish, rather like sardines, and a bowl of milk, and this
cheered them up greatly. Baldry interrupted his sad crooning to eat two
chops and drink a pot of ale. Then he went on with a new song about his
being Fortune’s toy. Baldry wanted some understanding.
It was well on in the afternoon when they came round the corner of a
thick wood and saw the town close at hand. It reminded the children of
a picture of a mediæval town on a coloured calendar that Miss Scadging
had brought from London last year. The houses had heavy crossed timbers
and high pitched roofs, and the streets were paved with huge cobble
stones like grey footballs. They passed through a gate with big towers
and by quaint little shops and taverns where people sat outside on
benches and drank out of large pots, or else leaned against posts.
There seemed to be a good deal of spare time in the town, and people
came clustering round to stare at the children; but when Baldry was
recognized (he had for some reason seated himself facing the horse’s
tail as soon as they reached the town) there was great excitement, and
they called other people to come and see. But Sir Giles ordered them
to stand back like good fellows and make way for the King’s men, and
the procession went clattering down the street until it halted in the
courtyard of the royal palace.
It was indeed an anxious moment for Joe and Sylvia as they were lifted
down and led through into a lofty hall. At first they had only a
confused impression of brilliant costumes and high pointed head-dresses
of ladies and the crimson legs of small pages and general gorgeousness.
Compared to the palace of King Merse II this was as a house in Park
Lane, W. is to a maisonnette in Poplar, E., and they felt very small
and untidy and of no importance at all as they went with Sir Giles
(Sylvia carrying the puppy) through these high-class surroundings and
halted before a throne on which was seated one who wore a kingly crown.
At last they were in the presence of the dreaded monarch.
KING KUL I
It would be well here to point out to my readers (and especially the
younger ones) that rumour is more often contradicted than confirmed by
experience, and to enlarge on the moral conveyed. The reason against
my doing so at length is the fear that I may become a little tedious,
so I will merely state that, to the great surprise and relief of the
children, there were no signs of ruthlessness about the King.
He was of great girth and he had a flowing grey beard, and in these
particulars he bore out Baldry’s description of him. But his expression
was one of benevolence and good humour and he smiled on the children
with what, if it had not been blent with a touch of native majesty,
might have been described as a sort of fatuous fatherliness.
[Illustration]
He was richly though tastefully arrayed. His doublet was of three (or
four) piled velvet, green and embroidered with gold, and his hose were
shrimp pink, a colour he much affected. From his shoulders hung a
sky-blue robe lined with ermine, and the crown on his partially bald
head was decorated with fine repoussé work. Never had the children
conceived such magnificence in a man’s dress, and they stared in wonder
and admiration.
“Welcome, Sir Giles,” he said, ignoring Baldry, who went down on his
knees beside the children. “Tell me who are these little ones and how
came you to bring them together with this rudesby.”
“‘Rudesby’ is rather good,” observed Baldry in an interested tone.
“I found them travelling with the knave, sire,” replied Sir Giles. “And
as I could not leave them alone in the forest I brought them also. But
I can make nothing of their tale, sire. It appears to me such as might
be told by a minstrel who had been too long at the wine-pot. A tale of
a certain Countess Watkyns in that terror-haunted land beyond the deep
river, and of many millions of other children, and of Snergs who are
friendly with them. I leave it to your Majesty to judge, for I can make
nothing of it.”
“Ah, you’re slow, that’s what’s the matter,” remarked Baldry.
“Silence, thou villain!” roared the King.
Baldry clapped both hands over his mouth with a look of extreme terror.
“Snergs, did you say?” went on the King. “Could it be possible that
these little innocents know aught of that fierce and cruel race?”
“Please, sir,” said Joe, who felt that he must defend his friends,
holding up one hand according to the custom of Watkyns Bay in class
time. “Please, sir, we’re all very fond of the Snergs. They’re not
fierce at all.”
“Not fierce, say you, little man! Nay, that passes understanding. There
must be more in this than meets the eye.”
“You mean the ear, of course,” said Baldry.
“Remove me this pestilent ass!” cried the King. “We will judge his case
at a fitter time.”
Four men-at-arms surrounded the jester and, at a word of command from
Sir Giles, marched out with him. His really incredible folly caused
him to drop on all fours and go out creeping swiftly between them;
doubtless he gathered some encouragement from the smothered laughter of
the more thoughtless courtiers.
Put to some extent at his ease by the King’s kind manner, Joe told
the tale of their wanderings and adventures. He explained as well as
he could and with Sylvia’s assistance, the way of living at Watkyns
Bay, the general nature of the country beyond the deep river, and the
amiable character of the Snergs, with whom the Society lived on such
satisfactory terms. The King listened in deep wonder.
[Illustration]
“Can it be,” he said, turning to the court, “that we have been in
ignorance of the true nature of things beyond the river?--that we have
accepted without question the traditions handed down to us, and are now
to be corrected by these babes? Can it be----” He went on moralising in
most approved fashion, and the courtiers made acquiescing murmurs, as
was expected of them.
“But one thing is clear,” he went on. “We must pay instant attention to
this Golithos, who appears to give indications of becoming a menace,
and also to Mother Meldrum. She has had a good deal of rope in the
past, and perchance it is the time to give her a bit more, though in a
different sense of the word. They must be brought here for judgment at
once. That shall be your next job, Sir Giles.”
“Oh, very well, sire,” replied Sir Giles, but not very heartily.
“And that reminds me,” said the King. “Your betrothed, the Lady
Ermyntrude, can look after these little ones, for the hour is late,
and we would have them to sit at our evening meal. So fair damsel,” he
continued to a young lady standing nearby, “take charge of this little
golden-haired maid and this sturdy male infant and see that they be
given a change of raiment and also (for they _are_ a bit grubby) the
refreshment of the bath.”
The young lady, who was richly dressed, and extremely pretty (her
one defect was a touch of indefinable sauciness) came forward and
curtseyed. She then gave a hand to each of the children and led them
forth.
A CHANGE OF CLOTHES AT LAST
With the assistance of a couple of maids, Sylvia and Joe were soon
tubbed and scrubbed and then seated, each wrapped in a sheet, awaiting
the decision of the Lady Ermyntrude, who took clothes seriously. In
time she selected what she considered suitable from the royal wardrobe
(things that the royal children had grown out of) and began to dress
them up. When she had finished with them the effect was startling.
Sylvia had on a dress of white silk adorned with flowers and bees
worked in gold, and little red shoes with pom-poms on them. Her hair
was all fluffed out beneath a snow-white cap like a sugar loaf leaning
backwards. Joe had a bright crimson doublet and hose and a cap with a
white feather on it. His shoes wanted some getting used to for the toes
were so pointed and long that they had to be fastened to his knees with
tiny gold chains. In his belt he had a little dagger in an embroidered
sheath, and this he liked more than anything. He told Sylvia that he
had told her all along that things would come out all right and that
she needn’t worry.
“What do you think of Sir Giles?” asked the Lady Ermyntrude when the
children’s toilet was complete and they were sitting opposite to her on
two footstools.
“He’s not bad,” replied Joe. (After all, Sir Giles had looked after
them pretty well and given them breakfast.)
“He’s bossy,” said the lady (not the word she used of course, but the
nearest I can get to it).
“Is he, Miss?” Sylvia asked.
“Yes, with most people. But not with me.” Here she laughed scornfully.
“You’re going to marry him, aren’t you, Miss--I mean, my Lady?” asked
Sylvia timidly.
“In August.”
“Oh, so soon?” Sylvia got greatly interested. “Bridesmaids?”
“Six. Would you like to see my wedding-dress--as far as it’s gone?”
“I should _love_ it!”
So Joe had to wander about the room for half an hour while these two
thoroughly feminine females went into close details.
ANOTHER MEAL WITH ROYALTY
The evening meal was a matter of some ceremony and observance of old
customs. The public was admitted in moderate numbers on payment of
a small fee (which went to the poor) and it was quite the thing for
people who wanted to give country friends a treat to take them to the
palace in order to see from behind a railed-off space the royal party
feeding. Those who came on this particular evening had no reason to
complain that they had not had their money’s worth.
