Mark was alone. He felt without going nearer that Bevis was asleep, and
dared not wake him lest he should be called a coward. He moved a little
way so as to have the oak more at his back, and to get a clearer view on
all sides. Then he looked up at the sky, and whistled very low. Pan,
who was half asleep too, got up slowly, and came to him; but finding
that there was nothing to eat, and disliking to be stroked and patted on
such a hot day, he went back to his old place, the barest spot he could
find, mere dry ground.
Mark sat, bow and arrow ready in his hand, the arrow on the string, with
the spear beside him, and his pocket-knife with the big blade open, and
looked into the jungle. It was still and silent. The chafer had got
loose, and there was nothing but the hum overhead. He kept the
strictest watch, scarce allowing himself to blink his eyes. Now he
looked steadily into the brushwood he could see some distance, his
glance found a way through between the boughs, till presently, after he
had searched out those crevices, he could command a circle of view.
Like so many slender webs his lines of sight thus drawn through mere
chinks of foliage radiated from a central spot, and at the end of each
he seemed as if he could feel if anything moved as much as he could see
it. Each of these webs strained at his weary mind, and even in the
shade the strong glare of the summer noon pressed heavily on his
eyelids. Had anything moved, a bird or moth, or had the leaves rustled,
it would have relieved him. This expectation was a continual effort.
His eyes closed, he opened them, frowned and blinked; then he reclined
on one arm as an easier position. His eyes closed, the shrill midsummer
hum sounded low and distant, then loud, suddenly it ceased--he was
asleep.
The sunburnt woodbine, the oaks dotted with coppery leaves where the
second shoot appeared, the ash-poles rising from the hollow stoles, and
whose pale sprays touching above formed a green surface, hazel with
white nuts, stiff, ragged thistles on the stream bank, burrs with
brown-tipped hooks, the hard dry ground, all silent, fixed, held in the
light.
The sun slipped through the sky like a yacht under the shore where the
light wind coming over a bank just fills the sails, but leaves the
surface smooth. Through the smooth blue the sun slipped silently, and
no white fleck of foam cloud marked his speed. But in the deep narrow
channel of the streamlet there was a change--the tiny trickle of water
was no longer illumined by the vertical beams, a slight slant left it to
run in shadow.
Burr! came a humble-bee whose drone was now put out as he went down
among the grass and leaves, now rose again as he travelled. Burr! The
faintest breath of air moved without rustling the topmost leaves of the
oaks. The humble-bee went on, and disappeared behind the stoles.
A little flicker of movement happened among the woodbine, not to be seen
of itself, but as a something interrupting the light like a larger mote
crossing the beam. The leaves of the woodbine in one place were drawn
together and coated with a white web and a tiny bird came to take away
the destroyer. Then mounting to a branch of ash he sang, “Sip, sip--
chip, chip!”
Again the upper leaves of the oak moved and jostling together caused a
slight sound. Coo! coo! there was a dove beyond the hazel bushes across
the stream. The shadow was more aslant and rose up the stalks of the
rushes in the channel. Over the green surface of the ash sprays above,
the breeze drew and rippled it like water. A jay came into the farther
oak and scolded a distant mate.
Presently Pan awoke, nabbed another flea, looked round and shook his
ears, from which some of the hair was worn by continual rubbing against
the bushes under which he had crept for so many years. He felt thirsty,
and remembering the stream, went towards it, passing very lightly by
Bevis, so closely as to almost brush his hat. The slight pad, pad of
his paws on the moss and earth conveyed a sense of something moving near
him to Bevis’ mind. Bevis instantly sat up, so quickly, that the
spaniel, half alarmed, ran some yards.
Directly Bevis sat up he saw that Mark had fallen asleep. He thought
for a moment, and then took a piece of string from his pocket. Stepping
quietly up to Mark he made a slip-knot in the string, lifted Mark’s arm
and put his hand through the loop above the wrist, then he jerked it
tight. Mark scrambled up in terror--it might have been the python:--
“O! I say!”
