About the middle of the night Pan moved, sat up, gave a low growl, then
rushed outside to the full length of his cord, and set up a barking.
“Pan! Pan!” said Bevis, awakened.
“What is it?” said Mark.
Hearing their voices and feeling himself supported, Pan increased his
uproar. Bevis ran outside with Mark and looked round the stockade. It
was still night, but night was wending to the morn. The moon was low
behind the trees. The stars shone white and without scintillating.
They could distinctly see every corner of the courtyard; there was
nothing in it.
“It’s the something,” said Mark. Together they ran across to the
gateway in the stockade, though they had no boots on. They looked
outside; there was nothing. Everything was perfectly still, as if the
very trees slept.
“We left the gate open,” said Bevis.
“I don’t believe it’s ever been locked but once,” said Mark.
Neither had it. On the boards the wizard’s foot was drawn to keep out
the ethereal genii, but they had neglected to padlock the door to keep
out the material. They locked it now, and returned to the hut. Pan
wagged his tail, but continued to give short barks as much as to say,
that _he_ was not satisfied, though they had seen nothing.
“What can it be?” said Mark. “If Pan used to swim off every night, he
could not have had all the things.”
“No. We’ll look in the morning and see if there are any marks on the
ground.”
They sat up a little while talking about it, and then reclined; in three
minutes they were firm asleep again. Pan curled up, but outside the hut
now; once or twice he growled inwardly.
In the morning they remembered the incident the moment they woke, and
before letting Pan loose, carefully examined every foot of the ground
inside the stockade. There was not the slightest spoor. Nor was there
outside the gate; but it was possible that an animal might pass there
without leaving much sign in the thin grass. When Pan was let free he
ran eagerly to the gate, but then stopped, looked about him, and came
back seeming: to take no further interest. The scent was gone.
“No cooking,” said Mark, as they sat down to breakfast. “Glad I’m not a
girl to have to do that sort of thing.”
“I wish there was some wind,” said Bevis, “so that we could have a
sail.”
There was a little air moving, but not sufficient to make sailing
pleasant in so cumbrous a craft as the Calypso. They had their bath,
but did not cross to Serendib, lest Pan should follow and disturb the
water-fowl. So soon as they had dressed, the matchlock was loaded--it
was Mark’s day--and they brought the raft round.
Mark sat on the deck in front with the match lit, and the barrel
balanced on a fixed rest they had put up for it, not the movable staff.
Bevis poled the raft across to Serendib, and then very quietly round the
northern end of that island, where the water was deep enough to let the
raft pass close to the blue gum boughs. Coming round to the other side,
Mark moved his left hand, which was the signal that they had agreed on,
when Bevis kept his pole on the ground, dragging so as to almost anchor
the Calypso.
In a quarter of a minute Mark fired, and Pan instantly jumped overboard.
The force of his fall carried him under water, but he rose directly and
brought the moorhen back to them. Bevis dragged him on board--the
moorhen in his mouth--by the neck, for he could not climb over the
bulwarks from the water. After the gun was loaded Bevis pushed on again
slowly, but the report had frightened the others, and there were no more
out feeding. They stayed therefore under the blue gum boughs and
waited. Pan wanted to leap ashore and play havoc, but they would not
let him, for it was impossible to shoot flying with their heavy gun.
Some time passed, and then Bevis caught sight of a neck and a head;
there was nothing more visible, near the shore along which they had
come. It was a dab-chick or lesser grebe. At that, the stern end of
the raft, there was no rest, but Mark sat down and put the barrel on the
bulwarks. Bevis whispered to him to wait till the dab-chick turned its
head, for this bird, which swims almost flush with the water, goes under
in an instant, having only to get his head down to disappear. He will
dive at the faintest sound or movement that he does not recognise, but
soon comes up again, and will often duck at the flash of a gun too quick
for the shot to strike him. Mark waited his chance and instantly fired,
and Pan brought them the grebe.
They waited what seemed a very long time, but nothing appeared, so Pan
was thrown ashore by his neck crash in among the “gix” and meadowsweet.
He did not care for that, he went to work in an instant. Mark got
ready, for though he could not shoot flying he thought some of them
would perhaps swim off. This happened, two moorhens came rushing out,
one flew, the other swam as hastily as he could, and Mark shot the
latter. But before he could load again Pan had disturbed the whole
island, some went this way, some that, and all the fowl were scattered.