The jovial character of the King made him sometimes impatient of
ceremony, and once the trumpets had sounded to announce that he had
removed his outer robe and taken his seat, he would adopt a free
and easy manner calculated to put nervous guests at their ease. I
do not mean that Joe and Sylvia were nervous. They had been guests
of honour at the table of King Merse II and knew something of the
ways of courts--though this of course was on a much more magnificent
scale--and, in addition, they were upheld by the consciousness that
they were fitly attired. Those who know--as I confess I do--the great
gain in ease and self-respect due to a new suit of clothes will readily
understand this.
While the meal proceeded the King expressed sympathy with them for
their mislaying of Gorbo and comforted them by saying that he would
undoubtedly turn up safe and sound. He said he would have inquiries
made at once.
“It is indeed a gratification,” he said, “to hear that the Snergs are
nice and harmless and not at all fierce. I must try and arrange some
way of meeting their king, who I have no doubt is a very worthy man in
his way. It would be to clear up the misunderstandings of ages. And
I should especially like to see your faithful friend Gorbo. I trust I
shall shortly. In the meantime,” he went on with hospitable smiles,
“have another of these, Sylvia” (handing her a plate of confections
rather like muffins with fruit inside). “Little girls should build up
their systems with plenty of food, and these are full of vitamines.”
“Thank you, sire,” said Sylvia, taking one.
“But these are cold,” went on the King as he bit into another. “Let me
give you a hot one.” Then, for as I have said he despised ceremony in
small things, he rose and reached for a huge silver dish (with a hot
water arrangement beneath it) where the muffins were heaped.
I ask you to note that, the dish being at some distance from him, he
leant forward until he was almost prone on the table, the muffin he had
bitten to test its temperature being still between his teeth.
A STINGER
At that instant fearful shouts were heard, and to the bewildering
surprise and joy of Sylvia and Joe, they saw Gorbo bounding up the
hall. He wore instead of his close-fitting Snerg cap, a strange one of
filthy appearance. In his left hand he bore a pair of ragged shoes, and
in his right he held aloft a long whippy sapling.
He did not see them; even if he had he would not have recognized in
these splendidly-dressed children his travel-stained young friends; he
had eyes only for the alleged tyrant whose gold crown revealed his
identity and whose attitude as he leaned across the table was excellent
for the user of a magic sword. He leapt forward--remember all this
occupied but one or two seconds--and brought the sapling down on the
King’s person with a juicy smack that rang through the hall.
[Illustration]
To say merely that things moved briskly after this is to confess--as
I must--inability to cope in words with so strange a situation. I
will, however, do my best to give a general impression of subsequent
happenings.
The King bounced upright--nay, more than upright--and with eyes
goggling and utterance impeded by the muffin in his mouth, glared
maniacally at his assailant. And all present were so paralysed with
amazement that for an instant there was utter silence. O moments big as
years!
The thoughts of Gorbo in that bitter speck of time might be expressed
as follows:--
“I have been cozened. This cap is not a cap of invisibility, because
everybody is looking at me. This sapling is not a sword of sharpness,
because just look at what’s happened! Therefore, for the love of Mike,
let these be shoes of swiftness, for I need them!”
He flung away the sapling, sprang into the shoes, and ran.
He ran into the arms of about twenty soldiers, each of whom grabbed a
bit of him somewhere.
“It’s Gorbo!” cried Sylvia in agony. “Oh, poor old Gorbo!”
“Gorbo, is it?” roared the King, sweeping away with his arms those who
rushed to tend him, and literally gnashing his teeth. “So _that’s_ your
Gorbo? Harmless, eh? Not fierce at all! Oh----!”
Here I must cease writing down his words.
THE MORNING AFTER
When the children woke next day the events of the evening came to them
with a shock. They had not been thrown into a dungeon, as they had not
unreasonably feared would be the case, but had been rather hurriedly
bundled out of the way by the Lady Ermyntrude and put to bed in a
fairly comfortable back room with two beds and told to go to sleep at
once, which they felt was rather a difficult thing to do under the
circumstances. They felt that they were losing their popularity, and
besides, they were greatly worried about their friend. Speculation as
to why he had behaved as he had and what would be his probable fate
kept them whispering for hours.
But when they were dressed by a maid (who brought them an early cup of
milk) and had gone downstairs, they found the situation easier. The
King had passed a good night. He had no temperature and was able to eat
a hearty breakfast. He did not express a wish to see the children, and
they were glad of this because they felt it would have been so awkward.
The Lady Ermyntrude gave them their breakfast and then took them out
for a walk in the garden, and Tiger had a run with some puppies that
belonged to her.
The King attended a council at which were discussed various suggestions
made by the nobles as to the ceremonies to be observed in the cutting
off of Gorbo’s head. It was finally decided that it should be done in
the market-place at 11.30, and, this being settled, the King proposed
(for the basis of his method of government was strict justice) that the
villain should receive a fair trial.
Gorbo was brought in, loaded with an almost unnecessary length of
chain, and stood before the Lord Chancellor, who was to conduct the
case.
“Your name, prisoner?” asked the Lord Chancellor.
“Gorbo, so please you, sir,” replied the unhappy Snerg.
“Your age, Gorbo?”
“Two hundred and seventy-three, sir.”
“Your occupation, Gorbo?”
“Potter, sir.”
“And why, Gorbo, did you leave the harmless calling of potting to come
to this land and give a fleshy cut to the King’s Grace?”
“Because----” He could say no more.
“The reason is inadequate, Gorbo. Think, for your time on earth is
short if you give no better bid for life.”
“Mother Meldrum told me to,” said Gorbo, his wits roused by the
extremity.
“Aha, now we get near it! But even then, Gorbo, the reason seems no
full one. Is it the foul custom of the Snergs to smite all, however
exalted, at the chance word of a witch?”
“She--she said that the King was a grievous tyrant--and that he needed
killing badly. But the chief reason was she said that if I didn’t kill
him, he’d kill Sylvia and Joe.”
The Lord Chancellor turned to the King. “In truth, sire, we seem to
have secured, at the cost of a stinger to your Majesty’s person, the
biggest numskull the world has ever known.”
“It would seem so,” agreed the King, with a half pitying look at Gorbo.
“I suggest, my lords, that he be allowed to tell his tale in his own
fashion and we will then see if it agrees in substance with the tale of
those little ones.”
“A noble idea and worthy of your Majesty’s brain capacity,” said the
Lord Chancellor. “Come, fellow, your tale, plainly told.”
With much faltering and stammering (for he feared he had proved the
truth of the prophecy that he was the biggest fool) Gorbo began his
account of all that had happened since he left Watkyns Bay. He warmed
up as he proceeded and got more at his ease, for he saw that all
listened with deep interest. He diplomatically stopped at the point
where he arrived at the palace gates on the previous evening.
“All agrees well with the tale of the children,” said the King. “I
think, my lords, we must let this oaf keep his head for the present.”
“Yes, sire,” said the Lord Chancellor, “and in my opinion----”
But his opinion was lost to the world, for at that instant there was
heard a clamour without and a sounding knock at the door.
THE INVASION
The door opened smartly and the Captain of the City Guard appeared
framed in the doorway, a stoutly-built man in a full suit of mail, with
a beard like a pound of coarse-cut tobacco and a rough but not unkindly
face.
“My liege,” he said, making a leg, “pray pardon my pushing in, but a
strange armed force has appeared suddenly, demanding the surrender of
the two foreign children and the Snerg.”
“An armed force, fellow!” cried the King with justifiable anger.
“Demanding of _me_--I mean us! You are surely talking through your
morion.”
[Illustration]
“Nay, sire, it is but too true. Some two score of large men in quaint
boots and some ten score or more of small dwarfish men who may be
Snergs. They say that if the three they demand be given to them
uninjured they will go in peace.”
The King rose to the occasion with true dignity. “Admit them to the
City,” he said. “We will talk with their leader.”