Before he could finish, Bevis had dragged him two or three steps towards
an ash-pole, when Mark, thoroughly awake, jerked his arm free, though
the string hung to it.
“How dare you?” said Bevis, snatching at the string, but Mark pushed him
back. “How dare you? you’re a prisoner.”
“I’m not,” said Mark very angrily.
“Yes, you are; you were asleep.”
“I don’t care.”
“I will tie you up.”
“You shan’t.”
“If you sleep at your post, you have to be tied to a tree, you know you
have, and be left there to starve.”
“I won’t.”
“You must, or till the tigers have you. Do you hear? stand still!”
Bevis tried to secure him, Mark pushed him in turn.
“You’re a wretch.”
“I hate you!”
“I’ll kill you!”
“I’ll shoot you!”
Mark darted aside and took his spear; Bevis had his bow in an instant
and began to draw it. Mark, knowing that Bevis would shoot his hardest,
ran for the second oak. Bevis in his haste pulled hard, but let the
arrow slip before he could take aim. It glanced upon a bough and shot
up nearly straight into the air, gleaming as it went--a streak of
light--in the sunshine. Mark stopped by the oak, and before Bevis could
fetch another arrow poised his spear and threw it. The spear flew
direct at the enemy, but in his haste Mark forgot to throw high enough,
he hurled it point-blank, and the hardened point struck the earth and
chipped up crumbling pieces of dry ground; then it slid like a serpent
some way through the thin grasses.
Utterly heedless of the spear, which in his rage he never saw, Bevis
picked up an arrow from the place where he had slept, fitted the notch
to the string and looked for Mark, who had hidden behind the other oak.
Guessing that he was there, Bevis ran towards it, when Mark shouted to
him,--
“Stop! I say, it’s not fair; I have nothing, and you’ll be a coward.”
Bevis paused, and saw the spear lying on the ground.
“Come and take your spear,” he said directly; “I won’t shoot.” He put
his bow on the ground. Mark ran out, and had his spear in a moment.
Bevis stooped to lift his bow, but suddenly in his turn cried,--
“Stop! Don’t throw; I want to say something.”
Mark, who had poised his spear, put it down again on the grass.
“We ought not to fight now,” said Bevis. “You know we are exploring,
people never fight then, else the savages kill those who are left; they
wait till they get home, and then fight.”
“So they do,” said Mark; “but I shall not be left tied to a tree.”
“Very well, not this time. Now we must shake hands.”
They shook hands, and Pan, seeing that there was now no danger of a
chance knock from a flying stick, came forth from the bush where he had
taken shelter.
“But you want everything your own way,” said Mark sulkily.
“Of course I do,” said Bevis, glaring at him, “I’m captain.”
“But you do when you are not captain.”
“You are a big story.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“People are not to contradict me,” said Bevis, looking very defiant
indeed, and standing bolt upright. “I say I am captain.”
Mark did not reply, but picked up his bat, which had fallen off.
Without another word each gathered up his things, then came the question
which way to go? Bevis would not consult his companion; his companion
would not speak first. Bevis shut his lips very tight, pressing his
teeth together; he determined to continue on and try and get round the
New Sea. He was not sure, but fancied they should do so by keeping
somewhat to the right. He walked to the channel of the stream, sprang
across it, and pushing his way through the hazel bushes, went in that
direction; Mark followed silently, holding his arm up to stop the boughs
which as Bevis parted them swung back sharply.
After the hazel bushes there was fairly clear walking between the
ash-poles and especially near the oak-trees, each of which had an open
space about it. Bevis went as straight as he could, but had to wind in
and out round the stoles and sometimes to make a curve when there was a
thick bramble bush in the way. As they passed in Indian file under some
larger poles, Mark suddenly left the path and began to climb one of
them. Bevis stopped, and saw that there was a wood-pigeon’s nest. The
bird was on the nest, and though she felt the ash-pole tremble as Mark
came up, hand over hand, cracking little dead twigs, though her nest
shook under her, she stayed till his hand almost touched it. Then she
flew up through the pale green ash sprays, and Mark saw there were two
eggs, for the sticks of which the nest was made were so thinly put
together that, now the bird was gone, he could see the light through,
and part of the eggs lying on them.
