“We shall never get round,” said Mark, “just see what a way we have
come, and we are not half up one side of the sea yet.”
“I wonder how far it is back to the quarry,” said Bevis. “These sedges
are so tiresome.”
“We shall never get round,” said Mark, “and I am getting hungry, and Pan
is tired of the rushes too.”
Pan, with his red tongue lolling out at one side of his mouth, looked
up, showed his white tusks and wagged his tail at the mention of his
name. He had ceased to quest about for some time; he had been walking
just at their heels in the path they made.
“We _must_ go on,” said Bevis, “we _can’t_ go back; it is not proper.
Travellers like us never go back. I wish there were no more sedges.
Come on.”
He marched on again. But now they had once confessed to each other that
they were tired, this spurt soon died away, and they stopped again.
“It is as hot as Central Africa,” said Mark, fanning himself with his
hat.
“I am not sure that we are not in Central Africa,” said Bevis. “There
are hundreds of miles of reeds in Africa, and as we have crossed the
Nile very likely that’s where we are.”
“It’s just like it,” said Mark, “I am sure it’s Africa.”
“Then there ought to be lions in the reeds,” said Bevis, “or elephants.
Keep your spear ready.”
They went on again a little way.
“I want to sit down,” said Mark.
“So do I,” said Bevis; “in Africa, people generally rest in the middle
of the day for fear of sunstrokes.”
“So they do; then we ought to rest.”
“We can’t sit down here,” said Bevis; “it is so wet, and it does not
smell very nice: we might have the fever, you know, if we stopped still
long.”
“Let’s go to the hedge,” said Mark, pointing to the hedge which
surrounded the shore and was a great way on their left hand. “Perhaps
there is a prairie there. And I am so thirsty, and there is no water we
can drink; give me an apple.”
“But we must not go back,” said Bevis; “I can’t have that; it would
never do to let the expedition fail.”
“No,” said Mark. “But let us sit down first.”
Bevis did not quite like to leave the sedges, but he could not gainsay
the heat, and he was weary, so they left the rough path and went towards
the hedge, pushing through the sedges and rushes. It was some distance,
and as they came nearer and the ground very gradually rose and became
drier, there was a thick growth of coarse grass between the other
plants, and presently a dense mass of reed-grass taller than their
shoulders. This was now in bloom, and the pollen covered their sleeves
as they forced a way through it. The closer they got to the hedge the
thicker the grasses became, and there were now stoles of willow, and
tall umbelliferous plants called “gix,” which gave out an unpleasant
scent as they rubbed against or pushed them down and stepped on them.
It was hard work to get through, and when at last they reached the hedge
they were almost done up.
Now there was a new difficulty, the hedge had grown so close and thick
it was impossible to creep through it. They were obliged to follow it,
searching for a gap. They could not see a yard in front, so that they
could not tell how far they might have to go. The dust-like pollen
flying from the shaken grasses and the flowering plants got inside their
nostrils and on the roofs of their mouths and in their throats, causing
an unbearable thirst and tickling. The flies, gathering in crowds,
teased them, and would not be driven away. Now and then something
seemed to sting their necks, and, striking the place with the flat hand,
a stoatfly dropped, too bloated with blood, like a larger gnat, to
attempt to escape the blow.
Pushing through the plants they stumbled into a hollow which they did
not see on account of the vegetation till they stepped over the edge and
fell in it. Mark struck his knee against a stone, and limped; Bevis
scratched his hands and wrist with a bramble. The hollow was a little
wet at the bottom, not water, but soft, sticky mud, which clung to their
feet like gum; but they scrambled out of it quickly, not really hurt,
but out of breath and angry. They were obliged to sit down, crushing
down the grasses, to rest a minute.
“Let’s go back to the path in the sedges,” said Mark.
“I shan’t,” said Bevis savagely. He got up and went on a few steps, and
then took out his knife. “Couldn’t we cut a way through the bushes?” he
asked. They went nearer the hedge and looked, but it had been kept
thick that cattle might not stray into the marsh. The outside twigs
could be cut of course, but hawthorn is hard and close-grained. With
such little tools as their pocket-knives it would take hours--very
likely they would break them.
“If we only had something to drink,” said Mark. They had no more
apples. Though it was a marsh, though they were on the shore, there was
not a drop of water; if they went back to the sedges they could not get
at the water, they would sink to the knees in mud first. The tall
reed-grass and “gix,” and other plants which so impeded their progress,
were not high enough to protect them in the least from the sun. The
hedge ran north and south, and at noonday gave no shadow. As they went
slowly forward, Mark felt the ground first with his spear to prevent
their falling into another hollow. They pulled rushes, and bit the soft
white part which was cool to the tongue. But the stalks of plants and
grass, each so easily bent when taken by itself, in the mass like this
began to prove stronger than they were.