“Well, sire,” said the Captain of the Guard, with a not unnatural
embarrassment, “the fact is, they have admitted themselves. You see, it
happened that I was athirst, and----”
“We will look into that later,” interrupted the King with a stern look.
“In the meantime, invite this force into our hall as soon as I have
taken my seat on the throne.”
AN HISTORIC MEETING
The force was drawn up in an orderly way in the hall; Snergs on
the right flank, four deep, and the Dutchmen on the left flank.
Vanderdecken knew something of the art of war--so useful to seamen
of his day--and he had trained his crew to do some simple military
exercises, including musketry drill. On the whole the Expeditionary
Force, with Snergs in half armour and the sailors carrying their
muskets at the slope, looked hard and efficient.
King Kul left his throne and advanced six steps. King Merse came
forward, looking every inch a king, though small.
“Welcome, our cousin of Snerg.”
Their hands met. King Kul took the arm of the other and led him to
a seat by the throne. There was a murmur of satisfaction from the
assembled courtiers, while the two exchanged the friendly, but not
necessarily very deep, remarks which characterize the conversation of
princes or presidents who meet for the first time.
It is of course not very probable that any of my readers will visit
this land, but if by chance they should do so I recommend them to
take special note of the fresco which was painted to commemorate this
historic scene, for it well repays inspection. It is in the vaulted
corridor on the left of the hall, next to the cloak-room.
NECESSARY EXPLANATIONS
Formalities were soon over, and King Kul ordered that the two children
be brought to greet their friends. In the meantime, he stood, his
hands lightly clasped behind him, talking to Vanderdecken, who had
been presented to him with due ceremony and whose sterling qualities
he could both discern and appreciate. Though but a merchant adventurer
Vanderdecken was of good family; he had as we know some knowledge of
the classics, he spoke easily and well, there was no hesitation or
_mauvaise honte_ about the man; though his dress was rough and perhaps
ill-fitted to the brilliant scene, he bore himself with proper pride.
As the late Lord Buscoe said to one who expostulated with him for
coming to dinner in plus-fours, you cannot disguise a gentleman.
Sylvia and Joe, in their fine and fancy garb, were brought into the
hall by the Lady Ermyntrude and affectionately greeted and kissed by
King Merse. They instantly told him that he must demand the release of
Gorbo, for he had been put in a dungeon.
“By the way, your Majesty,” said King Merse, turning to his brother
monarch, “what about my subject, Gorbo? I hear he is in trouble.”
“You shall see him,” replied the other with a touch of sternness (with
two kings conversing the reader will have sometimes to judge their
identity by the matter of their speech). “Ho there! bring hither that
fellow!”
Metallic sounds caused all to look towards the council chamber where
Gorbo had been left with his guards. He came forward, carrying his
chain with difficulty and occasionally stumbling over it. He looked at
his liege lord with a sheepish smile.
“Hail, Gorbo,” said King Merse, amid a deep silence.
“May your shadow ever be a wide one,” murmured Gorbo.
“You seem to have got tangled up with some iron, Gorbo. What is it this
time?”
Gorbo gave no reply, but only toyed with a link of his chain.
“Let me ask you, our cousin,” said King Kul impressively. “Suppose an
utter stranger were to come into your hall unannounced and hand you one
of the very best with a stout sapling while you were reaching across
your own supper-table, what would you say?”
King Merse thought diligently for a moment; then he shook his head. “I
give it up,” he said. “But,” he added half-unconsciously touching the
hilt of his sword, “I might be able to tell you what I would _do_, if
that is of any use to you.”
“Exactly!” said King Kul; “that is just my point. This subject of yours
did so behave to us. And you can scarcely credit what a stinger he gave
us. I ask you.”
“Well, Gorbo,” said King Merse after a serious pause, “to put it in the
very mildest way, you are not improving. Can you make anything of this
strange case?” he asked of Vanderdecken.
Vanderdecken did not reply in words; he merely grasped his beard and
shook his head slowly from side to side as one who is utterly defeated.
“I suppose,” went on King Merse, “it were too much to expect that the
fellow had some dim shadow of a reason, at the back of what for want of
a better word we must call his brain, for this outrage?”
“Oh, we have found reason enough!” cried King Kul, with a slight
tendency to rave. “He did it, he says, to save these little children
from execution at our hands! These--_these_ whom we were at the moment
stuffing with muffins! Oh----” here his sense of the bitter indignity
overcame him again and he could only articulate words which I prefer to
represent by dashes.
“This is a blow to me,” said King Merse, sadly. “I had hoped that when
I found Gorbo I would also find that his mind had been broadened by
foreign travel; it is said to have that effect. But what hope now?”
“It’s all very well,” said Gorbo sullenly, “but if you’d heard what
Golithos said about the King, and what Mother Meldrum said about him,
perhaps you’d have made a little mistake too. And Baldry said----” here
he stopped suddenly, for Baldry was his sworn friend and he felt that
to go on would not be cricket.
“Baldry!” exclaimed King Merse. “Ah, now the matter is clearing. Tell
me what that reprobate said about me.”
But Gorbo remained silent.
“Bring hither our one-time jester,” said the King to an officer. “I
think, cousin, we may find some extra reason for this matter.”
BALDRY’S SENTENCE
Baldry was brought in, chewing a straw. There were straws sticking in
his hair and more on his clothes. He stood before the King with his
eyes cast down and his hands clasped before him, a dejected figure.
“Thou insolent!” said the King, after regarding him for a moment. “Thou
impertinent one! Think not to trick me by this show of sorrow. Tell me,
have you said aught to this stranger that would lead him to believe me
a tyrant?”
Baldry took the straw from his mouth, dried it carefully and deposited
it within the bosom of his doublet. He placed his hand daintily over
his mouth and coughed a little cough. Then he spoke:
“My liege lord and master, it is true that I did in some sort induce
my dear friend Gorbo to believe you more despotic than is perhaps
the case. But in my defence I must say that I had some good reason
for it, namely, to wit”--here he checked off the items on his
fingers--“Firstly, the idea occurred to me a choice one. Secondly,
it seemed to be full of humour. Thirdly, I was highly amused at it.
Fourthly, it tickled me greatly. Fifthly----”
“Silence me that lewd mouth!” cried the King to the jailor. A kerchief
was hastily whipped round Baldry’s mouth and held while they waited
further orders.
“Listen to my words,” said the King sternly, “for you will hear but few
again. We can pardon much levity in a professional fool, but this more
than reaches the limits of our patience. Go forth from our presence and
from our palace and from our City--and keep on going. Know all,” he
continued, turning to the court, “that Baldry is henceforth exiled from
our dominions.”
Baldry started violently and stared at him as if he could not
comprehend. Then, as the bitter truth dawned upon him, he turned, and
with bowed head, paced slowly forth. But after some four or five steps
he paused, placing his hand upon his heart as if with a sudden pang.
Then, raising his hands aloft with a gesture of despair, he swayed,
and fell at full length on his face, as falls a tree.
There was general consternation, and all rushed forward. One, skilled
in leechcraft, knelt down and, bending his head sideways, listened
carefully. Then he rose. “I cannot hear his heart beat,” he said sadly.
“He is dead.”
[Illustration]
They made way for the King, from whose countenance the stern look had
faded, giving place to one of deep sorrow. He stood looking down at
the prostrate figure and heaved a deep sigh, almost a groan. At length
he spoke--in blank verse, for nothing less could express his bitter
feelings:
“Alas, poor fool! is’t thus that comes the end,
The terminus of all your antic ways?
Could not the fate which spares the grim tom-cat
That yesternight did rack my harmless slumbers,
Making the moonlight tremble with his yells,
Have spared thee too? Can’st ne’er again
Devise thy lightsome jests, thy bonnetings,
Thy traps of booby poised on half-op’d door,
Or juggle with the table furnishings?
No, thou art dead, and I without my fool
Am left to mourn the law inscrutable
That gives us chiefly what we would not have.
The violet withers while the rhubarb thrives,
The buttered slice falls ever upside-down,
The horse we back does seldom find a place,
The horse we back not comes a romping in.