He brought one of the eggs down in his left hand, sliding down the pole
slowly not to break it. The pure white of the wood-pigeon’s egg is
curiously and delicately mottled like the pores of the finest human
skin. The enamel of the surface, though smooth and glossy, has beneath
it some water-mark of under texture like the arm of the Queen of Love,
glossy white and smooth, yet not encased, but imperceptibly porous to
that breath of violet sweetness which announces the goddess. The
sunlight fell on the oval as Mark, without a moment’s pause, took a pin
from the hem of his jacket and blew the egg.
So soon as he had finished, Bevis went on again, and came to some
hawthorn bushes, through which they had much trouble to push their way,
receiving several stabs from the long thorns. As it was awkward with
the egg in his hand, Mark dropped it.
There was a path beyond the hawthorn, very little used, if at all, and
green, but still a path--a trodden line--and Bevis went along it, as it
seemed to lead in the direction he wished. By the side of the path he
presently found a structure of ash sticks, and stopped to look at it.
At each end four sticks were driven into the ground, two and two, the
tops crossing each other so as to make a small V. Longer sticks were
laid in these V’s, and others across at each end.
“It’s a little house,” said Mark, forgetting the quarrel. “Here’s some
of the straw on the ground; they thatch it in winter and crawl under.”
(It was about three feet high.)
“I don’t know,” said Bevis.
“I’m sure it is,” said Mark. “They are little men, the savages who live
here, they’re pigmies, you know.”
“So they are,” said Bevis, quite convinced, and likewise forgetting his
temper. “Of course they are, and that’s why the path is so narrow. But
I believe it’s not a house, I mean not a house to live in. It’s a place
to worship at, where they have a fetich.”
“I think it’s a house,” said Mark.
“Then where’s the fireplace?” asked Bevis decidedly.
“No more there is a fireplace,” said Mark thoughtfully. “It’s a
fetich-place.”
Bevis went on again, leaving the framework behind. Across those bars
the barley was thrown in autumn for the pheasants, which feed by darting
up and dragging down a single ear at a time; thus by keeping the barley
off the ground there is less waste. They knew this very well.
“Bevis,” said Mark presently.
“Yes.”
“Let’s leave this path.”
“Why?”
“Most likely we shall meet some savages--or perhaps a herd of wild
beasts, they rush along these paths in the jungle and crush over
everything--perhaps elephants.”
“So they do,” said Bevis, and hastily stepped out of the path into the
wood again. They went under more ash-poles where the pigeons’ nests
were numerous; they counted five all in sight at once, and only a few
yards apart, for they could not see far through the boughs. Some of the
birds were sitting, others were not. Mark put up his spear and pushed
one off her nest. There was a continual fluttering all round them as
the pigeons came down to, or left their places. Never had they seen so
many nests--they walked about under them for a long time, doing nothing
but look up at them, and talk about them.
“I know,” said Bevis, “I know--these savages here think the pigeons
sacred, and don’t kill them--that’s why there are so many.”
Not much looking where they were going, they came out into a space where
the poles had been cut in the winter, and the stoles bore only young
shoots a few feet high. There was a single waggon track, the ruts
overhung with grasses and bordered with rushes, and at the end of it,
where it turned, they saw a cock pheasant. They tried to go through
between the stoles, but the thistles were too thick and the brambles and
briars too many; they could flourish here till the ash-poles grew tall
and kept away the sun. So they followed the waggon track, which led
them again under the tall poles.
To avoid the savages they kept a very sharp lookout, and paused if they
saw anything. There was a huge brown crooked monster lying asleep in
one place, they could not determine whether an elephant or some unknown
beast, till, creeping nearer from stole to bush and bush to stole, they
found it to be a thrown oak, from which the bark had been stripped, and
the exposed sap had dried brown in the sun. So the vast iguanodon may
have looked in primeval days when he laid him down to rest in the
brushwood.
