words of that solemn song the old men were singing but could not
understand them. Not because he was a child, for no person, however aged
and wise and filled with all learning he might be, could have understood
that strange song about Wonderful Life and Wonderful Death. Yet there
was something in it too which any one who heard it, man or child, could
understand; and he understood it, and it went into his heart to make it
so heavy and sad that he could have put his little face down on the
ground and cried as he had never cried before. But he did not put his
face down and cry, for just then the wounded youth looked down on him as
they carried him past and smiled a very sweet smile: then Martin felt
that he loved him above all the bright and beautiful beings that had
passed before him.
[Illustration: "THE QUEEN WISHES TO SPEAK TO YOU--STAND UP, LITTLE
BOY."]
Then, when he was gone from sight; when the solemn sound of the voices
began to grow fainter in the distance like the sound of a storm when it
passes away, his heaviness of heart and sorrow left him, and he began to
listen to the shouts and cries and clanging of noisy instruments of
music swiftly coming nearer and nearer; and then all around and past him
came a vast company of youths and maidens singing and playing and
shouting and dancing as they moved onwards. They were the most beautiful
beings he had ever seen in their shining dresses, some all in white,
others in amber-colour, others in sky-blue, and some in still other
lovely colours. "The Queen! the Queen!" they were shouting. "Stand up,
little boy, and bow to the Queen."
"The Queen! Kneel to the Queen, little boy," cried others.
Then many others in the company began crying out together.
"The Queen! lie down flat on the ground, little boy."
"The Queen! Shut your eyes and open your mouth, little boy."
"The Queen! Run away as fast as you can, little boy."
"Stand on your head to the Queen, little boy!"
"Crow like a cock and bark like a dog, little boy!"
Trying to obey all these conflicting commands at one and the same time,
poor Martin made strange noises and tumbled about this way and that and
set them all laughing at him.
"The Queen wishes to speak to you--stand up, little boy," said one of
the brightest beings, touching Martin on the cheek.
There before him, surrounded by all that beautiful company, stood the
horses that drew her--great milk-white horses impatiently pawing the
dusty ground with their hoofs and proudly champing their gold bridles,
tossing the white froth from their mouths. But when he lifted his eyes
timidly to the majestic being seated in her chariot before him he was
dazzled and overcome with the sight. Her face had a brightness that was
like that of the Mirage at noon, and the eyes that gazed on him were
like two great opals; she appeared clothed in a white shining mist, and
her hair spread wide on her shoulders looked white--whiter than a lamb's
fleece, and powdered with fine gold that sparkled and quivered and ran
through it like sparks of yellow fire: and on her head she wore a crown
that was like a diamond seen by candle-light, or like a dew-drop in the
sun, and every moment it changed its colour, and by turns was a red
flame, then a green, then a yellow, then a violet.
"Child, you have followed me far," said the Queen, "and now you are
rewarded, for you have looked on my face and I have refreshed you; and
the Sun, my father, will never more hurt you for my sake."
"He is a naughty boy and unworthy of your goodness," spoke one of the
bright beings standing near. "He killed the spoonbill."
"He cried for the poor slain bird," replied the Queen: "He will never
remember it without grief, and I forgive him."
"He went away from his home and thinks no more of his poor old father
and mother, who cry for him and are seeking for him on the great plain,"
continued the voice.
"I forgive him," returned the Queen. "He is such a little wanderer--he
could not always rest at home."
"He emptied a bucketful of water over good old Jacob, who found him and
took him in and fed him, and sang to him, and danced to him, and was a
second father to him."
At that there was great laughter; even the Queen laughed when she said
that she forgave him that too. And Martin when he remembered old Jacob,
and saw that they only made a joke of it, laughed with them. But the
accusing voice still went on:
"And when the good old shepherd went to sleep a second time, then the
naughty little boy climbed on the table and picked a hole in the thatch
and got out and ran away."
Another burst of laughter followed; then a youth in a shining,
violet-coloured dress suddenly began twanging on his instrument and
wildly capering about in imitation of old Jacob's dancing, and while he
played and danced he sang--
"Ho, sheep whose ways are known to me,
Both ewe and lamb
And horned ram
Wherever can that Martin be?