Too late, poor fool, this unavailing woe!
I loved thee more than thou did’st ever know.”
“Then in that case,” said Baldry, turning smartly over on to his back,
“why are you making things so difficult?”
ROYAL CLEMENCY
It was characteristic of Baldry that he always (in seafaring phrase)
sailed pretty close to the wind, and it was lucky for him in this case
that the King’s satisfaction in knowing that he was not dead after all
slightly outbalanced his new rage at finding that not only had he been
tricked, but that he had wasted some rather superior blank verse. But
Baldry dexterously twisted himself out of reach of the King’s itching
foot and fled to where Sylvia and Joe were standing (both rather
perplexed with these happenings) and embraced them with ardour.
“Ah, our cousin of Snerg!” said the King with a mournful smile, “well
has the poet said that beneath a monarch’s crown there is often a sore
head. But now let me recount to you what other reasons this Gorbo of
yours gave for his behaviour. It will take some believing.”
King Merse, after hearing full details of how Gorbo had been cozened
into perpetration of the outrage, gave his opinion that, the man being
the ass he was, it would be best to pass the matter over as an error of
judgment.
“That’s one way of looking at it,” said King Kul rather peevishly. “Of
course it was I who got the stinger, not you. But,” he added with true
nobility, “the quality of mercy is not strained like cabbage. Ho there,
guards! unchain that extraordinary person. He is free.”
Gorbo’s fetters were instantly removed and carried away in a basket.
He murmured some inarticulate thanks to the King and then went over to
his brother Snergs, who were ranged against the wall and who greeted
him with affection mingled with scarcely dissembled mirth. But he was
cheered by the sudden impact of two small bodies; Sylvia and Joe had
flung themselves at him and were hugging him tight.
King Kul watched the scene for a moment with a benevolent smile; then
he turned to King Merse and Vanderdecken.
“Come,” he said, “to my privy chamber, where a stoup of wine and a
mixed biscuit awaits us. The Master of the Buckhounds will see to it
that your men are cared for. Pray mind the step.”
THE NEXT DAY
The next day passed happily and to the contentment of all except Sir
Giles, who instead of walking for hours in the gardens with the Lady
Ermyntrude, as he hoped to do, had to mount and away in order to bring
Golithos and Mother Meldrum up for judgment. He started early and went
off at great speed with his men. Since the job had to be done he would
get it over quickly.
The Snergs and the Dutchmen were well entertained by the townspeople.
They visited some public places, such as the building of Science and
Arts, and were present at the ceremony of unveiling a new horse-trough
in the market-place. A good spread, at which the Mayor presided, was
given to them in the Town Hall.
Sylvia and Joe enjoyed themselves to the full. They went out shopping
with the Lady Ermyntrude, who needed some lining and a piece of narrow
insertion, and they roamed about with Gorbo afterwards and each bought
a little china mug and saucer as a souvenir. They were very happy for
it had been on the whole a most successful and interesting expedition;
though they were to start on the homeward journey on the next day but
one (a Snerg had been sent post haste to let Miss Watkyns know they
were safe) and they would have preferred to stop a little longer, they
were also looking forward to the time when they would be back with the
other children and telling them all about it. And they really wanted to
know what Miss Watkyns and the other ladies would think of it all.
There was a ball that night at the palace. Among those present were
Joe and Sylvia, but only for a short time because the King said they
were too young for dissipation. They went to sleep, soothed by the
distant music of rebecs, psalterys and viols de gamboys. Truly a happy
time.
AND THE DAY AFTER THAT
“Aha!” said King Kul, striking his hands lightly together as he glanced
round the breakfast table, “what good things have we to eat this
morning? I see kidneys--kippers--a dressed ham--pies of various sorts.
Come, our cousin of Snerg, let me recommend the grouse pie.”
“Thank you,” replied King Merse, helping himself to a good deal. “Are
grouse plentiful here?”
“Very plentiful. When you come again we must get up some hawking
parties. Mynheer Vanderdecken, this wine is a good breakfast vintage.
Let me fill your goblet--But where are our little guests? I heard their
merry prattle from my window long ago, when I was having my early
hippocras and sandwich.”
Before anyone could answer, the Lady Ermyntrude came rushing into the
hall holding her skirts some six inches from the ground to facilitate
her movements.
“Sire,” she panted, “the children cannot be found! I left them about an
hour ago in order to powder my--I mean to arrange my coiffure--and they
have gone!”
“Gone where?” exclaimed both monarchs, rising to their feet.
“Alas, I cannot say. The household varlets have searched the gardens
and called to them, but they cannot be found. The guards at the palace
gates have not seen them pass. But they are lost!”
“Tut, tut!” said King Kul, “that seems impossible. They are playing
some prank on you. Have you searched the herbaceous borders?”
“Yes, sire, everywhere. But they cannot be found.”
Amid general consternation the Captain of the Gate was sent for and
came on the run, bolting a crust and brushing crumbs from himself.
“Come, come!” said the King angrily, “you must learn to eat in your own
time. We like not this munching in our presence. Now tell me if those
children passed the gates this morning.”
The Captain made an effort and bolted what was left of the crust. “No,
sire,” he replied. “Only serving-men have passed in or out on your
Majesty’s affairs. They and one old man.”
“What manner of old man?”
“Of very indifferent manner, sire. He came early this morning to offer
fat boiling fowls for your Majesty’s kitchen. He had a thin grey beard
and he wore a high peaked hat and a cloak and he rode an ass.”
“That does not help us very much,” remarked the King, pondering deeply.
“Not at all, sire. We were glad to see him pass out, for when he had
sold his fowls he brought forth bagpipes from under his cloak and
played most execrable music. He went out a-riding his ass, with his
feet disposed on his two covered baskets that hung on either side, and
there were none that did not stop their ears as he passed. My own ears
still ding with the fearsome squealing.”
“Enough of this old man and your ears,” said the King impatiently. “Now
let my soldiers search----”
He was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Gorbo, who darted out
from the throng and flung out his arms before him.
“It’s Mother Meldrum!” he cried, “The old man was Mother Meldrum! She’s
got them after all!”
[Illustration]
“Got them _where_?” roared the King and a few other people.
“In the baskets! She popped them in the baskets and played bagpipes so
that people wouldn’t hear them screaming! Oh!”--here he flung his cap
on the ground and jumped on it and tore his hair.
There was a momentary silence of astonishment. That Gorbo, already
widely known in these parts as the prize fool of the strange race of
Snergs, should find the solution of the mystery came as a bit of a
shock. King Merse stared at him as if he were experiencing something of
a miracle.
[Illustration]
“He is right,” exclaimed King Kul. “If this toss-pot and muncher had
had the sense to see what is plain to us all” (he forgot that he hadn’t
seen it himself until it was shouted at him) “those children would not
be now in the power of that wretch. Let no one rest until they are
found, or avenged--Ha, here comes one who may help us,” he went on.
“Welcome back, Sir Giles. Have you any news?”
“Ay, your Majesty, lots,” replied that capable knight, clanking up the
hall. “But I have not found Golithos. His tower is empty except for
miscellaneous rubbish, and the doors swing idly in the wind. He has
flown.” His voice was hoarse with weariness and his mail showed signs
of hard travel.
“Flown, has he? And Mother Meldrum?”
“She also has flown--probably on a broomstick. Her house is dismantled
and deserted, and doubtless the foul things of the haunted woods will
hold their revels there to-night. Ugh!” He shuddered, for though he was
dauntless where a reasonable number of caitiffs were concerned he had
no taste for the supernatural.
“Strange,” said the King musingly. “The plot thickens--But you are
weary, Sir Giles. Pray seat yourself beside us while we consider the
matter.”
“Thanks, sire, but I prefer standing. I have sat some score of hours or
more.”
“I fear you will have to sit some more, good knight, for you must mount
and lead your men again. Come, sirs, let us consider what course we are
now to take.”