They had to part them with their arms first, like swimming, and then
push through, and the ceaseless resistance wore out their power. Even
Bevis at last agreed that it was not possible, they must go back to the
path in the sedges on their right. After standing still a minute to
recover themselves they turned to the right and went towards the sedges.
In about twenty yards Mark, who had been sounding with his spear,
touched something that splashed, he stopped and thrust again, there was
no mistake, it was water. On going nearer, and feeling for the bottom
with the spear, Mark found it was deep too, he could not reach the
bottom. The grasses grew right to the edge, and the water itself was so
covered with weeds that, had they not prodded the ground before they
moved, they would have stepped over the brink into it. The New Sea,
receding, had left a long winding pool in a hollow which shut them off
from getting to the path in the sedges unless by returning the weary way
they had come.
“This is dreadful,” said Mark, when they had followed the water a little
distance and were certain they could not cross. “We can’t get out and
we can’t go back; I am so tired, I can’t push through much longer.”
“We must go on,” said Bevis; “somehow or other we must go on.” He too
dreaded the idea of returning through the entangled vegetation. It was
less dense on the verge of the pool than by the hedge, and by feeling
their way with the spear they got on for a while. Thirsty as he was
Mark could not drink from the weed-grown water; indeed he could not see
the water at all for weeds and green scum, and if he pushed these aside
with his spear the surface bubbled with marsh gases. Bevis too
persuaded him not to drink it. Slowly they worked on, the marsh on one
side, and the hedge on the other.
“Look,” said Mark presently. “There’s a willow; can’t we climb up and
see round?”
“Yes,” said Bevis; and they changed their course to get to it; it was
nearer the hedge. They felt the ground rise, it was two yards higher by
the willow, and harder; when the sea came up the spot in fact was an
islet. There were bushes on it, brambles, and elder in flower; none of
these grow in water itself, but flourish on the edge. There were
several tall willow-poles. Bevis put down his bow and arrows, took off
his jacket (the pockets of which were stuffed full of things), took hold
of a pole, and climbed up. Mark did the same with another. The poles
were not large enough to bear their weight very high; they got up about
six or eight feet.
“There’s Sindbad’s Island,” said Mark, pointing to the right. Far away,
beyond the sedges and the reeds, there was a broad strip of clear water,
and across it the island of Serendib. “If we only had a canoe.”
“Perhaps we could make one,” said Bevis. “They make them sometimes of
willow--and from oak, only we have nothing to cover the framework;
sometimes they weave the rushes so close as to keep out water--”
“I can plait rushes,” said Mark; “I can plait eight; but they would not
keep out water. What’s over the hedge?”
They looked that way; they could see over the thick, close hawthorn, but
behind it there rose tall ash-poles, which shut out the view completely.
“It is a thick double-mound,” said Bevis. “There’s ash in the middle;
like that in our field, you know.”
In front they could see nothing but the same endless reed-grass, except
that there were more bushes and willows interspersed among it, showing
that there must be numerous banks. Tired of holding on to the poles,
which had no boughs of size enough to rest on, they let themselves
gradually slide down. As they descended Mark spied a dove’s nest in one
of the hawthorn bushes; tired as he was he climbed up the pole again,
and looked into it from a higher level. There was an egg in it; he had
half a mind to take it, but remembered that it would be awkward to
carry.
“We shall never get home,” he said, after he had told Bevis of the nest.
“Pooh,” said Bevis. “Here’s something for you to drink.” He had found
a great teazle plant, whose leaves formed cups round the stem. In four
of these cups there was a little darkish water, which had been there
since the last shower. Mark eagerly sipped from the one which had the
most, though it was full of drowned gnats; it moistened his lips, but he
spluttered most of it out again. It was not only unpleasant to the
taste but warm.
“I hate Africa,” he shouted; “I _hate_ it.”
“So do I,” said Bevis; “but we’ve got to get through it somehow.” He
started again; Mark followed sullenly, and Pan came behind Mark. Thus
the spaniel, stepping in the track they made, had the least difficulty
of either. Pan’s tail drooped, he was very hungry and very thirsty, and
he knew it was about the time the dishes were rattling in the kitchen at
home.
“Listen,” said Mark presently, putting his hand on Bevis’s shoulder, and
stopping him.
Bevis listened. “I can’t hear anything,” he said, “except the midsummer
hum.”
The hum was loud in the air above them, almost shrill, but there was not
another sound. Now Mark had called attention to it the noonday silence
in that wild deserted place was strange.
“Where are all the things?” said Mark, looking round. “All the birds
have gone.”