All day for him I ride
Over the plains so wide,
And on my horn I blow,
Just to let him know
That Jacob's on his track,
And soon will have him back,
I look and look all day,
And when I'm home I say:
He isn't like a mole
To dig himself a hole;
Them little legs he's got
They can't go far, trot, trot,
They can't go far, run run,
Oh no, it is his fun;
I'm sure he's near;
He must be here
A-skulking round the house
Just like a little mouse.
I'll get a mouse-trap in a minute,
And bait with cheese that's smelly
To bring him helter-skelly--
That little empty belly,
And then I'll have him in it.
Where have he hid,
That little kid,
That good old Jacob was so kind to?
And when a rest I am inclined to
Who'll boil the cow and dig the kittles
And milk the stockings, darn the wittles?
Who mugs of tea
Will drink with me?
When round and round
I pound the ground
With boots of cowhide, boots of thunder,
Who'll help to make the noise, I wonder?
Who'll join the row
Of loud bow-wow
With din of tin and copper clatter
With bang and whang of pan and platter?
O when I find
Him fast I'll bind
And upside down I'll hold him;
And when a-home I gallop late-o
I'll give him no more cold potato,
But cuff him, box him, bang him, scold him,
And drench him with a pail of water,
And fill his mouth with wool and mortar,
Because he don't do things he oughter,
But does the things he ought not to,
Then tell me true,
Both ram and ewe,
Wherever have that Martin got to?
For Jacob's old and deaf and dim
And never knowed the ways of him."
"I forgive him everything," said the Queen very graciously, when the
song ended, at which they all laughed. "And now let two of you speak and
each bestow a gift on him. He deserves to be rewarded for running so far
after us."
Then one of those bright beautiful beings came forward and cried out:
"He loves wandering; let him have his will and be a wanderer all his
days on the face of the earth."
"Well spoken!" cried the Queen.
"A wanderer he is to be," said another: "let the sea do him no
harm--that is my gift."
"So be it," said the Queen; "and to your two gifts I shall add a third.
Let all men love him. Go now, Martin, you are well equipped, and satisfy
your heart with the sight of all the strange and beautiful things the
world contains."
"Kneel and thank the Queen for her gifts," said a voice to Martin.
He dropped on to his knees, but could speak no word; when he raised his
eyes again the whole glorious company had vanished.
The air was cool and fragrant, the earth moist as if a shower had just
fallen. He got up and slowly walked onward until near sunset, thinking
of nothing but the beautiful people of the Mirage. He had left the
barren salt plain behind by now; the earth was covered with yellow
grass, and he found and ate some sweet roots and berries. Then feeling
very tired, he stretched himself out on his back and began to wonder if
what he had seen was nothing but a dream. Yes, it was surely a dream,
but then--in his life dreams and realities were so mixed--how was he
always to know one from the other? Which was most strange, the Mirage
that glittered and quivered round him and flew mockingly before him, or
the people of the Mirage he had seen?
If you are lying quite still with your eyes shut and some one comes
softly up and stands over you, somehow you know it, and open your eyes
to see who it is. Just in that way Martin knew that some one had come
and was standing over him. Still he kept his eyes shut, feeling sure
that it was one of those bright and beautiful beings he had lately seen,
perhaps the Queen herself, and that the sight of her shining countenance
would dazzle his eyes. Then all at once he thought that it might be old
Jacob, who would punish him for running away. He opened his eyes very
quickly then. What do you think he saw? An ostrich--that same big
ostrich he had seen and startled early in the day! It was standing over
him, staring down with its great vacant eyes. Gradually its head came
lower and lower down, until at last it made a sudden peck at a metal
button on his jacket, and gave such a vigorous tug at it that Martin was
almost lifted off the ground. He screamed and gave a jump; but it was
nothing to the jump the ostrich gave when he discovered that the button
belonged to a living boy. He jumped six feet high into the air and came
down with a great flop; then feeling rather ashamed of himself for being
frightened at such an insignificant thing as Martin, he stalked
majestically away, glancing back, first over one shoulder then the
other, and kicking up his heels behind him in a somewhat disdainful
manner.