CAPTIVES AGAIN
In a wood of scattered and stunted trees many miles from Banrive,
Mother Meldrum was urging on her heavily loaded ass with the assistance
of a cudgel. Beside her strode the gigantic form of Golithos, with a
big bundle tied to his shoulders and carrying his mighty axe. There
was a kind of horrible contentment about the two as they went along
in silence only broken by an occasional chuckle from Golithos and the
thumping of the cudgel as it came down on the animal’s ribs. Round
about them walked seven large black cats.
“We can take it a bit easier now,” said Mother Meldrum at length. She
had taken off her cloak and in her man’s dress and with the false beard
removed she looked a particularly hideous figure; the beard had at
least hidden part of her face. “It’s not far now to the barren rocks
and nobody ever comes as near to them as this. Everything’s going very
nicely.”
“Yes, isn’t it,” he said. “Do you know I got very worried, waiting
outside the town with your bundles and the cats. I thought you’d never
come. I was afraid something had happened and you couldn’t find the
little ones.”
“That’s because you’re a fool,” she said with her usual candour. “I got
them almost at once, as I knew I would. Don’t you start complaining
about me!”
“No, of course not. But the cats worried me so much--snarling and
rolling about and getting their ropes entangled. And when I tried to
sort them out they simply bit pieces out of me. Look at my hands.”
“Glad they did; I wish they’d done more to you. You lost one of my
cats, too, you lout! If it doesn’t come along soon, I’ll remember it
when we settle up.”
“But it really wasn’t my fault,” he said quickly. “I just untied it a
moment to disentangle it and it clawed me and bolted off. It’ll come
along all right.”
“There’ll be trouble for you if it doesn’t. Now let’s stop a bit and
see how things are.”
“Yes, let’s,” said Golithos eagerly.
“You keep away! No touching.” She lifted up the lid of one of the
baskets on the ass and untied the neck of a coarse sack within. “Aha,
you’re tired of grizzling now, are you? That’s a good thing for you.”
The head of Joe came out and stared at her, white and horrified.
“Get out and walk!” she ordered. “No, wait a bit: I’ll have to tie your
hands behind you.”
She tied him up and lashed the rope to the huge bundle that formed
the principal load of the ass. Then she went to the other basket and
liberated Sylvia.
Poor Sylvia’s eyes were swollen with weeping and her face showed a
stunned horror. She shook with fear as she got out, her pretty silk
dress with the golden flowers and bees all crumpled and stained with
the filthy sack she had been tied in, and looked up in the old witch’s
face.
“Keep apart,” she shouted, for Joe had got close to Sylvia to give her
what consolation he could, which was not very much. “One on each side.
Now march!”
They started off again, Joe and Sylvia walking in a dazed way on either
side of her, Golithos coming behind with his load and leading the ass,
and the cats surging about them like a pack of grim black hounds.
“You were clever to get them, the way you did,” said Golithos, to put
her in a good humour. “You seem to manage everything the way you want
it.”
“Oh, I’m clever enough. I just went in with my half-dozen fat hens
and offered them for next to nothing, and I talked to the fat old
cook about things in general until I saw these brats coming along and
looking for something new. They got something new all right enough. I
just gave them good morning and asked them if they knew of a nice quiet
place in the garden where I could turn a little rabbit loose, because
it was so cruel to keep a rabbit cooped up and it’d be much happier in
the garden. And they took me to very nice quiet place, all thick bushes
and the like. Ho, ho, ho! I had them twisted up in two sacks before
they could begin to think what was happening. And by the time they’d
started to yell I had them in the baskets and hopped on top of the ass
and started the bagpipes. And some gardeners and people came running
up and out but I went a-galloping and blowing the pipes and all they
wanted was to see the last of me. And out in the street some stared at
me and some pitched carrots and things at me, but I didn’t stop blowing
until I was clear out of Banrive. Ho, ho, ho!”
[Illustration]
Golithos laughed hideously and the children cowered as they stumbled
along. Mother Meldrum jerked furiously at the ropes that held them and
told them to step out smartly if they didn’t want some extra trouble.
“Don’t make them walk too fast,” said Golithos. “Poor things, it won’t
do to get them too tired! Children _do_ get thin so easily,” he added
with a touch of pathos.
“They’ll walk and you’ll walk and I’ll walk just as long as it suits
me!” she shouted with one of her sudden changes to fury.
“Oh, yes, of course,” he said hastily. “I was merely suggesting----”
“Well, don’t. You’ve got your job to attend to before you need worry
whether they’re thin or fat. As soon as we get beyond the barren rocks
you’re finished with them until you’ve done your job.”
“Oh, I’ll do it all right,” he said, twirling his gigantic axe. “The
sight of them has done me ever so much good. I’ll go back and just hide
near Banrive until I get my chance. It won’t take long because you tell
me the King goes out hawking every other day or so and it won’t be at
all difficult to creep up when he’s sitting on his fat old horse and
staring up in the sky. I’ll have him hacked to bits in no time. And
if any twenty of his men come up I’ll cut them all down, as I used to
do in the fine old days.” He roared with laughter and made the air
whistle as he swung the axe over his head.
“At last I’m getting part of what I want,” said Mother Meldrum as she
watched him approvingly. “Only part, because there’s others in the
town I’m going to get square with. Wait till we’re comfortably settled
beyond the barren rocks and we’ll be able to do quite a nice lot of
damage one way and another. When they find their little children
disappearing every now and then they’ll wish they’d left me alone in my
comfortable little town business and not got the King to turn me out.”
Golithos did an ungainly dance of joy at the mention of a good supply
of his natural food. “I suppose,” he said when his transports had
calmed down a little, “there’s no chance of their finding the way
through the rocks?”
“Not a bit of chance. The way through is by a hole just near the top of
the big cliff, and even if they found the hole they’d lose their way
in two minutes if they tried to follow the road. There’s fifty little
tunnels branching in all directions and I’m the only one who knows
the right one. Besides, they wouldn’t dare to follow us in: there’s
other things there besides bats and darkness. No, we’ll be comfortable
enough. There’s an old tower which you can take for your very own, and
there’s a little house in the trees that will just suit me and I’ll
settle down very comfortably with my cats.”
They trudged on in contented silence for a time. Sylvia and Joe were,
luckily for them in one way, too stupefied with horror to realize the
hideous fate that had come upon them and they went on as well as they
could, Mother Meldrum occasionally hinting by a ferocious pick at the
ropes that they were not walking fast enough.
THE BARREN ROCKS
Half an hour later Mother Meldrum gave a grunt of satisfaction. “Here
we are at last,” she said. “Look up, little dears, and see where you’re
going to climb to.”
They had passed out of the thicker part of the stunted trees into an
open space, and the shuddering children saw before them a deep ravine
of dry and jagged rocks. On the farther side the walls rose in a cliff
which, though not very much higher than they were standing, was very
precipitous and evidently difficult to climb for anyone who did not
know the path. Nowhere about the rocks was there any sign of life or
vegetation. It was a new strange land on which a blight had fallen; a
land over which a dull horror seemed to brood.
“We’ll go down a nice little path I know of,” said Mother Meldrum, with
a deep chuckle, “and then we’ll go up a nice little path I know of. And
close to the top is a nice little tunnel I know of, and we’ll go ever
so far through it until we come to a nice little house I know of. _Now_
don’t you wish you hadn’t run away from dear old Mother----”
She stopped and turned round and stared. Golithos, who had been
grinning savagely at her words, stopped and looked quickly in the same
direction.
“I thought I heard Gubbins,” she said (Gubbins was the missing cat).
“Oh, I’m so glad!” he said, “I wouldn’t have liked you to lose him. He
must have caught us up. Ah, there he is! I thought he wouldn’t be long
in finding us.”
“Yes, you fool!” snarled the old woman, choking with rage. “And see
who’s coming after him! This comes of trusting a lubber like you!”
“It’s that Snerg again,” said Golithos uneasily.
The children’s hearts gave a bound of joy and hope. A long way off,
and far beyond the black cat that came trotting up, they saw a little
figure running. It was Gorbo, and the dead weight of terror seemed to
lift from them at the sight.