It was some time before they could get the excited spaniel on board; so
soon as they could, Bevis poled the raft along to Bamboo Island, where
several coots and moorhens had taken refuge. As they came near these
being now on the alert began to move off. Mark aimed at one, but he was
he thought not quite near enough: Bevis poled faster, when the moorhen
at the splash began to rise, scuttling and dragging the long hanging
legs along the surface.
Mark drew the match down into the priming, the shot widening as it went,
struck up the water like a shower round the moorhen, which though only
hit by one pellet, fell and dived: Pan following. The bird came up to
breathe. Pan saw her, and yelped. He touched ground and ran plunging
in the water, cantering, lifting his fore-paws and beating the water,
for he could not run in the same way as ashore. He caught another
glimpse of the bird, dashed to the spot, and thrust his nose and head
right under, but missed her. By now the raft had come up, and they beat
the weeds with their poles. The moorhen doubled into the bamboos and
sedges, but they were so thick they hindered her progress, and Pan
snapped her up in a moment.
From Bamboo Island, Bevis poled round to five or six banks covered with
sedges, and Mark had another shot, but this time, perhaps a little too
confident, he missed altogether. There did not seem any probability of
their shooting any more, so they returned towards New Formosa, when Mark
wanted to have one more look round the lower and more level end of that
island. Bevis poled that way, and Mark, seeing something black with a
white bill moving in the weeds, fired--a very long shot--and felt sure
that he had wounded the bird, though for a minute it disappeared.
Presently Pan brought them a young coot.
Mark had now shot three moorhens, a coot, and a dab-chick, but what
pleased him most was the moorhen he had hit while flying, though but one
shot had taken effect. He could not have shot so many with so cumbrous
a gun had not the water-fowl been nearly all young, and had not some
time gone by since the last raid had been made upon these sedgy covers;
so that, as is the case on all uninhabited islands, the birds were easy
to approach.
Finding that the sun-dial still only gave the time as half-past twelve,
Mark wanted to try spinning again for jack if Bevis was not too tired of
poling on the raft. Bevis was willing, so they started again, and he
poled slowly along the edge of the broad bands of weeds, while Mark drew
the bait through the water. He had one success, bringing a jack of
about two pounds on deck, but no more.
Then, returning to New Formosa, they visited the wires set for
kangaroos, which had been forgotten. One had been pushed down, but
nothing was caught. The wires were moved and set up in other runs, with
more caution not to touch the grass or the run--the kangaroo’s
footpath--with the hand, and the loops were made a little larger. If
the loop is too small the rabbit pushes the wire aside; so that it had
better be just a little too large, that the head may be certain to go
through, when the shoulders will draw the noose tight. They did not sit
down to dinner till past two o’clock, having had a long morning, no part
of which had been lost in cooking.
Watching for Charlie in the afternoon, they reclined on the cliff under
the oak, resting, and talking but little. The light of the sun was
often intercepted, not entirely shut off, but intercepted by thin white
clouds slowly drifting over, which like branches held back so much of
the rays that the sun could occasionally be looked at. Then he came out
again and lit up the waters in gleaming splendour. There was enough
ripple to prevent them from seeing any basking fish, but the shifting,
uncertain air was not enough to be called a breeze.
Lying at full length inside the shadow of the oak, Bevis gazed up at the
clouds, which were at an immense height, and drifted so slowly as to
scarcely seem to move, only he saw that they did because he had a fixed
point in the edge of the oak boughs. So thin and delicate was the
texture of the white sky-lace above him that the threads scarcely hid
the blue which the eye knew was behind and above it. It was warm
without the pressure of heat, soft, luxurious; the summer like them
reclined, resting in the fulness of the time.
The summer rested before it went on to autumn. Already the tips of the
reeds were brown, the leaves of the birch were specked, and some of the
willows dropped yellow ovals on the water; the acorns were bulging in
their cups, the haws showed among the hawthorn as their green turned
red; there was a gloss on the blue sloes among the “wait-a-bit”
blackthorns, red threads appeared in the moss of the canker-roses on the
briars. A sense of rest, the rest not of weariness, but of full growth,
was in the atmosphere; tree, plant, and grassy things had reached their
fulness and strength.
The summer shadow lingered on the dial, the sun slowed his pace, pausing
on his way, in the rich light the fruits filled. The earth had listened
to the chorus of the birds, and as they ceased gave them their meed of
berry, seed, and grain. There was no labour for them; their granaries
were full. Ethereal gold floated about the hills, filling their hollows
to the brim with haze. Like a grape the air was ripe and luscious, and
to breathe it was a drowsy joy. For Circe had smoothed her garment and
slumbered, and the very sun moved slow.