Certainly they could hear none, even the brook-sparrows in the sedges by
the New Sea were quiet. There was nothing in sight alive but a few
swifts at an immense height above them. Neither wood-pigeon, nor dove,
nor thrush called; not even a yellow-hammer.
“I know,” whispered Bevis. “I know--they are afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes; can’t you see Pan does not hunt about?”
“What is it?” asked Mark in an undertone, grasping his spear tightly.
“There are no mummies here?”
“No,” said Bevis. “It’s the serpent, you know; he’s a hundred feet
long; he’s come over from the Unknown Island, and he’s waiting in these
sedges somewhere to catch something; the birds are afraid to sing.”
“Could he swallow a man?” said Mark.
“Swallow a man,” with curling lip. “Swallow a buffalo easily.”
“Hush! what’s that?” A puff of wind rustled the grasses.
“It’s the snake,” said Mark, and off he tore. Bevis close behind him,
Pan at his heels. In this wild panic they dashed quickly through the
grasses, which just before had been so wearisome an obstacle. But the
heat pulled them up in ten minutes, panting.
“Did you see him?” said Bevis.
“Just a little bit of him--I think,” said Mark.
“We’ve left him behind.”
“He’ll find us by our track.”
“Let’s tie Pan up, and let him swallow Pan.”
“Where’s a rope? Have you any string? Give me your handkerchief.”
They were hastily tying their handkerchiefs together, when Mark, looking
round to see if the monstrous serpent was approaching, shouted,--
“There’s a tree!”
There was a large hollow willow or pollard in the hedge. They rushed to
it, they clasped it as shipwrecked men a beam. Mark was first, he got
inside on the “touchwood,” and scrambled up a little way, then he worked
up, his back against one side, and his knees the other. Bevis got
underneath, and “bunted” him up. Bunting is shoving with shoulder or
hands. There were brambles on the top; Mark crushed through, and in a
minute was firmly planted on the top.
“Give me my spear, and your bow, and your hand,” he said breathlessly.
The spear and the bow were passed up: Bevis followed, taking Mark’s hand
just at the last. Mark put the point of his spear downwards to stab the
monster. Bevis fitted an arrow to his bow. Pan looked up, but could
not climb. They watched the long grasses narrowly, expecting to see
them wave from side to side every instant, as the python wound his
sinuous way. There was a rustling beneath, but on the other side of the
hedge. Bevis looked and saw Pan, who had crept through.
“What are you going to do?” said Mark, as Bevis slung his bow on his
shoulder as if it was a rifle, and began to move out on the hollow top
of the tree, which as it became hollow had split, and partly arched
over. Bevis did not answer: he crept cautiously out on the top which
vibrated under him; then suddenly seizing a lissom bough, he slipped off
and let himself down. He was inside the hedge that had so long baffled
them. Mark saw in an instant, darted his spear down and followed. So
soon as he touched ground, off they set running. There were no sedges
here, nothing but short grasses and such herbage as grows under the
perpetual shade of ash-poles, and they could run easily. The ease of
motion was, in itself, a relief, after the struggle in the reed-grass.
When they had raced some distance, and felt safe, they stopped.
“Why, this is a wood!” said Mark, looking round. Ash-stoles and poles
surrounded them on every side.
“So it is,” said Bevis. “No, it’s a jungle.”
They walked forward and came to an open space, round about a broad
spreading oak.
“I shall sit down here,” said Bevis.
But as they were about to sit down, Pan, who had woke up when he scented
rabbits, suddenly disappeared in a hollow.
“What’s that,” said Mark. He went to see, and heard a sound of lapping.
“Water!” shouted Mark, and Bevis came to him. Deep down in a narrow
channel there was the merest trickle of shallow water, but running, and
clear as crystal. It came from chalk, and it was limpid. Pan could
drink, but they could not. His hollow tongue lapped it up like a spoon;
but it was too shallow to scoop up in the palm of the hand, and they had
no tube of “gix,” or reed, or oat straw, or buttercup stalk to suck
through. They sprang into the channel itself, alighting on a place the
water did not cover, but with the stream under their feet they could not
drink. Nothing but a sparrow could have done so.
Presently Bevis stooped, and with his hands scratched away the silt
which formed the bottom, a fine silt of powdered chalk, almost like
quicksand, till he had made a bowl-like cavity. The stream soon filled
it, but then the water was thick, being disturbed, and they had to wait
till it had settled. Then they lapped too, very carefully, with the
hollow palm, taking care that the water which ran through their fingers
should fall below, and not above the bowl, or the weight of the drops
would disturb it again. With perseverance they satisfied their thirst;
then they returned to the oak, and took out their provisions; they could
eat now.
“This is a jolly jungle,” said Mark, with his mouth full.