Martin laughed, and in the middle of his laugh he fell asleep.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_Chapter Six_
_Martin Meets With Savages_
When, on waking next morning, Martin took his first peep over the grass,
there, directly before him, loomed the great blue hills, or Sierras as
they are called in that country. He had often seen them, long ago in his
distant home on clear mornings, when they had appeared like a blue cloud
on the horizon. He had even wished to get to them, to tread their
beautiful blue summits that looked as if they would be soft to his
feet--softer than the moist springy turf on the plain; but he wished it
only as one wishes to get to some far-off impossible place--a white
cloud, for instance, or the blue sky itself. Now all at once he
unexpectedly found himself near them, and the sight fired him with a new
desire. The level plain had nothing half so enchanting as the cloud-like
blue airy hills, and very soon he was up on his feet and hurrying
towards them. In spite of hurrying he did not seem to get any nearer;
still it was pleasant to be always going on and on, knowing that he
would get to them at last. He had now left the drier plains behind; the
earth was clothed with green and yellow grass easy to the feet, and
during the day he found many sweet roots to refresh him. He also found
quantities of cam-berries, a round fruit a little less than a cherry in
size, bright yellow in colour, and each berry inside a green case or
sheath shaped like a heart. They were very sweet. At night he slept once
more in the long grass, and when daylight returned he travelled on,
feeling very happy there alone--happy to think that he would get to the
beautiful hills at last. But only in the early morning would they look
distinct and near; later in the day, when the sun grew hot, they would
seem further off, like a cloud resting on the earth, which made him
think sometimes that they moved on as he went towards them.
On the third day he came to a high piece of ground; and when he got to
the top and looked over to the other side he saw a broad green valley
with a stream of water running in it: on one hand the valley with its
gleaming water stretched away as far as he could see, or until it lost
itself in the distant haze; but on the other hand, on looking up the
valley, there appeared a great forest, looking blue in the distance; and
this was the first forest Martin had ever seen. Close by, down in the
green valley before him, there was something else to attract his
attention, and this was a large group of men and horses. No sooner had
he caught sight of them than he set off at a run towards them, greatly
excited; and as he drew near they all rose up from the grass where they
had been sitting or lying to stare at him, filled with wonder at the
sight of that small boy alone in the desert. There were about twenty men
and women, and several children; the men were very big and tall, and
were dressed only in robes made of the skins of some wild animal; they
had broad, flat faces, and dark copper-coloured skins, and their long
black hair hung down loose on their backs.
These strange, rude-looking people were savages, and are supposed to be
cruel and wicked, and to take pleasure in torturing and killing any lost
or stray person that falls into their hands; but indeed it is not so, as
you shall shortly find. Poor ignorant, little Martin, who had never read
a book in his life, having always refused to learn his letters, knew
nothing about savages, and feared them no more than he had feared old
Jacob, or the small spotted snake, the very sight of which had made
grown-up people scream and run away. So he marched boldly up and stared
at them, and they in turn stared at him out of their great, dark, savage
eyes.
They had just been eating their supper of deer's flesh, roasted on the
coals, and after a time one of the savages, as an experiment, took up a
bone of meat and offered it to him. Being very hungry he gladly took it,
and began gnawing the meat off the bone.
When he had satisfied his hunger, he began to look round him, still
stared at by the others. Then one of the women, who had a good-humoured
face, caught him up, and seating him on her knees, tried to talk to him.
"Melu-melumia quiltahou papa shani cha silmata," she spoke, gazing very
earnestly into his face.
They had all been talking among themselves while he was eating; but he
did not know that savages had a language of their own different from
ours, and so thought that they had only been amusing themselves with a
kind of nonsense talk, which meant nothing. Now when the woman addressed
this funny kind of talk to him, he answered her in her own way, as he
imagined, readily enough: "Hey diddle-diddle, the cat's in the fiddle,
fe fo fi fum, chumpty-chumpty-chum, with bings on her ringers, and tells
on her boes."