“I don’t seem able to shake him off somehow,” went on Golithos, not
at all with the air of a man who was ready to do great deeds. “But he
hasn’t seen us yet because we’re hidden by these trees. Let’s get into
the thick part and hide until he comes up and then I’ll jump out and
cut him down before he can shout.”
“Come along, you brats, or I’ll murder you here!” shouted Mother
Meldrum.
She dragged fiercely at the ropes and they had to follow her into the
trees. Golithos hauled on the leading rope of the ass, and the ass, as
its nature taught it to do, hauled back. With a howl of rage he took a
firmer grip of the rope and dragged the ass a few feet. Then the rope
snapped and the animal turned and trotted back on the path they had
come.
“Now you’ve done it, you great lout!” screamed Mother Meldrum. “Now
he’ll know we’re here! Oh, I’ll settle accounts with you, Golithos,
once we’re out of this!”
“But there’s no great harm done,” pleaded Golithos. “He’ll come along
looking for us just the same. Oh, please keep quiet, he may be coming
along now. If he hears us I won’t be able to jump out on him!”
The old woman controlled herself sufficiently to keep silent, though
her face was livid with rage. She dragged the children into a thicker
part of the trees and pushed them over and crouched down by them,
surrounded by her cats, who stopped still at an order from her and lay
quiet on the ground. Golithos stooped behind a tree with his axe ready.
Gubbins, the missing cat, came trotting up. They could see him stop
and sniff about. Then he looked back invitingly and saying “Me-reow!
me-reow!” in a high and strong voice, came purring in among the trees
and greeted his mistress and his brother cats. Mother Meldrum silenced
him with a clump on the head and he too crouched down.
[Illustration]
There was a dead silence for a minute or two. Then suddenly the witch
gave a little grunt, for Gorbo came into view, walking with a silent
tread and peering in all directions, with an arrow fitted to his bow.
HOW GORBO FOUND THE WAY
The measures taken by King Kul to search for the children would
have, by themselves, resulted in failure and a tragedy. Though of
an estimable character he was not remarkable for handling difficult
situations, especially those which for want of a better term we must
call matters of police. His dominion had been peaceable so long that he
had lost the knack of it; besides, his subjects, an amiable but rather
muddle-headed offshoot of mediæval days, were of little assistance in
the case, for no one could give information as to the road taken by the
alleged old man with the ass and big baskets and bagpipes. The knights
too--with the exception of Sir Giles, who had plenty of ginger in him
(which is why he had secured the prettiest girl at court)--were rather
lacking in practice owing to the decay of dragons, caitiffs, and other
undesirable inhabitants, and they rather played at chivalrous doings
than took any active interest in them. Consequently, though troops
were sent searching in all directions, they went without definite
instructions, and they merely wandered about, putting innocent people
through severe cross-examinations, inspecting cock-lofts in lonely
but peaceful farmhouses, and generally making themselves thoroughly
disliked without obtaining any useful hints.
Sir Giles, however, had hit on an idea which had some reason at the
back of it. The far western border of the land was some half-day’s ride
away and the country beyond, though no one knew anything definite about
it, had a very unsavoury reputation. It was generally considered to be
the part where the dragons and caitiffs and others had gone during the
past few centuries, and he considered it probable that Mother Meldrum
and Golithos had selected it as a suitable spot for their future home;
therefore he had taken his squire and ten picked men and gone there at
full speed. The idea, as I have said, was on the whole a good one. The
one reason against its being a successful one was that Mother Meldrum
and Golithos had gone in the opposite direction.
While King Kul was discussing the situation and making suggestions,
King Merse rushed off with Gorbo and collected his men, and
Vanderdecken joined them with his immediately afterwards. But they,
like the others, had little notion of which would be the best direction
to take until Gorbo gave them a second shock by making a really
practical suggestion.
While the men were formed up and waiting for orders, with King Merse
and Vanderdecken at their wits’ end to know what orders to give, Gorbo
suddenly ran off and peered between the legs of some citizens who
formed a little crowd near the ancient Cloth Hall. The citizens were
looking at a cat of exceeding bigness and blackness which was engaged
with a bone. There were none present who had visited Mother Meldrum
professionally so no one recognized this as one of her cats; they were
merely wondering at its appearance, the cats of Banrive being as a rule
small and either fawn colour or grey with stripes.
Gorbo acted with a promptness inspired by his grief and his knowledge
that time was flying. He rushed to a fish stall and demanded a pound
of sprats on the King’s affairs and a straw-bag to put them in. He
returned and, pushing his way through the crowd, offered the animal a
sprat. It took it with a fierce growl and ate it, and then looked up
hopefully for more. Gorbo did not give it another yet but patted and
stroked it instead, allowing it to sniff at the bag.
“Did ums old cats want um sprats?” he said soothingly. “Then um good
old cats must work for um sprats.”
The animal, though evidently intelligent above its kind, could not of
course wholly understand. It got easily as far as understanding that
this small man (whom it remembered seeing before) was one who had
control of fish in a bag, and he set up a roaring purr and rubbed hard
against him in the hope that he would do the decent thing and give him
another.
Gorbo held out another sprat and walked backwards towards his brother
Snergs, the cat following.
“See!” he said to King Merse; “one of Mother Meldrum’s cats! Perhaps it
can lead us to her.”
King Merse stared at him in wonder at his penetration. Vanderdecken
smote Gorbo on the shoulder. “This man of yours is improving,” he said.
“We can but try it.”
“We will,” said the King. “Go ahead, Gorbo, with your cat, and we will
follow some way behind.”
The inhabitants were ordered to clear the road and Gorbo, after giving
a third sprat for encouragement, walked towards the town-gate. The
cat followed him, chewing and growling. On arriving at a clear space
beyond the walls Gorbo urged it by gestures to take the road. After a
few moments it looked about and sniffed the ground; went on a bit and
sniffed again. Gorbo looked on anxiously.
“Home to mother then!” he said, holding up his bag. “Home to other old
black cats.”
The animal turned and looked at him and then, giving a terrific wail,
started off at a trot. Gorbo followed and the cat, merely stopping an
instant to make sure that the bag of fish was coming close behind, went
on down a narrow trail that led to some woods.
It went steadily on and Gorbo trotted steadily behind it. And a quarter
of a mile or so behind them came the soft padding footsteps of the
Snergs and the clumping of the Dutchmen’s sea-boots as they followed at
the double.
THE REFORM OF GOLITHOS
As Gorbo appeared in the open space beyond the trees, Mother Meldrum
shook her fist fiercely at Golithos to encourage him, and for an
instant had her attention taken away from the children. But this
instant was enough for Joe, who had been working his hands loose from
the rope (he had learned rope tricks in his circus life), and who now
had them free. He quickly untied Sylvia’s hands and then very gently
helped her to her feet. “Run,” he whispered close to her ear. And with
a bound they were off, Joe holding her hand with a tight grip and
hauling her along through the trees.
They heard a savage yell from behind them; but they were out in the
open and running up to Gorbo, who sprang forward to meet them with a
shout.
“Hide in the trees!” screamed Joe. “There’s Golithos coming!”
Gorbo jumped and looked quickly round. Then in an instant he sprang
with them into the shade of the trees on the other side of the open
space. He gave a little sound of wonder and joy, something like a sob,
and then faced round, again with his bow held ready. “Lie down and
hide,” he said, without turning his head.
“But there’s Golithos there!” wailed Sylvia. “Let’s run, Gorbo!”
“Not me,” said Gorbo. “Just lie quiet.”
There was a dead silence for a time. Then they heard the voice of
Golithos hailing from the opposite side of the open spot.
“Is that you, Gorbo?” he called.
“It’s me,” replied Gorbo.
“Look here,” went on the voice, “you go away and I’ll let you keep the
little ones. There!”
“Thanks,” said Gorbo.
“Oh, but do be reasonable. Let’s talk it over quietly; it’s no good
being unfriendly. Just come out in the open and we’ll talk it over.”
“All right,” said Gorbo. “You come too.” He walked to the edge of the
trees and stood looking across at the other side.