“When shall we come to the New Sea again?” said Mark presently, as they
were moving more slowly through a thicker growth.
“I cannot think,” said Bevis. “If we get lost in this jungle, we may
walk and walk and walk and never come to anything except banyan-trees,
and cobras, and tigers, and savages.”
“Are you sure we have been going straight?”
“How do I know?”
“Did you follow the sun?” asked Mark. “No, indeed, I did not; if you
walk towards the sun you will go round and round, because the sun
moves.”
“I forgot. O! I know, where’s the compass?”
“How stupid!” said Bevis. “Of course it was in my pocket all the time.”
He took it out, and as he lifted the brazen lid the white card swung to
and fro with the vibration of his hand.
“Rest your hand against a pole,” said Mark. This support steadied
Bevis’s hand, and the card gently came to a standstill. The north, with
the three feathers, pointed straight at him.
“Now, which way was the sea?” said Mark, trying to think of the
direction in which they had last seen it. “It was that side,” he said,
holding out his right hand; he faced Bevis.
“Yes, it was,” said Bevis. “It was on the right hand, now that would be
east,” (to Mark), “so if we go east we must be right.”
He started with the compass in his hand, keeping his eye on it, but then
he could not see the stoles or bushes, and walked against them, and the
card swung so he could not make a course.
“What a bother it is,” he said, stopping, “the card won’t keep still.
Let me see!” He thought a minute, and as he paused the three feathers
settled again. “There’s an oak,” he said. “The oak is just east. Come
on.” He went to the oak, and then stopped again.
“I see,” said Mark, watching the card till it stopped. “The elder bush
is east now.”
They went to the elder bush and waited: there was a great thistle east
next, and afterwards a bough which had fallen. Thus they worked a
bee-line, very slow but almost quite true. The ash-poles rattled now as
the breeze freshened and knocked them together.
“What a lot of leaves,” said Bevis presently; “I never saw such a lot.”
“And they are so deep,” said Mark. They had walked on dead leaves for
some little while before they noticed them, being so eagerly engaged
with the compass. Now they looked the ground was covered with brown
beech leaves, so deep, that although their feet sunk into them, they
could not feel the firm ground, but walked on a yielding substance. A
thousand woodcocks might have thrown them over their heads and hidden
easily had it been their time of year. The compass led them straight
over the leaves, till in a minute or two they saw that they were in a
narrow deep coombe. It became narrower and with steeper sides till they
approached the end, when the chalk showed not white but dull as it
crumbled, the flakes hanging at the roots of minute plants.
“I don’t like these leaves,” said Mark. “There may be a cobra, and you
can’t see him; you may step on him without knowing.”
Hastily he and Bevis scrambled a few feet up the chalky side; the danger
was so obvious they rushed to escape it before discussing. When they
had got over this alarm, they found the compass still told them to go
on, which they could not do without scaling the coombe. They got up a
good way without much trouble, holding to hazel boughs, for the hazel
grows on the steepest chalk cliffs, but then the chalk was bare of all
but brambles, whose creepers came down towards them; why do bramble
creepers, like water, always come down hill? Under these the chalk was
all crumbled, and gave way under the foot, so that if they put one foot
up higher it slipped with their weight, and returned them to the same
level.
Two rabbits rushed away, and were lost beneath the brambles. Without
conscious thinking they walked aslant, and so gained a few feet every
ten yards, and then came to a spot where the crust of the top hung over,
and from it the roots of beech-trees came curving down into the hollow
space in search of earth. To one of these they clung by turns, some of
the loose chalky clods fell on them, but they hauled themselves up over
the projecting edge. Bevis went first, and took all the weapons from
Mark; Pan went a long way round.
At the summit there was a beautiful beech-tree, with an immense round
trunk rising straight up, and they sat down on the moss, which always
grows at the foot of the beech, to rest after the struggle up. As they
sat down they turned round facing the cliff, and both shouted at
once,--“The New Sea!”
Volume One, Chapter VIII.