They remained idle under the oak for some time after Charlie had made
the usual signal; but when the shadow of the wood came out over the
brambles towards the fence Mark reloaded the matchlock, and they went
into ambush by Kangaroo Hill among the hazel bushes this time on the
opposite side. The hazel bushes seemed quite vacant, only one bird
passed while they were there, and that was a robin, come to see what
they were doing and if there was anything for him. In the butchery of
the Wars of the Roses, that such flowers should be stained with such
memories! it is certain as the murderers watched the robin perched hard
by. He listened to the voice of fair Rosamond; he was at the tryst when
Amy Robsart met her lover. Nothing happens in the fields and woods
without a robin.
Mark had a shot at last at a kangaroo, but though Pan raced his hardest
it escaped into the bury. It was of no use to wait any longer, so they
walked very slowly round the island, waiting behind every bush, and
looking out over the water. There was nothing till, as they returned
the other side, they saw the parrots approach and descend into the
ivy-grown oak. Bevis held Pan while Mark crept forward from tree-trunk
to tree-trunk till he was near enough, when he put the heavy barrel
against a tree, in the same way Bevis had done. His aim was true, and
the parrot fell.
It had been agreed that Bevis should have the gun at night, for he
wished to go on the mainland and see if he could shoot anything in the
Waste, but still unsatisfied Mark wanted yet another shot. The thirst
of the chase was on him; he could not desist. Since there was nothing
else he fired at and killed a thrush they found perched on the top of
the stockade. Mark put down the gun with a sigh that his shooting was
over.
Bevis waited till it was full moonlight, putting down a few things in
his journal, while Mark skinned three of his finest perch, which he
meant to have for supper. To be obliged to cook was one thing, to cook
just for the pleasure of the taste was a different thing. He skinned
them because he knew the extreme difficulty of scraping the thickset
hard scales. Presently Bevis loaded the gun; he was going to do so with
ball, when Mark pointed out that he could not be certain of a perfectly
accurate aim by moonlight. This was true, so he reluctantly put shot.
Mark’s one desire was to fetch down his game; Bevis wished to kill with
the precision of a single bullet.
They poled the raft ashore, and both landed, but Mark stayed among the
bramble thickets holding Pan, while Bevis went out into the Waste. He
did not mean to stay in ambush long anywhere, but to try and get a shot
from behind the bushes. Crouching in the brambles, Mark soon lost sight
of him, so soon that he seemed to have vanished; the ant-hills, the tall
thistles, and the hawthorns concealed him.
Bevis stepped noiselessly round the green ant-hills, sometimes startling
a lark, till, when he looked back, he scarcely knew which way he had
come. In a meadow or a cornfield the smooth surface lets the glance
travel at once to the opposite hedge, and the shape of the enclosure or
one at least of its boundaries is seen, so that the position is
understood. But here the ant-hills and the rush-bunches, the thickets
of thistles and brambles gave the ground an uneven surface, and the
hawthorn-trees hid the outline.
There was no outline; it was a dim uncertain expanse with shadows, and a
grey mist rising here and there, and slight rustlings as pads pressed
the sward, or wings rose from roost. Once he fancied he saw a light
upon the ground not so far off; he moved that way, but the thistles or
bushes hid it. A silent owl startled him as it slipped past; he stamped
his foot with anger that he should have been startled. Twice he caught
a glimpse of white tails, but he could not shoot running with the
matchlock.
Incessantly winding round and round the ant-hills, he did not know which
way he was going, except that he tried to keep the moon a little on his
left hand, thinking he could shoot better with the light like that.
After some time he reached a boulder, another one not so large as that
they had examined together; this was about as high as his chest.
He leaned against it and looked over; there was a green waggon track the
other side, which wound out from the bushes, and again disappeared among
them. Though he knew that Mark could not be far, and that a whistle
would bring him, he felt utterly alone. It was wilder than the island--
the desolate thistles, the waste of rushes, the thorns, the untouched
land which the ants possessed and not man, the cold grey boulder, the
dots of mist here and there, and the pale light of the moon. Something
of the mystery of the ancient days hovers at night over these untilled
places. He leaned against the stone and looked for the flicker of light
which he had seen, and supposed must be a will-o’-the-wisp, but he did
not see it again.
Suddenly something came round the corner of the smooth green waggon
track, and he knew in an instant by the peculiar amble that it was a
hare. The long barrel of the matchlock was cautiously placed on the
stone, and he aimed as well as he could, for when looked at along a
barrel objects have a singular way of disappearing at night. Then he
paused, for the hare still came on. Hares seem to see little in front;
their eyes sweep each side, but straight ahead they are blind till the
air brings them the scent they dread.