“But I can’t see you,” said Golithos. “You must really show some
confidence in me, and then I’ll come.”
“Will this suit you?” Gorbo walked out some half-dozen steps.
“Yes, that’s better, Gorbo. You see I don’t want to harm you.” (From
their hiding-place the children could hear him blundering through the
bushes and twigs.) “I’ve always rather liked you and if we can just
talk over matters----”
With a rush and roar he sprang out, his mighty axe swung up high.
_Whang._
Golithos stopped his rush within six feet of Gorbo and stood swaying.
His axe fell crashing to the ground.
_Whang--Whang._
Golithos toppled and fell headlong with a thump that shook the ground.
Three arrows stuck out from behind his head.
[Illustration]
MOTHER MELDRUM GOES
The children flung themselves at Gorbo and hugged him, and Sylvia was
shaking with sobs. He squeezed them to him for just one instant and
then jumped away. “Where’s Mother Meldrum?” he said quickly.
“She’s in there,” replied Joe, pointing across.
Gorbo crept up cautiously, looking about him as he went. Suddenly he
gave an exclamation. “Look!” he cried, pointing to the opposite side of
the ravine.
The old witch was climbing, climbing up the rocks, and behind her
came the black cats. Gorbo rushed to the edge of the ravine and shot.
The arrow fell short. He shot again and again, but it was useless;
the distance was too great for a bow. And Mother Meldrum climbed and
climbed, with an agility and strength that appeared miraculous.
Gorbo turned again, for there was a mighty trampling behind him. Up
came the Snergs and the Dutch seamen, headed by their leaders. The
children and fallen body of Golithos took but an instant of their
attention for Gorbo shouted that Mother Meldrum was escaping.
The Snergs ranged along the edge of the ravine and shot thick and fast
so that the air was full of arrows, but the old witch was well out of
range and she knew it. She had reached a flat part near the summit of
the cliff, and the tunnel that led through the barren rocks was close
at hand. With a shrill screaming laugh that sounded horridly across the
ravine she danced a fantastic dance of triumph, something between an
Irish jig and a coranto. O hideous sight!
But little did this hag of mediæval days know of the strides of
science. The voice of Vanderdecken (who had so wisely trained his
seamen in the part) rang out:
“Musketeers, advance! Handle your muskets! Cock your muskets! Aim your
muskets! _Fire!_ Recover your muskets!”
At the word “_Fire_,” three-and-thirty shots shook the air and echoed
from the rocky crags. A dark cloud of smoke hung over the scene.
The smoke drifted away.
“Where,” said King Merse, “is Mother Meldrum?”
Vanderdecken handed him his telescope. “There is something like bits of
rags sticking on the rocks,” he said. “And I think I can see a hand
hanging over the edge of the cliff. See what you can make of it.”
“Yes,” agreed King Merse as he looked, “it is undoubtedly as you say.
That is Mother Meldrum--or part of her.”
Thus it was. When three-and-thirty muskets of the kind made in
Vanderdecken’s day, loaded with double bullets and a half handful of
buckshot, are fired simultaneously by expert marksmen at the same
target the result is effective. Mother Meldrum had been blown to bits.
ALL TROUBLES OVER
There was a good deal of ringing of bells at Banrive when the joyous
band of Snergs and Dutchmen arrived with the children safe and sound,
and it was known that Golithos and Mother Meldrum had passed away.
The ass had been found trying to rub its load off against a tree, and
the Snergs had untied the bundles and selected whatever there was of
value in them and thrown the rest away. Then they put Joe and Sylvia on
the ass and started back, singing sea chanties which the Dutchmen had
taught them. Sylvia soon got over the worst of her shock, and though
she was a good deal worried about the crumpled and dirty state of her
pretty new dress, she was able in time to join modestly in the chorus.
Joe did not have so much shock to get over because he was the sort that
does not trouble about troubles that are past and he sang lustily.
Gorbo was given the place of honour in front and he came along with
a light step although he was carrying Golithos’ enormous axe, which
was his according to the rules of war. He was the subject of a good
deal of jovial badinage on account of the cat Gubbins, which had not
gone to join its brother cats (now doubtless great hunters in the land
of barren rocks) but had attached itself to him. It may have been
that it liked Gorbo’s cast of countenance or it may have been that it
considered a man with a bag of fish something to stay by, but I leave
this for naturalists to decide; all I know is that it went ahead of
him, with its tail well up, stepping rather in the manner of goats
belonging to certain British regiments.
King Kul embraced the children, almost with tears, and with his own
hands gave Sylvia the puppy, which had been wandering disconsolately
about looking for them. He made a speech thanking the Snergs and the
seamen for their great service in his dominions. When King Merse
told him that Gorbo had slain Golithos single-handed he merely said,
“Indeed? And very creditable of him--considering.” He could never quite
overcome his dislike of Gorbo.
But nobler feelings prevailed. He went to his privy-chambers and
rummaged in a little chest of drawers. Returning to the hall he bade
Gorbo approach and kneel.
“By this,” he said, placing round his neck a cherry-coloured ribbon
with a medallion, “I make you a Companion of the Order of Errant
Tinkers. See that you wear it worthily.”
Amid a murmur of applause the blushing Gorbo rose and thanked him
gratefully and retired backwards. He was filled with a pride and joy
that left him dizzy. At last it was officially recognized that he had
escaped from the reproach of being the biggest fool of the race of
Snergs. Sylvia and Joe ran to him and demanded to see. The medallion
was a tasteful thing, representing a man in full armour mending a
saucepan (Sir Bors, a tinker knighted on the field of battle). The
order was an ancient one and Gorbo had full reason to be proud. It
carried with it the freedom of the City and the right to remove his
boots (if they hurt him) in the presence of the King.
The Lady Ermyntrude took charge of the children and told them to change
into their Watkyns Bay uniforms (which had been washed and ironed)
while their new clothes were sent to the dry cleaners. These were
expeditious people and they promised to have them restored to their
original beauty by noon on the following day; to the great joy of
Sylvia, who loved her dress with the golden bees.
It was a happy time for all. Sir Giles returned in a very peevish frame
of mind at the ill-success of his journey, but when he heard that the
children had been brought safely back he came clashing in and embraced
them with ardour. He said that perchance now they would let him look
forward to a good night’s rest. He changed from his travel-stained
armour into a suit of murrey-coloured velvet in which he looked rather
well, and he sat with the Lady Ermyntrude behind some curtains and
held her hand, in spite of her warnings that people would see. Baldry
(who I fear will never learn) tried to promote the gaiety of courts by
creeping behind him and smiting him on the head with his bladder stick;
but he had to flee from the palace and hide for the rest of the day,
since the King refused to grant him protection, saying: “Now perhaps
you’ll think before acting.”
BACK ACROSS THE RIVER
Another day passed and then, at an early hour, the homeward journey was
begun. Cheerful farewells were exchanged and amid the shouts of the
populace the Expeditionary Force passed out of the town-gate which they
had entered with such doubtful anticipations a few days before, with
Joe and Sylvia riding on small ponies (wearing their fancy clothes)
and two sumpter-mules in the charge of responsible churls. One mule
was laden with presents from King Kul for the royal house of Snerg and
other presents for Miss Watkyns and her staff (including some curiously
wrought silver cups and an antique carved unicorn’s horn suitable for a
centre-piece), and the second mule bore two barrels of special wine for
Vanderdecken.
King Kul promised to visit the Snergs if something in the way of a
bridge could be made across the deep river, and Vanderdecken said he
would give thought to the matter and devise a substantial swinging
bridge that would not wobble too much.
They stayed for the night at the comfortable little castle of the Lord
of the King’s Marches, who was at home when they arrived and who, they
found, was an agreeable man though with a slight touch of pomposity,
like his steward. He accepted apologies for their former invasion of
his stronghold and occupation of his best beds, and was quite nice
about it, telling them that he appreciated the urgency of the case and
they were heartily welcome. He seemed on the whole rather relieved
to find his job gone. Throughout a long life he had been (nominally)
guarding the border against a chance attack of Snergs, and now they
had proved to be a good-natured and friendly people and he might have
just as well been attending to other matters. He said that in future he
would devote his time to gardening, for which he had a passion.