They all listened with grave attention, as if he had said something very
important. Then the woman continued: "Huanatopa ana ana quiltahou."
To which Martin answered, "Theophilus Thistle, the thistle-sifter,
sifted a sieve of unsifted thistles; and if Theophilus--oh, I won't say
any more!"
Then she said, "Quira-holata silhoa mari changa changa."
"Cock-a-doodle-do!" cried Martin, getting tired and impatient. "Baa,
baa, black sheep, bow, wow, wow; goosey, goosey gander; see-saw, Mary
Daw; chick-a-dee-dee, will you listen to me. And now let me go!"
But she held him fast and kept on talking her nonsense language to him,
until becoming vexed he caught hold of her hair and pulled it. She only
laughed and tossed him up into the air and caught him again, just as he
might have tossed and caught a small kitten. At length she released him,
for now they were all beginning to lie down by the fire to sleep, as it
was getting dark; Martin being very tired settled himself down among
them, and as one of the women threw a skin over him he slept very
comfortably.
Next morning the hills looked nearer than ever just across the river;
but little he cared for hills now, and when the little savage children
went out to hunt for berries and sweet roots he followed and spent the
day agreeably enough in their company.
On the afternoon of the second day his new play-fellows all threw off
their little skin cloaks and plunged into the stream to bathe; and
Martin, seeing how much they seemed to enjoy being in the water,
undressed himself and went in after them. The water was not too deep in
that place, and it was rare fun splashing about and trying to keep his
legs in the swift current and clambering over slippery rocks, he went
out some distance from the bank. All at once he discovered that the
others had left him, and looking back he saw that they were all
scrambling out on to the bank and fighting over his clothes. Back he
dashed in haste to rescue his property, but by the time he reached the
spot they had finished dividing the spoil, and jumping up they ran away
and scattered in all directions, one wearing his jacket, another his
knickerbockers, another his shirt and one sock, another his cap and
shoes, and the last the one remaining sock only. In vain he pursued and
called for them; and at last he was compelled to follow them unclothed
to the camping ground, where he presented himself crying piteously; but
the women who had been so kind to him would not help him now, and only
laughed to see how white his skin looked by contrast with the dark
copper-coloured skins of the other children. At length one of them
compassionately gave him a small soft-furred skin of some wild animal,
and fastened it on him like a cloak; and this he was compelled to wear
with shame and grief, feeling very strange and uncomfortable in it. But
the feeling of discomfort in that new savage dress was nothing to the
sense of injury that stung him, and in his secret heart he was
determined not to lose his own clothes.
When the children went out next day he followed them, watching and
waiting for a chance to recover anything that belonged to him; and at
last, seeing the little boy who wore his cap off his guard, he made a
sudden rush, and snatching it off the young savage's head, put it firmly
upon his own. But the little savage now regarded that cap as his very
own: he had taken it by force or stratagem, and had worn it on his head
since the day before, and that made it his property; and so at Martin he
went, and they fought stoutly together, and being nearly of a size, he
could not conquer the little white boy. Then he cried out to the others
to help him, and they came and overthrew Martin, and deprived him not
only of his cap, but of his little skin cloak as well, and then punished
him until he screamed aloud with pain. Leaving him crying on the ground,
they ran back to the camp. He followed shortly afterwards, but got no
sympathy, for, as a rule, grown-up savages do not trouble themselves
very much about these little matters: they leave their children to
settle their own disputes.
During the rest of that day Martin sulked by himself behind a great
tussock of grass, refusing to eat with the others, and when one of the
women went to him and offered him a piece of meat he struck it
vindictively out of her hand. She only laughed a little and left him.
Now when the sun was setting, and he was beginning to feel very cold and
miserable in his nakedness, the men were seen returning from the hunt;
but instead of riding slowly to the camp as on other days, they came
riding furiously and shouting. The moment they were seen and their
shouts heard the women jumped up and began hastily packing the skins and
all their belongings into bundles; and in less than ten minutes the
whole company was mounted on horseback and ready for flight. One of the
men picked Martin up and placed him on the horse's back before him, and
then they all started at a swift canter up the valley towards that great
blue forest in the distance.
