Once upon a time, on a fine spring morning, a country lad named Hugh
took his fish pole from a corner and went to try his luck in a brook
beside the road. Now it fortuned that as he stood upon the grassy bank,
casting about in the broad shallows of the stream, the boy heard the
mighty sound of many men singing together, and presently he beheld a
regiment of soldiers on the march. In uniforms of red-and-white they
were clad, and an officer in red-and-white and gold was riding at their
head.
And now the regiment came to a halt, and broke ranks beside the brook.
With shouts and cries the young soldiers hurried to the water, opened
their gay coats at the throat, and washed the dust from their sunburnt
faces; the sergeants gathered and gossiped by themselves; the horse of
the guiding officer sucked up great mouths of water, looked about, and
blew the spray from his nostrils; and here and there a man helped a
comrade with his pack.
“How splendid it must be to be a soldier!” thought Hugh as he gazed
upon the merry company. And, hurrying home to his mother as fast as his
legs could carry him, he begged so eagerly for permission to enlist,
that at length he won her consent and followed the marching men.
And now the lad Hugh was himself a soldier of the realm with a
red-and-white uniform like unto the others, a pack for his back, and a
shiny leather hat with a shiny silver star. Soon he knew what it was to
lie upon the ground and shiver in a blanket, and to watch the rolling
stars, and hear the night wind cry.
Now it chanced that there was another young soldier of Hugh’s age
enlisted in the company, and with this lad, whose name was Jocelyn,
Hugh presently became the best of friends. This Jocelyn was a
mountaineer and was slender and yellow-haired; whilst Hugh was a lad
of the plain and was sturdy of frame and dark. And because these two
lads were the youngest of the company and were loyal friends, they
marched down the highway side by side and shared together the good and
ill of life.
Now it came to pass upon a summer’s night, as the soldiers lay encamped
in fields by the royal city, that the great bell of the King’s palace
broke the quiet of the stars with a loud and unending clangor of alarm.
It was late, the watch fires had almost burned away, and the soldiers,
waking in the dark, seized upon their arms and wondered at the din.
All at once, with a thunder of hoofs, a messenger from the city came
spurring in with the news that war was at hand, and that the regiment
must break camp on the instant and speed to the borders of the realm.
Presently fresh branches tossed upon the embers filled the camp with
the light of flames, and bugle calls rang through the tumult and the
clanging of the bell.
Left! Right! Left! Right! And the soldiers were marching to the wars.
They came to ancient hamlets in the night, and found soldiers of other
companies already sleeping in the barns; they marched through lonely
forests, and warmed their noonday meal with a blaze of twigs and fallen
boughs; they marched singing through the fields of golden grain. Soon
the villages and the fields grew rare, a silence fell upon the land,
and the regiment found itself at the edge of a vast and lonely moor.
Regiments without number were there encamped, and their bivouac fires
gleamed at night like a thousand scattered stars.
Leagues away, on barren hills rising to the north, were to be seen the
fires of the foe.
And now it was the morn of battle: a red sun was rising above the brown
hills and hollows of the moor, the air was sluggish, and flat gray
clouds lay motionless and low. Tarantara! Tarantara! went the bugles,
regiment after regiment came marching to its post, the plain shook to
the tramp of feet, the horsemen gathered behind, the drums began to
sound, the men in red-and-white marched down to the moor, and presently
the great hollow of the waste rang like a brazen cup with the beginning
tumult of the fray.
The soldiers of the enemy were clad in black-and-white, and wore shiny
leather hats with shiny golden stars.
The young comrades marched into battle side by side. And even as a
branch, thrust gently from the bank of a racing river, first moves
slowly in calm waters by the edge of the stream and then is caught up
and tossed about by the wild mid-torrent, so did the great tide of the
battle catch up Jocelyn and Hugh. They fought as in a dream, scarce
knowing what they did.
Now it came to pass that, at the storming of a grassy hillock of the
moor, Hugh was taken prisoner by the men in black-and-white, but was
bravely rescued by Jocelyn who fought his way undaunted to his side.