All at once the hare sat up--he had sniffed Bevis, and the same minute
the flash rushed from the muzzle. Bevis ran directly and found the hare
struggling; almost as soon as he had lifted him up Pan was there. Then
Mark came leaping from ant-hill to ant-hill, and crushing through the
thistles in his haste. As Mark had come direct from the shore he knew
the general direction, and they hurried back to the raft, fearing some
of the savages might come to see who was shooting on the mainland. Once
on the island, as the perch were cooking, the game was spread out on the
table--three moorhens, a coot, a dab-chick, a wood-pigeon, a hare, and
the jack Mark had caught.
Of all the hare, or rather leveret, for it was a young one, was the
finest. His black-tipped ears, his clean pads, his fur--every separate
hair with three shades of colour--it was a pleasure to smooth his fur
down with the hand.
“This is the jolliest day we’ve had,” said Mark. “All shooting and
killing and real hunting--real island--and no work and no cooking,
except just what we like. It’s splendid.”
“If only Val and Cecil could see,” said Bevis, handling the ears of his
hare for the twentieth time. “Won’t they go on when we tell them?”
“Don’t talk about that,” said Mark; “don’t say anything about going
home; that’s the Other Side, you know.”
“So it is. No, we won’t say anything about it. Isn’t he a beauty!”
“A real beauty,” said Mark. “Now let’s see how we can shoot a lot more
to-morrow; it’s your turn; will you let me shoot once?”
“Of course; twice.”
“Hurrah! First let’s get up very early and see if a kangaroo is out;
then let’s go round Serendib; and, I say, let’s go nearly up to Sweet
River Falls--not quite, not near enough for the savages--and, I say!
there must be heaps of things in all those sedges we tried to walk
through once!”
“We could pole across to them.”
“Of course; and then get in ambush on the mainland in the evening, and
shoot another parrot, and fish--no, fishing is slow, rather. Suppose we
make a fish-spear and stick them! and stick it into the mud for eels.
Could you think how to make a fish-spear, not my bone harpoon, an iron
one--sharp?”
“I’ll try.”
“O! you can do it; and let’s put up some more wires, and--I do declare,
I forgot to put in some more trimmers; we might put twenty trimmers and
night-lines--”
“And build a hut on Serendib to wait in in winter when the ducks come--
don’t you remember last winter--hundreds of them?”
“First-rate! But now to-morrow. How stupid we never brought any nets!”
“Well, that was stupid,” said Bevis, still stroking his hare; he loved
the creature he had slain. “I can’t think how we forgot the nets.”
“There’s thousands of fish; we could haul out a boatful. Let’s see,
isn’t there anything else we could do? Wish we had some ferrets! It’s
not the right time, but still it doesn’t matter.”
“Perhaps we could build a fence-net,” said Bevis. “I forget the proper
name; it’s a stockade like a V, and you drive all the animals in with
dogs.”
“And a pit with strong spikes at the bottom in the corner. The perch
are ready; move the things.”
Bevis hung the hare up in the cave, but yet remained a moment to stroke
the unconscious creature. The perch were very good indeed; as they were
not in a hurry the fish had been cooked better. They played cards
afterwards, discussing in the meantime various ways of killing the
animals and birds about them.
Already in one day they had got more than enough to serve them for three
or four, yet they were not satisfied. Like savages, they were hurried
on by the thirst of the chase, like the thirst for wine; their tongues
were parched with the dry sulphur fumes of powder; they hungered to
repeat the wild excitement when the game was struck and hunted down.
Had it been the buffaloes of the prairie, it would have been just the
same; had it been the great elephants of inner Africa, they would have
shot them down without even a thought of the ivory.
As they were fastening up Pan at the doorway before lying down they
recollected the visit of the unknown creature on the previous night, and
went out and padlocked the gate. The matchlock was loaded with shot,
which did not require so accurate an aim, and was therefore best for
shooting in a hurry, and instead of being hung up it was leaned against
the wall as more accessible, and the priming seen to. A long candle was
put in the lantern on the niche and left burning, so that if awakened
they could see to get the gun at once. The creature went off so quickly
that not a moment must be lost in shooting if it came again, and they
said to each other (to set the clock of their minds) that they would not
stop to listen, but jump up the second they awoke if Pan barked. This
time they thought they should be sure to see the animal at least, if not
shoot it.
Volume Three, Chapter X.