They bade him farewell in the morning and in a few hours were on the
precipitous cliff that overhung the river, where they were greeted with
great joy by the band of Snergs who had been left there to prevent any
interference with the rope. They had made a little fort with a trench
round it and they had sentries posted in the proper way. King Merse
gave them a word or two of soldierly praise.
Sylvia was sent across with Tiger in a large basket, which the seamen
rigged up in the manner of life-saving devices, and arrived safely,
though rather giddy and frightened owing to the terrific height over
which she had passed. Joe declined to go in the basket and jerked
himself across the rope at great speed, as did the Snergs and Dutchmen.
The presents were then put in the basket and hauled across, and then
came the two barrels of wine. Vanderdecken superintended the lashing
up of these himself as he said he wasn’t going to take any silly risks
with them. Gorbo swarmed over (amid cheers and laughter) with the cat
clinging to his person, because they could not induce it to go in the
basket.
BACK TO THE TOWN
It was only a league or a bit more to the town, where the news had
already arrived. As the children drew near they noticed three figures
conspicuous for their height among the small Snergs. Miss Watkyns,
together with the Misses Scadging and Gribblestone, had come on good
steady bears on the previous day to meet them, and there they had
heard for the first time of their terrible final adventure.
When they saw the children coming along in their beautiful costumes
of a long bygone age, they burst into weeping. This, though something
in accord with the character of two of these ladies, came rather as a
surprise from Miss Watkyns, who loathed display of sentiment. But she
did not weep much. With a stern word to the others to have done with
sloppiness she asked both children whether they were, or were not,
thoroughly ashamed of themselves. It occurred to both Sylvia and Joe
at this point that perhaps they ought to be, and they said they were
ashamed. I believe this to be true, though most of the feeling wore off
in ten minutes.
It is almost unnecessary to say that this was the occasion for a feast,
and it must be noted that Gorbo no longer sat in the suburbs but was
only seven places down from the King. In addition to the Order of
Errant Tinkers (regarded rather enviously by many present) a brazen
nutmeg glittered upon his breast, for King Merse felt that he had
fairly earned it.
BACK TO WATKYNS BAY
It occurs to me here that there is some difficulty in proving a
really useful moral from this tale, although I have almost boastfully
referred to it as coming in due course for the instruction of my
younger readers. For however reprehensible the children were in their
disobedience and irresponsibility it cannot be denied that the general
results of their conduct were beneficial. They were instrumental in
bringing a swift finish to two persons who constituted a serious menace
to the public. They had brought about the establishment of friendly
relations between two countries, and removed doubts that had existed
for centuries. Lastly, they had returned magnificently dressed and
bearing expensive gifts. So perhaps the only definite moral that can
be deduced is, if you by any chance meet an ogre who claims to be
reformed, pretend to believe him until you have got a gun and then blow
his head off at the first opportunity.
[Illustration]
On their arrival at Watkyns Bay the other children crowded round Sylvia
and Joe with cries of delight and admiration, for nothing more gorgeous
had been seen even in a picture-book, and there was at this point some
danger of the swollen-headedness which Miss Watkyns had dreaded. But
she soon put it right by ordering them both to change into their plain
but serviceable two-piece garments, and stating that the others should
be kept for very special occasions, such as fancy-dress affairs. This,
by the way, led to the institution of fancy-dress dances and caused a
great deal of extra needlework and ironing.
Sylvia and Joe were very glad to get back to their little cots with the
hop mattresses, and when at last they dropped off to sleep (very late,
for there was a good deal of whispering because the other children
wanted to hear more) lulled by the distant breaking of the sea and the
light rubbing of cinnamon bears against the fence without, they felt
very peaceful and happy and resolved to be really good for a reasonably
long time.
TO FINISH UP
Vanderdecken set to work and made a neat swinging bridge, light but
strong, across the deep river, and King Kul made a visit to the Snergs
and spent two days at Watkyns Bay. He distributed the prizes at the
term end, and made one of those speeches about even little children
having their responsibilities. Invitations had been sent to Joe and
Sylvia and six other children to attend the wedding of Sir Giles and
Lady Ermyntrude, but Miss Watkyns thanked His Majesty deeply and said
she thought it inadvisable for them to go, as tending to unsettle their
minds. She sent a wedding-present of a dainty tortoise-shell toilet and
manicure-set, and the bride wrote to her on a piece of parchment that
she considered it the most charming of all her presents. It was really
good; it had been bought in Bond Street, at an expensive shop. Baldry
overdid it at last at the wedding and got seven days. He had buttered
the steps of the palace hall.
Gorbo is passing the time quite nicely, occasionally doing a job of
work but more often resting. Gubbins, the black cat, sticks close to
him and travels with him everywhere. It has great ability for catching
game, such as birds and young rabbits and the like, and has learned to
retrieve quite well, so Gorbo has his hunting cat like the Egyptian
kings of old. He goes now and then to visit at Banrive and see what new
trouble Baldry has got into, and to pay his respects to the King. He
never fails to say, “Oh, this corn of mine!” and pulls off one boot.
The door in the region of twisted trees and the one on the other side
were built up with masonry. It was agreed that though Gorbo and the
children found enormous supplies of mushrooms in the cavern, there was
a nasty flavour of magic about the place and it was as well to leave
it alone. I never heard what happened in the dark woods after Mother
Meldrum had gone and the bats and other grisly things had it all to
themselves, because no one, I believe, ever went there, which shows
sense.
The knight Sir Percival gave up chivalrous doings on the day that he
had the adventure at the castle. He did not slacken his anxious pace
until he was back at his own little moated grange, and there he hung
his armour and lance over the fireplace in the hall and decided to live
quietly, and if he could not get a wife except by fighting for her,
to go without. He went in for breeding a superior kind of pig and did
rather well at it, taking several prizes.
Vanderdecken and his men make special efforts every now and then to
clean up the old ship for her voyage home; but there is so much to do,
what with weeds and barnacles and the gear having to be rove afresh and
so forth, that they generally get tired of it after a short spell and
say to the effect that it is no good overworking and it would be best
to go for a day or two’s hunting with the Snergs. It is my belief that
they never will go away. And there is no particular reason why they
should; things are very well as they are.
[Illustration]
There is little more to tell now. It is possible that Joe and Sylvia
may be sent to England if suitable new parents can be found for
them, this being the usual thing after some years with the Society
(but not of course years in the ordinary way), but I don’t know if
anything definite has been done in the matter. It is my opinion
that Miss Watkyns will not let them go for a long time because they
certainly keep the place lively. She tried to make them have a sense of
responsibility by giving them charge of a new arrival, a little girl
who was very thin and weepy, but the result was she became a riotous
handful and broke a window for fun.
Tiger is doing well, though he had a touch of distemper last August.
But nothing serious.
Lack of space prevents me from going into details of costs, etc., of
the S.R.S.C., which is to be regretted as I am sure they would prove of
absorbing interest to my more serious readers. I will therefore merely
state that the Society is flourishing and on a sound financial basis,
and that Miss Watkyns and the other ladies have an immense amount of
work to do, which keeps them fit, sundry improvements of buildings and
extensions having been put in hand at Watkyns Bay. The children go on
happily year after year, slowly increasing in numbers as fresh cases
arrive, and they splash about in the sea and play their various games
and roam the woods and fleet the time carelessly as they did in the
golden world.
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY
THE EDINBURGH PRESS, 9 AND 11 YOUNG STREET, EDINBURGH
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
- Clear typos and wrong punctuation were corrected.
- In the chapter “_Dinner with a Witch_” there is a passage that’s
says “There’s about ten thousand of the real ones to one of the
others.” Based on context, the intention may have been “There’s about
ten thousand of the spurious ones to one of the others.” but the
original has been retained.
- This book has several illustrations, some in the middle of
paragraphs. To improve readability, these have been moved to either
before or after the paragraph they occur.
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