In about an hour they came to it: it was then quite dark, the sky
powdered with numberless stars; but when they got among the trees the
blue, dusky sky and brilliant stars disappeared from sight, as if a
black cloud had come over them, so dark was it in the forest. For the
trees were very tall and mingled their branches overhead; but they had
got into a narrow path known to them, and moving slowly in single file,
they kept on for about two hours longer, then stopped and dismounted
under the great trees, and lying down all close together, went to sleep.
Martin, lying among them, crept under the edge of one of the large skin
robes and, feeling warm, he soon fell fast asleep and did not wake till
daylight.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_Chapter Seven_
_Alone in the Great Forest_
Imagine to yourself one accustomed to live in the great treeless plain,
accustomed to open his eyes each morning to the wide blue sky and the
brilliant sunlight, now for the first time opening them in that vast
gloomy forest, where neither wind nor sunlight came, and no sound was
heard, and twilight lasted all day long! All round him were trees with
straight, tall grey trunks, and behind and beyond them yet other
trees--trees everywhere that stood motionless like pillars of stone
supporting the dim green roof of foliage far above. It was like a vast
gloomy prison in which he had been shut, and he longed to make his
escape to where he could see the rising sun and feel the fanning wind on
his cheeks. He looked round at the others: they were all stretched on
the ground still in a deep sleep, and it frightened him a little to
look at their great, broad, dark faces framed in masses of black hair.
He felt that he hated them, for they had treated him badly: the children
had taken his clothes, compelling him to go naked, and had beaten and
bruised him, and he had not been pitied and helped by their elders. By
and by, very quietly and cautiously he crept away from among them, and
made his escape into the gloomy wood. On one side the forest shadows
looked less dark than the other, and on that side he went, for it was
the side on which the sun rose, and the direction he had been travelling
when he first met with the savages. On and on he went, over the thick
bed of dark decaying leaves, which made no rustling sound, looking like
a little white ghost of a boy in that great gloomy wood. But he came to
no open place, nor did he find anything to eat when hunger pressed him;
for there were no sweet roots and berries there, nor any plant that he
had ever seen before. It was all strange and gloomy, and very silent.
Not a leaf trembled; for if one had trembled near him he would have
heard it whisper in that profound stillness that made him hold his
breath to listen. But sometimes at long intervals the silence would be
broken by a sound that made him start and stand still and wonder what
had caused it. For the rare sounds in the forest were unlike any sounds
he had heard before. Three or four times during the day a burst of loud,
hollow, confused laughter sounded high up among the trees; but he saw
nothing, although most likely the creature that had laughed saw him
plainly enough from its hiding-place in the deep shadows as it ran up
the trunks of the trees.
At length he came to a river about thirty or forty yards wide; and this
was the same river that he had bathed in many leagues further down in
the open valley. It is called by the savages Co-viota-co-chamanga, which
means that it runs partly in the dark and partly in the light. Here it
was in the dark. The trees grew thick and tall on its banks, and their
wide branches met and intermingled above its waters that flowed on
without a ripple, black to the eye as a river of ink. How strange it
seemed when, holding on to a twig, he bent over and saw himself
reflected--a white, naked child with a scared face--in that black
mirror! Overcome by thirst, he ventured to creep down and dip his hand
in the stream, and was astonished to see that the black water looked as
clear as crystal in his hollow hand. After quenching his thirst he went
on, following the river now, for it had made him turn aside; but after
walking for an hour or more he came to a great tree that had fallen
across the stream, and climbing on to the slippery trunk, he crept
cautiously over and then went gladly on in the old direction.
[Illustration: HOW STRANGE IT SEEMED WHEN, HOLDING ON TO A TWIG, HE BENT
OVER AND SAW HIMSELF REFLECTED IN THAT BLACK MIRROR.]