Presently the enemy yielded the disputed hill, and the company in
red-and-white made ready to hold it for their own.
The day waned; a tide of dark and threatening cloud rose over the
horizon to the east, and a cold wind rode before it, bringing rain.
All at once a wild and terrible storm burst over the battle on the
moor; and, under cover of the thunder and confusion, the men in
black-and-white strove to regain the hillock for their own. A bellowing
wind whipped the heavy rain in the soldiers’ eyes, and it was very hard
to see.
Now it fortuned that, in the dark of the storm and the tumult of the
fray, the boy Hugh became separated from his comrades and suddenly
found himself out of the battle, and wandering quite alone. Night was
rushing on, the din of the combat was muffled in the roaring of the
rain, and the young soldier scarce knew where to go.
Now it was his duty to return to the battle, seek out his comrades,
and fight beside them to the end. Alas, so weary and shaken was the
soldier lad that he made no effort to return to his hard-pressed
friends, but fled away from the battle through the dark! Presently the
all but roofless ruin of a shepherd’s hut appeared ahead, and Hugh took
refuge within it from the battle and the storm.
All night long he lay there on the stones of the floor, sunken in a
shivering sleep; but the dawn woke him at last, and he crept to a
window to look forth upon the moor.
All was still. The battle was lost. The men in black-and-white were
encamped upon the nearer hillocks of the moor, and a company of their
horse was guarding a square of some hundred men in white-and-red.
Suddenly the runaway soldier heard the beat of a distant drum and,
gazing through a cranny of the ruined house, beheld a number of
prisoners marching by, forlorn. A triumphant dragoon in black-and-white
was riding at their head; the drummer of his own company followed
close behind, mournfully beating his drum; and then, trudging wearily
on, appeared the good comrades whom he had deserted in their need. And
Jocelyn walked among them bareheaded, with his arms tied behind him at
the wrist.
And now the dark waters of sorrow and shame welled up in the heart of
the runaway soldier, and he wept bitterly that he had failed to return
into the fray. He would have leaped from the house and taken his place
with his comrades, save that he could not bear that they should know of
his flight.
Now it came to pass, when the drum-beats had faded into the silence of
the moor, that Hugh discovered a shepherd’s smock and wide-brimmed hat
hanging on a peg, and abandoned his uniform for these. Thus clad, he
fled from the hut in the dead of night and made his escape across the
moor. Because of the triumph of the enemy, he dared not return into his
own land, but fled to a kingdom in the west.
Presently he came upon a village lying at the foot of a hill crowned
with a ruined tower, and there took service in the harvest fields.
As for Jocelyn and his comrades, they were marched into the enemy’s
country, thrust into dungeons, and held for ransom, one and all.
* * * * *
Now it fortuned that one noontide, as Hugh rested with fellow laborers
in the greenwood shade, he asked them of the ruined castle on the hill.
“Yon castle,” said a big harvester with an important air, “was built
centuries ago by an old knight who was known throughout the land as a
magician. A treasure lies hid within, but none dare seek it; for those
who do--”
“Never come back!” croaked another harvester, a little lean man with
thin legs and large red ears.
“Once there was a brave adventurer who went to seek the treasure,” said
a man with long, uncut, locks and a pointed nose. “We watched him
climb the hill, we saw him enter the castle, and all at once we heard--”
“A terrible yell!” said the big harvester and the red-eared man
together.
“And he never came back,” said somebody else, shaking his head.
“Bless us,” cried Hugh, “but what do you suppose it is that guards the
treasure?”
“Well, if you ask me, I’ll tell you,” said the big harvester; “it’s a
trigorgon.”
“A trigorgon?” questioned Hugh. “And pray, sir, what is a trigorgon?”
“A trigorgon is a creature that has only three legs,” continued the
big harvester. “It’s triangular and flattish, the one leg being at the
front under the long neck, the two legs riding behind. Short, thick,
elephant-like legs, body like a turtle, double rows of teeth, violent
disposition. I’ve read of it in a book.”