“That’s a banyan,” said Bevis, pointing with the knuckle-end of the
drum-stick he was gnawing at the oak over them. “It’s about eleven
thousand years old.”
Then Mark took the drum-stick, and had his turn at it. When it was
polished, Pan had it: he cracked it across with his teeth, just as the
hyenas did in the cave days, for the animals never learnt to split
bones, as the earliest men did. Pan cracked it very disconsolately: his
heart was with the fleshpots.
Boom!
They starred. It was the same peculiar sound they had heard before, and
seemed to come from an immense distance. A pheasant crowed as he heard
it in the jungle close by them, and a second farther away.
“What can it be?” whispered Mark. “Is there anything here?”--glancing
around.
“There may be some genii,” said Bevis quietly. “Very likely there are
some genii: they are everywhere. But I do not know what that was.
Listen!”
They listened: the wood was still; so still, they could hear a moth or a
chafer entangled in the leaves of the oak overhead, and trying to get
out. Looking up there, the sky was blue and clear, and the sunlight
fell brightly on the open space by the streamlet. There was nothing but
the hum. The long, long summer days seem gradually to dispose the mind
to expect something unusual. Out of such an expanse of light, when the
earth is tangibly in the midst of a vast illumined space, what may not
come?--perhaps something more than is common to the senses. The mind
opens with the enlarging day.
It is said the sandhills of the desert under the noonday sun emit
strange sounds; that the rocky valleys are vocal; the primeval forest
speaks in its depths; hollow ocean sends a muttering to the becalmed
vessel; and up in the mountains the bound words are set loose. Of old
times the huntsmen in our own woods met the noonday spirit under the
leafy canopy.
Bevis and Mark listened, but heard nothing, except the entangled chafer,
the midsummer hum, and, presently, Pan snuffling, as he buried his
nostrils in his hair to bite a flea. They laughed at him, for his eyes
were staring, and his flexible nostrils turned up as if his face was not
alive but stuffed. The boom did not come again, so they finished their
dinner.
“I feel jolly lazy,” said Mark. “You ought to put the things down on
the map.”
“So I did,” said Bevis, and he got out his brown paper, and Mark held it
while he worked. He drew Fir-Tree Gulf and the Nile.
“Write that there is a deep hole there,” said Mark, “and awful
crocodiles: that’s it. Now Africa--you want a very long stroke there;
write reeds and bamboos.”
“No, not bamboos, papyrus,” said Bevis. “Bamboos grow in India, where
we are now. There’s some,” pointing to a tall wild parsnip, or “gix,”
on the verge of the streamlet.
“I’m so lazy,” said Mark. “I shall go to sleep.”
“No you won’t,” said Bevis. “I ought to go to sleep, and you ought to
watch. Get your spear, and now take my bow.”
Mark took the bow sullenly.
“You ought to stand up, and walk up and down.”
“I can’t,” said Mark very short.
“Very well; then go farther away, where you can see more round you.
There, sit down there.”
Mark sat down at the edge of the shadow of the oak. “Don’t you see you
can look into the channel; if there are any savages they are sure to
creep up that channel. Do you see?”
“Yes, I see,” said Mark.
“And mind nothing comes behind that woodbine,” pointing to a mass of
woodbine which hung from some ash-poles, and stretched like a curtain
across the view there. “That’s a very likely place for a tiger: and
keep your eye sharp on those nut-tree bushes across the brook--most
likely you’ll see the barrel of a matchlock pushed through there.”
“I ought to have a matchlock,” said Mark.
“So you did; but we had to start with what we had, and it is all the
more glory to us if we _get_ through. Now mind you keep awake.”
“Yes,” said Mark.
Bevis, having given his orders, settled himself very comfortably on the
moss at the foot of the oak, tilted his hat aside to shelter him still
more, and, with a spray of ash in his hand to ward off the flies, began
to forget. In a minute up he started.
“Mark!”
“Yes;” still sulky.
“There’s another oak--no, it’s a banyan up farther; behind you.”
“I know.”
“Well, if you hear any rustle there, it’s a python.”
“Very well.”
“And those dead leaves and sticks in the hole there by the stump of that
old tree?”
“I see.”
“There’s a cobra there.”
“All right.”
“And if a shadow comes over suddenly.”
“What’s that, then?” said Mark.
“That’s the roc from Sinbad’s Island.”
“I say, Bevis,” as Bevis settled himself down again. “Bevis, don’t go
to sleep.”
“Pooh!”
“But it’s not nice.”
“Rubbish.”
“Bevis.”
“Don’t talk silly.”
In a minute Bevis was fast asleep. He always slept quickly, and the
heat and the exertion made him forget himself still quicker.
Volume One, Chapter VII.