“Bother your book,” cried red-ears. “The trigorgon you describe, my
good sir, is quite impossible. A trigorgon has its two legs in front,
and its one leg behind. A neck has got to have shoulders to rest on,
hasn’t it? You see, young man, the trigorgon uses its one hind leg to
push itself ahead at a frightful speed. I know!”
“How do you know?” asked the big harvester with some displeasure.
“Because the seventh son of a seventh son’s great-grandmother told me!”
exclaimed red-ears triumphantly.
“Bother your seventh son’s great-grandmother!” shouted the big
harvester. “Now, my book had large print and most wonderful pictures!”
“Pish!” said red-ears.
“Tush for you and your seventh son of a seventh son’s great-gran--”
“My friends! My friends!” interposed pointed-nose. “Why quarrel over
this absurd trigorgon? You are both wrong. The castle is haunted by a
thith, a terribly dangerous thith. All over the land they say it’s a
thith.”
“Who say?” questioned the big harvester.
“They say,” replied pointed-nose.
“Bother they, and all they say,” shouted the big harvester, forgetting
his grammar. “It’s a trigorgon!”
“It’s a thith!” shrieked pointed-nose.
And now began a tremendous uproar in which everybody took part, some
agreeing with the big harvester, some with red-ears, and some with
pointed-nose. A few who disbelieved in both the trigorgon and the thith
stood disdainfully to one side, but suddenly they too began to quarrel
violently among themselves as to whether the castle was haunted by a
mistophant, a winged bogus, a bristly whiskeroarer or an ugsome vrish.
So bitter grew the strife that presently red-ears and pointed-nose
fell to fisticuffs and were separated with great difficulty by their
fellow-harvesters.
“A treasure!” said Hugh to himself. “Ah, if I could but find it, I
would ransom Jocelyn and the comrades.” And with an uneasy heart, he
thought of the trigorgon, the thith, the winged bogus, the snarling
whiskeroarer, the mistophant, and the vrish.
How terrible it would be to meet creatures so awful that no human being
had dared to see them! But Jocelyn and the comrades whom he had failed
in their hour of peril on the moor, what of them? They were prisoners
in the land of the foe; with the treasure of the castle he could ransom
them--was he to fail them again?
All at once the runaway young soldier threw back his shoulders bravely
and lifted his eyes to the sky. He would seek the treasure on the
morrow’s morn.
The sun was shining brightly, a cold dew was still glistening on the
leaves, and the villagers had gathered by the public well to speed
Hugh on his way. Shaking their heads doubtfully and mournfully, they
watched him go swinging down the road and disappear into the trees upon
the hill. Presently the glint of his blue smock began to be seen here
and there along the climbing path, close by the summit of the mount.
A little anxious time passed, and suddenly there rang from the ruin a
long, wild howl.
“There, the trigorgon has got him,” said the big harvester.
“You mean the giant thith,” pointed-nose corrected.
I am glad to tell you, however, that they were both wrong. This is what
had happened at the ruin.
Now Hugh had carried an ancient lantern with him from the village, and
halfway up the hill he paused, cut a likely branch from an ash, and
fashioned himself a stout and serviceable staff. Thus armed, he arrived
at the great gate of the ruin, and forced his way through the thorn
trees by the portal into the roofless square of the walls. There were
trees there, too, and though the leaves were still green, every now and
then one went drifting through the silence to the ground. In the heart
of the wooded court, a broad flight of steps, overgrown with moss and
shrubs of shallow root, led down into a darkness far below.
Grasping his cudgel firmly, Hugh descended the woodsy stair. The
sunlight disappeared behind, the green moss grew no more, and clumps
of leathery toadstools burst from the muddy crannies of the stone.
Suddenly the runaway soldier found himself facing a giant pointed door
of blackest adamant. Over the arch of it, in letters of ancient form,
was carved a legend saying:--
He who would share the treasure
must conquer a mighty foe within
Behind the door something was roaring and roaring. “’Tis surely the
trigorgon,” thought Hugh, his heart pounding at his ribs. Summoning up
all his courage, the runaway soldier threw back the adamant door.
The instant he did so, the roaring rose to a howling shriek, and
a gust of the storm wind, magically imprisoned in the caves of the
hill, went whistling out of the adamant door and up the tunnel of the
stairway to the sun. It was this cry of the imprisoned gust which had
made them shake their heads in the village below.
And now Hugh bravely set foot into the darkness and, holding his
twinkling light at arm’s length ahead, advanced to meet the mighty foe
within. Through great halls he fared, and heard queer noises which he
took to be the steps of the trigorgon, but were only the echoes of his
own steps tapping in the dark; through long tunnels he trod, and heard
breathings and whispers which he took to be the sighs of the thith,
but were only the echoes of a chuckling brook, flowing somewhere in
the wall. On and on went Hugh, and laughed a little to himself when he
mistook two shining points of stone for the eyes of the winged bogus,
and a monstrous round rock for the bulk of the mistophant.
[Illustration: _Summoning up all his courage, Hugh threw open the
adamant door_]
After a while, I am glad to tell you, he even ceased turning around now
and then to see if he were being followed by the whiskeroarer or the
vrish.
Presently Hugh began to hear the queerest tinkling-clinking ringing
sound, unbroken in its flow as the trilling of a stream. A moment later
the youth opened a second pointed door and stood in a lighted chamber,
staring at a _fountain of money_.
The chamber was high and square; its roof and walls were of blackest
adamant, twinkly-bright with specks of yellow gold, and a magic,
ever-burning lamp of adamant hung from above, yielding a golden light.
In the height of the further wall a great fountain-like opening
there was, framed in a golden star, and through this there poured a
ringing cataract of coins of yellow gold! Below the shower of money, a
semicircular basin, raised above the floor on pillars strangely carved,
received the golden flood and lay full to the brim of clinking pieces
of gold rising, falling, tossing, and washing about like waters in a
pool. About the brim of the fountain there ran a sculptured band of
stone whereon men were shown engaged in honorable labor--the farmer
scattered the seed, the harvester gathered the grain, the smith labored
at his forge, and a master workman carved a fair statue from a block of
faultless stone.
And Hugh, pausing to look at the pieces of gold, saw that they were of
ancient years and sealed with the seal of old, forgotten kings.
Now it came to pass that, when Hugh had filled his pockets and his hat
with gold, he discovered a third adamant door leading from the chamber
and, passing through it, found himself blinking in the sunlight on the
further side of the hill. Strange to say, in the wall of stone behind
him there was never a sign or appearance of a door!
But the mighty foe within--what could it be? He had seen nothing of
the trigorgon, the thith, the winged bogus, the whiskeroarer, the
mistophant, or the vrish. Yet the inscription had said that he must
conquer a foe. Suddenly Hugh threw his hands into the air with a great
merry shout; he had found the key to the mystery.
It was all a wise jest of the old knight. The foe to be conquered was
fear, and “the mighty foe within” meant the host of silly fears which
run and hide in the house of one’s heart. The treasure had been guarded
against men by their own fears. Brave men, who sent fears hurrying and
scurrying out of their hearts, alone were worthy of the prize.
As for the trigorgon, the thith, the winged bogus, the whiskeroarer,
the mistophant, and the ugsome vrish, they had never existed, for they
were not creatures, but silly, thoughtless imaginings and fears.
And now Hugh, with his pockets laden with gold, walked over the hills
to the enemy’s land, and ransomed his comrade Jocelyn and the dear
friends with whom he had marched to battle on the moor.
Presently a just and mighty emperor compelled both kingdoms to make
peace, and the men in red-and-white and the men in black-and-white went
home to their fields and their dear ones gathered by the fire.
And Hugh and Jocelyn shared the treasure together, and their farms lay
side by side.